Year in Review

Just like the TVs and magazines do, I'm using today's post to reflect on and share my highlights from 2008.

I have definitely had loads of fun with plenty of laughs, miles traveled and experiences shared. I will also link you to my best blog of the month, in my own opinion (and influenced by your comments).

Enjoy!

Colleen's Best of 2008:

January
I started the year by beginning a new relationship, which always sets things in a good light. Brett and I had our first official date (Bulls Game) on January 9th, and we're still enjoying getting to know each other. I also met his family pretty soon after in celebration of his Dad's birthday, and it has been a pleasure getting acquainted with them, too.

The best blog of the month had to have been the one about the Vagina Couch.

February
This month brought the end of an era: Then Again, the local cover band who has been a staple in my social life (and that of Kristen, Laura, Jill, etc.) for several years now retired. Mandi even came to town for their last show, and it was an absolute riot. My girls and I also got to see Bon Jovi's concert from the United Center box suite, which was a rockin' good time, too. It snowed a ton this month, so a trip to LA allowed me to celebrate Molly's 30th birthday while escaping the weather.

The best blog of the month had to have been the one about SPAM.

March
As a good Irish girl, of course this month included wild and raucous celebrations for St. Patrick's Day, as only Chicago can do. It also brought my Mom and sister Lauren to town, where we rendezvoused all over town and made our way to a fondue dinner with Brett's entire family, bringing both sides together over melted foods. The snow wasn't melting just yet, though.

The best blog of the month had to have been the one recapping the time I fainted on the El.

April
With the cold days and snow lingering on, Brett and I got creative for our date nights, including an Olympic-sized trip to Dave and Busters that resulted in an Olympic-length blog. We also saw Seinfeld live at the Chicago Theatre and I started a painting class with Katie and presented at the Direct Marketing Association's International Marketing Exchange, both activities which brought out skills I didn't know I had before.

The best blog of the month had to have been the one Celebrating my Dad for his birthday. At least he thought so.

May
With (slightly) warmer temps, we made our way to several Cubs games, and I participated in a charity walk for the American Cancer Society with a team of strong and resilient women. The summer of Wonderful Trips began with a long Memorial Day Weekend in Michigan capped off by the final planning for the Costa Rica trip. We were now counting down the DAYS not months!

The best blog of the month had to have been the one honoring my Mom for Mother's Day. At least she thought so. (I'm seeing a trend, here).

June
Without a doubt, the headline for this month is COSTA RICA! The Posse, the Men and Brett and I had a wonderful time in the land of Pura Vida. The rest of the month was filled with booze cruises, Kristen and Katie's birthday parties, beach volleyball and trying to stop myself from daydreaming about Imperials on the beach in Jaco.

The best blog of the month had to have been the one about fighting urges.

July
This month was busy, and included several more trips back to Michigan, most notably for Jill and Josh's Wedding in Mackinac Island. I also hosted Jenny, a 20-year bestest, and Brittany, Katie and I dragged our guys to see Feist at Ravinia in the Park. The weather was perfect, and summer was in full swing.

The best blog of the month had to have been the sensitive one about a friend's stepmother who is ill, putting everything in perspective.

August
As is typical, this month was full of fun outdoor activities, such as Lollapalooza, Camping in Northern Michigan, the Air & Water Show, and my cousin Maureen's gorgeous wedding in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco over the long Labor Day weekend. I had a minor flood from the condo upstairs' renovation, but I survived. All in all, a fantastic end to a Summer to Remember. Time for college football to begin!

The best (or most popular) blog of the month was clearly the one about the half of a $20 bill I somehow ended up with. (It is still in my wallet).

September
Besides my Georgia Bulldogs starting the season at #1 (which sadly, was short-lived), this was the month of weddings. Starting with my cousin's, I then attended two family-friend weddings with Brett, and we danced, drank and partied with his family and their hilarious friends. Watching the Bears struggle at the end of each game made me realize that you win some, you lose some. I hosted a fantastic Method Party, and went to several Cubs games (back when they still had hope).

Without a doubt, the best blog of the month was the one where my colleague saved a man's life with his ding dong.

October
Starting the month off right, Brett and I went to Atlanta to visit my friends, tour my hometown, and introduce him to my Dad. We had a blast and even saw the Bulldogs win vs. Tennessee, and I got to spend time with most of my Posse and Lauren and George and it was all just perfect. Back in town, we saw a few concerts this month, including TV on the Radio and the Jimi Hendrix Experience. Sadly, though, October will be remembered mostly as the month I was laid off from work and took some time to get over the sadness of it all. Writing this helped.

The best blog, except the one saying goodbye to my job, was the one that recounted my hectic business trip to NYC.

November
We voted this month, and I couldn't have been more proud to live in Chicago—and to have voted for the person I believe in—than now. Braving the cold, we had a huge group tailgate in Evanston for the OSU v. Northwestern game and that day I believed mostly in spiked apple cider and pocket-sized hand warmers. I interviewed like mad for a few weeks and was supremely motivated in the job search. I was still optimistic that something would hit before Thanksgiving.

The best blog, from a writer's perspective, must've been the one where I moped about being unemployed.

December
The month has been busy personally, not professionally, and I have used my extra time to play Santa and an Elf, get creative with my job search, spike more apple cider, plan Brett's 30th birthday party and use frequent flier miles to book an obscenely early in the morning flight to Atlanta for Christmas (I missed all delays at ORD, it was a Christmas miracle!) There are group plans in the works for New Year's Eve that include a party at a warehouse that used to be Al Capone's speakeasy in the 20s, so I'm busting out the costume bin to find my flapper gear once again. And, I'm still braving the cold and wind to revel in the gorgeous holiday decorations that this city sports this time of year.

The best blog of this month is likely the one where I fought off a reality TV producer who wanted to audition me for a show he was doing. I don't make this stuff up. Apparently my relationship status as of late rendered me unacceptable casting; not that I was actually considering it. Unless they'd pay me. Right?

Thanks for a wonderful year. I'm a tad choked up just thinking about all of what I've experienced in 2008.

A year of ups, downs, awards, loss, laughs, cries, memories, music, challenges, new friends, old friends, family, love and 220 blog posts.

You've been a fantastic crowd, and I hope you'll join me in the new year as I tackle 2009 (and all that comes with that) head on.

Until then,

Happy New Year!

Stuck in the Middle with You

I have officially published 280+ blog posts, and I can't believe it hasn't occurred to me yet to write about this yet.

Let's chalk that up to to timing, shall we?

This time of year, it is all about Christmas (or Hanukkah) and New Year's. Nothing more, nothing less.

And I get it, alright?

But, some of our parents got freaky in the months of March or April (spring fever, anyone?) and therefore, a few of us unlucky ones have a birthday that is square in the middle of the holidays.

And, don't go telling me that would be so great because:

a) you were never in school on your birthday

b) you are not working on your birthday, likely

c) all those presents at once? egad!

Because the truth is, it is hard.

As I get older (eek, it keeps happening to me!), the pain lessens, but seriously, it is tough to have a birthday that is wedged perfectly, symmetrically, evenly between Christmas and New Years.

For you geniuses, and those of you that went to Math Camp (Laura!), this means my birthday falls every year on December 28th. Three days after Christmas, and three days before New Years.

What does that mean for me?

It means that when my birthday hits, people are:

a) out of town

b) tired of eating too much fattening delicious food

c) over the whole "presents thing"

d) saving up for New Year's Eve

e) not interested in buying you a drink, they're hungover and broke

f) who are you - you're not Baby Jesus - why do I care?

So, the bottom line is this. It sucks.

And, even as I age past 30, a few birthdays past 30 that is, I still feel like it is a lousy time to be saddled with a birthday. I have never had cupcakes for the whole class on my birthday, I have never had a pool party birthday, I have never gotten to spread the gift haul out over the course of a year, I have never known what it was like not to be wedged between two more important holidays.

I will say this. As an adult, it is nice to be at home (or on vacation with my family) celebrating the "holidays" while we tack on my birthday at the end. I appreciate that. I realize it is far better than being stuck at work in an office with fake "happy birthdays" and bad store-bought cake.

I get it.

But, I urge you all (you June birthdays especially!) to recognize the hardships we late December birthdays have endured. It has been rough. Tough. Painful. Touch and go, even.

The one saving grace is this: (ok, it is a few things)

a) my Mom and Dad have always made it a big deal no matter what month it was

b) they even chose "birthday paper" instead of the leftover Christmas wrapping paper

c) they hid the birthday gifts until the morning of, to build suspense

d) I got to eat off the red "You are special today" plate every year

e) it is still in that time of year when we eat whatever we want and that includes two pieces of cake

So, I'll be ok. I'll survive. I'll even manage to make it a whole "fun day for us all" if you insist.

But, just remember. Don't ever, under any circumstances, combine gifts. Don't try to pass that off on us, we're smarter than that. It doesn't matter that you spent more this way. That whole "I thought you'd get more this way" shenanigan is not lost on us.

We know we got screwed, and you know you got off easy. Does this look like a kid who wants to be messed with?


Yes, today is my birthday, and now you feel so guilty that you're obligated to say something. Anything. Just put it in the comments and I will feel so loved.

Just don't use green or red wrapping paper when you do.

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out

It's Christmas. The season for thinking kind thoughts about those we know, love and read daily.

In case you for one split second thought, "my, that Colleen seems so normal and well adjusted. I bet her family is sweet, calm and lovably vanilla." I offer you the below as evidence to the contrary.


This was a self-timer family photo (plus my sister's beau, George) that we took before Christmas Eve mass last night. Are we normal, slightly strange or really, really off-center?

And, how does the poor reindeer feel to be used like this?

Would little Ralphie be mortified or proud of us?

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good 'jazz hands' photo!!

Early Riser

While waiting at O'Hare airport at an ungodly early hour on Tuesday morning, I had a few basic observations that I'd like to share with you. It only seems fitting. Consider them my gift to you.

• Everything is easier to navigate at the airport if you arrive at 5 am. It is quiet, empty and peaceful.


• The TSA people are not crabby yet at 5 am, and that alone is worth getting up really early. The man practically helped me put my boots back on. Seriously.


• When they de-ice the plane three times before you board, and once before you get to the tarmac, it is a tad bit disconcerting. And, it smells pretty strange when the fumes get pumped into the air vents before takeoff.


• The airports HAVE to be the only place left you can find that printer paper that is all connected with the tear-off holes on each side. Those people are ready for just about anything—if they need a "Welcome Home, John!" or a "Happy Birthday, Mom!" sign, they're ready at a moment's notice.


• Coffee is the only thing I'm ready to put in my body before boarding a 6 am flight. And even that doesn't help when the alarm went off at 3:20 am.


• ALWAYS check which Chicago airport you're flying out of—a trip to O'Hare, only to find out that you need to be at Midway, and then getting rebooked back onto a flight at O'Hare will ruin your day. And your husband may find clever ways to rename Midway (MDW). This wasn't me, but I am so sorry for my friends!


• They must put something else in the air when they pressurize the cabin for takeoff. Seriously, I can't even stay awake long enough to make it to the end of the tarmac. Are we being collectively drugged?


• No matter how old I get, there is something so nice about being picked up at the airport by my Mom. I even forgive her for taking a photo of me as soon as she got out of the car to hug me (evidence below). I would rather have had her grab my suitcases, but I'll let her slide.

I got lucky enough to get out of Chicago before the delays hit O'Hare and people had to wait hours and hours to get out of town. And, I arrived without incident in Atlanta, where the "low" temperatures are about 50.

NOT complaining.

Merry Christmas to me! And to you, of course. Especially if you work at TSA or United Airlines.

Hoping Santa Arrives Early

Today was a good day, as unemployed days off in the middle of December with a huge storm forecast for tonight go.

I heard back from a company that I'm dying to work for, and while I wasn't quite right for the one position, they liked me so much that they want me to come and talk to some other people for another position on what sounds like an even more interesting account, and I'm going in tomorrow at 1 pm.

This is the part where I must admit that I jumped up and down in my bedroom (the only place in my apartment that doesn't currently drop every single call I make) and actually let out a "whoop" that would have scared small children if I were the type to keep small children hanging around in my apartment.

I realized I haven't shared with you the photos from my friends' Ugly Christmas Sweater Party last weekend, so here's the best. Brett and I were in the front of the "portrait" and clearly were going for "serious faces" while the back row went with "jazz hands." We're grown-ups, I swear.


Ok, now that that's done, back to today.

Much to my surprise (since when do eBay and UPS ever do you any favors?), the two long-awaited packages came that are the final two parts to a very complicated, but extremely thoughtful, gift for Brett's birthday this weekend. With not a minute wasted, I tore open the packing boxes, put the entire gift together, and wrapped it all up with shiny non-Christmas paper and matching ribbons. We Christmas-week birthdays get sortof ticked off when people do the "it's wrapped in Christmas paper but it is really a birthday gift, I promise" kind of thing. Trust me.

More to come on the sad state of affairs when your birthday is wedged in between Christmas and New Years next week.

Then I placed the gift under the tree (the Christmas/Birthday rule doesn't apply when it comes to placement of the gifts until the giving happens, especially when you want your tree not to get lonely), and I figured now would be as good as time as any to share the photo I took last week before my gifts were all shipped off. Here you go. My little tree, with the bright star on top that I cut off inadvertently. Not in real life, just in the photo, silly.


Finally, I ran to the store for the final ingredients (culinary and otherwise) to complete Brett's birthday surprise tomorrow night. We're having the party at one of my favorite bars, Matilda, and the owner is so cool that he's offered us 50 free drink tickets and I can bring my own food (hint, hint) so I will be stopping by there tomorrow if the snow will allow that.

So, I'm bought, wrapped, lists made and ready for tomorrow's culinary expedition, which will now come after my interview. Woohoo! Yep, there it goes again. That outward burst of excitement.

After the fun weekend we have planned, if I have any brain cells left, we're celebrating Christmas early here together, and then I will leave him to his holiday with his family in Michigan, and I will head south like a snowbird to my family in Atlanta. I'm looking so forward to time with them, and my mom's mini-cheesecakes, not necessarily in that order.

Can you tell my mood is significantly better today? I can barely type as fast as my little brain is going today, and it is all good news. Thank you, Interweb, for the kind words, support and good vibrations. It's working!

Even the 10" of snow we're expecting tonight can't dim my bulb. This was the view of the lake from my apartment on Tuesday, and it will be even whiter out there tomorrow, if what Tom Skilling says is true. And, isn't it always? (Chris, you are nodding, aren't you?)



And, as the final sign of my mental improvement, I haven't given dirty looks to any unlit holiday decorations* today, so I'm clearly on the up and up.

*See Tuesday's post if you have no idea what I'm talking about.

Headed for a Shrink's Couch

I would love to be writing a new blog post every day, telling you all the latest and greatest adventures I've been having.

But, the truth is, there is not much to tell.

Most days the greatest accomplishment I make is to actually shower before about 5 pm. And, if I watch one more HGTV show, I may start demolition in my already-remodeled kitchen, just to give me something to do.

I drag myself out of bed, eat a bowl of cereal, watch the news while I check emails, touch base with a few people, re-send emails that people are clearly ignoring, look in on LinkedIn, poke around on Facebook and talk to my Mom.

Lunchtime signals an exciting milestone, and something to do. Dishes to put away. Crumbs to clear. Trash to empty. It's bigtime!

And, then the afternoon drags.

Today, with the huge downfall of snow, I did a lot of gazing out the window, watching it pile up, amazed at how quiet the streets are when they are coated with sticky, powdery snow. With the recession at full tilt, even the snow plowers are quiet, so it took several hours before there was any city employee action on my street today.

I drive myself crazy wishing, waiting and hoping. Knowing that at this point, nothing is going to hit until January at the earliest, I've resigned myself to that fact, but now what?

Now that the presents are all bought, wrapped, nestled under the tree, photographed for my Mom, and then today, shipped to Atlanta and Tampa for their recipients' delights, now what?

I have already planned, organized, emailed, evited, and plotted some surprises for Brett's big birthday party this weekend, and all that is left is a little more surprise-making (including flour, sugar and icing), which actually may fill most of the afternoon on Friday, knowing my less than stellar culinary skills.

I'm so bored that I even put those types of activities on my electronic calendar on my phone, just so it feels like something is going on. I put "laundry" and "grocery" and "clean" on my calendar for crying out loud. The calendar that is just a wide open expanse of time.

When Brett finally gets off work, if we have plans to hang out, I drive him bonkers with my incessant chatter—realizing that the only person that I spoke to that day was my doorman, or the convenience store guy in my building, or the parking garage attendants.

Today, I found myself making small talk with the UPS Store workers just because, hey, I'd showered, and was feeling chatty.

My clothes are clean. Organized. Folded. My apartment is clean. Organized. Dusted. My Facebook profile is clean. Organized. Updated. My brain is empty.

If there was every any doubt that I'm a great project manager, communications specialist, planner, strategist, organizer and worker bee, I hope that this time (and these stories) obliterate that kernel of doubt. Because it is clear that inactivity makes me crazy.

C.R.A.Z.Y.

Oh, and the shadowed person in the building across from me that I was just certain was staring at me for upwards of 15 minutes while I made dinner tonight?

Yeah, that was an unlit Christmas tree.

Shoe Crazy

Am I a cynic or a realist?

I keep seeing this commercial:



and all I can think of is:

How would I ever end up with matching pairs?

Would they be in my size?

And, wouldn't that dent the car?

This, my friends, is what happens when you're a trained marketer/advertiser with far too much time on your hands.

Someone take the remote away. Now.

Not to Be Generic

In an attempt to cut costs any way possible lately, I have abandoned my brand loyalty to some key household and beauty products, just to see.

It is amazing how much more expensive the name brands are, and as a marketer, I know that most of that cost is in packaging/design, advertising and agency fees (eek!). So, I'm not a fool, I can buy the store brand and it will be just fine. Right?

Not so fast.

Do not, under any circumstances, buy generic toothpaste. I know, it sounds so sad and pathetic that I've taken to giving up my Colgate Total for the Walgreens brand, but my toothpaste was $4.99! A tube! With no free toothbrush! So, I broke down and for $1.99 got the Walgreens brand that says "Compare to Colgate Total."

Only if you have no taste buds. The stuff was more like ground up drywall.

So, that's off the list. I'll use travel tubes until I can stand another trip to Walgreens.

Body wash, however, is just soap. In a bottle. For your body. That is easy—White Rain makes a line of body washes that smell really nice and are only $1! Yes, one buck. To squirt that stuff on the loofah makes me feel like a frugal shopper.

No need to splurge on Dove or Oil of Olay or whatever fancy pants body washes they have these days. They all do the same thing, and as long as it doesn't smell like a floral garden in a nursing home, I'm game.

I've long been a fan of Excedrin Migraine (for those pesky ones that hang around for days) and it is comprised of Aspirin, Ibuprofen and a little dash of caffeine. The brand name, however, brings the total up to something horrific like $12 for the big "value size" bottle.

But, the Walgreens brand is exactly the same ingredient makeup, with no brand name (or agency, eek!) to pay off—so it is more like $4. Done.

Let's examine a few other products. Heck, chime in in the comments if you wish. Save a gal some cash!

Trash bags? Brand name only. I don't want my ooky stuff leaking all over my legs as I walk the bag down to the trash chute.

Bottled water? No thanks. I prefer tap water chilled in my Brita pitcher.

Toilet paper? Brand name only. The other stuff only belongs in a road-side gas station bathroom. Gross.

Soda? (or for my southern readers, Coke?) I'd have to say, There's nothing but the real thing, baby. Keep your Shasta and Cola away from me.

Dish soap? Generics are fine. I'm not tasting it, rubbing it on my girl parts or showering in it. It can be Housewifey Brand for all I care.

Detergent? This one is tricky. I'm hugely affected by smells, and clean laundry is one of my favorites. You can smell it now, can't you? That favorite t-shirt fresh from the dryer? It is imperative that this stuff smells good, but many brands are good. I just buy what's on sale.

But, against my better judgement, I bought some cleaning supplies at the Dollar Tree next door to my Target. Big mistake.

The "Johnny Fresh" toilet bowl cleaner smelled like a hospital. A dirty one.

The "Fabuloso!" surface cleaner smelled worse than the offending counter-top-mess that was there before. No thank you.

The "Lemon Fresh" furniture polish smelled like I'd robbed a lemonade stand and used an industrial hose to spray it all over my apartment.

Lesson learned.

Not to be generic, but sometimes you get what you pay for.

(Which is probably why my supply closet is filling more and more up with the Method products. Such delicious smells, good for me and the environment and such cool packaging. I think I'm a brand advocate. But, the stuff is pricey! I need a job to keep my closet full of their stuff.)

Rolling the Dice

In the age of online social networks, online job boards, online recruiting, online job seeker communities and online unemployment filing, I figured I'd resort to the online world once again.

So, here goes. I'm rolling the dice. Being open. Vulnerable. Honest.

I'm still looking for the right job. In this tough economy, bad time of year and holiday season, it has been tough to get interviews, tough to get good leads and even tougher to get calls back. In the rare instance of a successful connection, it is tough to get them to make a decision on a job quickly, even when the candidates are right, ready and anxious to start working.

I have officially sent resumes to, applied for jobs at, interviewed at and made contacts with the following agencies, most to no avail (listed in alphabetical order):

Abelson-Taylor
Anthem
Biersma Creative
Bluedog Design
Corbett
Cramer-Krasselt
Current Lifestyle Marketing
DDB
Design Kitchen
Draftfcb
Egg Strategy
Element 79
Euro RSCG/Euro RSCG Life
Evolution Point
Hoffman York
HSR Business to Business
iCrossing
Interbrand Health
Laughlin Constable
Leo Burnett
MarketSense
Momentum Worldwide
Ogilvy
Point B Communications
Razorfish/Avenue A Communications
Remedy
Rivet
RPM Advertising
S2 Marketing Communications
Schawk
Slack Barshinger
Upshot
Wunderman

Here's what I'm hoping. I am hopeful that one of the hiring managers, talent scouts, or recruiters at one of these agencies will get a Google Alert or a ping that their agency's name was posted here, and will look me up. I'm hoping, dreaming, praying that one of them will contact me and will be interested in talking to me about my experience.

I've got 10 years in this business. Ten years representing clients and managing their accounts. Ten years learning and perfecting integrated marketing communications. Ten years developing brand strategies and plans to invigorate or invent brands. Ten years dealing with the challenges of ROI, media plans, deadlines, flexing budgets, internal marketing groups, external agency partners and vendor contacts.

And, believe it or not, I still love this business.

So, if there was ever a time for me to strike it rich in the employment lottery, the time is now.

Come on, Internet, let's make this happen. If you (yes, you) are reading this and you have a friend, an aunt, a neighbor, a past colleague, a cousin, a lover or a postman who knows someone in this business, please let me know. If you have any "in" at any of the above agencies, now is the time to make the call, send the email or check the Rolodex. I'm begging.

I'm antsy, my condo is spotless, my files are color-coded and organized, my (meager) Christmas shopping is almost complete, and my Tivo has given up on me. I'm running thin on funds and even thinner on patience.

I need a job, and need your help to find it. In fact, I want more than a job, and maybe that's my problem. I want a career step. I still have the optimism and the faith that this search will land me in the right spot, in the right company, working on the right business and making a difference.

Thanks for indulging me. I assure you that if I do find a job, you will be graced with funny stories, life observances and commuting sagas to make the posts I've dedicated to this sorry search worth it!

I have faith, blind or otherwise.

Until then...I do what I've been doing best.

I wait.

Plus One

Oh. My. God.

It has come to this.

I open my Facebook account today, and have a new message in my inbox. And this was it.

--
Hi Colleen,

I am a TV producer in New York and I am looking to profile several single women who have been a bridesmaid many times over and who are now ready to finally be a bride.

At this juncture, we are looking to showcase one woman in her quest to find the right man to walk down the aisle with. Yes, it's a bit like 27 Dresses. The subject should be outgoing and have a close network of friends and family who share the common goal. Can you tell me a little about yourself? Family? Friends? Your job? How actively involved are the people close to you in your dating life?

If this sounds like it may be of interest to you or someone that you may know, or if you would simply like to hear more about it, please reply to this message. Thank you and I look forward to hearing from you.

Thanks,

Phil
Executive Producer, Kingfish Productions
--

First of all, how did this guy find me? Did he see my "Weddings and More Weddings" Album on Facebook? Has he been monitoring my status updates that say "off to a wedding" or some other helpful clue? Has he been stalking me on the Interweb?

Now, I fully admit that I have been a bridesmaid like a gagillion times. I have been to trizillion weddings.

I have worn light pink, dark pink, light pink with dark pink, grey, navy, black, and brown dresses. I have had to have every one of them altered, and have had to pay through the nose for the added 10 inches of fabric that constitutes "extra length."

I have bought dyed shoes in brown, black and taupe, and have sported heels, demi-heels and near flats.

I have worn my hair down, up, half up half down and somewhere else in between.

I have had my nails filed, buffed and painted in a variety of "approved shades" to match the other ladies.

I have been the MOH (maid of honor for those uninformed), the COB (cousin of the bride), a reader, a greeter, and the token sorority sister, college friend, childhood friend, Chicago friend and tall friend.

I have stood at the front of the congregation on the far left (tallest to smallest), on the far right (MOH duties prevail), on the far middle (a bell curve was desired) and everywhere else in the row of beauties.

I have entered the church, one step (slow down!) at a time, to trumpets, violins, piano, organ, keyboard, a three-part harmony, and a choir.

I have carried floral arrangements ranging from the delicate to the monstrous in spring, summer and fall hues of pink, purple, blue, orange, yellow, red, white, peach, maroon and green.

I have danced the Macarena, the Electric Slide, the Shag, the "high school dance with shoulders apart," the Posse Dance, the ZTA Sisters dance, the Two Step and even participated in the Limbo.

I have flown to weddings, bachelorette parties, engagement parties, bridesmaid luncheons, post-wedding barbecues, showers, showers and more showers.

I have bought presents off the registry, from a small boutique, from a huge department store, from a local gift shop and from the Internet.

I have a registered login and password to TheKnot.com and WeddingChannel.com, NOT to plan my wedding, but to buy presents for brides and grooms.

I have loved all of it, by the way.

But, does all of this qualify me to be on a reality show? A sad over-produced television program not-so-loosely-based on a successful movie with that chick from Grey's Anatomy in it? Always a bridesmaid, never a bride?

I'd be mortified.

But, wait.

Maybe I could register? And hold a huge TV premiere party where people have to send back a pre-stamped RSVP card, bring a guest, sit at round tables according to small place setting notes, eat chicken or steak, dance to a local band, drink too much, make out with my cousins/friends/college buddies, crash in a hotel nearby and bring me gifts?

Now, for that, I'll RSVP yes. Plus one.

**The photo above the post is from my friend Liz's bachelorette weekend at the lake. Somewhat mocking tradition, and somewhat paying homage to outdated and unflattering fabrics, we all brought and wore an old bridesmaid dress, fixed our hair in outdated and unflattering fashions and put on hot pink (or mauve, as it may be) lipstick. Liz bought a wedding dress on eBay for $5 and sported it with style. We held a mock bouquet toss and even took group photos according to the hue of the aforementioned offending dress. Always a bridesmaid? Absolutely.**

Bowl Me Over

It was a neon lit room, with sparse out-of-date and ugly decorations. The only ones present were those with me.

My hair was a solid color of offensive orange, puffy on the sides and parted dead in the middle. My eyes were brown, chocolate almost, and I was wearing what appeared to be plastic black-rimmed glasses. My shirt was bright yellow with no pattern and dorky short sleeves and my pants were blue solids and about two inches too short. People were calling me Coach, and I'm not quite sure why. I was quite a character, to say the least.

But, man, could I bowl.

In a riverside dive bar called The Boathouse the other night in St. Joe, Michigan, I was one mean Wii bowler.

I got strikes (more than one in a row, even!), spares and the occasional good spin on the ball. The ball steered clear of the gutters, and I had power in my roll that I didn't know I could possess. I reached the incredible personal best score of 170 and did a little dance around the bar on the sticky hardwood floor.

My arm, however, the next day was so sore that I'm pretty sure I have no spot on the Pro Bowling League.

Seriously. It still hurts to wash my hair.

Something is wrong with that picture, besides the multi-colored outfit and orange split part hair.

Openly Giving Thanks

This time of year is my favorite. Gathering family and friends to eat, drink, laugh, watch football and relax together. What's not to like?

Traditionally, I would be also using this festive time to buy a boatload of gifts for those family and friends, including hostess gifts for the parties I'll attend and wine and ornaments for those who allow me to stay in their home.

Clearly, money is tight this year (tight is probably an understatement) so the gifts will be light. However, I can still express my thanks and appreciation to people in this forum.

Therefore, on this most American of holidays, let me openly give thanks.

Open hearts.
I am thankful most of all for the people in my life that make it worthwhile. Those in my life who love unconditionally; those who support me through the ups and the downs; those special people who allow themselves to be vulnerable, trusting in the future despite the unknown; those who care and aren't afraid to express it; those who make me laugh, let me cry and tell me I'm going to be ok.

Open minds.
Speaking as a casualty of this hard economy, I am thankful for the open minds of the American people to look beyond the norm, the comfortable and the easy to nominate and elect the right person for the job. I am inspired, excited and invested more than ever before in the future of this country, and believe that we are armed to attack the problems head on. And, as with any other relationship, I trust and have faith that the best is yet to come.

Open arms.
Is there anything easier to be thankful for than the welcoming arms of a giant hug? This is also a thank you to those who have, or will, host me throughout this holiday season. As one who lives 1,000 miles from her immediate family, it is a privilege and a joy to visit with and stay in the homes of extended family and the family of those I care about. I look forward to toasting, laughing, sharing and dining with my aunt and uncles, cousins and Brett's family this year. It will be delicious in every sense of the word.

Open doors.
I hate to do it, but this one is tangible. I am thankful for the doors of the fridge opening, revealing plates of turkey glazed to perfection, stuffing that is fluffy yet crispy, potatoes that are mashed and delightful, pumpkin pie and other pastries that are sugary and scrumptious and for the wine, beer and cider to flow to accompany the feast. I can't help it, but I have been anxiously awaiting the food, and the leftovers, for days. Maybe it is partly due to the unemployed diet of grilled cheese, soup, cereal and pasta, but I'm game.

Open windows.
With the overused metaphor, I would also like to be thankful for the windows that open when a door closes. With a fervor that is usually reserved for a slick salesman, I have been networking, contacting, communicating, following up, emailing, calling, touching base with and reaching out to everyone that I know in this industry, and it is working. I am not yet working, but I trust that that is still to come.

I wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving and hope that you are sharing the time with your family, friends and loved ones. I am thankful that you all have allowed me this creative forum, this place to share my feelings, this expression of my opinions, stories and aforementioned ups and downs.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Love,

Colleen

Time Warp

While plotting to find my next big thing, I have also allowed myself to have the TV on in the background. When I'm not watching (or just listening to, as it may be) HGTV, I discovered a little guilty pleasure.

Reruns of Beverly Hills 90210.

The original.

They run back-to-back on the SOAP channel in the afternoon, and I am sucked in. I feel like I'm 14 again, watching the premiere episode on a luxury bus while on the 8th Grade Trip to Savannah. The poor driver. He wanted to go home, and yet we wouldn't get off the bus after dinner for fear of missing on glance at Brandon's hair, one outfit sported by Kelly, one mean comment by Brenda.

The topics hold up okay 16 years later, and the acting isn't THAT bad. For what it was. I still think Andrea was too old to be cast as a high school/college student, because she was my age now back then. She has mom hair for crying out loud.

The clothes, however, make me laugh out loud. The denim shirts! The cut off shorts! The shiny black vests over white t-shirts! The baggy jeans cinched with a braided leather belt! They look so ridiculous now, but I have to admit back then I was smitten.

Today, I caught myself, leaving the room to put my lunch dishes away, humming along to the theme song and double-fist-pumping in the air during THAT part of the song. You know you've done it.

So embarrassed. I really hope my neighbors didn't see that.

I Had a Dream

I had a dream about Obama the other night.

I know, that almost sounds like a poorly-scripted mashup of historical statements and I don't mean any disrespect to Dr. King.

But, I did. Sunday night I spent the evening watching the "60 Minutes" interview with the Obamas and on my lap rested a handful of recent magazines (Time, Rolling Stone, People) all featuring his charming face on the cover. I'm guessing that it all seeped into my sub-conscious, and created a very active imagination in my sleep.

Before you go thinking I'd be interested in having an extra-marital affair with the President-elect, let me clarify. In my dream, he wasn't married, but he was most definitely the soon-to-be leader of the free world. I don't recall much, as I'm prone to do with dreams no matter how vivid, but it felt pretty real at the time.

I recall being shuttled in and out of back doors under the protection of the U.S. Secret Service, and I was dressed up in ball gowns, pants suits and other fancy outfits that befitted a woman dating the man who was to live at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I remember standing off-stage while he commanded a podium, and receiving him as he exited the spotlight. I remember sitting across from him at a dimly lit restaurant talking for hours. I remember telling my friends, in hushed and excited tones, that I was dating the President-elect.

Maybe I've seen "The American President" one too many times?

When I told Brett about the dream, instead of feeling self-conscious about the state of our relationship, he rather said, "I'm guessing you're not the only woman in America who is dreaming about Obama." He may be right.

But, frankly, I'm content to have him be my President, not my date. However appealing that mega-watt smile, calm persona and sharp intellect may be.

Will Work for Food

Yes. I am alive.

I realize that after over a year of posting a blog almost every day, the last month of quiet must seem like a decade. I certainly would have to agree.

The thing is, honestly, this unemployment thing is just no fun at all. And it is loaded with cliches.

I don't resent the support, but it is a bit hard to believe anyone anymore.

Everyone keeps telling me to keep my head up (or chin, take your pick) and that something will come my way, and that doors close and windows open, and that blessings come in disguise, and that good things are just around the corner and that I should be grateful for this time off, and that I am great and super and fantastic and fabulous and the next best thing and blah blah blah.

I just don't believe it anymore.

The thing is—I like work. I like being busy. I like feeling like I'm contributing. And, I think most of all, I like feeling like I accomplished something each day. Big or small, it was just nice to feel like I achieved something after getting out of bed.

These days, a shower is a true accomplishment.

Not to say that I'm being totally lazy; no, it is more like an eternal quest to nowhere. A bridge, perhaps.

Each day, after crawling reluctantly out of bed, I toil on the computer (borrowed, and now mine) and stare at job boards, and decline sales jobs, and refresh my resume, and tweak my portfolio, and send emails to everyone I know in the industry, and inquire about any possible opportunities, and network in every way I know how, and then I start all over again.

And, I wait. I wait for the recruiter to call. I wait for the HR department to decide. I wait for the response to the email. I wait for the interviewer to come get me in the lobby. I wait for the bus afterwards and wonder how it went. I wait for the unemployment office to return my call. I wait for them to see me at the unemployment office. I wait for the weekend when other people are free to play. I wait for the call.

At the end of the day, I just don't feel accomplished. I think this is the hardest part of being unemployed, save for the long hours of no interaction that I have while toiling and waiting and toiling and waiting on my own.

It is amazing to realize that when you're employed, you identify yourself by what you do, where you work, what industry you're in, and how long you've been doing it. It is the first question that comes up at a party, and when you don't have an answer, you just feel like you're the one that showed up to the party naked. With a funny hat on your head.

I have no identity right now, and I'm bored and lonely and sick of making lists of the small house projects that I can do that don't cost anything and laundry and dishes and vacuuming and making the bed only take up so much time.

I'm going a little bit nuts, by the minute, by the day. I can't even bring myself to update my Facebook status all that regularly. What would I write? "Colleen is...still unemployed." "Colleen is sick of unemployment." "Colleen is staring at her computer." "Colleen wishes she could afford to go Christmas shopping."

Or, the most accurate, "Colleen is waiting."

And then there is the screwy unemployment office. This is the U.S. Government at work, people. I have officially only received payment for one of the last four weeks that I've been filing, and the payment was apparently for week two. Where the heck is the meager pittance for week one? Calling the offices are not productive, either, and sitting in their waiting room, you realize how many people are in this boat and that there is no chance that you're going to get called by the time they close at 5 pm. I believe that it is clear that they need more clerks—because one is just not appropriate—and ironically, I can count, uh, let's say, 400 people in the waiting room staring at you that may be willing to work here?

It is that bad.

Yep. Life as an unemployed person is just not so much fun. Therefore, I have been silent on the blog. I don't think there is much else I can say. But, with access to a computer now, I'll try to come up with something.

In the meantime, I go back to waiting. And, unfortunately, so must you.

(Mom, don't worry. I haven't made a cardboard sign just yet. I can't afford the Sharpies.)

The Beauty of Cleaning the Hall Closet

With a little more time on my hands, I'm getting a lot done. Besides sending out resumes and responding to recruiters that seem to think I'd be a "perfect fit to sell insurance in the Western Suburbs!" that is.

I decided I'd first make a long to-do list of all of the projects that I have been putting off for some time now. Then, I drew little boxes next to each task, with the expressed purpose of celebrating each achievement as I finished said task, with a large black X next to the line completed.

It has been rewarding to see the progress. I feel productive! Accomplished! Sadly, OCD and happy about it!

Today's tasks included reorganizing my hall closet, which meant a sweaty trip to the upstairs storage unit dragging a wobbly luggage cart with two huge Rubbermaid bins of summer clothes up to the cage that is dedicated to my excess junk.

It also meant re-filing all my files into a fancy new plastic two-drawer storage bin.

Additionally, it meant putting away all of the knick-knacks from my office that were in banker's boxes.

And, finally, it meant going through the old costume bin I have been saving, adding to and laughing at over the years. In one spot, nestled in the back of the hall closet, sat the aforementioned haven for old outfits used for costume parties, Halloween affairs and other events that required me to be someone else.

Apparently, my personal history of costuming has been quite eclectic. I found the following items, in no particular order:

• a handmade fringed 1920s flapper outfit complete with garter belt, feathered headband, pink satin elbow length satin gloves, a plastic tommy gun and an enormous pink/purple 4' feather boa


• a cowboy denim shirt and a matching cowboy hat


• a leprechaun hat, green belt, green plaid butterfly-collared shirt, a shamrock sash and coordinating shamrock jewelry of the blinking and non-blinking design


• a red plaid Hugh Hefner robe, a set of pink satin pajamas, white/pink fuzzy slippers, a plastic diamond, fake boobs and a purse dog


• a dress made of a Twister board, a spinner hat, red fishnet hose and white go-go boot covers


• a hard hat from the inaugural season of Atlanta's Philips Arena


• an authentic Atlanta Hawks with the number 00 and my last name stitched on the back


• a smashed margarita-sticky straw hat


• 19 Mardi Gras beaded necklaces, 7 plastic blinking bracelets, 1 random red feather boa and 1 pair of plastic Devil horns


• a Boy Scout camp shirt, a reflective vest, white gloves, a stop sign and a City of Chicago police hat


• and, a red shoulder length wig, a long curly blonde wig and a ratty chin-length black bob wig.

For the record, I did try on most items today, and had a good laugh at myself as I did. Wigs and all. The itchy head and sticking-up-hair was worth every minute.

The XXXtra large plastic boobs (circa Anna Nicole Smith, pre-death) were a tad busted, forgive the pun, and I put them secretly in the hallway recycling bin. They're plastic! I'm pretty sure I will have given a neighboring old lady a heart attack when she spots body parts in with the newspapers and aluminum cans.

The various costume items I have chucked out in the last few years also include a full satin prisoner outfit with metal handcuffs and a dorky little hat; a head-to-toe camouflage outfit including orange wristbands and a fake rifle; a 60s mod dress with coordinating 6" headband and white gloves; and a hooker-like outfit that I just don't want to explain.

I'm either a Halloween buff, a reformed sorority girl or a grandma in the making. All of the above, quite possibly? I will have one mean dress-up-clothes trunk by the time I'm 80.

*Photos and full details of this year's Halloween party to come next week. No hints on what I'm going to be...you'll just have to wait patiently. Pass the candy corn, please.

Good Night and Good Luck

You may have been wondering where I've been. Why I've been silent for the last week or so, save an occasional post about electronics (still unsolved, by the way). Why you've not heard any great stories out of me.

That's because it has been a rough week or so.

Frankly, it has been going on longer than that, but the proverbial shit hit the fan last week.

I was laid off on Friday.

At the risk of sounding like a sycophant, I really am sad to leave that company. I harbor no ill will towards them for choosing me to be one of the latest laid off. I hold no one responsible for the situation. In fact, I credit the leadership with having tried everything they could to stave off the layoffs. To keep the wolf from the door.

Unfortunately, in this economic crisis, those efforts were not enough. Holding companies are vicious and sometimes it comes down to numbers on a spreadsheet. Times are tough and I am feeling it more than ever.

I know that the prices of gas have been at all time highs, but I don't drive my car that much. I know that groceries are costing families more and more each week, but since I am just one woman living alone, I don't feel the pinch that much.

This turn of events, however, hit me in the gut.

And, the heart.

I know that it sounds trite to say that I had found the right "place" for me, but I did. I mean it. I was really happy at that agency, and felt like I was contributing. I was learning, growing and making a difference. I enjoy the people there and respect the culture that was in effect there. It was more than "corporate speak" and lines of the employee handbook—the culture was real. It likely still is, but it has certainly taken its fair share of blows this year.

Without a doubt, I was meant to be working there. I knew it in the first interview, and it was even more confirmed in the second. I'd found a home. A family. A place where I could be the best version of me. I trusted the leadership, and found out only later how well-respected they were in the industry. I saw the rows and rows of awards the agency had won, but only realized later how good it felt to be a part of a winning team like that.

And, it was a team. As someone who spent her formative years playing team sports, I appreciate and value the very meaning of being on a team.

To me, and the others at my agency, being on a team meant dropping everything to help out a colleague. It meant pulling more than your share of weight sometimes, knowing the favor would be returned tenfold. It meant staying late some nights, and leaving early other days. It meant celebrating the wins together, and commiserating the losses together. It meant everyone doing their part to make the agency, and the work, great. It meant not ever being "above" a task, or delegating things to those deemed "below" you. It meant we were all in it together. As a team.

Interestingly, it meant doing it all without realizing you were. Making the effort while enjoying the process.

Knowing that, I ache even more for the loss. The loss I feel for not having gotten up to go to work there today. The loss I feel knowing that my books, photos, mementos and business card holder will sit on another desk soon. The loss I feel knowing that I won't be interacting with such creative and strategic geniuses, who also made me laugh on a regular basis, each day.

I will miss them, and the work we created together, more than they realize.

Here's hoping that the tide is shifting. That the worst is past. That the horizon holds a bright future. For me and for my team. Here's knowing that the family will circle in tight to protect its own. I have faith that that much is true. Good night and good luck.

As for me, I'm on to something else. Something bigger? Maybe.

Something better? I doubt it.

The bar has been set extremely high. I know what I'm looking for and what I won't settle for. I know what I deserve and what is possible. I know the types of people that I want to work for, and alongside, in my next adventure.

I just don't know their names yet.

Electronics Grudge Match

Last week, I was given a digital converter box for each TV in my condo by the friendly local RCN representative who had stationed herself in the community room of my building's lobby. The instructions were simple. The activation was immediate. The results were easy.

Even when I threw in the curveball that I currently have a Tivo box in my living room. She assured me that it wouldn't be more than a call to Tivo to get them to "read the new signal." All was supposed to go well.

Instead, it was pretty much like this:



For four hours last night, plied with a homemade salad and two bottles of shiraz, my friend Mike was kind enough to help. He immediately rolled up his sleeves and buried his head inside my armoire. Cables were flying, dust was everywhere. He reattached everything, streamlined a few unnecessary plug-ins, relocated my wireless internet router and cable modem for maximum efficiency, and hid it all nicely behind plants and photo frames.

He even made the dreaded phone call to RCN to ask the techie questions that I don't understand. And to initiate a new "ping" of my cable boxes (which trust me, sounds far sexier than it was in real life). The best part of the evening was this, and forgive me, but it was just funny. Don't judge.

The RCN guy was asking Mike to test a few channels on the living room TV to ensure that the signal was coming through properly to give me extended cable. He asked Mike to confirm that WBBM was on Channel 2. Yes. He asked Mike to confirm what was appearing on Channel 101, which was supposed to be BET.

Mike paused, turned toward the TV from his spot near the window (the only place to get clear cell phone reception in my condo, don't get me started) and replied, "On 101, it should be BET? Well, it's totally black."

Brett, occupying himself quietly on the lounge chair, muttered under his breath, "No pun intended."

Sadly, it was the highlight. We laughed so hard that I moved too quickly and kicked the trunk at the foot of my bed while racing back into the living room to laugh with them. I think I broke my pinkie toe. No, seriously. I'm limping.

Back to Mike and his superpowers. In short, he was very cheap tech support. Who actually knew what he was doing. And was willing to stay for dinner.

I didn't lift a finger. I found the right cable in my "box o' cables" when called upon to do so. I dug out my TV's instruction manual when that was necessary. I handed him the dustrag and the spray cleaner and I am pretty sure he (or Brett) even did that part for me.

All in all, it was a stressful night of electronics vs. man.

Unfortunately, my electronics seem to have a communications problem. They don't get along.

The free digital cable converter box that RCN provided me clearly is a closed-minded snob. He doesn't want to cooperate with the foreign outsider that is my Tivo component box. Who, incidentally, is a stubborn pile of silver plastic. Maybe they need couples counseling? Maybe I should throw them into the ring to see who would win?

Bottom line?

The RCN box will only send out one signal. The Tivo needs two in order to record two things at once. To make matters worse? The Tivo won't read a channel changed on the cable box without a fancy $18.98/month box from RCN. Which is added to the monthly cable payment that is already a bit on the high side.

So, my solution was clear. Ditch Tivo, and convert to a RCN DVR for my Tivo-like needs.

Sounds simple enough, no? I call Tivo to cancel the arrangement with them. Not so fast, little lady. Tivo has me locked into a 3-year contract, in which I've only completed two years. It would cost me $155 and change to get out of it. Basically, the $12.95 a month for a year for a service I can't use because my electronics are disagreeable.

I can only imagine how the little old ladies in my building are handling this "simple transition" to digital cable.

I'm in a building where I have no choice over the cable provider. I can't change the way the building is wired. I can't do much except call RCN and beg them to send me a fancy new converter box on the off chance that it will play nicely in the sandbox with my Tivo, which may be a lost cause.

In summary, I can't do anything but throw components and their matching remotes out the 13th story window. Which would have been my idea of "solving the problem" had Mike not stopped me.

Clearly that doesn't fix anything.

But it would have felt really good to see a host of electronics smashed to smithereens down on the sidewalk, wouldn't it?

I should have had more wine.

The Weekend of Fs

Like the snowbirds in January, I'm heading South!

Even though it isn't quite winter yet, this Chicago gal is flocking southward for the weekend.

Brett and I alight on Atlanta this weekend for Family, Friends, Football and Food and I can't wait. It seems to be the F weekend. Let's examine:

F#1: Family
We will be staying with my parents, and he'll be meeting my Dad. Let's hope the men in my life get along, and are on their best behavior. I'm sure it will go smoothly...but in the deep, dark recesses of my mind, I have visions of my Dad answering the door in overalls polishing a shotgun. I have visions of him asking, "What are your intentions with my daughter?" or asking Brett to detail the branches on his family tree, and Brett flushing redder than my shoulders after a long day in the sun.

My Family Tree?
I get to meet my sister's darling new boyfriend, George, this weekend. I've heard so much about him, seen so many photos, and been on the receiving end of some great stories of their time together, and now I get to put him to the test in real life. What kind of questions are the responsibility of the older (questionably wiser) sibling? Do tell, I'm curious. And taking notes.

F#2: Friends
As you've read in many a post, I have a great group of friends with whom I've been linked (for better or worse!) since we were all single digits, wearing braces and rookies in all things life. We've experienced highs (graduations, marriages, babies, birthdays, new houses, new jobs and great haircuts) and lows (deaths, moving away, car accidents, illness, job losses, heartbreaks and our favorite shows going off the air) together. All while managing to keep things interesting (read: Posse Grudge Matches every so often) and fun (read: vacations to foreign lands together).

The Posse, on our best behavior.
I will have the fortunate privilege to re-introduce Brett to many friends that he met in June when we were in Costa Rica, and introduce him for the first time to many new faces. I'm not making a PowerPoint deck to brief him this time (yes, I did), so he's on his own. He can call them all "Buddy" and "Dude" and it will go just fine.

F#3: Football
We will be caravanning east from Atlanta, heading towards the cutest little big college town in the world, Athens Georgia. I love nothing more than showing off this amazing gem to a virgin visitor. Especially in the fall, with all of the grasses green, the leaves changing and the winds lightly blowing. Campus will be at her best. I can't wait to exit off Highway 316 and revel at the new construction and say "That wasn't there when I was here!" a hundred times, to tread softly across the North Campus Quad, to duck behind the East Campus Railroad bridge for a moment in the shade, to drive slowly down Milledge Avenue gawking at the antebellum mansions we Greeks called home, to hoof it over to the new(ish) Student Center Quad to marvel at the new developments there, to stand on Gillis Bridge looking into the end zone of Sanford Stadium where the hedges lie in wait.

Heaven on Earth.
And, there my friends, will be the game. The Georgia Bulldogs vs. the Tennessee Volunteers. We at UGA hate the color orange for a reason (UT, UF, Auburn, etc.) and it will be a Red Sea like no other on Saturday. I long to hear Brett laugh as I call the Dawgs. Despite the season's one disappointment (a memory I'm trying to erase), the Dawgs make us proud, and the SEC colleges know how to tailgate properly to prepare for it. It will be glorious. Go Dawgs!

There is still an outside chance that we'll be able to see the Chicago Bears take on the Atlanta Falcons in the Georgia Dome on Sunday. Not sure if my sister's ticket contacts are going to pull through, but wouldn't that be cool? And, oddly enough, both teams are in first place in their respective division, so it could even be a good game. Go Bears!

F#4: Food
Living in the country's third largest city, one would think we'd have access to everything. Sadly, this is not true for a few critical items of culinary deliciousness. Sweet tea, for example. Can't get it here. In fact, they think you're weird if you ask for it. McDonald's is trying, but who goes to McDonald's for a cold one? I'm hearing rumor of a new treat in the south called Sweet Tea Vodka (STV for short) that is making its rounds. I plan to test it and will share my thoughts. If I have any that are worth repeating.

If only I had a porch and a rocker.
And then there's Chick-fil-A. I've talked about my love for this fast-food but not-fast-food outlet before. I just can't understand why it would be so hard to franchise them here in the city limits of Chicago? Ponder that while I dream about the waffle fries, the lemonade and the lightly breaded, not fried, chicken sandwich. Or chicken biscuit, if you're there early enough in the day. You can practically taste it, can't you?

We may also have a chance to stop by The Varsity, on our way through downtown, tomorrow before we do the touristy things I have planned, or on Sunday on our way back to the airport. Nothing like leaving town with a full belly of hot dogs and french fries at one of the country's oldest drive-throughs, smelling like grease all the way back on your Airtran flight.

--

As you can see, I'm ready. Real photos and stories will be shared when I return.

I think this will be one great "F-ing" weekend. Probably NOT the example they'd use on Sesame Street on the "F" day.

Bridges, Tunnels and Taxicabs

I would love to write a blog post today about something other than painful commuting/travel experiences. However, fresh off another 15-hour day consisting of two metropolitan cities, two flights, two flights delayed, four cabs and three meals at the airport, I just don't have it in me.

Yesterday's second trek to New York City for a meeting was nothing short of eventful. Rather than to repeat Friday's post about dreadful experiences in lengthy detail, I decided I'd treat you all to a highlight reel. Making it real for you.

Away we go.

• On the way to O'Hare at 7:30 yesterday morning, my cab driver was doing just fine until we got onto the expressway. As we neared O'Hare on the Kennedy, I could see his eyes getting droopy in the rearview mirror. I noticed he wasn't moving very much, if at all. We were in stop and go traffic, and I heard him start to "mouth snore." I leaned forward and said, loudly, "Sir, are you falling asleep??!?" and he snapped awake and said no. Then it started again, and he was slowly drifting off toward the left heading at the center median. I was freaking out, trying to figure out what to do. I was on the highway for crying out loud! Miles away from the airport! The radio was playing NPR softly, so I asked him to turn it up and turn on some music, and to open his window. I mean, come on! I'm paying you NOT TO DIE. We finally made it but I was NOT happy to have to pay him for that ride. And, yes, this is NOT the first time that I've had a cab driver fall asleep while driving me around. Am I really that boring?


• Arriving at O'Hare early, as is my usual, I soon find out that my plane is missing a part and the flight that was supposed to take off at 10 am will not leave now until noon. I tried to get the travel agent we use to change us to another airline, to no avail. I had to call the prospect, with whom we were meeting in New York that day, and ask him to push back the meeting to accommodate this delay. Luckily, he was available.


• Never one to miss a meal, I grabbed a sandwich and a bag of chips at O'Hare before boarding—since I knew we'd land in just enough time to make it to the meeting. I realized quickly that even if it says "Wolfgang Puck" on the label, it is still a a deli sandwich wrapped in plastic, and it just isn't going to be good. Traveling is not good for the diet.


• When we landed at Laguardia, I de-plane and turn to stand and wait for my colleague. I notice two little people in the line to board our plane after it emptied. Then I realized they were THE little people from Little People, Big World on TLC! The mom and the dad! People left them alone, but a few nodded and smiled in their direction. Seeing them in person proved to me that I am blessed—life would just be so much harder that way. They seemed happy and relaxed, however, so good for them. Probably because no cameras were following them!


• The cabs in NYC now accept credit cards through a handy little swiper machine installed in the backseat. It felt like being at a 7-Eleven. Smelled about the same, too. Thanks to Nilsa for alerting me to this new convenience! Now if only Chicago would get these installed.


• Nothing like leaving a meeting at New York's rush hour, which happens to be just after the infamous (and secret?) cab shift change. We stood forever waiting, on Madison Avenue, for a cab. Then we cruised to Park Avenue to wait there. Finally, the new shift of cabbies must have been on the loose, so we hailed one and made it to Laguardia. Interestingly, in the two visits to NY in the past five business days, to the exact same address from the exact same airport, the cabbies have gone three different ways. I've now been over the Triborough Bridge, in the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, and over the Queensboro bridge. I feel so cultured. I'm still not claiming to be a B&T person just yet.


• The very nice gate agent at United in Laguardia that hooked up all four of us last week on an earlier flight (with good seats to boot!) was there again, and was still nice. He hooked my colleague up with a great standby seat, and then did the same for me. Good karma was working in my favor!


• But good karma only lasts so long. After boarding the earlier flight, we were then delayed on the tarmac for a bit, with claims of Chicago's rain delaying arrivals into O'Hare. Then, later as we finally neared Chicagoland, the pilot came on to say that Air Traffic Control had put us into an in-flight delay/hold pattern and that we only had 20 minutes of fuel to play with before he had to make a decision. About 10 minutes later (I'm guessing we were circling the northern suburbs?) he comes back on to say that we'd been cleared for landing and that we'd be on the ground in 30 minutes. The irony of his two conflicting statements was not lost on anyone, and the entire plane laughed aloud. I'm pretty sure everyone was just punch drunk from their travels, too.


• With two feet back on the ground in Chicago, I was forced to eat my third meal of the day from a stand at O'Hare. Dinner comprised of a yogurt parfait and a bottled water, consumed in the back of the fourth cab of the day, was all I could handle at 9:30 pm. My poor digestive system.

All in all, it was yet again a 15-hour travel day for a 60-minute meeting. I hope it turns out to have been worth it!

At least I saw the Little People in real life.

Crime, Punishment and Air Travel

Air travel is a test of human character. It is just simply out of hand. And sometimes it feels like a crime against human nature.

I flew in and out to New York on Wednesday for a 1 1/2 hour meeting, and the entire process took me 15 hours. Long day, but sometimes it is best to meet face-to-face.

But, let's face it. The whole shebang is just plain exhausting. While waiting for our flight, hoping for standby on an earlier one, sitting in Laguardia's measly little United gate area, I told my colleagues the story of my worst flight experience ever.

And, now I feel that to complete the cathartic circle of this story, I must share it with you. I'm warning you—it dredges up some pretty unpleasant memories, but it is worth it. You're worth it.

The year was 2006. The employer was different, and we had a client in Billings, Montana. I know you haven't heard of it—it isn't the picturesque destination in the great state of Montana that you're hoping to visit. There are no mountains, no ski slopes, no beautiful nature trails, no hot springs, no spa resorts, nothing. Billings is what Montanans often refer to (Ok, so one did) as "the armpit of Montana."

The beginning.
That may be a little harsh, but there it is. Billings is only reached via other places. You have to go to Salt Lake City or Denver to get there from here. And, the getting home from there is the problem.

I was traveling to Billings for the account at least once a month, often for 3-, 4- or 5-day trips. It was not a highlight of my business traveling career, but the work we were doing, and the people we were working with, made it worth it.

The flights to Denver on United were pleasant. Often we got upgraded to Business Class on the huge planes, and the hot nuts and warm towel and bottomless red wine made it seem just right. Fun, even.

Upon arrival in Denver, however, the earth grounded to a shattering and noisy halt. That airport is crazy, and this is coming from someone who has logged many an hour in O'Hare. It is loud, long and always active. And, since I was constantly flying in and out of two snow-filled cities, there were always delays due to weather.

This one time was no exception. We had just finished a 4-day meeting in Billings, and were boarding the tiny 50-seater Cessna operated by SkyWest to head to Denver. The weather in Billings was fine, and we weren't sure of what else the country's forecast had to offer.

My travel companions were Liz, on her first business trip ever, and my boss, who never handled travel with that much ease or comfort. So, I hoped and prayed for the best. We were all exhausted and just ready to be home in Chicago.

Not so fast, my friend.

We get close to Denver, and the pilot informs us that thunderstorms had wreaked havoc on the city, shutting down Denver's airport. Okaaay....so we were diverted to Colorado Springs which is only about 30 minutes by plane away.

Fine. Whatever. Just get us there safely and in time for us to make our connection in Denver.

And, we land in Colorado Springs and find out there is not ONE open gate. The entire airport had planes just sitting, on hold, waiting at the gates, so they couldn't get us into one. We were parked out on the tarmac. Waiting.

Which was fine for a while. Then it started to get warm and sticky on the plane, because they'd shut off the AC. Then the bathroom started to smell, which is just highly unpleasant on a 50-seater plane.

And, we wait. An hour passes. Two hours pass. People are begging for beverage service, but water is all she has that is cold. No food, nothing. Three hours pass. The natives are growing restless, and the bathrooms stink even worse. Four hours pass. Now it is just ridiculous. By this point, it was about 10:30 pm, and we've long since missed our connection in Denver to Chicago. We'd been sitting there since 6 pm or so.

Liz, while leaning over into my seat to watch the DVD on my laptop (which soon became entertainment for about 4 aisles worth of people), looked over at me and said, with sad eyes, "is business travel always like this?" and I assured her that this was just bad. A four and a half hour interruption in our life. I was just sure that we'd be moving soon.

Boy was I wrong.

At this point, the pilot comes on and offers for anyone that has available transportation in the Colorado Springs area (i.e., someone to pick them up) that wants to de-board, can. Since there was not ONE rental car to be had at the Colorado Springs airport, that left anyone else (like those with connections) no choices.

The 10 or so anxious people raced to the front, climbed down the stairs and boarded a van that would drive them to the airport where they could be picked up (and saved from the rest of the mess).

We were so jealous.

The 40 people left just waited.

Another hour passed. The sixth hour came and went. By now it was after midnight, and there was absolutely no hope of getting to Denver, and out to Chicago, that night. We resigned to that fact.

But, we were still on the stinking tarmac in Colorado Springs!

Finally, they re-opened the Denver airport and we made our way there, arriving at approximately 1:00 in the morning. Per our instructions, we approached the re-book gate and stood for 45 minutes to talk to someone. They re-booked us (at 1:45 am) onto the next flight out in the morning, at 8:30 am.

The crime scene.
Fine. But, I should remind you that we've not eaten anything, and we're all still in suits from that morning's last meetings. Luckily, Liz and I had our bags with us and were able to change into jeans and comfy shoes. Our boss, however, was none to happy to be stuck in his suit and tie.

We take the hotel voucher and begin to call the 800# for a hotel that night. It was 2 am at this point, and the lady said everything was booked. That the entire city of Denver was booked because of some conventions, and the weather.

Grrreeeat.

So, my boss, refusing to take "no" for an answer, insists that we get into a cab, and take the 40-minute ride into Denver, where he would "find a hotel, because I have so many connections." Uhhhh, yeah. No rooms at the inn, buddy.

We stopped by, and were turned away from, no less than 5 hotels (with the cab running in the drive) before finally admitting defeat. Told you so.

The cab driver turns around, and takes us all the way back to the Denver Airport. With the meter running. It was about $120 by the time we were through with him. I'm sure we made his night.

Dejectedly, we re-enter the airport and realize that now it was 3:00 am and we had still not eaten, and yet, we're outside of the security lines in the main atrium. Where nothing was open.

Finally, we see a mad rush to a deli where they had wisely decided to send some Joe Schmoe over there to sell us some sandwiches. Everyone happily stood in line. Okay, so happily wasn't true, but we were deliriously hungry. And tired.

This part burns me up—we waited AN HOUR for a sandwich. A pre-wrapped, pre-made sandwich. With the choices all lined up on the menu board above us. Easy, right? Not even close. Some people, at 3:30 in the morning—nearing 4 am, had the AUDACITY to ask for custom-made sandwiches. I'm pretty sure this Schmoe normally empties trash cans—he had no idea what he was doing, and thus the line just snaked further and further around the lobby.

It was horrendous. We finally get our food, and eat, with our eyes burning, our hair greasy, our minds numb.

But we still can't go through security. Not until 5:30 am.

So, Liz and I assess the situation, and determine that the carpeted area in front of the Budget Rental Car desk was the softest landing. We use our sweatshirts as pillows, and stupidly lay down. We were just simply stupid by this point. Our boss chose a seated position.

And, just when the tiredness reached its peak, and we almost slipped into a deep, coma-like sleep, the noise started.

HUMMMM. HUMMMMM. HUMMMMM.

What the?

Oh, as I look over my shoulder, past the sleeping families and drowsy crowds, I see that guy. The one. Who has been assigned to wax the atrium floors. During the night shift.

The offender.
Did he not realize that there were hundreds, no, thousands of people sleeping in the airport RIGHT where he was waxing? I'm pretty sure common sense should have kicked in and guided him to his manager where he could do some QUIETER job that night.

Nope. Between the HUMMMM of his waxing machine, and the constant, ever-present, super-annoying voice of the female PA announcing safety updates and the like (the pre-recorded ones), we didn't get much "sleep."

Finally, at 5:30 in the morning, about an hour after laying down by the Budget desk, it was time to go through security. We did, with no issue.

Our 8:30 flight to Chicago never looked so good. We didn't get upgraded, and we didn't care.

I've never slept so well on a plane. The guy next to me was lucky he didn't have drool stains. And, the cab driver here in Chicago had to wake me again when we arrived at my house that next afternoon, at about 2:00 pm.

Needless to say, I "worked from home" that day.

Billings, Montana—you can't be blamed.

Denver International Airport—I hate you.

*Side note: this is not the only time I have been stranded in Denver and had to sleep at the airport. Does my anger make more sense now?*