#6 -- Thursday Thirteen Guilty Pleasures

Thirteen Things that THE GAL HERSELF thoroughly enjoys If asked, I'll deny it, but I really do love: 1) Court TV and Snapped on Oxygen -- where I find the real "girls gone wild" 2) Popping bubble wrap 3) "Celebrities are just like US" in US Magazine 4) Pumicing my heels while wearing a facial mask as I soak in a bubblebath (I've caught sight of myself as I do this and trust me: I look waaaay stupid) 5) Doris Day movies 6) Big Macs and hotdogs with ketchup 8) reading about Jackie Kennedy and Princess Di … still 9) Jerry Lewis 10) Playing Turbo 21 on Pogo until I can't take it anymore 11) Shopping for a life I don't have as I daydream through mail order catalogs 12) Extra, Entertainment Tonight, The Insider (vast wasteland, indeed!) 13) Eating in "dives," restaurants with red/white check plastic tablecloths, laminated menus, paper napkins, and bowls of peanuts in the shell to nosh on while you wait for your order Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. Check out Gabriella's nostalgic Thursday Thirteen at http://www.gabriellahewitt.com/blog 2. Shiloh's amusing, but not too ambitious, Thursday Thirteen is at shilohwalker.wordpress.com/2007/03/01/thirteen-things-i-have-no-desire-to-learn

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The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

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Only 70%? What's wrong with you people?

Mayor Richard M. Daley was reelected yesterday with 70% of the vote. I don't understand why it's not 100%.

Yes, there's corruption in City Hall. I know I should be more upset about it than I am, but truth to tell, there has always been corruption in City Hall and I'm just used to it. Besides, until someone finds $800,000 in shoe boxes under his bed,* I simply do not believe Mayor Richie is making himself rich at the expense of tax payers. And as long as he isn't personally benefiting from it, I'm willing to turn a blind eye to it.

The city is cleaner than it's been in years. There's new construction and new business and new jobs. Yes, the CTA is dirty and unreliable. Yes, the school definitely have room for improvement.

But we're safe here. And it's because of Richard M. Daley.

A political pundit recently said that midwesterners don't really worry too much about terrorism. That may be true of the folks who live and work in the suburbs or downstate. But I spend half my life in this city, and I worry about it every day. I can't help it because reminders crop up all the time. Some mornings there are cops with dogs on el platforms or near the garbage cans in the commuter train stations. Then the next day the cops and dogs are gone. Or there will be police boats in the river under the el tracks in the morning but gone for evening rush. No one discusses it, but we all know why they're there. (An unintentional benefit of the war on terror -- crime is down on the el these days.)

Who puts those cops there? Mayor Daley. The same man who decided I needed to be evacuated from Illinois Center on 9/11. Thank you, Mr. Mayor.

A major snowstorm kicked in early afternoon a few weeks ago. The Mayor's office contacted the major office buildings and asked them to close early so the streets wouldn't be clogged and dangerous during afternoon rush. I believe that's more forethought and communication than Mayor Nagin shared in New Orleans before Katrina.

It's a dangerous world, and I'm glad Richard M. Daley is looking out for us.

*Paul Powell was Illinois Secretary of State when I was a little girl. When he died, it was discovered that he had $800,000 cash in shoe boxes.

Ick! Pfui!

ANOTHER YEAR, ANOTHER HEARTACHE. SANTO DENIED AGAIN.

By Paul Sullivan
Tribune staff reporter

February 27, 2007, 1:04 PM CST

The nine-time All-Star was denied entrance into the Hall of Fame on Tuesday in voting by the Veterans' Committee, who once again declined to allow any former major leaguers into their exclusive club.

Santo finished first on the ballot with 57 votes, five shy of the total needed to make it. Santo said last week he was keeping a low-profile on the voting this year, but added: "Let's be honest, I want this badly, mainly because (the voting) is every two years. To me, two years, because of what I have with the diabetes and (getting) older, it's like eternity. If I do get in, I'd like to enjoy it."

Santo, who turned 67 on Sunday, and said he's not interested in gaining the honor posthumously. In 2005 he tied for first on the ballot with Gil Hodges, but was still eight votes shy of induction.
________________________________________________________

Look out! It's spreading across the countryside!

The blues, that is. Here's an email I received this morning from my oldest friend:

"I have dipped into the dark place and can't pull myself out. Since Sat., my bucket is empty and I don't have the energy to figure out how to fill it up myself. My tried and true means of yanking myself from the dark place are failing. Is it the dreaded evil of hormones? I felt so blue that this morning I woke up and was shocked I was still alive. I mean isn't it the deal that God doesn't give you more than you can handle? Well, what if you are over quota? What happens THEN?"

The part of me that is objective and enjoys irony realizes it's funny that anyone would turn to ME for help with a problem like this.

What's going on? Are evil-doers poisoning us with odorless, depressive gasses through the vents of major office buildings? What can we do to combat this epidemic of depression?

Naturally, dear blog, I will not be this flippant with her. I will remind her of her children and how much they need her, that this will pass, and how much she is loved. But it's not like my bucket is especially brimming, as she would say, and I can't help but find the humor in this.

Today's inspiration: B. B. King (and the lovely Lucille, too)

I have a lot to do today. Actual work. An assignment given to this agency by a long-standing client, one that I really enjoy working with.

I also have a necessary, albeit expensive, dental appointment which means that I have to leave early. I will have to somehow figure out how to make the deadlines and tend to the gaping hole in my mouth.

Normally I would be stressing about this, but today I'm grateful for it. I have a lot of things on my mind right now … big things that are making me sad and sapping my energy. I don't mean to sound like Scarlett O'Hara, but I simply can't afford to think about them today. And it's not like anything will be resolved in a day by my fixating or ruminating or awfulizing.

So I will gratefully concentrate on my work. I will try to remain in constant motion so I won't be tempted to fixate or ruminate or awfulize. And I will take inspiration from my favorite old B.B. King recording. The one where he sings:

"Better not look down, if you want to keep on flying
Put the hammer down, keep it full speed ahead.
Better not look back, or you might just wind up crying.
You can keep it moving, if you don't look down."

If I voted for Oscar …

Miss Abigail Breslin would wake up tomorrow with the golden nude dude on her nightstand. First of all, look at that face! Secondly, Olive Hoover was the most completely endearing character in Little Miss Sunshine, or maybe in any movie last year. And lastly, Jennifer Hudson played Effie in Dreamgirls, which was really a starring role, not a supporting one.

Plus if, when the winner is announced tonight, little dressed-up Abigail Breslin looks sad, it will break my heart.

Who knew?

When I was a little girl, I read obsessively about Abraham Lincoln. My first 100+ page book was a Lincoln bio (the page count made me feel quite adult) and then I worked my way through the school library's Lincoln collection. In Illinois, there are many, many books about Honest Abe available for young readers.

So I thought I knew just about all I needed to know about Abe. I read Jean Baker's scholarly, sensitive study of Mary Lincoln a few years back, but beyond that I thought I had moved on from the Lincolns.

I'm watching an episode of Biography devoted to Lincoln and I'm fascinated. I had no idea he had such a complicated, bitter relationship with his father! I'd heard about his "melancholia," but never get it a lot of thought. There was a fiancee, Mary Owens, that I'd never heard of. His feelings about slavery were more complex than I knew. I now realize what I should have seen all along: the Lincoln books I read were written for pre-adolescents, and there would have to be much more to this extraordinary man.

My TBR pile is pretty deep right now, but I think I shall run over to the bookstore and pick up Doris Kearns Goodwin's Team of Rivals. I'm suffering from more than a touch of "melancholia" my damn self and perhaps retail therapy is called for.

I have lots to do today

And I'm glad. I'm very sad. It's too complicated to go into right now, and besides, I'm at work and I'm trying to hold it all together. The Reader's Digest condensed version is that I feel a bit like Addison on Grey's Anatomy. I'm pretty sure I could go missing for three days and no one would even notice.

There are times that my autonomy and fierce independence feel positive. And then there are days, like today, when "freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose."

But I have a huge project in front of me. (Literally.) And I'm grateful. It will occupy me and keep me focused. I may switch from Bruce Springsteen to Motown. All his poetry about "dreams and visions" might not help right now. Because today's top order of business is holding it all together.

This keeps me up at night

Have you seen that Pedigree commercial? Shelter dogs speak to us from "behind bars," saying they know how to sit and roll over, but they don't know how they ended up there, and they only want to go home. Most of those dogs won't go home. Statistics show that there are 6 to 8 million dogs and cats in shelters right now, and half will be euthanized. I learned from volunteering at a major Chicago shelter that adult dogs are the least likely to be adopted. Dog owners are less likely than cat owners to take a chance on a fully-grown pet.

Six to eight million dogs and cats in shelters, and yet people keep insisting on going to breeders for their pets. I do not understand this. I have three cats right now, all from shelters, and I refuse to believe they would be any more charming or loving if they had "papers." Besides, what would it say about me if I valued a living thing because of its bloodline?

Six to eight million dogs and cats are waiting for homes. Six to eight million little hearts that are willing and eager to unconditionally embrace the human who will share a little affection and use his or her opposing thumb to open a food can. It's the best ROI any of us will EVER get.

Shown here is Sparky, a terrier mix, from Precious Pets Almost Home in Chicago, and Marnie, a dsh at the Feline Wellness Center in suburban Forest Park. Look at those faces! Then try to explain to me why they are less deserving of a loving home than a pedigreed animal.

I simply cannot have another pet. You reach a point where you have too many animals to provide proper care and affection. Oh yeah, and there are village ordinances regulating these things, too. But I give money every month to local shelters and to national humane associations (my favorite national organization is American Humane -- americanhumane.org).

If you don't have a dog or cat in your life right now, and you have a little love to invest, please consider going to Petfinder.com and adopting a loving new friend who is already right in your neighborhood. If you travel too often, or have allergies, or are already at pet capacity, or if you decided to pass on these loving little creatures in favor of a pure-bred animal, please still go to Petfinder.com. Look at those faces! Then click on a shelter in your town, get their address, and send them a check.

Please.

Thursday Thirteen Best Supremes Songs

Just in time for the Oscars, THE GAL HERSELFreviews the hits of the original Dreamgirls. 1) I'm Gonna Make You Love Me (with the Temptations) 2) Come See About Me 3) Back in My Arms Again 4) I Hear a Symphony 5) You Can't Hurry Love 6) You Keep Me Hanging On 8) Stop! In the Name of Love 9) Baby Love 10) Where Did Our Love Go? 11) A Breathtaking Guy 12) Love Is Here & Now You're Gone 13) Up the Ladder/Stoned Love/Floy Joy (it takes three post-Diana songs to equal one Diana song) Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. (leave your link in comments, I’ll add you here!)

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!


The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

I better get used to it

This is the first photo I've seen of Greg Maddux pitching as a Padre. Oh well, at least the uniform is predominantly blue and not one of those horrible vintage orange jerseys the San Diegans used to wear. Not even I could find him attractive in that.

Lest you think that my Maddux fixation precludes my love of all things Cub, let me share that I'm optimistic, worried, and generally discombobulated about the Hall of Fame veterans committee voting. When the results are announced on February 27, I really want to hear that Ron Santo has been elected. He wants it so badly. Because he's one of the players I grew up on, and because now I get such a kick out of hearing his monosyllabic grunts in my headphones, I want him to get it. But because I'm a Cub fan, I'm afraid to hope, and I don't like thinking about how badly he'll be hurt if the voting doesn't go his way.

Trying to find this funny …

So yesterday I went to the dentist and had my cracked veneer repaired. I have to wait a couple weeks for the permanent one to come in, and it's going to expensive, but that's why God made dental insurance and credit cards.

This morning I awoke and checked my new front tooth in the mirror. Only to find that somehow I had lost a porcelain crown on the bottom right.

Where could it have gone? After the dentist, I went to my accountant to go over my tax return. Followed by a bowl of cereal for dinner. I know, I know … it's a glamorous life. Anyway, I guess that what I assumed was an especially crunchy pecan was actually my own tooth, which I swallowed.

Oh, good! Instead of a cracked tooth on the top front, I have a visible silver spike on the bottom front. More money, more time in the dentist chair.

Not to mention how really hot and sexy this smile makes me feel. Perhaps I should stay home, and not torment the men I encounter with this dazzling smile.

Meet part of the problem: ME

Robert Kennedy, Jr., likes to say that "We are the best-entertained and the worst-informed people in the world." He means that while our 24 hour news cycle should be keeping us up to date on the important issues of the day, instead it feeds our appetite for scandal and gossip.

There have been hour specials on Anna Nicole Smith's death. Shrinks have appeared on talk shows to discuss Britney's shaved head. The Dem-dominated Senate was unable to pass a non-binding resolution against the President's plan for Iraq, but I'll bet more people have read more about "Britney Shears."

I'm better informed than many, I suppose, but nowhere near as informed as I should be. Yes, I can explain what separates Hillary's plan for Iraq from Barack Obama's, but I also know Virgie is Anna Nicole's mom and Lynne is Britney's. I have multiple weeks' worth of Time and Newsweek waiting beside my bed, but People and US are devoured as soon as they come out of my mailbox.

I developed a craving for mental junk food after 11/2/04. I worked hard for Senator Kerry, a man I still genuinely admire. I knew the issues because I wanted to be able to explain to undecideds why my guy was on the right side. Every morning, my first thought when I swung my legs out of bed and my feet hit the carpet was, "How can I help the Senator today?" I spent countless hours writing letters, polling and begging for funds. I knew in my heart what we were doing was important, that it mattered to my country. I literally cried every morning, in the privacy of my own shower, for months. The guilt was enormous because I used to think I let my country down. But now, I'm sorry to say, I realize my country disappointed me.

It's a hard thing to get past.

Why I Dig Greg Maddux

My beloved, future Hall of Famer Padre #30, Greg Maddux, was interviewed by the San Diego press. When asked where he keeps the amazing 14 Gold Glove awards he has amassed, he said they were in his "dig me room."

Of course I wish he was still #31 and pitching in Wrigley Field. But I'm just grateful he's still pitching at all. I don't want to consider what a season without him would feel like. Not only is he funny, controlled, dedicated and simply one of the best there ever was, he's also one of the few players I can lust after without feeling like Mary Kay LeTourneau.

Happy President's Day

I am celebrating President's Day in highly meaningful ways.

Went to AMERICAN Mattress to buy a new Serta. What could be more patriotic? While on sale, it was still more than I had hoped to spend. But I'm not young anymore, and my old back will feel better once this new mattress is delivered.

Went to the bank and bought $10 in quarters so I can do load after load after f-ing load of laundry. Oh joy, oh rapture! Bet you don't think I can tie this back to President's Day. Well, I bet you're wrong. Let's just say I did this in honor of Abigail Adams, who hung the President's wash in the East Room.

And now I am waiting for Peapod to delivery groceries. And having been a school girl in Illinois, The Land of Lincoln, I knew that Abe had once been a grocer. Hah!

But I'm still mad!

Went to get my hair cut and colored yesterday. Usually I do the color myself, but I want to change it back from red to light brown and with the peroxide that entails, I was afraid of it turning green or falling out by the handful.

The guy who has been doing my hair forever took out the Matrix board and I indicated which color I wanted. "Not today," he said. That would be too drastic a switch and he was afraid I wouldn't like it. He slathered and painted a blonder color than I wanted and promised me I would be happy with the change.

Guess what. It looks EXACTLY the same as if I did it myself with Nice & Easy. There's so much red in my hair that the blonde didn't really cover it. The cut is nice, I guess, but the color looks just like it did last week at this time.

All this for only $40 more than my cut regularly cost. What a fabulous investment!

He felt terrible as he was blowing it dry. He kept saying, "Do you see a difference? Does it look better to you? I don't know why it doesn't look more different."

No, I don't see a difference. No, it doesn't look better to me. And it doesn't look more different because you didn't listen to me when I told you what I wanted.

That's what I thought. What I said was, "Oh, it's fine. It's lighter. That's different! We'll get it where I want next time."

I'm sorry he felt bad. But I hate this hair. I wanted new hair. Or rather, I wanted my old hair back. My light brown hair that won't show dark roots as it grows out. And now I have to wait until St. fucking Patrick's fucking Day to get it.

Not news to my regular readers

I May Be a Bit Borderline...

My mood swings make a roller coaster look tame! When I'm up, I'm a little bit crazy... And when I'm down, my whole world is crashing Scary thing is, these moods can change by the minute!

What Personality Disorder Are You?

My dark secret: I'm an RBA

That's "Repeat Button Abuser." I get in moods where I want to hear the same song over and over and over and over and … well, you get the idea.

Today it's Patti LaBelle singing "If Only You Knew." Not the entire CD shown here. Just that song.

Other recent songs that I have been willing to listen to repeatedly until my ears bleed include "Lady Madonna," "This Old Heart of Mine (Is Weak for You)," and "Everlasting Love" (Jamie Cullen's version only).

I'm sure it annoys those who sit outside my office, but they are too polite to mention it.

I wonder if others share this affliction. Where can we go for help?

Introducing Anna Nicole Simpson

Am I the only one who heard this? This morning -- more than once -- Court TV correspondent Jean Casarez referred to the corpse whose custody was being discussed in a Florida courtroom as "Anna Nicole Simpson." I don't know if her consistent slip was funny or appalling.

Anna Nicole Simpson would be the ultimate tabloid blonde, wouldn't she?

Post Valentine's Day Thursday Thirteen Sad Songs

Thirteen Lack of Love Songs that touch THE GAL HERSELF Trust me on this, ladies. Love most certainly is not all flowers, chocolates and heart-shaped cards. Here's a soundtrack to accompany heartache … the best sad songs of all time: 1) You Don't Know Me -- Jann Arden 2) In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning -- Frank Sinatra 3) I Eat Dinner -- Rufus Wainwright with Dido 4) One Step Up -- Bruce Springsteen 5) It's Over -- Janis Joplin 6) Real Love -- The Doobie Brothers 8) For No One -- The Beatles 9) I Don't Break Easily -- Barbra Streisand 10) Touch Me in the Morning -- Diana Ross 11) If I Were Your Women -- Gladys Knight 12) Anyone Who Had a Heart -- Dionne Warwick 13) Sleeping with the Television On -- Billy Joel Links to other Thursday Thirteens! Leave your link along with your comment and I'll add your TT below: Whiskey Talking's Presidential Thursday 13 is at www.whiskeytalking.com/uisce/2007/02/15/thursday-thirteen-48.html Lisa's literary Thursday Thirteen is at http://bookslistslife.blogspot.com/search?q=thursday+thirteen Gabriella's chocolately Thursday Thirteen is at: http://www.gabriellahewitt.com/blog/?p=17 3M's Thursday Thirteen books from 13 decades that she plans to read is at: http://3mchat.blogspot.com/2007/02/thursday-thirteen-3.html Yellow Rose's musical Thursday 13 is at http://yellowrosesgarden.com/2007/02/14/thursday-thirteen-54-favorite-love-songs/

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!


The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

I'll never be alone on Valentine's Day again!

Your Pickup Line Is

Nice pants. Can I test the zipper?

The Magical Pick Up Line Generator

Hey, hey! Holy mackarel! No doubt about it!

My favorite headline on this snowy Valentine's Day is from today's Chicago Tribune:

CUBS SPRING TRAINING PREVIEW

Cubs Opening Day countdown:
47 Days.

My favorite romantic movie that never makes any "10 best" lists

In honor of Valentine's Day, I am praising It's My Turn. It did well enough at the box office back in 1980, but then it sank like a stone. I never see it on TV and it's never been released on DVD.

And yet, I love it. Along with Wonder Boys, this is my favorite Michael Douglas performance. He's an utterly natural, charming and ideal "Mr. Wrong."

Jill Clayburgh makes a terrific Everywoman. She's pretty in an aspirational way ("I look like her -- well, almost"). She's a successful, maybe even brilliant, career woman who is personally, endearingly clumsy and awkward.

And this movie is like life in that all the loose ends are NOT tied up neatly by the end.

Here's a synopsis from Amazon.com: Two events force Kate (Jill Clayburgh) to confront the dissatisfactions of her life: her father's impending wedding and a job offer that would take her from Chicago to New York. Her relationship with Homer (Charles Grodin) is pleasant but shallow. When she meets Ben (Michael Douglas) at the wedding's rehearsal dinner--he's her future stepbrother--there's an immediate spark. They flirt on the way home, finding themselves in an arcade where they both prove to be intensely competitive. Their first encounter gets a little prickly, but soon they find their relationship taking a deeper and more complicated turn. It's My Turn would never be made now; too many scenes of people talking, too many unresolved questions. But the movie's attention to the details of human interaction, particularly the negotiations around a sexual encounter, make it richly rewarding. Douglas gives a strong performance and Clayburgh is superb; it's delightful to rediscover how smart and sexy she could be. There's a general impression that dozens of women-centered movies were made in the late 1970s, but in fact movies that explore life from a woman's point of view are rare. More impressive, though, It's My Turn was written and directed by women, and the male characters are as fully developed and multidimensional as the women. It's a small movie--it covers a weekend in Kate's life and no tumultuous decisions are made--but within that short span, a lot of life takes place." --Bret Fetzer

The almighty buck

"There's no money in poetry, but there's no poetry in money, either." Robert Graves
"Happiness is not in the mere possession of money; it lies in the joy of achievement, in the thrill of creative effort." FDR
"Marry for money and you end up paying for it." Groucho Marx
"How much, baby, do we really need?" Davey Jones of the Monkees

My best friend makes a good living. I estimate his salary is $85,000, plus bonus. According to the Census Bureau, the average United States household has an annual income of $46,325.

He moved recently, and now lives among family. They are, literally, millionaires. One brother-in-law is an entrepreneur who has done extremely well in financial software. His father-in-law invested very well, and when his company recently went public, he made that investment back 7 times over. My friend's father retired at 39, when his father died, and he was able to get his hands on his inheritance.

In this crowd, $85,000 plus bonus is just above the poverty level. His brother-in-law is so nervous and jumpy that his own baby is uncomfortable in his arms. His father-in-law has a tortured relationship with his adult daughters, and a minimal relationship with his grandchildren. His father spends his leisure time -- day in and day out -- detailing his antique cars. I wouldn't value any of their opinions of me.

My best friend, on the other hand, is insecure, and their opinions do matter. He is a good person, a caring father and a patient friend, but these attributes are not valued in his family circle.

Money can be like centrifugal force and it's easy to be drawn in. I hear him using phrases like, "flying to Aspen for lunch," and "private schools for the girls" and "St. Bart's" and I want to puke. I know how he's financing all this. He's taking money from his father-in-law. Once he takes his money, he will have to take his father-in-law's shit. That's how it works. And bit by bit, my friend will be sucked in.

I'm hoping he manages to maintain his essence and integrity. Perhaps it's possible to live among them without becoming one of them. If it's not, I'll miss him.

A tribute to a wonderful, big old boy

My gray and white tom, Joey, is one of the gentlest creatures on God's green earth. While he likes everyone he has ever met (except for the vet who tried to microchip him), he especially likes noisy little boys and other cats. He enjoys sleeping in the sun or, in the wintertime, on my flannel sheets. When he's asleep, he looks like he's smiling, and his sweet expression never fails to touch my heart.

He came to me via a local animal shelter, where he was dumped (left in a cardboard box, taped shut with little breathing holes poked in the top) Christmastime 1999. According to the note that accompanied him, his humans could no longer afford to feed him. Because of his natural and lasting affinity for kids -- no matter how loud, no matter how active -- I am sure he grew up among children.

As near as we can tell, Joey was born in 1997. As he approaches his 10th birthday, he is starting to show his age. He sleeps more, and more soundly. Even though he is enormous ("massive" is how his vet likes to describe him), he eats less. While more social with me -- he's taken to doing figure 8's between my legs as I put my coat on, trying to persuade me not to leave -- he plays less with the incorrigible baby of the family, Reynaldo.

I don't think anything is wrong with him, though as soon as this cold snap is over we are going to the vet. I just think it's the passage of time. It's inevitable, and it makes me sad.

Valentine's Day Makes Me Sad This Year

I am not in a relationship right now. That's OK. I've always been more lonely in a bad relationship than I have been alone.

But all this Valentine's Day advertising that centers on kisses makes me sad because I cannot remember my first kiss.

I can assume who it was. But I don't actually remember it.

My best kiss was on a boyfriend's sofa, early in our relationship. I had dozed off while watching Mystery Science Theater and he kissed me awake. We had kissed before, but this was special. It was so warm, so presumptive and so, so, so sexy.

My worst kiss was at the end of what had been a promising first date. He turned my face toward his with one hand on the top of my head and the other cupping my chin. That was such an awkward move I just couldn't get past it.

My last kiss -- I prefer to think of it as my most recent kiss -- was after sweet and rather unexpected "old time's sake" lovemaking with an ex. He was leaving my building and leaned in to kiss me one more time, before he lit a cigarette (he remembered how much I hate smoking).

The memories of those three kisses are so vivid, yet I don't honestly recall my first kiss. And this makes me sad.

Why I Love this Photo

Mr. and Mrs. Ashton Kutcher join Bruce Willis at the Super Bowl. I have always been hot for Bruce Willis, so seeing him in Sweetness' jersey naturally just melts me.

But I also think it's great that these three can suck it up and put a good face on it all where the kids are concerned. (While not shown in this photo, all three Willis daughters accompanied their parents.)

My oldest friend and her ex-husband are locked in mortal combat. The bastard backhanded his little girl. The girl's offense? She kept her dad waiting too long in the driveway in a cold car. His behavior was despicable. So my friend is insisting on supervised visitation, which I agree wholeheartedly is a good idea. But she defines "supervised visitation" only as visitation in a psychologist's office. This means that her daughter cannot accompany her dad and his fiancee as they go about their wedding preparation. (Wedding is set for April.)

I've known her ridiculous ex for more than a decade and there is no way I believe he would raise a hand to his daughter in front of his fiancee and her friends, the other bridesmaids. Ultimately, he's a bully, and bullies are at heart cowards. He would be afraid to reveal his true colors in front of all those women.

I've also known my oldest friend since we were in Kindergarten. There's no way I believe she really thinks her daughter would be in any danger of verbal or physical abuse if the wedding party was around.

This little girl is in second grade. She wants to put on a pretty dress and be photographed with the prettiest woman in the room, and at a wedding, that will always be the bride. I wish my friend and her shitheel ex could work around this ugliness somehow.

I know people in show biz are supposed to be loopy and extravagant and indulgent. But it seems to me from this photo that the Hollywood folk are doing a better job of post-divorce parenting than some in the heartland I can think of.

Is it just me? Or do these two confuse everybody?

Maybe it's the Julia Roberts/Sarah Jessica Parker connection that trips me up.

Dylan McDermott: Costarred with Sarah Jessica Parker in Till There Was You. Costarred with Julia Roberts in Steel Magnolias.

Dermot Mulroney: Recently costarred with Sarah Jessica Parker in The Family Stone. Costarred with Julia Roberts in My Best Friend's Wedding.

No need to thank me. I'm here to serve.

Anna Nicole chases the Love Crazy Astronaut off the front page!

This is from today's Chicago Tribune: "News of Smith's death Thursday lit up the Internet and sent mouses clicking far and wide. Between 3 and 4 p.m., chicagotribune.com set a record for most traffic on the Web site since its creation in 1996. The next hour set a new record."

Huh? What? Since 1996 we have had two incredibly close Presidential elections, 911, the war in Afghanistan, the invasion of Iraq … and Anna Nicole Smith's death caused more hits?

I had no idea people were so intrigued by her. Even fond of her. This baffles me. I always thought she was kind of like the female version of what Michael Jackson has become. She looked human, but her life doesn't resemble anything like life on my Planet Earth.

Thursday Thirteen Stuff I Can Do Without

Thirteen Things that THE GAL HERSELF intends to dispose of Yes, I am a slob. A packrat. An Oscar, not a Felix. Whatever. At any rate, here are 13 things I really am going to get rid. Soon. I promise. 1) Plastic bags (I have bags of plastic bags) 2) Old mascara 3) Even older pressed powder (a product I do not wear anymore) 4) Half-empty shampoos, conditioners and lotions from various hotels 5) Shoes – the ones I can’t remember the last time I wore 6) ID badges from previous jobs (like in the 1980s) 7) Broken umbrellas 8) Excess gummed address labels I got for free from charities 9) The soy sauce, mayonnaise and relish on the bottom shelf of the frig, which I never use and suspect are all past their expiration dates anyway 10) All those ketchup packets 11) Pens that don’t write 12) Tons of twist ties 13) Size D batteries, which I bought for … shit, I don’t remember. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. (leave your link in comments, I’ll add you here!) Check out Renee's Thursday 13 CDs she can't live without http://www.xanga.com/SmileManager

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The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

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What's with Elliott and Olivia?

My favorite show of the Law & Order franchise is SVU. This season it has me scratching my head. I know that Mariska Hargitay, who plays Det. Olivia Benson, needed time off to have a baby. To explain what happened to her character, Olivia was sent deep undercover. Just before she disappeared for maternity leave, she was injured and called out Elliott's name. In her absence, Elliott had a relationship of sorts with her replacement, Dani. Now Olivia is back in the station house, and I was hoping to see her rekindle her chemistry with Elliott.

But they hardly have any scenes together! I miss them as partners. I want to see them get romantically involved. Even if the writers have decided that after Moonlighting and Cheers, that's not a good idea, I still want to see them work cases together.

So if any of my lurkers work for NBC or Dick Wolf, please pass my opinion along. Thank you.

Loving the Love Crazy Astronaut

There's so much about the astronaut love triangle to capture my interest! First of all, there's the wealth of background about the alleged perp. Ms. Nowak was (until now, of course) something of a poster child for career opportunities for women at NASA. So much so that even as the case was unfolding, The Today Show could play a slick, NASA-produced little film bio of the inspiring Nowak. Here she is as a little girl, winning a science fair. There she is as a Navy pilot. Here she is boarding the space shuttle. There she is packing her murder kit, which included a mallet and a BB-gun.

Best of all, there's the diaper. Yes, Lisa Marie wore a diaper so that she wouldn't have to stop to … um … void herself during her 900 mile drive from Houston to Orlando. Of course, unless her vehicle got 900 miles to the tank, she'd still have to stop for gas and how much incremental would she have clocked by peeing at a Shell Station? Oh well, that's what I get for trying to impose my cynical, earthbound logic on a Love Crazy Astronaut.

Maybe I deserve this

I wore my glasses today to lay the groundwork for a faux sick day tomorrow. You know, maybe it's the achy head and sinus trouble that make my contact lenses feel so uncomfortable. Missing tomorrow wouldn't constitute a deadly sin, since all that's on tap is a 9 until 2 dog-and-pony show where I will be required to play neither dog nor pony.

So imagine my shock and dismay when I actually developed a headache and a cough this afternoon. And not until AFTER my boss left, so he can't be impressed with my Lou Gehrig-caliber suffering and courage!

What's with the sense of entitlement?

The office didn't open until late this morning. (Super Bowl Sunday was like a holiday here in the greater Chicagoland area.) So I ambled to my el train, bundled up against the cold, headphones on, Monday morning Tribune tucked under my arm.

I settled in to my seat on the rather empty train, prepared to enjoy my tunes and my paper, when a well-dressed man sitting across the aisle kept grinning and pointing. I thought I had dropped one of my enormous mittens, but no, that wasn't it. He wanted to read my paper.

MY PAPER! Which I paid for. Which was just the same as the Tribunes in the vending boxes he passed as he entered the train station.

"No," I said, more than a little taken aback, "I'm reading it."

"But you haven't touched those sections yet."

I'm not making this up. Apparently this complete stranger and I were supposed to share my newspaper because … I can't think of any reason, other than that he wanted to.

"No," I repeated, my patience wearing thin. "I'm reading it."

Another man actually got up and starting walking up the aisle toward me and my Tribune. "She can't read the whole thing at once," he said.

I couldn't believe it! Was I to be assaulted on the el over the special Super Bowl sports section of the Chicago Tribune?

"Leave her alone," the first man said, clearly disgusted with me. This scene is obviously my fault.

"Yes," I said with bravado I didn't feel, "Please. Leave. Me. Alone."

The paper wasn't sold out. (After all, in case you haven't heard, the Bears didn't win.) But even if it was difficult to get -- WHY AM I UNDER ANY OBLIGATION WHATSOEVER TO SHARE MY PAPER WITH STRANGERS??????

Geez! This has annoyed me all day!

I still love you, Rex Grossman!

Maybe it's the long-suffering Cub fan in me, but I can't stand hearing fans turn on their own players. That why it makes me sad to predict that unless the momentum shifts in a big way (kinda like the San Andreas fault), Rex Grossman is going to be blamed for this Super Bowl loss. He'll be the least popular Chicagoan since F-ing Steve Bartman (I have been advised that "Fucking" is not really Mr. Bartman's real first name, but I demand to see his driver's license or birth certificate for verification). And it isn't fair to the Bears QB.

This is Rex's first full season and here he is, in the Super Bowl. And don't forget, the Bears weren't picked to even get this far. Grossman is younger and in better shape than the Punky QB known as McMahon was. He may just bring the Bears back next year.

And do we really believe that he didn't want to win? Does anyone really think he wanted to fumble a time or two before a national audience of millions and millions? This is The Game, the one all these guys have dreamed of their entire lives. Rex Grossman wouldn't, and hasn't, dogged it tonight.

So when he returns home to Chicago, let's hope that he doesn't require a bullet-proof vest. He gave it a good, honorable effort, and he gave the fans an exciting season.

Brave, stubborn or crazy?

It is now -1º. That's what the mercury reads; I don't want to know what the windchill is. But dammit, I'm a hale and hardy Midwestern girl! I don't change my plans because of the winter cold. No siree! Not me!

For my excursion to Linens and Things, I will wear two pairs of socks inside my big, black Herman Munster boots. Long underwear will be under my jeans. And the entire layered ensemble will be topped off by my thick, heavy Anne Klein coat, which makes me look like Ralphie's brother Randy from A Christmas Story.

I'd better get started now. I only have four hours to put all those clothes on, get over there, shop, get back here and take all those clothes off before The Super Bowl starts.

Life's not so funny for this funny girl

Watched an old Sam and Diane episode of Cheers this morning. Hadn't seen one in ages. I was surprised by how funny Shelly Long was, especially since I hadn't much appreciated her on the show the first time around.

So imagine my surprise when I learned today that Long, an actress I hadn't thought of in ages, was in the news. For checking into a mental hospital in Pasadena. Apparently the end of her long marriage is difficult for her.

So sad. And once again I am reminded that people who look like they have everything, often don't feel like they have everything.

Sorry, but I just didn't care for Babel

I know Babel is on many critics' 10 Best Lists. I realize it's been nominated for prestigious awards for its direction and acting. And I got so bored at one point that I began playing Parachute on my iPod.

The stories don't intersect as seamlessly as they do in Crash or Grand Canyon. Therefore it was harder for me to comprehend what the point of all this unhappiness was. (Other than to avoid Morocco as a vacation destination.) Was I supposed to come away understanding how our cultural and language differences separate us and make our lives on this planet more difficult? Well, duh. Tower of Babel. Got it. Not moved.

I was disturbed by the way the Japanese teenager, Chieko, was portrayed. The reasons for her pain are laid on with a trowel. Angry, anguished and alienated by her mother's suicide, she's also a deaf-mute. And one of the last virgins in her social circle. She even has cavities in her molars! The actress who portrays her does so with great dignity, overcoming the bathos and the indignity of having her pubes exposed over and over again.

So now I've seen four of the Oscar-nominated Best Pictures (Babel, The Queen, The Departed and Little Miss Sunshine). Of these four, not only would I not give it a little gold nude dude, I wouldn't even recommend a friend rent it.

Not that this is news …

I am 32% Lady

I tend to make up my own rules of etiquette, throwing all conventions aside. And while I try to be a lady (sometimes), my behavior is often quite shocking. Alas, I look nothing like that illustration.

Are You A Lady?