Day 275: Remember the Time... 'Erika' Sounded So Pretty

"Mommy, how do you say my name?" I remember asking my mom when I was a kid. "Is it 'AIR-KAH' or 'AIR-IH-KAH'?"

"It's however you want people to say it," I remember her saying.

I want only people with heavy accents to say my name.

When I was in the Dominican Republic, people who could speak very little English usually at least had the ability to ask, "What is your name?"

And after I'd tell them, "My name is 'AIR-IH-KAH'," they'd always reply, "EH-REE-KAH'" with the tongue roll. I know hearing your own name is music to a person's ears in general, but I just loved hearing their accent come out when they said my name.

Would it be weird to adopt an accent just when I tell a person my name?

Day 268: Remember the Time... Encyclopedias Were Sold Door To Door

I love talking to people. It's one of the reasons I was a good journalist. I had no problems going up to anyone, anywhere, even if it was a man wearing filthy overalls at a gas station because I was interested in why he had so much scrap metal in his truck bed for a story I was working on.

On my recent business trip, I had an opportunity to talk to two members of our sales force - one of whom had been with my company since 1974. That's right - for eight years before I was even born.

The stories these two women told were fascinating. They had, after all, been with the company since the sales force were charged with selling encyclopedia sets at county fairs and door to door. They took me back to a time when my company was "a book company" with just five products that would never have CDs.

One of the sales reps couldn't afford a set, but was told that if she sold three sets to three other people, she could give up her commission and instead receive a set of encyclopedias. She thought that would be easy, and for her at that time it was. She stuck with the company after those initial sales.

 

I learned that the dreaded response was from stay-at-home moms saying, "I'll have to talk to my husband," and that before e-mail, the stack of faxes the reps would receive would sometimes topple over because they were so high.

When the Internet exploded, these ladies said they were terrified as to what it would do to the business. They had be cracking up when the told the story that it took four ladies several hours in a hotel room to figure out how to connect to the Internet, even though one of the women had brought her phone from home. And the reason they weren't successful was that they had forgotten to plug in the Internet cable.

In some ways it sounded like a much simpler time and in others it seemed more difficult. Either way, it was fascinating.

Day 251: Remember the Time... Men Would Be Horrible Party Planners

When I plan parties, I cover all my bases. I clean, put together a music playlist, plan the menu, and usually spend the day cooking said menu. 

Before guests arrive, I light candles, make sure there are enough seats for everyone to sit comfortably arranged in a conversation semi-circle, and put the finishing touches on my carefully planned outfit.

I was telling some colleagues about the plans I have for an upcoming party I'm planning soon, and found out that one of my male colleagues was having a party that same night.

So I of course asked him if he'd already made food ahead of time. He gave me a strange look and said that each of his friends bring enough beer for themselves and enough cash to pay the pizza delivery person.

So then I asked him if he at least cleaned his place. His response?

"Dude, I just have to make sure I get home in time to flush the toilet before they get there."

Ugh. Men.

Day 247: Remember the Time... I Changed My Look on a Whim

I had to pin my small amount of side-swept bangs with a bobby pin today after my right eye became so irritated from the hair getting in there. 

I forgot about them until I was walking home from work and saw that the salon I live above was open late. So I changed my walking trajectory, walked into the salon, and asked if they could trim my bangs.

And since I had just watched New Girl the day before, I must have been thinking about how adorkable Zooey Deschanel looked with her thick brunette bangs when I told the hairdresser to give me straight-across bangs. Remember the time that I haven't had straight-across bangs since I was five years old? It's amazing how something so simple can straight-up change-up your look.


But you know what? Life is too short for long drawn-out thought processes for something as simple as shorter hair. I'm proud of myself. Plus it doesn't look half bad.

Day 240: Remember the Time...

On one episode of Family Guy, Brian hears that Quagmire hates him, so one day he waits outside of Quagmire's house so he can strike up a conversation and smooth things over. He starts out by making small talk and then sees a battered girl standing on the doorstep of Quagmire's house.

He comments about how hot she is and how she must have been some piece of ass. Quagmire then replies that the girl is, in fact, his sister who was staying with him because her boyfriend mercilessly beats her. He then asks if Brian also wants to make fun of his deaf brother.

The boyfriend then shows up to beat Quagmire's sister again and Quagmire asks Brian if he can hear that she's being beaten up. He replies, "I'm not deaf," which Quagmire takes as a shot at his deaf brother.

Essentially, this is a case of mistaken assumptions. Brian knows that Quagmire is a complete man whore, so he tries to stroke his ego by telling him what a hot chick he scored. Unfortunately, that person turns out to be his sister. And when Brian uses a well-known cliche by dryly remarking that he's not deaf, Quagmire thinks he's insulting his handicapped brother, when Brian is just trying to make polite conversation.

Remember the time I felt this way during every single conversation with one of my friends from New York?

This guy, Matt, was on my basketball team for several seasons that stretched into several years and, like all the other members on my New York basketball team, I felt like we became really good friends. Yet every time we talked either one on one or in a group, I felt like I said something that offended him. Eventually, I came to think that he tolerated me because of all the innocent things I said that somehow turned out to be insulting.

For example, I was telling our other teammates a story about how Matt and I were talking to members of another team, and I kept referring to this other team as the "black team." I had thought that everyone knew that I was referring to their jersey color, but apparently people were giving he and I weird looks that I didn't notice, so Matt had to interrupt me and say "the black-shirted team" then looked at me like, "why are you dragging me into this seemingly racist story?"

And I could go on and on with examples, but my point is that sometimes people's personalities just don't mesh. Those who are more reserved and on the quiet side just may not get along with those who joke all the time and are a bit more boisterous. And that's OK. But I just wish he knew I never meant to offend or insult him. 'Cause I actually think he was one of the most genuinely nice guys I had the privilege to know in New York.

Day 233: Remember the Time... I Didn't Have To Miss American Idol

When I was little, I thought my dad could fix anything. He just seems to know how to fix whatever broke around the house, whether it was the sink or garbage disposal, computer, car, pool filter, hole in the wall, etc., regardless of whether or not it related to his expertise as an electrician. I know everything I know about handiwork from him.

What I don't know is what I was watching my dad fix back when I was little that impressed me so much, but what I do remember is telling him, "Daddy, you can fix anything that's broken. You can even fix the clouds." 


And he told me that one day he'd fix the clouds just for me.

The only thing that I can think of that my dad's shied away from fixing is the television. Even though he's an electrician, he said he won't go near the internal workings of a TV because it has so many components and unless you have the know-how, you should just leave it to the professionals.

But my dad raised me to believe that I can do anything. Never have I ever attempted to fix a television until today.

Granted, this fix was something I figured I'd be able to do since I quickly figured out the problem (a busted lamp that needed replacing) and was able to dig out explicit directions as to where to go to obtain a new one and how to put it in, but still. I'm generally pretty proud of attempting something new and succeeding - especially when it comes to handiwork. But I still gotta give credit where credit is due.


Thanks Dad.
 

Day 226: Remember the Time... Just Tell Me It's Going To Be OK, Even If It Isn't

One day it was there.

I was petting Chloe's head and grazed a bump on the back of her skull. I parted the fur to reveal what looked like a large, hard mole. But I've petted my pooch's head for seven years and never came across it before.

So I took her to the vet who looked at it and said it could be something, it could be nothing.

It was something.

Remember the time I wanted to be spoken to as if I were a child and not a mom who was already really worried about her baby?

Instead of hearing the words 'needle biopsy' and 'tumor' and 'excise' while feeling the weight of my nervous pup huddled against my leg that was probably shaking as much as her, part of me just wanted the vet to speak to me as if I were a child to take the fear away:

"Your doggie has a boo-boo, but next week I'm going to make it all better and she'll be fine." 

These are the kinds of words we'd use with children. Innocent children. We shelter them from the harsh realities of the real world because they're just too young to understand how horrific the world can be. And in many ways, I do believe that ignorance is bliss.

However, of course the responsible adult in me wanted to know exactly what the surgery entailed and how serious she thought it would be, but Chloe is my baby. And knowing something might be wrong with my baby that could possibly cause her pain is gut-wrenching. 

I have to keep it in perspective and remember that the vet said there were only a few abnormal cells, so she wants to remove the whole thing just to be sure, but it's hard.


What would I do without my baby?

Day 219: Remember the Time... Uber Confidence Does Not Always Help Win Bets

Every school day during first grade, we'd start the day by reciting the pledge of allegiance, then would recite the names of the U.S. Presidents. Their pictures formed the border around the classroom. We started with just Washington, then every few days would add the president's successor so before long we'd be reciting, "Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe..." all the way to George W. Bush.

Brent did not know this about me, so when he was boasting about how easy it was to name all the NFL teams, which was one of Sporcle's daily challenges today, I retorted that naming sports teams was too easy and that I bet he couldn't get a perfect score on the "Name All The U.S. Presidents" quiz.

He, predictably, said there was no way I could do that either, so I pulled up the quiz and said, "What do you wanna bet?" I then (stupidly) agreed to something completely ridiculous if I lost because I was that confident that I'd win.

I had 10 minutes to name them all and named 40 out of 42 in under four minutes. But then I started panicking because I always get tripped up with the order around Teddy Roosevelt because I tend to skip the five presidents between him and Franklin Roosevelt.

This was the case this time, so I started thinking about my work with the U.S. Presidents on the timelines project I am working on at work. That worked for four of the five names.

There was just one I could not think about as I watched the clock tick down to zero. 

Woodrow Wilson. I got all the "forgotten" presidents, like Harrison, who served just 32 days in office, but forgot Woodrow Wilson - the star of the "Bart the Lover" Simpsons episode where Bart writes love letters to his teacher Mrs. Krabappel to get revenge on her for giving him a month's detention.

Therefore, I lost the bet. And was taught a little something about my confidence. Brent has told me several times that it's great to be confident, but oftentimes I'm so confident that it turns into cockiness and rubs people the wrong way.

And of course when you're overly confident about something and it backfires, it's that much more shattering to you when you lose.

But I learned something about myself and vow to try to be confident, but not cocky. And keep the trash talking to myself because I just feel silly when I can't back that up.

Day 212: Remember The Time... Kids Just Have A Way

One of my best friends has a daughter. I remember being with him when he got the (surprising!) news that he was going to be a father, and his daughter, Sophie, is now almost 4 years old.

I try to see both my friend and Sophie every time I'm back home. Each time I marvel at how much smaller the cooking pot her dad puts her in to take pictures has gotten, how many more words she can say, and how far her personality has developed.


I usually go over there for dinner, play with Sophie, give her a bath, put her in her PJs, and read her a handful of books before I help him put her to bed so then he and I have some time to catch up. This time was no different - except when we put her to bed.


This time, she asked me to rub her back after we tucked her in (something her dad does to comfort her). So I sat on the floor in the dark near her toddler bed, leaned over it, and ran my hand up and down her back so she could sleep. I was watching her eyes blink and the way her eyelids opened slower and slower when she took reached out with one of her hands, put it in mine, exhale-sighed, and closed her eyes all the way.


Something happened to me then.


This feeling splashed through my body me when she did that. It was a mixture of fondness, love, comfort, longing, and peace. It was an amazing feeling, actually, and I remember being surprised that such a simple thing from such a small child could be so powerful.


Children will never cease to amaze me.

Day 205: Remember the Time... You Can Keep These Genes Mom

I'm always cold.

And by always, I mean I was wearing stark white socks with black heels today at work because the tops of my feet were freezing. I also keep an emergency pair of fuzzy striped footies in my desk drawer for emergencies. No Band-aids or aspirin. Just footies.

I wear long underwear from about October until April and will take the long way to the lunchroom at work if it means loping through the always-warmer editorial section at work.

And I've been this way my whole life, taking after my mom, which made growing up in the subzero winters of the Midwest extra (not) fun.


Remember the time I gravitate toward the heat source of wherever I happen to be at the time?

I grew up eating breakfast while sitting on the floor of my kitchen and leaning up against the wall that housed the heating vent that was just kicking on to warm up the house after an evening of cooler temperatures. 


Down time spent at my grandmother's house - the one my mom grew up in - was spent on top of the old-fashioned heating vent that was big enough for me to sit cross-legged atop.

You'll be able to find me near any fireplace - even random ones we stumble upon at a bar (see who's practically on top of the fire?) and anyone who rides with me in the car undoubtedly asks me if I can turn the full-blast heat down. 
 

The unsuspecting friend I sit on the couch with will most likely at some point feel me wiggle my feet underneath their legs for warmth or ask for a blanket because clothes are just not cozy enough.

I am the proud owner of a heating pad, heated slippers, a space heater, thermal blankets, many pairs of long underwear and Under Armour, and an electric blanket. And when none of that is enough, I've been known to sit on the sink and dip my feet into hot water.

Winter can be miserable, but rare is the day I'm ever too hot in summer!

Day 198: Remember the Time... We Forgot the True Meaning of Christmas

I remember the time that we forgot the true meaning of Christmas. I remember this time every year on Black Friday, every year I do any shopping in December, and every year I see people plotting out their celebrations to avoid certain family members.


Regarding the shopping - it's gotten out of control. People used to start lining up a few hours before the stores opened for Black Friday deals. Then stores started opening late the night before Black Friday. Now, people are actually missing Thanksgiving dinner because they have to stand in line in the cold two entire days before the store opens - all to get several hundred dollars off a new TV. (And guess what? With the exception of the very few "doorbuster deals" only the first few in line get to take advantage of, all the discounts are also available online.)


Shopping for anything during the month of December is also an ordeal. I had to go to Wal-Mart for dog food and some vitamins the week before December and regretted it the moment I realized I wasn't going to be able to park in the Wal-Mart portion of the plaza parking lot. Forget maneuvering a cart around the children being dragged by their frantic last-minute-shopping moms or anyone following the rules of the 10-items-or-less lanes.

And I have to say that I don't remember or cherish any gift more than I do one someone made for me. Ironic, right?


But when the shopping is done, that's when it's supposed to be all about family. I know that especially in big families not everyone can get along. Not everyone does get along. But that is no reason to avoid family gatherings all together. Or keep your kids away from family gatherings to hold onto a grudge. Or ask when certain family members are going to be at other parties so you can plan celebrations without them.

Family is what makes the holidays special. Not the shiny new TV, headache traffic, or snatching the "perfect gift" eyed by another shopper off the shelf first. 


Keep your money in your wallet and just spend some time with me. And join me in celebrating the birth of our Lord and savior.

Day 191: Remember the Time... I Love London Bridge

During the first week of my job, I was eating by myself in the lunchroom and one of my colleagues took it upon herself to introduce me to everyone who was in the lunchroom whom I hadn't yet had the chance to meet. 

She then informed me that she and the three people sitting at the table with her were playing bridge, which is the equivalent of golf at my company when it comes to everyone just below the highest executive level (those at the highest levels, like the president, do actually play golf). 

All I knew about bridge at the time was that it was a four-player game where everyone sat in a place with the name of a direction - north, south, east, and west - and it was one that seemed popular in the Peach section of The Blade.


But I love playing cards and loved the idea of taking a break in the middle of the workday to play a game with my colleagues, so I asked if I could learn the game. Apparently, one of the avid bridge players holds classes to teach the game, which includes handouts and homework. He hadn't held a class in awhile, so since I was interested, he found one other person to teach and another who needed a refresher.


He then informed me that the class would be for 6 weeks every Thursday. The first class focused on simply learning the basics of the game from the suits to counting the number of points in your hand. Weeks two and three focused on bidding conventions. Week four brought it all together where we actually played a few hands with all the cards face up on the table, and discussed finesses. Week five tested us with cards in our hands, and week six lent itself to scoring and slam bidding.


It's now been several months, and I've played at least once a week - sometimes two or three times a week - and I'm still constantly asking questions during this very fun, yet extremely challenging game. There are piles of conventions to this game - some of which even the most experienced bridge players don't even know about. Luckily, my colleagues are patient with my inexperience and have learned to simply roll their eyes and shake their heads when I declare that I don't like the term "dummy" for the partner of the declarer, and have taken to calling that person the "smarty."

But I absolutely love playing bridge, even though the younger people in my company tease me for being an old lady playing her bridge.

Remember the time I am going to kick ass when I'm old, living in a retirement home, and have 50 years of bridge experience under my belt?


I love it so much, in fact, that one day my colleague Brian and I couldn't find a third and fourth player, so we started playing Rummy, got bored, and then decided to play two-handed bridge (this does not exist). Essentially, we were playing for both ourselves and our "partners". Confusion and hilarity ensued.


I have even taken it upon myself to name the four of us who meet every Wednesday at 11:45 to play the game "London Bridge" - to the absolute dismay of the two guys I play with and the delight of the other girl I play with.


The day I came up with the name, I turned to the elite bridge players (the ones who have been playing for 10 years or more and who have entered, and won, bridge tournaments), who happened to have a game going next to us, and informed them that our bridge club was named London Bridge. I then asked them what their bridge club name was and one guy glanced over at me with slanted eyes and said, without missing a beat, "THE Bridge Club." Owned.

Day 184: Remember the Time... Part Two: Winging It As A First-Time Pup Mom

Now that you know the story about Chloe's adoption, I thought I'd move on to write about winging it as a first-time pup mom.

Before bringing any dog home, I did my research. I read books and online articles about what to expect with my first pup; went shopping for a leash, collar, dog dish, kibble, bed, and toys; and felt ready to be a dog owner when I went to pick her up.

They gave her over to me wearing a green rope leash, and I directed her to jump in the backseat of the car. She then pretty much joined me in the front seat by standing on the center console and staring out the windshield.

First order of business? A desperately needed bath. So we headed to the dog bath section of Pet Supplies Plus. After narrowly avoiding a run-in with an over exuberant Rottweiler, I told Chloe to get into the steel tub, secured her in there by the neck, and went to work. Giving her a bath was distracting, however, as I kept glancing over at the woman next to me bathing her lab who kept yanking her hand away from him and yelling at him to not try and bite her again. Chloe was the model of obedience.

And when we got home, I fully expected her to trot in behind me, lay down at my feet, and go to sleep. That's what dogs do, right? (Now, actually, that's what she does because she's getting to be an old lady.) Nope. This one wanted to explore every inch of our three-bedroom condo. And with me not knowing what she was going to do (chew my shoes? Scratch the doors?), I spent that first evening following her around watching her get acclimated to her surroundings.

But because I was still scared of what she might do when we weren't home, I made the decision to cage her while I was at work. So right before I left, I grabbed her collar and directed her to the cage and set off for the day. I still remember the drive home later that day, as I was looking forward to playing with my new pup before heading to an evening work function.

Poor Chloe, though, had a rough day. I imaged waking her up from a nice all-day nap ready to play. Instead, I walked in to a dog trying her hardest to cower in a corner of her already probably too-small cage to avoid the piles of both puke and diarrhea. (I have now learned that you don't just change a dog's food. Apparently you have to slowly introduce the new food over the course of many meals.) Poor baby.

So that left me dressed in my work clothes hosing off a dog cage in my front yard. The cage became a battle for me, as Chloe was not happy having to go in the cage, and let me know by hiding when she saw me put on my shoes in the morning, and then whining and piddling if I tried to force her in it by her collar. That cage also, however, led to Chloe becoming a magician because toward the end of that short period where I caged her, I'd find that she managed to unhinge it and jump out more times than not.

She didn't like the cage and she let me know she didn't like the cage, but I didn't know to listen. I stopped caging her and I swear when she looked at me it was a sort of "what took you so long to trust me?" look.

I have since learned that Miss Chloe will tell me when she doesn't like something by misbehaving until she gets her way. Like the time she refused to get on her feet on a walk when I was yelling at her to get on her feet because she didn't like me yelling at her (I've since learned that she was abused and rolling on her back is a show of surrender). The second I switched the tone of my voice to sweet baby talk, she hopped right up and was like, "Let's go! Where are we off to?"

And that dog usually gets her way. Like when she wants to be petted, she'll ask to be petted by putting her head down somewhere on you and look at you with those oversized brown eyes. I haven't yet found a way to resist those eyes and her sweet, loving nature. There truly isn't anything like the unconditional love and devotion you get from your loyal dog - even one owned by an inexperienced, first-time pup mom.

Chloe was telling me what I needed to do from the minute I brought her home. I just needed to learn to listen.

Day 177: Remember the Time... There's No Place Like Home

Driving past Chicago from Arlington Heights on the way back to Toledo was nothing short of a nightmare. The drive that typically takes me about a half an hour took a half and hour... plus two hours. This was after my stress level skyrocketed trying to meet several deadlines that converged on the unfortunate day before a holiday, and I remained on a conference call while on the train, in the bathroom on the train, and while giving directions in the car.

And of course once we got to Indiana, it was smooth sailing on the turnpike. And I didn't need any signs to tell me when we got into Ohio because the landscape opened up and everything just was brown - the muddy land, the bare trees, and the dark sky past the orange-y streetlights.


But of course, as always, it was worth it. A roaring fire was waiting for me, and my seat right smack in front of it was warm and waiting near a buffet of snacks I only eat when I'm home - trail baloney with cheddar cheese and homemade salsa and chips.


Remember the time that there's no place like home? Living away from home for the past five years has taught me this, and for that I'm thankful. But not as thankful as I am for my family.

There's nothing I'm more thankful for than my family.

Day 170: Remember the Time... I Had The Birds And The Bees Talk At Work

"I promise I'll read the first entire paragraph of the plant article because I know you've spent months updating and improving it," I said to my colleague, Brian. "But I don't think I can read all 30 pages of it. That might be a little too much."

"Well gymnosperm and angiosperm aren't for everyone," he replied.

"What-o-sperm?" I asked. "What's that?"

"That's a type of plant," he replied. "There's lots of sperm in the plant world. Flowers are essentially nature's genitals."

"What!?" I replied. "Come on."

"No, I'm serious," he replied, grabbing the F volume of the encyclopedia set I have at my desk. He flipped to the "flower" article and proceeded to give me the plant version of the birds and the bees story by explaining pollination, which is essentially plant sex. Remember the time I extensively discussed plant sex at work?

He said that actual bees land on certain flowers and pollinate them, which means the bees disturb the seeds containing the sperm of the flower. This allows the sperm to float and land on the receptive part of the flower that leads to its ovaries, which fertilizes it and leads to reproduction.

"So what you're saying," started my colleague, Heather, who was listening to the conversation from her neighboring cube, "is that the pollen that causes people to have horrible allergies is plant jizz?"

"Is that what you're saying?" I asked Brian in horror. "Does this mean that whenever I walk through a park full of gorgeous wildflowers in the spring, what I'm actually doing is walking through a cloud of ejaculation?"

"Pretty much," Brian replied. "There's all kinds of sex going on on the plant world all of the time. They have as much sex as we do!"

"Why is it that whenever we talk extensively about something, it always leads to sex?" I asked Brian, shaking my head. "Next thing you know, we'll invent a makeout room or something."

"We already did that," he said.

"Oh right," I said. "Well, maybe the plants can use it."

"To spread their plant jizz?" Heather asked.

"Can you even say that at work?" Brian asked her.

"Oh Brian. You have no idea what we say at work over here," I said, shaking my head at his naivety. "Just before you came over, I was emphasizing to my boss that we had to be tough with our developers by saying 'we have to go in there iron fisting them.' Yes, I said we needed to be 'fisting' them."

"I'm not surprised," Brian said, laughing.

"OK, Brian," I said. "After this conversation, I am intrigued and now look forward to reading every word of your 30-page plant article."

The morale of the story: Whenever you want to get someone to do something, make a reference to sex.

Day 163: Remember the Time... I Am NOT a Walking STD

"Hey Jeff? Can you give me herpes?" I asked my colleague at work today.

"You mean right now?" he replied.

"Yeah. It's not the end of the workday yet," I said.

"OK - here you go. You now have herpes," he said. "And why don't I give you syphilis and a staph infection as well," he said, handing me GIANT microbes plush toys representing the diseases, which I needed for the video I was working on for work. 

"Thanks! I know I can always count on you," I told him, hurriedly brushing past the science editors that undoubtedly overheard the conversation.

...

"What? Erika has crabs?" Erin asked Heather and I as she was walking back to her cube near ours at work loud enough for the colleagues passing by our area to hear.

"No! I was just saying Erika has been not happy lately, and has the crabbies," Heather said.

"Geez, this is how rumors get started," I said, shaking my head. "Soon everyone in this office is going to think I'm a walking STD.

Day 156: Remember the Time... An Evil Mastermind Must Wear An Epic Hat

"OK, so this is an open brainstorming session in which I want you to be as ridiculous as possible," the head of marketing tells the seven of us squeezed around the table in a conference room. "Let's hear your ideas. Go."

I freaking love my job.

My company is releasing this new book series drawn in comic-book style for kids. To promote its release, the marketing department wants to do something fun to engage our customers. The purpose of this meeting was to figure out what that fun, engaging marketing should be.

I was the only one at the meeting who had absolutely nothing to do with this particular project. My entire department didn't even really have anything to do with the project unless you count that we knew it existed.

The only reason I was a part of this meeting was because a few days prior, the marketing colleague I sit adjacent to was doing some out-loud, preliminary brainstorming and I jumped right in with ridiculous scenarios just to have a mini break from my computer.

The next day, she greets me with, "So [the head of marketing] loved your ideas and wants you to come to our brainstorming meeting."

"I'm doing what now?" I replied.

And I was thrilled to get the invite because this meeting I had today ended up being like no other meeting I've ever been a part of. It was fun, engaging, intellectual, creative, and absolutely freaking hilarious.

As part of this meeting, we came to the following conclusions:

• The place on Earth with the absolute least amount of energy is either a retirement home or a Phil Collins concert
• Electricity cannot exist in the desert or rain forest because there are no electrical outlets
• Penguins are adorable and polar bears are not scary
• If a black hole had a name it would be Steve
• There are at least seven things more exciting than a battery

And I left with laugh tears and the satisfaction that one of my ideas was fully embraced: That our supervillian needs to wear an epic, evil hat. 

Awesome.

Day 149: Remember the Time... My Friends Would Have Just Gone With Me

I was recently told about the restaurant Paddy Longs, which is a Chicago-area beer and bacon pub. No, it's not an Irish pub or a Bar & Grill. It's advertised as a beer and bacon pub. Awesome.

Immediately after being told about this magical place, which features a bacon tasting platter, my foodie colleague who I've hung out with several times in the past happened to be walking by.

"Hey! Paddy Longs. Bacon tasting. We're going," I said excitedly.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"Who cares? It has a bacon tasting platter," I emphasized in case he misunderstood me. "And beer for you. Let's go!"

"Let me check it out," he replied.

"Wait, what?" I said, dumbfounded. "We are going to check it out. When we go."

"I'll let you know," he said, walking away.

"What, you don't trust me?" I said, confused.

"No," he said, laughing and continuing to walk away, leaving me immediately fiercely missing my friends in New York.

Hanging out with my friends was so much easier in New York. First of all, I had friends in New York. Here, the only friends I have are colleague-friends who have other friends they generally hang out with after work or on weekends.

Second, most of my New York friends were available to hang out, either at the drop of a hat or with plans in the future. Here, many of my colleague-friends are married or have kids and rarely can get away to do something fun. 

In New York, I'd make plans with friends after one of us said something along the lines of "Hey, I want to check this place out. Are you free to come?" I would never have done research about the place before agreeing to go because regardless of whether the place sucked or not, I'd be with my friend and we would make it fun.

One friend in particular would not only always be up for something fun, but would also be up for not-so-fun activities, no matter how much notice I'd give. But regardless of what we were doing, I'd have fun every single time we'd hang out. I miss that. A lot. And I miss my crazy fun-loving friends in New York a lot.

So when my colleague came back to me later that afternoon saying he'd looked up Paddy Longs online, checked out the prices, called the place to see just what types of bacon were on the bacon platter, and then decided he'd go with me when he was free later in the month, I had completely changed my mind about wanting to go.

A friend wouldn't have to do all sorts of research before agreeing to hang out. A friend wouldn't not have time for me until later in the month. A friend would have just said, "OK! Let's go!"

I miss my friends.

Day 142: Remember the Time... You Can't Tell Me What To Drink

There are several staples that are always at my desk at work: My stress ball squishy toys, a plethora of pencils and pens in all different colors, and Dr. Pepper.

However, after seeing a new commercial on TV, I have been rethinking that last item on principle. I recently was appalled to see an overtly macho Dr. Pepper commercial that ended with a man saying, "... this is our soda... Dr. Pepper 10. It's not for women."

Excuse me?

Who the hell are you to tell me a new soda drink is not for me? 

I understand the premise behind it - that men shy away from diet drinks that aren't perceived as "manly" enough, and this new gunmetal gray can is an attempt to reach that market. But you're not going to reach that target market by blatantly insulting and shunning other potential markets.

Other companies have marketed diet soda to men - Coke Zero and Pepsi Max - without insulting women. The Dr. Pepper marketing department has said that they tested the campaign in several different markets across the country, and women weren't offended.

Well they didn't test it on me, because I am offended. If they were going for the whole reverse psychology thing ("you can't tell me what to drink - see? I, a woman, am drinking Dr. Pepper 10!") it's an epic fail. In fact, it's enough for me to consider not buying Dr. Pepper products at all, which sucks because Dr. Pepper is so awesomely delicious (I even buy the Dr. Pepper jelly beans).

I will tell you for sure, however, that I will not be drinking or will ever buy Dr. Pepper 10. Screw you and what you think is "for me."

Day 135: Remember the Time... I Apparently Thought I Was Walking Through 1930s Chicago

"I'm telling you - nothing is open past 7 much less 9," I insisted as I was walking to the train station in downtown Chicago with my friend Mike.

"And I'm telling you that plenty of places are open," he retorted. "Look! This is the second 24-hour adult bookstore we've seen in the past few blocks."

"OK. Let's go then," I said, knowing that we had some time to kill before catching our trains.

"What? No," he protested as I thrust open the door to a wooden windowless shop marked "Adult Bookstore."

"Um, nevermind," I said, closing the door just as quickly as I opened it after glimpsing an extremely brightly lit shop with rows and rows of porn DVDs.

"Well what did you expect?" Mike said, laughing.

"It said adult bookstore," I said. "Was I stupid to expect... I don't know... rows of books with racy photos in them?"

"Yes," Mike said seriously. "Yes you were. Stupid, that is."

"Thanks for clarifying," I retorted, heading away from the adult bookstore that probably doesn't even have a single book for sale because Playboy isn't exactly a classic form of literature.