It just wasn't meant to be

1950's housewife
Originally uploaded by Theresa Thompson.

Facebook is great as a social networking site and a way to indulge scrabble addictions (in the absence of copyright violations and resultant lawsuits).

But Facebook is also where your privacy goes to die.

Painful experiences early on reinforced the life lesson, "If you don't want anything read, don't write it down". So just like on this site I'm very careful what information I put out there on Facebook. However, when it comes to relationships, I don't think it's necessary to hide whether you're seeing someone or you're not. It's no big deal and nobody really cares one way or the other when you get down to it. Your friends want the best for you, and if that is something you find with someone else (or not), then so be it. Right?

It seems Facebook disagrees. It seems Facebook wants everyone to find their special someone. And so it was that one day this week, me and KH were musing over email about how irritating it has been that we keep seeing dating advertisements on our Facebook sites. I agreed, suggesting that the "30 and STILL single?" banner heading was the one that grated with me the most. The caps were clearly intentional, which just irked me all the more. KH agreed wholeheartedly and suggested that the prominence of these advertisements was most likely linked to the fact that we had flagged ourselves as explicitly "single" in our Facebook profile's relationship status.

Ah-ha, we thought - let's do something about that. So I volunteered to change my status and instead of saying "single", I just left the space blank. But Facebook was not so easily outsmarted. The system generated an automatic message to each of my 139 friends, heralding that I was no longer single. And it tacked a love heart alongside the message, just for added kick.

The emails started, then the phone calls. Was I now loved-up? Who was this man, and why hadn't my friends met him? The power of Facebook was crazy. But my friends all understood and laughed, and agreed that the idea to outsmart Facebook had been a good one - in theory, anyway.

But Facebook was not done messing with me, and it exacted one last revenge. Figuring that I had now succeded in snagging myself a man, at over 30 I had better pull out all the stops to actually keep him. So instead of sending me dating advertisements, I was being bombarded with anti-wrinkle cream ads, promotions for cellulite-busters, and weight-loss recommendations by the hundreds.

Okay Facebook, you win this one. I'm back to being single and fabulous, and trying not let the "30 and STILL single?" banner get to me. Much.

I just can't stop

....e io preferisco Pinocchio! ....and I prefere Pinocchio!
Originally uploaded by parri67reds!.

The other day when I went in to buy my $10 loaf of bread (that incidentally went mouldy faster than anything you've ever seen), I was looked after by my favourite checkout operator.

Again, he asked me how "my baby" was doing. Of course he is referring to my mythical boyfriend - mythical in the sense that he does not actually exist, but the checkout dude just THINKS he does. And I have never corrected him.

Ugh it's a nightmare - I'm too far into the ruse to turn back now. Originally I figured the only way to get out of this mess was to buy a giant tub of Ben & Jerry's (and nothing else), and come through the checkout sobbing. Perhaps that would suggest - without the need for words - that the 'relationship' had finally met its end and we could drop the subject.

But these are the genius ideas I have outside the store, and by the time I get in there, I have totally forgotten about it.

Naturally I'm being paranoid - and I know that. I mean, the checkout guy is only making conversation with me because I'm otherwise a rather boring shopper. I am always shopping alone, and I always buy the same things; Diet Coke, hummus, carrot sticks. So I guess that having him believe I am ensconced in a fully-functional and satisfying relatonship makes me seem somehow less dull.

I really have to stop spending so much time alone obsessing about these things, don't I?

The little Spanish flea...and other irritants

Whether it's the last ditty you hear in the car on the way to work, or the catchy commercial jingle, or the favourite tune you replay on your ipod, songs have a way of getting under your skin. And so do people.

Mero realised early on in our relationship that certain songs stay with me all day. So as I walk past her desk en route to the bathroom, it is not uncommon for Mero to start humming, and she alternates between:

• Little Spanish Flea;
• Blame it on the Bossa Nova;
• Blame it on the Boogie (we have a real blame mentality at the office it seems);
• The theme from 1980s Cottees cordial commercials (you know the one that goes, "My Dad picks the fruit, that goes to Cottee's, to make the cordial, that I like best"?!); and
• Jingle Bells (not really the odd man out here, because instead of words, she just 'la la la's her way through the first verse.

It is not uncommon for me to lay awake at night, blaming the bossa nova (and then Mero) for my inability to visit dreamland. And just when the tune is out of my head and I do drift off, I return to the office the next day and it all starts again.

I have tried to get her hooked on the "Mana-mana" song from the Muppets (aka "The Banana Boat"tune) but to no avail. Likewise the "Tarara Boomdiyay" was popular when I was little, but she just looks at me like I'm on crack.

So she just shrugs, opens her mouth, throws her head back and flamenco-dances off into the distance chanting the little Spanish flea song. ARGH.

To share the love (and frustration), I'm paying it all forward. Enjoy!

What would Dorothy do?

Nate and the Tornado
Originally uploaded by holgaguy.

Last night there was a crazy storm that required the City to activate its tornado alarms. I don't think weather has ever scared me quite as much as it did last night; partly because it came on so quickly, but also because it was so fierce.

I had been in bed reading for a few minutes and the wind picked up and started to blow things around my bedroom. Realising things had gone far beyond the 'pleasant breeze' I had hoped for, I got up to close the windows in the house and then KA-BLAM, on came the sound & light show.

Lightning and thunder continued unabated and the windows only groaned harder against the howling winds. The Cubs game had started but was going nowhere quickly as Wrigley Field sounded the tornado alarm, baseball fans scurried under the bleachers, and our cable TV news service was interrupted by the National Weather Service, warning people to head into their basements (if they have them) or to at least stay away from their windows. I seriously contemplated hiding in my shoe cupboard.

Katie texted me from the comparative calm of NY to wish me well but to recommend I drink red wine to get through the climatic ordeal. Good advice normally, but as I was cowering in my hallway, I was too far away from the wine rack and not brave enough to make a run for it. Clutching my mobile phone, I cursed myself for changing into PJs too early. What would I do if I had to evacuate my apartment wearing tatty old pyjamas and no make-up? What would the beautiful boys in my building say? Nope, best to go down with the rubble.

The scene this morning was not as post-apocalpytic as I'd expected. Across the city, trees had fallen on to cars, and neighbourhoods not far from mine were experiencing flash flooding, but the worst of it had occurred elsewhere. My street looked beautifully untouched, hardly showing a sign of having been beaten around the head the night before.

But perhaps tonight it's our turn. The weatherman tells me that we are set for another impressive display of Mother Nature's temper tantrums tonight. But this time, I am ready. I have opened a bottle of red, and have cleared a Gab-sized space in my shoe cupboard just in case - right next to my ruby slippers.

There's one born every minute

IMG11221
Originally uploaded by HBuzacott.

It is an understatement to say that I was not particularly busy at work today. On the whole, I mean. I had moments of frenzy but they were few and far between. And they left me a lot of time to daydream about what I was going to have for dinner.

It's probably depressing for you to hear that I have a favourite type of bread that I like to buy. It's a french style sliced bread, crusty on the outside and chewy on the inside. The bakers use unbleached (and unsweetened) flour so I automatically feel healthier eating it and in short, I just adore it.

So imagine my glee when through my hungover fugness yesterday, I visited the store and found a full loaf of it, freshly cooked and obviously just waiting for me. Normally the loaves are only sold by half, so to find a full loaf was like finding a four-leaf clover or a unicorn or something.

Flinging the French goodness into my shopping basket, I almost skipped out the store in sheer happiness. Yes, over bread. I know, the story gets worse.

Today I came home from work, lamely excited because I could have some fresh slices of bread smeared with hummus and some carrot sticks on the side (my usual just-home-from-school snack). Opening the pantry, the loaf of bread launched itself from the shelf and just about clocked me on the head.

And it was then that I saw the price tag on a full loaf of French bread. $10. It's really not normal to pay $10 for a loaf of bread is it?

No, you don't have to say it.

Aye carumba

¡Tequila!
Originally uploaded by Col_arg_ol.

It takes a fair bit to shock me these days, but sometimes I push the limits of my own stupidity and wonder what the &@*$ I was thinking. Take yesterday, for example.

I met L&D for frosty margaritas and some Mexican food. Having been issued a stern (but not unreasonable) warning from Katie earlier on, I was sure to eat something beforehand; a hearty cooked breakfast and some snacks during the morning had lined my stomach really well. And it was a good thing too.

The frosty margaritas went down great. Ditto the complimentary tequila shot to round out the meal. Leaving the restaurant, me and the boys were buzzing but in that warm, everything-is-heartily-amusing way.

So why do you think I chose to nominate that we all go in to Friar Tuck's bar afterwards? Granted none of us had ever been inside before, so I remember that we thought it was a good idea to try out a new place. But once we saw just what a dive bar it is on the inside, why didn't we come to our collective senses and leave?! Oh now I know why: it's because the two bartenders thought it would be nice to buy us all shots. I couldn't make up my mind what to have of course, so the bartender decided for me. And he chose Jamieson.

Great God Almighty that stuff is strong. And it burns the whole way down.

Common sense prevailed shortly after the shots and we decided to leave. The boys had graciously offered to come to my house and install my new air conditioner. And in return, I would open a bottle of Australian sparkling shiraz. Again it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Needless to say last night I slept immensely well and today's hangover is not as heinous as it probably should be. Perhaps it has something do with sleeping nice and cool in my new air conditioned environment? Or perhaps this is my body's way of cutting me some slack, and perhaps my hangover is only on ice, dormant for now but happy to launch itself full-force at me later today when I least expect it. Ugh, I hope not.

He looks how I feel...

sleepytime roo ...
Originally uploaded by smithspix.

This week has absolutely taken it out of me. It's not just the weather either, which has alternated between hot, humid, and hot & humid. Every night this week my commute home has taken over an hour (normally a 20-minute trip), and because I've left work late each time, I've had to stand every night on the bus, squished in with other irritable worker bees.

On the upside, I've been so shattered every night that I've slept like the dead, even sleeping through my alarm twice, which I rarely do, and one purportedly impressive thunderstorm, which I never do.

In any case just to mix things up, this week has also yielded some rather unusual news. I suspected something was up on Wednesday when I was standing at the bus stop and a ladybird pooped on my shirt. They say that when a bird does that, it's meant to be good luck - perhaps the same would apply - not that a ladybird is a bird, but you know...oh forget it.

Anyway the thoughts about good luck kept me occupied enough on the stand-up commute to the office (another miserable adventure), and I got a call later in the day from a media agency. They had heard my voice on the office answering service and wanted me to come and record for them. So that afternoon, after another long and sweaty commute (the train this time), I ended up in the northern suburbs and in a basement recording studio. This agency has a lot of international clients and they have a lot of multicultural voice talent on their books. In my best (and possibly most overdone) Aussie accent, I recorded samples of my voice, telling imaginary callers that their credit cards had been declined and to call back when they had more money. Or something.

But to cut a long and potentially boring story short, I got the job! So on Sunday morning I'll be back in the studio with my cans on (not to be confused with my cans OUT), recording a phone message for the Aussie office a major pharmaceuticals company. And being paid quite handsomely for the privilege. Not bad, eh?

Now I just have to rest my eyes for just a moment....zzzzzzzzz

Yep, that just about does it

Ask "Merlin"
Originally uploaded by ajna6 (mostly away a little longer - thanks!).

This is pretty much the position I've been sitting in - and the facial expression I've been wearing - all day.

It is simply too hot and sticky and steamy to do anything of substance today. After walking in the humid rain to brunch this morning, I've since been catching up on laundry and generally staring blankly out into space.

And of course I am secretly cursing myself for not having installed my window air conditioner already. On the day that I actually need it, I couldn't be bothered hoisting it into position (only to watch it fall 10 stories to the ground below).

Sigh.

As a guy said to me the other night, remarking on similar weather, "Ugh, it feels like a warm bath out here,". Too true.

Give me money, I make you thin

beach workout
Originally uploaded by fonsico.

"I want to do yoga and pilates because I start on the floor - not as far to fall," I explained to Lex last night. She reminded me that she had done a pilates class at her gym a few months before and her muscles spasmed for three days afterwards. OK so perhaps my gym attendance will require a bit more forward-planning than I'd initially thought.

Equally the energetic gym sprite who met me upon arrival for "orientation" (aka Fat Pinch Test) sternly cautioned me against a routine entirely devoted to floor-based exercises. Something about my muscles having a memory, and my weightloss and toning program reaching a plateau...something something.

But on closer inspection, so few of the classes I actually want to do are offered at a time that I can do them. Who is attending these classes at 10am on a Tuesday? There must be some trim, taut, and terrific unemployed people in my neighbourhood!

I can do my classes in the evenings, and mix things up on the machines when I get bored (or miss the start of the class). I have already made a note to myself to stay away from the eliptical machine. That thing goes forwards AND backwards - way too much margin for error there.

Lex's recommendation is to pedal like mad on an exercise bike - sounds good to me. They're bolted to the floor and once I'm safely on, it would take a fair bit for even me to fall off. Check.

And memo to me - buy new ipod headphones, cause then I can walk on the treadmills, looking oh so cool, and catch up on my TV shows at the same time. I wonder if they get Food Network in there....

All aboard!

Big Pineapple, Queensland
Originally uploaded by TV Disko.

I went to another movie premiere tonight, this time it's the latest starring role for Seth Grogan ("Knocked Up" and others) called "Pineapple Express".

Don't be fooled; this is not a film about fruit, or about trains. It's a movie about smoking pot - lots and lots of pot. More accurately, it's about the creme de la creme of pot, known as "Pineapple Express".

Take a couple of stoners, throw in some crazy drug dealers, and hilarity ensues.

Actually to be fair, the film was pretty funny. I find that Seth Grogan is a little like Will Ferrell for me - I used to think he was annoying and then almost overnight, I grew to love him. And there were some gross-out moments, and some laugh-out-loud moments, and I think you need that on a Tuesday night.

And if anyone out there was looking for the 20-something single guys in Chicago tonight, they were all at my screening. Talk about "it's raining men", yikes!

Thumbs up for the movie AND thumbs up for the crowd!

It really IS possible to navel-gaze for too long

On Saturday morning I shifted a drawer of long-sleeved tshirts off the still-unopened box containing my air conditioner and I discovered that there is so much wrong with that corner of my bedroom.

For one thing, the drawer has come completely off the tracks in the shelving unit (some might argue that is a metaphor for its owner). Secondly, the kamikaze drawer is full of winter tshirts. Not exactly an oxymoron but still rather unseasonal. And thirdly, they are resting on top of a box containing something that I bought weeks ago and still have not installed.

Procrastination is my latest thing. I am not ashamed to admit it - there is simply no denying the obvious.

But I recognise its a pattern and so I'm setting about to change it. So today I joined a gym and I absolutely plan to go to pilates and yoga classes. That is until my wobbly bits stop wobbling quite so enthusiastically, and then I will switch to something more upbeat and cardio-like. See? I have a plan.

Not that this plan gets me any closer to mending the drawers or installing the air conditioner, but it's baby steps over here.

And of course a new gym regime requires a new gym wardrobe and I'm pretty excited about that. I only have fashion sneakers right now, so I'm not really sure what shoes I'm supposed to buy, when all I'm going to do is take them off to do the yoga stretches or the pilates exercises. The websites tell me about cross-trainers, and running shoes, and the rather unhelpful and remarkably generic 'athletic' shoes so I'm pleased I decided to browse online before heading into the stores for a complete Alice in Wonderland shoe-buying experience.

Whatever I choose, one thing is for sure: they obviously have to be fabulous because this IS Boystown after all. While my kind of wobbly bits aren't exactly prized here, I'll still get snaps for effort. Way to go, girlfriend!

What's that, Skip?

Red Kangaroo
Originally uploaded by Thirty6Red.

It is a well-established fact at work that I am a princess (well-established, that is, in the minds of Mero and Biggsy) but they also know that I am a big nerd.

I have just finished reading "Chasing Kangaroos" by Prof Tim Flannery, Australian of the Year 2007 and former Director of the South Australian Museum. The book explains the evolution of the kangaroo and how the changing Australian flora and fauna contributed to the kangaroo's current appearance and habitat. Far from being a text book, Prof Flannery takes a more Bill Bryson-ish approach to the narrative so I really enjoyed it.

But of course I mention this reading material to Mero today and she just stared at me, blankly. I read her mind. "I know, I know," I said, "I'm such a nerd". And then she said something that completely floored me.

"Did you know that earlier this year scientists mapped the platypus genome?".

I could have hugged her. And I probably would have, if I'd only known what the heck she was talking about.

We nerds have to stick together I guess.

Taking time out, just somewhere else

Sari, I was so wrong!
Originally uploaded by Karan V.

I knew it wouldn't be long before I was sick of my own company and would need to escape home detention for some fresh air.

In search of my Audrey artwork, I realised that lugging home a 3ft piece of pop art on the bus was NOT how I wanted to spend a sunny Saturday, so I went shopping for photo frames instead.

Indulging my love affair with "World Market", I headed there first and was pretty disappointed with their frame selection. No matter, because I picked up another sofa cushion (to match the ones I already have), as well as some delicious Indian sandalwood candles. I was never a candle fan until I moved to the US, so I'm not quite sure why I'm indulging now, but I seem to love them.

Anyway, while I was in the area I called in to the local independent cinema just to see what was screening. I was in one of those moods where I figured that if something was showing pretty well straight away, then I would buy a ticket. If I had to wait around for any amount of time, I wouldn't bother. As luck would have it, "Brick Road" was screening about 5 minutes after I got to the cinema, so I bought a ticket - with absolutely no idea what it was about. In fact, I had no idea what ANY of the movies were about, and the ticket booth dude was no help - he hadn't seen any of them yet either.

"Brick Road" is a really lovely movie that starts out in Bangladesh, and ends up in London. It's principally the story of a woman who grows up with her sister in a small Bangladeshi village but then gets married off at 16 to a rather rotund man in London, who she has never met. The separation of the sister is heartbreaking, and while they never see one another again, they do stay in semi-regular touch through letters. The story is a commentary (in some way) on a Muslim community in a very average part of London, and their immediate reaction after September 11, which happens quite late in the film. The characters are so real and so normal, that I thought it was a really beautiful story and I enjoyed it. I did not enjoy the steady commentary provided by the woman on my right, whose companion would have been about one million years old. Both of them were carrying on like porkchops the whole movie, and were quite hard to zone out. Still, I focused on the gorgeous saris that the main character wore - they were stunning colours.

It's funny because back home, I would never have gone to the movies by myself but since I've been away, I do it quite often. I will also go to the theater by myself quite confidently. I haven't got the courage to go out to dinner or a bar by myself yet, though I am sure that day will come.

Until then, it's back to house arrest for the day, before I am flung, full-force, back to the office tomorrow for the start of the working week.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

I am under voluntary house arrest this holiday weekend and I usually get cabin fever by the second day, but this time around I've found so many odd jobs to keep me busy.

Yesterday I got an uncharacteristic burst of inspiration to clean, and now all my clothes, sheets, and towels are clean and the hardwood floors are shiny and sparkling. I know, who am I, right? It's like my body and mind have been taken over. Read on, it gets worse...

I also dug out all the photos I've been meaning to display. In my previous apartment, I created a photo collage on my bedroom wall, just sticking them up with blu-tack and while they looked good, they weren't protected by frames and anyway, it was only ever meant to be a temporary display. Now that I'm somewhere a little more permanent, I figured it was time to get some artwork on the walls and what better artwork than my own stash of family photos and arty postcards?

As luck would have it, I have photos and cards of all different sizes, so I need to get an array of frames (matching of course) and devise a scheme to get them up on the walls in a way that will look good - and not messy. I think that's where Lex might come in - she has an amazing eye for these things. And she's also given me a piece of her own college artwork that I really love and I'm looking to display.

And there are a few things from back at home that I miss so terribly and I'm eager to create over here.

For instance, I have a huge Audrey Hepburn print that weighs a ton but looks amazing on the wall we've chosen at home. It's this print here:



I was browsing on the Home Depot site yesterday and they have very inexpensive poster prints that are laquered up and framed to give them a more professional look. The exact same poster I have back home is available in the HD store closest to my house so I'm going to check it out there today. I was going to just buy it online but I'm more concerned that the frame might be a bit cheap-looking so I want to see it for myself first. And the slogan for Home Depot is "you can do it - we can help". I wonder if that extends to helping me get it home on the Number 8 bus and putting it up on my wall?! Something tells me, no.

The second thing I miss from back home is my Indian wall hanging that is so colourful and sequinned, and takes pride of place on my bedroom wall (though not usually with the "Welcome Home" banner attached!). I have not had much success in US shops finding something the same size.



When we were in Toronto in October last year, I got a smaller version that has pinks and reds through it, but I really want something larger that I can hang in my apartment - not sure where yet. So again, on a website affiliated with National Geographic of all things (http://www.novica.com/), I found a bunch of hand-made Indian textiles including the amazing wall hangings that I love. These ones even have the rod loops sewn into them, so they are purpose-built to hang (whereas mine at home is actually a bedspread so it's hanging my castiron clips instead). The prices online are quite reasonable so I'd like to get one. But as is the case with Audrey, I'd really like to see the wall hangings before I buy them - I will keep looking online to see whether National Geographic/Novica (or other) has a Chicago storefront or supplier.

After the cleaning & organising spurt was over, I fell into my rocking chair by the window, and read for the rest of the day. I had a couple of glasses of wine, curled up like a cat, and just enjoyed being on my own (well it WAS Independence Day, after all).

I've got rhythm, I've got music...

The other day I posted about people around the world losing control of themselves - their minds mostly, but then their bodies follow I guess. The news that day had been full of murders, murder-suicides, and just about every form of craziness in between.

So you can imagine my relief when I was sent the link to the Where the Hell is Matt? website. I'd been following Matt's dancing travels in the early days of his site, but admittedly my interest dropped off when it all got a little 'same thing, different day'. But it seems people around the world have really danced into the spirit of things, and it made me really happy to watch it.

Kids, dogs, bearded guys, men in suits, pregnant women, all kinds of people with all kinds of rhythm - check it out. And if it doesn't make YOU think there are still good people in this world, then I don't know what will.

Oh say can you see?

Stars and Stripes
Originally uploaded by lelisa.

Come October 6, I will have been in the US for three years and even though I feel very comfortable here, I still feel like a fraud when I join in the national celebrations. July 4th is the case in point.

It's not that I consider the Americans to be an exclusive bunch - far from it in fact. I mean, hotdogs, burgers and fireworks are for everyone. But July 4 marks such an important, defining moment in the country's history that to me, it feels more appropriate to take a step back and let the party rage without me.

I'm not being a party-pooper of course; I have plenty of opportunities to get out and about this weekend. But tonight, rather than braving the crowds and being part of a rowdy, patriotic celebration, I'm choosing instead to stay at home and relish the chance to relax and unwind after what has been a really busy week.

And if three years in Chicago has taught me anything, it's that the Americans will be up for hotdogs, burgers and fireworks with me any time I'm ready.

A watery end

thankfully his feet were clean
Originally uploaded by ratterrell.

So Mero and Biggsy were giving me grief the other day when we were talking about slip & slides. I was telling some silly story about how when we were kids, my cousins would put washing detergent on the backyard slip & slide to make it extra slippery (and extra soapy). But I was always too afraid to go running and sliding on my belly for fear that I'd bash up against the garage wall, or skin my elbows, or something like that.

And the chorus of "oooh you're such a princess!" began. And then somehow it morphed into me not liking waterslides, which is not something I ever said.

So maybe I had waterslides on the brain because last night I had a great dream about being at a waterslide theme park and it was towards closing time. There was only a handful of people there but I dont' think I was actually with any of them - I was there by myself.

I went down the huge chute slide a few times, and really enjoyed it, and on my last climb up the stairs, the attendant told me that the slide had been turned off. I refused to climb back DOWN the stairs, but he assured me there was enough water on the slide to take me down to the pool at the bottom.

So I sat down, pushed myself off, and started to slide. As I got to the flat bit right before you plunge into the water, I stood up and ended up almost barefoot water-skiing across the pool. I looked and felt coordinated - and totally awesome!

But then some woman on the slide behind me crashed into me at a cracking pace, and sent us both straight to the bottom of the pool. My glory day was short-lived, but it was good.

Does the 'Last One Standing' get the last laugh too?

I've long carried on here about my love for going to the hair salon. You can keep your mani-pedis or your deep-tissue massages, give me a haircut & colour any day and I am one relaxed lady. So normally a three-hour appointment would not phase me. But tonight it was a little more draining than usual.

This is all due to the excessive trashiness of the trashy magazines on offer.

Most of them were full of that talentless pair Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt. Don't ask me who they are or what they do, I just know they are being given tons of cash to parade around together smiling a lot and generally being irritating wannabes.

Normally I would flick through the magazines and stare at the photos, occasionally pausing to read the captions or admire the fashions. But tonight, given the sheer abundance of references to the Montag & Pratt train wreck, I started reading about them in more detail. The various tabloids are convinced that the 'romance' is a complete sham, but who cares because between them, they've pocketed $3+ million for in-store appearances, openings of envelopes, and all that crap. Nice "work" if you can get it I guess.

And what's more, the 'journalists' that write these 'articles' seem to be obsessed with the horrific idea that the twosome will not only get married but they will also breed. Give me a break.

So I started feeling really sick at the idea from an ethical standpoint (if I want to see sham marriages, I'll watch "Bold & The Beautiful" every day on CBS at 12.30pm!). But then I got annoyed because on a closer reading, I learned that Heidi is 21 (let's face it, aren't we all?), and Spencer is not much older. And people are speculating about their marriage prospects?!

OK so I know I should have stopped reading at this point, but as I said this twosome are a train wreck, and I am a gullible average consumer and as such, I simply cannot get enough.

Just once I'd love for a Hollywood 'celebrity' to own up that they're actually too young for something. I want someone to screw up her surgically enhanced nose at the mere suggestion of marriage, and confess that they're happy to just enjoy their 20s and just have fun for a while.

Maybe then I can start to enjoy my trashy mags AND my hair salon visits all at the same time.

Doing my bit for humanity

I spent yesterday getting re-acquainted with my sofa, having spent a wonderful weekend with JK who was here en route to a study course in Boston.

We celebrated Thanksgiving in June on Friday night (yes, I cooked turkey); we overdosed on steak and other carniverous delights on Saturday night at Fogo de Chao; and so by the time he departed on Sunday, I was knackered and just wanted to lay down all day. So I did.

But I got mesmerised by some useless program on VH1 that did a countdown of the 20 (or was it 30?) most shocking Hollywood murders. The Mansons took top honours (DUH) with the Nicole Brown-Simpson crime in second place. Generally the show was crap, and it depressed me for a while, so I closed my night by ogling Colin Firth in "Nanny McPhee".

I got to work today and the news was full of more murders and mayhem. Not necessarily based in Hollywood this time, but I read about an axe murder and murder-suicides in Australia, as well as some nutjob in Texas that (surprise, surprise) shot a bunch of people for one wacky reason or another.

I suspect that what we have here is a wonderful collection of psycho nutcases, which makes my mental actions today all the more defensible.

Coming home on the bus tonight, very late for any day much less a Monday, two girls were across the aisle from me. One of them was talking very loudly - so loudly that I had to lean forward several times to see whether her unfortunate travel companion was wearing two hearing aids. She wasn't; Chatty Kathy was just a loudmouth jabberjaws.

And she was talking utter rubbish. Crapping on at ever-increasing volume about her theater shows, and her literary prowess, and how the recent car trip she took was oh-so hilarious because she was reading to the captive audience from her collection of trashy romance novels. [Side note: Why her travel companions didn't leave her at a truck stop after filling up with petrol is beyond me.]

So on and on she droned, and I was simultaneously wishing for death, and a new set of I-pod speakers, neither of which materalised.

I texted Lex and asked if I was allowed to hit the woman, and Lex gave me permission, but only if I took a photo at the same time. Hmm I'm not that clever.

But surely smacking a noisy commuter upside the head would not result in me taking first place in a VH1 Top 20 countdown of public transportation outbursts. Rather, I would probably be given a street parade, or at least a hearty round of applause. Or something. Right?!

It's not a question of where he grips it...

Feed
Originally uploaded by Diana Pinto.

An article on today's Reuters news online left me quoting Monty Python for hours, and soon you'll see why. I guess we should just be grateful that Brazilian pigeons, like African swallows, are non-migratory.

"A sharp increase in drugs and mobile phones found inside a Brazilian prison mystified officials - until guards spotted some distressed pigeons struggling to stay airborne.

Inmates at the prison in Marilia, Sao Paulo state, had been training carrier pigeons to smuggle in goods using cell phone sized pouches on their backs, a low-tech but ingenious way of skipping the high-tech security that visitors faced.

"We have sophisticated equipment to search people when they go in, but they avoided this by finding another way to bring in cellphones and drugs," prison director Luciano Gamateli told Globo TV.

Officials said the pigeons, bred and trained inside the prison, lived on the jail's roof, where prisoners would take their deliveries before smuggling the birds out again through friends and family.

The scheme was uncovered when guards on the prison walls saw some pigeons struggling to fly."

Duck...duck....GOOSE!

Back home, it's quite the norm for the staff at fast food joints to be pimply-faced juniors in the full deathgrip of puberty with amusing crackly voices and a general ambivalence toward everything. Especially customers.

Here in the US however, the demographics are quite different. The fast food counters here are, in large part, monitored by much older people, sometimes even senior citizens, many of whom are not native English speakers. It's not a bad thing of course, but it's just different. And watching a much older person flipping burgers and shaking fries sort of redefines 'fast' food...

Anyway this morning I was craving a breakfast sandwich so I went to Dunkin' Donuts and got served by a lady who was not only ancient, but also a trainee. Oh boy. I placed my order in typical American fashion (aka quickly and no-nonsense, straight to the point to minimise confusion).

Or it was SUPPOSED to minimise confusion.

The woman rambled at me, and the Dunkin' Donuts trainers looked up at me expectantly. I literally had no idea what she'd just said. I wasn't even sure it was English.

So I asked her to repeat it. Again with the rambling. Again with the expectant looks.

So I had to get a translation from the coffee dude. Who then just burst out laughing at me.

It was then that I regretted wearing a white top, because it only further highlighted the fact that I was blushing from head to toe.

I was so eager to just get out of there that I mumbled something incoherently, which seemed to satisfy everyone in question, and I slunk out of there. Miraculously with everything I ordered (or thought I did).

Was there life before Pixar?

Pixar Wall-E Poster (7)
Originally uploaded by divxplanet.

I recall a night out in North Adelaide when a certain pair of Aussie adults were deciding whether or not to go and see "Finding Nemo".

"Sure, we should go," one said "but we should find some random kid to take with us."

"You're right," agreed the second "do you know any?"

The first girl shook her head sadly. "You know what that means," she said, "we're easily going to be the oldest people in the cinema."

The second girl looked up, the light of inspiration in her eyes. "You know, it would kinda be bad parenting if people bought their kids to a 9.30pm screening on a Sunday...."

The heady smell of potential hung in the air. Or it could have been chicken tikka. At that point, after that many bottles of red wine, it was pretty hard to tell.

Buoyed by their own genius, the girls shoveled in handfuls of garlic naan and creamy butter chicken, downed the last of their quality Aussie reds, and made their way to the cinema across the street.

And realised, to their hysterical amusement, they were actually the YOUNGEST people in the cinema. The night was a riot.

[And almost funnier than bringing garlic yiros into the cinema, being the only 2 people in the cinema, and then trying to pretend they couldn't smell garlic when the usher came around. Priceless.]

The thing about a tipsy trip to the movies, late on that balmy Sunday evening in Adelaide is that Pixar never gets old. The humour is as much for the kids as it is for the adults, and my own love of the studio shows no sign of letting up.

And really, when they keep putting out adorable gems like "Wall-E", why should it? Definitely not one to miss.

You quack me up

I haven't told you yet but my favourite barista left my coffee shop to work at the yoghurt place next door - don't ask. I'm not quite ready to have yoghurt for breakfast yet, so I let him leave and waited with baited breath to meet his replacement. Who turns out to be cute, but dumb as a stump.

I have been training him for the last 2 weeks or so, and he's only screwed up twice, which is pretty good. But this morning, he made an absolute cracker.

There are two types of filtered coffee on the go every morning - light, and dark. Clearly being the caffeine freak that I am, I need to order the dark otherwise my old heart simply does not start pumping like it should. Dependence issues? Probably.

Anyway, the rookie calls me up to the counter, and I place my usual order for "a large dark with room for cream". Bear in mind that I very rarely deviate from this order. So he says, "a large latte?". I breathed in patiently, "Uh no," I replied "a large DARK with room for cream".

"A large duck?"

I wanted to die.

So I stared at him for a second and let it all sink in.

Then the dude making the coffees (who I think owns the place) says to him "No dummy, why would she order a duck? She said dark: D-A-R-K."

The rookie barista didn't even look embarassed that he'd misheard me. And even though I roll my r's when I say "water" or "whatever", I just can't bring myself to roll them in the middle of a word. Not yet, anyway.

But in future, perhaps I should stay out of the barnyard and just order light coffees from now on.

What does B.S stand for?

Allison III
Originally uploaded by Sara Heinrichs (awfulsara).

In my case, BS stands for BABY SHOWER - and I'm off to my first one today. I've been invited to a few in the past of course but, for whatever reason, I have had to put in my apologies as the date got closer.

But today I'm really looking forward to catching up with my Aussie friend S, who is not much taller than me and is, by all accounts, absolutely ready to give birth any second now. Let's hope it doesn' t happen today, purely from my selfish standpoint!

I am well acquainted with the SATC episode where the girls drive to their friend's baby shower and, with the exception of Charlotte, feel like square pegs in round holes. All the baby talk and the goo-ing and gaa-ing was a bit too much for them all. The fact that the mother-to-be served cocktails at the event was the only way I think the girls got through it. Hear, hear!

Like bachelorette parties, baby showers always seem to be organised by the friend of the special woman in question. As a guest, you find that invitations come from people you've never heard of, and so the party itself is a real unknown quantity. Who else will be there? What is expected of you? I mean at a birthday party, you can safely assume that there will be cake and decorations - two traditional components that just about everybody can abide. But a baby shower? There are usually no babies and certainly no showering, so what to expect? It seems that baby showers do, however, bring with them a certain sense of pomp and ceremony.

Case in point, I hear that baby showers feature games that the assembled women are encouraged to play. They're supposed to be games about kid-related things, or story-swapping opportunities where we all sit around regressing to childhood and sharing things about ourselves. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I don't mingling with strangers, and swapping conversation and stories, but game-playing? Hmm. And if anyone mentions the words "breast pump", I am leaving.

I do think that I'll be OK today though, for two reasons. Firstly, the inside scoop from another guest (and friend of mine) is that the mother-to-be is not the game-player type herself. With any luck, she'll have vetoed any storytime or group games straight up. Secondly, S and her husband run my favourite wine store in Chicago, so chances are there will be plenty of bubbles and wine to bolster my spirits. Fingers crossed on both of those fronts, I think.

All jokes aside, I am so excited to meet this baby in a few months time. His parents are two of my favourite people in Chicago so it makes his birth a much-anticipated event for me. What's not to look forward to? I mean, for the past 9 months I've been spared the bloating, pressure and pain, but at the end of it all I'll still get my fair share of cuddles with the little guy. Sounds perfect to me! And maybe even worth playing a game or two...

We've NEVER been in Kansas, Dorothy

The US Midwest has been battered by some pretty horrible weather the last few weeks and I'm dosed up on hayfever meds and having that daily "umbrella-no umbrella" argument with myself before I leave the house to go to work.

The office offers shelter from the elements but it's been a whirlwind of meetings, farewells & welcomes, and a general rollercoaster of emotions. Somehow we all made it to Friday though, and I'm enjoying a weekend of strong coffee, DVDs, and Aussie music blaring out of my computer speakers.

I'm looking forward to having JK back to stay with me next weekend, as he's en route to Boston to become an even more brilliant Uni student. I got an email from him the other day that presented a rather lengthy list of pre-course readings and writing tasks so as he said himself, sometimes it's a good thing that the flight from Oz to the US is so long and boring. I wonder if he'll get any (or all) of it done.

I was talking to Lex the other week and we agreed it would be fun to have a "Junesgiving" dinner for JK - after all, if he can't be here for the real Thanksgiving, maybe we could bring it to him. So I'm cooking next weekend - yes, you read that right. I'm cheating with the turkey of course, opting for a seasoned rolled turkey rather than a whole bird that would just go to waste. But otherwise I'm going for the traditional fare - green bean casserole (which I love), mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and Lex is bringing the sweet potato casserole. I can't allow pumpkin pie in my house (it's a phobia), but I'm happy to admit pecan pie so that's our dessert. I've also got creamy limoncello in my freezer courtesy of Coco and while it's not traditional at Thanksgiving, it's delicious and a fantastic digestif so I'll bring that out too.

But as I have had my windows open all week to let the howling winds blow through and keep me cool, my apartment is full of dust and fluff and I even saw spider webs in the loungeroom so I think it's probably about time I got busy cleaning.

The things we do for friends, eh?!

A victory for the little people

letter clutch - front
Originally uploaded by ::sämyii::.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that US Postal Service employees are the most disgruntled you'll ever find. They pass on their workplace frustrations directly to their customers which is both unfair and unpleasant. By and large, customer service simply ceases to exist once you reach a USPS counter.

And I think one of the biggest bummers about the whole thing is the fact that we NEED the postal service, and the employees know this. So there is no incentive for them to cheer up and actually be helpful, because as customers, we're going to keep coming back regardless of the treatment we receive.

So with all this in mind, I trudged over to the USPS after lunch thinking that the lines would be smaller and I could get in and get out quickly. Not so.

Round One with the USPS employee began with her annoyance that I couldn't find an appropriately-sized mailbox for the gifts I needed to send. In typical Goldilocks fashion, one box was too small, but the next size up was far too big. No mailbox I could see on the shelves was just right.

Faced with the option of splitting the gifts into two smaller boxes, I instead opoted to shove the whole gift collection into one big box and bravely approached the counter for Round Two.

The USPS employee was now deliberately being useless, and she looked at me like I had the plague when I queried whether she might have spare newspaper behind her desk so that I could pad the box out a bit.

She seemed to think that newspaper was a ludicrous suggestion, and instead wondered why I couldn't clearly see that the USPS sells bubble wrap for that very purpose. Now I understand the concept of up-selling, but as I was now so irritated by her, all I wanted to do was wrap HER in bubble wrap and mail her somewhere far, far away.

But I am also good at picking my battles, so I let the USPS lady win that one, and instead I duly opened a pack of costly bubbly plastic and stuffed the box with it. Once I had ensured that the enclosed gifts were safely protected, and all the necessary customs forms filled out, I returned to the counter for what I hoped would be the final round.

Round Three began with much huffing and puffing on the USPS employee's part, trying to fathom why I would send such a huge box to such a far-away land. By now I was quite happy standing in utter silence and just letting her do her thing. And clearly silence was not something that this woman was used to. Realising that our transaction was nearing its close, she tried to make up some ground with me.

To my complete surprise, she said "I'm really sorry if I was mean to you before," and yet made no additional excuse as to why she was mean, or why she was now sorry for it. And by way of reply, again to my complete surprise, I simply uttered "Uh huh". And nothing more.

So this annoyed her because I was now playing hardball (and I was past the point of caring) so she was blathering on about Australia and my family and whether it was hard for me to adjust to living in a new country.

And what did I say?

"Uh huh."

And I manged to maintain this frosty silence until she had finished processing the transaction. Completely out of character for me, but on a steamy Friday afternoon, I was completely over it and not in the least interested in putting up with her crap any more than I had to.

So once I was certain that my gifts were correctly bound for Australia and not, perhaps, Austria, I gathered my things, cordially wished her a pleasant weekend, and left.

And even though statistically the USPS woman won 2 rounds out of our 3, I nevertheless felt that I had ultimately emerged the victor because after all, she was the one who ended up apologising. And in the case of USPS, everybody knows that that NEVER happens.

Fugedda-boudit

There is a construction site across the road from office with, quite honestly, the best looking crew I've ever seen.

In the absolute absence of any kind of OH&S policy, they bash and crash to build some sort of eyesore that will hopefully not block too much of my view over the Chicago River. They dangle from the lofty heights, with no harnesses or safety nets, or even hard hats (in the case of some). They have even put up a cheeky chalk sign on one of their steel thingies that says "We do all our own stunts" - they are classic.

The other day I learned that it is quite uncommon in the US to have office buildings with a 13th floor (superstition is alive and well here), but the construction workers are basically working on what would be the 13th floor - so they're basically eye-to-eye with me all day.

Of course I'm too shy to open my blinds, because I know that they can see me - and with so many of them looking like the Diet Coke man, I can't say I'd get any work done if I got to watch THEM all day too.

But yesterday I was walking to work and stopped in at the pharmacy first. I crossed the road when the lights changed and ended up on the same side of the road as the construction site. A bunch of construction workers were lined up outside the site, enjoying a cup of coffee and the warm sunshine. As I walked past, the cute one in the green cut-off shirt (who I had noticed maybe once, yeah right) smiled at me and said "How YOU doin'?".

Totally Chicago.

And what did I do? Yep, I giggled like a bloody schoolgirl and kept walking.

Hopeless.

Oops, I did it again

Gab chills out in Burano
Originally uploaded by Miss Gab.

I am heartily apologising in advance for the fact that by the end of this month, I will be completely and utterly obsessed (again) with Venice.

This is not the first time that such an obsession has overtaken me. I have been to Venice three times and with each visit, my love affair just grows stronger.

I'm not in Venice right now of course, but I feel like I'm there because I'm reading "The City of Falling Angels" by John Berendt - the guy who wrote "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil". All the characters in the book are real, and not at all difficult to imagine.

With each page I read, I am trying to imagine how I can get back to Venice and its islands and, what's more, how I could stay there at some length. Is there a job for me there, or should I just be a professional house-sitter in an ancient, crumbling palazzo and putt-putt up and down the Grand Canal all day?

Either way, the book is fabulous and even though I want to punch Mr Berendt for being the type of guy whose trip to Venice has introduced him to the Mayor, City officials, faded aristocrats, genteel English expats, and other toffy types, it is the fact that he writes about Venice with such genuine affection that striking a chord with me.

Venetians love melodrama and exaggeration is the norm there. If you are too 'normal', they will dismiss you as being a bore. The absence of cars means that everybody walks everywhere, and 'being seen' is what Venice is all about. So in that sense, Venice is a level playing field (socially-speaking) and I love that idea.

So if you don't mind, I'm going to keep reading, and daydreaming, and maybe one day I will find myself back there living the high life amongst the rats, pigeons, and tourists - and loving every minute of it.

The urban rainforest

taxi manhole steam
Originally uploaded by countchomkula.

This weekend I was all set to be a social whirlwind but instead, my efforts were hampered by crippling lethargy caused by the weather. I have been really struggling because of the humidity. I don't remember being this knocked out last summer, but the last two days I've been sleeping during the days, and feeling really sluggish when I do make it outdoors.

I looked after DB yesterday who is originally from Adelaide too, and now works in our California office. We went to brunch in the morning, took a long walk to the famed Viagara Triangle in the afternoon, and then met up again last night for dinner and a few drinks about town. I didn't make it to our evening meeting on time, as a freak thunder & lightning storm made it difficult to even get outside. I had to wait for a break in the nasty weather so I could walk to the main road to grab a taxi. And even that turned into a rushed mercy mission. But I made it Downtown and we had a good time catching up.

Today I have been a couch potato and have had little energy for anything beyond channel surfing and sleeping. I slept through a rather nasty rainstorm and awoke with a start when I remembered that I hadn't closed my bedroom window before the nap. Consequently my floorboards were soaked, ditto the bottom half of my bed quilt. Whatever. In this icky heat, everything dried pretty quickly.

Right, I've been sitting up for way too long typing this - need to get back to the reclining position. How do people in Florida and even Brisbane handle this weather?! I'll never understand it.

Turn the heat down will ya?

So the winter chills have given way to a burst of spring (complete with sneezing fits) and in the space of only a few days, spring is being given the royal shove by a summer that seems way too eager to get started. Personally I'm finding it very tricky to keep up, if only from a fashion point of view.

One of the great things about the warmer weather's arrival is that Chicago socially springs to life, and I'm ready to embrace that for sure. This weekend I plan to take full advantage of the annual Blues Fest in Grant Park (which is celebrating its 25th year), and also Ribs Fest up in the Lincoln Square neighbourhood, not too far from my house. I have no idea how many years Rib Fest has been going, and I do not care to know - the fact that I will be able to buy my body weight in baby back ribs slathered in an array of sauces makes me so happy I could pee.

Last night I finally caught up with the lovely Bork and we tried out a brand new bar called "Potter's" which is part of the historic Palmer House Hilton. Can you believe I've never even been inside the Palmer before? What the?! It used to be a private residence way back in the day but what with all the Hilton add-ons, it's hard to tell where the original residence ended and the newer renovations commenced. No matter really, "Potter's" is 100% new and it's actually quite nice. So much better that we went on a weeknight too because we got to sit right at the bar and had the full attention of the bartender, whose Cosmopolitans were divine.

So you can see that a cracking pace has already been set for the summer social season. I'm almost even able to handle the blessed humidity that comes with a Chicago summer. I must be getting used to this place or something...

Lazarus at the Ballpark

I have been a bit of an invalid this week, struck down by a pretty nasty case of pharangytis. The good people in the ER at Northwestern dosed me up with some antibiotics and pain meds that took a few days to kick in, but I'm now doing pretty well on the road to recovery.

And it's just as well that I've rallied from my deathbed so well, because it's the Memorial Day long weekend and Miss K has come into Chi-Town to spend some time with me. She arrived on Friday evening around 9pm and we chatted a bit and watched some TV and then crashed.

We were up early-ish yesterday and enjoyed a nice breakfast together at home, walked around the neighbourhood in the beautiful Saturday sunshine and browsed the market garden set up at the primary school on Melrose. Then we met Dr G and spent a lovely afternoon watching the White Sox play at Cellular Field. It was Miss K's first baseball game and aside from the cold winds whipping around us, she enjoyed the experience. I am not sure that Miss K will ever forget the fluoro hot dog relish (direct quote, "Eeek - that colour does not occur in nature!!").

After the game, we took the El back downtown and got off in the City (leaving Dr G to head home for a much-needed nap), and me & Miss K watched the new Indiana Jones movie. We both really enjoyed it - lots of the good old stuff and it was nice to see Harrison Ford back in his famous role.

Today we slept (really) late and we've had a leisurely breakfast at home, and we're about to go and meet Lex & C for a visit to Lincoln Park Zoo. My mission? To finally find the meerkats. I know they're there but in the three or four visits I've made to LP Zoo in my time here, I've never seen them. Today will be a different story entirely!

Now I know how the caterpillars feel

FaLLing dreamS ..
Originally uploaded by COLoriya.

For months it feels like all of us in the City have been hibernating, cooped up indoors and only venturing out to go to and from work. If we've headed out for social pursuits, it has been done with some reluctance because it has brought with it the need to lug around a raincoat, umbrella, and other such water-repellant accessories. And speaking for all of us, we've had enough.

So it's a welcome surprise to see some sunshine today, and feel genuine warmth to go along with it. I walked to my hairdressers today, rocking out to my ipod, and genuinely having a great time. Buses sailed by me, but I wasn't having it. People were driving past me, with dogs hanging their heads out the window, smiling goofily. It seemed that everyone, whether on two legs or four, was having a great time outdoors today.

And this has come at the end of a pretty good couple of weeks, all things considered.

I have gone out socially a few times this week, continuing my 'culture vulture' tendencies by going to the theater. I went to see Eddie Izzard in his latest show, "Stripped" and it was a hoot. He just has great timing, such a creative brain, and wonderful delivery. I've now seen Eddie 3 times and I think he's great.

Then last night I went to see "Shout", a musical with amazing songs from the 60s (think Dusty Springfield and just about anything that Burt Bacharach ever wrote). It isn't a musical that will change your life in any way, but it was still very well done and the girls in the show are very talented (you'd have to be, to be on stage full-time for 90 minutes - yikes!).

With the weather still so unpredictable, the theater is still the best place for me to hang out and I have a few more shows I want to see in the coming weeks.

But next weekend is the Memorial Day long weekend and K is coming to town. We have baseball tickets (I'm going to see the Sox - shh don't tell my Cubbies), but all I want is for the weather to hold out for us so we can walk around and enjoy Chi-Town some more. Fingers crossed!

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

Dad's birthday - the basics for a mexican style dinner
Originally uploaded by tg81.

Today I was excited because KH had just become a grandmother for the second time, but otherwise Monday-itis had threatened to creep in and devour me.

But today is also Cinco de Mayo ("5th of May") and it is a time when pretty much everyone around my neighbourhood commemorates an 1862 battle in Mexico between the Mexicans and the French. Today it is standing-room only in the Mexican restaurants around town, as everyone finds a legitimate reason to slam Patron shots on a school night.

As for me, I've decided to stay home and start my own tradition. I am making my inaugural Cinco de Mayo beef chilli and so far, it's working a treat. I've even found a cable TV station that is broadcasting amazing Mexican tunes [I have no idea what they're singing of course but they sound very happy and it's really feelgood, mariachi-style music.]

My apartment smells so great and even though I suspect the aroma of chilli powder and smokey cumin and jalapenos is going to take FOREVER to come out of my sofa, I am loving it.

And don't worry, I don't have any Patron in the house - or any alcohol at all for that matter. So clearly I did not plan this little one-woman fiesta too well after all, did I?

Happy Cinco de Mayo!!

At least it's not Gwyneth's head in a box

If you've seen the movie "Seven", you're unlikey to ever forget the full list of the 7 deadly sins. After my relatively action-packed Saturday, I was the very embodiment of SLOTH yesterday and I was absolutely thrilled about it.

I got up early and did some loads of laundry, and felt a bit of a lame rush of excitement when I put brand new sheets on my bed. Come 11am, I had clean sheets, towels, and clothes, and I was ready to stare and the wall and wonder, "What next?".

Then I came to my senses and realised that I could quite comfortably lie down on the sofa, and stare at the TV instead. And so that's what I did. After a couple of "Food Network" shows, and an old Eric Bana DVD, I had a snooze for a while.

I had opened my windows up nice and wide yesterday so my apartment was full of honey-coloured light and the most relaxing soft breeze blowing through. It was impossible NOT to be relaxed.

When I woke from my nap, I realised that I had slept more heavily than I'd intended, and so I was feeling pretty out of it. But I forced myself to eat a small dinner (my first and only meal of the day), and then I watched a bit more TV before putting myself to bed.

Now of course Kevin Spacey doesn't need to bust into my apartment and bolt me to my bed for a year to demonstrate the folly of SLOTH. I needn't be punished for enjoying a bit of downtime now and then - and if you can't chill out on a sunny Sunday, when can you?!

The gift that keeps on giving

I headed out yesterday morning to buy Jammin' Jems a birthday present. Feeling well chuffed that I was motivated so early, I stopped by Borders to get "Sundays At Tiffany's", the new book by James Patterson that has been getting rave reviews.



Then I called in to Aveda to get some hair product because at this point I hate my hair so much I just want to shave it off. This pomade is my last-ditch attempt to salvage a haircut that is driving me crazy (and now I think I'll last until my appointment with R-r-r-r-raoul next weekend).



By that time I was exhausted, and it was only 11am, so I paused for a few hours and watched the new Helen Hunt movie "Then She Found Me" at the cinema. Of course I cried. In retrospect it was Helen's own fault - she cried onscreen a number of times and I'm a sucker for that. Plus I love Bette Midler and would watch that woman in just about anything. But of course Colin Firth was just dreamy and had some truly beautiful lines in the film and said things to Helen that every woman wants to hear at least once in her life. If someone says those lines to me one day I will be a happy girl. So yeah, it was a good Kleenex day.

So the lights came up in the cinema, I was emotionally spent, but ready to face the shops and get the birthday present. And so once more into the fray.

"Victoria's Secret" yielded a body lotion and fragrance I had been meaning to buy. I think there is something conceited about a scent called "Very Sexy Hot" but hey, it suited my skin and was an inexpensive summery smell, so I think I can deal with it.



The clothing store saw me load up on a summery dress, a couple of tops, and some spring jackets for work and by then I couldn't carry much else. It was fortuitous I guess that PL called up and offered to buy me a Turkish coffee at the store nearby.

Coffee turned into a burrito and a margarita, which turned into a quick shower & change to head out to a wine tasting and then onto "Rise" for sushi and more Aussie white wine. That turned into red wine at "Coobah" and then more red wine at "Eno" downtown. Somehow we switched to white wine at "NoMi" and then I had to lie down and sleep for a very long time.

And so Jammin' Jems, you'll have to forgive me but I have not bought your birthday present yet. By contrast, I did very well out of this weekend hehe.

It just slipped out, I swear

When I was living back at home, I house sat for a former boss of mine when he and his wife went on holiday. Fortunately I only had to look after myself and the house, as his dogs (who I suspect he loved more than the house) were on their own holiday with Grandma & Grandpa.

Taking me on a tour of his house, showing the locations of lightswitches, and demonstrating the finer workings of the hot tub, we ended in the kitchen. He smiled wryly and told me how he'd taken the liberty of stocking the fridge with milk, eggs, and butter to get me started - and he'd also bought a few extra goodies for the freezer. He opened the freezer door rather theatrically and pulled out a single-serve lasagne. "Spinster Lasagne!" he declared, and chuckled to himself hysterically. I had to admit it was kinda funny.

Cooking for one has become my strong suit and I love being able to cook what I want, eat what I can, and freeze the rest. It's a routine and it works.

But tonight I knew the weather would be bad, I desperately wanted a night in, but I was craving steak and vegetables. So off I trudged in the high winds with the greyest of grey stormclouds rolling in overhead, and into the supermarket for a turbo shop.

Getting to the register, I chose my favourite 'checkout chick', who is actually a transvestite. I adore him because he is so friendly and charming and compliments me all the time. Looking at my meagre order, clearly identifying that I was cooking steak and veggies, he smiled at me conspiratorially and said, "ahh, is your baby at home then tonight?".

And I said, "yes".

No sooner was it out of my mouth than I realised what he'd said. And how I'd responded. I'd basically just invented a relationship. By then there was a queue behind me, and I knew everyone had heard, so I couldn't very well correct myself.

So there I was, rambling on about my plans for me and my home-alone baby (who I hope wasn't actually meant to be a baby, rather a grown up man), and dribbling a whole bunch of rubbish about what meal I was going to cook. Naturally the fact that I bought Ben & Jerry's icecream PLUS two boxes of muffin mix only further compounded my domestic bliss lie.

I know that in the scheme of things, this was a white lie, and doesn't count for much, but hey - I even surprised myself about how quickly I fell into this relationship fairyland.

Something tells me though that if my 'boyfriend' happened to see just how quickly I devoured my steak & veggies tonight, he probably wouldn't have been all that attracted...

Spring has recoiled

Contrary to Oswald's comment on my earlier post, I do not plan to write this blog in German, or any language other than English, though I appreciate his confidence in my multi-lingualism (hmm and my penchant for creating words perhaps....). But I digress.

I have a bad case of the irrites today and responsibility for this lies entirely with the weather. My apartment was really warm this morning, and in the absence of seeing any day forecast, I did this "should I, shouldn't I" thing with wearing my scarf and raincoat. I split the difference, and decided on the raincoat, but no scarf. Plus my office heats up to a million degrees these days, so I had a short-sleeve shirt on underneath.

So I get to work, shivering as I go, and the topic of conversation on everyone's lips is: SNOW.

What the?!

It would seem that some clever little meterologist had forecast snow today - and not just fluffy feathery stuff either - sheets of snowy rain would be added later in the day, just for good measure.

So on the way home today, I not only froze my a$$ off, but all the steady rain made me need to pee really bad. Anyone who says that the weather in Chicago doesn't play with your mind is kidding themselves. It certainly bested me today.

But I know where I've been...

It has been yet another long time between posts and I really don't have any excuse, save for a healthy dose of disinterest in being online these days. I am quite the creature of habit now. I log on, update my Scrabble games, check my email, and log off. Bo-oring.

And just when I get a crippling 'attack of the guilts' for not updating this blog site, I pour myself a Starbucks and try to stocktake the last few weeks of activities to at least give you some idea of how I'm filling my days. Alrighty, let's see here. [Note that this list will be in random order, because I have not been very good at remembering to bring my diary to work either so I'm relying on the old noodle - and that is never a good idea!.]

• Saw "Sweeney Todd" at the theatre with my good friend Miss Fitz;
• Visited the giant jumble sale that is IKEA - and loved it;
• Enjoyed amateur theater with my friend in her one-woman show;
• Brunched a bunch of times;
• Slowly worked my way through my Netflix queue of movies;
• Bellinis at Pops;
• Won a couple more games of Scrabble against RG (but not quite enough to redeem myself);
• Did tequila shots on a school night (and lived to regret it); and
• Made a list of summer time adventures I need to partake in, and at the very top is a kayak trip down the smelly Chicago River (they don't tell you it's smelly, I just know it is).

Work has been busy because I have a new boss, but as we settle in to each other's way of working, things will get easier. And not before time too - as the warm weather in Chicago brings festivals, outdoor dining, and all-round good times to be had.

With any luck, I'll also have some time to update this blog before I forget how to do it!

In the dating world, the truth is out there...

So I'm absolutely sick of spring. Oh sure, I love the weather, and the blossoms, and the ducklings and lambs and all that crap. But I do NOT love the fact that people, particularly big-business dating sites, associate spring time with humans falling in love.

Because what that association inevitably brings with it is an utter onslaught of dating site advertisements polluting my email system. And now the toxic gunk has infected my Facebook.

Every screen I open, some wide-eyed and nubile woman (who has probably never been single in her life) is asking me, "Who's looking for you today? Find him online!". Uh-huh.

I check my email and instead of the latest scam from Nigeria or the most up-to-date cure for erectile disfunction, I have a classically handsome (and definitely gay) fellow with his shirt open, practically begging me to instant message him now.

But the piece de resistance is clearly the ad for e-harmony, with a photo of David Duchovny gazing sexily into the camera, inviting me to jump in to the dating pool.

The deluded types over at E-Harmony seem to think that Fox Mulder himself is gagging for a date. I wonder what Tea Leoni (David's wife of the past billion years) thinks about this?

But hey, if I missed the memo and in fact he IS single (and free on Wednesday), I make a pretty good lamb roast...

...and they lived happily ever after

...
Originally uploaded by paul veraguth.

I am what you might call a 'freestyle dancer', and only if you're feeling generous. It's not that I am devoid of rhythm, it's just that I don't have a great deal of confidence in being able to stick to a routine, that I am better off just disappearing into a crowded dancefloor where my movements can be swallowed up.

And I really do admire those people for whom dancing is not just enjoyable, but is a profession - a way of life. I guess I'm like that with anyone who makes a living doing something that I simply could not, or maybe would not.

I took myself off to a matinee performance of "Sleeping Beauty" at Chicago's Lyric Opera House. I expected the theatre to be full of grannies but instead, the place was packed to the rafters with wannabe ballerinas; little girls of 8-10 years of age, wearing home-made tutus, white stockings and little patent leather shoes. They were all, in a word, adorable.

Before the show, the excitement of the little girls was palpable. And when the live orchestra broke into Tchaikovsky's beautiful score, they hushed and then gasped when the curtain rose to reveal stunning costumes and a group of principal dancers in tutus every colour of the rainbow.

Of course the older kids amongst us were marvelling at the athleticism of the dancers. Even the man in front of me, so obviously dragged along by his near-hysterial wife, was ooh-ing and aah-ing when the jumps were particularly high, or the ballerinas remained 'en pointe' for longer than you expected humanly possible.

And given that the story of "Sleeping Beauty" is so well-known, it's easier to sit back and enjoy the spectacle, because you're not required to learn the plot at the same time.

Towards the end of the second act, when the prince had woken Sleeping Beauty, and the kingdom was celebrating, I got a bit bored. The prince and his future bride had a bit of a dance-off, and then the King of the Fairies and the Queen of the Fairies joined the troupe, and I thought that whole bit went for too long. But I was just a bit impatient for the happy ending that I knew was coming.

Sure enough when the guy FINALLY got the girl, the place erupted and little wannabe ballerinas around the room leapt to their feet and applauded. It was all very cute.

Sometimes if I got to something like this, where I'm ignorant about the artform, I can feel like an intruder. But I was vindicated on my way down the stairs today when a father scooped up his little ballerina and said, "you know what sweetie? I liked it best when the guy lifted the girl up in the air and he caught her right before she hit the floor". And the little girl shook her head sadly at the poor ignoramus of her father and said, "well yes Daddy, that's obviously what he's SUPPOSED to do!".

The straight flush...of capitalism

So I am worn out. I have shopped until I dropped. And as I am such a big baby, it only took two stores to tire me.

I dislike those loud, twenty-something chain stores that pipe irritating music through obnoxiously large speakers in an effort to make patrons feel hip enough to be shopping in there. And I really dislike those stores that have more shop assistants than customers, and every one of those shop assistants absolutely have to put something away right where I am standing at the particular time.

And despite my hefty dislike for both of these things, you're getting an accurate picture of the two stores I patronised tonight.

So my go-to strategy was to try on a shirt, assess the size I needed, and then proceed to grab armloads of the same style shirt in different colours and then get the hell out of there. Fast.

Needless to say I have to take half of the crap back. So the warm flush of capitalism may well be overcoming me, or it could well be the Italian red wine I am quaffing in an attempt to recover.

Yep, it's the wine.

The Four Seasons in one day

Jersey Boys Plays In Chicago
Originally uploaded by Somewhat Frank.

A couple of days ago, my good friend Fitz called up to say she had a spare ticket to "Jersey Boys", the show-stopping Chicago spectacular, and she asked whether I would like to go with her. Or that's what I imagine she would have said, had I allowed her to finish that sentence.

I had been wanting to see the show since before it opened but demand for tickets surely has matched (if not exceeded) "Wicked" and so you have to get tickets well in advance if you want a decent seat - particularly on a weekend. As it was, Fitz had bought these tickets late last year. Had that been me, I probably would have forgotten that I owned them - until after the show had passed!

But Fitz was on the ball, and she invited me along to join her and two friends who live in her building. She kept blathering on about 'bad seats' and 'way in the back' and whatever but hey, I've got little legs and a big imagination - so I knew I'd love it.

I started buzzing with real excitement on Friday morning and I emailed Fitz to that effect. We agreed that we would meet for dinner at "Vivere", part of the gorgeous and historic Italian Village on West Monroe in the theater district.

So I was buzzing about a show I hadn't seen, and now I was doubly excited to go to a restaurant I'd never been to before. I will not keep you in suspense - the waiter was hot, the food was divine, the wine was even better, and the espresso was Illy. Enough said, don't you think?

Bellies full, we wandered down the street to the LaSalle Bank Theater, and took our seats (which turned out to be 'limited view' but I was okay with that). I was blown away by the production. No one sings like that anymore, do they? Or at least no one writes songs like that anymore. I was brought up in a home where bands like the Four Seasons leapt from Dad's vinyl collection and later, CD collection, and busted out of the speakers. So when 'Frankie' sang "My Eyes Adored You" on the stage tonight, I just loved it - it took me right back. And so what if I was showing my age.

I've blogged on here before that Chicago is a 'standing ovation' kinda town, and that used to throw me a little. But tonight I think I was one of the first people on my feet, whooping and carrying on like a porkchop to show my appreciation for the talent up on that stage.

George & Brad were hands-down the best dressed cast in the Ocean's movies - but from where I was sitting tonight, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons take the cake for the best dressed theater cast in town. Those boys wore those suits, let me tell you.

After the show, I felt like I should have a cocktail, or smoke a cigar, or something - I was right in the zone. But instead, I took a cab home with a driver who wanted to take me to a 24-hour diner and buy me meatloaf.

Sigh.

Sinning never looked so good

Hairdresser Scissors
Originally uploaded by © Lars Fotografie.

I cheated on my hairdresser today.

I'm not proud of it. I know it's wrong, but I had to do it. I love my hairdresser but she moved to a new salon that is staffed by incompetents (not her of course). I made repeated calls to her new establishment and the receptionist disconnected me once, and couldn't hear me the second time. To avoid the receptionist altogether, I tried to make an online appointment but found that my hairdresser had not yet been added to their online list of stylists. To borrow from salon vocab, I was 'foiled' at every turn!

But my hair is like a bowl of fruit. It looks great for a while but then overnight, it turns - and you can't do a thing with it. This was the position I found myself in this week. So to resist having a Britney-style meltdown and shaving my head, I had to find another stylist to take care of me.

And today I met Raoul.

I fell for him immediately. He is, in every sense of the word, fabulous.

Raoul assured me that I had never TRULY had a haircut until I'd been styled by a Latino. I had no idea what that meant, and admittedly I still don't, but the man had me hooked. I think it's because he told me I look 25. That usually does it for me.

Anyway Raoul told me all about his childhood in Mexico and his early years as a stylist in LA, and how the last 10 years in Chicago have been the best in his life. Conversation flowed as he wrapped colour around my hair, neatly packed it all in foil parcels, and left me to cook.

A little snip here, and a little pomade there, and voila - I was done. And I'm seriously happy with the end result. Raoul gave me the modern, chic and purposely non-European haircut that he'd promised. And best of all, my VISA card is not crying.

And I've made plans to cheat with Raoul again in about 5 weeks time. As I left the salon, I got a hug, two cheek kisses, and a "you're fabulous", which was just lovely. Sometimes it's all a girl needs to hear to make her sunny Saturday complete.

Well it's cheaper than crack, I guess

Throwing Tiles
Originally uploaded by powerbooktrance.

I can remember when I was at high school and Tetris was all the rage (ugh I'm showing my age here, I know).

Anyway the point is that I became so addicted to playing Tetris on the computer that whenever I'd close my eyes, I could see little rotating block shapes, all desperate to seamlessly fit together as they rapidly descended.

There was nothing I could do to get the blocks out of my head.

And so it is with my latest addiction - Scrabulous on Facebook. Fortunately I'm a multi-tasker, or I would never get anything else done!

As with Tetris, I'm not even particularly good at Scrabulous and yet I can't stop playing it.

And like all addictions, you feel so much better for finding someone who is just as drawn to playing it, as I did today. And so me and my 'Fabulous Scrabulous' chum have been playing game after game - reassuring one another that there really isn't anything wrong with our latest obsession.

Nothing wrong, but maybe something geeky?!

A tin can full of crazy sardines

sweet dreams
Originally uploaded by unfocused mike.

If I was so inclined, I bet I could devote every posting on this blog to stories from my daily public transport commute.

In the mornings, most of us are pre-caffeinated which says it all. And in the afternoons, we're all so world-weary that we all seem to have our ipods in, but I bet none of us could list the last 3 songs we heard.

Tonight I watched as a young guy, eyes closed, nodded in that half-sleep common amongst public transporters, as he leaned this way...and then that way...and then forwards, all the while threatening to topple over onto his adjacement passenger (who pretended not to notice, though I am sure she did).

And then there's German Lady, who has been my public transport nemesis for nearly three years. Only ever on my afternoon commute, she always pushes in front of me in the bus line, even though we both know I got there before her.

German Lady usually sits across the aisle from Crazy Hair Lady who is a) deaf as a post, and b) always sick - so you can imagine the delight my bus takes in listening to their banal chatting and constant sniffing the whole way home.

Let's not forget Young Gay Man With The Italian Handbag who (again) pushes in front of me, though this time to get off my morning bus. He is therefore ahead of me in line for a coffee. I can't decide whether to trip him, or offer him my sympathies for the way his coffee deprivation makes him such a jerk.

And of course, last but never least, is the swarm of accountants that floods my afternoon bus ride. They all seem to carry about 4 heavy bags each, and one of those bags is usually a company-issued backpack that I really hope they are obliged to tote (otherwise, why would you?).

Despite all our differences, I'm sure that if I canvassed the opinions of my fellow commuters - morning or night - we'd be united in our common frustration with bus drivers.

They jam 500 of us into a bus that is (I'm sure) only designed to carry a fraction of that amount, and then they ride their brake and accelerator all the way into the city. Except, that is, on the strech of Lakeshore Drive when the traffic lets up and they can careen at break-neck speed until they have to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting anything - or anyone.

And so we grip on for all that we can, slipping and sliding in unison, crashing into seated or standing passengers, making polite apologies and collectively rolling our eye-balls in the direction of the lovechild of Sandra Bullock & Evil Kanevil in whose very hands we have commended our lives.

But don't misunderstand me.

I'm not complaining about any of these things; quite to the contrary in fact. The only thing I really dislike about public transport in Chicago is waiting in the rain - and that's not really something that anyone can help....but until they can, I'll blame The Young Gay Man With The Italian Handbag. Just for fun.