Lunch options

Okay, so I work in the Sears Tower. What I find interesting is that the Sears Tower is arguably in the top 5 of the most recognizable buildings in the country, and yet, limited lunch options. WTF???

Here are our choices:

1. Starbuck’s. I’m not so excited about lunch at Starbuck’s. If I’ve ever had lunch from Starbuck’s, it was only because I was starving and needed to grab something quick. Not exactly a destination.

2. Corner Bakery (read: Corner Robbery). Home of the most expensive fast food. Ever since they phased out my favorite Black Bean soup, I’ve been less than a fan.

3. Venice Cafe. I will say that they’re good in a pinch, when you’re looking for a slice of pizza, or other decadent meal that you know damned well you shouldn’t be eating (e.g. baked ziti, and chicken parm — just say no). I do enjoy their grilled tuna sandwich, however, with all of that Italian dressing, I’m sure it’s not even close to healthy.

4. Salseria. Good when you feel like actually going to a restaurant and sitting down (and indulging in fattening chips). If I’m getting takeout, I go a block and a half down the street to Taco Fresco, the sister establishment of Salseria. Same food, healthier options, less dinero.

5. Augustino’s. This deli resides in the old Mrs. Levy’s space. It’s okay. Just okay. Not a lot of ways to fuck up turkey pastrami. The turkey burgers leave a lot to be desired.

6. Uncommon Cafe. They opened last month. It seemed so promising, with large signs that inform the patrons that there are no trans fats in their food. Perhaps, as the name suggests, it would be an uncommon restaurant with uncommonly good food. Finally, something I could sink my teeth into — literally.

But, no. LOTS of problems with this place.

First of all, as you walk in the door, you see the sushi buffet. SUSHI BUFFET?? Sorry, but there are a few foods that shouldn’t be served buffet-style, and sushi is one of them. In fact, sushi is first on that list. The only things that could rank higher than sushi are things that we know we should never eat, like raw chicken breast and warm, old mayo. I’ll even go so far to say that if sushi is on the menu, it should be a primary offering — I’m only comfortable if those chefs specialize in sushi. (One of my coworkers sent out a mass message to inform us that the sushi from there wasn’t very good, and in fact made him queasy. Gee, genius, THAT’S a big freakin’ shock! Forget about the salmon maki — why don’t you just get in line for salmonella in front of the tomato-eaters of last week [like myself!])

In the center of the room, there’s the hot food bar. For a certain amount per pound (can’t recall how much), you can get your fill of mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, baked fish basking in oil, and other breaded, buttery tasties glistening with a greasy sheen. I also noticed that the people lined up to eat there are usually out-sized. No sirree.

The salad bar is limited with no real protein options. I’m not excited about tuna salad draped over my spinach leaves, so I take a pass altogether.

Then there’s the stir-fry bar. The most promising of them all. How could anything go wrong with a bowl of veggies, a protein option, light sauce and a wok? Sounds great, right? I thought so, too. Until I spied the cook DEEP FRYING the vegetables before putting them in the wok. That was a HUGE WTF moment. Why don’t I just come out of red meat retirement and scarf a Big Mac and supersized fries??? Excuse me, but, aside from taste, isn’t health the major benefit of a stir-fried meal? So, why? Why, why, why would you immerse the healthy fresh vegetables into a big vat of nasty-assed OIL????? The same oil, mind you, that’s used to fry fish (fish that probably came straight from the toxic Chicago River). Please explain the logic, because I don’t really know what to do with this information. And then they have the NERVE to advertise their lack of trans fats. Their fat doesn’t have to ‘trans’ anything — it goes DIRECTLY for the ass. Needless to say, we’re no longer patronizing Uncommon Cafe, which is uncommonly unhealthy.

7. Dunkin’ Donuts. I’m not even going to consider this a lunch spot. I call it an unhealthy establishment that taunts me all day, every day with the prospect of sweets right in my very own building. They opened last week, and so far I’ve managed to avoid using the ‘free donut’ coupon that was handed to me by a giant walking latte. One thing I can say — a donut is probably far less fattening than the stirfry!

Sex et al

Things have been a bit crazy lately (translation: too much socializing), so sincere apologies for the negligence in blogging.

First of all, SATC was awesome! I’m assuming that most people have seen it already, so I don’t feel bad giving a few spoilers. If you haven’t seen it, and plan to, skip the next paragraph.

I was kind of disappointed that Samantha wasn’t whoring it up — although at 50, should one really be whoring it up? (I see my distant future and it ain’t pretty. ) And if I were Miranda, I don’t know if I could be forgiving of Steve. And yes, I know, they had challenges — a dreary sex life, she’s very much a work horse, and a child that’s, ahem, aesthetically challenged. But still . . .

The circumstances under which I saw the show, however? Not so much. One of my dear girlfriends was SO excited for this movie that she bought tickets weeks in advance. However, my friend, the planner, didn’t plan on drinking about 27 cocktails before the show. She called 1/2 hour before the movie, slurring, clearly unable to attend, but she had the presence of mind to dictate her credit card number so that I could give it to the befuddled ticket sales clerk and claim my ticket from will call. Fortunately, I ran into her other friends, who I don’t know so well, but were kind enough to take me in.

Then, there was the fact that River East 21 Theatre was a MADHOUSE. For those who don’t know, River East 21 Theatre is a nerve center located in the trendy Streeterville area of downtown Chicago. Across from the box office is a bowling alley - Lucky Strike — and they sponsored a VIP party for SATC goers. I think it included a few cocktails, a red carpet entrance, and a ticket (translation: racket). It attracted 20-somethings from everywhere. I suspect the majority of them were from the suburbs.

They were encouraged to dress as their fave SATC character, and . . . seriously? I’ve never seen more bad fashion in my life. Faux Manolos and Forever 21. Yeesh!

And as annoying as they looked, they were even more annoying by behavior. Think I’m exaggerating? Let me provide a few sound bytes:

In line: “Oh My God!! Can you BELIEVE I drank 5 Cosmos? I hope I can make it through the movie without peeing in my pants.” Charming.

In the theater: “Can your group move down three? We have a party of 8 and it’s important that we all sit together.” No! We deliberately chose these seats in the center, and we did that how? That’s right, because we were ON TIME!

Same group of 8, before start of show to person in front of them: “Excuse me? Do you mind taking our picture?” Clearly, you need to get out of the house more frequently.

Fortunately, the movie made all of this dumb-bitchery disappear. It was awesome.

Going to see Sex and the City tonight! Woo hoo!!!

My friend Kate is planner extraordinaire. She called me a few weeks ago and said that she was planning a girls’ trip to see the movie, and I thought she might be slightly overzealous in her planning efforts. Not so much! It’s the hottest ticket in town! We’re going to the 11:00 pm show at River East, and I’m sure that it will nothing short of a total madhouse.

Guys can’t believe it. That’s because men aren’t true planners. Whenever some big guy-flick gets released, the protocol is to go to the theatre kind of early (maybe ½ hour beforehand), and chances are you’ll get in. Some of them are evolved enough to go online and pre-purchase.

But a two week in advance buy? Not boys. These are the things that women are made of.

I have reading group beforehand, and the hostess has planned to serve cosmopolitans and cupcakes, in honor of the event (with absolute disregard for my thighs . . . damn her! Not that I plan to refuse either, mind you. Who am I to turn down a gift cupcake?).

It will be my first Cosmo in years. I stopped drinking them when they became commercial. The Cosmo became the signature drink of the SATC girls, and metastacized all over the city, suburbs and rural areas.

When mulletted women began ordering Cosmos, that was my clue to switch up to something less pedestrian – namely Ketel with a splash of tonic, or Maker’s Mark neat (I should have a pair of shoes for the amount of times I’ve had to repeat that order to bartenders. They can’t believe that I’m drinking it straight. “Sure you don’t want it on the rocks? Maybe with a Coke back?” Finally, tired of explaining – and wanting them to hand over the booze, I say “that’s right – just put it in a glass and give it to me . . . dammit!”)

That said, the sugar will be a shock to my system. I hope I don’t get all drunk and headachy before the movie. That’s when I’m most apt to channel my inner-south-side-girl, and start screaming at the screen:

“Tell him you’re not going to put up with that shit!” or “Jesus Christ! Did you SEE those shoes??” There’s also my personal fave – “Jarrod Smith. Whoo! Gotta get me some of THAT!”

I’m pretty sure they’ll never invite me out again. Nope, only one Cosmo for me. I’ve decided.

More later. I’ll let everyone know how I liked the movie. Don’t worry . . . no spoilers. At least none that I won’t warn you about first.

Weekend in NY!

I’m in NY for the weekend, visiting Lorrie. I arrived this morning, and the flight was uneventful, just like I like them — window seat, no babies.

I finally put my video iPod to use in is truest form by downloading a movie and watching it on the plane. I was surprised — I always thought that watching a movie on a 2.5″ screen would be highly unfulfilling. Not so much. It was perfect! Well . . . okay, maybe not perfect, because truth be told I would prefer to be snuggled on the couch watching the 40″ flatscreen rather than forced into an airline chair, uncomfortably close to an stranger.

I took a day off and flew out on the 7:00 am flight. It’s weird . . . I’m aware that I have vacation time (that I never take), but I’m always guilty when I take a day off. What is that about?? I’ve been frantically checking the Blackberry all day, and telling people that they can contact me on my cell phone if necessary. Yes, I’m insane.

New column

I always forget to post about new columns! The new Gina Spot ran on Friday. It’s interesting this week . . . ladies, if your man goes to a strip club, is he cheating? Read the column and tell me what you think.

Happy mothers day and breast cancer walk

I’m nearing the end of this weekend, and I have to say that I’m thrilled to have made it through. Yesterday was my mother’s birthday, and I survived the same way my father survives every day, which is by keeping myself extremely busy.

I’m getting a ton of work done to the house, and I’m happy to report that the countertops are in! That’s right, they are installed and everything. The granite guys arrived on Saturday morning as scheduled, and got to work immediately.

The bathroom guys, however . . . totally different story. They were originally supposed to be here on Friday, but they were late and I had to leave for work, so I told them to postpone the job until Saturday. This was partially a spite move because I technically could have gone in to work a bit later, but I’m a time person and I needed to show this contractor that lateness is a bad move — particularly if he wants any additional work out of me.

They finally arrived at roughly 10:00 am.

Like any other home improvement process, the day wasn’t problem-free. First, I had to run to the store to get primer for the bathroom ceiling. I had forgotten that the ceiling was new dry wall and would require primer — particularly before painting it the deep red paint that I selected (Behr - Vin Rouge — tried to upload a swatch, but kept getting error messages). I went to the neighborhood Ace Hardware store.

I wonder if Ace corporate is aware of this particular store, which looks like a throwback. They have no updated home improvement items whatsoever. Sure, they have paint and primer, but they also have the old school plastic window shades, and frilly curtains that look like they’d go up in flame if you even blew smoke in their direction. The cashier could not possibly be bothered with my request, and when I asked for primer, she didn’t remove her outsized ass from her chair. Instead she bellowed for “Mike” who was apparently in the back of the store, gossiping with someone who may or may not have been a fellow Ace employee. He finally ambled his slow ass up the front to help me, but by that time, I’d already located the primer.

While I was out, I grabbed a dozen donuts and a box of coffee for the boys (and myself — except I don’t like coffee. I’ll be in the gym an extra few hours this week to combat the effects of the donuts).

When I returned to Construction Central, was informed by Tom The Granite Man that I needed a new drain basket for the sink — unless I was excited about the idea of using the old cruddy one. I ran, once again to the neighborhood Ace Hardware, concerned that they wouldn’t have anything as sophisticated as a drain basket, particularly the kind that would match my sink. This time, Mike came through.

Granite was installed. I paid the remainder of my balance, and when the truck pulled away, I realized that they had dented my microwave. Yes a big freakin’ dent in my BRAND NEW MICROWAVE. I called Tom immediately to inform him that he would be having my microwave fixed, in a nice way, of course. He was nice, largely because it’s not too late to stop payment on either of the checks I’ve given him. We’re talking further in the morning.

I tried to calm down (I love the hell out of that microwave, dammit!), and the painter told me that I would need another gallon of paint. WTF???

I didn’t want to leave him there completely alone, so I requested the assistance of my father, who’s so sweet and always willing to help. But I don’t let the sweetness of my father fool me. Yes, he’s sweet, but he often gets things wrong. This was a risky request. I could have received the wrong color, the wrong finish. Hell, he could have brought a quart. Who knows? Anything could have happened. However, he came through, and the painting continued.

Then there was an electrical problem, and the electricity would have to be rerouted to change the vanity light. Ugh.

Needless to say, the work is not yet done. I’m not a happy girl, but by Tuesday, I should be . . . but keep your fingers crossed.

As for the breast cancer walk . . .

I woke up this morning to a mini-monsoon. Rainy, gloomy weather made me want to pull the covers over my head and hide, when, in fact I had registered to participate in the Y-Me breast cancer walk.

My friend Chris was planning to walk with me. Other people wanted to walk with me too, but truthfully, I couldn’t walk with anyone who wanted to talk about breast cancer. It sounds weird, because that’s the whole point, right? But I couldn’t deal with it, and couldn’t be with anyone who was inclined to spend the entire 3 miles basking in the glow of breast power — not another mother, not another child, no survivors, no other caretakers. I didn’t really want to be immersed in a group of people who were talking about it. I just wanted to complete the walk and pay homage to my mother and do my part in fighting the disease.

Chris was my guy. He and I were planning to laugh the entire time, which sounded like the best offer I’d heard.

So, when the weather sucked, I decided to call Chris. If he was game, so was I, and the reality is that I would have felt SO guilty raising money without even trying to get my ass out there and brave the weather for the cause.

Chris answered the phone “Good morning, sunshine.”

I replied: “Yes, but we have no sunshine. Have you looked outside? What do you think?”

He said: “Well, if you still want to do it, I’m game. I don’t care about a little water.”

I suddenly felt inspired: “Okay, well I’ll get myself together and pick you up.”

I scooped him up and we tried to park as close to Grant Park as possible. I got pretty damned close (because I’m a rock star parker). As it rained, I went to collect my bib. As we neared the starting line, it began raining harder, and harder still.

I could hear my mother (who never left the house in the rain) saying, “Nobody told your dumb ass to walk out in the rain anyway! You certainly don’t have to do that for ME. And just LOOK at your HAIR!”

We passed the starting gate, and walked about a block before I pulled the ripcord on our mission and made the executive decision to have breakfast.

By the time we walked the car, the rain was sideways and pelting us in the face. We arrived at Hash Browns on Maxwell and ate breakfast, soaked to the skin. I treated, of course, which was the least I could do, given that nobody else would have rallied as hard Chris.

I arrived home, having walked about .25 miles, and peeled off the wet clothes. I was so soaking wet that I had to wring out my thong. No joke.

So, for those of you who supported and sponsored me . . . THANK YOU!! I tried, Mom, I really did.

Happy birthday mom, and home improvement day

It’s my mother’s birthday today. I was SO hoping that she would live to see this day, but of couse, she missed it by nearly 3 months. I’m trying to keep myself busy, which isn’t hard because I have tons of work to do. I will also be happy to make it through Mother’s Day this year. I found out that she was sick last year on Mother’s Day, and it’s hard to believe that she was gone within one year.

Enough of the depressing stuff . . . to celebrate her birthday — to celebrate her in general, I have the contractors here doing my home improvement projects.

My mother was an advocate of having everything in your home the way you want it, and I can hear her saying “Gina, you work every day and make your own money. If you’re not working to make your life better, then what are you working for? You should have what you want.”

And people wonder why I’m so spoiled.

That’s right, today’s the day! The day that my new countertops are installed, and the day that the God-shaped hole in the ceiling of my powder room gets fixed, and the room is painted. I also get new recessed lighting and a new vanity. I can barely contain myself.

I’ll post before and after pics so that everyone can check out the progress.

Collabo - no

One of the (many) reasons why I’m still single is that I’m a HORRIBLE collaborator.

I’m not a great team player, and although I have to be somewhat teamy at work, I’m a much better individual contributor. I’m just wired that way. I’m an only child, and we tend to either need to have partners in crime, or not. I’m the latter. My friend Lorrie is an only child who’s my polar opposite. She loves a co-conspirator.

People occasionally ask to write articles with me, and I can’t think of anything less appetizing. In true only child fashion, I cringe when I hear anyone say: “We should collaborate on . . . “ I find ways to stave them off, and I’m pretty sure they think I’m being a bitch (which wouldn’t completely unheard of), but it’s not personal. And it’s REALLY not because I think I’m some great writer whose work shouldn’t be tainted (I’m very grateful for my editor). My process simply isn’t organized enough to bring someone else into the fold.

I often write in the middle of the night, sitting in my bed, after having spent the entire day thinking about how I’m going to put it down. I don’t want to talk about it; I want to either write it, or keep thinking about it. I’m introspective, and in my own head a lot.

I don’t want to have ideation sessions, or drafts of outlines. I do that at work, and I only tolerate it because of the amount of money that I’m getting paid, and the fact that what I’m doing during my 55 hour work week is hardly considered creative. When those processes spill over into my creative world, I’m totally miserable. Writing becomes depressing.

In certain cases, the suggestions come from people who aren’t really writers who think their ideas are great, but can’t express themselves. In other cases, the would-be-collaborators are interested in getting something out, but only doing half the work. Sometimes people think that I have a better chance of getting published (little do they know!) In some cases (a very select few – like only one that I can recall), it’s a person who has really given serious thought to our styles and how they would combine.

Or — and this is my fave — it’s a guy who wants to inject a counterpoint to my very opinionated point. I’ve received multitudes of these suggestions – typically from men who recognize me at parties (most of whom have trouble structuring a sentence verbally, giving me low incentive, but I digress).

I’m more aggressive about giving them the Heisman — Dude, if you want to express your opinion, trust me when I tell you that it won’t be in the context of my column. I have no interest in having witty banter with you in print. None whatsoever. That’s not why I write what I write. The purpose of my column is to give perspective, not to berate men. Believe it, or not.

Tea

I love tea, and I have to take the time to rave about a tea that I absolutely love.

Backstory — I was at a friend’s bridal shower a few weeks ago, which was a wonderful tea party and very un-bridal-shower-like. No silly word scramble games, no pin-the-penis-on-the-man (yes, I’ve actually been forced to play that game at a shower. It’s not fun.) Anyhoo . . . the hostess made several different varieties of tea, and each table was equipped with 5 decorative teapots so that we could all sample each tea. It was a beautiful event.

So . . . one of the teas was Green Coconut from TeaGschwender. If you like green tea and coconut, this tea seriously rocks.

The funny thing about tea shops is that the employees are total tea snots. When I went to purchase my very own bag of loose Green Coconut tea, the sweet salesgirl mentioned that I should make sure that I’m steeping at the right temperature, which is apparently 90 degrees.

I’m at a loss for how to measure the temperature of my boiling water. I didn’t dare mention to Tea Girl that I planned to boil water in the microwave. I’m sure she would have slipped into cardiac arrest, forcing her to drop the sample cup of Ayurvedic Chili Tea that she was handing to me (and by the way, if anyone ever offers you a cup of Ayurvedic tea that incorporates chili peppers, your esophagus would be grateful if you said no. In fact, say no, while you still retain the ability to speak).

Before my chat with Tea Girl, I was familiar with the perils of oversteeping green tea. I’m a bit of a green tea snot myself, and tend to give lectures on the dangers of allowing the tea leaves to steep for longer than 1-2 minutes.

For all of you who are unfamiliar, green tea tends to become bitter if allowed to steep for any longer. It tastes like bark and ass. Yuck. And if you order green tea at a restaurant, and it arrives in one of those continuous steeping pots, have one cup, and one cup only. By the time you pour your second one, you will be hit in the mouth with ass taste — and who wants that??

Anyhoo . . . I must have done a great job with the tea, because I’m sipping in between lines of typing and it’s delish.

Busted!

The new column released on Friday. It’s all about how people get busted cheating, and a surefire way to never get busted again! Check it out!

Also, if you haven’t yet read my new column — Date Night With Gina B. — take a look and find out where to go for a good date. I give good insider tips, so give it a try!