Minute (or three) men

To prove that I'm not entirely committed to my self-imposed social quarantine, I participated in a three-minute dating event yesterday. The locale was an upscale dating mecca: a small, dark, terribly romantic restaurant full of 2- and 4-person tables. No highchairs and kiddie menus here.

Two groups of singles gathered at the event and then split into separate rooms: the 21-35 year olds in one room, the 33-48 year olds in the other. Each group featured approximately 20 men and 20 women. I say "approximately" because my group was 2 men shy of 20 which meant that two times in the next hour, I found myself sitting alone with no prospective Romeo to chat up.

Each participant was handed a scorecard numbered 1 -100 with Yes / No and a tiny space...for notes, I guess. The plan was for each woman to sit at her assigned table and the men would sit at each table for 3-minute "dates."

Easy enough, but just how much can you find out about a person in just three minutes? Geez! That's barely enough time to cook an egg!

For the most part, it was name/rank/serial number - -or in my case, name/city of residence/if divorced, kids or no kids and maybe, if there was time, occupation. It was more or less a case of instinct and instantaneous chemistry (or lack thereof).

As a whole, I have to say that it was a pretty diverse group of guys. I met two photographers, one chemical engineer, one corporate relocation executive, two firemen, one concert violinist and one guy from a northwest suburb who I wouldn't date if he was Donald Trump hiding in Tom Selleck's body.

Okay, I should expound on the suburban fellow and what made him so icky (for me, at least).

In the first minute or two of chatting, he made several disparaging remarks about the city (parking, traffic, taxes, etc.). We were given a $25 gift certificate to the host restaurant and he said he intentionally left his at another table because he "certainly wouldn't be coming here again."

He also mentioned that if we decided that we could be a match, we could certainly find a place to meet (for our date) that would be somewhere in the middle for both of us.

Um, wait a minute...You'll spend $45 to sign up and drive almost an hour to go to an event where you might possibly meet a woman to date, but you won't drive the same to actually go on a date with her???

Oh, did I mention that he said that if I didn't mark "Yes" but changed my mind later...and he handed me a poker chip.

"Are you a gambler?" I asked him.

"No, but I'm betting on you."

When you're finished retching, I'll tell you that I did NOT circle Yes for him, but I did for three others.

The event planners sent the participants the email addresses of the other parties if each circled Yes. The mismatches were listed as "missed opportunities."

I matched with one guy and, apparently, missed nine other opportunities.

Point of discussion: Ladies, how old-fashioned are you? Do you want a guy to pick you up for a first date? Do you expect to pay for anything?
Gentlemen, how far will you drive to meet a woman on a first date? Does that change later in the relationship? How much do you generally spend on a first date?

Coming home to Beli

September 18, 2006- BELI (on Cres island), CROATIA - - When I saw my mom talking to Father Bendara in the language of her parents, I knew the trip was worth all the trouble. The 92-year-old priest in Beli knew my grandparents' family and spoke the dialect that is special to this tiny town.

Beli is a beautiful, primitive village - - make that kingdom -- on the edge of a mountain on the island of Cres. The 'roads' are not cute and cobblestone, but the roughest stone-and-moss hilly paths. The houses just a jumble of stone and cement in no discernable pattern.

Fr. Bendara called a local man who was visiting from Arizona (!) of all places...probably so I'd have someone to talk to since Father didn't speak any English. The two men showed us the town church (St. Mary's) where my mom got emotional thinking of her parents' history. After all, it was in this place that approximately 100 years ago, my grandparents were baptized. In fact, today would have been my grandmother's 99th birthday!

We took photos in front of the house #103 where my grandfather was born in 1903. According to Fr. Bendara, Beli has written history going back 2000 years! It was originally settled by the Romans and got its current moniker from a Hungarian king who came here to escape the Mongols. The whole country of Croatia was Communist until about 10 years ago, so it's got some pretty cool tales to tell.

In the summer, the population of Beli swells to about 30 people, but the rest of year - - like now - - only about 10 or 15 residents live in this remote setting. Of the handful of people we met, one lady spoke to my mom and told her that she used to live near Midway Airport in Chicago!

Before departing from Beli, we stopped for lunch in a cute outdoor restaurant that acts as the unofficial entrance to the village. Our young waiter spoke just enough English that we could order gnocchi made three ways (mushroom, procuitto and with meat), salad, bread, water and wine. Good lunch!!!

As we finished our lunch, the waiter brought a special drink for us - - a gift from the restaurant to the visitors. Two tiny shot glasses filled with clear liquid. At the bottom of each glass, we found a tiny chunk of fruit stabbed with a toothpick. Hmm??

I don't know about your family, but my family used to make prospective brothers-in-laws drink shots of a Croatian liquor called Slivovice (sp?). Kind of a trial of manhood. Think of a cross between lighter fluid and battery acid.

This was worse.

To kill the taste of the 'gift,' my mom and I decided to chase it with ice cream. Okay, that was an excuse. We were planning on having dessert anyhow. In another example of how tiny our planet really is, I walked throught the almost-empty restaurant on the edge of nowhere to the freezer chest and pulled out two Nestle ice cream bars.

Just arrived in Croatia

Sept. 17, 2006 -CRES (island), CROATIA - After about a billion flights, we arrived in (and on) Cres on Sunday and it's as peaceful and simple and as perfect an antidote for travel insanity as anyone could want.

My 78-year-old mom, God love her, is resting after probably just two or three hours' sleep since Friday night.

I'm sitting along the promenade enjoying the sun that was threatening not to come out and marvelling at the crystal-clear water - - not a cigarette butt in sight (amazing considering all the 'euros' that smoke!)

The "beaches" that line the promenade are actually minute pieces of real estate made entirely of pebbles. This same stone (limestone?) has been made into numerous walls in this area. The Croatians should challenge the Irish to a wall-building contest, no concrete allowed!

Think I'll dip my toes into the Adriatic...

Okay, now that I've said it, I've found it - -cigarette butts. But it's not going to bother me because I challenged my mom (and myself) to practice PMA (positive mental attitude) while we're here. So no bother to butts!

Being near the water seems to soothe my soul. I don't know why, I'm not even a Pisces!

I've been so busy planning this trip that I haven't given myself time to imagine the possibilities. I guess that's good because all I've done is worry about what could go wrong and really nothing has. And just getting here was going to be the hard part.

I'm really a city girl at heart so this remote and relatively undeveloped country has surprised me with its charm. Of course, sun and water always puts me in a good mood. I'm even voluntarily sitting near small children so you can tell I'm happily descending into vacation mode.

Stuck in a holding pattern

First off, I'd like to apologize to my loyal readers.
Both of you!
Ha!

I know I promised to have stories and photos of Croatia posted by now, but I'm having some issues with my laptop (insert joke here).

Also, a few other things have distracted me from repairing the tech issues:

I returned from Croatia just in time to get my last fix of baseball for 2006. Firecracker and I attended four Cubs games in the week I came home. As always, we'll wait til next year!

The next week featured a visit from our new CEO and also the new Head of Global Sales. I know the CEO from his history with our company, but the Global Sales guy was completely new to me. It was my job to introduce him to everyone, plan a TON of meetings, carefully repair a semantics difficulty with him, show him around the office AND prepare an outline of MY job responsibilities and accomplishments.

During that week, I ate lunch at my desk every day (when I was able to eat lunch AT ALL). Usually, I leave the office at 5, but not this week. In fact, I stayed so late one evening that the CEO, Global Sales guy and another division's boss invited me to join them for a late (9:30) dinner.

Dinner was actually fun. I made it a point to have interesting and funny stories to tell the CEO (who also attended the wedding in Spain in August). I also got the Global Sales guy to promise to bring me some of that fabulous German chocolate the next time he's in Chicago.

Oh, did I mention that the CEO also fired three of my coworkers that week?? including both of my bosses??? I'm not sure, but I think another coworker might be in the line of fire soon.

Yeah, not too stressful a week, huh?

The evening before the head honchos arrived, I got a call from The Editor. He called at 11:15 pm and I was already asleep, so I didn't call him back till after work the next day.

His news? A fellow former coworker died in a car accident that day and he thought I should know. Although I hadn't seen this guy in several years, I was struck with one thought: THIS IS WRONG! THIS IS JUST WRONG!

"Lem" was without doubt the sweetest, kindest, knight-in-shining-armor-type of guy you'd ever want to know. He was the only man I know of my generation who said things like, "Ma'am" and "Sir." And he was VERY handsome! He could stand in for Dermot Mulroney (sp?)...you know, the guy who played opposite Julia Roberts in "My Best Friend's Wedding."

And he was single. His mom told me that he was just thinking that he was ready to meet someone and settle down. He was 41.

Years ago, when we worked together, I got tickets to go see the band Squeeze. Of course, I had no one to go with me, so I asked Lem. He liked Squeeze, too, so he said yes. It was not a date, that was an absolute. Lem was more like my cousin than any possible boyfriend and it was more than fine. We had a great time at the show.

Last week, after I left Lem's wake, I stopped a few blocks away from the funeral home to get gasoline for the long ride home. It was one of those new gas stations that likes to entertain its customers while they pump gas, so they broadcast a local radio station.

The song?
"Tempted" by Squeeze.

I think it was Lem, thanking me for stopping by.

Return to the land of the deodorant-wearers

Yes, I am back! Actually, I've been back for a few days now, but I haven't been able to post because I want to include photos and, as you fellow bloggers know, that takes some time. But I PROMISE to have photos and postings by the end of the weekend!

All I can say is...when I came back to my office on Monday and had my first cup of "real" coffee in a week, well, it was an orgasmic experience!

Sorry about the wait, but it will be worth it because the photos and the stories are great. You'll see...

Next stop: Croatia

Trepidation. That's the word I was looking for.

Everyone's asking me if I'm excited about my trip to Croatia with my mother. (We leave tomorrow morning). "Excited" isn't really the word.

Here's the thing...I'm used to traveling alone. No one there to check if they're having a good time, no one to make me late for a flight, no discussions about how early is too early to get up or too late to be out.

It's just me. And except for a few trips with Firecracker, I usually prefer the solo route.

Coming and going on my mother's time will cramp my style, but I can live with that, I guess. But my mother isn't a young traveler (78!) and she's used to putting her luggage in the hall and having it magically appear at the next destination. I had to remind her that I didn't pack a valet.

I have a Croatian colleague who's been advising me on my travel plans. Well, yesterday I asked about tipping in Croatia. In some countries, leaving a tip is tantamount to wearing a t-shirt with an American flag on it and blowing your nose with $50 bills.

Suffice to say, I should be careful with my money in Croatia. It seems, at least according to my colleague, that all Eastern European nations have a tendency to cheat the tourists. "That's just the way it is," he said.

Fabulous!

After my trip to Spain, I got a little more comfortable with the euro, so I thought 'this will be easy.' But NOOOOO!!! Croatia doesn't use the euro, they use the kuna! One kuna equals about 17 cents American.

How's your math?

Smart girl that I am, I created a wallet-sized cheatsheet of kuna/US dollar conversions. By looking at this, we should at least know not to spend $80 on a sandwich and a Coke. Hopefully.

Usually, I get very excited and can't sleep the night before I take off on a trip. I don't know if I'll sleep tonight. Maybe a vodka and tonic will help.

Better late than never???

After receiving an extremely sincere-sounding apology the day after the ass-grabbing, lip-chewing, drunken slobber of a "date," I decided to give Newzie another chance and agreed to meet him for a Cubs game. We made arrangements, but the day before the game, he called to change the plan.

Seems he had been asked to substitute teach for a friend's college class. Could he meet me at the game, probably by the 4th or 5th inning?? Since I had been planning to attend the Cubs game before he offered to join me, I didn't mind the adjustment.

During the game, he said how happy he was that I agreed to see him. He was feeling bad about his behavior the night we met. I told him that I was giving him two choices: 1) we could pretend we just met and this is the first time we've gone out, or 2) he could pick up where he left off that night, but he'd have a very deep shit-hole to dig out of.

He wisely chose option #1.

From there on out, it seemed very much like a first date. Small talk. One beer each. A few laughs It was a beautiful evening and the Cubs even won! After the game, we decided to return to the scene of the crime, so to speak, and headed to the same post-game watering hole where we met.

Two drinks later, Newzie insisted on walking me home. From my perspective, he was still on probation, so I didn't respond when he put his arm around my waist as we left the bar. Standing in front of my building, we kissed a bit but nothing like the tonsil-hockey of the first night - - fortunately.

"You're getting me excited," he said.

"Then I'd better send you home."

We spoke briefly a few days later and, I thought, made plans to have a drink after the Bears game. When no call came that night or in the following days, I figured he was just looking for nooky and when I didn't oblige, he bailed...

Till he called a few minutes ago to wish me a safe and fun trip to Croatia.

He wanted to see me tonight but realized that I'd be packing and there was no chance. Newzie asked me to please save an evening for him when I return when he wants to see pictures and hear all about my trip.

That day

All across the web, people are remembering where they were on this day five years ago. My first memories aren't of a place, but of a face.

My coworker came to my desk, his eyes red and swollen. He collapsed into a chair with a shell-shocked look on his face. One of our clients - - one of his clients - - had an office in one of the World Trade Center towers.

They weren't there anymore.

Technically, this specific scene happened on Sept. 12, but back then, time was meaningless. At least for a few days.

As for the events of Sept. 11, 2001, they are as clear in my mind today as they were then. The first inkling I had that something had happened (strange how people say 'something had happened' like there was a traffic accident) was a cell phone ringing for a fellow passenger on the CTA bus that I took to work. Normally, no one cared about a call, much less bothered to listen to the conversation. But it seemed like the phone wasn't ringing for her, but for all of us as she hung up and said to no one in particular, "a plane just hit the World Trade Center."

I didn't understand the implications. How could I?

When I arrived at my desk, I noticed that everyone was in the next room, gathered around one of the few televisions on our floor. I thought it was a replay on CNN as I saw a plane flying unbelievably low in the Manhattan sky. Then it hit the remaining tower!

One of our board members turned to me and instructed me to close the office. We had only just opened for the day.

I'm normally the last one out of our office and this day was no different. Actually, it was different because all of my colleagues waited at my desk until I was ready to leave. We closed the office together and walked out of our building together. Instinctively, I looked up and west to the Sears Tower and wondered if that skyscraper would still stand the next day. (Ironic that we now work in the Sears Tower. Or maybe it's just scary.)

With no particular place to go, we wandered without purpose, thought or speech among the thousands of Chicagoans that were released from their offices. We stopped momentarily at a TV in an office window and watched as one of the towers fell.

We walked for blocks and I couldn't help but think to myself, "this isn't supposed to happen to us! We're the United States of America for chrissakes!" Instead of screaming my anger and indignation, I just walked on in numbed silence.

Eventually, we decided that we would each go home and deal with the situation in our own way. For me, that included taking a transistor radio, a bottle of water and my keys and getting the HELL out of my high-rise apartment and to the relative safety (?!) of the lakefront.

God speed to my friends across the globe who are thinking of us today.

Newzie

When he called for the third time that day, I suspected he might be "one of those." You know the type. He generously offers to not only father your children, but put them through college and retire with you to Maui - -and that's in the first five minutes of conversation.

I met "Newzie" after the Cubs game on Saturday. Having attended the game alone, I began to enjoy a post-game cocktail at one of my favorite haunts when I noticed him peering at me through the crowd.

Describe him? Well, if this were a police blotter, he'd be the epitome of "average:" average height, average weight, medium dark brown hair, brown eyes, late 40s.

Strangely enough, our conversation seemed to click with similar interests: baseball, travel, people-watching, etc. Newzie apparently had some friends in town from California but was ready and willing to ditch them and take me to dinner instead.

Pasta and a bottle of wine later, Newzie leaned over and kissed me. (He had already been silently smooching my hand and telling me how beautiful I was throughout dinner). It was a nice, polite kiss, nothing terribly aggressive so I enjoyed it although I hadn't yet decided where this date would lead...if anywhere.

After dinner, we enjoyed a few more drinks with Newzie getting tipsy and me, well, of course, I wasn't even buzzed because I have the alcohol tolerance of a Mardi Gras parade grand marshall. We landed at a nearby jazz club which, despite being almost empty, gave us the VIP super-secret back booth. Newzie ordered another bottle of wine.

Beer + wine + post-dinner cocktails + more wine = one horny bastard. What started out as nice, polite kisses quickly turned into an almost violent tonsilectomy with a few ass grabs thrown in for good measure. He was very interested in having sex with me and I think he would've started the proceedings right then and there had I not put the kybosh (sp?) on that.

Trying to bring the evening back to more secure footing, I backed out of the last kiss and tried to continue what had been interesting conversation. I learned that he'd been married for 10 years but was now divorced. How long since the divorce? About a year!

There it was, the answer to the question that had been itching the back of my psyche all night: why is he interested in spending so much time with me? Why not get the phone number and move on? That's the answer! He's not dating, he's auditioning replacements!

The liquor/truth serum kicked in and he admitted that after getting divorced, he dated a 22-year-old for a little while. Oh, did I mention that he's more than twice that age?!?!

Strange how the mind works sometimes, huh? It was just then that it occurred to me that I've been offered sex two times in the past 10 days!!! By two different men!!! On two different continents!! Yay for me!

Maybe it's because I haven't been in a relationship (read: sex) in two years, but I decided that Newzie had some redeeming qualities, particularly when sober. BUT...If you looked up the definition of "rebound," the dictionary would show his picture.

It's a minefield, I know. Newzie suggested joining me for a Cubs game soon. We'll see...

Sangria, tapas and dinner at 10

BARCELONA, SPAIN- -
It's hard to know where to begin to describe my unfortunately short visit to Spain for my friend JT's wedding. Food, however, was an integral part of the festivities - so much so that I don't think I have the vocabulary to tell you how amazing it
was.

I must say, though, that when I think of all things Spanish, I think of sangria (but maybe that's because I'm an alchoholic!!) Anyway, it seems when you order a Coke or even water in Spain, you are lucky to get about six ounces - - maybe! But order sangria and you get a gallon jug with a slice of lemon and a straw! Gotta love Spain!

I do plan to tell you about the wedding, but first, the photos. The top three are examples of Antoni Gaudi's work (the middle being Sagrada Familia). He's one of Spain's most famous architects. The rest are scenes from La Rambla, a wide boulevard in central Barcelona full of shops, restaurants, hotels and markets.

But back to the food at the wedding reception...One of the first trays of hors d'oeuvres featured a tall martini glass filled with thick orange cream. The foot of the glass was submerged in a beach of black poppy seeds from which shards of fried tostadas stuck out. The idea was to grab a tostada and dip it into the cream, which turned out to be mango puree. Yum!!

Another tray contained martini glasses brimming with cloudy water in which floated several specks of spices. Hmmn?? Melon juice!

A third tray (of approximately 15 hot and cold appetizers) was loaded with miniature shot glasses that contained murky water with some unknown item in the bottom and a tiny spear in each glass. What is this mysterious food item??? Shots of mussels! Okay, I'm not a big fan of seafood, but that was pretty cool.

Also on the menu for appetizers was foie gras, salmon, lobster, anchovies and squid. No cheez-wiz here!

As for the wedding ceremony, it was pretty memorable, too. A bus whisked all of us to a small village about an hour outside of Barcelona. The church itself was a tiny stone building on a hill. The afternoon turned a bit warm so a friend of the bride gave to each woman a delicate paper fan - - how wonderfully Spanish!

At the mid-point of the ceremony (which was almost entirely in Spanish), a husband-and-wife duo sang what became the anthem of the day, "(Say that you love me) Before the Sun Goes Down." The woman's voice was accompanied by acoustic guitar and the almost tribal, hollow THUNK of a bongo echoing off the stone walls of the chapel. It was quite stirring.

Sitting down to dinner, I noticed that each place setting featured FOUR wine glasses! Gotta love weddings like that! Okay, one glass was for water, but still!

After dinner, we adjourned to the outdoors for dancing. A small dance floor was set among the pebbled patio. I was afraid to introduce my brand-new four-inch heels to tiny stones and my fears proved true during the first painful dance. In another stroke of wonderfully creative thinking, the bridal couple provided all of the women with various sizes of silver flip-flops for dancing!

Oh, did I mention that I was dancing with this French guy who was quite sure he was going home with me (to my hotel, not to Chicago)?? Unlike so many American guys who find a girl and stick to her like glue for the remainder of the evening, Frenchy danced with me, other girls and even the guys (not slow dancing!) but made it clear he was interested in the blond American.

Um, no I didn't sleep with him. But I did stay out until 7 am!!!

Killing time in Dublin Airport

Please excuse the late posting, but I didn't have internet access during my foray into Europe.

DUBLIN (AIRPORT) - Highlights of a 3-hour layover in Ireland:

• Got a bit worried about finding the airport when my view out the airplane window featured miles and miles of green grass and a few tiny white buildings scattered about. Nothing to suggest a city, much less an air traffice control tower and runways.
• Taxiing to the gate, I saw a small herd of cows grazing alongside the runway. Gotta love Europe!!
• In the ladies restroom in the terminal, I spotted an ad for a nearby hotel described as being located in the "airside retail park." Sounds like a lovely, picturesque venue, doesn't it?
• Walking toward my connection gate, my path took me up a flight of stairs in the terminal..a flight of wooden stairs!
• The "transfer hallway" was something out of a fun house. With each right- or left-handed turn, the hallway became substantially narrower until the corrider was no more than 30 inches wide! Fat Americans need not apply.
• Instantly I was swept away from the glass and steel of Terminal B and transported into the rich, dark wood and even darker beer of the Ol' Sod at The Gate Clock, a fabulous pub in the airport.

And this is where I sat for an hour, nursing not a Guiness, but a latte. (Gimme a break, it was 8:30 am Ireland-time).

I love international terminals! The bookstores, coffee shops and souvenir stores all look the same no matter if you're in Chicago, Dublin or Sydney. But the dark or light or freckled faces! and the lilting, gutteral or twangy voices!! Fantastic! One of my favorite low-cash entertainment venues used to be O'Hare's Terminal 1. The dramatic hellos and teary goodbyes were better than any Hollywood flick. Of course, that was a wonderful way to spend an evening until bastards turned the numbers 9 and 11 into a horrific date of infamy.

But I digress.

All eyes glance up periodically, digesting the numbers and letters that flicker across the arrival and departure boards. More than once I've seen someone glance quickly at the monitor and break into a dead run for a departure only moments away. These situations, however, are reserved almost exclusively for Heathrow Airport in London, also known as Heart Attack Central.

Two older gentlemen sit at the table next to me, sipping Guinness from small glasses. I think they're speaking English, but I'm in Ireland and this native tongue is a totally different animal altogether. The clock reads 10 am local time. I wonder what time their bodies say it is?

Best t-shirt seen today: "Mumbassa Univ. 98"

List of things I can't have in my carry-on

Okay, so I leave for Spain tomorrow night. I'm attending a former co-worker's wedding (to catch up any blog-reading late-comers.) Now that I think about it, it's the fourth such wedding in the past 18 months. Yeesh!

Anyway, back on topic. I was planning not to check any baggage at all, BUT NO!!!! those shitheads had to screw up the already screwed-up airline security systems and now almost all of my Barcelona-bound items will be shoe-horned into a former carry-on bag.

In my carry-on:
Purse (intentionally devoid of lip gloss and hand cream)
Passport (with flight and hotel confirmations)
Euros (and some USD)
Wedding cards from me and also two of my colleagues
Brand-spanking new digital camera
Not-so-new cell phone
Beat-up, but still working iPod
Mini AM radio (for Cubs game while coming home Sunday)
Jewelry (including pearls bought in China)

Sounds heavy, doesn't it?

Checked bag items:
Four days' worth of clothes (including new dress, new shoes, new purse for wedding)
Hair dryer and flat iron
Fire Jolly Ranchers for new CEO (yep, I'm a brown-nose, what of it??)
International adapter(s)
Chargers for above-noted cell phone, iPod and camera
Hair products (shampoo, conditioner, hair spray, styling lotion)
Makeup (including lip gloss, mascara, perfume)
Shower gel and moisturizer
Contact lens solution
Nail polish

**** Wait! I was just reading the TSA (Transportation Safety Administration) website regarding what we can and cannot bring in a carry-on. Toothpaste is still a no go, but "personal lubricants" are allowed! I guess that's so we can join the Mile High Club enroute to Europe! Note to self: stop at Walgreens on my way to the airport.

Oh, and nitroglycerine pills (and sprays) are allowed. Um, wait. Isn't "nitro" the stuff that Batman's enemies were always trying to use to threaten Gotham City? And that stuff's allowed on board my plane?!! Sure, now I feel secure...

See everyone next week (and I promise to post pics of Barcelona, if Blogger will cooperate!)

It's always something!

How's this for stupidity? I've just heard on CNN that some moron is suing the Oakland A's for discrimination. Here's the deal: the team sponsored a Ladies Night giveaway of pink baseball caps. He asked for one and the ballpark employee laughed, but wouldn't give him one. This goofball wants $4,000 for himself and EVERY man at the game that night! He claims that the marketing ploy discriminates against men.

Apparently, this same genius also tried to sue the LA Angels for discrimination when he didn't get a totebag during the team's Mother's Day promotion.

Did someone not get enough love as a child?? OR does he secretly want to be a woman?? Maybe he just has an unnatural love of the color pink?

If there is any justice in this world, a judge will drag this toad into a courtroom, force him to buy a ticket to tomorrow's game for everyone in the courtroom and then smack him upside his noggin and physically throw his ass out of the courtroom!!!

But you know how things work in today's world. He'll probably settle out of court and force all baseball teams to re-think their marketing plans. The hard part? this asshat's a lawyer!

Hold onto your floppy hats, keychains, replica jerseys, bobbleheads and refrigerator magnets!

What I did this summer

Diamond mind

You KNOW you've had too much exposure to baseball when the following happens:

While typing an email to a colleague while at work, I heard CNN say "Babe Ruth is under attack." I couldn't help but think, "what? the guy's dead! who's attacking a dead guy?" But then I thought maybe they are doing a soft news story about baseball and the Babe Ruth homerun record and they mean that his RECORD is being threatened. You know, the whole Barry Bonds homerun thing.

I looked up at the television in our office and saw that CNN was actually doing a story on Beirut!

Um, okay, now I get it.

Weekend in Washington

I've been to many professional baseball parks in my travels and this past weekend found me in our nation's capital, visiting Jada, my sister J and, of course, catching a few Cubs games at Robert F. Kennedy Memorial Stadium.
And you can't be in Washington DC without seeing some political figures. But I'm pretty sure our forefathers didn't see this coming...

On the road (?) again

In one of my favorite movies, "It's a Wonderful Life," Jimmy Stewart's character wistfully details his future, one he envisions will include travel to exotic destinations. George tells Uncle Billy, "the three most exciting sounds are plane motors, anchor chains, and train whistles."

I couldn't agree more! Nothing puts me in a better mood than knowing I'm going on a trip.

Funny thing is, I've got so many trips planned for the next few months that I had to remember which airline I'm flying and out of which airport I'm leaving for my trip TODAY!!! Yep, I'm off to the East Coast where I'll visit Jada and my "Sister J" and, um, okay, so I'm going to two Cubs/Nationals games too! You knew THAT was happening.

I bought the game tickets months ago, before I ever met The Announcer (for the Nationals). But, yes, I did call and let him know I'd be in town. He sounded pleased, so we'll see. Hopefully, he can meet us for drinks tonight.

But what REALLY made my heart beat a bit faster today was the booking I made for my annual birthday trip in November. We have a precarious situation at my office currently, one that would prevent any normal human being from planning a disappearance. But, hey, this is me! and travel is a big part of who I am, so damned! I was defininitely going...somewhere!

For the past five years, I've been fortunate enough to be able to celebrate my birthday in another city, usually another country. It's totally hedonistic and I love it! Originally, the plan was to travel to new and exciting places every year without seeing the same country twice, at least until I'd seen every continent.

And then I went to Australia.

Unless you've been there, there is no way to explain the love affair I have with the land Down Under. The Sydney Opera House, the Great Barrier Reef, Melbourne. I can't help but smile when I think of my old friends, having visited them three or four times in the past six years.

I'm always home in time for Thanksgiving, and that's where it gets tricky. I try to use frequent flier miles for my birthday trips (who wants to pay for their own birthday??), but the freebies are severely limited and snatched up very quickly. So, when Erin of United's award travel told me that she could get me on flights to take me to and from Sydney, I wanted to crawl through the phone line and hug her!

Happy Friday everybody!!!

It's a look

My hair is getting pretty long. Actually, it's longer than its been in years. Celebrating this burst of cranial protein, I flat-ironed my hair yesterday. It's just something I do occasionally when I'm bored and I'd like a different look. Of course when I did it, I didn't realize that I'd uncovered my alter-ego...

Solitary Confinement

Yep folks, it was strep throat and for about two days, I was locked up. That's never a good thing for me. Makes me crazy.

On Thursday, I almost drowned in my own saliva because it hurt too bad to swallow. My wonderful doctor gave me some drugs, including a prescription for amoxycillin (sp?).
Okay, answer me this: if I can't even swallow my own spit, how I am expected to choke down this horse pill?? The answer? My answer for everything - - ice cream! My dad would've been proud to see me pulverizing a pill. I then sprinkled said drug on vanilla ice cream, added orange juice and VOILA! an amped-up dreamsicle!

After sleeping for no less than 11 hours, I awoke on Friday and COULD SWALLOW!!!! Okay, the throat was still sore, but solid food was no longer the enemy. Question of the day: does anyone know what Alexander Fleming was famous for?*

Sitting at home wallowing in my misery, I got a bit cranky (hard to believe, I know!!) and toyed with the idea of getting all dressed up and going out, spreading the joy of strep throat. Specifically, I planned to hook up with ex-boyfriends and play tonsil-hockey for a while and then merrily go on my way to the next victim. A modern day Typhoid Mary! Fortunately, I had not taken the other drugs yet, or else the trouble REALLY would've started.

The other drug my doctor prescribed was steroids. I wanted to say, "Hey doc, I'm not in the lineup today, what's with the juice?" She explained that the steroids would bring down the chipmunk-like swelling in my throat. The side effects she mentioned were hunger, sleep disruptions and possible depression. Little did she know...

I discovered a few other side effects when I went to bed on Friday. I set my alarm clock so that I didn't sleep all day on Saturday. I can't even explain why I set the alarm when I had nowhere to go and nothing to do on Saturday. Anyway, when I awoke to no alarm and checked the settings, I realized that I had set the alarm to wake me up Saturday NIGHT!
Steroid side effect #1: stupidity.

Saturday was so beautiful and warm that I wanted to get some sun, so I pulled on a bikini and trotted up to the rooftop deck where I knew I'd be alone. Everyone else has freedom!!! Everyone else is at.the.beach! Half asleep in the sun, I noticed that my tall, dark-haired, cute Irish neighbor had taken a spot about 10 feet away from me on the deck. A smile crept across my face as the fantasies began.
Steroid side effect #2: horniness.

In light of those two interactions, I guess it's probably a good thing I was quarantined.

*Oh, I forgot! My hero, Alexander Fleming, was a Scottish scientist who discovered penicillin in 1928. Why we won't have a worldwide holiday in his honor is beyond me!

Fire in the hole

Daggers. Hundreds of them. They sit poised just between the jagged shards of glass and just behind the pools of fiery gasoline that line my vocal cords. My body tenses to absorb the explosion of torture that comes with every swallow.

Sleep is not an option.

Is this what strep throat feels like?

I'll find out this afternoon.

Wish me luck.