Traveling the World -- 2006 Version

The 2006 travel season begins for me tomorrow. Truth be told, I'm about ready for it. Though my business travel can become a bit excessive at times, being home for 2 months was starting to become just a bit routine and I'm ready for the change of pace.

So go west, yound woman! I am off to wonderful Hong Kong, one of my very favorite places. Lots of appointments -- but I'll enjoy the warmer weather (even if it is while getting from one meeting to the next).

This will be a special trip as it marks the last time W and I will be traveling together. We make a good team, and he'll be sorely missed. We'll make the most of this trip, which should be a better good-bye than the standard hug-and-see-ya-later in the office.

Countdown to Spring

I. Hate. Winter.

There. I said it.

Why I live somewhere where winter tends to be the longest of all seasons still boggles my mind. But I love Chicago and do happen to think everything wonderful about this fantabulous city far outweighs that one little problem. You know, the bitter cold.

I'm usually good about the first couple of months. It meshes well with the holidays. I honestly don't mind it. Come January 1st, though, everything changes. My Countdown to Spring (or at least consistent spring-like temperatures) begins.

Because my fair city has been graced with such mild winter weather during the first month of the year, my annual countdown was far from my mind. However, winter came back with avengeance as we welcomed February, and it doesn't seem to be going away anytime soon. We even got snow yesterday! Ugh. Granted, it looked pretty as it was pelting the city. But that doesn't make up for the cold. You know, the cold that isn't going away any time soon.

So I am resurrecting the Countdown to Spring. As far as I can tell, we have about 47 more days until consistent spring-like weather hits the area. 47 days is pretty manageable. I can handle it, especially considering I'll be out of town- in warmer weather locations- for 10+ days of that 47. However, should that nice weather want to come sooner (and stay longer), I certainly won't quibble with Mother Nature.

Good-Bye Pooh

My Ops Manager at work is giving his notice on Monday. I have listened to his saga and heard him debate the finer points of staying versus leaving and have provided as much moral support as any co-worker (and friend) can provide, especially over the past week when he shared the news of his new job offer with me. However, I just received confirmation that tomorrow is the day. The official letter of resignation will be submitted. And that means the countdown to Pooh Bear's departure begins.

Feeling guy that he is, I know he is struggling between doing the right thing for himself and his family and deserting our little team at the office. I understand the conflict and I give him credit for wondering what will become of the rest of us once he leaves. It's generally true that no one is irreplaceable, especially in a work environment. I have rarely come across anything to the contrary until this situation. He truly is an irreplaceable individual. And now I am left to wonder exactly what he is concerned about: What will happen to the rest of us?

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

So earlier in the week, after a couple of months of phone and e-mail tag, Erik the Real Estate Dude and I finally were able to have a real conversation. Turns out that conversation was mostly about the flat tire he got as he came home from the airport. Uh...Sorry? I thought we were going to talk about MY NEW HOME. You know, the one of which you're going to arrange the sale and acquisition.

His trip to Costa Rica and the subsequent flat tire stories are probably very interesting, and I'm not kidding when I say I would one day like to hear them. But when you haven't even technically met, isn't it appropriate to just stick to business and offer your services? I was hopeful as we hung up, thinking that this was the week things were going to really take off.

I couldn't have been more wrong. A couple days later, Erik decided that he was still "catching up" so he wanted me to go through a mindless, stupid exercise whereby I indicate my interest levels in all of the properties I have already gone through (and rated on a scale of 1-5, per his request). I told him it seemed like a waste of time, but I was bored at work so I played along.

Two days ago Erik called. No, not to thank me for completing the aforementioned mindless, stupid task, but to indicate that he just couldn't show me any properties any time soon. The first reason being that he was still catching up on sleep (side note to Erik: It should not take you 5 days to get over a trip to Costa Rica. If it does, you need to pop a vitamin or visit a doctor because you have larger problems), and the second being he needed the pre-approval letter from the mortgage broker. So, um, let me get this straight: If you weren't still catching up on sleep, having the letter wouldn't matter? Are these mutually exclusive items? Help me out, Erik, because they both sound like really lame excuses. And you know what, Boy Real Estate Agent, ask and you shall receive. But stop with the "I am mighty and powerful agent" act. It so doesn't work with me.

So Sheila, who lives down the block, just so happens to be a real estate agent for Erik's competitor. In passing, she asked how my home hunt was going and I shared my frustrations. She offered to assist me, and ya know, I had a really good feeling about it. Naturally, I agreed to her assistance, and now I need to break-up with Real Estate Dude. Not because the stories aren't riveting and not because I can't get enough of the mindless tasks. But because I need someone I can trust will do the job. And this is sort of important to me and I need someone to care just a little bit. And I'm not getting any of that from young Erik. And I know Sheila will do the job and do it well. And I am soooo excited now!

Britney + Baby + Moving Vehicle = Utter Stupidity

Imagine my lack of surprise when I heard the news that Britney Spears was photographed driving with her four-month-old son on her lap. How can this shock me when everything else she's publicized doing is equally as weird/strange/wrong/ridiculous. Now I can add dangerous to the list -- and be justified in thinking she's boxes of lightbulbs short of bright.

To read her "excuse" for this latest activity amused me slightly, if only because I think deep down she really, truly believes that the public is going to buy it. She claims that she was fleeing for her and her sons life. (Fleeing! Gracious me, sounds so dramatic.) Yeah, because the paparazzi really want to hurt you and your son, hon.

In fact (and let's face it, it's true), dear Brit adores media attention. Whether it's being photographed with icky Kev or by her lonesome, she loves the snapshots, she loves the paparazzi, and she just plain loves the attention. So how can I buy the fact that she is now so fearful of the ones she was all buddy-buddy with just weeks ago?

The fact of the matter is, she got caught doing something beyond stupid (and I refuse to even venture a guess why because it hurts my head that much), and now she needs to come up with some valid reason why. The fact that her excuse doesn't hold water must have escaped Blondie.

Seriously, what is the world coming to?

Better Than Scrabble

I've always liked Scrabble. It's a thinking game and ideal for the wordsmith in me. It reminds me of rainy days or late nights during summer trips to Michigan. Former Roomie and I always bend the rules just a little bit based on how many rum and cokes are in our system.

Possibly trumping the fun of Scrabble is Snatch, a more competitive word game. The goal is to make creative words by taking turns selecting tiles containing letters. Making things more interesting is the fact that players can "snatch" letters from their opponents to create their own (better) words.

(I'm sure there's a drinking game in here somewhere.)

I'm not sure when I'll be up in Northport vacationing next, but I must get this before that trip.

Open Letter to the Parking Garage Speed Demon

Dear Mr. Speed Demon:

I want to extend my personal thanks for nearly running me over this morning. It must have looked like I had a death wish or needed a quick wake-up call this morning (Chicago traffic just doesn't provide enough excitement for me).

You obviously must have a very important job for which you were running late. That can be the only explanation for the way you whipped around the corner and zigzagged so fiercely up and down the aisle down which I was walking.

Sure, I'm short. And that black coat of mine must have disguised me in the medium-lit parking garage. I'm sure you hardly expected someone to be walking to the exit doors. After all, it is only across from one of Chicago's busiest buldings, which sees hundreds of business folks and tourists daily. Why would there ever be people in the garage? Those cars just magically appear and disappear.

I especially liked the squealing tires as you whipped around the corner and barrelled full speed ahead up our aisle. High drama! That was a nice touch. The exasperated look you provided was even nicer as you screeched to a halt inches from me. You almost made me think it was my fault I was walking so close to parked cars. Next time I'll try to climb on top of them for the ease of your driving. Perhaps I missed the cameras that were filming your version of the "Fast and the Furious." Again, my fault.

Though I came inches from landing on your hood, I appreciate your second attempt at maiming me as I gracefully shuffled away from you. However, I missed whatever morning greeting you shouted to me as you barely missed hitting me again. I suggest the next time you almost run someone over, you roll down the window all the way so your victim can hear it all clearly. I'm sure it was something either jovial or profound.

I hope you have a lovely morning. You sure started mine off in grand style. Who needs that additional cup of coffee? I'm wide awake and have only you to thank for providing that extra kick in the pants to high-tail it to the office and get right to work. And I owe it all to you.

Cheers,
MoC

Elevator Conversations

Basic small talk doesn't come easy to some, as evidenced in a conversation I overheard in the elevator up to the office this morning.

Woman: How was your weekend?
Man: Fine. And yours?
W: Full.
M: Do you live in the area?
W: Roscoe Village. That's north. Like, Belmont and Western.
M: Oh.
W: Where do you live?
M: Itasca.
W: Where's that?
M: About 14 minutes away
W: Hmmm.
M: Yeah
W: Do you have family?

And then they left. The conversation was painful to listen to, if only because it's obvious these are two co-workers who don't talk often and have no idea how to make light, airy small talk.

Especially off-putting was the woman's comment, "Do you have family?" Who doesn't have family?!?!? She didn't ask, "Do have family in the area." She asked if he had family. Period. Me thinks he had or does have at least someone he has been or is related to at some point in his life. I'll also take a liberal definition of family here and even include really close friends.

This woman was obviously stretching for conversation. Painfully so. I say if you don't have anything of somewhat intelligent or witty banter to offer, always fall back on the office. That topic will always provide plenty to chat about in the couple minutes it will take for you to get from the lobby to your office door, at which point you can go your separate ways. But never, ever ask obviously stupid questions for the sake of conversation.

Super Sunday

Today is like Christmas for football fans. The high holiday for lovers of the game of pigskin. I do so enjoy the excitement associated with the big game. Lots of video clips, excited debates among the pundits, smack talking, and of course lots of big parties. And who doesn't enjoy those lavish couch potatoe parties? Beer, munchies, more beer. No, it's not healthy in the least. And that's Ok because it's one measley day out of the year. And beer and chips go better with football than green tea and carrots (which don't really "go" in the first place).

Anyway, the US Calorie Control Council (who knew there was such a group? They sound frightening!) is offering some scary statistics about what will be consumed today. Generic data includes this little fun fact: It's estimated that 27 billion calories and 1.8 billion grams of fat will be consumed by Americans today. Though I'm not proud to say that I will be contributing to this intake, now I know why I pay for that gym membership.

But gym activities will come tomorrow. Today it's all about the game. I've already made it clear where my allegiance lies. Now let the festivities begin.

The Art of Producing a Super Bowl Ad

The folks over at Go Daddy have had their struggles in placing their Super Bowl ad (you know, with the little things like indecency and what not. After Ms. Jackson's little wardrobe malfunction brought such notoriety to the halftime show, it must be harder to get away with racy innuendo or the old sex as a sales tool gimmick).

But persistance has paid off for them, and to show what a good sense of humor they have, they've produced a handy little timeline to help us viewers understand just what sort of hoops they jumped through in order to get the final cut approved.

And no, I don't watch the Super Bowl just for the ads. I love the game as well. (Yes, I am a Renaissance Woman)

Special shout out to the boys from PA: Kick some Pacific Northwest ass.

The Past in My Rearview Mirror

As I was sitting in Chicago traffic yesterday afternoon, slooowly inching along, I kept myself entertained singing along to a multitude of songs, all of which sent me right back to sophomore year in college. And I mean I flew back there. I bopped along, singing my heart out, not even caring that I wasn't moving...and then "the song" came on.

Everyone has at least one. You know it. The ditty that represents a moment; epitomizes a period or person. And mine was playing...straight from 1993...Pearl Jam's "Rearview Mirror." It's not a great song, and it certainly was never one of my favorites. But I can still remember begging my boyfriend at the time to perform for me, screaming his lungs out to the song for my pure entertainment. I could picture it so clearly as the song blared in the car: Lovely, silly, Schmooshie standing in the middle of my room, me lounging in bed as he held the liner notes containing the lyrics in front of him, trying to keep up with Eddie Vedder and belt out a tune with gusto and passion (and not much rhythm).

It makes me laugh just thinking about it. Not because it was stupid (even though it sort of was), but because here was a guy who would do anything I asked of him because seeing me smile and making me happy and keeping me satisfied made him happy, regardless of what sort of fool he had to be or what silly things I asked of him. And he wasn't whipped (well, maybe a little), and he wasn't a sad pussy. He was just a genuinely nice guy.

Of course, this is one of the happy moments (and there were many of those). There were some that weren't, and then it ended. Seems that making each other happy wasn't tops on our list.

That was a long, long time ago, and I haven't thought about him in ages. Until yesterday when that silly song came on and I was immediately taken back to my 19-year-old self and that night when I was immensely entertained by a nice guy singing off-key just because I wanted him to do it. Memories are grand.