The radiator is still kicking out the heat, so I opened a window and lifted the blinds. My apartment opens thirteen floors above an alleyway, allowing plenty of reverb when drunken fools howl while taking a shortcut from the neighborhood bars. However, instead of inebriated shrieks and wails last night, someone below had some pleasant opera-esque music on. With their windows also open, the music danced to floor thirteen and seeped into my apartment.

With the lights dimmed, I sat in my overstuffed chair where the breeze blew on my face and carried the music in. I was in a movie with the perfect backdrop, location, weather, atmosphere, and soundtrack.

Life is good.

On Friday night I went to a bar in Wrigleyville to celebrate a friend�s birthday. A decent time was had. I kept my eyes on the TV screens and let a few tears fall since Texas� loss to Xavier would drop me lower in the work NCAA pool.

No love for Jo. I�m now ranked second -- a $30 prize.

Once the dance music came on, I got manhandled by someone thinking that I wanted to get on the stage with my friends. I now have a bruise on my shin where it met the side of the stage.

He should have an accompanying bruised sack, but he moved away quickly once he noticed that my squirms were not a drunken self wiggling to get positioning on the stage but attempts to be let go.

I dropped my body weight (if you ever did martial arts -- or in my case, dated someone who did -- you know what I�m talking about), so he was unable to pick me up. With his projectory force, my shin hit the stage and got me all grumpy.

Bastard.

I left soon afterwards, and fielded a phone call from Bethany to meet her at the bar by my house. I met the guy who was following her around that night, and we three hung out a bit. I lamed out around 2 or 3, but it wasn�t before we got a good, long laugh at the drunken hilarity that ensued.

We were positioned at the main bar. Neither of us was particularly drunk, but this woman who clearly was sauntered up there for another round and started talking to Bethany. The conversation ended with something along these lines:

GIRL: You�re my favorite. You�re confident, gorgeous, and you know what you want!

[amused silence]

GIRL: I love you!

[slight giggle because we realize just how drunk this lady is]

GIRL: You know who else loves you?

[silence in anticipation of what this girl was gonna come up with next]

GIRL: Jesus! Jesus loves you!

[GIRL exits stage left]

So, yeah. Jesus loves the confident, gorgeous, and focused Bethany.

Go, you, Bethany!

Continuing with my meeting up with Diarylanders...

On Saturday morning, the lovely Ozwald woke me up so we could go stand in line and increase our chances of getting good lottery positioning for Madonna tickets. We got there a few minutes before wristbands were given out, and stood waaaay back in the line behind all of the homeless folks being paid by scalpers.

The lottery was done differently than other concerts. Instead of individuals drawing numbers for positioning, Tower chose a single number and made that the front of the line. Oz and I got great positioning, and cutting past the scalpers alone was sweet victory.

When Ticket Master officially opened the lines and started selling tickets, there was a buzz in the room. Knowing that the concert was likely to sell out in mere minutes, we moved quickly to allow everyone to get their dibs in.

Oz approached first and secured decent seats in the second price range. However, I scored kick-ass seats ON THE FLOOR that weren�t in the absurd price range either. So the first pair will be eBayed shortly (I�ll strategically wait about a month until people are getting desperate and I see the tickets flying off the page), and Oz and I will rock out to Madonna in our pimp-worthy seats.

Now I�ll have to start scouring the thrift stores for a puffy skirt, spandex shorts to go under it, a sweatshirt to cut the collar off of to hang over my shoulder, and lace gloves. You know that I�ll have my hair crimped and will possibly don a blonde wig.

Luckily Oz isn�t embarrassed by me. Hell, he�s likely to encourage that I wear the cone boobies and get a long ponytail for the top of my head. I can�t wait to see which Madonna he is -- he he!

This morning I got a phone call from Sophie that woke me up at 7 o�clock. I figured since I had already shaken some of the cobwebs from my brain that I should suck it up and go workout.

I took advantage of the nice weather and walked the 10 blocks to the office, did three sets of arm lifts and three sets of five-minute runs, showered, dressed, and went up to the office.

I might have gotten dressed, but I certainly didn�t get decent. I didn�t pay much attention this morning, and I grabbed the wrong shirt. Whereas this normally wouldn�t be a problem, it�s an issue today.

My skirt is too big and hangs off of my hips, leaving plenty of belly showing. And because I work in an office that requires business attire, pantyhose are a must. So if I were looking at my lower half alone, I�d have a low-rise skirt the three inches of pantyhose giving a peek-a-boo.

All of this would be fine if I grabbed my cream colored shirt with the rounded neck. However, my sleepy haze caused me to grab my cream colored shirt with the v-neck.

This is a beer-drinking, belly-showing shirt that is reserved for low rise jeans and nighttime hours only.

This isn�t a shirt to wear to work.

This especially isn�t a shirt to wear where my belly is already showing itself.

So today is officially ugly fleece wearing day since I need something to cover me up. Argh.

I got a new MSN Messenger icon. It makes me very happy.

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Happy Tuesday! G�nite all.�