Just a little Idol chit-chat...

So, the past two nights I tried hard NOT to watch, but I just couldn't help myself.

Tuesday night, the girls sang and once again, tripped, fell and picked BAD songs. For instance, nameless contestant girl who tortured us last week with the HORRIFIC song that was specifically written for Idol, came back with equal amounts of sadisticness by choosing a Mariah Carey song. WTF??? Mariah is SO on right now and while I might fling my nose in the air at her lack-thereof of fashion, the girl has pipes and Idol girl failed MISERABLY. Two good ones? Ayla, who was sincerely invisible to me the week before and once again, Mandisa, who closed the show with the same wonderful energy as last week.

Now for the boys of Wednesday night. Sigh. The boys this year are light years better than the girls, but again, SONG CHOICE. My favorites were gray-haired guy (taylor hicks) who did not pick the best song, but still has more soul than a closet of shoes and the closer, the hot, bald BABE who sang the SH** out his song, which I with much embarrassment, don't know the name of. But you see?? I don't even know the name of the tune, but still...his showmanship blew everyone out of the water. All in all, the boys were SO much better. A few clinkers, a few blah performances but all in all, good stuff.

That's all!

Perpetual City

It been over two years. Actually, today its two years and a few weeks since it ended (last episodes -- Part Une and Deux - February 15 and 22, 2004).

Somehow, even the watered-down, swear-naked, sans sex talk or scenes that are on regular TV STILL manages to works its glorious magic (ain't nothin' like the real thing, though!).

Yes. I am talking about (drum roll, please) -- "Sex and the City."

Last night, the rerun was the second to the last episode, properly called, "An American Girl in Paris: Part Une" In this episode (*SPOILER ALERT*) Carrie has decided to leave the fabulous city she loves as much as her three friends to move on to greener pastures -- Yes, PARIS!!!

I was having such a hard time, overwhelmed at the memory of watching this same episode in its finale weeks AND remembering how compelling each character was to watch at this point in the game. As Carrie gave her friends her final goodbye speech at their final New York City dinner, Charlotte started to cry. I had to flip over to South Park to bring myself out of near combustible tears. That worked for the moment as Cartman was giving each of the boys costumes for the boy band he'd put together so they could perform at malls.

I inched back to "SATC" and decided to take my medicine. I guess besides having seen the episode a zillion times, missing the show to death, etc. and still feeling a void since NO show has really been this good with stories or writing since, I also lived those similar moments with my own friends when I left Chicago…

Bunnie and I were just discussing friendships and how no matter how good, how bad, how busy, in love, in hate or in chaos you are, you'd better be sure that you tend to those friendships, keep them close and nurture them. *It's an inescapable truth, especially for women, that we need our girlfriends. Sometimes we really need their support more at times, but it's the ongoing feeding of the relationship that keeps it intimate and special.* Good friends are hard to come by, but will be your lifesavers when you least expect it, the shoulder when there are no others and your cheerleader when its ALL so good or OH so bad…

I am grateful for the ones I have. They all know this. I am glad SATC reminds me of how lucky I am…

Now, if I ONLY had a Big -- but that's a story for another day.

*Bunnie's words

great quote

The biggest room in the world is the room for improvement.
- unknown

Embarrassing habits....

I know, right? A little IDOL goes a long way. I DO have a little habit going on with American Idol. My friend T and I were discussing the fact that in the past three years, we have both religiously been watching and know a little too much about the show and the contestants, old and new.

Last night while baking cookies (I had to add that in for Holly Hobbie purposes) and whilst doing laundry, I started to watch the first 12 females perform.

Truthfully speaking, it was like watching paint dry. The reports that there were only four good singers last night were almost correct as, while I love the little blonde girl with the tragic, "Mah daddies in prizon" story, I don't think it was her best performance THOUGH I give her tons of kudos because she is truly, as Simon says, "a bag of nerves."

The two contestants that were most important to me last night were the very first girl and the very last girl.

First girl was insulted by Simon a few weeks ago. He'd made a VERY degrading comment about her weight -- something about the fact they'd need a bigger stage for her. She handled him and the humiliation like a champ and carried on. She even told him she forgave him. Btw, her name is Mandisa.

Mandisa was the first person to perform of the season. She barrelled out from the stage and BELTED OUT an amazing and electric version of Heart's, "NEVER," which, lemme tell you as a girl that likes to play around with singing, is a HARD HARD HARD song. One should never take on a Wilson sister song unless one has the voice to bang it out and you know, she nailed it. THAT is what makes a good contestant on the show...you pick a kick-ass song that can make or break you and you make it your own. I say this as after that (yawn...zzzz), it seemed EVERYONE started schmaltzing with the ballads.

Now again. Ballads are not always easy, but for the most part, if you think you are good enough to sing on national TV, don't pick a song that is played at a karaoke bars over and over OR worse, that is from a Disney movie. Or EVEN worse, the stupid ass song that was written strictly for the show last season...BOO.

Before I go to the last contestant, I have to say, Paris (not Parasite Hilton, mind you), but the adorable Paris who made a Gladys Knight and the Pipps song so good on the ears and SO fun to watch, should be doing Broadway. Not only is she adorable, have personality and spunk, the kid can sing circles around almost anyone there.

Now, last but not least. Now, the last girl of ;ast night show can sing. In fact, one would say she is not only beautiful but her voice is unique, her technique flawless. But one might also say that while she is #1 all around, there is also the trouble factor that her MOTHER IS A VOICE TEACHER. And she talks about it ALL of the time. Now wouldn't it KIND OF be an unfair advantage? I mean, the "mah daddie's in prizon" girl is from Where Jesus Left His Shoes, Alabama and our little diva whose MOTHER IS A VOICE TEACHER is from Sherman Oaks, CA.

Maybe this will make the competition more interesting, or maybe it will make it VERY unfair. Anyway. Tonight are the boys. Tomorrow the results.

Sigh. By the time its over, it will be summertime and I can rid myself of a bad Idol habit for yet another season!

UGG Kitty!

Before: Slightly psychotic, a little Damien Omen, right???





And now?? An adorable bobble-head Kitty with Big Winky Eyes!! Ah, sweet Freedom!

Hermano means BROTHER…

Today I am mourning the loss of the show that made me belly laugh, which for a TV show NEVER happens. Watching it on TV was enough, but after purchasing the DVD's of this particular piece of comedic genius, I found myself playing certain scenes over and over and laughing just as hard the 3rd. 4th AND 5th time around. This dynamic show brought to life serious problems like being a "nevernude", vertigo, that the blue part of the map is NOT land, and dating your mother's best friend to make her jealous is um, interesting. On top of that, it took strong activism stances for higher purposes like "HOOP" (Hands Off Our Penises, an anti-circumcision organization) . It told us that having a crush on your cousin is wrong but "maeby" she isn't your "real" cousin. Since I can't even begin to explain the constant comic ecstasy, this will make things easier:

"The plot for Arrested Development revolves around the members of the Bluth family, who generally lead excessive lifestyles. At the center of the show is the relatively honorable Michael Bluth (Jason Bateman), who strives to do the right thing and keep his family together, despite their materialism, selfishness and manipulation. His teenage son, George Michael (Michael Cera), has the same qualities of decency, but feels a constant pressure to live up to his father's expectations, and is reluctantly willing to follow his father's plans, even if they sometimes conflict with his own.

Michael's father George Sr. (Jeffrey Tambor), the patriarch of the family, is the founder of the Bluth Company, whose primary operations are building and marketing mini-mansions. At times dictatorial, George Sr. goes to considerable lengths to manipulate and control his family.

His wife, and Michael's mother, Lucille (Jessica Walter), is equally manipulative, as well as materialistic, and hypercritical of every member of her family. In particular, she has a tight grip on her youngest son, Byron "Buster" Bluth (Tony Hale), who, as a result of his mother's dominance and sheltering, is unstable, socially inept and prone to panic attacks.

Michael's older brother GOB (George Oscar Bluth II; pronounced /dʒoʊb/ "Jobe"), played by Will Arnett, is an unsuccessful professional magician whose business and personal schemes usually fail. He primarily uses a Segway for transportation, and sometimes converses with others from it while stationary, as if it were a pulpit. GOB is used by his father to undermine Michael's control of the family business.

Michael's twin sister Lindsay (Portia de Rossi) is a self-proclaimed activist, who is flamboyant and materialistic, continually desiring to be the center of attention. She enjoys being objectified, but also protests it. She is married to Tobias Fünke (David Cross), a "Never Nude," who became an aspiring actor after his psychiatrist's license was revoked, and whose language and behavior often have inadvertent homosexual connotations. Their attention-starved daughter Mae "Maeby" Fünke (Alia Shawkat) is the polar opposite of her cousin George Michael — skipping school, cheating on homework, and stealing money from the family's banana-stand business. The ever-rebellious teen, Maeby finds her chief motivation in going against her parents' wishes.

Several other characters regularly appear in minor roles. George Sr.'s identical twin brother Oscar (also played by Jeffrey Tambor) is a lethargic ex-hippie seeking the affection of George's wife Lucille. Lucille Austero, or "Lucille 2", played by Liza Minnelli, is Lucille's rival and Buster's love interest. Carl Weathers plays a parody of himself, as an unemployed, ultra-cheapskate actor. Other notable characters include: Annyong (Justin Lee), Lucille's adopted Korean child and Buster's rival; Kitty Sanchez (Judy Greer), George Sr.'s former secretary; Barry Zuckerkorn (Henry Winkler), the family attorney; Ann Veal (Mae Whitman), George Michael's deeply religious girlfriend; Ben Stiller as Tony Wonder a heralded magician who is part David Copperfield, part David Blaine; Steve Holt (Justin Grant Wade), a schoolmate of George Michael and Maeby; and Scott Baio as attorney Bob Loblaw (pronounced, "Ba blah blah"), a replacement for Barry Zuckerkorn, in part, because he "skews younger" (an allusion to Baio's "Happy Days" character "Chachi," who was brought in to inject youth into the aging Winkler's "Fonzie."). Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Charlize Theron, and Amy Poehler also play recurring characters."

I am the first to admit, I really don't like sitcoms. To me, real life is MUCH funnier…I never quite got "Seinfeld" and really didn't care for "Cheers" (don't hate me), but once in awhile had a few good laughs on "Friends" and of course, there was well-written dramedy like "Sex and the City", but that weepy, missing-a-show sadness for "SATC" is writing for another day.

Tomorrow marks the LAST episode of "Arrested Development..."

WTF???

How is it POSSIBLE that a bs, wood-stiff, blah-blah-blah, un-original show like, "Two and a half men" is the NUMBER ONE sitcom in America but the beloved Bluth family just CAN'T be saved?? Don't people know what is FUNNY anymore?? Overly-botoxed Charlie Sheen and sad-sad sidekick Jon Cryer …I think NOT!!!

Instead I wait in tearful longing that someone picks this series up though hope is not entirely lost. My understanding is that there is a snowball’s chance in hell that Showtime STILL might be interested. Showtime would be a great fit for “Arrested Development.” The show’s survival would no longer be as closely tied to ratings. Then I would be dependent on buying the newest episodes since I don't have cable, but it would be well worth every penny.



PS. Yes. I know! Enough, right? But I had to say that the kids on this how (Michael Cera and Alia Shawkat, oh and the girl that plays "egg," I mean, "Anne")are sincerely some of the BEST comedic actors I have ever witnessed...SO funny, so funny.

a little thought for the day...

Watch your thoughts; they become your words. Watch your words; they become your actions. Watch your actions; they become your habits. Watch your habits; they become your character. Watch your character for it will become your destiny.
unknown

salting the wound

Not to rub it in to any of my wonderful people in the Midwest or those who nest in D.C. (DADDIE!!) OR New Jersey, but its like the beginning of summer here out West or at least those first days of Spring. It's amazingly beautiful. NOT to rub it in :)

Happy Sunny Day....Happy Sunny Day!

How is it possible that its February ...??? Oh and Happy Groundhog Day!!

Acid Rain in my cornflakes

Last night, after displaying signs of vertigo after perusing the paint section at the Hollywood Home Depot for a half hour too long, I was later greeted by a very angry woman in my laundry room who so eloquently let me know that my taking her 3/4-the-way dry clothes out of the washing machine and placing them on the dryer was JUST NOT acceptable. But THAT wasn't enough. Her mother then WAITED for me on my way down to put my things in the dryer to ONCE AGAIN let me know taking her daughters clothes out of the machine was NOT acceptable. Neighbor Friend was with me, THANK GOD, but man oh man, talk about a creepy situation. They were double-teaming and yelling assumptions that just DO NOT exist. Very bad.

Our laundry room has three washers and three dryers. For the size of our building, that is just not very much. I have been apartment dwelling for YEARS and usually give people a grace period as to how long I can hold out on letting their clothes lie dormant, but last night, it was a different story. These clothes were CLEARLY almost dry and had taken the mishape of the washing machine. Whatever the case may be, it was a truly hellish situation and one where communication was JUST NOT getting thru...

The BB was on a rampage earlier this morning so that just added dose of arsenic to my already acid rain-laced cornflakes...

CALGON! Take me away!

(But I did find some nice paint colors and have a fun project in store.)

Intolerable Cruelty

On Saturday, I finally went and saw, "Brokeback Mountain." J and I opted to see it at the The Arclight.

Let me start by saying, I LOVE the Arclight. Its assigned seating but patrons can choose their spots. GREAT people watching in ticket lines. The sound is great, all of the theaters have stadium seating, comfy seats, good munchie selections AND ushers who try to accommodate you while viewing your flick. (AND…there's an actual bar with actual drinkie-drinks.)

We arrived just a few minutes before the movie was starting, so our seat selection was down to the last few. There were a few on the very bottom and few on the very top. We went to the top.

As we nestled comfortably into our chairs, there was a woman on one side of me and then an empty chair next to her. That was fine. What happened next was NOT fine…

A woman comes barreling up the stairs with the LARGEST popcorn available to man, nachos, well-sized drink and loudly barks to her friend, "_____, can you move over to the next seat??"

Oh no. So Lady-with-the-concessions plops down right next to me. At first, everything seemed okay, except as the movie started, the crunching had begun. Now, I know. People crunch popcorn. This was different as she was putting so much effort in that she was taking obsessive LARGE breaths in between. She was "out of breath" from eating her vat of popcorn.

As that slowly started my descent into anger-at-movies-hell, the two of them started to have little discussions.

"Isn't that Heath Ledger?"

"Oh yes, that's him."

"What was he in again, Braveheart?"

"No, NOT Braveheart, The Patriot."

"Oh yea. He looks different in this movie…."

"He sure does."

These little dialogues happened about every 12 minutes. Yes. I was checking the time to see how long it would take for the next one to start.

"Isn't that guy Jake Gyllenhaal?"

"From Spider-man?"

"No, that's Tobey something."

"Oh, right."

And my personal favorite:

"I know her! That girl (woman is pointing to the extra in a scene and loudly saying this) …she's my doctor'sbestfriendsdaughter-in-law. He told me to watch for her! She's finally getting a break in the movies."

"Wonderful."

J, of course, had no one on the other side of him and of course, I was the only person to his right so after the movie, when I started my tirade about these vicious interruptions, he was like, "What? I didn't hear a thing."

The movie was good. Heath was amazing.

And then there was yesterday morning. I honestly thought the voice from the original Amityville Horror was alive and thriving in my living room ("GET OUT…")

I planned on making chili yesterday. At around 8 a.m., I squintally got out of bed, put on a pot of coffee and start the chili process.

As I blearily put together the coffee stuff, I heard this loud noise, like an airplane or a surge of warped speed light saber sounds. I walked to my window thinking a plane was about to smash into my building when it occurred to me, the people across the way must have gotten a surround sound system…it works. Especially at 8 a.m. on a Sunday. Yay for me.

My "only in L.A." for the day?
As I was pulling out of my apartment, a 60+ year old man was jogging, barefoot in his Speedos around the neighborhood!

heart attack special...

Hoo-ray for Friday!!!

Even our new little lemon friend is happy...

Things that happen when boredom strikes...

Yesterday afternoon, T and I were bored, bored, bored. We found a lost hard-boiled egg on the floor in our kitchen and thought we might make him our new adventure pal. That didn't work out because someone threw him in the garbage. We then settled for Mr. Pathetic, but cute, LemonHead.

Well Dunne

I was at the gym last night. There are four TV's in the cardio section, perched up on the wall. The TV's have "closed captioning" on so if I am music-less or magazine-less, I will usually read the screen. There are usually news programs on and then Larry King live. Love Larry King.

Last night, however, as I rode the elliptical, sweating buckets all over my person and People magazine, I nearly fell off my machine when I read what came across the screen.

Last night's guest was Dominick Dunne. I love Dominick Dunne…HUGE fan. Day-am, that man has been in and out of the ringer a million times over between being a well-known public alcoholic, was once PUNCHED out by a man because "Frank Sinatra told me to," lost his daughter, Dominique (you remember her from "Poltergeist"…she was big sister Dana, who is gone most of the movie, until she comes home to the ghostly chaos and starts shrieking, "What's happening….!!!!!") to a stalker boyfriend, but all in all, his books, "Vanity Fair" articles and everything else he touches, are fascinating.

Last night, he and Larry were talking about The Rich and infamous families. The Menendez brothers were a part of the discussion, as were a slew of other stories, but at one point, he started talking about the Hilton and proclaimed that Ms. Paris earned a WHOPPING (this on top of her VERY meaty slab of Hilton inheritance) $7 million dollars last year. He also said she was at Sundance and he saw a clip of her helping herself to some "freebie" Chanel (and let's face it, a girl of that money magnitude HARDLY needs a freebie).

To me, Paris earned $7 big ones simply for "showing up." Is her 15 minutes EVAR going to end?? She gets anywhere from $150,000 to $200,000 to appear at a party for 20 minutes. Does she REALLY add that much flare to an event??

I remember having a discussion about a year ago with someone at a party. We were having a little debate about the Kennedy's vs. the Hiltons. He tried to tell me that the Kennedy's were "much shadier" than anything the Hiltons could conger up. Dude. Apples and Oranges. Every family has skeletons (some living and breathing tow-headed sisters), but really…beyond the fact the Kennedy's were political folks, at least the kids (messed up or not) were public servants and DID do things to help out the community. Paris offers nothing. Nada. Zilch. NOT even good fashion tips and especially NO good tips on being an animal mother.

One good thing, the people of Sundance MUST Be in agreement. This was on MTV.com

"God Save the Hollywood Industry," read the banner. Below it hung a sign with Paris Hilton's disembodied head flashing a vapid smile in the middle of a red circle with a "Ghostbusters"-like slash through her face. Beneath that was the entryway to one of Tuesday night's most popular industry parties, the crowd roaring with conversations about how hard-partying pseudo-stars are undermining the Sundance experience." From Kevin Smith, ""[Hilton] is just like, 'Where's there a camera? I'm there. Where's my little dog? In two years, nobody's going to remember that name; mark my words," he laughed, sounding like he'd already R.S.V.P.'d to the "God Save the Hollywood Industry" party himself…."

A little more Hilton: The Chicago Hilton has this beautiful room on the top of it that has purple lights beaming out of it on specific nights. Apparently, Conrad Hilton, who was married to Elizabeth Taylor for just a little under a year, made this amazingly stunning room specifically for her. Imagine if that would have survived!

One other thing…some folks in Detroit want the day after the Superbowl to become a national holiday since apparently over half a million people take the day off anyway. They are calling it, "DA-Day". I am thinking there should be a floating holiday OR a "DAA-Day" for people like myself that think the Academy Awards IS their Superbowl.

Miracles and other extraordinary events...

You know, my mani/pedi people are true miracle workers.

Take this dry weather, right? My hands were looking CREE-py and crepe...like the paper. My fingernails looked like I stuck them in pencil sharpeners and rather than make anyone gag or throw up in their mouth a little, I won't even talk about my feet.

But then, you go to the Nail place. Sometimes you don't get the good ones, but today, I got two truly gifted nail people. They took my Nightmare Nails and turned them into colorful, clean and public-friendly appendages. Now they are NICE Nails!



All this for a very low price and peace of mind! Btw, that's the new InStyle with Uma. It's a good one!

Blissful state of being

Well, I am definitely back in L.A. On Monday, it took me an HOUR and 10 minutes to get to work (on a weekend, it takes 15 minutes to do that same drive). While I don't think I could EVER live in Arizona, I definitely appreciated the wide open spaces. Even the gym my friend and I worked out in had TONS of space.

On a different note (no pun intended), I am SO over hearing about how the American Idol judges (SIMON) are so mean. I don't think I will be following the show like I have in past years, but of course, the auditions are loads of fun. But they are AUDITIONS and these total wankers show up thinking that they are either too good for the show or can't take the criticism.

Okay. Now that I am officially ALL over the board today, here is something fun to do in your spare time. The idea is to enter your name and "looks like" (make sure you do it in parenthesis) into Google, hit the "google search" button and see what pops up.

It's amazing what "Lisa looks like" ...

LISA LOOKS LIKE SHE COULD USE A GOOD TOUNGE LASHING!
What'd I do??

Lisa looks like she's going to look great AND be comfortable
YAY for me!

lisa looks like someone's drunk mom.
Maybe NOT the mom...

Lisa looks like a total brat who's making fun of Acid.
Huh??

Lisa looks like a goddess in her newly-finished Goddess yarns poncho!
Why thank you (taking a curtsy)

Lisa looks like she is going to throw up
Work is hard

Lisa looks like a prostitute
Only on a good day..

Lisa looks like she's been caught shoplifting at Saks.
No, that would be Winona...

Lisa looks like she's having a great time
ALWAYS

Lisa looks like she just won the Lotto.
From the web to the Universe...

Lisa looks like a zombie
Only at work

AIRPLANE!

I flew to Phoenix this past Thursday evening. Immediately I was happy as it’s a great flight since its only an hour AND this particular flight happened to be quite empty.

Since I was flying Southwest where you choose your seats, I opted to stay close to the front and in an aisle. A guy in his mid-to-late 40's was occupying the window seat, which was nice since we had room in between us.

He started to tell me that he'd grown up in Long Beach and had surfed every inch of the California coast. At one point in his life, he LIVED in his Jeep and surfed every second that it was possible. On the off days, he would detail cars. He ate beans out of the can for several years. I was fascinated. He did this for NINE years. He then joined AA and has been clean for 11 years. Now he was married, helping to raise his wife's three kids in Arizona, but was frequently flying back to his hometown to check in on a business.

We then started to talk about his mothers death. At this point, he told me I should be a reporter, as he said I was really good at asking pointed questions. I am not sure WHAT I asked to provoke this conversation, but since his earlier stories were helping along my hour flight, I wanted to hear his story.

His mother had been ravaged by cancer. I was expecting some tears or some really heavy story. I mean, he told me he took care of her for several months prior. He then told me he held her while she was dying. But this wasn't that "I wept over her ailing carcass story," but instead he was demonstrating those last few minutes….he said he was holding her up, slightly shaking her and yelling, "YEA MA….GET TO THE LIGHT MA!!!!!….GO TO THE LIGHT!!!!....LEAVE THIS F_ING PLACE AND GOOOOOO!!!! LOOK FOR THE WHITE LIGHT!!!! YEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH" He demonstrated this while holding his fists up like he was at a 1960's peace rally. He told me the nurses were running into the room in complete shock while he told them to "GET OUT AND LET HER GO…" He re-dramatized this entire scenario, complete with how he was holding her, his expressions and even the volume he was yelling out.

Yes. This is a true story. He said it was one of the most profound moments of his life…I'll bet. Made me think of how sad we all get. Maybe he has the right idea.

My flight back was a little different. It was a PACKED house. Again, I found an aisle seat close to the front of the plane. I was reading my Rolling Stone (which, by the way, this month's issue with Neil Young on the front is PACKED with great stories).

As the aircraft settled in, one of the flight people got onto the intercom. She welcomed us to our flight and said there was a surprise pilot on the plane. No one was really paying any attention until she mentioned, "you'd know him from movies like "Saturday Night Live" … the plane quieted down whilst we waited to see Mr. Travolta pop his Scientological head thru the door. Instead, another flight person popped thru and said, "Gotchya! Now that we have your attention…let's talk about your seatbelts…"

As I started to ease into the Neil story in my Stone, I heard a little voice singing. The voice was really great and I immediately figured the kid singing was on her way to L.A. for an audition. But as I listened a little more closely, I heard her saying things like, "Jesus is my best friend in the world…Daddy is, too."

As I slowly creaked my head across to see where this was coming from, I nearly fell over in shock. DUDES. It was the REAL Ned Flanders and his family!! I am NOOOOT kidding you. Ned was sitting on the aisle seat. He had his puffy, mullet-like hair, the bushy mustache, the glasses, a powder blue turtleneck and Dockers. On top of that his daughter, the one who'd been singing, was about 10 and wearing an identical outfit as were the two other little boys who must have been the brother spawn. Throughout the flight, they were playing games on their little trays like, "Connect the dots for Jesus," and "Unscramble thy Lord."

I was not being a stalker, but their voices carried and much like a car crash, I could not look away. When out flight folks brought us our drinks, the singing little girl shrieked to the woman behind me (that I figured out was Mama Flanders),."Mommy…don't be jealous but I have … HOT CHOCOLATE.")

At that point, I was dying. I wanted to turn around and see who could have produced the other half of the Flanders clan.

When the flight landed and I went to grab my carry-on, I saw MF. She was draped in a BIG arce denim smock that was stitched through with butterflies and apples and was wearing a cross that looked like it was make of grass (the kind that you mow, not that you smoke.)

SO, all in all, my hour long journeys were quite entertaining, if not a little frightening.

Btw. Phoenix was a lot of fun. I always said I did not like Phoenix, but it was dislike by association (the people I was forced to hang around with made my time VERY dull). This time was pure fun and frolic.

My friend Anne had a co-joined birthday party (her and four other January b-day people) where we took TONS of pics. This one was on our roll. We are STILL figuring out WHO she is, WHERE she came from and HOW she ended up on our film!!!

Seriously...

Scenario:

Afternoon meeting to go over some new software.

Our wonderful computer guy comes to give our group a "quick" lesson in some very ez-to-use software. I use the word "quick" because I am being sarcastic and am bitter.

Our office is divided up by the "I care", "I kind of care", the "I don't f-ing care" and the "who are you people and where am I??"...and then there is the group who ask questions. Dozens of questions. Zillions and gazillions of meaningless, no point, "I am speaking to hear my own voice" and "I LOVE my voice" questions.

May I mention I used this software, all by my lonesome with no instructions two months ago? T was with me and let me say, as a non-computer savvy person, it was simple. The meeting COULD have been that simple. The five page packet that had lots of pictures made it kindergarten-easy, but NO-OH. The meeting that should have been 10 minutes lasted a whopping 45 minutes. Five minutes of our guys nice and friendly spiel and the other 40 spent listening to a myriad of "stick needles in my eye" stories.

But there were cookies. Two trays. YUM.

P.S. My boss took a slew of the cookies home. That's a story for another day...

I gots me the jitters...

That would be the coffee jitters...

T, my darling office friend that sits just a kick under the desk away and I have been consuming lethal amounts of coffee all afternoon. What started out as a pleasant stroll together to the kitchen at around 9 a.m. has now brought us to 5-ish p.m...and after watching a few hours (alright..I am exaggerating) minutes of some REALLY bad Internet shows, we are now fizzling out. At our height of the coffee high, I was suddenly brought back to the movie, "Requiem for a Dream," minus the hard drugs, mood music and gut-wrenching end.

Btw. I watched a few minutes of "Dancing with the Stars" last night. I make fun of George Hamilton quite a bit for NO good reason, but last night, I fell in love with the senior-esque, over-tanned charmer. He is SOOO debonair and was smiling like a Cheshire cat the entire time, which immediately made me want to vote for him. He's got old-school swoon going on.

I missed everyone else.

The Bitter Sweet...

Thank goodness. It's over. The cornucopia of crazy holiday fun is D-O-N-E for another year.

Truthfully, this was one of the best years, without a doubt. Lots of festivity, lots of joyous moments and really, time off that made me realize more and more how positively wonderful it would be to have a lot of self-made money to play with while living high on the hog. Sigh. It happens all the time, so maybe that should be on the "to do" list this year, right??

What seems to be the common theme EVERYWHERE is change. Whether this means a new do', a new look, a new way of thinking or putting a kibosh on something bad, there seems to be a rejuvenation happening to everyone, moreso than I have noticed in years...or am I just getting old??

As far as resolutions...rather than the usual, "lose 15 pounds, run a marathon, do this or that.." I am opting for a more practical, yet crafty approach...taking what is there and making it better.

Let's face it. We all want, but this past season made me really focus on what I have and peeps, I have A LOT. I am rich beyond my wildest dreams. My apartment is safe, cute and comfortable, I have peace of mind, a cat that now has CLEAN teeth (!!), MORE comfy stuff ("things") than most people could imagine and most importantly, I have some of the most fabulous people around me, whether here or far away...everything else that needs to happen is out there, it just needs to be tweaked, churned, coddled, tapped into...you get my point.

Anyway, Happy New Year and may you find what you need...

It's a Wonderful Life...(A LITTLE TRIVIA...)

1. What business did George's father start?
a. Old man Potter's Emporium
b. The Bailey Bros. Building & Loan
c. General Electric
d. Bailey Bros. Savings & Loan

2. What was George's wife's name?
a. Mary
b. Mary Pat
c. Mary Ellen
d. Marybeth

3. What was Sam Wanewright's saying/greeting?
a. I'll be back!
b. Who's your daddy!
c. Good morning!
d. Hee-haw!

4. What was George's Guardian Angel's name?

a. Clarence
b. Karl
c. Clementine
d. Joe

5. How much did uncle Billy lose?

a. $3,000
b. $6,000
c. $8,000
d. $9,000

6. How did uncle Billy lose the money?

a. Video poker at an online casino
b. Gave it to Mr. Potter wrapped in a newspaper
c. Threw it in the trash by accident
d. Martini's Bar & Grill

7. What was the cop's name?

a. Ernie
b. Oscar
c. Bert
d. Big Bird

8. What was the maid saving her money for before giving it to George?
a. A new husband
b. Buy a House
c. A divorce if she ever got a husband
d. Trip to Las Vegas


9. What book did the angel carry with him?

a. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
b. The Hardy Boys
c. Touched by an Angel
d. Heavenly Recipes

10. No man is a failure who has...

a. a mobile phone.
b. high speed internet access.
c. friends.
d. a loving wife.

ANSWERS in COMMENTS...

The Cult of Proselytization

First he publicly attacked Brooke Shields regarding her post-partum depression, which thankfully, caused a HUGE amount of backlash.

He practically trampled Oprah with his high-happy- drama antics.

He knocked up his girlfriend.

Once again, the self-named King of Psychiatry and Scientology, formerly known as once-decent actor, Tom Cruise, had some "vital" information to offer the firemen that risked their lives during 9/11. He and his child/girlfriend Katie threw a "little" benefit a few days ago in NYC to offer his "expert" advice. (The tickets for this night of learning from a "pro" started at the wee price of $6,250…let's sit with this while we ponder the thought that the median salary for a firefighter is $46,160.) Rather than encouraging these people who are still suffering from their own personal aftermaths from that fateful day to seek proper help, he is asking them to STOP their meds and the other treatments they are on to do the therapy he sees fit. Oh, and his solution?? The Canola solution….yes. Drinking canola oil and having a Scientology "purification".

I am the first to offer up that I believe in alternative methods of healing, but having read over the "Elders of Scientology's'" ideas of purification, it just screams C-U-L-T.

This is also coming from the same man that thinks he understands psychiatry and can rightfully tell people how to deal with their mental health- - through vitamins and by putting themselves through "talk therapy"…

Let me start by saying that Tom Cruise had some good points when he initially started his campaign. The quiet before the storm were his remarks about children being over-medicated. The number of children on Ritalin has sky-rocketed in the past 10 years and I am in complete agreement that hampering children with these drugs is completely ridiculous and unnecessary. Pre-Crazy Tom, he had some very valid points. I am sure if diagnoses for this "disease" had been as widely spread as it is now, we ALL would have been diagnosed as children.

But what scares me is his irresponsibility when dealing with REAL chemical illnesses. Now, I am hardly one to talk of such knowledge, but what I do know, having dealt with a mentally ill person on a very personal basis, is that medication is a mentally ill persons lifeline. Trust me when I say, I don't condone pill-popping for anyone, but having watched a mentally ill person go off of their meds for even a few days was like watching a reality-TV version of "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." And having never talked with Tom Cruise, I do not know of his experience with mental illness And who knows…maybe he actually has counseled “hundreds” of people suffering from various addictions with his methods of "talk therapy"! But logically speaking, talking with someone who has any acute psychosis is moot. There is no reasoning. There is no logical train of thought. Asking someone who is acutely schizophrenic “How do you feel?” and attempting to engage in some sort of verbal communication is futile.

As if there is not enough stigma on mentally ill people, now we have a megastar who thinks he can cure them all…I guess it just disgusts me to think that he is being so irresponsible. Can you imagine if some psychotic person decides they are going to go off their lithium for a few weeks?? Then they rob a bank, kill a bunch of people and when questioned, "But Tom Cruise said I didn't need my medication…"

Excuse my dust

Besides the fact I have been unbelievably ill since landing at LAX over a week ago, we are in the midst of moving-house at work. The bad part? Its a temporary move and they are transforming our gloriously large suite into small, sectioned-off, crate-like structures. Why should you care?? Well, really, my only claim to good fame at this job is the fact I have a SWEET little set-up all my own, in a BIG area that is mine...ALL mine ...mwah haw haw.

Our move takes us to floor 25, which I think will be a fun little transition as T and I will be sharing space AND there is a cool, strange stairway in the middle of suite. Then we will be forced a few months later to come back to our new, midget-sized digs. Hmph.

You learn something new everyday...

Baked Alaskan...and all this time I thought it was a phyllo-like fish recipe! Seriously. In all my years on this Earth, I thought it was some sort of creepy creamed trout recipe and lo and behold, its a dessert?? What planet am I from??

Speaking of learning something new...recently I learned:

* if you order a turkey in advance, BE SURE your person who is doing the ordering understands that the people eating the turkey are NOT vegetarians, but are in fact carnivores who LOVE them some turkey. My case in point, I'd thought I'd hit the jackpot ordering from the local yokel grocery store, three weeks in advance. The day before Thanksgiving, I went to go pick up my gobbly-gob fare that was in a large cardboard box. As I started walking away from the deli, I could not help but think I'd either ordered an anorexic bird or something was NOT right. When I opened the box, I gasped. Gobble bird was the size of a Nerf Football. Not big enough for 2-3 people, certainly not big enough for 11 people. Luckily, my nice bag lady (the bagger, NOT a real bag lady) noted my crinkled face as I paid for my eeny bird. When I explained the problem, she immediately pointed to the deli and said, "RETURN THAT BIRD." Whew. I did. And ended up with a massive 20.85 pounder.

* Call one of your best friends for turkey help. I did. And Becky's husband Brian calmly told me exactly what to do in the simple way that man does, not in the over-talky way a girl would.

* Investigate your roasting pan before putting the bird in. When my father put the roaster out, I kept cocking my head quizzically, wondering why it just didn't look right to me. It seemed, off. But who was I to judge. I don't own a roasting pan, especially the one the size of a small child.

We (Buddy and I) decided to take care of the bird THEN to relax with a cup o' joe and discuss our prior evening out. I used about 5 sticks of butter and a phat amount of olive oil. We put said bird into the pan. I set the timer and off we went with our coffee cups.

About 10 minutes later, I noticed Buddy sniffing in the air. I'd been trying to ignore my eyes burning, but truthfully, there was smoke…lots of it. And then the damned fire alarm started "reeeeeing" at us. We opened up the oven door to note a little piddle coming out of our pan. Shit. It's cracked. Where will we find a roasting pan THIS big...

And then, the sun shined…

It was upside down. I knew it had looked odd. There is a little hole in the top and everything liquid manage to slowly leak out. We carefully took apart the roaster, flipped the bird and managed to cover the range with globs of buttery olive oil.

* Always have Aunt M at dinners, especially when my father is present. Let's face it. The man has seen his share of Thanksgiving's and dinner's in general. Only, when I am cooking, having anyone telling me what to do or not to do is a no-no. Having someone looking over my shoulder and saying, "That's not how your do it," or "that's not the pan we'd use," or "what is that," "what are you making" is about as hellish as it gets. My personal bodyguard, Aunt M, saved my sanity. Every time I heard my father say, "L - why …" Aunt M would flail in between us and say, "…she bought it, she's cooking it…let's go watch football." Class dismissed.

…

But everything was easy. Dinner turned out to be absolutely perfect. I had been "worst-case scenario"-ing for weeks on end and here it was, the perfect, no chaos, no drama, yummy, fat-full Thanksgiving dinner.

I am thankful.

…and Jupiter, aligns with Mars…

It started last week.

A package arrived from Annie, chock full of fun, extravagant doo-dads.

A few cards came in the mail. Mom and Pop, my bro and co., a few friends.

Yesterday, K, T and I had our nails done, their treat. During the treat, a phone call came…flowers were not being delivered to my suite until I was actually present. Yesterday afternoon, a beautiful bouquet arrived from Robbie!

Last night, Little D and I waxed men and all sorts of other mysteries while indulging in some food and some Lime Fizzy water.

As the midnight hour approached, it happened.

I turned into a pumpkin!

Not really.

I turned 33.

Oddly enough, I have not weakened at the thought of this age. I have been awaiting this birthday with gleeful excitement since I was 27. Why? Not sure. I love odd numbers, but then again, I love odd people! Three is one of my favorite numbers, so why not a double whammy it by putting two of them next to each other, riiight??

Or maybe I am just softening the blow.

At any rate, today has been just as wonderful as the past week (with the exception of my darling Robbie and Alex flying the coop for D.C. - boo). An enlightening week, at best, I enjoyed three nights of the MOST incredible and illuminating full moon and after that I have ever witnessed. Seriously, last night while it was no longer a FULL moon, it was extraordinary. I woke up bright and early to the chirps of my adorable Kelly, who so lovingly called me at 6:25 to make SURE she was the first…and the second person (she called five minutes after her first call) to wish me a happy b-day and to sing several versions of "happy birthday" in only the way that Kelly can. Then it was Annie. Then Robbie. Arriving at work there was a Coffee Bean 'nilla latte and a treat from A and J. More cards (an exceptionally CUTE one from my sis), a few more treats, several e-mails, two text messages, e-cards and phone calls. Some major rages with the boss and then Buddy called. I was taken to lunch from V and S. Tonight I have fun plans with Bunnie, which is automatically a perfect night!

Tomorrow I pack and then…I am outta here for a week. Making Thanksgiving dinner for the fam next week with Buddy and co. Lots of visiting to do, lots of heavy clothing to wear and lots of beer to drink.

Hope nothing here was misconstrued as bragging…I am just truly a lucky girl and as Thanksgiving approaches, my being thankful should be an everyday ritual and something I NEVER take for granted…(I don't)…

THANK YOU!!! I have the most awesome friends in the entire world and once again, my birthday has been wonderful!!!

Big hugs to everyone!!!

P.S.

I share a birthday with Owen Wilson (meow) AND Mickey Mouse!! MM is looking awfully good for 77, eh??

It's so hot today, but you're so cold

I am not quite sure what's worse.

It's HOT today. It's November 16 and about 88 degrees. I think even the natives are getting restless. It's HAWT. Not that I am complaining as I sit in my air-conditioned office and see happy sunlight, but it is a little out of control having fire warnings due to the heat in the midst of Autumn and a mere week before Thanksgiving.

On that same level, I spoke with BFK, who was trudging herself down a Windy City street with her dog this morning. I could hear the wind whipping into her cell phone. Her words, fraught with bitter cold, were barely audible as she said, 'Holy ssssh----, its ffff-iiinally become Wwwwinter." I wanted to sing the title of this mini-story, but decided to not make angry a cold woman under five layers of clothing who is also picking me up from the airport.

But…that was enough to push me over the edge as my thoughts of getting away with packing lightly for my trek to the Midwest, starting Sunday, have gingerly waned. Silly me thought I would be able to bring my fun L.A. Autumn/Winter wardrobe instead of the insipid wooly winter wear that I have so carefully boxed up with electrical tape and a warning sticker that says, "Open when L.A. freezes over."

I guess staying for a week in a real winter with only one carry-on is just a dream in this girls fragile eggshell mind...(yes, those last few words were taken from Jim Morrison, whom I have been listening to with great intensity for the past few days)

Day-am.

childhood stuff

I normally don't fill these out but (yawn), I am SO tired...

1. What was the first car your family had?
A station wagon and a really icky blue car with a BIG tar stain on the side. The blue car CONSTANTLY reeked of oil and gas. Blech.
2. What was the name of your first pet and why?
Pepper. Because he was a Sergeant and he was lonely (ba dum bump)...Pepper was a German Shepard pup we'd gotten from some neighbors. Adorable, except I could not stand seeing him tied up, so I let him go all of the time. We eventually gave him to a home where their kid did not set him free.
3. What did you want to be when you grew up?
Lots of things--a veterinarian, a priest (I used to pass out potato chips and bless them with dip), a hippie, a psychologist, a rock star, an actor, a teacher, a writer (hee hee)...the list goes on…
4. What was the name of your elementary school?
Tinley Heights, Tinley Park, IL. The name has since changed.
5. Who was your first best friend?
A little boy named Bobby. Shortly thereafter, I met my friend Erin who remained my friend for YEARS.
6. Are you still friends today, and if not, what happened?
Nope on Bobby...not sure why. Erin and I still talk once a year.
7. What was your favorite board game?
Scrabble and Life.
8. Did you play house or other make believe games?
Oh yes. I was the queen of making cool forts in the house, putting together plays and was always the lead singer, actor and director. And yes, playing house was a must. And of course, my stuffed animals were in my productions, too.
9. Were you a Dungeons and Dragons geek?
No.
10. Did you sleep with stuffed animals as a kid?
Oh yes. At one point, there were so many animal I barely had room on my bed.
11. Do you still sleep with stuffed animals?
Just my cat.
12. Who was the first person you looked up to when you were younger?
My sister, without a doubt.
13. Who was your favorite relative?
That would fall between my great Aunt Angeline and my Aunt Milly and for two completely different reasons:
Aunt A was this glamorous, eccentric rich lady with all sorts of stories and the craziest knack for taking pictures. Sincerely, she took pictures of anything AND everything…and I mean that in the best and worst possible way! She was my grandma's sis, the oldest at the point when I came along (everyone else had passed on). She was a strange bird, but in a really funny way. She passed away a few years ago.
Aunt M is my dad's younger sister. She rocks. She is the one person in our family who ALWAYS tells you the truth, whether you like it or not. She's traveled everywhere, is a total straight shooter and is our most prized family member for being able to rely on her for the best advice and helping us deal with the worst moments.
14. Were you short or tall in elementary school?
Short, fat glasses….
15. Were you teased in school?
Luckily, no. I really lucked out.
16. What was the name of your favorite teacher?
Elementary school would have to be … gosh, I don't remember her name, but she was so nice and really got to know each student personally and school-wise.
17. What was the name of your least favorite teacher?
Ugh. I could go on for hours. Since question 18 and 19 are tangled into this, I will just say that while my English teachers were HARD on us to get the best work possible out of us, being in degenerate math gave us teachers that were complete slackers and couldn't have cared less whether we passed or failed. So I would say every math teacher, for simply letting me NOT get any type of understanding of the subject.
18. What was your best subject in school?English and Speech.
19. What was your worst subject in school?
Math. No question.
20. Did you do well in Physical Education?
No. Strangely, it served me SO well as an adult to being physically fit, but I was LAAAAZY as a kid and slacked off as much as possible.
21. Were you clumsy when you were younger?
One of my nicknames was, "Lumpy"…use your best judgment.

22. Who was your favorite band as a kid?
Oh my. Well, by the art of permeation....sharing a room with my sis, Reo Speedwagon…Oh and Banarama. I was in their fan club!
23. What was your favorite movie as a kid?
"Grease" and then, "the Outsiders"
24. Did your parents read to you?
Not too often. I learned to read at a really young age so I just did it myself.
25. Did you have a favorite book?
I loved the Clifford books and Judy Blume.
26. What was your favorite restaurant as a kid?
Golden Bear. It was where we went to breakfast EVERY Sunday after church. They had a great kids menu and placemats I could color.
27. What TV or movie star did you have a crush on?
The Duke boys, of course. And then Jason Bateman when he was on "Silver Spoons"….
28. Do you now wonder what you were thinking?
Nah. They were ALL the rage!
29. Who was your first crush in school?
A cute boy named Jimmy. Since there were seven boys and thirty girls per class, we ALL liked Jimmy.
30. As a child, what kind of car did you want when you grew up?A red car.
31. Did your parents spank you?
Never. I was threatened with "The Hand" but never hit.
32. Did your parents fight a lot when you were a kid?
Yes.
33. Did your parents get divorced or stay married?
Still married.
34. Did you ever run away from home?
Oh yes, but never got further than a block.
35. How old were you when/if you first got glasses?
Ugh. I was so little I can scarcely remember, but I had a patch, glasses and the whole enchilada, due to having a "lazy eye," something I had until just a few years ago. I threw my glasses in the garbage in Junior high and strangely enough, my eye sight was always great.
36. Did you need braces or a retainer?
Yes. No one else in my family ever did, but Bobby (see #5) knocked my front teeth out and it mangled my adult teeth. I was lucky though…I had them for less than a year.

When Irish Eyes are smiling...

My neighbors growing up were straight-off-the-boat from Ireland, with names like Rena, TWO guys named Patrick, Anne-Marie, Sean and Tommy. Mom (Rena) and kid Patrick had flaming red hair. They were all sun-burn victims, except for Anne, who somehow had a shroud of Mediterranean skin. The mom, Rena, had a very thick brogue accent and often said American expressions completely backwards, but she was infamous for her own brand of harassment in saying, "Oh stop, you'll break and tear the house down" which really sounded like, "Oh shtop, yoo-ll break and tear the how-se dow-n."

Anyway, Anne was my good friend. Our houses were so close, I could hop over the fence to get to her yard (not that I did, remember I was a fat kid). She also had a pool, which made her an even better friend. I spent ridiculous amounts of time in that house. But our lives could not have been more different. While I was the wild-child youngest kid in my family with little to no responsibility, she was the oldest kid with the most responsibility a kid could have at that point in life. Her mom worked crazy and long hours as a CTA bus-driver. I was never quite sure what her dad did, if anything, but at any rate, she was the live-in babysitter, built-in Mom and the cook. She took care of her brothers when they were sick. She helped them with their homework. She essentially raised them herself. She also had to attend a Catholic school, which ironically was always my threat of punishment when I was bad. "If you do that again, we are sending you to Catholic school"…worked like a charm every time and kept this kid out of trouble.

Seeing that there was no one I could pick on and since she was a year younger than me, I did all of the things to her that older siblings do. Anne got the official "little sister" taunting from me.

I had silly nicknames for her. I convinced her to let me cut her hair. I was the person who told her there was no Santa Claus. Well, actually, I'd confirmed it. She knew. Her mother, Rena, was NOT so happy with that and let me know. I did everything and some that had been done to me and in return, she treated me with the disdain, but the respect younger siblings give their older sibs. She really listened to me and after the taunting was over, I grew to appreciate her.

As the years went by, her parents decided to move into a bigger house. They put their house up for rent and moved across town but asked if Anne could finish school at our house since her bus was right in the neighborhood. The plan was that she would stay for a month. She was in 7th grade, I was in 8th.

We set up another bed in my bedroom and it was like having a month long slumber party. Since we went to different schools, it was fun to compare notes on what was happening in the public school system (boys) or her horrific nun stories. But like all slumber parties, there is a good story.

Anne wanted me to pluck her eyebrows. I'd only ever done my own and had really mastered it, so I had a go. She couldn't sit still. Her eyes kept watering. I put (great tip, btw) Oragel (the goop that numbs gums) on her eyebrows THEN tried to pluck. Still no go. She was being a baby. I was frustrated.

Since she had NO threshold for beauty pain, she asked me to…shave her eyebrows.

I pondered this and thought, "Well, why not??" Men shaved their faces into designs, why couldn't I Picasso her eyebrows. Seemed easy enough. And Picasso I did. I did one. It was perfect … like shaping a small caterpillar. No problem. Like a model. I did good!

It was the other eyebrow that I … missed. Or messed up. Or just plainly f-ed up. It wasn't until after I'd taken HALF her eyebrow off that I realized my error. My big fatal error. My error that I could not glue back on.

I stared at her in shock, but tried to hide my fright (and my evil laughter). She wanted to see. She was excited. I panicked. I told her to wait.

I remember scrambling into my mother's gargantuan make-up drawer. My mother has always been natural, but had more make-up than Tammy Faye Baker's face. Anyway, I found eyebrow pencil and ran back into my room.

Too late. Anne was crying and holding her eye like I'd punched her. She was going to tell my parents on me. I freaked. I told her (lying, of course) that she could do the same to me. She tried escaping my room, but I had to come up with something, so I grabbed a magazine to show her what I could do. And then I calmed her down enough to show her the magic of make-up. I very carefully drew in her eyebrow and even added a sexy little arch. I told her she looked like a model. She grew silent. She looked. Thru her tears a little smile crept up. I sighed with the relief that older siblings must get when they know they have saved the day.

Bad thing was, after that incident, she didn't quite have a handle on her dark skin but light hair and that using DARK black eyeliner to 'fix' her eyebrow looked a little odd, but I let her figure that one out.

Funny little extra: Anne's parents were fairly young, compared to mine so I went by the first named basis, Rena and Pat, with them. My parents being older somehow made the whole first-name thing NOT work. Since I had a complicated last name, the first year I knew Anne, she used to call my parents, "Mr. and Mrs. Lisa's Parents."

For some FUN Halloween pics

check out:

www.valleygirly.blogspot.com

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/