07.21.02 - 7:37 p.m.

Ahhhhhh....I love the feeling when 95% of your clothes are washed, pressed and folded into their little drawers and on their little hangers. Everything as it should be, anything I want I can wear to work this week.

Of course, when I have no choice in the matter, it takes about a half hour off my morning routine. I could be Nerd Extraordinaire and choose my ensemble (Mariah Carey's favorite word) the night before, but what fun would that be? Dan would never get to answer my asinine morning questions - which necklace do you like better? I can't wear those shoes if it's going to rain. Do I look twelve in this?

Poor Dan. How did he find a fashion-obsessive psycho like me?

On with the trip before it becomes a faint memory, and then I can talk all I want about my ever-expanding wardrobe. Thursday in Chicago we decided to get Gino's Pizza once and for all, and not walk in the wrong direction or be foiled by renovations or anything. Before we could do that, we searched in vain for the Krispy Kreme on W. Jackson because I SWEAR I read somewhere that they opened one on that street, and thought about its proximity to the newsroom. I don't make that shit up, unless it came to me in my sleep, and this time I don't think that's the case. So. No Krispy Kreme, but we stopped by the newsroom to say hi to profs Janice and Suzy and check email.

We made it to the "new location of the original Gino's East" in the old Planet Hollywood building, which hasn't changed much since its Planet Hollywood days. Rather than do any sort of renovation, they've just covered everything with graffiti. Class-ay. We were seated in the back corner of the cavernous space, quickly ordered our pizza and began what they promised us was a "35 to 40 minute" wait. As we sat, we watched the three waiters in our section set up three loooong tables with drinks, plates and balloons. Oh yeah. Looked like a kiddie party was headed our way, RIGHT NEXT to our table. The kids showed up about a half hour later, and wouldn't you know it - not only were there more than expected, but they were teenagers from some camp, the shrieking girls were placed next to us and the ENTIRE GROUP was commanding the full attention of our waiter.

Louis was getting a little perturbed. The minutes ticked by. The kids giggled on. Finally, after an HOUR'S WAIT, our waiter came over and told us, "We have no idea what happened to your pizza." Gee. Thanks. Remarkably, I held my temper and while we waited some more (with a free order of garlic sticks), Dan and I made a list of where our pizza might have gone.

Maybe it ...
Went to Ed Debevic's or Hooter's ...
Went outside to warm up ...
Is in a pizza race at a ballpark ...
Is stuck on a trolley ...
Is getting a good seat for the Buckingham Fountain light show ...
Was eaten by a tubby kitty ...
Was eaten by Master Shake ...
Got held up at a security checkpoint ...
Went to the Gino's on Rush ...
Went to see "Powerpuff Girls" or "Men In Black II" ...
Was eaten by Mo Vaughn ...
Lost a fight to a New York pizza ...
Went to Kentucky with Tessa ...
Walked eight blocks in the wrong direction ...
Went to get astronaut ice cream ...
Is looking for Krispy Kreme ...
Was eaten by the Rainforest Cafe frog ...
Thought this was still Planet Hollywood ...
Was eaten by an Art Institute lion ...
Was eaten by Felix the cat skeleton ...
Was invited to Julia Roberts' wedding ...
Was frozen with Ted Williams ...
JESUS LIVES! Maybe He ate it ...
Was eaten by Berghoff ...
Is looking for the Briar Street Theater (WELL?) ...
Was eaten by Fat Oprah ...
Went to Long Island to console Mariah Carey ...

The new pizza showed up about 20 minutes later. Why can't they make them that quickly all the time? And we ate. I've always liked Giordano's better than Gino's anyway, but Dan was all about it so I let him go here. But this sealed the deal. Never fucking again am I going to that Planet Hollywood House of Torture. Sorry, Gino's. You lose.

Our museum for the day was the Field, so we could see the Chocolate exhibit. More free trolley rides, blah blah blah, Dan bought a $7, half pound chocolate bar, I said "mmmmmmmm" the entire way through the exhibit, blee blee blee. More perversely interesting than the museum was the Soldier Field renovation across the street. There is basically NO Soldier Field left - just the pillars that were my favorite part of the old structure. The flagpole where we drank before the Dave show? The actual field? The rest of the walls? All gone. They've set up a viewing platform so you can see the work as it unfolds, and I must admit I didn't pay much attention to the newspapers when this was being approved, but the new design looks like shit. It looks like they're setting a flying saucer on top of the stadium, with these glass wing things inside the stadium but above the pillars. Hard to describe. Looks silly. But who am I to say? I'm no sports fan.

I thought it was funny when our trolley driver started talking about Moulin Rouge on the way back to the hotel, saying it was a "bohemian trolley" dedicated to truth, beauty, freedom and love, but when he started singing "Your Song," (the Ewan McGregor version, hitting ALL the hihg notes, no less) I knew we were in trouble. Damn theatre people!

My proudest moment of the day came when I got Dan to set foot inside Penny's Noodle Shop. And he actually ate! Granted, it was pepper steak with rice, but it's a start. And I was so happy, and so was Louis for having his noodles and tofu.

We met Erin and Molly again for beers at Johnny O'Hagan's, site of the infamous Cowboy Hat Drunkenness of last summer, and listened to Molly bitch about guys and I had to tell the story of Dan and me all over again. I forgot how Molly always called him the "internet lover." We took a nice El ride home, and that is the end of my Chicago stories for the day.

Now in real time, Kerry, Nicole and I went to see John Mayer in Central Park on Friday night. I left work early since the damnable bus schedule only gets you into the city about once an hour, watched as a massive thunderstorm overtook the area, rode the bus through the flooded streets (seriously - cars nearly headlight-deep in water), met Nicole, peed, slogged to the subway and amazingly made it to 5th and 72nd by 8pm. It was a fine, fine show by a fine, fine boy, and I was a little tipsy and very drenched but it's one of those times when it's worth it not to care. The middle of Central Park on a warm July night, great tunes and friends and sometimes you just have to see shows in the rain.

I have to say, though, the only time I ever feel inadequate about my job is when I'm around Nicole. She does what I do, only for a big-name magazine and for a super-big editor, so she's set for pretty much the rest of her magazine life. And I don't begrudge her for it because that's just the type of person she is - she's always had the contacts and I can't network my way out of a wet paper bag. I just wonder why I'm not eye-catching enough and why I don't do enough, have the guts, wonder what it's like.

But every other day of the week I'm completely happy with what I do. So at least I recognize my insecurities for what they are and can let them go on this one.