I'm so excited...I'm...so...SCARED.*

I just heard a small child's voice walking down the hall of my office.

This scared me. Not that the employees are getting younger (come on, we don't have child labor law here!), nor that there are children running rampant in my office (but seriously, is it "Take Your Kid to Work Day?"), but rather, that I felt a little twinge.

A twinge of what? Well, it's that twinge that women of a certain age get when they see a chubby baby or they hear a cute voice. A twinge of..."OMGIWANTABABY."

That thought? It is terrifying to me. Not just the "wanting" of a baby, but the thought that thinking that isn't entirely inappropriate. I am thirty years old. I am about to get married. Apparently, my ovaries are already on the downswing (science and its negative light on the situation...sheesh). At this point in my life, having a baby wouldn't be taboo.

I find that entirely terrifying.

My entire life, I have had very distinct goals. Make the spirit squad (check). Get good grades (check). Get into college (check). Get a scholarship (check). DON'T get pregnant (CHECK). It goes on and on, 'til I am where I am now. I have a job. I have a graduate degree. I have a man. I have a pet. I mean, what else is there? BABIES. Let it be known that I am not actively trying to have a baby. I don't really want to yet. But the fact that my body has these strange responses to a child's giggle and footsteps in my workplace freaks me out. I like them. Even now, I see a child in the midst of a temper tantrum and my response is not to plug my fingers into my ears and walk away. Nope. I observe the parent's reaction and think, "Man, must be past nap time."

I am so excited. And yet, I am still so scared.

* Bonus points for those who identify the source of this title. It's an easy one for those in my generation. Also, I tagged this post with Jessie Spano. FIGURE IT OUT.

A totally weird guilt trip.

I am no stranger to the feeling of guilt. Whether it be forgetting to accomplish something at work or inadvertently slighting someone, I feel like guilt has a tendency to take over my brain. (Well, sometimes I think the guilt comes from paranoia, but that is another post for another time. You're not mad at me, readers, are you? PLEASE? I have blogged like THREE days in a row. Love me. Thanks.)

Lately, I have been feeling guilty for a completely out-of-character reason: working out. Obviously, I am getting married soon and therefore have the accompanying "dress fitting" appointments. When I went for my first fitting, I was surprised. While I did purchase my dress several sizes too big for my body (hello, sample sale!), it was even bigger than I had remembered. I was thrilled. My gym efforts and "sometimes" wedding diet were paying off. Woot!

Well, fast forward to about two weeks later when I showed up for my second fitting. Turns out, my gym efforts were STILL paying off. Too well. She had to take in my dress another few inches. Sigh. I should be thrilled. I am getting results. But she yelled at me. This is how the conversation went.

Seamstress: "You exercise. You lose too many inches."
F.A.: "Well, I like to exercise. It makes me feel good."

STARE DOWN.

SS: "You don't exercise before you buy dress, do you?"

GUILTY SILENCE.

F.A.: "No, not really."

SIGH.

SS: "STOP exercising. It's hard to do this job. STOP IT."

The next day, I went to the gym. Ooops.

I haven't been going as often. I don't want to give her my OTHER leg as payment for having to take it in yet again. However, I feel it would be far more tragic to go in for my fitting, having ceased all exercise, and be TOO BIG for my wedding gown.

Sadly, the more I go work out, the more I want to work out. I do feel better. The results are very encouraging. I don't feel as guilty binging on the SPRINGY Oreos that Faux Trixie and Amie brought over to my house SOLELY to ruin my wedding diet. I actually am able to wake up at 5:15 a.m. and get myself over to the gym. In fact, the instances where I totally snap at P.I.C. for his very existence because he woke me up for the gym are fewer and farther between.

Even better, is that I have found that my gym has Bravo on its cardio machines. That means when I go to workout, I can get my fill of reality TV that I don't get at home. (I haven't had cable in my home for over three years.) And that? I can't argue with that.

So I guess I will deal with the guilt. Skinny bride PLUS the Real Housewives? That is a guilt trip I will continue to ride.

Stay tuned for a report on the wrath of my seamstress.

Fighting with anxiety.

I feel stressed out constantly lately. Work has been very busy, and I think about my cases all the time. Of course, the wedding planning is always there in the back of my mind, but more often right in the front of my mind.

I shouldn't complain. I have a good job. I can pay my bills (well, mostly). I have a wedding coming up to marry the man of my dreams. I have the best friends and family a girl could ever want. 2011 has been amazing to me so far. But underneath all of the happiness and good memories I have been creating, anxiety remains there.

Part of it is my inability to not procrastinate. I know this. Yet I am seemingly incapable of changing. How does one just start acting, rather than waiting 'til the last minute and panicking? What is absolutely insane is that I know how to make it better. I just need to DO the things I put off. I'm not so swamped that I cannot get my work done. I swear. Yet I feel no real motivation which is utterly depressing.

I wonder if part of my problem is that I'm not truly passionate about my chosen profession. Yes, I do like my job sometimes (usually, I just tolerate it, which is good enough for me), but I'm not excited about it for the most part. I don't get up and feel charged and ready for work. I want to change that, but I am seemingly incapable of figuring it out.

Sigh. At least the sun is shining today. That's something, right?

Random things that make me angry.

Oh, there are so so so many things that really irrationally anger me.

Today? It's vegans. No, I don't have a problem with people who choose to not eat meat for health reasons. I also have no problem with those people that choose to avoid animal products for cruelty reasons. I commend that. My real problem is those people that try to make me feel badly for MY choices.

So to you vegans-that-judge-me-outwardly-for-loving-the-crap-out-of-some-cheese...suck it.

Additionally, guy that lets the door slam in my FACE nearly every morning and then intentionally butts in front of me to get on the elevator before me? I hate you. I can't even see you in the building without a sneer over-taking my usually pleasant and kind face. LEARN SOME MANNERS. I can see you are married. Perhaps your wife is failing you by not reminding you that it is not polite to let the door slam shut in someone's face. I AM SORRY. But you irritate me by your very existence. Also, I call you "Mean Larry." Cuz you kind of look like Larry, but you are WAY MEANER.

Happy Monday, everyone. Clearly my week is off to a great start.

My very first 5K.

For most of my life, I was not a runner. No. That doesn't put it strongly enough. I hated running. HATED it. I remember having to run around the track in P.E. class and feeling as though I was being put through torture. "Run the straights, walk the curve." Those instructions still entailed too much running for my adolescent body. That's not to say I didn't get physical activity. I was on the cheerleading/dance team and we practiced for two hours at least four times per week. We worked it. Trust me. But running? NEVER. No way.

Even when my friends played soccer or track in the off-season and encouraged me to join one of those teams, I wasn't having any of it. Seriously, do you see how much soccer players run? Not for me. And track? That was all running. Again, not my thing. I could jump, dance, lift, and twirl. But run? Nope.

So when I started running a few years ago, it was a novel thing. I had been attempting to run a bit in the spring, but when a certain bad relationship officially ended, I put my energy into running. Granted, at that time, I was running for a minute, walking for two, then eventually running for one minute and walking for a minute. My running coach? A very good friend and coworker. He was a friend that was willing to watch me break into tears as I attempted to run that last minute and felt I couldn't. He was a friend that encouraged me when I thought I couldn't go any further.

We were gearing up for an annual fundraising race in which our firm participated. I wanted to run it. I needed to run it. I am not sure if I was proving something to myself, or just that I wanted to not be seen as unathletic by my other coworkers (let's face it, I wasn't then, and I'm not really now), but I wanted to run this 5K. So I got a running buddy. I would take the el to his house on lovely Saturdays and Sundays for our "training." Slowly, but surely, we would run together. Eventually, I could run three minutes at a time. I was so proud.

When it came time for the race, I was ready. Granted, I knew I wasn't going to run the entire thing non-stop. But I had my watch set to go on intermittent timing. I was going to do it. My very first 5K.

Of course, I was very slow. I ran alone, well, me and my pink running watch and hundreds of other huffing and puffing legal professionals. I ran for SEVEN minutes without stopping at the beginning, then resumed my pattern of running for 3:30, walking for a minute, for the rest of the race. When it came time for the last couple hundred meters, I was feeling victorious. I knew I was almost done. Then I saw him. My coworker jumped back into the course, a big smile on his face. Of course, he'd already finished, but he wanted to be there for me as I finished my very first race. I crossed the finish line with a HUGE smile on my face, feeling as though I had accomplished something rather big. For me, it was an accomplishment. The non-runner just ran a race.

Now? I can run an entire 5K with no walk breaks. I try to do that several times a year. I'm not hardly any faster, but the feeling I get when I cross the finish line? It is always exhileration. It took me three years to get here. And that coworker? Well, in thirty-seven days, I will marry him. Turns out he was the best running buddy a girl I could have ever wanted.

Who wants me to go viral with MY running plan? Move over Hal Higdon.

Socks for Japan...an Update!

Last week when I published that email from Makiko Oku, I intended to do one thing: Promote an effort that I saw as valiant and unique. While I knew I could donate money to the bigger organizations as a way of helping, I found this opportunity to be different. I did not see the effort as THE WAY to help Japan and the people living there affected by the terrible tragedies that ensued. No. I saw it as A WAY. One small way to show the people of Japan that we are thinking of them. Praying for them. We care. So I embraced it. 

I am thrilled to bring you an update to Makiko's Socks For Japan efforts!

Dear Friends,

Since our socks campaign was launched a week ago, we've received overwhelming support and donations from friends and their friends and family from across the US and abroad. I am profoundly touched and humbled by your love and compassion. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

I am writing primarily because I want to convey some good news that came from our friends in Japan two days ago. They delivered our first batch of 300 socks, as well as 1,000 more that was collected from around the world. The socks were brought to two evacuation shelters in Kita-Ibaragi city, which was devastated by the tsunami and is located right south of the Fukushima nuclear power plants. I was told that the people in the shelters were very pleased and humbled to receive new pairs of socks from friends far away. They were able to change their socks for the first time in over ten days during which they haven't showered or taken a bath since the earthquake and tsunami hit. I was also told that the people who received the socks carefully read the personal message attached to each pair and kept it fondly as if it would give them strength and good luck. I cannot tell you how moved I was to hear this. 

Since last Tuesday, we've collected over 500 pairs of socks and a lot of donations. Your contributions will allow us to send more socks to the people in the evacuation shelters in the northeast region of Japan. We will be sending our second batch by the end of March, and your socks and monetary donation are deeply appreciated. I was told that other evacuation shelters are in desperate need for socks, and we want to make another shipment as soon as possible. There are still thousands of people who are displaced and need socks to keep them warm. We're hoping to send the third batch in early April. 

I attached some pictures from inside the evacuation shelters when the socks were delivered, as well as images from the surrounding areas. Feel free to pass this email along to your friends, family, and colleagues. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to contact me anytime. Thank you so much for your heartfelt support.

Praying for Japan,

Makiko

The photographs show what my words are seemingly incapable of conveying. The socks help. Maybe not entirely. But they do help.

To the person who left the anonymous comment on my blog last week discouraging this particular effort: It has made a difference.

I'd much rather help in a small way than not help at all.

Thank you, Makiko, for letting me publish these photographs and your words.

Thirty-nine days to go...

Let's see how many more glasses P.I.C. and I can break. Friends, if you are wondering why our gift registry went from ten to eleven glasses, you now know why. Right now, we are down a champagne flute (P.I.C.), a ramekin (P.I.C.), and a white wine glass (ME...but I am still figuring a way to make it P.I.C.'s fault). Sigh. This is why we don't have nice things. Or perhaps I just use wine glasses too much? NO COMMENT THERE.

The wedding planning is coming along, despite me ignoring the fact that I really should find someone to make me and my bestie a bouquet and there is the issue of the rentals that need to be arranged (P.I.C.!!!)

This past weekend I had the pleasure of one of those rites of passage called the bachelorette party. Oh yes. I painted the town red. Literally. I donned red lips, a red dress, and I brought out my obnoxious 'tude times ninety-seven. It was an epic entire day of girly fun, and while I do tend to disclose my business here...this day is all mine and my ladyfriends'. To those that attended...I love you. It was truly my most fun day ever.

Let's just hope the wedding can top THAT, Teen Witch-style.

Socks for Japan.

Hello, my friends. I am about to get serious. I am not going to whine about my life (and its first world problems). I am not going to complain about people on the CTA. Nope. None of that. Today, I am going to ask that you do something for someone else. Some other people, really.

We are all aware of the tragedy that occurred in Japan last week. The loss of lives, property and general sense of safety over there is quite sobering. While we all have been inundated with requests to text "XXXXX" to a certain number to donate $10 to the Red Cross, I felt the need to do something a little bit different. The opportunity presented itself when received an email, forwarded from a very good friend of mine.

Dear Friends,

I am writing to ask for your support in sending a much-needed piece of clothing to the evacuees of the devastating earthquake and tsunami in Japan. I will be collecting socks to send to Japan in the next couple of weeks and would be grateful if you could donate a pair or two or more.

After the earthquake and tsunami hit, people fled for their lives without adequate clothing. Many people got their feet wet from tsunami water. It still snows occasionally in the northeast region of Japan, and feet get cold in the evacuation shelters at night where there's no heat. In the wake of tragedy like this one, we know that socks do not provide primary support. But they can be a token of care and comfort from someone far away. I believe that a pair of socks from you could put a smile on someone's face.

Here is how you can help:

1) Donate NEW socks. We will take every size, color, and style socks, for women, men, children, and babies. Please do not send used or unclean socks -- NEW socks only. You could hand-deliver or send them to the address below:
   
              282 4th St #1
              Jersey City, NJ 07302

2) If you're unable to donate socks, we will accept monetary donations. All proceeds will be used to buy socks on your behalf. You could find me on PayPal (makikoku@gmail.com), or you could send a check to the address above. Please note "Socks For Japan" on your PayPal payment or check.

To make the socks more personal, we will attach a message to every pair of socks you donate. Send in a photo of yourself by email if you want it printed on the message.

Please see attached pictures from my beloved friends who worked tirelessly to send out our first batch of socks to Japan. It would be great if we could send another package by the end of March.

Feel free to pass this message along to your friends and family. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to contact me anytime. Thank you so much for your support.

Praying for Japan,
Makiko

So in light of this brilliant venture to help out those in need of help in Japan, I implore you to go out, buy a pair of socks, and send to Makiko. Let's show those in Japan that we care and that they are in our thoughts in a more profound way that just "tweeting" or "blogging" that we care.

A funny St. Patrick's Day story.

This weekend, I had the pleasure of going up north for a family pub crawl. It's okay, I can give you a moment to feel insanely jealous that my family engages in such activities as pub crawls.... We're pretty awesome, I know.

In any event, we had a great time full of shenanigans ("I'm going to pistol whip the next guy that says 'shenanigans.' "Hey Farva, what's the name of that restaurant you like? That one with all the shit on the walls?" "Shenanigans? You guys talkin' 'bout Shenanigans?" "OOOOOH.") My aunt's friend was on a teddy bear-monkey leash (HEY, she didn't get lost), and we saw lots of crazy attire. One moment that made me laugh the most, was a semi-forgotten memory. You see, there was a guy dressed up as a leprechaun. You could take photos with him. Of course, my cousins and I insisted we do so. I was a chatty Cathy by this time, so I started asking the guy, "So, how does one come to be a leprechaun at a stop on a St. Patrick's Day pub crawl?" Honestly, I can't remember the answer. I do, however, remember that he was in college. For finance. This prompted a very stern lecture from me.

F.A. "Listen, Leprechaun. What are you going to do with that finance degree?"
L: "Um. I don't know yet."
F.A. "Whatever you do, DO NOT GO TO LAW SCHOOL."
L: "Um....okay...?"
F.A. "I am SERIOUS. There are no jobs, and no one I know that is a lawyer is really happy about that decision. I AM TELLING YOU THE TRUTH."

L: "......"

F.A. "I wanna hear you say that back to me. Promise me you will not go to law school."
L: "Um, I promise I will not go to law school."

Perhaps 45 minutes later, I ran into him while I was walking to get a beer.

F.A. "HEY. Remember what I told you?"
L: :::Audible sigh::: "No law school, I remember."

I think I sufficiently creeped that guy out. Also (and this is not a newsflash), I think going to law school wasn't one of my better decisions. Sigh. It is what it is.

Happy St. Patrick's Day to YOU.

My new thing: Confessions Monday.

Lately, I haven't been as great and diligent at my writing. Much of the reason for that is my upcoming wedding. I feel as though my whole life revolves around getting my business in line for that. Honestly, I don't want to talk much about it any more! I just want it done.

So I decided: Let's do something different. It won't be about my wedding (usually). It will be informative for my casual reader because...I shall be telling you a CONFESSION each Monday. And if you don't care to read my confessions, I don't care much. I just need some way to exercise my writing muscles and this might help.

So, for the inagural confession Monday, I shall confess this: I ACTUALLY LOVE SEX AND THE CITY.

Sigh. I am embarrassed by my love for the show. I own the entire series and have watched it so many times that some of the discs no longer play. This is especially a problem when there are certain episodes I can no longer play. For example, I can no longer watch the episode where Miranda starts hooking up with her marathon buddy and they deal with the "butt-licking" issue. That is a particularly hilarious episode that I can no longer watch. This makes me sad.

When an ex-boyfriend bestowed these DVDs on me years ago, he had no idea of the ramifications. I would begin with Season One, the Pilot (you know, when Carrie had brown hair and would speak directly into the camera) and watch a few episodes each day. When I finished with the end of Season Six (Part Two), I would start over. Again. And again. And again.

I do feel slightly shameful about this. Then again, such is the nature of a confession: something about which you feel shame. Right?

Let it be known that I do not live my life like a Sex and the City girl. I do not buy expensive shoes (my budget does not allow it). I do not drink Cosmopolitans (I think they are rather gross). I do not sleep around. My friend and I do not identify ourselves with the characters, unless we are doing so in jest. I am not going to move to NYC anytime soon to "find love." (As an aside, did anyone else think that plot line in the first SATC movie was ridiculous? Who moves to a city to find LOVE?) I found my love in Chicago. So I'm good. I might drink champagne too much, and I might have a few girlfriends with whom I adore getting together and either eating and drinking ourselves silly, or just getting together and playing games, I am no SATC girl.

Honestly? I think the show is highly entertaining. I love New York. I love their clothes. I even love Carrie's stupid puns. I love the crazy situations. And yes, I can identify with some of the themes and feelings involved. I don't delude myself and tell everyone that my life is like an episode of SATC. (Says the girl with FABULOUS in her blog title. Sigh.) I am who I am. And who I am? I am a girl who loves SATC. Deal with it.

There you have it. My first confession of many. Maybe.

Procrastination Nation.

My entire life has been defined by continual instances of procrastination. Paper due in college? I will likely start that the night before it is due. Final in college? I will go to my professor's dinner party in his fancy house, drink some wine, THEN study. In college, this seemed to work out fine. I graduated magna cum laude. (Fancy, right?) Well, I attempted that in law school. Turns out, procrastination wasn't really effective when the professors usually grade you based on one final exam that comprises of an entire semester of reading.

Sigh. I figured it out, procrastinated less (hey, I am who I am) and still...eked out mediocre grades. My procrastination meant that my first attempt at submitting my case note for evaluation (hoping to have it deemed "publishable quality"). Sadly, my first attempt was shot down. I know I procrastinated for my second attempt, but it was way more intense, with massive efforts at research, footnotes and writing being my life for two weeks before it was due. This time? Success. AND publication. (Win for me.)

Of course, these life lessons in "why you shouldn't procrastinate" never have stuck. I still scramble to get motions and answers on file by the deadline. Such is my life. Most lawyers will probably admit to procrastinating once in awhile, if not often. I promise you this.

My point? Well, in planning a wedding in a short amount of time, procrastination is not an option. I mean, it is, but you'll really screw up your plans. In any event, I have mostly been staying on top of everything. It's really a Christmas miracle, if you think about it. The procrastination queen is not procrastinating.

One of my good friends is a fabulous graphic designer, and she created our invitations (which are amazing and awesome and totally not wedding-traditional which is probably the reason I adore them SO MUCH). She dropped them off at our house the other night and I went to work. By that night, I had nearly cut them all out with my new and nifty paper cutter. The next night? I had finished cutting them out and addressed almost all of them. Yesterday, I went to the post office (got the sullen POST OFFICE WORKER to be nice to me...another Christmas miracle), got our stamps and finished the invitations. Did you HEAR that? I finished them. Well, with P.I.C.'s help. This morning? They went in the mailbox.

No turning back now.

Wow. This lack of procrastination must mean that I am READY to get married. (P.S. I totally am.)

Now, if you will excuse me, I have a motion due on Monday that I haven't started. OOOOPS.

A rant (wedding planning edition).

Oh, wedding planning. How much fun are YOU? I shouldn't gripe, I know. But right now, I need to be reviewing doctors' notes and the like, not cutting out invitations (which, by the way, are AWESOME.) When I first began planning my wedding, my pal Miss Sass told me, "Get ready to be a part-time lawyer for the next four months." Little did I know, she was right. Even when I am not actively calling people to make the arrangements, the wedding is always on my mind.

Additionally, I am learning first-hand how weddings make people crazy. Truly. I am fully aware that there are certain issues with having my wedding in a big city, namely the people who do not live in said big city find it highly inconveniencing. There are the "Sighhhh, I guess I will figure out how to have someone give me a ride to the city, because I am really not that comfortable driving in there," comments and the "How about you pay for a shuttle for all of us from the hotel to the wedding site" comments, and the freak outs that the hotel is still too expensive (despite P.I.C. finding a stellar rate). These comments make me feel selfish for having my wedding in Chicago, despite the fact that I have had my life here for over ten years, this is where I live now, and where I intend to live for quite some time. Apparently, my selfishness is getting in the way of other people enjoying my day. I'm making my wedding rather inconvenient for some people. SIGH.

I know that this will all pass, but of course, the people that complain tend to be the people that have not offered to help. I'm not talking about financially, but rather just in general. Please don't add more things to my "to do" list without making it a little bit easier on ME. Yeah, this might be selfish. But it IS my wedding (OUR wedding), and we are primarily paying for it, so deal with it. DEAL. WITH. IT. And please don't complain (TO ME) about the cost of the hotel rooms. You are more than willing to find a better deal elsewhere. We set these up as an accommodation to YOU. Don't be upset that we didn't work miracles and get hotels for $80 a night. Not going to happen in down-town Chicago, babe. All this being said, go ahead and gripe about my decisions...but just not to me. I am doing the best I can on a budget. Please don't make me feel bad that I am not spending even MORE money to make life easier on you.

END OF RANT. (I would say sorry, but this is my blog and I am entitled to whine if I want.)

Those of you who are getting married and in the middle of wedding planning, or have planned a wedding, wanna share some stories with me too, so that I know I am not alone?

Going to the gym is futile if someone is just gonna call you "chub chub"

This weekend was pretty great, in total. I got to celebrate a wonderful friend's birthday (high five to ME for keeping the mommies out til CLOSING TIME. Then again, I've always been a bit of a party girl...ha!), do our cake tasting (um, mojito* cupcakes anyone) and then babysit for some rather energetic, but highly hilarious kids. I also got to the gym TWICE and spent the better part of Sunday on the couch. I'd say that's a pretty awesome weekend in anyone's book.

Well, unless you count the time the three year-old I was babysitting "shot" me with his "gun" made out of tinker toys, yelling "CHUB CHUB." His five year-old sister promptly told me, "That means you're fat."

Sigh. Good thing I went to the gym twice. Bill Cosby was right: Kids DO say the darnedest things.

* Also, how is MOJITO not a real word, spell check? Haven't you ever imbibed in the limey, sugary, deliciousness that is a Cuban rum drink? YOU ARE MISSING OUT!

The full body press

Yesterday, I had a rather traumatic experience on the el (seriously, where else?), and I had to wait an entire twenty-four hours before I could even begin thinking about writing this.

So here I am. Ready to talk about it. Ready to tell you all how I was violated on the CTA.

A little information: I ride the blue line every morning. I am a mere three stops from work. When it does not break down, I am only on the train for approximately five minutes. The el is usually very crowded, but when you are on the train for such a short time period, you suck it up. You cram onto the train by ducking under other's arms and finding your little bit of personal space and holding on where you can grab. However. That does NOT mean you push your body up against someone else's body in a a complete way. This is where yesterday morning went all wrong.

The train was crowded, as usual. I saw the perfect little room just for ME. Yes, I was close to my other passengers, but that is just fine. Then I felt it. Someone boarded the train behind me. A man. His ENTIRE front of his body was PRESSED up against the ENTIRE rear of my body. I could feel. his. breath. on my neck. HE WAS SO CLOSE.

I inched a smidge, as much as I could. No matter. It was as if static electricity was pulling that man's front-side to my back-side. I began to sweat. My breathing was difficult, and I was feeling ready to pass out. I prayed that at the next stop someone would get out so I could move. No. Even worse. SOMEONE ELSE BOARDED AND SMOOSHED HIM EVEN MORE INTO ME.

I had to ride TWO stops with this man's ENTIRE FRONT smooshed against my back. I desperately looked for someone with whom to make eye contact. ANYONE. Please? Someone see me screaming with my eyes. One girl looked sympathetic, but she did not move. I was stuck.

I got off the train and had to stop to catch my breath, because I was ready to pass out. I felt so violated. I felt as though I needed a shower. That, or that man owed me something. Cuz seriously, that full body press is something you DO NOT GET WITHOUT BUYING ME DINNER.

Today I had an uneventful ride. Pleasant, even. Sadly, the full body press and my three stops experiencing it will never leave my mind. Let this be a lesson to you all as to NOT ride the CTA. Please?

Did you know I am in The Smartly Chicago today?

Well, I am! If you feel like reading a little something-something from me about some characters I have encountered in Chicago, click on over at The Smartly Chicago and leave me some comment love. Please?

I will love you forever. Well, maybe. I might just be friends with you for awhile. It depends on your level of coolness.

Also, stay tuned. I may or may not regale you with the story of how I got the full body press on the el this morning. This is only after I have fully recovered from the experience and stop feeling phantom strange man breath on my neck.

:::SHUDDER:::

But seriously. Go to Smartly. Read my bit. Read others' pieces. We all write and love it, and everyone loves the comments. So do it. Also, Smartly Chicago is looking for some more writers...if you've got something to say and can say it twice a month, go for it.

"Oh my darling, oh my daaaaarling..."

"....oh my DAAAARLING, Clementine..."

I ate the most delicious clementine today. I'm not sure if I love clemetines because I can peel one in one fell swoop, or because they are the juiciest and most delicious fruit out right now. Maybe it is because they are squat-looking and a punchy bright orange color. Oh, I know. They taste like CANDY and not like a health food. That is ideal right now when I'm trying to shed a few pounds for the wedding.

One thing is for sure, clementines being in season are the ONLY good thing left of this winter. I'm over it.

(This posting was inspired by Faux Trixie and her posting today saying F.U. to winter. Oh, that and the most perfect little clementine that I consumed this morning. That too.)