  (Not that I'm keeping track. I know this is my 300th post only because the new blogger urlLink profiles tell me how many posts I've made.
I wish I had something momentous to report to commemorate this auspicious occasion, but I'm still not pregnant and Dubya still hasn't been sucked back into hell, so I guess I'll just tell you about all the cool things I did over the weekend. ) - Dan and I saw urlLink Mean Girls Friday night. While it isn't amazing, it's a lot of fun.
I think Tina Fey is brilliant, and her freshman attempt at screenwriting has a lot of what I love about her: a dark sense of humor, deep jabs at the jabworthy, a profound appreciation for the absurd, thoughtful social commentary and a fearlessness about making her characters (and herself) look foolish. And while the movie has a predictable Bildungsroman story arc and some emotionally illogical plot twists (Regina transitions from universally loathed bitch to universally pitied sympathetic character with alarming ease), we thoroughly enjoyed it.
We also enjoyed the clear intellectual demarcation between the two segments of the audience we sat in: teenybopper girls who giggled at the superficial humor and camp-savvy gay guys who shrieked at all the gay subtext. - Matt and I officially booked our March trip to Paris. Which means my October trip to London and Paris with Bob is off. Which means the urlLink psychic was wrong about my fall trip to Europe being a good one. Which also means I'm free to train for the Chicago Marathon all summer and run it with my brother-in-law in October. Which means I guess I didn't learn from last year's urlLink injuries and I guess I'm training for another marathon this summer.
- On Saturday, Paul and I headed off to nearby Skokie to burn off all my birthday gift cards at the lovely Old Orchard Mall. (It really is a lovely mall, with a mixture of high-end chain stores and funky boutiques, a food court that's more on the gourmet end of the fast-food spectrum, and classical music piped throughout the common areas. ) I was loaded with store credit all over the mall, and I walked out with three pair of dress pants, two pair of shoes, some funky shorts and four Old Navy T-shirts. I love Old Navy T-shirts. They don't last long, but they're built for the bodies of tall lanky men -- they hug my pecs just right and hang well off my wide shoulders, and the sleeves end right at the point on my arms that accentuates just how big they are ... and I always get hit on when I wear them.
I also had a jeans-buying epiphany of sorts when I was there: I have a closet full of $20 jeans I never wear because they're not exactly what I want but I was lured in by their price.
So from now on I'm going to fork over the dough for expensive jeans that are just what I want and then actually wear them. And I started on Saturday with some sexy low-rise, crotch-accentuating, slim-fit dirty-wash jeans that were only $60. - And I wore those sexy new jeans (and one of my sexy new shirts and my funky new shoes) to Sidetrack on Saturday night, where my usually unnoticed ass got tons of attention. But the evening wasn't all peaches and beans. See, there are these four guys I see there all the time.
I'm totally hot for them, and two of them are actually really nice (read: they flirt back). So I'm standing there Saturday talking to some friends when I notice two of my guys are getting all friendly with each other. One disappears and comes back with his coat and they leave together -- right in front of me. ACK! Reeling from this cruel assault to my senses, I stumble into a different room in the bar where I encounter the other two guys flirting with each other so much they're steaming up the windows. I left before I could see first-hand whether they, too, left together, but I get the feeling they dispensed with the formalities of going home and they just did it right there on the bar.
- Sunday was gorgeous in Chicago, and I decided to do a little three-mile sprint along the lakefront instead of my usual 6-mile distance training run. But the weather was so nice and my faster stride wasn't killing me so I kept running to the six-mile turnaround. Then I decided to tack on another mile. At the seven-mile turnaround I could see there were a ton of shirtless guys playing volleyball just ahead on North Avenue beach, so I kept going.
And by the time I'd passed the volleyball courts (fields? diamonds? ) I was 4.25 miles from home. So I got in a full (do the math with me here) 8.5-mile run today -- the longest distance I've ever run. Woo-hoo! And it's only May, so I have a feeling I'll be in fine shape for the Chicago Marathon in October -- now that I'm officially running it.
- We got all our music for the Pride show and the Montreal gala tonight at urlLink chorus rehearsal, and our musical director never ceases to amaze me. He's programmed some beautiful stuff in Latin, French, German and this pidgin-Celtic scat language that's actually going to be fun to sing. In an attempt to avoid issues surrounding copyrights and royalties, he's even written two songs. One is his own setting to a slightly erotic passage from Song of Songs, and the other is Walt Whitman's scandalously homoerotic (at least by post-Civil War standards) "This Moment as I Sit Alone," which he's set to a haunting movement from Rachmaninoff's Cello Sonata.
- The pidgin-Celtic song has some wicked syncopations, so we were learning rhythms and notes tonight on the syllable "dee" -- and the relentless "dee deeeeee d'dee" we were all chanting reminded me of Cartman's attempts to look and sound urlLink retarded so he could win the Special Olympics on South Park, and I got a bad case of the giggles. Brian got them too when I explained why I was laughing. We almost got in trouble. 
