In Response...

to Mia's post, I clicked on the link, and I did see it! Ewww! It reminds me of that movie 28 Days. Wait, I mean 28 Days Later -- I think "28 Days" is the one with Sandra Bullock.

Anyway, I note also that the lovely website sells "bear electric fences." I bet those things are way more effective than the pepper spray -- my dog peed on an electric fence when I was a kid, and he wouldn't come out of his house for a week.

New Year's Eve Do's and Don'ts: A public service message

So, ladies: in case you haven't been paying attention, ponchos are lame. But I know some of you refuse to give up on them, so please do me a favor, even if you have a real pretty cashmere one in your closet that you've been saving for a special occasion: FOR GOD'S SAKE, DON'T WEAR A PONCHO ON NEW YEAR'S EVE! It's cold, so you should wear a coat, and nothing (and I know that's saying something, given that it's New Year's Eve) could make you look more ridiculous than trying to stuff your poncho'd arms in a winter coat. Thanks.

Now that that's out of the way, let's talk about activities for the big night... I wish I could suggest a fabulous party, but Garron and I are multi-tasking in a low-key way this year, hitting a couple of private parties and then having a late-night dinner at a steakhouse. So if you haven't firmed up your plans yet, my only suggestion is that you avoid the Chicago-Scene party at the Drake at all costs. I made the mistake of going there my first year here in Chicago -- what a nightmare. I won't get into the rude waiters, crappy hors d'ouevres, and long lines at the bar, I'll just point out that they only have one women's bathroom! For like 500 women! The year I was in attendance, 10 minutes before midnight, one of the toilets overflowed, and the whole bathroom was flooded with piss -- seriously one of the grossest things I have ever witnessed. Stay away, stay far away.

Unless, of course, you are a horny 23-year-old guy looking to hook up with a trashy chick (in which case I don't know why you're reading this, but anyways) -- then you'll love it. But please make sure that the lady you kiss at midnight is really a lady. See Exhibit A, from the Drake party last year:


Champagne Wishes and Happy New Year to all! XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

More Leatherette Regret

I wasn't making this up, check out Joe S's comment on Autoweek.

I have to say, I really respect Joe S. It's a rare man who can admit when he made a mistake, and to do so in an effort to help others makes him a real gem.

But I still wouldn't go out with him ladies, until he replaces those seats!

By the way, I saw Mia at the party. While she was the drunk girl, she wasn't that drunk. And she had a very fetching outfit on that I saw on Sarah Michelle Gellar last year at the MTV awards, I think. Drunk, but stylish.

"W" is for "Whatever"

Okay, I'm sorry, but I just don't get why the W hotels are supposed to be cool. W Lakeshore -- I lived next door in the Onterie Center back when you were just a sorry excuse for a Days Inn, and truth be told, the glitter and the faux fur decor don't hide your humble roots. You're like Anna Nicole.


W on Adams -- I used to think you were a step above your poser cousin to the east, what with your pretty gilded Living Room ceiling and all. Not after last night. Met some of the girls there for drinks, only to deal with the rudest, skankiest waitress ever. First, she was wearing an outfit that would put Courtney Peldon to shame -- slit up to there and hanging down to here. But the real kicker was -- we were paying the bill, and one of my friends asked how she should compute the tax on her drinks. I helpfully replied that the tax on drinks is close to 10%. Overhearing me, and misunderstanding me (she thought I was talking about her tip, I guess), Skanky Waitress snarked "Try 20%," complete with bitchy eye-rolling.

Um, listen Missy, why don't you try this: "I wasn't talking to you" and add a little "Since you're such a greedy, snotty bitch, as well as a skank, 10% can now be what you get for a tip too."

After paying, I headed over to the front desk to get my valet ticket validated, fully intending to put in a word about my unhappiness with Skanky Waitress. Instead, I was made to wait in a ten minute line, and then told by Irfan the Front Desk Man that they wouldn't validate my ticket and that instead, I would be paying $24 for parking. When I expressed my shock that they could charge so much for two hours, Irfan explained "M'aam, we're not like other places in the city. This is the W."

Damn right they're not like other places -- last week Genevieve and I enjoyed a wonderful happy hour at the Four Seasons, complete with excellent service, roaring fire, and spiked hot cider served in a cute little teapot. All those jackasses with the leatherette-seated BMW's can have the "W" and its overpriced valet and underdressed skank waitresses.

BMW Owners: I know your dirty little secret

So I've been shopping around for a new car, and while I generally don't have nice things to say about BMW (it seems like a lot of people who drive them are jerks), I was walking past their showroom on Clark Street (on my way to the Audi dealer actually), when I spotted the cutest gray-green colored 3-series on the floor, which would coordinate so well with my wardrobe:

I decided to take it for a test drive, and was even happier when I learned that it had all-wheel drive, and it was so fast. So we sat down to talk some numbers, but I just couldn't justify what they wanted me to pay. The dealer offered a helpful suggestion: I should get a car with "leatherette" interior instead of leather to shave some dollars off the price.

JAID: Excuse me? 'Leatherette'? You mean fake leather? I'm sorry, but no way.
DEALER: Don't worry! If you don't tell your friends, they'll never know.

Okay, this totally appalled me. Basically what he was saying is, no matter whether you are really comfortable, or whether your ass sticks to your seats in hot weather -- all that matters is what other people think. In other words, this is the car for people who want to show off, but can't actually afford to. And there must be a lot of those folks out there, because the dealer let slip that fully half of the 325's out there have leatherette seats.

So I have this to say to all those jerks with the lame vanity plates cutting me off in their "fancy" BMWs: I know your dirty little secret. And I'd rather go out with a sensible guy who drives a Honda than a jackass who's willing to pay $33,000 for a car with plastic seats.

By the way, I bought an Acura.

MIA....

I forgot to ask this earlier, but what, exactly, is a bar stool slut?

Please provide clarification for me and all our readers. The public deserves to know.

My Own Little Update: I LOVE MERLOT

That's right, baby, it's me and merlot forever! I love it, I drink it every day, I've even considered taking a bath in the stuff, and would do so too, if it was not cost-prohibitive.

I saw that movie Sideways too and all I have to say is, that main character was the biggest loser ever (which is he why he was played by Paul Giametti, who has made an entire career out of playing the loser in every film he's in), and if it's guys like him who started the social stigma against merlot, then that makes me want to drink even more of it! And I will!

In separate news, I know we all mourn the passing of Johnny Vegas last week (supposedly of an O.D., but who can be sure?). If you don't know who Johnny Vegas was, well then you just don't know, and never mind. Just realize that Saturday nights at Harry's Velvet Room will never be the same. (Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing is a matter of interpretation.)

As for my own adventures, I can report that in addition to Ginbucks, if you are looking for a man, you should definitely head to a YREP party. "YREP" stands for Young Real Estate Professionals, and my friend Genevieve dragged me to their annual holiday party at Pasha last week. Pasha is apparently a very lame club, because we were there at 7:30 on a Thursday night, and except for the private YREP party upstairs, it was deserted. But YREP -- I can sum it up simply: lots of very good-looking men in suits. My only caution is that you should be prepared to be "hit on" in a networking/business sense as much as you will be hit on in a romantic/dating/sexual sense. If you get hit on in the business sense and you're not actually in to real estate, you can do as I did: claim you are a cashier at Dominick's and don't have business cards. When I pulled that line, some title firm gave me three free ink-pens out of sympathy!