To grocery shop or not to grocery shop?

Granted, I'm not one of those people that maintains a refrigerator stocked full of fresh vegetables and healthy snacks, but GEEZ!

A quick check of my 'frig last night revealed that everything in there (aside from a door full of condiments) is either chocolate or wine. If it matters, it's really good chocolate (Milka brand from Europe) and pretty good wine, too.

Guess I should feel bad about that, but I really don't.

Countdown to vacation: eight days!

A sunny Sunday

They might have been part of the congregation from the mass that just let out. The two of them, a couple, shuffled toward me with the peculiar gait that often marks a mental deficiency.

A huge smile split her cocoa-colored face as she walked hand-in-hand with him, her lips unable to conceal the misshapen mouth and bucked teeth. Through thick and wide glasses she looked not up, but across at her pudgy friend.

His hair a greasy mess across his pimpled forehead, he pulled at his wrinkled and baggy jeans as they stopped for just a moment.

They kissed.

And continued on their way.

God didn't give them physical beauty, but He gave them happiness.

And I couldn't help but be a little jealous.

Countdown to Opening Day 2008

People that know me, even the casual acquaintances that I see during my workday, know that I'm a Cub fan. To some of them, I'm sure that's my sole identifying characteristic.

"There goes that lady that's a big Cub fan" as if I walk around with a big red 'C' on my forehead.

But lately, with my team exiting the post-season with nothing but a whimper, I've been the recipient of many concerned looks.

"Are you okay?"

People, please! It's not like someone ran over my dog. As a longtime Cub fan, I've learned to temper any raging enthusiasm, any urge of "we're gonna win it all!" with memories of past disappointments. I've learned that Cub fans have thick skins. At least they should.

The cashier at my lunchtime spot gave me that mournful look of sympathy and it triggered a thought.

The Cubs last participated in the World Series in 1945, but since 1984, the Cubs have played in the post-season five times. FIVE TIMES!! Okay, they haven't won "the whole thing" in my lifetime (yet), but I've felt that rush of seeing the red-white-and-blue bunting hanging from the brick walls of Wrigley.

It seems that many so-called baseball fans are defining success in very black-and-white terms. Hey! Only one team wins the World Series. One! Does that mean that the other 29 teams in baseball are utter failures?!?!

Winning a pennant doesn't mean anything? How about taking home a division title? Or going from last place to first place in one year? Can you honestly say those aren't terrific accomplishments?

It's not all-or-nothing for me.

Would you tell your child that if they don't collect straight As on their report card that they must be stupid?

I think not!

Opening Day for the Cubs is March 31, 2008.

Save me a seat.

My boys

C'mon! You can't tell me these don't look like fun guys!

It's too bad I have to say goodbye to them...at least until next March!


Kerry Wood and Ryan Dempster having fun in the bullpen.

Dempster, ever the ringmaster, introducing the singing rookies in costume in Cincinnati.

I'm thinking Jacque Jones had a rough night following the Cubs' division clinching in Cincy.

We wouldn't have gotten this far without the LSU Connection (alias Ryan Theriot and Mike Fontenot).

And then there's speed demons like Felix Pie that keep things interesting!

Things to love...and not..about Great American Ballpark

-NEVER!!! NEVER!!!!! NEVER!!!!! NEVER!!!! NEVER!!!!! NEVER!!!! NEVER!!! EVER!


Cub fans know who's face is missing from this historic Reds interactive sign. Do you??

-The five-tool-player. Every general manager's dream.

-Nothing like the Ohio River as a backdrop, huh?

- The grounds crew prepares the field the old-fashioned way. Remind you of anywhere else?

Signs, signs, everywhere signs

Some of my favorite signs from the Cubs' final regular season games in Cincinnati...

- after the Cubs clinched the NL Central Division title!
- Yep, like I said.

- During the Cubs' final homestand, still just a few games ahead of Milwaukee.

- After the Cubs beat the Pirates, closing in on the division title.

- The first one is a loose Latin translation of "Go Cubs." The second? Well, you know!

- Yes, we brought Lou Pinella back to his old stomping grounds to celebrate good times.

- Love this one!

Are we there yet?

"The most exciting sounds in the world are train whistles, plane motors and anchor chains," said a wistful George Bailey to Uncle Billy in one of my favorite movies ("It's a Wonderful Life").

And I couldn't agree more.

I don't know what it is about travel- or at least the expectation of travel- that gets my heart pumping. Maybe it's the thrill of the unknown people, unique accents, unfamiliar food, and other mysteries that await at whatever soil my plane touches.

What to pack? Do I need my passport? Do they speak English where I'm going? Where will I stay? And, most importantly, what is there to do there?

To go or not to go?

It was with a thump in my chest that I tapped in my credit card details to make a spur-of-the-moment purchase of a very cheap (under $200) flight to Florida for next year's Martin Luther King long weekend. Okay, so Florida's no great shakes, but for me - in what will no-doubtedly be a frigid Chicago winter- it will be paradise in January.

So, let's see...I've got travel plans this month (Cincinnati for the Cubs' regular-season finale), next month (to Toronto to visit Firecracker) and November (to celebrate my birthday in Australia) and then to Florida in January. Over the weekend, I plan to cash in a free travel voucher for the Cubs' Spring Training in Arizona next March.

Don't anyone plan to come visit me in the next seven months 'cause I won't be here!!!!!!
(Cue hysterical laughter).

It was Judy Garland in "The Wizard of Oz" that said "There's no place like home."

Sorry, Judy, but I believe Jimmy.

Home and Garden TV/ The Travel Channel

For months now, I've been hesitant to plan my annual trip. Australia, Hawaii and Argentina are some of the places where I've celebrated my 'big day' (can people really call it that after the age of 9?)


Anyway, things have been really different this year. My new boss (who returns after 6 years) has not been as easy to work with this time around and I've been afraid to 'request vacation.' We've been discussing my contract on and off for eight months now and it's not going well. As a consultant, I'm not really entitled to 'vacation,' but I've been pretty sure my 'scheduled time off' would cause trouble.


Throwing caution to the wind last week, I sent my boss an email stating that I would be out of the office Nov. 1-24 on my annual trip. I would, of course, bring in an appropriate substitute and train him/her prior to my absence. There was no request, just a statement.


I took a deep breath, pressed SEND and then I waited.


No return email on Tuesday.


No email or verbal feedback on Wednesday either.


Every Thursday morning features a weekly meeting with my boss and I decided to just assume the situation was decided. As our meeting was ending, I asked if I should have my substitute attend our Thursday meetings and update the status report as I normally do.


"Yes, do that," came the reply.


So, it's a go!


Since my normal trip-planning is done before the summer even begins, I am a bit crazed as I think how to get everything done before November 1.


Oh, did I mention that my contractor suggested using my absence to remodel my bathroom (a plan long overdue)? He and I have been discussing my yucky, 1950s style (not retro, just ugly) loo ever since he installed the beautiful Brazilian koa wood floors in my bedroom last year.

These are the same beautiful floors that now include five or six gashes from the 'tornado' that came tearing through Chicago a few weeks ago. Yes, my contractor will fix them...for about $500.

Get your calculators out, folks. Add the floor price to the bathroom materials. Um, let's see now. There's not much to buy there, except wall tile, floor tile, a tub, shower doors, a new shower head and faucet, a new sink, countertop, vanity cabinet, medicine cabinet, toilet, lighting fixture, and probably a bunch of other stuff.

Be careful what you wish for...

A Donald in the making

He was shy as he approached me in the stands following the Cubs game the other night. He looked at his hands, which were holding a stack of business cards. He looked onto the now-Cubs-less baseball field where the grounds crew had started to water down the infield. He looked everywhere but at me.

"I have this website," he began, still not making eye contact. "It's about the Cubs."

If this was a different era, maybe the 1960s, I think his opening line might've been, "I have a band."

But I digress.

"I'm trying to get World Series tickets," he stammered. I looked around and saw there was no posse of friends to support this shy guy. My heart hurt for him in his solitary quest.

"If you click on the website, I get money," he said quietly as he handed me a business card. I looked at it and discovered that my awkward fellow baseball fan was blessed with a name more suited to rodeos than baseball diamonds.

He didn't ask for my name. In fact, as I looked up from reading his rather basic business card, he was quickly walking away, relieved of the torture of a face-to-face meeting with a complete stranger.

So, folks, I'm asking you to help Colton in his quest for World Series tickets. No financial committment required, just a moment of your web-surfing time.

Go to: www.kidscub.blogspot.com

Oh, did I mention that this quiet entrepreneur is about 10 years old?

Auntie Em! Auntie Em!

When I got home and saw that my bedroom door was closed, I knew there had been trouble. I knew I didn't close my door and I knew my roommate didn't close my door. I knew that because I have NO ROOMMATE.

Anyway, when I peeked inside, it was all I could do not to look around for Toto and shiny red pumps. Yes, boys and girls, a tornado had hit my condo (at least that's what the building management tried to tell me. Um, guys? a tornado in the city of Chicago would probably top all the Michael Vick stories on the news, doncha think?)

According to Mr. A-1 Numero Uno WGN TV meteorologist Tom Skilling, it was no tornado, but some pretty impressive 74 mile per hour winds that knocked out some windows in my building and quite handily tossed around my window air conditioner. In fact, I counted at least five deep scrapes in my fabulous new hardwood floors during the cleanup.

This is the type of stuff that homeowners' insurance is supposed to cover, right?

The return of Janis from the Muppet Show

Just got a haircut. Okay, it was just a trim, but the styling apparently was the difference. My flat-ironed 'do seemed to make me something of a guy-magnet at the Cubs-Cardinals game yesterday (not to be misconstrued as a complaint.)



I was chatting with the visiting Connecticut couple sitting on my left when five guys arrived to fill the row to my right. A big guy in a red shirt with what appeared to be a pig on it sat to my immediate right. (I later discovered that it was a razorback pig, the mascot for Arkansas.)



For a few years, I was fortunate enough to share baseball games with Firecracker. But now that she's back home, I've had to readjust my game-day attitude and try to see the bright side of going solo. One of my favorite things about going to baseball games alone (aside from an easier time getting a ticket) is the opportunity to meet new people. After an hourlong rain delay, the game began and I discovered that the Arkansas crowd was actually Cardinals fan (DUH! RED SHIRTS!)



In case you forgot, the full name of the St. Louis team is the rat-bastard St. Louis Cardinals (okay, it's not the legal monniker, but whatever!) Fortunately, I didn't mention my nickname for the Redbirds because my seat neighbor turned out to be a former Cardinals catcher!



We spent much of the game commenting on the action and Redbird Guy was impressed by my knowledge and said if he ever started coaching, he'd think of offering me a job. Hmmn???



Happily, my Cubs beat the Cards but his team's loss didn't diminish Redbird Guy's enthusiasm for the evening.



"So, what are you doing tonight?" came the not-unexpected question. "Wanna join us for dinner? What's your number?"



I gave him my cell digits and then headed to my usual post-game watering hole, not sure if Redbird Guy was planning to call or just doing the usual 'close the deal' routine.



Flatiron effect was in full force at the bar, as a young Cardinal fan wrapped his arm around me when I walked in and said to his friends, "If all Cubs fans looked like her, I'd definitely be a Cubs fan."



Fast-forward not more than 20 minutes later...A trio of other out-of-towners were taking off to a local restaurant and said I was welcome to join them. I had chatted with one of trio's members (from San Francisco) earlier at the back bar, so when they were leaving, he came over and kissed me on the cheek on his way out. The second guy, who I'd just been introduced to, did the same. The third, who I'd never seen before, must have thought this was the traditional departure ritual, so he kissed my cheek, too.



It's the hair.



Despite the lovely attention, I was ready to head home and by 9 pm, I was curled up on the sofa with an Abbott & Costello movie on when my cell buzzed. Redbird Guy apologized for not calling sooner, but his friends insisted on stopping to eat right after they left the ballpark (not a surprise since they had only one or two hotdogs between them.)



RG said they were heading out to a bar soon. I had already decided that I was done for the night, so he apologized again and said if the Cubs make the playoffs, he might be back. Could he call me?



Sure.

Gotta strike when the iron is hot.

Only 312s and 773s need apply, please

Some way, some how, the impossible-to-get ticket gods were smiling on me this past weekend as I was GIFTED two fantastic seats to the Cubs/Mets game on Saturday. Seriously folks, this was a game where a woman could rent out her uterus and not get a ticket and here I was with TWO TICKETS!!!

Whom to invite???

Firecracker would normally be my first choice as we've been partners in Wrigleyville crime for a few years now, but NOOOOOO!! She had to up and move to the Great White North...and before the end of baseball season, no less!!

Okay, next choice would be a pal from my volleyball team, another fun, single gal who knows her baseball. When reached on her cell, she was halfway to middle earth hoosierville to visit her family.

Next?

How about a client/friend whose foot I accidently drove over at a Cubs/Brewers game a few years back. Yes, he DOES still talk to me!

Nope - family obligations.

Left to scroll through my cell phone directory, it occurred to me that most of the people in my cell phone live in other cities, not to mention other countries!!!

Geez! I've got to make more friends in Chicago!

Ripple affect

You drop a pebble into a pond and after the kerplunk!, the water ripples away from the point of impact, settling into larger and larger concentric circles until the water is once again as smooth as glass.

But what happens when the ripples go backwards? When people who would normally be considered part of the very largest and most subtle circles of my world have more than the expected affect?

I've been trading text messages with Tall Southern Gentleman for a few days now and I was very happy to receive an invitation to dinner when he's in Chicago next (probably a few weeks). So, yay me! He emailed a photo to me and asked me to send one to him.

I sent a photo of me in Sydney, Australia (to give a hint of the as-yet-untouched topic of travel).

Two days go by. No texts. No calls.

Insecure little me starts thinking of scenarios where he wouldn't contact me: maybe he got the photo and thinks women that travel are snooty, rich bitches; maybe he's one of those divorced fathers that spends every other weekend with their kids and NO ONE ELSE!

And then, today, I got an email from him (sent on Saturday, my bad!) that says that his best friend and wife got into a terrible car accident on Friday morning and the wife didn't survive. The woman was like a sister to him and he's very upset by the whole thing. He wanted to let me know why he might not hear from him for a while.

On top of that, I discovered that the mother of another 'outer ring of friends' died late last week of lung cancer.

I just hope the circles don't get smaller.

Once more with feeling??

How much do I love novocaine?

"Scaling" sounds innocent enough, right? It's basically an in-depth cleaning and how bad can that be? After having half the teeth in my mouth sandblasted with gallons of water, scraped with an iron hook and poked with tiny harpoons, I left my dentist's chair feeling drained.

I grabbed a quick peek in a mirror and noticed that as a result of my favorite anethestic, I bore a striking resemblance to a stroke victim.

Stepping out the dentist's chair, my cell phone chirped and I thought it might be Firecracker texting her arrival at Wrigley Field for the Cubs game. Sure, she's having fun while I'm dying here.

But no.

"UR Cubbie run is only temporary. Dont get too confident" was the text message sent by Super Bowl Guy.

Uh oh!

Checking my swollen, drooling face in my mirror, I said a silent prayer, "Please don't be in town. Please don't be in town."

He wasn't. But I was curious as to why I'd hear from him after, oh, say three months? In case you don't remember, he's the guy from New Jersey with whom I went to the Super Bowl and then he fell off the earth.

And then, there was my answer... in blue and red. According to my pocket Cubs' schedule, my boys will take on the Mets (SBG's team) in early August. I couldn't resist the urge to bash the NY team and predict a big win for the Cubs when the Mets arrive.

"So the winner gets to choose the evening's activities?" came the challenge from SBG. Oh, so he is planning to be in town. Hmmn...

Obviously, Super Bowl Guy is a terrible choice of company for me, but fortunately, I have a possible alternative.

Firecracker and I attended the Cubs game last Monday night and ended up sitting next to three guys from North Carolina. Fun guys in their forties (my target audience) and actual baseball fans, too!

Tall Southern Gent didn't talk much at first, letting his pal dominate the conversations. Later on, when Firecracker distracted the pal, TSG and I got to chat. It was quite a scene as TSG is 6' 8" and I'm, well, not. He found a bar rail to lean on while I got to learn random bits about him, most importantly, that he does not live in Chicago but works here occasionally (sound familiar?)

When we finally decided to leave, we stepped outside the bar and into a torrential rainstorm. We huddled together under the awning in front of the bar, waiting for a break in the storm.

"Your hair smells nice," said TSG as he wrapped his arms around my waist in a backward hug. Surprisingly, I didn't jump out of my skin as sudden as this show of affection was, but enjoyed the warmth and strength of his long arms around me.

He never asked for my number, but those of you who know me won't be surprised to hear that I gave him my card anyway. Some guys need a push, that's all.

Finally, the rain let up enough for him to flag a taxi for me and for me to give him my umbrella for the walk to the train. The evening ended with a nice (and not inappropriately passionate, read: no tongue) kiss goodnight.

Oh, except for the call that came 20 minutes later. "Just wanted to check that you got home okay."

Yep, he's a Southern Gentleman.

Seems my stock is going up!

Gotta love these guys!

If you didn't see it, you've got to check out the helping hand offered by the Philadelphia Phillies when the Colorado Rockies' grounds crew had a wee bit of difficulty with the tarp during a recent rain delay.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99tGf8WWoRQ


Of course! That's what the hard-working, hard-playing people of Philly do when there's trouble - -they help! They're not afraid to get their hands dirty. Although I have to admit I'm pretty disappointed in the Rockies staff (save former Cub LaTroy Hawkins, who joined in), I couldn't help but join the home crowd and applaud the visiting Phillies.



But wait! How many of the Phillies players are actually from Philadelphia? Former Cub pitcher (and still ageless at 44) Jamie Moyer is from Sellersville, PA, but that's it for the Pennsylvania contingent. Of course, you've got the usual half dozen Californians and four guys from the Dominican Republic, but the remainder of the Phillies roster reads like a US atlas. Three players from Texas, two from Oregon and states like Nebraska, North Dakota, Missouri, North Carolina and Washington are all represented in Phillies colors.



Doesn't sound like a bunch of crybaby, can't-break-a-fingernail-or-I'll-go-on-the-DL guys, does it? Is it coincidence that they're wearing the Phillies pinstripes or do the Phillies like to recruit guys who do whatever it takes?



Go Phillies!!







(at least until you play the Cubs)

Bad accent contest

Yes, I've been gone awhile. I apologize. But for today's post, I decided it would be worth it to stay late at the office and get this down, especially since it just happened.

But first, some background.

For those of you that don't know, I work for a foreign-based company and over the years, I've worked with people from Germany, Ireland, Spain, India, Luxembourg, England, Scotland, Austria, China and, of course, some US folks. The mix often provides many humorous moments as we all struggle to understand each other's habits, cultures and languages.

Since I've been here the longest, I've taken it upon myself to start a secret 'bad accent' contest. It was inadvertantly initiated by a former colleague who is now back in the home office in Germany. Like many Germans, he cannot hear the difference between the letters 'v' and 'w.' Of course, this can be slightly problematic.

One day several years ago, my coworkers were trying to decide where to go for lunch. My contest-starter asked who wanted to go for "weggie burgers."

Let the game begin!

A few years went by and some co-workers left and others arrived, including one wonderfully lively fellow from Barcelona, Spain. The Spaniard returned from a lengthy vacation looking very tan and relaxed.

I welcomed him back and asked him how his trip was.

"Fan-tastic! I spent three weeks on a bitch."

Whoa! I think there could be an award in it for him.

And that brings us to today...about 15 minutes ago, to be exact.

Another German colleague, this one from a different area of Germany, stopped on his way out of the office for the night and asked me, "Did you order the bed wedder?"

What?

"Did you order the bed wedder?"

I mentally reviewed everything that had been delivered today - interoffice mail, computer equipment, fresh fruit - maybe someone had a bad reaction to the peaches??

"The bed wedder. It really looks like it's going to rain."

The Red, White and Blue

The bright white of the naval uniforms was almost blinding as I spotted the four sailors outside Wrigley Field today. Like the rest of us, they were waiting to see if any tickets became available for the Memorial Day game against the Marlins. Apparently it was a hot ticket with all the tourists in town for the long weekend.

"You guys looking for tickets?" asked a gentleman who, by his age, was probably no stranger to military service.

"Yes, sir," came the reply.

"Not anymore," he said, handing each a field box seat ticket and shaking their hands. "They're down the first base line. Have a good time."

I just LOVE when stuff like that happens!

Although they weren't free, I scored some pretty good seats for both Firecracker and myself.

I always enjoy the pre-game festivities on Memorial Day with Wayne Messmer adding "God Bless America" to his usual performance of the National Anthem. The Cubs really did it up right this year, as Challenger, a bald eagle, was set loose from a perch high in the center field bleachers. Magestic is the word that came to mind as we watched Challenger sail on the crosswinds before finally coming in to land on the arm of his handler just as Messmer reached the crescendo of the Star Spangled Banner.

One of the main marketing ploys the Cubs feature in the pre-game activities is the throwing out of the ceremonial "first"pitch. Usually, it's the assistant vice-president of some meat-packing company that wants some extra publicity. Pretty tiresome.

But not today.

Lt. Bryan Anderson had a baseball in his hand when he linked arms with his brother to take the field. A few people chuckled when Bryan knelt down to kiss the ground in front of the pitcher's mound. It was a completely different emotion that took over, however, when the triple-amputee Iraqi war veteran used his only remaining limb to throw a fastball to relief pitcher Angel Guzman.

Happy Memorial Day.

Peaks and valleys

You know it's a weird weekend when it hails during a baseball game in mid-May...even in Chicago. But I guess it wasn't all bad. After all, the Cubs did win two of three from their crosstown rivals.

I planned to go to the game on Saturday since it was such a gorgeous day. The baseball gods were definitely smiling on me as I scored a very good seat from a downstate kid whose friend cancelled on him at the last minute. Of course, then Derrek Lee came off the bench to hammer a grand slam and send Wrigley's faithful into bedlam and secure a Cubs win.

Yay!!!

During the game, I got a text message from Porsche Guy, saying that he just "caught a ball at the Cubs/Sox game and wasn't it a shame I wasn't there to split a beer with." Um, split a beer?
And, no, I didn't text back. But I did say a silent prayer that I wouldn't run into him.

Boo!

After the game, I met up with some friends at a nearby watering hole. They were being chatted up by a group of guys that included one kinda cute guy who, it turns out, is 42 and never been married (my mother's dream for me), used to play minor league baseball for the Phillies (not a bad resume, methinks) and wasn't bad looking at all.

Yay!!

An hour later, Phillies Guy is shit-faced drunk and using the garbage can as a bar stool. I remember his name, but I'm pretty confident he won't remember me at all.

Boo!

Having already bought a ticket to today's game, I wasn't about to let a little overcast sky deter me. I grabbed my glove (and my rain poncho, just in case) and made my way over to the park.

Late in the game, a strange scenary began to unfold (or maybe I was just letting my imagination get the best of me.) First the seagulls started to swarm in the outfield. Yes, I did say seagulls. Then Aramis Ramirez parked a three-run homer to keep the Cubs' hopes alive.

Yay!!!

And then came the hail.

It was all very biblical. And cold.

But a happy ending was not to be for my boys and the Cubs lost. The White Sox avoided a Cubs sweep and capped it off with a grand slam by their catcher.

Boo!

Strange sports note on the weekend series: both grand slams were given up by pitchers who, not only were traded for each other just a year ago, but were both doing very well for their new teams until they faced their old teams.

Hmmnn???

Stopping by a bar on the way home, I saw a guy drop his cell phone on his way to the loo. He didn't notice, so I pointed it out to a bouncer, who returned it to the guy. Cell phone guy offered me $20 in reward because the cell phone was actually a $400 Blackberry. I declined.

Peaks and valleys, folks.

Peaks and valleys.

For Sale: one soul

Oh, the interesting conversations one has following a day of baseball at Wrigley Field...

"So, what's wrong with Zambrano?" asked the vertically impaired stranger with a beard straight out of the '80s.

The Cubs' Venezuelan pitcher hasn't shown himself to be the ace of the staff so far this season and everybody has a theory of why this is so.

(me) "Well, I read an article that said that 'Z' has something like seven brothers at home (in Venezuela) and he's the sole support for his family. And I think he's married and has kids of his own here, too. That's really a lot of pressure to put on a guy when he doesn't know where next year's salary will come from."

Zambrano was negotiating his long-term deal with the Cubs when the Chicago Tribune (owners of the Cubs) were sold to real estate bizillionaire Sam Zell, so there's no deal and no telling when or with whom new negotiations can begin.

(shorty) "Well, he should just do his job. He's a professional and he's getting a ton of money this year. When he steps on the field, nothing else should matter."

(me) "Wait a minute, so what you're saying is that people who make a lot of money don't have to be human? What, they should just remove their hearts and their brains and their emotions and set them on the shelf when they go to work?

"Do you realize that as far as 'Z' knows, every pitch he throws could determine his family's financial future? That's a lot of pressure to put on a guy who's only 25 years old."

(shorty) "They're f-ing immigrants anyways, so who the hell cares?"

Um, buh-bye!

So, boys and girls, the discussion point of the day is: Should your income determine your humanity?

Nut magnet

When my cell phone rang, I was standing in the hair product aisle at Walgreens. My cell doesn't ring all that often, so out of curiosity, I answered it.

Big mistake.

Porsche Guy wanted to know if I wanted to meet him for dinner. Instinct told me to lie and tell him that I already ate. He downshifted into an invitation for a drink. Stalling, I told him I was in the middle of something and could he call me back in an hour or so?

Why didn't I just tell him to drop dead?

When we originally exchanged business cards at Wrigley Field, it occurred to both of us (to my initial horror) that we live in adjacent buildings! Okay, maybe my misgivings at his proximity should've prompted me to end things then and there. This nut job lives next door to me?!?! Why I let this flirtation continue, I'll never know.

In the time between his first and second calls, I formulated the wording for a polite, but definite "not interested" talk.

And then I chickened out.

The cell phone rang and I just stared at it from the sofa without moving. Maybe he'll get the hint.

Fast forward to this morning at 8:30. I'm finishing up my session with my physical terrorist, oops, therapist. My cell brriiings to tell me I have a text message.

"Does anyone want to play hooky? It's a nice day."

The nice guys fall off the face of the earth after one date. The crazies call me all the time!