I once again have the itch to buy a car. This happens every couple years or so, when I go online and look at makes and models, new body styles, and pricing and performance reports.

Now, I know good and well that I won�t buy a car. Between the payment, insurance, upkeep, gasoline, and the parking spot, I�m looking at nearly $1000 a month in charges. And since I�m absolutely not going anywhere that is worth shelling out that much a month, taxis it is!

I�ve always liked boy cars. My love affair with the Supra continues, although the price tag on the Mk4 makes me shake my head, and the upkeep on the Mk3 makes me grab my Franco Sarto purse and back away cautiously. BMW M3? Toyota MR2? Nissan 240SX? Love you, call me!

A few years back Nissan brought back their Z. Ooh la la, do I love me the Z and all the other little sports cars that have popped up since then. After further investigation, I must announce that I�m ten times in love with the Infiniti G35/37.

I�ve played on their site, selecting between the options of Fast or Faster when choosing the model to build and price. And while contemplating this penis envy-inducing preference, I started thinking a little more logically.

(Damn you, logic! Can�t I even daydream without you stepping in?!)

If I did find a way to justify the per-month vehicle expenses, could I really justify the Infiniti�s price tag? Or the tag on the comparable Z? Or the tag on any of the sporty coupe�s now available?

Le sigh. No.

However, after complaining to a friend about the woes of my logical brain disrupting my Internet surfing, I have come across something that I can dream of and browse through without guilt.

Altima Coupe, will you be my boyfriend?

Speaking of boys, I�m learning more and more lately about how differently the male and female brains work.

I�d say that I have a lot of masculine features -- competitiveness, drive for more money, wanting to take care of people (and I don�t mean in the Mother Teresa way), thinking about sex 4 times a minute, able to hang dry wall, not talking about feelings, etc.

But despite these, I�m still a woman.

I want someone to want to take care of me (you don�t have to, but I want you to want to), do the things I can�t (damn you stereo speakers, too-high a/c filter and light bulbs, and heavy things), tell me I�m not being silly when I cry, wrap his arm around me while we sleep, and tell me that I�m pretty.

I�ve got this theory on men vs. women that I�ve been preaching lately that�s gotten some good response. One day I�ll share it with you all. I know that I�m right-on about this latest rant.

I previously mentioned American Gladiators, and it�s become my Monday night activity with friends. Holy heck, is this show awesome!

I can�t tell you much about the original, since I was just as into TV then as I am now (= not at all). But I do recall enjoying it and being amazed by the Gladiators� abilities to completely smash the competitors.

And now that I�m a little older, my penchant for harmless violence (another masculine characteristic) and my desire to get together with friends once a week for dinner makes this a don�t-miss evening.

I�m cold. That is all.

I finally talked with my back-from-the-dead friend this weekend. After his massive heart attack and the ensuing three weeks in a coma (from which he fully woke up on Christmas day), when he answered, I asked, �So, how was your holiday break?�

He�s indeed alive and well, so I�m treating him no differently than before. (Okay, occasionally I shout �DON�T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN!� I can�t help it.) He�s assured me that although he�s very grateful to still be alive, he�s still going to be the same level of jerk that he was before.

And for that, I�m thankful.

Do you know what happens tomorrow? I start back to volleyball with the Catholics!

I gave myself a week to ease into my work schedule before I got back into my full set of activities. I enjoy playing indoor volleyball so much, so I�m quite excited to run three miles in the freezing cold to get to the church�s gym.

Indoor volleyball is so, so much fun. I can stand back far enough to let my real serve fly through without worrying about the wind. I can actually get enough of a jump to play the front row as it�s meant to be played. (Yes, my 5�2� lil self can spike decently on an indoor court.) I don�t mind going for the ball since I don�t have to worry about sand in uncomfortable places. On and on and on. It�s all good stuff.

I�ll report back soon with how awesome of a volleyball player I am.

A friend and I are also starting our dance classes soon. We�re taking hip-hop from a local studio for the heck of it.

Back in the day, I used to do a good amount of dancing. Between tap, jazz, ballet, cheerleading, and the social Latin dances like the salsa, I�ve had a lot of exposure to the different ways to shake my groove thang. Heck, I even spent a year performing with a modern dance company back in college.

Of all the dance genres I�ve tried, only one has ever given me trouble: tango. I shake my fist at tango, blaming the instructor�s teaching style for my deficiencies. With tango, you cannot teach everything forward, and then tell women to reverse it. Yes, that might work for salsa where the only difference is which way you start. (Boys go forward, and girls go back.) But with tango, moving forward is A LOT different than moving back.

Tango aside, I�m a little apprehensive about hip-hop. If I stink, it won�t be fun, and I won�t go back. The end.

Last night was the first day back in chorus practices. I may just be over this chorus thing. I love the being part of this group and enjoy performing, but I found myself less than thrilled to be there last night. I was really hoping for a show that is a full theatrical production, when this one is again a more traditional choral show with songs and skits.

As far as choral productions go, I�m sure this will be amusing. But, man, I am just not feeling it.

I�m so much more looking forward to the Oscar party (tickets available at the chorus� web site). I checked with a friend, and he has informed me that I�m not a huge dork if I dress up for the costume contest. The hunt is on for various items that are now top-secret in nature, since I�m not losing the contest to a queen who steals my idea and goes over the top with it.

I don�t want to have to cut a ho.

I like a boy. That is all.

After 3.5 years of living in a condo in the theater district and being associated with 150 gay men, I�d still not managed to see a show. So on Friday, my coworker and I skipped out at 5 and put our names in the lottery for tickets to see Wicked.

When it came time to draw names, we were standing next to this brother and sister. He was the first person called. The sister and I yay-ed together, and we chatted while they continued calling names. She said something about if she gets called, we can buy the tickets off of her. The next name called was hers, so she went up to the staging area. More yay-ing!

On the other side of us, I started chatting with this guy wearing a Lamb of God hat. Since they just had a show that we both attended, we were talking about what a shithole the venue was. His friend was called, so the guy and I continued talking, laughing about how someone as obviously as preppy as me would know anything about metal.

Come to find out, the guys couldn�t go to the show that night. They misunderstood and thought the vouchers were for any night. Being the quick-thinking woman that I am, I asked if we could nab those tickets off of them.

Seeing that in the confusion of it all, my coworker called her boyfriend to tell him to come, having four tickets was a good thing! I called a friend I intended on going out with that night, and she joined me.

Did I mention that we ended up with $25 tickets to sit in the FRONT ROW, in the CENTER?

I�d never seen anything like this, and I was completely blown away. The costumes, music, and story were amazing. If you find yourself in Chicago and unwilling to shell out $125+ for tickets, I highly recommend getting into the lottery for a chance to see the show. You won�t be disappointed.

After my few weeks in Texas, I�ve really gotten to know my niece and nephew. My dad tells me that the kids ask about me pretty often, and that makes me so happy.

This afternoon I popped away from my desk to call my sister, and the little girl answered all out of breath.

HI JO! YOU HAVE A HAMBONE! YOU DO NOT PULL HIS TAIL! YOU PET HIM! HE BITES!

Talk about a greeting! Amazingly enough, in the time that I spent with her, I can now understand everything she says. I�ll call them later tonight so the boy can get his turn on the phone (he�s in school during the day), and I can see if I now understand him. Here�s to hoping!

Have I mentioned my latest health kick? With exception to today�s lunch (because, hello, my uterus is doing the talking today), I�ve been eating all of the right things and working out a whole bunch. My superstar brother got me on a weight lighting routine that has me getting noticeably stronger as the days go by. In a mere five weeks I�ve added a whole bunch of weight to my bench press. I�m no where near reaching my friend�s recently-reached goal of benching his weight, but I�m working on not being such a wiener.

I found this cool machine at the gym that takes off some of your weight as you do chin ups and dips, and I�m excited to already be doing a good percentage of my body weight on those. Before you know it, I�ll be doing real chin ups. After watching my brother strap an extra hundred pounds to himself before doing a set, I�m pretty sure I can work my way to doing a few with just my own body weight.

On the plus side of all of this, I had to buy a size smaller in my jeans, and I�m wearing work clothes that haven�t seen the light of day in over a year. All is good on that front.

Okay, I�m out. It�s time to hit the hay so I can wake up and get to the gym early in the morning. Sleep tightly, and I�ll not be such a stranger. �