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?

Thursday Thirteen 70s Songs that Don't Make Me Puke

Thirteen songs from the 1970s that THE GAL HERSELF actually CAN stand. See if any of these make you smile. It was a hideous decade for music. But I shall ignore disco and Tony Orlando and Muskrat Love and concentrate instead on songs I still like to hear today. 1. One Toke Over the Line -- Brewer & Shipley 2. Dancing in the Moonlight -- King Harvest 3. The Wedding Bell Blues -- The Fifth Dimension 4. Smackwater Jack -- Carole King 5. It's Over -- Boz Scaggs 6. Silly Love Songs -- Paul McCartney & Wings 7. School's Out -- Alice Cooper 8. Fire and Rain -- James Taylor 9. We Got to Get You a Woman -- Todd Rundgren 10. No Way to Treat a Lady -- Helen Reddy 11. I Can Help -- Billy Swan 12. You're Sixteen -- Ringo Starr 13. Temptation Eyes -- The Grass Roots Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. (leave your link in comments, I’ll add you here!)

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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!

View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

Thanks to Bridezilla and her bad haircut ...

… I have been ruminating on my own relationship with hair today.

Most of the time, I like my hair. It's short, red and in good condition. I like how it catches the sun. I like that the style isn't quite like anyone else's.

That's most of the time.

There are the days right after I get it cut when it's too short and I feel dykey or like a "Poor thing." (Short for, "Poor old thing, she thinks she's still young.") Or the days when it's too long and the cowlicks start to go mad and the style has no shape. Or the days right before it's time to color when I just know everyone is distracted by my roots.

It's true that bad hair days really are bad days for me. So while I don't scream and lay on the floor, I guess at heart I'm not that different from Bridezilla.

I wonder which would be a worse wedding day trauma -- bad hair or an enormous zit?

Experience the bride yourself:
Bride Has Massive Hair Wig Out
wigoutgirl - 6 min - Jan 18, 2007
Bride wigs out and cuts all of her hair off hours before the wedding
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=10VmJ-8XGA4

Ouch! That hurt!

So at lunchtime today I'm at CVS, trying to reach around these two women who are planted in the aisle, arguing and not moving. The older one was the noisier one -- gray hair, thick glasses with big, bejeweled frames, her shoulders round under her bright red coat. Her daughter was so bundled up in cold weather gear (it's only 9º here today) that it was hard to assess her age or manner.

They were arguing about whether or not to buy the Del Monte canned fruit. Finally Granny snapped, "I'm 53 years old! I should know what I want!"

53? She was only 53? I thought she was at least 70!

53 … That makes her closer to my age than to my mom's. That makes her closer to my age than I am to many of my friends. Therefore I wonder if I look at myself objectively, if I don't look more like her than I care to think.

No wonder I went and had a beer after that.

Grief over a horse

A horse I have never actually seen in real life, no less.

I was so sad to learn about poor Barbaro being put down. So beautiful and so brave. I understand why it may have been necessary, for it's the owner's duty to protect the animal. But still, it hurts a little to think of his last moments.

These were my thoughts on my way back to the office after lunch. I realize I felt more genuine compassion for the horse I will never meet than I did for the two homeless men I passed on the street.

I better work on this.

Not that I ever want to be inured to the suffering of an animal. I would like to be more sensitive to the suffering of my fellow man.

I don't need a reason

Just saw a Feria commercial with Scarlett Johansson and I realize anew that I simply cannot stand her. Not since Madonna and Kathie Lee Gifford has a celebrity annoyed me this much. She is forever a vapid, swollen-lipped trollop.

There. I feel better now.

Why I'm Team Aniston

SHH! I'm really more sincerely a supporter of Team Aniston than I am the Bears.

It started during the season of Friends that began with her meeting Ross' plane with a bouquet of flowers, ready to tell him she loved him, and saw he was clearly involved with another girl. That year she was sad and fierce and proud and very, very funny. Part of the poignancy of it came from the idea that this beautiful girl could get any guy but the one she wanted.

Then there was the split with Brad. After it was announced, she was always flanked by Courtney Cox or Matthew Perry. You have to like a girl whose buds stand by her (even after the show is over and they no longer have to). And of course, how can you not feel sorry for a woman who lost her man to a vixen?

Now I'm reading about how insecure she is. Look at her! What could that woman feel she needs to improve? Yet according to US, she just had a nose job. And there are story after story about her new found passion for yoga as a way to stay in shape and her efforts (either successful or not, depending on which mag you pick up) to quit cigarettes.

I guess I'm a fan of Jennifer Aniston because it makes me feel better to know that heartbreak is a terrific equalizer … that whether we deal with it in the privacy of our own social circle or on full display in front of tabloid photographers, it throws us all for a loop. We all are riddled with self-doubt as we slowly recover. Even if we look like her.

Uh-oh

If you don't live in Chicagoland, you cannot imagine how deeply in love with the Bears this whole city is. Being the home of a Super Bowl contender is uplifting and invigorating. Famous skyscrapers are bathed in blue and orange lights. The Picasso and the Art Institute Lions are wearing Bear helmets. While I admit to being a blatant bandwagon jumper, I enjoy being part of the fun.

The sports pages, disc jockeys and TV newscasters are all so dominated by Bears Fever that I didn't realize how the rest of the nation views the team. Until today. Apparently, in comparison with the Colts, we kinda suck. Apparently the Super Bowl is going to be a bloodbath. Apparently a lot of hearts around here are going to be broken.

I hope at least Prince is good at half time.

I haven't jumped off the bandwagon. I still hope they win. I just didn't realize how unlikely it was until today.

Thursday Thirteen performances Oscar overlooked

Thirteen Things the The Gal Herself feels strongly about: In honor of the Oscar race, I'm listing 13 actresses whose performances were among the best of my lifetime. They were all most deservedly nominated for Best Actress, and all of them lost. 1) Diane Keaton, Something's Got to Give. 2003. Beautiful, understated, tender and mature. (In complete contrast to Nicholson's scenery chewing.) Lost to Charlize Theron in Monster. 2) Laura Linney, You Can Count on Me. 2000. A good girl who consistently does the wrong thing for the right reasons. Linney made Sammy's responsibility admirable and her screw-ups completely noble. Lost to Julia Roberts in Erin Brockovich. 3) Bette Midler, For the Boys. 1991. It's not hard to be good in a good movie. But Bette was terrific in a sea of flotsam and jetsam. She danced, she sang, she laughed, she loved. It's a 1940s MGM performance of the highest order. Lost to Jodie Foster in Silence of the Lambs. 4) Meryl Streep, Postcards from the Edge. 1990. No accent. No sturm ung drang histrionics. But damn, she's funny. And wait till you hear her sing at the end! Lost to Kathy Bates in Misery. 5) Holly Hunter, Broadcast News. 1987. Her indelible performance. Was she ever this good again? Lost to Cher in Moonstruck. 6) Mary Tyler Moore, Ordinary People. 1980. With her performance as the outwardly perfect suburban wife and mom, she showed us the heavy price a good girl has to pay to "turn the world on with her smile." Lost to Sissy Spacek in Coal Miner's Daughter. 7) Sissy Spacek, Carrie. 1976. A compassionate performance made this a gory horror movie without a villain. Spacek's Carrie was Everygirl, but with extraordinary powers. No one could begrudge her that bloody vengeance. Lost to Faye Dunaway in Network. 8) Barbra Streisand, The Way We Were. 1973. Who can forget the moment when Katie whispers, "It's Katie. You did know it was Katie ..."? For a performer who can be a bulldozer at times, Babs is also able to tug at our heartstrings as few others can. Lost to Glenda Jackson in A Touch of Class. 9) Diana Ross, Lady Sings the Blues. 1972. The original Dreamgirl in the role of a lifetime. Her musical performance -- singing not like Miss Ross but like Lady Day -- is as impressive as her acting. Lost to Liza Minnelli in Cabaret. 10) Faye Dunaway, Bonnie & Clyde. 1968. Sure, she robbed banks. And yes, she was not above shooting people. But all Bonnie wanted was The American Dream (love, wealth, acceptance) and she didn't have a lot of option in The Depression, now did she? Dunaway's longing and apetite almost burst from the screen. Lost to Katharine Hepburn in Guess Who's Coming to Dinner. 11) Julie Andrews, The Sound of Music. 1965. Except for Dame Julie, this drek is almost unwatchable. Yet when she's on the screen, her confidence and sincerity elevates it and makes you forgive just about everything else. Lost to Julie Christie in Darling. 12) Bette Davis, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. 1962. Creepy, ugly, evil, over the top … and pretty damn funny. A completely vanity-free performance from a great star, clearly having the time of her life. Lost to Anne Bancroft in The Miracle Worker. 13) Audrey Hepburn, Breakfast at Tiffany's. 1961. Played by any other actress, Holly Golightly would be easy to dismiss as a whore. But played by Audrey, you feel icky even thinking it! My favorite moment is her with her guitar and bandanna, singing "Moon River." Lost to Sophia Loren in Two Women. 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

Sentencing this old gal to a "time out"

"The gang" here at work is going to lunch, and I just told a fib to get out of it. I didn't make anything up out of whole cloth; I used my oldest friend's current custody issues as an excuse and said I had to stick close to the phone. She is having visitation issues, but I don't expect her to call me about them. I just didn't feel like going to lunch en masse. As soon as it's safe, I'm going to slip out to the health club.

My alone time is the pause that refreshes. It makes me feel more human and better prepared to face the world. I have always been like this. I remember when I was a kid, I used to love being sent to my room. It meant that I had time with my toys and records (remember records?) and books without a parent or sibling invading my space.

It's a plan

I'm going on vacation in March! Made the airline and hotel reservations. Now all I have to do is choose which spa treatments I want. Hot stone massage … pedicure … facial … body wrap … How much pampering can I squeeze in?

Here's my room. No, change that to: Here's my suite. This is serious luxury for me.

I (sporadically) work hard. It's my money. I am going to spend it being nice to me.

Another woman would be ashamed

I mean, I realize that at this point in my life, I shouldn't find these funny.


Buried at PhotoCasket.com


Buried at PhotoCasket.com

Look at that face!

Abigail Breslin was just nominated for a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for Little Miss Sunshine. As a Chicagoan, I know I am supposed to be rooting for Jennifer Hudson. But ah, look at that face. Here's Olive, trying to decide if she wants ice cream … or not. That was just one of the moments that broke my heart in this movie. She portrayed a genuine little girl, and she touched me enormously.

"A True Friend and a Good Writer"

That's how Wilbur described Charlotte. And, ever since I was a little girl, it sums up all I've ever wanted to be. Sometimes I come close, and those moments warm my heart.

Like tonight. My best friend is having a terrible time with a project. He needs something for a 7:30 AM deadline. I will work with him tonight. I will ask him to just talk to me, to tell me what he wants to say, and I will craft it into something usable.

He sent me an email, thanking me for being "a wonderful person." I loved reading that. But how can I thank him for giving me the opportunity to be what I want to be? Tonight I get to take a swing at being both a true friend and a good writer. It's a genuine pleasure.

Bear down, Chicago Bears

I love my city when we're all one. And today, on this particular snowy Sunday, we're all one. I know, I know … New Orleans is supposed to be America's Team. But not here, not today.

This morning I went out for breakfast and the little towhead at the next table was tunelessly singing, "Bear down, Chicago Bears …" over and over again. Any other morning, it would have been annoying. This morning, though, the little guy was speaking for all of us.

As I changed buses en route to my mom's house, I cut through Kohl's. It was almost empty! You could fire a canon through that store and not hit anyone. Just past noon and everyone was already downing brats and beer in preparation for the big game.

I'm not really a Bears fan. My love of the Cubs is so all-consuming that it eclipses all else. But because I'm a loyal Cub fan, I understand how it must feel for Bear aficionados and I am happy for them.

And I'm happy for Rex Grossman. Recently the city was all one, and determined to pillory that poor QB. His performance today should shut all that down for a while.

I can be such a snob!

When Armageddon first came out in the late 1990s, I refused to go see it. It sounded dopey, like Smokey and the Bandit in outer space. I had better things to do with my time.

Now, almost a decade later, while I do have better things to do with my time but I'm stubbornly not doing them, I'm finally watching Armageddon. And I'm enjoying it. I love Bruce Willis (who gets to be both a smart mouthed smart ass and a loving dad). I love Owen Wilson (who has the most divine broken nose). I love the camaraderie among the oil drillers/astronauts.

I hope I've learned something from this.

But I probably haven't.

Back to the future

I'm going to do it. Today I'm going to make the appointment. And next month it's going to happen.

I'm going back to my original haircolor.

Or a reasonable facsimile. I mean, let's face it. God wasn't that kind to me in the first place. So soon I will go from a redhead to a pale brunette.

I've been dying my hair for 26 years now. That's more than half my life. Since my hair grows fast, this means that twice a month for more half my life I've looked for Nice 'n Easy on sale … smeared Vaseline behind my ears so I won't dye the skin back there … sat around for 30 minutes with gook on my head … and been stuck doing a separate load of wash for my dye-stained towels.

By going back to a slightly improved upon version of my original color, the contrast when my roots grow in won't be as drastic, and I shall only be saddled with above chores every six weeks or so. (What will I do with all that extra time?)

Besides, it's time for a major change. And I'm intrigued by the idea of trying something new by trying something old.

Reality is sooooo overrated

Because my real life has been dominated, as of late, by Big Issues (illness, death, obligation, friendship), I have been taking refuge in a calmer and definitely prettier time. Specifically, I've returned to the sitcom world of 1967.*

I'm almost done with Season 2 of That Girl. Here was a woman who is clearly in her 30s, but everyone she meets agrees to join her in her fantasy and pretend she's a good 5 or 6 years younger. She has impossibly thick lashes and perfect signature hair. I know that they were both fake, but in sitcom world, they're real. Ann Marie had noticeable boobs and round hips, yet she kept getting modeling gigs! She often went weeks without income, yet she could afford a 1BR New York apartment (with exposed brick, no less!) and a wardrobe so expansive she never wore the same thing twice. Best of all, she ran everywhere … in heels!

She had adventures. She had a sense of humor. Everyone loved her. She enthusiastically believed that The Next Big Thing was right around the corner. Of course, she didn't have a sex life (too bad; Donald is growing on me as boyfriend material), but in the sitcom world of 1967, that would have made her a slut.

I hate returning to my real life. I have menstrual cramps. One of my new windows is broken and must be replaced. It's time for two of my cats to go to the vet, and oh, what a hassle that is. There's an important client meeting on Friday. I miss my best friend.

Why can't Ruthie and Jerry Baumann move out and leave ME the apartment across the hall from Ann? I bet I'd have a Sassoon/Twiggy signature haircut. Ann and I would go shopping together. Maybe I could be a girl reporter at Newsview magazine, where Donald and Jerry work! I'd be frustrated by all the "fluffy" pieces I'm stuck doing, but Ann would tell me to keep the faith -- someday I'll get to do real news!

Damn it all, there goes the alarm on my Lotus Notes. I guess it's time for this old gal to do some real, 2007 work.


*I know, I know. The real world of 1967 was filled with picketing and rioting and war and bigotry. That's why I want to go to Ann Marie's New York, which I realize never existed … but I wish it did!

I read the news today, oh boy ...

So Obama is gonna run. Yawn. Whatever.

I wish I was excited. I wish I was inspired. I remember how I felt at this time, four years ago, when it struck me that Senator Kerry was the right man for this country at this critical juncture.

But here are my choices as they stand today:

• Working for a candidate because he's black
• Working for a candidate because he's hot
• Working for a candidate because she's a woman and her husband asked me to

Please, Barack and John and Hill, make me fall in faith with one of you. I'll be a hard worker and a true believer. Just give me a real reason.

I'll do it during the Globes

I didn't do much of anything today. I sorted my laundry (but didn't quite get it down to the washing machines). I shaved a couple minutes off my 10,000 steps. I grocery shopped -- which today means signing for the Peapod delivery.

But tonight are the Golden Globes! I've seen many of the performances and can't wait to see many of the dresses. So perhaps I can redeem myself by going through my closet. Or maybe I'll give in to sloth and doze off on the sofa before the first Dream Girl takes the stage.

A book that helped. Really helped.

The subtitle of Elizabeth Edwards' book Saving Graces is "finding solace and strength from friends and strangers." She talks about how the kindnesses of those around her have sustained her through political losses, breast cancer and most wrenchingly, the death of her teenage son, Wade.

This book inspired me to accept help today from my oldest friend. She offered to come along to the family wake today. She knows how awful it would be for me to both support my mom and comfort my uncle while dealing with my molester. She wanted to be there for moral support. My first impulse was to be embarrassed and say, "No, that's OK."

But why? Why shouldn't I accept her offer? Why shouldn't I take "solace and strength" from someone I've known from my girlhood?

And so today she accompanied me. I hugged all who needed to be hugged, held everyone who needed to be held, and, at just past the hour mark, when my molester appeared, we slipped out the side door and now I am home.

Visitations are never fun. But this one went as well as these things can. In large part because she was with me. I am grateful to her … and to Mrs. Edwards.

One step up, two steps back

Last summer, a proposed family get together brought an ugly old incident back to light. One of my relatives -- a pillar of his church -- molested me back when I was in high school. It still gives him perverse pleasure to have gotten away with it. The last time he and I were together (at my mother's 60th birthday party) he kept standing too close to me, moving up behind me and leaning into me, whispering in my ear. He tried to talk to me about masturbation and whether or not I was willing to do what it takes to get a baby. Yes, the pig actually said those things me at a family gathering. He was almost daring me to make a scene in front of everyone.

Naturally he is invited to my aunt's wake and funeral. Naturally, pillar of the church and all, he will be treated with the utmost respect. Naturally he will say something inappropriate to me under the worst possible circumstances and completely enjoy himself.

Many members of my family know what he did to me. It isn't so much that they doubt my word, they just wish I would forget about it. I wish I could forget about it, too. Rage and revulsion can be mighty unpleasant emotions. But I can't forget it if he keeps bringing it up. And whenever I'm in a room with him, he tries to do just that.

HE is the one at fault, not me. But I am the inconvenient one.

Last summer I thought I got through to my mother about how I felt. I am not asking my family to shun him (though, frankly, that would be nice). I am just asking them to consider me when putting together family gatherings. Don't put me in a position where I'm completely vulnerable and unable to stand up for myself (if I make a scene I'll just ruin everyone else's afternoon of denial). She said she finally understood. All these decades later, she finally understood. It was such a joyous relief!

But then, over the holidays, I noticed a framed photo of the old bastard (a portrait taken by his church, naturally) in her dining room. And I found out yesterday he will be attending the wake and funeral. My mom was dismissive about it. She wants me there to support her and comfort my uncle. I'm tough. What's a few hours with him, really, anyway?

Just like taking a little paper punch to my soul. That's all.

My mother is so upset by the recent death in the family that her needs superceed mine. And I know she's doing the best she can.

But that doesn't make it any more comfortable to have a little hole punched in my soul.