Motivation Station

The couple upstairs

Tampering with mail that is not yours is a federal crime.

You knew that though.

But somehow you couldn’t help but wonder about the insurance statement that wandered into your mailbox a few weeks back.

You didn’t notice at first, that it wasn’t yours. The envelope looked like most every other statement that made it to you, but this one wasn’t addressed to you.

You’re not friendly with the peace corps-marathon-runner it belongs to. If you were a different sort of person (read: not lazy) you’d simply walk the piece of mail up one flight where it rightfully belongs. And you mean to, really. But a week goes by and still it sits. You think of tossing it—don’t most people toss those insurance updates?—but think the better of it. For one brief moment you consider opening it but thankfully, the conscience wins out on that one. Finally one morning full of determination, you grab it on your way out the door and place it in front of her door.

Case closed. You think.

Flash forward a few days, a windy and Indian summer day at dusk. You hurry across the street and almost knock over your other neighbor—the husband of the peace corps-marathon-runner. You ask him if he was playing Willie Nelson that morning (he was) and tell him how much you enjoyed it. You mention meeting a new person in the laundry room. He says it’s his roommate, “a peach of a guy” is how he puts it.

“S. moved out. We’re getting a divorce,” he says flatly.

“Nothing bad happened. We still love each other,” he continues. “She just doesn’t want to be married anymore.”

He talks a little more, you see the pain in his face. You wonder what’s really going on in her head. It’s none of your business though.

Suddenly your mind goes all “Days of Our Lives” on you.

The insurance statement!

What if it revealed she secretly had an incurable disease and was just trying to spare him? What if she had an STD and was too ashamed to come clean of her infidelity? What if she was pregnant with a love child? 

Don’t you wish you had looked?

The future's not ours to see

I'm blogging to you from my couch on a Saturday. It's 10:45, I've been up for about a half hour and I am trying to work up the motivation to visit the postal store and get my 45 minutes of cardio in. For now, I am drinking coffee and watching the second episode of Friday Night Lights.

I had another date with Younger last night. Did I mention he has a car? We went to a cute little Turkish restaurant and I ordered (accidentally?) the biggest thing on the menu. Anyway, it was another nice date and I know that I've stumbled onto someone who is ready (wanting?) a relationship. Isn't that what I always want, especially at this phase of my life? I am trying to figure out if I am holding back because I'm not that into it or because I've never been in this situation before? I usually just fall ridiculously fast and then think later. And where has that gotten me, I ask? The other reason, I guess, is that I'm not over what happened this summer. I may never be over what happened this summer.

ANYWAY.

I'm waiting to post pictures from the hikes we took last weekend. We went to Wisconsin and it was awesome and so great to get away.

I am working at the restaurant this afternoon. It will be my first shift in 10 days--can I just say I am loving the leeway they are giving me here? I should have gone back ages ago!

OH- and the reason for the postal store visit? I have to return some shoes to Zappos. I have been on a sort of mission as of late to find new, comfortable, stylish, don't-irritate-the-plantar-fascitis boots. I'll keep you posted.

C'est la vie.

The scoundrel and the younger man

So I watched Game 1 of the World Series last night with a Yankees fan. I know—what on earth was a National League devotee such as myself doing with a Yankees fan?

And how great was Cliff Lee? The game conditions looked miserable. I love baseball but man, sitting in the cold and windy rain is not something I’m up for these days. I feel like I paid my dues on that one during my sportswriter days, roaming around sidelines during football season. No thank you.

So, the Yankees fan.

Let’s start with his age. He’s 32, not a huge gap or that big of deal, but it is interesting. I have never gone out with anyone younger, mainly because I associate older with wiser—even though I KNOW that’s not the case. It’s also weird because my last two relationships have been with people in their 40s and I am fixating on that for some reason.

I’m not sure if I am particularly excited about this new person or simply happy that someone’s paying attention to me who doesn't totally repulse me (ahem, I’m talking to you, previous post.) This dating and moonlighting has completely turned my world around for the better. I don’t want to give those things too much credit, but I was craving change so deeply that I am just so grateful to feeling better again.  

“Younger” doesn’t act it either. For our first date, he called to ask me out, followed up by giving me a choice of three different restaurants and then made a reservation at the one I picked. Is it sad that this is not how most dates go in 2009?

I’m grateful to him because he’s kind of the perfect guy to be going out with right now. Interesting but not demanding. Attractive but not so much that I lose all focus. Best of all? His baggage is minimal.

Spinning my wheels

I’m not in the mood to dig up Emily Post or whatever etiquette guide I’d need to consult on the subject of splitting checks on dates. I do know that in terms of group situations, it’s considered polite and it’s definitely easier and unless you are the cheapiest of cheaps, things usually even out. (unless someone doesn’t drink, then that part is excused.)

ANYWAY.

The point of this post isn’t really about that, but I wanted a little framework to explain my mentality on dates.

I had the movie date last night with someone I knew I was not attracted to. However, I went on the date anyway because a- what do I know? Everyone deserves a second date. b- it was too late to cancel and c-I need to actually put myself out there instead of writing about my desire to put myself back out there. (see previous weeks of entries.)

Backstory on this guy, The Professor, is that he was an old 41. We went to dinner last week and he paid and I enjoyed talking to him, he was very interesting, but I felt torn. But from his perspective, I am sure it looked like I had a good time. (It was a two-hour-dinner, with both of us sharing the storytelling.) I felt comfortable enough with him to joke about hoping the closed-circuit video at the restaurant had captured his face in case I turned up missing the next day--he drove me home.

Over that dinner, we discussed our mutual interest in seeing “A Serious Man” the following week. I’d said, sure, and offered next Wednesday (last night.) However, the next day, I had an e-mail from him wanting to know if he could see me that Friday. I could tell from this behavior that he liked me, but I already had plans and said no, Wednesday was the day that worked for me. 

We decide to meet at the movies since I had a doctor’s appointment prior and I arrived first. I went ahead and paid for the tickets since he’d gotten the previous dinner. Also because I was trying to set the tone that this was a friend’s thing. (Does that even make sense?) The movie theatre had published the wrong time earlier in the week so we ended up having over an hour to kill before the movie and decided to get dinner. 

More background: I’m poor—did you guys know that? OF COURSE you know that. I don’t do dinner out that often anymore and my waistline is the only one who is happy about that. However, I also don’t date people for free dinners. For real. Therefore, I try to operate under the philosophy of only ordering what I can afford. In this case, two appetizers and a water. He got an appetizer, an entrée and a beer. The check arrives and he makes no move and so I start getting out my money. I am fine with this. However, the communication is terrible and we split the check. Fine except that my $10 meal now costs $25. Am I right to be annoyed about this? Was I overthinking all of the “trying to set the friend tone stuff”?

 We go to the movie and it was really wonderful. I so appreciate the love of filmmaking the Coen brothers have. I did feel slightly uncomfortable in the fact that my date had the shared arm rest and kept lingering near my arm…

The date ended with him driving me home and me dreading the final moments. When we got to my apartment, I quickly hopped out and said, “It was good seeing you. Have a good night.”

I feel guilty because it was so obvious I didn’t want anything physical to happen but I didn’t know what to do!

This morning, I had a “Take care, you’re a nice person but I’m not feeling it yada yada yada” e-mail.

Yes, I got what I wanted. But I feel like crap.

Fear of flying

Maybe you’ve tried online dating. Maybe you’ve even met someone cool that way. I’m no hater of the medium, but I am here to tell you that the movement has gone way past its prime. It’s kinda like all of the old people joining Facebook. What started out as something cool and fun for the youngsters is now definitely “so last year” for the cool kids. 

And I get it, I do. Why pay for an online matchmaker when craigslist and okcupid and all the other things out there are free? I’m not really looking for a soul mate anyway, not sure if I believe things like that exist, and so this is just an additional weapon in the artillery. 

I am here to tell you that the most action I’ve gotten lately though—and by action I mean, actual-conversation—has been with people whom I-connected-with-in-the-flesh, then e-mailed, texted, called….

Last week, just for kicks, I let one of my friends do some trolling around for me. I even let her wink at someone, who of course e-mailed me back to say things like “Their is so much to do in the city” and “What R U doing?”

Then, for kicks, I just randomly e-mailed something like 10 people on Sunday. And of the few return e-mails I got, one asked if I was interested in “getting together” that night. And he did not mean to watch the Bears game!

Ick.

But the real reason I think OD is over is that people are no longer intrigued by the unknown quantity of it all. Maybe if I were a supermodel (but only a fake one in my photos) I would be more appealing this way, who knows? It's worth sharing that my heart wasn't that into creating a compelling photo of myself and one of my male admirers took a look at my photos and said I was selling myself short. I guess I don't care and it's evident? 

Speaking of football and ohmygod, how have I not mentioned the baseball playoffs—so fun.

LOVED having the Dodgers go from tying the series to being down 3-1.

LOVED watching the Yankees make a stupid pitching move and then losing in extras to the reborn Angels.

LOVED Cliff Lee shutting the lights out on the Bums, 11-0.

While I would prefer a Angels-Phillies series, I am OK with the center-of-the-universe Yankees hosting it in their new digs. Besides, for once the boys in pinstripes really are the best team out there. And A-Rod is actually playing well. Oh my.

But please no Dodgers. That would just kill me.

More dating: It’s now just one professor, one salesman and a new guy we’re calling tech support. No moves or hand-holding going on, but there is a movie with the professor tomorrow. I’m really looking forward to the movie.

Goin' to West Memphis to look for my joy

I can’t speak with authority on many things but I wanted to get it out there that I believe with every fiber of my being that the world can be divided into two kinds of people: Those who would do anything and sacrifice everything for love, and those who are too afraid to ever take that risk.

Some people start out as one and end up as the other.

Some people define sacrifice differently.

Some even go out of their way to fill the fear up with other things.

As someone firmly entrenched in the former, I can’t explain why this is or how long the fear will last for those who believe differently.

I only know that I am looking for someone who agrees with me, someone who can navigate our mutual baggage to at least match and wants it that way. Someone who has been out there and lived a pretty good life and who realizes that connection trumps sensibility every time.

I’m back out there now, mining through the dating fields. So far there’s been a professor, another professor, a software developer and a salesman. Only one has any proper potential, and even he can only be categorized as a friend right now. Another wants me simply because he shouldn’t. The other two? Let’s just say after one date apiece, I’ve already dodged some bullets there.

It isn’t that much fun, earnestly trying to move on with your life, yet realizing in the back of your mind you’re still hanging onto to the thread of possibility… 

What I did for lunch today

Took a shower! Thank goodness I have the gym nearby...

I went to bed at 10:30 last night and didn't get back out of bed until 8am. Good grief.

It's happening

I stayed up too late watching MNF last night and got to work about 10 minutes late. I plan to sleep and recover from a long, awesome family weekend tonight and do laundry.

My apartment has been transformed and so has the spirit of its inhabitant. So important to live in a place that feels new to me and with no memories. The couch is in a different place, the windows have curtains, the bed is on a frame. Someone else lives here now and she has yet to scratch the surface.

Tomorrow, I get to see The Diva and perhaps the long-lost HD.

Thursday I get to spin in the morning, work all day and then work all night. Money for furniture is in the works…

Yes, you read that last part right: I got a job!! After months and months of looking and getting my hopes up and being turned down by disingenuous suitors, I went back to my old lover. Soon I will be back in the know of all things wine and cheese. Come visit, I’d love to see you. And on the bright side, even though going back to a place that sometimes took advantage and made me miserable, I’m actually excited that I already know the drill and some of my favorite people still work there!

When I am functioning at my happiest, I am making plans and spending time with the people I love. Sometimes that love stretches to strangers. I’m looking forward to seating and greeting and flirting and anything to jump-start the new life. I’ve got online guys calling and old faces saying hi. It’s not a race. I’ll get there.

Still hurting

I’m finding myself teetering on the edge of obsessive behavior. On the one hand, I have not had any contact with him for two weeks and won’t allow myself to call him or e-mail or anything no matter how much I want to. So that’s good. I’m thinking about him but not acting on my thoughts.

But the thinking is with me everywhere. I’ll see a Red Sox story and want to call him. Or a funny story in The Onion. Or a song will come on my iPod that came from him and all of a sudden, I am just so…well, right back in that place that wants to go back in time.

That kind of nostalgia will get me nowhere but it doesn’t stop the thoughts from tumbling over me.

I don’t know why it’s happening so much lately. Maybe because we met in the fall? Realistically it’s kind of silly to dwell—for all practical purposes we have been apart for three months. That’s a quarter of a year. Life goes on as I imagine his is doing right now.

Contrary to what a previous blog entry may have indicated, I did not go “balls out” on the internet dating. I put a teeny, tiny toe into the waters. I suppose I should be enthusiastic about it but as most of you know, that sort of thing works better in theory. Or something like that. But hey, so far the men in Indiana are reaching out!

Shake your fist

I am having one of those days that should suck but surprisingly doesn’t.

The day got off to a particularly vexing start when I WOKE UP AT 3AM hungry. For one, I never wake up in the middle of the night hungry. Panic attacks, sweating, hungover, yes, but NOT hungry. To make it worse: I had a 10am physical scheduled and was not allowed any food until after that—meaning I wouldn’t be eating or drinking until lunch.

Talk about a bad start to your day.

Anyway, I got myself to work and threw myself into a few projects that I normally would have put off until the afternoon. That helped take my mind off food and what was a building headache.

A couple of notable things happened at the doc’s. You know the electronic health records everyone keeps praising—and deservedly so for the most part? Well, mine had me listed as weighing 250 lbs back in January 2006. I know I moan quite a bit about my weight in this space but I think I’d notice if I lost 80 lbs, ya know? To make matters more complicated this was my first physical in this office since 2006 since I briefly switched to an HMO provider for two years after…Anyway, my physician went from being impressed that I no longer weighed 250 to realizing that in fact I am 7 pounds heavier than I was in 2005. Did you follow that? So yeah, I went from being praised to encouraged to lose about 10 lbs. I totally agree with this—it’s just funny how those things go.

The worst part of the whole day though was the lab tech who, predictably, couldn’t find a vein to draw blood. Despite being a regular blood doner, I have tiny veins and this happens a lot, but I am almost always able to give my pint away.

Um, not so with this lab tech. She poked and prodded BOTH arms until finally digging her way to success in my left. Two hours later and my arm is killing me.

I also had a tetanus shot, which may or may not mean, no yoga for me tomorrow.

Still, despite these minor tragedies, I am smiling and listening to my new music.

I am stopping by a restaurant on the way home to put my hat in yet another ring. Will keep you posted. Oh and the suburban place wants to see me. On Monday. At 2pm. Yikes!

Low expectations

OK, so I am sorry to beat a dead horse here, but I am VERY motivated right now to get more cash in my life. I am further motivated to get my mind off not having Mr. C, and so I must once again bore anyone still reading this blog with my strategies and complaints and hopes for a part-time job. 

My expectations have been lowered so far that I am now reaching out to places I never thought I could reach—literally.

I realized today that there is a Metra stop very close to my house. I always figured that this particular Metra stop went to Aurora or someplace like that. But no, it actually goes to Northbrook. And right now there are actually PT jobs in Northbrook and since Metra is way more reliable than the CTA and runs on a schedule, I don’t think going 30 minutes out of my way for a weekend gig would hurt me too much. Especially since my new strategy is just to do this for a couple of months. Also, unlike the city where I am confined to host jobs 6 blocks or so from my office, with the ‘burbs I am only looking at server positions. Anyway, that’s the new plan. I just e-mailed a few places so we’ll see.

The other thing I’m thinking about doing is going balls-out on the internet dating thing. I’ve never really thrown my eggs in there 100 percent (please pardon the horrible clichés I can’t seem to help but use today) and it might be fun to meet new people this way. Plus, unlike most of the hot city girls I know, I am absolutely open to the suburban singles. Because when you’re desperate for admiration, you tend to have no problems with things like distance. You like? I'm totally reverse psychologizing myself!

Oh, whatever...I know I’m not making any sense, but hey, at least I’m blogging more!

Need to know where I stand

I am so different. I can’t put it into words but my insides are just…changed. Even my ipod feels foreign. I spent part of this morning researching a few bands “recommended to me” just to find a new sound to dive into and wipe away the memories of all the songs that moved me before. For now, I’ve landed on Mindy Smith and Mat Kearney but I’ve also rediscovered Rhett Miller and pretty much have to go see him when he comes here. I’m also considering just going in blind to some upcoming Double Door and Subterranean shows and if it isn’t too painful, maybe Son Volt next week. (Also, check out this girl. Too bad she isn’t touring because I like her stuff.) 

More minutiae: I closed one of my savings accounts today which means nothing except for the fact that I barely used it and yet somehow ended up paying about $30 in fees each year because of that fact. I also switched to a free debit card after realizing that I only racked up 2,500 United miles with the old one—and spent $25 for the useless privilege. Is this why I can’t find a moonlighting gig, I wonder—to teach me to be more careful with stuff like this? Speaking of, a cheesy meatlover’s paradise is supposedly checking my references as I type this. I won’t hold my breath but it could be the break I’m looking for…

And so you have my current state: A series of small-but-strangely-satisfying tasks designed solely to give me a sense of accomplishment each day. My allergies (or sinuses or what-have-you) have been dreadful lately. Killer headaches, dizziness, stuffiness, etc. weigh me down each morning. Still, I managed to walk home on Tuesday and Wednesday and on Thursday I went spinning for the first time in a month. It’s funny. I know exercise helps me—I can almost feel my spirits lift with each drop I sweat—but when your mind stubbornly insists on clinging to its depressive state, it can be so hard to get there.

I’m supposed to go hiking here tomorrow. And back to my old yoga class tomorrow. And Sunday night: B-R-U-C-E. I forgot to mention I saw U2 last week (Thanks, Jess) and they sent an acoustic message my way, urging me to snap out of it. I’m working on it, Bono. I’m working on it. The weather has been so beautiful here lately—yesterday I was walking downtown and I found myself smiling unprompted. I shall conquer this!

On second thought...

I'm no longer on Facebook. 

I wasn't really that into it anyway and I find the awkward position of having to ignore people simply because of their far-right opinions and TMI tendencies too much. Also, I have an e-mail address and am not afraid to use it so please contact me there if this news distresses you...

I understand there are ways to make the page more private but for now I'd rather just shut down.

Also: a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend left this for all to see:

I lost the baby fyi! We ok its sad but my rare blood type of course had a factor! 

I mean, W.T.F.?!? 

Anyway, I'm not saying it's forever. But for now: Sayanara!

To tweet or not?

So, my buddy Mark thinks it's imperative that I get on Twitter. Like, stat.

Does anyone have any thoughts on this?

I already have a Facebook page that I have checked, like, twice. I mean, I'm not one of the Blackberry-iPhone peeps. I barely even touch a computer outside of work...

My tongue still misbehaves and it keeps digging my own grave

It’s Friday and this blog has been so depressing as of late that I thought I’d try and shift things into a sillier place and talk about something different: my boobs.

See, I just got this new bra and I am telling you, I feel like a different person wearing it. I feel like the girls are finally in their proper place and it’s just this perfect blend of comfort-and-practical-yet-attractive that I might just need to go out and purchase three more, you know, just in case they stop making them or I accidentally leave one at the gym or (!) I finally have that one-night-stand I’ve been meaning to have for all these years and I accidentally lose it on the ceiling fan or something.

Don’t laugh—it could totally happen.

Jessie’s in town this weekend, with a new man we all get to meet, which means fun times and mini-reunion-type stuff. It also means that I get to eat a few meals out which by my guesstimation has occurred exactly one time in the last two weeks. Seriously, if you’d told me a year ago that my mother in Virginia would eat out more than I do, I’d have taken that bet to the bank…

Anyway, so I’ve been doing my second “Eat Down The Fridge” of the year, supplementing my goodies with veggies and whatever can of beans I can dig up in the pantry. Other than a friend making me dinner on Monday, I’ve been meatless at home and work for the last week. It’s kind of fun, imposing a challenge like this. On Wednesday I made a tempeh stir-fry for the first time and while it wasn’t the greatest, I did manage to squeeze two meals out of it and the second day it turned out much better. (not sure I let the flavors sink in before I pan-fried it originally.) I am thinking of next making tempeh tacos and on Sunday, I’m making a baked quinoa, spinach and gruyere casserole to take to work for the week. Nothing like starting off a new NFL season with new recipes! Speaking of which, Go Niners!

Tumbling dice

I cannot imagine how frustrating it must be to be truly unemployed. I mean, of course, I can imagine the horror of losing a paycheck. Also, I truly sympathize if you are looking for full-time work and please don't get mad at me for looking for a bit of moonlighting, but if it’s anything like what I’ve been going through trying to round up a crappy second job…

FIRST I had what was supposed to be my triumphant return to serving. After two rather extensive face-to-face interviews at a mid-level-at-best hotel restaurant, I was welcomed to the family as a weekend brunch server and told to expect a call confirming employment. Two days and nothing. Then: An e-mail asking me if I could come back in for another interview. It seems there was some hesitation over hiring someone solely for weekends. Nevermind that this place seems to always be hiring. Nevermind that I came with guaranteed availability for three months. Still, I go in to see what’s up. The manager apologies and says they’re still undecided and can I come back again? Seriously? After a month of interviewing? I think not. This was in mid-June.

So, feeling rather defeated—and not very optimistic about finding another serving job that did not require working until 3am or memorizing 200 pages of wine/food—I decide to go back to hosting. Back out go the resumes. Almost immediately I hear from an owner of a small 60-seat establishment in Uptown. On the SAME DAY that I get Mimi back from the brink of cat heaven, I take time out to interview. And the owner professes love over my experience and enthusiasm. Practically guarantees me the job. Sets up a time for me to “try out” and compliments me on wearing the “perfect hostess attire.” The day before I am to try out, he calls to say he needs to reschedule. I never hear back. This was in late July.

I go to Virginia for much-needed vacation. People visit Chicago. I also discover that I have no relationship to save. Now my schedule is completely clear and something has to give—right?

Next, I get a line on one of the fanciest places in town. The kind of place where the Obamas might have gone for a date back in the day…Anyway, it’s extremely intimidating and I somehow manage to sound competent enough to land a try-out. I’m so nervous I contemplate buying a new suit (yes, I’d have to wear a suit) but it’s a destination-type-place (meaning, I’d stay for years if I got in) and I was sort of looking forward to seeing if I had what it takes. Unfortunately I’d interviewed on the second day of interviews and the early try-outs were already filled. I was scheduled a week later. Well…you guessed it: They hired someone before I got my chance. Still, fancy place had a conscience and passed my resume onto a sister restaurant. I call the sister place and they are indeed, hiring. I make plans to visit one of the hiring managers the next day. Before I see him, I realize one of my mutual friends actually knows this chap from her consulting days. (Yes, it appears even the consultants are winding up in the biz.) I meet him, breeze through the interview and then…

Well, for 6 days nothing. Then today I get a call from his boss. Apparently she’d seen my resume when the fancy place sent it over. She also had no idea I’d interviewed with one of her underlings. She tells me she’ll get back to me later today. Which is where we are as I type this. 

And as I ask you: Does this remind you of dating or what? 

PS- I fully intend to eat at all of these establishments that f**ked with me once I get my own gig. Heaven help the person who seats me!

Drink up

The Diva sent me this. It simply must be shared.

Creative dives cease to exist these days but I hold fond memories of the ones I've seen in my day. In fact, I am certain that I visited this place 10 years ago under a different name. 

God, between Mad Men and stories like these, it sorta makes me want to drink and smoke myself to an early death. Maybe just a little. I mean, these people worshipped newspapers!

In an effort to STOP eating into oblivion

OK, so I have moved on from the chips and salt obsession that fueled me last week.

I bought a box of quinoa and have had vegetables 8 days in a row. Hurrah. (I also had movie popcorn and nachos at different points during the holiday weekend and lots of beer though so don't go getting too proud of me...)

Then I read this and I don't know whether or not I should start measuring out food this way or running away in horror. On the one hand, someone lost 30 pounds. On the other...carrot faces?

Anyone have an opinion here?

You can't make your heart feel something it won't

I have this strange, open weekend ahead. My to-do list is overflowing with ideas of things I want to take care of and I feel almost manic in my desire to get as much done as possible. I have one activity scheduled each day and really want to tackle some of the more mundane chores I have as a result of the move. You know, stuff like washing all the throw rugs and scrubbing all the corners. I also have a bookshelf that I’ve been dying to paint…

One of the reasons I struggled this summer in finding the perfect second job is that I was worried it might try to take over my life. I’m not good at letting people down and in the restaurant business it seems like there’s always extra work needed—even if you’ve been hired for a specific number of hours/shifts.

But I realized yesterday that having an outside project take over my life for a while might actually be the perfect thing for me. I am a natural extrovert—as most of you know—but for so long now I’ve been trapped in my own version of an introverted existence. It’s drained my energy somewhat, I think, and as it did in 2007 a restaurant job could go a long way in reviving my mojo.

This means I am now open to a lot more jobs than I was before and feel certain I can make something work.

In other news, how many of you are watching Mad Men? I was so excited for the return of the show, that I re-watched Season 2 in two 6-hour sessions. Then, after loving the first three episodes of this season, I started re-watching Season 1.  It’s such a layered show that re-visiting the earlier episodes is thrilling and you always pick up things you haven’t seen before. Also, the other day during a prolonged procrastination stint at work I visited this critic’s blog and basically read everything he’d ever written about the show. Glor-ious. And there really is a mystery about Peggy’s baby.

I think I’m excited for fall to get here. I’ve given up on having a “real” Chicago summer and now can’t wait to pull out the tights and skirts. I have a feeling that those are going to play a big role in pulling me out of this!

How Jen ate herself into oblivion

September 1. OK, starting today I am going to track my hormonal food cravings on this blog.

I am trapped in this unbelievable vortex right now where all I want is junk, junk, cheese, salt, pepperoni pizza and anything else that has salt on it.

Last night, I enhaled Wendy’s for dinner.

Today it was cheesy lobster dip for breakfast followed by a taste of blueberry cheesecake Danish (thanks work!) and the crème de la crème: chili cheese fritos.

Oh I tried to behave myself at lunch when I decided that a small frozen noodles dish (250 cals) could make up for all the calorie overloading earlier.

No dice.

That wimpy lunch only served to make me a Hulk at 3pm.

And to make matters worse, I just know I will blow off the gym tonight in favor of anything-but-sweating…

The continuing search for moonlighting

OK, so tomorrow (or Monday or Tuesday but no later than that) I get my big opportunity to show up and apply for a hosting gig in the flesh.

This restaurant is renowned for its service, super close to my office and—perhaps best of all—closed on Sundays.

I’ve applied to work there before but had to go through corporate ballyhoo and who knows if my resume even makes the cut. I’m hoping that by showing up in person I can talk my way into the door. Plus they can see firsthand that I’m not too old to do the job.

Egads—please let it stop raining. I need straight hair to pull this off!

Revelations

Sometimes the easiest thing in the world can be making new friends. Other times…nothing can be harder than just holding onto the ones you already have.

I met K. a few months ago during a volunteer project. She was slightly older than me, full of information (i.e. gossip) and always eager to share. A recent victim of corporate layoffs, she was full of energy and ideas. She was also a little bit lonely. Soon, she was e-mailing me regularly to let me know about upcoming concerts or restaurant openings and the like. I started feeling guilty about being too busy or broke or just too all-around self-absorbed to take part in most of them, and it wasn’t that I didn’t want to do things—I just didn’t have the energy for a new person in my life.

I think this happens a lot. I think we meet people all the time who have the potential to be great, wonderful, bosom friends and had we met these people earlier—before life got heavy and workdays left us exhausted—they might have stood a chance at claiming a piece of our loyalty. Let’s face it, sometimes it’s so much easier to be with the dogs “who knew you when” and don’t need to be filled in on all that history.

And sometimes life changes for some of those people who remember you when. And it may not be anything you did—or it may be precisely what you did or what you remember about them—that causes them to break off.

About two years ago I was friend-dumped by someone I’d known for more than a decade. Though our friendship had morphed into more of a casual-dinner-and-a-movie-catch-up over the years, we’d survived multiple moves (me), family dramas (her) and amazing life changes (her) until one day she stopped returning my phone calls and my e-mails to her were opened yet unreturned. Worried she might be ill or something, I called her husband who promised he’d have her call me. But days and weeks passed. Nothing. I had to face that whatever it was, she didn't want me in her life anymore. 

I guess life is full of situations we can never totally understand. I’ve been thinking about her a lot recently. There have been so many times in the last two years when I think I’ve spied someone who looks like her on the CTA, but when I’ve tried to make eye contact, I realize I don’t even know what color her hair is now. She may no longer even be in Chicago for that matter. I wonder what hurts more—that I lost a friend or got dumped—and that makes me feel even worse, that I possibly took someone for granted and can’t even register it.

Then I think about K., about how wonderful and nice she is—I mean hello- she has no idea what a whackjob she’s befriended—and I wonder what it is that feels so darn exhausting about getting to know someone else. I think about the people I know who aren’t extroverted and wonder what they go through when they want to meet new people. Sometimes it really is the “them” and not you and you just have to let it go.

Confessions of a teenage tv junkie

I had a lot of freedom during my teen years in terms of television watching. I also had my own TV—with cable—in my bedroom.

So naturally, I was the nerdiest 15-year-old ever and considered thirtysomething to be my favorite show.

I read parts of this essay out loud to friends on Sunday and thought it was great. Funny enough, Optimistic Diva sent it along this afternoon. I think this author nails this show and why some of us liked it. Though I wasn’t a newcomer to the U.S. like she was, adulthood and the spectrum of human emotions fascinated me as they did her. Still do. And like her, I had considerable experience in being around people my parents’ ages. But some people find that kind of raw emtion gratuitious (a kinder word than the “whiney” adjective that also comes up) and look for television as a way to escape for a while. Me, even though I know these writers are no more expert than myself, I keep hoping to learn something from the realism.

I leave you with this paragraph from Porochista Khakapour’s article:

“In this second-chance viewing as a thirtysomething, I am amazed and inspired by all the everything-in-between, all the nothing-happening, all the ambivalence and the stagnation. At times, the camera lingers too long on the expressions of a jilted Nancy or an overwhelmed Michael or a hopeless Hope, and those are the looks no one shows you in real life much anymore, much less on TV. It’s as if with its devotion to the faithful naturalism of everyday details and all the microcosms of absolute, roller-coaster intimacy, it is the real reality TV, every bit as boring and dazzling as the real “real life.”

BTW-I’ve had Aug. 25—thirtysomething’s long-awaited DVD release on my netflix radar for months. I also watched it repeatedly between 1994-96 when it aired on Lifetime. I actually met “Eliot” briefly and had one of those embarrassing encounters that makes you realize you really don’t want to meet the people you admire!

Good stuff

I don't care what you think about this topic or the people who inspired it, this is damn good writing! Caitlin Flanagan you've done it again!

It really packs a punch and I'm thinking she nailed Rielle Hunter.

From her article in the Sept. Atlantic:

Deep within Rielle—this little minx of pleasure and profit—guess what there is? A heart that aches like a woman’s but breaks just like a little girl’s. As Helen knew, and as every woman comes to know, the female heart is a stubborn organ that insists on asserting itself in all sorts of situations, chief among them the sexual. It is very hard to be a single woman of a certain age, to be in a sexual relationship with a man who enchants her, and not to dream a little dream of his turning away from everything else and making a home with her. I don’t imagine that Rielle’s decision to have her baby (whoever the father) came from a strongly pro-life position, or from a plan to jack some cash out of the ambulance chaser. It came, surely, from the powerful emotions that accompany all pregnancies, but especially those that occur in women who probably thought they would never get to have a baby, and who find out, at the 11th hour, that the dream might come true after all, and they might have a home and a child, and (please, God) a husband and father to go with that child. It was a decision that came, at least in part, from the eternal female bad idea, emanating from the eternal female fantasy about men: “A baby will fix this.” Babies never fix things between a man and a woman; they always and only complicate them.

Hands clean

One of my chief job requirements involves interviewing people in my industry. Many times this means doing phone interviews with people I have never met nor will I ever meet. Sadly, many of these articles are obituaries and I find myself following chains of friends around, trying to trace my way to the person who will open up the most about the subject—usually I just have a few hours to get it done. But this week, both of my big stories concerned happier topics and I’ve been blessed with enough times to treat them properly on the page. The first is about a famous researcher winning a prestigious award. The other is a sort of profile designed to get people to contribute to my company’s charitable arm.

In both cases, the interviewees took me all over the map with their stories and I can’t remember the last time I laughed out loud because of work.

The researcher—universally praised for his discoveries about the bones in the face—was most comfortable bending my ear about the new Melrose Place (yes I’m serious) or how some of the world’s (nay, our country) toughest problems could be greatly aided by improving the literacy. This made me wonder what the literacy rate of shows like Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck are. Could we find that out, I wonder?

The philanthropist—a spitfire who just turned 87—confessed to me that her first marriage was a mistake but that she held out until her doting father-in-law passed before demanding a divorce and starting her own weekly newspaper. She did this in the late 1940s. Can you imagine? Eventually she met the love of her life and it was “attraction at first sight” and the only time he ever disappointed her was when he died first. That last bit choked me up but then she raced on to something about the stamp program (I think she meant the stamps like they had in that one Brady Bunch episode.) She talked non-stop for 45 minutes and while I can’t use any of the above in my story (seriously, we’re a conservative pub) it was just great. The end result was that both interviews made me feel like I’m not doing nearly enough with my life and so I have vowed to dedicate the rest of 2009 to doing at least one selfless thing a week. I plan to pitch in at the soup kitchen next week if only to get warmed up and from there—who knows? In this respect, I am the only one holding myself back. I’m so uninspired with the thought of another silly night out complaining about my life (or anyone else’s for that matter) but all roads seem to wind up there sometimes—no matter how hard you try to change course. 

I'm also considering taking up tennis or swimming (or at least attempting one of these by December) and crossing my fingers the third-time's-the-charm in terms of moonlighting! The 60 percent rent increase goes into effect Sept. 1. YIKES. Oh and to update on that, I am staying put in the apartment and Spencer has found another place down the street. My own version of Melrose continues! (I kid!)

If you want to die in bed

This morning I was reading this bit on a 19^th century painter (Kandinsky) and suddenly the date 2066 popped into my head as in, 2066 being the vision I suddenly had for the year of my death, which when you think about it, means I would live to be 94. Pretty good, right? I mean, if it’s an Alistair Cooke 94 and not, you know, diapers.

But thinking about dying made me think about Sunday. There I was typing my previous blog entry when I had a different vision. This one took place inside of my brain. I imagined an aneurysm inside it, insidiously ticking away…which got me thinking about him and if I were to suddenly pass on, would he even know? Would I know if something happened to him?

I’m just incredibly mournful right now and while I am grateful for the distraction of friends, no one can help me get over this. I’m doing what I always to do cope and have a full weekend of stuff planned, including working out too hard, donating blood, catching up on movies…but what I really crave is some sort of sign/relief/proof that this is all for the best and that one day another love will come along and hold my hand and make me believe again.

Apparently, it happens every August

So it has come to this:
I was sweating my a** off at home and so I headed out to the local grocery store in exchange for free wifi and some shopping (following the free wifi.)

I haven’t written on this thing in a few weeks—even though I’ve probably blogged more in my head than I’ve actually written in years, what with my life falling apart and all—and I figured I’d use this opportunity to get out all the crap knocking around in my brain. I kid. I am doing fine even though I really miss my Mr. C...

But onto the complaint at hand: I’m finding myself trapped in the most basic of the blue-collar paradoxes. I really, really hate my apartment but I really, really, can’t afford to move. On the one hand, I can hack it out in the sweltering inferno (a lack of windows makes it warmer inside than out) for another year and probably be no worse for the wear. On the other, I can probably handle an 80 percent rent increase if it means moving on to newer and classier quarters. I could just, you know, eat pasta 5 nights a week and drop cable. (Shudder to think.) At least I’d be able to take a bath and stuff my fridge! Or blow-dry my hair in bathroom…

I think we all just reach an age where we want things the way we want things and it may not always come across very nice. I also think that I am very cranky right now for many reasons and the heat just adds to all that and makes you crazy. It’s raining now, pouring actually, and maybe that will bring a cooldown…

Funny mistaken identity story: So, I’m dozing the other night in the middle of watching a movie with DC Amber (she came to visit this past weekend and we were busy chillaxing in an ice-cold hotel room that I would currently give my right arm for but I digress) when I hear my cellphone going off on the bedside table next to me. I don’t have much time to check out the number calling but I answer it anyway. In piecing it together with A—who said I sounded “clearly asleep”—it went something like this:
Me: “Hello?”
Him: “Jen? It’s so-and-so…”
Me: “Huh? Who? Whaaa?…”
Him: “It’s so-and-so…”
Me: “Who…(then it dawns on me who so-and-so is…) Oh wait, HI…”

Line goes dead.

Feeling bad that I didn’t recognize him right away, I try to return the call only to go straight to voicemail. TWICE.
Now that I’m awake, it dawns on me that I am probably not the Jen he wants to talk to. I mean, I haven’t talked to this guy in more than two years and we only had one official date and neither one of us was ever really into it so it's very likely he misdialed. I am more annoyed that a 44-year-old guy can’t pick up the phone to say “My bad” when he accidentally calls the wrong Jen!

What is with people?!?

Am headed back to work for the first time since Aug. 6. I am the tannest I've been in 3 years which doesn't mean much but is something. I have no personal plans going on for the next two months and am actually OK with that. I'm considering going back to the old restaurant because I'm ready to give up on any new places hiring an old chick and besides, the old place is under new management...Someday I won't stress so much about my crappy fridge and will focus more on the fact that at least I have my health and a good family and friends and potentially exciting new hobbies. That day isn't today but it's out there...

Tuesday night payback

Things I ate this morning before I left the house:

2 pieces of bacon

1 scrambled egg

1 waffle (but hey, it was multi-grain)

All washed down with a Coke(!)

Things I ate upon arriving at office at, ahem, 9:15:

coffee

1 glazed donut

too many chocolate-covered almonds (but hey, it was dark chocolate)

2 crackers (but hey, they were multi-grain)

apple (but only because I just had a conversation with myself and said I couldn’t have lunch unless I ate some of the fruit sitting at my desk. Yes, I am surrounded by fruit yet buying donuts…And yes, this all happened before 11am and I am still hungry!)

This is why I have to not go out on weeknights. Also probably not a good idea to mix a hangover with PMS! Also, how much more buzzword can multi-grain get? Pretty soon, candy bars are going to start bragging that they use whole grain fibers and what not...Toothpaste Now Multi-Grain Mint! 

Troubling times for renters

With my own living situation* up in the air, I am thanking my stars I am at least not suffering the way some Chicago renters are.

One of my friends just found out her landlord is bankrupt.

Another is beginning to suspect he was suckered into a deal where the developer has given up. Luckily, this is becoming more common in the city and the Sun-Times gave some advice here.

Anyway, I guess the only think I can do is do my homework and always know I can consult Illinois tenant laws...

*My situation is not dire, but S and I were hoping to break off as roommates yet remain in the same building. However, my new move-in date has been Aug. 1, Sept. 1 and Oct. 1. As of now, nothing is confirmed.

Not your ordinary weekend

Where to begin?

The Michigan boys (B & M) were in town for the first time in two years. I’d seen them last summer on their turf but it had been far too long since we’d all been together in Chicago. Twenty-four hours later and I still can’t believe all that we packed in over the Saturday-Sunday stretch…(yes, I bailed on them Friday to get to bed early and rest up!)

Therefore, My Weekend in Timeline:

7am: Wake-up, eat first breakfast. Take bike on practice commute to gym. Partake in agonizing morning yoga where the sun salutations made you whimper. Manage not to get killed navigating city traffic which is surprisingly heavy for this early on a weekend.

10:30am- By now am a veteran city biker and go to meet M, B and Jill (!) at Yolk. After a short wait we sit down to non-stop chatter and eggs. J puts a smile on our faces that lasts throughout the day…

1pm: Drop my stuff off (and bike) at the hotel. I also use the initial 15 minutes before M B get back to indulge in a bubble bath!

3pm- Somehow we end up at the RL in search of more food. This is where I start running into person after person I know. We had a short wait for a table and so we went to the bar. The bartender comes over to ask if we want anything and says to me, “Welcome back, I haven’t seen you in so long!” I’m briefly confused—no one believes that I haven’t been here in 4 years and only one time ever—until I realize that he’s also the bartender at the Westin. Ahhh…still, I look like quite the socialite because not one hour earlier we’d run into an old restaurant manager who is now the manager at Bin. Crazy, huh? Speaking of which…

6:30pm- Pre-dinner cocktails…vodka/soda/splash cran is the drink of the night. Somehow despite never drinking together, B and I are on the same wavelength there!

7:30pm- Dinner at the Italian spot under hotel. Again, the fake rock star persona comes over me when the manager sends a round of prosecco our way. The three of us share salad, risotto and pizza and the restaurant sends us dessert. Ridiculously stuffed we head to Lakeview.

9:30pm: I split off to ring in #33 with Deanne. The boys head off to Market Days. Miss D. looks divine and serves a couple of mean cocktails. I also catch up with people I haven’t seen in a few months. A text from J alerts to a kiddie accident that involves a broken finger (need to get more on that.)

11:30pm: Attempt to meet-up at one of the Halsted bars but the lines are crazy and M & B are over it. We head back down to the Sax and one final cocktail. We are also serenaded by a 24-year-old jazz singer celebrating her birthday. Here one of the old vices surfaced but really, I was very well behaved.

1:30am: Exhausted and loving it.

9am Sunday: We begin to stir, two of us having blown off church. We take our time getting ready for Brunch No. 2 with M. Flo and Spencer.

11:30am: Our table at Bistro 110 is front and center with the musicians and is oh-so-fun –and-filling. Definitely a once-a-year-kinda-brunch but delish. We pack up the leftovers and find one grateful taker and another sleeping person who hopefully woke up hungry!

2pm: Everyone says goodbye. I leave on a 10-mile journey to get my bike completed. This was my first Lakeshore experience via bike. I’d been a longtime rollerblader but man was biking it crazy. And on a Sunday! I was actually more scared of stray children and volleyballs than I was of traffic! I survive.

4pm: Bike is done and gleaming. Bike guy helps me plan the best route from Rogers Park back home and what a route it was. I basically rode a 7-mile stretch of Damen, surviving 6-corner intersections and street fests and just marveling along the way. In 24 hours I have fallen in love.

7pm: Exhausted but it’s too early to sleep. End up crashing Heather and Brett’s dinner plans and eat one of these. Wow.

All in all, a wonderful weekend. Who’s next to visit?