I only got 4 hours of sleep last night, but it was worth it. I spent the day at work looking over my to-do list and ignoring most of it. It can wait until tomorrow. Today I'm celebrating. There are so many thoughts running through my mind I can't write them down fast enough:

McCain's concession speech was very gracious, and I really appreciated it. I'm also proud to say that the only boos that came from the area where I was in Grant Park was when he mentioned Sarah Palin, understandably. Other than that, we were all impressed with his speech.

I'm not going to listen to any of the bitter conservatives or read any of their blogs today. It will just aggravate me. It's over. Obama won. Time to move forward. Together.

Never before had I seen people celebrate a presidential victory in cities all around the world like they did last night. To see people dancing and cheering in places other than the U.S. was reassuring. This is very important. We need to win back all the allies that Bush lost.

I love that Joe the Plumber's home state of Ohio went to Obama. Goes to show you can't just pluck any ole' schmuck from the crowd to campaign for you. No. It doesn't work that way.

I think McCain could have won more votes had he targeted more people in the center than to the right. I think when he first won the primary, his campaign decided he could win more votes pandering to the religious right than to the moderates and independents. And choosing a far-right conservative Christian as a running mate would help. They were wrong. I wonder how the election would've turned out had he been more like the John McCain that we once knew.

One McCain supporter in Phoenix said, "In four years, you're not going to recognize this country. I've seen too much. I've spent half my life in the military. This is not good. [Obama] comes from a cesspool we call Chicago." Well, I should hope that in four years we're not going to recognize this country because it's currently a disaster! As for the "cesspool we call Chicago" comment, I could only hope that most of the McCain supporters are not this ignorant.

I watched the View today and was so proud of Elisabeth Hasselbeck for saying that she is ready to support Obama, her president. I have more respect for her now. Same goes for all the other McCain supporters that I talked to that are ready to band together and move forward.

Being at Grant Park last night was an amazing experience. At first I actually considered staying home, thinking the rally was going to be too much of a mess to deal with. But instead it was pretty organized, and everyone behaved. I experienced an important part of history and had a memorable time. Even a friend that supported McCain went to the rally and was blown away. 

I wish I could describe my feelings more eloquently, but I'm just too dazed to think. I should go to bed, but I can't seem to pull away from CNN.

Rain, rain, don't go away

I'm excited that it has been raining the last two days. All my weekend plans fell through, so I decided to dedicate the weekend to my writing. I really want to make a dent in my manuscript. Last week I printed out what I had so far - 118 pages - and started reading through the first 24, editing and making notes where I could add more character development and narrative. 

Now I've officially started draft 2, including writing a new opening that will better introduce the story, and adding more plot layers, something I avoided in the first draft for simplicity. But the story needs more complexity and depth. It's going to be a difficult journey, especially since I'm putting a lot of my own experiences into the book, but I'm taking it step by step. Or rather page by page. This story has a solid plot, so I have no excuse to abandon this project. 

I've written about 8 pages this weekend, which may sound like a lot to some. But I'd probably have written more if I didn't get up to get something to eat, do laundry, go to Bed Bath and Beyond, go grocery shopping. I just can't sit in front of a computer for 8 hours straight like some writers. I'm considering going to a four-day work week. That way I could dedicate one full weekday to working on this book. I'll have to check my budget and see if I can afford to do it.

Meanwhile, back to work. 

The Search for the Signature Drink

I walked into Dave's office on Monday morning and plopped down on one of the guest chairs. "I did absolutely nothing all weekend," I told him. "I wrote three crappy paragraphs, and that's it. I barely even went outside to enjoy the nice weather."

"Do you know what you need?" He responds. "You need a signature drink."

"A signature drink?"

"It doesn't have to be as cliched as Pernod or Campari, but maybe a sherry or brandy. You drink a glass before you start writing, and that will set the mood. That will be your drink when you write."

The thought of having to rely on alcohol to get the creative juices flowing sounded a little sad, but I was intrigued. I'm a simple drinker: only red wine and beer, and occasionally a fruity martini or margarita. I was always interested in learning more about wines, but didn't know a thing about brandies or sherries or cognacs.

Dave, my friend and co-worker and fellow writer, proceeded to tell me about the time he was meeting his friend and published author Jim Kokoris for a drink, and arrived to find him imbibing something pink and green. "I don't remember exactly what was in it," he laughed, "but it included absinthe and grenadine."

It was supposed to be a joke, Dave explained after seeing the blank look on my face, because Jim's a writer, and writers drink absinthe and other avant-garde beverages.

Do they? I had know clue. "I like limoncello," I said. "And I once tried drambuie and really enjoyed it."

"So maybe you need a warm weather drink and a cold weather drink."

The next morning, I walked into my office and found a thick book called The Wine Bible by Karen MacNeil on my desk with various post-it notes peeking out the top. As I flipped through the large book, I noticed unfamiliar words like Calvados and Armagnac. Dave gave me a quick 101 on aperitifs and after dinner drink options, including a safe price range for brandy when ordering one in a restaurant.

So the next time I go out for dinner, I'll plan on venturing into this unknown territory. I can see myself now, sitting at a table with a few friends, or maybe my parents the next time I have dinner with them at Nite 'N Gale. And when the waitress comes by and asks if we're interested in dessert, I'll turn up my nose and ask, "What kind of brandies do you have?" I can picture the look on my dad's face.

Holy Tornado Siren

I was sitting here comfortably on my couch watching a Friends re-run and getting increasingly annoyed at the constant interruptions from the Emergency Broadcast System. Every few minutes they'd break in announcing tornado warnings in suburbs I couldn't even point out on a map of the Chicagoland area. 

But then, during the third EBS interruption, the robotic voice announced a warning for the Lake View/Lincoln Park area. Conditioned by many years of fire drills and false alarms, my initial instinct was to stay put. I'm mean, tornados don't touch down this close to the lake, right? At least that's what I've always been told. But just to be on the safe side, I called Mike, our doorman, and asked if we should evacuate.

"It's a tornado warning that expires at 8:15," he told me.

I glanced at the clock. It read 8:07. I tell him about the EBS announcement of our area.

"But it's hardly raining now," he assured me. "So I wouldn't worry about it."

It isn't myself that I'm worried about. I can easily evacuate my apartment and run down the stairs that are right outside my door. It's my two 12-year-old cats that I'm concerned about. In an emergency I would need to get the two carriers down from the hall closet, chase down each cat that runs and hides as soon as she sees the carriers come out of the closet, hold them tight as they wriggle and flail their paws, then successfully place each of them in a carrier without them escaping. All while a tornado is heading towards the building.

But Mike assured me that everything was okay. He also confirmed that I was the only resident paranoid enough to call him. 

Feeling better, I hung up and turned on CLTV to see what they were saying. Then, in between the weatherman saying words like "seek shelter now" and "very dangerous winds," I heard a strange noise coming from outside. I hit the mute button. It was a sound that I'd never heard before, a low wailing like a cross between a UFO and a dying cow. It didn't sound like the tornado sirens I remembered from my college days at Western Illinois. But I wasn't going to wait around to confirm what it was. 

I rushed to the hall closet and pulled down the carriers. Surprisingly, I turned around to see Emma still laying comfortably on my bed, watching me with curiosity. I picked her up and eased her into the carrier. She barely put up a fight. Maybe she sensed the impending danger. 

Next I had to go find Nikkie, the timid cat that probably ran for cover as soon as she heard me open the closet door. She was under the night table in the bedroom. I grabbed her and lowered her into the carrier. I quickly glanced out the window to see if there were any signs of anarchy. 

I had always wondered what items I would grab if there were a fire. Now I know. With the cats safe (and howling) in their carriers, I took a few extra moments to grab my iPhone, my iBook (it has all my writing saved on it!), and my bag which conveniently contained my wallet, my journal and my make-up bag (it has my asthma inhaler and allergy medicine in it, okay?). I put on my bright pink Wellies, grabbed the cats and headed downstairs. On the elevator. Which was probably not a good idea if a tornado really was barreling towards the building.

I decided to head to the lobby to see what was going on instead of going straight to the basement. I expected a crowd of worried residents gathered around, but all I saw was Mike, sitting calmly at his desk listening to the radio. He looked up when he saw me approach.

"What the hell was that noise? Was that a siren?" I asked, waddling toward him in my Wellies with a cat carrier in each hand. 

"I don't know. I've never heard that sound before," he said.

A few more residents made their way to the lobby. Outside I saw people running, the trees in the courtyard swaying furiously. Cars were driving the wrong way down our one-way-street (a tree was down). Police sirens blaring. 

The cats howled from their carriers. More residents came with their dogs. I called my parents to see what was going on in Highland Park. I thought about the poor Cub fans stuck at Wrigley Field. 

Together we watched until the rain slowed to a light drizzle and the trees stayed upright. After about twenty minutes, I decided it was safe to return to the apartment.

My brother called from his car, and I told him what had happened. He just about drove off the road from laughing.

Now I'm back on the couch watching the news. It's quiet outside. Thunder rumbles in the far distance and an occasional lightening bolt flashes. I think about the practice that I got tonight, and how prepared I'll be in case a real emergency occurs. Steve Baskerville says another storm is heading in our direction. Nothing serious, so I'm not too worried.

But I'm leaving the carriers out just in case.