Fashion, Art, Food, Fashion - One Fabulous Day in Chicago

Here's why I love Chicago. On any given day there are so many cool, creative, cultural events to savor. In this town, food, fashion and art often go hand in hand and Wednesday and Thursday, I had a feast of the senses.

 On Wednesday, my friend Cheryl and I were guests of artist Gary Weidner at a hip reception at the new Wicker Park eatery, Storefront Company. Gary's mixed media mural from his "Flowers" series (see below) dominates the restaurant's dining room and infuses it with a moody, beautiful vibe.

Gary Weidner's mural at the Storefront Company restaurant in Wicker Park.

Our evening actually began around the corner at the Cynthia Rowley boutique on Damen. Cynthia, a Barrington native, is a good friend of Gary's and was hosting her own soiree to celebrate her 2012 Legend of Fashion award from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago (SAIC.)

I wish I had snapped some pics of the elegant designer, but I was too busy eyeing the clothes at her shop.  One of her gorgeous jackets certainly caught Gary's eye, and he wore it for the rest of the evening.

Artist Gary Weidner, wearing Cynthia Rowley jacket, with friends.

Here's one of her dresses I coveted:

image from CynthiaRowley.com

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As for the Storefront Company, the Blood Orange martinis and hors d'ouevres (perfectly bite-sized, what a relief) were so yummy, I would definitely go back for dinner.

Blood Orange Martini.

Yum.

Thursday, the fun continued as a fellow mom friend and I took our budding fashionista daughters to see the SAIC student Fashion Show at Millenium Park (where Cynthia Rowley would be honored later that night.) I've never been to New York's fashion week, but this SAIC show was such an amped up, high dose of innovative design, it had to rival what goes down in Bryant Grant. Here's just a tiny snippit from the incredibly entertaining show.

Last night, overstimulated and exhausted, I spent the evening as I more typically do - wearing yoga pants and glasses on the couch, catching a few minutes of John Stewart before heading to bed. But what a great 24 hours it had been, and how wonderful that my daughter and her friends can soak up this city's talent and energy.

Future Fashionistas

PS - If you'd like an affordable piece of Gary's work, it will be for sale at ExhibitionA.com soon!

Move to Chicago, Demi and Heather, you'll be happier here

Accepting the changes that come with aging isn't easy for any woman, but it must really stink if you're a beautiful, middle-aged actress living in Hollywood. Imagine the pressure to stay thin and unlined and luscious when you've built your whole career on that image and live in a society that values little else.

Moore in 2010
Image via Wikipedia

Take Demi Moore, 49, for example. I've admired Demi since her days as husky-voiced ace reporter Jackie Templeton on General Hospital in the early 80s and I've been truly saddened to watch her recent struggles in the media.  Her marriage to much younger husband Ashton Kutcher has collapsed and, amid rumors of drug abuse and speculation on her very gaunt frame, Demi was hospitalized this week. I don't know what her problems are, but whether it's heartache, exhaustion, addiction or illness, I don't need a doctor's diagnoses to see something's wrong. Even dressed to the nines on the red carpet, she looks like she's in pain.

And she's not the only middle aged Hollywood star suffering. Blonde, blue-eyed, vixen Heather Locklear, 50, of Melrose Place fame was also hospitalized earlier this month. Apparently Heather has struggled with drugs and alcohol for years and is now "under a doctor's care" as she seeks recovery.  She and long-term love Jack Wagner (who I also adored on GH) called off their engagement in November.

Demi and Heather aren't dimwitted starlets trying to break into the business; they're intelligent women, established professionals, and mothers. They're about my age, for god's sake! But I'm not judging them, I'm judging the system that makes these women feel like failures if their knees begin to sag or their lips begin to thin. Both women have invested a great deal of effort into maintaining a youthful appearance, but in Hollywood, when gorgeous 20-somethings regularly nip and tuck, how can a 50-year old woman compete? No wonder they're turning to mind-numbing substances. The mere thought of being judged by my flabby stomach or jiggly thighs makes me feel like throwing back a couple kamikazes right now, and it's only 11am.

But luckily, I live in Chicago, a land that is much kinder and gentler to middle aged women. Why? Because first of all, because we have our values straight. In the Midwest, we like keeping it real - and that means a woman's intellect, humor and generosity are as important to her appeal as a firm ass. Secondly, our weather stinks for at least seven months of the year so everybody spends a lot of time covered up in boots, jeans, sweaters, and jackets. Women over 40 can look every bit as good as our younger counterparts when we're not being constantly evaluated in our bikinis. Finally, Chicagoans are foodies and take pleasure in eating - a little meat on our bones as a result is no big deal.

I'd like to invite all the unappreciated, angst-ridden, aging actresses out in LA to take a stand. Move to Chicago! We have an abundant theatre, arts and music scene so you'll get work. Not to mention you'll love it here. Rosie O'Donnell does.

"As a New Yorker, who was born and raised in New York and lived in Los Angeles for 10 years, I never imagined living anywhere else. But I could totally see myself living here. It’s very relaxing and family-oriented. It’s unlike any place I’ve ever been.”  Chicago Tribune, 12/11/11

Marriage Rx - Hotel Sex

If you've been married to your partner for 10 years or more and have children, I'm fairly certain you have two problems with your sex life: 1) no privacy and 2) no variety. Today I'm putting on my love doctor lab coat and giving you an important prescription.

Book yourself a hotel room.

First of all, you need to get away from your kids. Parents of younger children might snatch a few minutes of alone time after the kids are in bed, but it's still hard to relax. Nothing quashes desire like the pitter pat of little feet outside your locked bedroom door or a cry for a glass of water during a crucial moment of of an intimate act.

And once your kids are older, forget about it. Teenagers are like vampires; it's impossible to outlast them at night. You try to retreat to the master suite on a pretense - "Dad and I are watching the History Channel!"- but they sense what you're up to. Teens who haven't willingly uttered two words to you in days will be banging on the door with a lame question, forcing you to scramble for your panties. It's not hot.

When you finally manage to find uninterrupted time in the bedroom, let's face it - it's routine. Same bed, same view, same lighting. Remember when you were younger, all the exciting places you and your spouse did it? Beaches, golf courses, elevators? (Well, I never did it in an elevator, but I have friends.) It was fun! Sometimes I think my bedroom is the least sexy place in the entire world. It makes me sleepy.

But there is a solution, and it's only a click away. Book yourself into a hotel.

"But I can't!" I hear you protest. "It's too expensive, and who will watch my kids overnight?"

Silly. You can get a lovely hotel room for the price of a decent restaurant meal. And, duh, you aren't going to sleep there. A couple hours will do just fine.

For example, this Saturday night you can stay at the W Hotel City Center in Chicago (room pictured above) for a very reasonable $109. It's a short walk from the train station - you can be down and back (no pun intended) on the Metra and home before 11:00 p.m. Pack a duffle bag with a bottle of champagne, a hunk of cheese, strawberries, chocolate, some sexy lingerie and a tube of this stuff. I promise, it will be the best date night you've had in a while.

As my friend Ginny says, "If I were in a hotel I'd have sex every night!"

Ms. Matchmaker's tips on meeting your match

Jill Rudman of Highland Park (pictured) is a professional matchmaker and she's so warm and upbeat, I almost wish I needed her services. Jill helps Chicago and North Shore singles meet the guy or gal of their dreams - or she gets pretty darn close.

Of course, Jill, AKA "Ms. Matchmaker," has her own opinions about what makes a great match.

"I do not believe that opposites attract," she told me. "I think people get along best when they come from the same background, family, religion, and have the same outlook on life."

Jill also believes a match works best when the man and woman are about the same age. Hey, what about all those hot cougar relationships I keep hearing about?

Sorry ladies, but Jill says it ain't happening.

"I'm not seeing a lot of guys looking for older women out there," she said. Bunny from the Posse was right!

Once Jill has found two people she thinks will click, she has the man call the woman to invite her out. "I'm old fashioned, I believe the man should be a gentleman, ask the woman out and pay for the first date."

What happens on the date is up to the couple. But Ms. Matchmaker has some advice for women when meeting a man for the first time. Here are her guidelines for a successful first date.

1. Dress appropriately. Men like women who take care of themselves and make an effort, but they don't like sleazy. So, don't show too much skin or slather on the make-up. Guys find this intimidating. (We've heard this same thing from Warren, a couple posts back.)

2. Be positive. Talk about the good things in your life, be interested and upbeat. By no means bash your Ex or discuss personal problems. It's way too soon; you want to make a good impression.

3. Act like a lady. Don't drink too much, smoke too much or use foul language. It might be fun, but this early in the game, it's a turnoff.

4. Give the guy a chance. Jill has had clients tell her, "he was so close, but we had no spark." Sometimes it takes a couple dates for attraction to develop - if you like him as a person, stay open.

5. Finally, be kind. Even if you're 100% sure there is no future, you still want the guy to leave feeling interested in you and having had a nice time. You might bump into him again, and who knows? He might have a friend or a brother.

To learn more about Ms. Matchmaker Jill Rudman, visit her website: www.gotdates.biz.

Warren, the man who loves women. Many women.

I've been talking with a lot of divorced men lately, but I can't quite think of Warren as one of them. He was married briefly in his early 30's, but he has been single for so long, he's really more of a bachelor.

Ah, a bachelor. What a devil-may-care, rogueish, sexy term. There's really no female equivalent, is there? The term "bachelorette" is only used for the TV show or the traditional pre-wedding hen party; both are precursors to the ultimate goal of marriage. No one says "she's an eligible bachelorette" or "she has a bachelorette pad." More often than not, the word used to describe a single, socially adventurous, carefree female is "slut." Still I'd take that crude word over the dried-up, old-maid legal term "spinster." But I digress.

Warren is the ultimate bachelor. He's fun, he's hip, he drives a cool car, he wears cool clothes, he has a great condo in a Gold Coast high rise. He made enough money trading when the market was good that he's pretty much retired. He just turned 50, but you'd never know it from his impish grin and full head of jet black hair.

"I don't dye my hair," was one of the first things he told me over lunch last week. The second thing he told me was that threesomes aren't all they're cracked up to be. All righty then. I could tell this was going to be interesting. But first I wanted to hear about his ex- wife.

"She was nice, but cold," Warren said."I wanted more of a physical and emotional connection, but she came from a rigid background and couldn't give me what I needed. We were emotionally incompatible."

As their relationship cooled from lukewarm to downright frosty, they mutually decided to go their separate ways. With no kids, the divorce was quick. Since their split 17 years ago, Warren has dated hundreds of women. Yup. Hundreds.

Warren isn't a rock star or a professional basketball player, so you might wonder how he gets all the chicks. Well, for starters, he's honestly interested in women - all types of women. For him, a woman is a fascinating puzzle who's worth making the effort to solve.

"I like girls, I love them," he said. "I notice things about them, pay attention, and I'm happy to do it. It's like giving a present, and it makes me feel good - putting in the time is fun, it's not work for me."

His curiosity and attention pay off, because wherever he goes - coffee shops, grocery stores, nightclubs - women respond to him. They talk to him, open up to him, and sometimes (after a shockingly short amount of time) go home with him.

"I call those encounters manslaughter," he said, laughing. "I had no intent to pick anyone up, it just happened." For Warren, the world is a friendly place.

He's an extremely confident and engaging man, but if you think he sounds like a heartless womanizer, he really isn't. Warren has had his share of hurt and disappointments too.

Sometimes a woman he'd been crazy about broke things off with him. Other times he jumped in too quickly, only to find out that the woman wasn't who he thought she was. Over time, he's learned to do due diligence, take things more slowly. Still, Warren thinks taking chances is what life's all about.

"Life's a risk," he said. "If you can't live it with bravado and zest, then what's the point?"

At the time of our lunch, Warren had been seeing a woman seriously for two months, and he doesn't cheat on his girlfriends. However, from his years on the dating scene, he's learned a lot about women, relationships, and romance. Check back next time to hear his views on a variety of intriguing subjects, including why men date younger women and the controversial male ass-grab.

(For more on my series on divorce and dating, please scroll down to my older posts!)

Confessions of a Real Housewife

I hear through the grapevine that Bravo TV is looking to cast The Real Housewives of Chicago. Hey, I'm a real housewife, they should cast me! Although my life isn't quite as colorful as many of the "Housewives" - no arrests, nude photos, or implants (yet) - I've got some dirty little secrets that I'm willing to spill on camera, and here's just a sampling:

1. Even though I have a set of expensive All-Clad stainless cookware, the pan I use all the time is a cheap T-Fal non-stick frying pan.

2. I've never had a flu shot or taken my kids to get one.

3. I know my kids don't always pick up the dog's poop when they walk her, but I turn a blind eye so she gets some exercise.

4. I don't even try to balance my checkbook.

5. I want to love the ultra hip show "Mad Men," but it puts me to sleep.

6. The only food I don't eat is veal, because years ago I saw a program on how miserably the little calves are kept. I'm happy to eat any other animal, however.

7. I buy a Streetwise paper from the homeless guy every time I go to the grocery store, but I resent him for it.

8. I do a bad job on my husband's laundry on purpose so he'll keep doing it himself.

9. I have a crush on Kid Rock, even though I think he's skanky. It's my Detroit roots.

See Bravo - I am very naughty. Don't you want to put me on your show? Or are the real confessions of this real housewife too tame for TV?

Would you accept a jello shot from these women? I did and liked it.

There comes a time when you just gotta cut loose and have some uninhibited, silly fun. If you don't want to attract a lot of attention while doing it, head to a Jimmy Buffett concert, like I did last night. Buffett fans (better known as Parrotheads) know how to have a good time, and most of the fun happens in the parking lot where the tailgate partying is over the top.

Whatever naughtiness you can think up will be completely overshadowed by the crazy costumes, drinking games and limbo contests going on. It's impossible not to be part of the action because everyone is so friendly. My two new friends here, who's names I never learned but who graciously agreed to appear on my blog, offered me and my girlfriends jello shots topped with whipped cream and festooned us with mardi gras beads. Wasn't that sweet?

Much sweeter than the downstate firemen who were only letting women who did beer bongs out of a plastic pink flamingo go up on top of their fire truck. That's insulting. There sure was a good view of the parking lot from up there though.

I'm not a huge fan of Buffett's music, and I can't see myself wearing a coconut bra or a big shark fin on my head. But the laid-back, rowdy carnival atmosphere of the parking lot party was one big spiked watermelon slice of summer fun.