Happy New Year!

It’s official . . . I made it through the holiday season. Yippee! Now I get a few more days to enjoy myself before heading back to work on Monday. This last few weeks has been a bit surreal, and I don’t really know what to expect of the next 365 days, but it has to be better than last year.

I was talking to a friend, reflecting on the year, and I have to say that 2008 was the worst one of my life, hands down. But I also have to realistically look at the positive sides of things, however deep they may be embedded.

For example, yes, my mother passed away. The good news is that she’s no longer suffering, and I don’t have to worry about the wear and tear on my father’s physical and emotional health, as he was her primary caregiver.

Speaking of which, my father was diagnosed with cancer 4 months after my mother died, but the good news is that it was colon cancer caught in a very early stage, and was able to be surgically removed.

And, this was the year that my knee finally took a turn for the worse and required the operation that I’d been avoiding for years. But, again, the good news is that I can look forward to more stability, functionality and a deeper level of activities.

So, I wish I could forecast the events of 2009. Don’t we all? I’m not really one for New Year’s resolutions. I believe in making gradual changes as we go, as opposed to reserving self-improvement decisions to once a year. But, I read my horoscope for the day:

Virgo
——————————————————————————–
Anything can change today, which is appropriate for the first day of a new year. It’s a good time to decide what you want to do over the next year and then figure out how to get there.

I don’t always pay attention to my horoscope, but just in case, here’s what I wish for myself in ‘09:

1. To continue to advance professionally, and aggressively pursue other media opportunities

2. To help my father pursue all of his professional projects

3. To sharpen my voice as a writer

4. To have a dedication to health and fitness

5. To tackle my home improvement projects, one step at a time

6. To try and get Bailey and Phoebe to get along (which might be the hardest item on the list)

7. To spend more quality time with my friends

8. To soften my personality

9. To be smarter about my dealings with people

10. To take more time for myself.

I’d say that’s a good start! Maybe I’ll post more to the list later. We’ll see.

Merry Christmas!

Just wanted to wish everyone a merry Christmas, even though I’m really not feeling the holiday spirit this year. Even if it weren’t the first year without my mother, I don’t think this is a year of cheer — particularly with the economy being what it is.

I didn’t do much in the way of celebration as usual. I went to visit my godchildren, where I got hooked into games of boxing and tennis on their new Wii (I’m so afraid to get one of those for myself — I envision hours and hours of wasted time playing video games). Wii is a major workout, though. I was exhausted after a few short games. I fantasize about getting Wii fit, but am afraid that I would spend a bunch of money and then have it sit in the corner. We’ll see.

I gave them their presents, and it’s always funny to see what they react to.

Haley (12) was very excited by the personalized tags I had made for her that she can sew on to her knitting creations. But I expected that. I got Chris (8) the Guiness Book of World Records, 2009 edition, as well as a book with spelling drills (he has a spelling bee coming up). I got them a cartridge for their new Wii (Boom Blox, I think), which held some excitement. The MOST exciting gift for him, however, was a $6.95 Naruto comic book. The boy could NOT put it down.

I always tend to think the most expensive gifts are going to be the best, but kids sometimes appreciate the simple things. Interesting.

I visited my Dad, who gave me the requisite paperback novels and a couple of bucks (which I was completely thankful for after dumping several hundreds on my car). He was in the throes of watching the Lakers game, and making his dinner — a roast. This didn’t help me, as I don’t eat red meat. We talked a while, and I realized I was starving — I’d only eaten toffee all day. I made toffee at the beginning of the week to give as gifts. I was taking nibbles here and there until I felt like I was going to slip into a coma.

I was so desperate that I even thinking about driving through White Castle — but they even had the good sense to be closed on Christmas.

Luckily it was Lorrie to the rescue. Her mother has Christmas dinner catered every year, and they’re always gracious enough to feed me. By the time I arrived, there was only a small amount of mashed sweet potatoes left, but I was grateful to have anything. It was very, VERY tasty.

I’m also very happy to have a few days off. Work is going to pick up dramatically in January, and it’s nice to take a little respite before the party gets started.

Holidays, holidays

I’m so looking forward to taking a respite from the world starting Tuesday. I want to chill out, clean my house, watch movies, hang out with friends, go to parties — all while not having to get up to go to work. Now . . . if only the weather were better.

Christmas shopping . . . well, let’s just say that I haven’t done a lot of it. Okay, so I haven’t done any. The only gifts that concern me are those for the godchildren. I’m pretty sure they’re getting a Wii (which makes me extremely jealous), so I’m going to get them a game (which Auntie Gina would love to come over and play with them).

I did get a good Secret Santa this year. Last year, I had a bad santa — she didn’t give me any cute little surprises during the week — only the big gift at the end. The whole point of Secret Santa is to give fun little trinkets or candy during the week, and keep the person guessing. The first day of the week, I received a pair of purple slipper socks, which I adore. Not only is purple my absolutely favorite color, but I love slipper socks. Comfy! The second day, she meant well — I received a 2×2 picture frame that had a holiday theme. Realistically, I will never use it, but it was a very cute thought. The third day, I got a box of those caramel Nips candies. Love them. LOVE them! The fourth day, I received a tiny plastic Santa filled with Reeses Pieces. Wow! My Santa TOTALLY knows me and my love for peanut butter. I was stumped. At first I thought it was the senior partner that I normally work with, because she knows what I like. Turns out it was one of the admins who had just joined the firm. I was really impressed, as I’d only had work-related conversation with her. Who knew?

On another note, received the unfortunate news that “Date Night with Gina B.” has been cut from Metromix. As we’ve all read, Tribune has filed Chapter 11, and they’ve had to reduce content. I wrote for the Weekend Edition, and they’re saving money, so my little review column has been cut. Waaah! I’m bummed. It was time-consuming, but fun, and great to meet a lot of the bar owners/managers. Oh well. I have to figure out the next thing.

Sometimes I feel like I’m missing out on a lot of opportunity with The Gina Spot. I would love to do a weekly radio spot, or some sort of partnership where I actually get to talk and interact with people. People LOVE talking about their relationships, and I think I’m a pretty good facilitator.

I’m putting it out there . . . maybe it’ll happen!

Thanksgiving aftermath

For many years, I was responsible for the Thanksgiving feast. It started gradually. When dinner was held at my parents’, my mother began suggesting that I contribute a dish or two. When I got my own place, my mother suggested that I host the dinner (after all, there were only three of us), and somehow she decided that I would cook everything, and she would be a tupperware-toting guest.

This went on for years until she became ill. She wasn’t eating a lot at that point, and really didn’t want to have dinner. The irony is that I had just finished kitchen renovations last year, and looked forward to making a great meal. But, it wasn’t to be.

Now that it’s just my father and I, we don’t do anything holiday-related. Neither my father nor I are the most ceremonious folks you’ll ever meet, so this is more natural than not. Of course, my father’s antisocial behavior was exacerbated by the fact that this is the first holiday without my mother, who really loved Thanksgiving. It was also their anniversary. It would have been 44 years on Thanksgiving day.

I asked my father what he wanted to do for T-giving dinner, and he said that he wanted to fix himself a steak and watch the games. I dangled a few bits of bait and told him that we had been invited to the homes of a few friends. He didn’t take that bait, not really wanting to be social.

Never being one to pass up a day of vegetation, I sat around on Thanksgiving morning, chatting on the phone, watching TV, and intermittently calling my father to check on his plans.

Finally at around 3:00, I called and he told me that he decided not to cook. He would instead take a drive — perhaps go to Indiana and buy gas (don’t ask) — and maybe go out to eat. I asked where he planned to go with no reservation. He quickly replied that he didn’t think Cracker Barrel required a reservation.

CRACKER BARREL? I asked if he really wanted to go to Cracker Barrel for dinner. (Translation: I don’t really want to go to Cracker Barrel for Thanksgiving dinner, and in fact, typically try to stay away from any establishment that has the word “cracker” in the title). Then I remembered that, as lively and youthful as he is, my father is a octogenarian, and who loves Cracker Barrel more than senior citizens?

I sucked it up, went to his house, and we took a drive and went to the CB Lounge. I must say that I was pleasantly surprised. I had a turkey dinner with stuffing etc., and it was served in less than 10 minutes with all the fixings. My father had some sort of beef, so he was true to his original desire.

Afterward, we went to visit old friends of the family. We were invited there for dinner, but my father declined. I convinced him to make a quick visit before heading back to his house. I’m glad we did. We enjoyed about an hour of good laughs, and my father quelled his desire for pound cake.

The good news about my Thanksgiving experience is that I didn’t have leftovers to continually stuff into my body well into the wee hours of the night, and I managed to escape without having one dessert the entire weekend. This is a great feat for me, as I can barely walk two steps without having a sugar jones.

I can barely wait until Christmas. I wonder where we’ll eat? Denny’s, perhaps.

Happy Easter

Easter is one of those funny “holidays.” When my mother and Aunt were both alive, my mom would call me and make sure that I called Aunt Willie to wish her a happy Easter, which made as much sense to me as wishing her a happy President’s Day. Happy Resurrection of Christ Day, Aunt Willie! Bizarre.

Anyhoo . . . I’ll think of all you who are boiling smelly eggs, sitting in a 4 hour mass in ridiculous hats and stuffing your faces with chocolate while I’m getting a full-body massage. On second thought . . . no I won’t!

amateur night

Does anyone have any hot NYE plans? I don’t — surprise, surprise. Anyone who knows me knows that I view NYE as amateur night — the night that everyone goes out — including those who don’t party and have the alcohol tolerance of a toddler. And, by the way, those drunk toddlers always insist upon driving. Usually after they’ve ingested wine, rum, more wine, champagne, and vodka (in that order) and then vomited on the floor of the chosen party venue.

The only time that I actively make plans is when a) there’s a hot formal party to attend, or b) I’m dating someone. Since neither is happening right now, I’ve decided that I’m going to dedicate tomorrow to getting my house in order before 2008 arrives. I find that when my house is a mess, it’s reflective of my state of mind. I’ve determined that my state of mind must be muddied, given the look of my home. Not cute. Not even remotely.

I did manage to have a great time today. I had an impromptu brunch with a friend who found herself childless — her mother-in-law took the kid off her hands for a few days. We did a bit of shopping, and later I had high tea at the Drake Hotel with a few friends. I love those finger sandwiches! One would think that tomato cucumber sandwiches and egg salad would be boring, but they were SO tasty. There were others — roast beef and ham w/asparagus — but given that I don’t eat red meat, I had to stick to the veggie options. The banana bread was amazing. I didn’t have a scone, but I heard that they weren’t as dry as scones can be.

BTW, I didn’t forget to blog about the column. I’m a little late, but saving it for the next post.

Merry Freakin’ Christmas!

I hope everyone had a merry Christmas. Mine was spent being a vagabond — roaming from house to house, visiting friends. All in all, a pretty good time, although this year I didn’t get a chance to see a movie or eat Thai food, which is my typical Christmas fare. Oh well.

I think it would be nice if, as adults, we were promised at least 5 Christmases reminiscent of childhood. Wouldn’t it be nice to sit in a stranger’s lap in a mall, submit a wish list, and then come downstairs on Christmas morning to find a bunch of presents under the tree, with the belief that the mythical stranger had left them for us because we’d been good all year? And regardless of whether we’d truly been good, we would find everything we’d been asking for under the tree.

In my case, Santa would have to bring the tree AND the presents. Or maybe he could just stack them in the foyer. I’m not picky. As long as he doesn’t leave a bill . . .

The Christmas party

Our party was out of control . . . in a good way. There was a lot of drinking, a lot of dancing, and afterwards, there were many shots passed around. Nothing says Merry Christmas like a big shot of Patron.

So . . . my Secret Santa turned out not to be a senior partner as I suspected, but a peer. One who I like very much, and one who’s normally very conscientious. She gave me a nice final gift (iTunes gift card and a bottle of champagne for one), but I’m assuming she couldn’t be bothered with the intermittent trickery. Oh well.

One of my colleagues was dying to bring a date, so she brought a guy who she dated briefly, but with whom things didn’t work out. When he met me, he said “you look SO familiar,” and I started trying to think of where I could have met him before. Then he said “just kidding, I read RedEye, and I read your column.”

Later on, he cornered me and asked me why I was single. I never really have a good answer for that question, so I was thinking of a snappy little retort. But it didn’t matter, because he kept talking. He spewed a bunch of compliments, and told me that if I wanted to get laid, I could do it in 10 minutes flat (charming guy, right?). I replied that if I wanted to get laid by a creep (hint, hint), I’m sure I could.

Then, his date, my colleague, walked up and said — in front of him — “haven’t you figured it out yet? He’s trying to find a way to communicate that he wants to go out with you.”

Okay . . . THAT was weird. I switched topics abruptly and excused myself from the conversation. WTF? I would be MORTIFIED if my date (especially one that I’ve slept with in the past month) started hitting on a coworker at my holiday party.

Jeez!!!

Thanksgiving et al

I finally have use of my DSL again, so I’m thrilled to be able to blog about all of the shit that’s been building up over the last 4 days.

First, Thanksgiving. Typically I cook Thanksgiving dinner. I make the whole shebang, and I invite my parents and whatever strays I can muster. This year, there were no takers. My parents weren’t in the mood, and I couldn’t find a stray if I tried. That meant that I had the day off for Thanksgiving for the first time in . . . well . . . forever.

I decided to take advantage of it by flopping on my couch for as many hours as possible. For me, that’s not many hours. I can’t sit still for too long, but I certainly tried.

I became hungry at lunchtime, so I meandered over to the grocery store — the one in my neighborhood that I detest — to get a few odds and ends. I was the only one in the store who wasn’t looking for turkey seasoning, milk, rolls, soda, turkey, cranberry sauce, cakes, etc. What was I buying? A couple of Lean Cuisines, frozen waffles, cat food (just because I wasn’t planning to have a turkey dinner didn’t mean that the cats shouldn’t indulge in canned turkey & giblets for kitties).

The holiday cheer ended when I reached the “Express Line.” Despite the sign that said “15 items or less,” the woman in front of me had no less than 35 items in her cart.

Now, let’s be clear. We’ve all been guilty of sneaking an extra item in here and there. A few times, I’ve had 17 items in the 15 or under lane. And you know what? I’ve felt guilty about it. Who was I to upset the system?

Well, apparently, Little Miss Full-Basket felt no remorse, or social responsibility, as she shamelessly unloaded her cart while those of us behind her in the queue stared at her and sighed dramatically as we held our handcarts containing 5 items.

And then I started to wonder why the cashier didn’t tell her that she had too many items. In fact, several Jewel employees walked by her, noticed her cart, and didn’t mention that she probably had three times the amount of items than she should have.

I just gave her my icy, dagger stare to the point where she stopped looking in my direction.

And let’s discuss the contents of her basket, shall we?

She had no less than 3 10-pound buckets of chitterlings. Not having been a pork eater for a minimum of 15 years, I’m certainly no chitterling expert. I do know a few things about them, however. 1) They stink to the high heavens, because 2) They’re pig intestines and need to be cleaned rigorously. 3) If cleaned properly, it should take hours, and probably makes a big-ass mess.

So, knowing what I know, and looking at my watch while standing in line, I estimated that if she planned to eat that nasty pig mess for Thanksgiving, she wouldn’t be eating dinner until about 2:00 am.

She had a whole bunch of other disgusting items in her cart that her roughly 9-year-old son unloaded as he smacked on a bag of not-yet-purchased Dorito’s.

When I finally made it to the cash register, I couldn’t resist making a sideways comment about the women in front of me and “her 97 items.” I didn’t get a response.

I returned to the comfort of my couch, and didn’t leave it for hours. I got up later to visit the parents, and ended up driving through White Castle during an extreme moment of hunger at about 10:00 (I figured if I didn’t indulge in the usual mac & cheese and 15 desserts, a deep friend chicken patty certainly wouldn’t kill me).

The next couple of days were uneventful. I tried to go shopping on Black Friday, but was majorly unimpressed with the sales.

Sunday was interesting. I took a friend out for dinner, and while we were out I received a call from a number that I didn’t recognize. And for the record, I’m a shady call answerer. If I have no idea of who it is, I refuse to answer the phone. This caller didn’t leave a message, but called back a second time, within 5 minutes.

I noted the persistence, and answered the call. It was a collect call from Cook County jail. It took me a second to figure out that it was a jail call, and when I did, I didn’t pay attention to the name of the caller, I just hung up the phone. Certainly none of MY friends would have ended up in the clink, right? Or would they? Hmmm . . .

Later on, I felt guilty. What if someone had gotten arrested for something stupid, and I abandoned them? So I set myself about calling the people who I felt would use me as the emergency call. It’s a small universe of people.

I made the first call, and my friend j. was safe and sound. No worries. No Cell Block B.

I made the second call, and that person was EXTREMELY put off that I would think that he was in jail. VERY irritated. He told me that it was fucked up that I immediately thought of him. I told him that I was just checking because I was concerned. He didn’t quite see it that way. I’m afraid that I won’t speak to him for a while.

Because of that reaction, I didn’t make the third and final call. Oh well. If it wasn’t a wrong number, that person needed to call his mother.

Have I become the Mean Lady on the block?

Probably. Why? Largely because I don’t participate in trick-or-treating.

I’m a bit of a hypocrite because I loved trick-or-treating as a child. It used to be such an innocent experience, and we traipsed up and down our blocks, getting candy from everyone (except the frumpy piano teacher across the street who would give us pencils – WTF?), and then meeting up later to compare loot. The only thing we had to do was make sure that everything we received was individually wrapped and not a piece of fruit with a razor blade in it. I was happy to forego the fruit, as long as my Reese’s Peanut Butter cups were still legal.

Of course that was back when my parents knew all of the neighbors, and even had the 411 on what kind of candy they would be giving out. There were a certain few houses that I was told to avoid — people that my mother didn’t know or trust — but other than that, it was all good! I often groused about having to wear my coat over my spooky costume, depending on the weather, but once I got over that, I was all about the treats.

Ahhh the memories. Well, not anymore. Another of life’s purities that has been ruined by the nefarious and the ghetto.

Granted I’m rarely home on Halloween night. I’m usually out somewhere in a skanky costume, doing some trick-or-treating on my own. Last year I was away with my then boyfriend having a fun NY excursion. Sigh! But I digress.

Even if I’m home, I don’t plan for T or T. I refuse to buy candy, because you know where most of that ends up, don’t you? That’s right! Plastered on my ass! (It’s my own fault — “One for you, two for me, two for me, one for you”) I don’t think so.

I take it a step further. I turn off all my lights and lock my gate. It isn’t that I’m trying to be a curmudgeon, it’s just that the kids in my neighborhood can be a bit scary.

Not the little ones who trick or treat when there’s still some daylight, and whose parents have planned their costumes (and probably plan to eat most of the candy themselves). I usually miss their visits because I never get home from work before dark. Most normal parents don’t let their kids roam from door to door at night.

I’m talking about the older ones – the ones who have limited parental supervision and are taller and significantly heavier than me who knock on the door with authority and yell “trick or treat” with much bass in their voices as though they’re going to scare me into giving them larger portions of chocolate. And do I want to contribute to the increased widening of those overgrown walking hormones? I REALLY don’t think so.

Nor do I care to submit a handful of expensive Snicker’s mini bars, or my coveted Reese’s cups, to people whom I suspect are closer to 20 than 10, show up between 9:00 and 11:00, and who haven’t bothered to even THINK about a costume. They MIGHT wear black ski-masks, which I can’t help but suspect are parts of their normal lives as criminals. The majority are just walking around in their undecorated jeans and jackets, banging on doors, expecting a handout. So, do I give candy, or even open the door for grown men with full beards attempting to fill their bags? Again, I SERIOUSLY don’t think so.

What’s happened to the purity of our society! I can only hope my house doesn’t get egged. But then I guess kids these days don’t do anything benign like house egging. I’ll get a drive-by shooting instead, and as the bullets enter my window, I’ll hear pre-pubescent voices screaming: “Gimme my candy, bitch!”