After a usual day of work, I met up with my friend Happy for a lazy evening. We heated some quick dinner at my place before heading to the running store. Happy looked for new running shoes as I picked up my race packet.

It�s a little disappointing to get a race day packet without any goodies in it. After flipping through the plastic bag�s contents, I ended up with a stack of papers to throw away, an on-the-go sample of Crystal Light, a coupon for $10 off Asics shoes, and a t-shirt that is most definitely too big, despite the small size. I was really hoping for some protein bars or running gels to try out, but I suppose that�s for the large races that raise boo-koos of money through their thousands of participants.

On the upside, because Happy picked out some Asics by coincidence, she used my $10 coupon to at least knock off most of the shoes� taxes. Score for her!

We walked through Old Town and Gold Coast to Michigan Avenue, browsing H&M�s collection of little shirts. No luck for either of us, but we spent just the right amount of time there until we needed to get to the movie theater to find primo seats.

I�m picky when it comes to theater seating. I need to be in the middle of the row, somewhere near the middle of the theater. It�s the best view, so I always arrive early to make sure I get my preferred seat. Happy and I were the second couple in the theater, so we got our seats without issue.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith was a cute movie, worth the $10 ticket and the hour and a half of my time. It was funnier than expected, and I also always love me a good explosion and shoot-out.

Happy and I parted ways early that night for some solid shut-eye.

I awoke the next day before the sun started to think about rising, just to make sure I got some food in my belly and water in my mouth. I started my trek up north of town, discovering a wonderful express bus that speeds its way along the highway instead of making endless stops along the crowded city streets.

My friend Oz was waiting at the check-in tent, as promised. After a little warming up, cutting in line to get good positioning, and me teaching a small group of gay men how a woman can pee quickly and with little fuss without pulling down her pants, we took off.

Oz and I seem to have similar paces, and we really keep each other going. We identified a goal for this race (don�t stop to walk except through water stations), and we made it through the entire 6.2 miles successfully! It was hot out there, but we made it through. Go us!

After the race we stuck around for a bit of the awards ceremony and the hoopla going on there. Someone famous showed up, unintentionally flashed his dark bikini-cut undies through his pink shorts, gave a completely uninspiring thank you speech for having us have him there, and proceeded to be a weirdo throughout the awards ceremony.

Note to all: Just because someone�s famous doesn�t mean that they should be allowed to talk in public.

After the good raffle prizes were gone, Oz and I parted ways.

I spent the early part of the afternoon cleaning myself and the condo, relaxing my knees and my brain a bit. I got all caught up with my Newsweek magazines, only to get a special health edition and the regular weekly edition that afternoon. No complaints here, as I love me some Newsweek.

Early that afternoon I loaded up my backpack, threw on my bikini and cover-up sundress, and headed to the beach to meet up with two girlfriends.

I found a plot of sand and laid out my old bed sheet, enjoying the sun through the protection of sport-proof SPF 30. My girls showed up a bit later, and we got all caught up on each others� goings on. Then the guy who�s interested in Happy showed up. (He passed the Jo test and is now allowed to date her.) Then a group of mountain bikers showed up. Then the group of people I BBQ with on random nights showed up.

The old bed sheet was at maximum capacity when people starting dropping off, heading back to shower and change before BBQing on a friend�s Wrigleyville porch. I made my way over to the party, helping get everything started on the grill and with the keg.

As soon as the burgers and dogs hit the grill, however, some guy randomly asked, �Who�s the lead singer of Poison?�

Quite enthusiastically I responded with my rock-on hands crossed over my body, �Bret-fucking-Michaels!�

Apparently the guy met him earlier that day at the gym and had gotten himself on the guest list for that evening�s show. I agreed to go so long as Happy was also invited, so the guy called Bret Michaels� bodyguard�s cell phone to add on another guest.

Back to Happy�s house. A shower. A sexy little top. Some borrowed deodorant and makeup. Hopping into a taxi.

The show was great. I was mostly able to ignore all of the dumbasses in the crowd who make going to shows so friggin� annoying, but several things got to me.

Don�t touch me for any reason with any of your clothing or body parts. Respect my personal space.

Don�t keep leaning over to yell to your friend if I�m directly behind you and trying to see the stage.

Don�t wear your hair in a puffy style and be pissed when it gets in my lip gloss. I don�t like it either.

Don�t get so drunk that you start full-out dancing, knocking into others.

Etc., etc., etc.

I�ll fully admit that I�m a grumpy concert go-er, but we all need to have a little respect for others. Ya hear?!

After the concert we headed to the tour bus and shot the shit with the bodyguard. The guy Happy and I were with announced that he needed to leave so he could get to work the next morning, so Happy and I stayed there, sipping our smuggled-out beers while sitting in the parking lot, beside the bus.

Then the blitz began, and we were fully unprepared for its horror.

An entire herd of 35-year-old women approached the bus, fully decked out in out-of-date concert wear.

The fishnets. The mini-skirts. The too-tight tube and tank tops. Bleck! Bleck! Bleck!

Happy and I looked at each other and realized what we were in for. We were no longer just two fun chicks to hang out with... We were the ultimate fuckables among this crowd.

Knowing that no rocker would be allowed to enter the doors to our personal temples, we made the executive decision to drink more beer rather than mislead Bret Michaels into thinking we were looking to screw.

Not too much later, we were in separate taxis, on our ways home.

Despite the copious amounts of beer consumed that night, I popped awake at 9:30 to a phone call from Happy who was laughing about our adventures the night before.

Note to self: Change webpage template to include �The Adventures of� to my page�s title. It�s official and deserves mentioning...

Knowing that Benito was making an appearance that night, I fielded phone calls from all time zones throughout the day and received nine -- count �em -- NINE text messages on my cell. Apparently people remembered and wanted to wish me luck.

Allow me to take the opportunity to say how wonderful you and you and you (repeat this until you hit my daily reads number) and especially YOU really are. I�ve gotten emails from all over the world, flowers from someone I�ve never met but consider a friend, a package from someone similar, several sweet letters, and phone calls galore. At every moment over this difficult month, there�s been someone patting my back, reminding me that I�m loved no matter what, and feeding me fuel based on my mood. It�s all been very much appreciated, and I hope that I reciprocate appropriately when needed. Thank you, all.

I took off in the middle of the hot day for a short run in not much clothing at all, thinking that I was going to do a short run around the way and head back home. However, when I circled back into the Loop, the buildings� shadows and the wind blowing from the lake and through the alleys created a most-pleasant running environment. I did another 2-ish miles easily before heading home for a shower, some lunch, more phone calls, and a complete overhaul of my disorganized office.

By time Benito got there, the phone was silenced and put away, and my nerves were sufficiently calmed. I had a month of thinking -- a week of which was concentrated in preparation for this meet-up. I�d written and written and written what I was thinking and feeling, I�d gone through old things I�d written, and I�d tried to piece everything together.

I really had some good stuff there. I was clear on what I needed to say, what I needed to hear, and what I wanted.

And it seems that he was too.

After a couple hours of catching each other up on our month apart, raising the main topic of discussion, and coming up with a solution, it�s officially back on.

That, and I�ve been forbidden to purchase a moped, as someone in particular seems to think that I�ll fall off of it. But that�s not the main point here.

It�s back on, and not in the it�s-better-than-no-one, the I�m-more-comfortable-this-way, the I�ll-dump-you-when-I-find-someone-else-to-cling-to, or the I-feel-sorry-for-you kinds of ways.

It�s really back on, complete with a kiss at the conversation wrap-up that would make any movie screen fade to black and the theater�s patrons dab their eyes.

And that was a wonderful way to wrap up a wonderful weekend.�