This is what Halloween is about

(movie spoilers inside...)

I really had a very difficult childhood, filled with all sorts of things out to get me. Between the possibility of little babies coming into the world as monsters and slaughtering my small town, to my dolls coming to life, or my friends disappearing and then coming back to get me, it just wasn’t always a safe haven...

Having older brothers that watched horror movies made these fears come to life. When everyone went to sleep, they'd often stay up late to watch late night TV/cable movies. The way the couch was set up, I was able to sneak behind the couch and peek out the side. I always thought I was so cool, until I would start watching what they were watching. Then I couldn't sleep.

My first memories of being scared was a movie called, "It's Alive." It's about a woman that gives birth to a monster baby. The baby manages to slash up an entire town, before the daddy has to put it down. In fact, if I recall, the little town is Los Angeles (who knew, right??). Beyond the old school 70's camera angle, the camera often put us at the perspective of said Monster Baby, who would eye its prey and then we'd see blood spray. And of course, its cry was more like a "AAgggggggrrrrrkkkkkllll".

Then, of course, there was "Trilogy of Terror." Now, I rented this a few years back to see what my fuss had been about. The truth be told, of course it wasn't too scary. It was actually four mini-movies tucked into one, all starring Karen Black in different roles. But, there was one of the mini's that gave me the willies, called, "Amelia." Essentially, this woman receives a doll that COMES to LIFE!! It even CHASES her with a butcher knife, thrashing its knife under doorways, slicing and dicing her ankles and wielding it through the air, all while making a "Aye Aye Aye" wail. That's all it took to convince me that my dolls would surely come to life if they fell out of a closet wrong. And I knew for sure if I did not care for them properly, my collection of dollies would fuse together, create a village of haters and chase me with a butcher knife.

Of course, trying to put those fears to rest did not work so well after seeing, "Poltergeist." If you have never seen it, rent it. If you have, you must agree, even if you've watched it 1,000 times like I have, there are some of the best scary/horror moments in creepy movie history. Not to give away too much, but this family called the Freelings get terrorized by a "Poltergeist," which means a "rumbling spirit. " Worst scene, the little boy and his clown. I can still hear him chanting, "One one-thousand, two one-thousand" as the sound of thunder clapped loudly, letting him and the audience know the impending storm was coming with a vengeance and watching him stare with terror at his once, friendly doll-clown. As the storm progresses, Mr. Clown tends to looks a little more maniacal. When Robbie (the kid) hides under his covers, we hear a thump and watch little Robbie in terror as he sees his once sitting clown has now disappeared. Brave little Robbie starts looking around the room, under the bed, only to get pummeled by his clown. Robbie and scary clown wrestle... (Robbie wins in the end, by the way).

Quite possibly the worst moment was in the clip in the movie, "Salem's Lot." The movie is actually LAME (I rented it a few years back to see if it really WAS scary). But there is a scene that will forever haunt me. Said little boy loses best friend in horrific way. Said little boy is asleep and hears a "tap,tap" on his bedroom window, middle of the night, loads of fog. Said little boy wipe's the sleep out of his eyes, only to see his best friend is in the window, floating, motioning for him to come over to the window. Oh, and best friend looks deranged. Said little boy goes to window, as little boys do in movies and opens it. Said little boy gets attacked by possessed best friend.

These are just a few of the scary movie moments that are forever engrained and cemented into my head…and some of the most memorable parts of my childhood!!

HOLY SMOKES...they DID it!!

Yes, Folks. The White Sox won the World Series!!!

Now please resume to your regular scheduled life.

Fairweather Fan - GO WHITE SOX!!!

I grew up in a White Sox family. I never actually watched games, but that's who my dad rooted for, so I just followed the tradition...

When I moved into the city, the Cubs became the team to root for. And truthfully, Wrigley Field is in a better area, sells better beer and has the MOST FUN surrounding neighborhood. It was a quick bus-ride from my old apartment and the bars surrounding the field are SAFE and stumbling distance. And let's be realistic...I never really WATCHED the games, it was just great fun to hang in the bleachers.

Here's Wrigley Field (home of the Cubs)...


It's actually a "northside vs. southside" thing in the city of Chicago. It's a long story for another day, but essentially, the "south-side" folks are the White Sox fans, the blue collar people who talk in the traditional Chicago "accent" that Jamie Gertz unsuccessfully tries to copy on her AWFUL TV show depicting life in the south suburbs of Chicago. The Northsiders (North shore), Cubs fans, tend to be the white collar, better educated, hob-knobbers. Now, whether this is all true or not is not for certain, but there are definitely socio-economic differences between the two.

This is U.S. Cellular (home to the White Sox..)


But whether you root for the Cubs or the Sox, there is something brilliant about a Chicago team kicking a** and specifically, the White Sox beating the tar out of the Astros in a game that is was the LONGEST inning World Series game in history. The Sox have been an amazing team this season and the post season play that they'd put together was truly fantastic! Anyway, in spite of the many attacks that I face as not only a Cubs fan, but really, just a "drink beer in the stands fan".. I want to rise above all that and give props to the team that is making history and Chicago very proud!

P.S.

Ironically, I went to that "Chicago in Los Angeles" party a little over a month ago, right? We received these nifty gift bags just oozing with Chicago stuff...architecture guides, gift certificates and t-shirts. And of course, White Sox hats that we all scoffed at!! I will wear mine proudly!

P.P.S.

Vince Vaughn is actually from one of the North Sides most high-fallutin' suburbs, Lake Forest. Apparently, his family still lives there. Luh-key.

Memories of winter…

While all over the U.S., the first cool and stiff swirls of fall air have started, we were literally like insects under a magnifying glass...burning up. It went from, "we are so lucky…its amazingly warm" to "will it ever *bleepin bleep* cool off??"

The past week here has been a fabulous dark and gloomy break from the extremely grating heat that was literally cooking these parts into fires. To me, gloomy weather gives us a break. Sunshine can guilt one into thinking they MUST partake in the world, rather than doing down-time things like, laying on the couch, laying on the couch watching movies, laying on the couch pretending you are watching baseball (oops!) or reading, while laying on the couch.

Downtime activities are a must-have when you live in a place that has real winters. You must find something to do with your time, while encased in hefty and heavy amounts of clothing to protect you from the brisk and sometimes, razor-like winter-y winds. This is one of the reasons people drink for sport in places that get cold (and that have good public transportation!)

I am babbling...

During my last winter in Chicago, I had finally started using the EL trains. I had been a bus person up till then, mostly because my bus was about 10 feet from my front door, while the EL train was at least six blocks west of where I lived. In city terms, its really not that far. In winter terms, it was WJLHS (Where Jesus Left His Shoes).

This particular day I am referring to, there was a snow storm. It was more than a storm…buckets of heavy, wet snow was sincerely pummeling itself to the ground. I thought I was safe. I thought I was protected.

I got off of the EL and on to the street..or where the street had been.

I was wearing a fairly new winter coat. Plum-colored, viciously warm, with length going down to my feet, a glorious fluffy collar and gorgeous to look at, I'd gotten a mean deal on it at Marshall Fields (with several friendly discounts from a good friend that was working there). I thought I could handle it. I thought my new warm coat and I could handle a six block walk. I thought I would win.

Little did I know that when the wet, heavy-like-a-dead-body snow hit my coat, my once gorgeous and warm coat, became 200 lbs of evil wet wool. Evil dead weight wool that I had to haul through a foot of wet snow, whipping wet and cold wind. On top of that, I was also carrying my work bag and purse, which were now sopping wet. With the behemoth amounts of snow, my coat was no longer able to protect me or my things.

I was also wearing a head sock. Head socks are like a sock for your head, only there is a nice gaping hole to breathe out of. There are also two drawstrings to keep it secured (good ones do, at least). Mine had a 1/2 of a missing string, lost-in-fabric-oblivion thing happening. You know, like when your sweats have a drawstring and ½ of it disappears with NO easy way to get it out?? The same thing had happened to my illustrious head sock. Now, with wind whipping, I had cold and wet cloth wrapped around my neck. It just COULDN'T stay on my head when I needed it to, could it?? AND to top it off, being the fashionista I think I am, I had combat boots on. Oh yes, complete with metal brackets. What does that mean?? It means that when its colder than freezer burned meat, the metal sticks together. So on top of being a pile of wet weathered wool walking, my legs would hook together every so often and stick. And yes, (insert your laughter) I did fall. And yes, I did resemble Randy Parker, Ralphie's little brother from "A Christmas Story…" That whole winter I fell wearing those stupid boots (but that's a story for another day!)

As I trudged my own body weight on top of the heaving mass of wool that was on my back, I was swearing under my breath, saying things that would make truck drivers blush. I was numb. Cold. Soaking. There were drifts everywhere. I could not see a block in front of me. I dropped my purse at one point and decided if it happened again, I was leaving it until the Spring.

When I finally arrived to my apartment, I literally peeled my clothing off, soaking-cold piece after piece. Trying to hang a wool coat that is water-logged is one thing, but hanging it and then placing it onto the bathroom shower curtain rod is just not bright. I recall the entire wet wool entourage ripping down my rod, curtain, wet goods and all and falling onto me. I had just started to feel my feet again. Lucky for me, I had radiators and the two in my apartment, quickly became drying spots of mittens, scarves, etc. But that damn coat lied in a heap in my bathtub while I made a spot of tea and did a shot of something to warm my insides.

Sigh.

Today at lunch, T and I were walking near a film shoot set in the dead of winter. Everyone was dressed like my memory of that day…coats, hats, scarves . When we got an okay to walk through the set, there were even patches of that white stuff on the ground. We walked through it in our 70 degree clothing. Glorious.



Beautiful. Strangely, I do miss it...

Sugar Magnolia…

Holy Sugar-high, Batman.

Our office has turned into a carb-riddled, sugar-od'd, high octane fat, food fest.



We decided last week that since our bosses (main boss, specifically) never do anything out of the ordinary for us (especially on days like Assistant's Day, yearly bonuses or anything of the like), we would do something nice, since we are all good people. We all brought in goodies to commemorate their special day. And now we are all sick to our stomachs.

Whatever happened to the good ole, "9 to 5" rat poison vs. skinny sweet days??

p.s. Those bags hold MONSTER-size muffins...I am talking a muffin you can split into quarters. Mooooo.

Jones

No, not Indiana Jones, just plain ole' Jones.

Jones is an iconic little restaurant right down the street from mi casa. But its more than a little restaurant, it has a rock n' roll-ish vibe with a fun little lounge, checkered tablecloths, brick walls, intimate lighting and seating (for the most part), an elevated bar and lots of red vinyl lounge-y seating. And, for the smokers that feel alienated in this city, it holds one of the truly spank smoking rooms that I have ever seen, complete with great pieces of art, ceiling fans, cushy couches and of course, tons of smokers. Even the bathrooms have their own little "flair…" the walls are covered in Polaroid's of all sorts of, um, things, people, body parts, etc.

My background with Jones is less-than colorful. The first time I went there, a friend and I were in sweats, doing crappy home repair, grunt work around my house when it was suggested that we grab some food. I had never been to Jones. I was told it was a fun little place to "grab a bite." Its on a little desolate corner and to be fair, from the outside, it looks like a whole lotta-nothin'. Hear me out, DON'T ever go there in your sweats. This is NOT a Sizzler, but it IS a scene and sweats AIN'T that scene. I sat, huddled down, as I watchfully eyed the hipster-like peeps gallivanting throughout.

Anyway. I was very impressed with the food the first time I'd gone there. Its called an "Italian" restaurant (however, I don't particularly find their menu to be overly Italian.) Very interesting folks were working the bar and the servers were great, so it added to the cool ambience. There are old photos on the walls near the ceiling and a hell of a lot of mirrors (again, DON'T wear sweats). Each table is amply lit with a nice little candle and yummy bread with delish olive oil is brought at your wanting (the servers ASK you if you want carb-riddled bread, after all, it is Hollywood). Great old school rock music floods the air, but at a perfectly leveled loudness. If you are nosy like me, you could overhear many conversations about people and their "Hollywood" stuff. I felt a little awkward that time.

After that first gawky moment, I had dinner there with a friend that was visiting. Fun, but with a hair of pretension that was a little bit of a turn-off.

After that, the bar/smoking area became a great late night haunt for me and my local peeps. The entire place was always like a sardine can after 10. While I always had fun, I always felt this air of fakeness that I could not shake. There were definitely some cool people, but the crowd just felt stale and plastic. I stopped frequenting the place. I'd had enough.

About 5 months ago, I went to meet a group of friends there. Again, not quite sure how I felt about the atmosphere AND the music was way too loud. Now, I am not old, but hearing grating uber-cool 70's, early 80's rock is NOT a good digesting tool, mostly if its blaring on top of loud customers. The drinks were this big, heavy on the ice and low on everything else. The staff was fairly rude, if not distant at being helpful. We decided that evening to order a bunch of desserts. Ironically, in a place filled with living and breathing pencil people, I assumed their desserts would be lame. Quite the opposite. Every dessert that was ordered was better than the next…scrumptious, in fact and heaping in quantity. After having loaded ourselves with all sorts of confections, we hung out at the bar and again, the bartenders seemed completely disinterested in helping anyone, served us drinks that were expensive and made for Lilliputians, and seemed a lot more interested in the antics of each other than their jobs.

I swore off Jones…again.

This past Saturday, with many options for the evening, I decided to give Jones another go. Having it in walking distance to my house makes it worth trying again. And again. And sigh, yet again. I was a little leery. We arrived around 7. It was quite empty. The girl at the door was extremely nice, but warned us that the reservation people were going to start piling in, but we were welcome to a little table in the middle of the restaurant. It was a perfect people watching spot as well as, being in the middle of the action. I noted that the staff seemed…lighter, if not happier. Our server came to greet us and told us the specials and then a funny story about something that had happened earlier. I said I'd heard the books were flooded with reservations and she said, "Yes, its odd. The past few weekends, we've been slammed." She said this quite joyously. She brought us the bottle of wine we'd ordered with the tasty bread I'd mentioned earlier. It was a little empty in there, but had enough light chatter-buzz to keep things interesting. "I wanna be sedated" by the Ramones was lightly beaming through the speakers and it fit in perfectly. We had a chance to really look around the restaurant and breathe in ambience.

Slowly, people started filtering in, but the good vibe continued. Our food was amazingly good and the people watching slowly became more exciting. I overheard a woman at the next table saying, "Wow, this place feels good like it did 10 years ago." I was not sure what it had been like back then, but all I could think was, it was definitely not as "scene-y" as it had been before. The interesting conversations still buzzed about, the noise level still got higher as the night wore on, our drinks at the bar were actually DECENT and…

for once, I can't WAIT to go back! A great night was had by all...and the company I kept did not hurt either :)

Little factoid, apparently, Jones was burned to the ground in a fire back in 1998. It was re-built exactly the same.

Jones
7201 Santa Monica Blvd.
West Hollywood, 90046
(323) 850-1727

...Friday...

Today has been one of those days. You know the kind -- not horribly bad, but just not necessarily great.

First and foremost, my jeans are TOO tight. Not tight in a "omg, its spandex enormity" but tight as in, if they were the access to my oxygen supply, I would have turned Smurfette-blue and passed out hours ago. Tight as in … punishment. And even worse, saggy in the butt, but TIGHT around the waist. Bad. Like rope burn. And the delectable cream puff I taste-tested in the kitchen this morning only added to the pain.

Which leads me to my next point…is anyone else experiencing the "post-Summer, Eat-em' Autumn" thing?? I feel like I just can't get enough food. Or liquid. Anything. And there is Halloween candy floating around in here like nobody's business (and those damned cream puffs) and truth be told, I don't even really like sweets. I blame it on the Santa Ana's....

To combat my morbid feelings of the too-tight jeans, I thought I would go to the gym at lunch. After forcing myself to get there, it was one of those days where there was just nothing making me want to stay. To entertain myself, I force fed my brain into reading some Glamour magazine sex-test and plugged into some tuneage. Just as the treadmill started to become sort of (and I say that with a slight edge of sarcasm) fun, some guy decides to run on the treadmill next to me. This would have been fine, except that the treadmill needed oil or something and as he started running, this awful shrill "scrEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" noise started to howl out of the machine. And the faster he'd run, the louder the "scrEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" noise got. This would have all been okay to deal with, except that there were 10 other OPEN treadmills that I could almost guarantee did not sound like cat murders…

Speaking of cat murders, I was sent a link with breaking news from PETA from one my co-workers. Mind you, years ago, when I was a full-on vegetarian, wannabe-animal activist, I perused the world of PETA on a more regular basis and was a little more in the now. Today the link was about dogs and cats being skinned for their fur in China. I could have just read the blisteringly painful article, but I hit the "play" button on their little built in TV. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw, and I only watched for about 20 seconds. Horrific. Bottom line, there is a little petition on there to put a stop to what I could barely watch. If you are interested, please go on there and sign the petition (but seriously, skip the play-by-play…trust me on this).

http://www.peta.org/

On a lighter note, it's Friday (applause) and its supposed to be cooler this weekend (applause). And then its supposed to be HOT again next week (boo - Maury Povich style)…

Ciao!

Product Junkie, Part Deux

I'd concluded last week that there was a problem in my "junk" wiring for products. But it does not stop at cosmetics, lotions, etc.

A few weeks ago, I went into crazy clean mode, Autumn-style. It was two days of scrubbing, dusting, scraping, pummeling, Q-tipping, oven-cleansing, vacuuming, "waxed on/waxed off"-ing, fun. Not really.

Truth be told, I HATE cleaning. Loathe cleaning. It is the bane of my existence. When I was a kid, I never did an exceptional job cleaning because I knew my mom or sister (it's her b-day today, btw…Happy B-day, Lynn!) would take over. My sister is a clean/neat freak. We shared a room, much to her chagrin. I never could understand those people that find cleaning, "therapeutic." "Tra la la…oh, I was having such a bad day, but dusting, scrubbing the floor and re-organizing made my bad mood fly away." Riiight. I can think of 100 things that would help a bad mood that do not include a mop, a dustpan or any other household item…Alas, my world is different today, being an adult and all. While I dream of having a cleaning person, its not going to happen for a while. While I wish my sister lived closer so that her disdain for reorganization could be put to good use, I have to suck it up and just do the dirty deeds (done dirt cheap…tee hee). And when I am ready to do it, I have to just be in that mood and run with it, no interruptions…

But, what gets me through, time and time again, are my beloved stock of products.

When I was younger, I started out with the products I'd grown up with, Ajax, Windex and a few other odds and ends. But when Pine-Sol ("smells like a Carolina pine forest") started wreaking havoc in the pantry of my parents home, the smell stuck with me…it meant, "Clean." But after a few years of smells, you start to realize (much like people) that things need to actually be cleaned and that sometimes, "smells" are simply covering the real funk that lies beneath.

Sometime in my early 20's, I was friends with this great English girl. She, her husband, brother and his wife had an amazing apartment near a set of L tracks in Chicago. I went to their apartment one day for dinner. The fumes entering their apartment nearly knocked me out…they cleaned everything with bleach. No name, nothing special, but good ole, American "kill the germs and everything in its path" bleach. They then also told me to use rubbing alcohol if I could not get my hands on bleach. I jumped on the bandwagon. My bathroom in Chicago had a window that had been painted in countless times, so with no fresh air, but a war mentality, I would scrub the bathroom top to bottom with a bucket of water and bleach, sometimes alcohol (always with rubber gloves). Then I would pass out. People would come to visit and I would give them surgeons masks. But it was clean.

Then came the Lysol fix. I sprayed everything with Lysol. It’s a way to become germ-phobic, even if you're not. If you sneezed, I sprayed. If you coughed, I sprayed. (Funny, I never linked together that spraying and hacking might go hand-in-hand) . I also discovered Glade plug-ins and all sorts of other "cover-ups." I did clean, but the smells made everything seem just a little cleaner. But the cornucopia of smells all running together…gag. My Lysol days ended with environmental fears of adding to the depleting ozone.

Much like my special cabinet for toiletries, my cabinet for household goodies is ever growing. Three different types of counter wipes. Two types of organic sprays, orange scented, mind you. Next to those, three almost-nuclear sprays that could wipe out a small town. I have beads that you put in the vacuum cleaner to gain a citrus scent. There are three to four sprays for different "air" scents. Clorox bleach spray (my favorite cleaning product in the world), Scrubbing bubbles, all of the Oxy products and Febreeze all run a close number one for me.

And I wonder why I have a million allergies.

P.S.

Oh, and the other thing that helped me through this last cleaning jag?? Jack.

No, NOT Jack Daniels, Silly Wabbit's…

Who's Jack? Jack FM is the newly formatted radio station at 93.1 (Los Angeles). It has new songs, old songs but mostly, all good songs. Barely any commercials, barely any talking and sincerely, the best format since my WXRT days (ironically, 93.1 in Chicago).

Sweet Home....

Last Monday, I had the unique opportunity to rub elbows, eat pizza (Chicago pizza, mind you), snack on all sorts of other yummy Chicago nibblies and hubbub with Chicago peeps at a party called, "Sweet Home Illinois." The party is put on by the Illinois Film Office and affiliated with Columbia College of Chicago, among other entities that get involved.

The whole month before, I'd perused a very nice party for a TV show and then even snob-knobbed at an Emmy's party. But something at this Illinois party was a little different.

When I arrived at the hotel, I was buffing and fluffing in the car, when I noticed a man in a very nice car pull up near mine. I kind of glanced, thought he was some actor, but continued getting my shine on. We both ended up walking to the elevators together. I asked if he was going to the Illinois party. He said yes and introduced himself. Yes, it was the actor. And he was VERY nice and extremely accommodating.

When we arrived upstairs, the girls that were manning the ticket table squealed when they saw him and thought I was there with him. They called me his wife's name and we both laughed. I was curious why I was not on "the list," but he nodded for them to give me the okay to walk in with him.

Inside, it was curiously small. There was a bar. I was all over that. As I sipped on my wine, I realized that I sort of knew everyone in the room from the Chicago elite, including said actor who now was getting cameras shoved in his face. I started chatting things up as I peered around the room looking from my bro and sis-in-law, who'd been so kind to have invited me with them to this event. I did not see them. My cell phone had no bars so there was no way to contact them.

I started talking to a woman, dripping in her "day" diamonds, about her very nice non-profit children's group she runs. I spoke with a man that owns a city block in Chicago. The small room was never that full and still, no sign of the bro or sis-in-law.

After about an hour of schmoozing, I walked out the door and asked squealing girls if there was another room. They nodded and pointed down the hall where the sign said, Ballroom. D-uh.

As I walked to the ballroom, my brother ran over, asking what had happened. I told him I was BFF with said actor and told him the story. Apparently, I'd been in the VIP room.

The ballroom was another story. About 500 people were gallivanting about. As I surveyed the room,. my personal eye-spotlight did a 180… and as soon as I saw the table, heaven's gates opened and angels sang. They had it. MY pizza. My absolute favorite, most decadent treat from Chicago: Lou Malnati's…A table was filled with LARGE slices of fabulous, gut-busting, oozing with goodness, stuffed pizza and as people took the slices off in a ferocious manner, the loving, angel-workers kept putting more on. In agreement with me, my brother and I stood there in ecstasy, gleefully stuffing our faces.

As my sis-in-law dragged us away, there was more…Star of Siam (yummy Asian cuisine), Billy Goat Burgers (yes, "Cheeseburger, Cheeseburger, Cheeseburger"), Rainbow cones, Demon Dogs, Connie's Pizza (not a fan, but still), and Eli's fat-ladened cheesecake. There were others, ribs and such, but truth be told, I just kept going back for my slices of pizza…

The VIP room I'd been in apparently held mostly peeps from Chicago that had flown in for this event. The ballroom, however, was filled with the displaced, former Chicagoan, L.A.-alien folks, like myself, which is why the sight of Chicago food was so welcomed.

My bro and sis-in-law knew quite a few people so we made rounds. In that time, I also met one of the authors of a very popular book that I have read a million and two times (and have about 5 copies of). He was so easy-going, chatted up my brother and I, gave us his card and truly offered any help he can offer for career stuff. As we spoke, other Chicago actors you'd recognize from TV, film and Second City started milling through and just started hanging out. One actor put his drink down and asked if he could stand with us. We all talked about Chicago, where we'd all grown up, how long we'd been in L.A. He, of course, lives in both cites (bastard), but was truly open and encouraging. Said actress that people would know caroused about, too, and was also asking everyone where they'd grown up, if they missed Chicago, etc.

The evening was really about celebrating some of the film people that have brought film work to Chicago and encouraging everyone to do the same. One person was the guy that created, "Prison Break," (its filmed at the Joliet State Pen). After he spoke, other people took the stage, encouraging all of us stuffed-to-the-gills people to consider Chicago in our art. The writer of "The Break Up" then appeared (Vince Vaughn was supposed to have been there, but was with his "comedy" act somewhere.) The writer was extremely interesting to listen to and was given some fun awards.

At the end, my new BFF (said actor that had let me in the VIP room with him) and some other gentleman that looked like a Mafioso came together on stage and had the entire room singing along to their rendition of, "My kind of Town…" The entire crowd sang along, as we all rubbed our bulging bellies. I was teary-eyed.

Afterwards, I forced myself to go speak with the writer of "The Break-Up." He was being pushed, pulled and pummeled by all sorts of media folks, but when I asked if I could speak with him, he very sweetly said, "Don't move…give me just a sec." As the reporters and such were chucking him about, I thought maybe he'd forgotten. As I started to walk, he walked away from what he was doing and apologized for making me wait. We spoke for a few moments about writing, about Chicago, and he offered some excellent information to me and was so encouraging.

My bro, sis-in-law and I pretty much were loose cannons, chatting away all night, but kept meeting back up to excitedly say, "I am having so much fun."

After that, we decided it was time to go. I waved to said actor (BFF) and he happily waved as he was being chatted up by some reporter. As we walked out of the ball room, they had care packages (goody bags) chocked filled with Chicago architecture stuff, bottles of wine, t-shirts, White Sox hats (this is before anyone knew they were in the running for the World Series) and all sorts of other goodies.

We all said our goodbyes as we retreated to our cars. I then left a note on BFF actors car saying I would like a job!!!! Stalker!
(jk!!!)

P.S. Gastronomically speaking, in Burbank, CA, there is now a restaurant called, "Taste Chicago." It's at 603 N. Hollywood Way - Burbank, CA 91505 Food is shipped in straight from the horses mouth!

There is also a website you can order straight-from-Chicago food:

http://www.deepdishpizza.com/cgi-bin/lmcart.pl

or if you want to order me a PIZZA!

http://www.loumalnatis.com/