Happy New Year
I'm not at work so I will not have my regular flood of posting today. So I want to wish all of you a very happy new year, and I'll see you in 2004!

Sketch Factor Awards

As many people are doing this time of year, it’s time for the Sketch Factor to review the events and people of 2003 and to divvy out our own special kind of awards for those most memorable displays of sketchiness.

Sketchiest Reality Show Participant:
1. Jon Dalton, aka Johnny Fairplay, Survivor, Pearl Islands
2. Alison Irwin, Big Brother 4
3. Trishelle, Real World Las Vegas

Honorable Mention: Frenchie, American Idol 2

Sketchiest Celebrity Scandal:
1. Michael Jackson
2. KobeGate
3. Paris Hilton sex tape

Sketchiest Natural Disaster:
1. The northeast Great Flood
2. Earthquake in Iran
3. Trista and Ryan’s wedding

Sketchiest Unnatural Disaster:
1. Blackout 2003 and the blame game that followed
2. Ah-nold elected Governator
3. Bennifer

Honorable Mention: Sadaam’s beard, Whitney ‘n’ Bobby

Sketchiest New Television Show:
1. Average Joe
2. The Simple Life
3. Anything featuring the guys from “Jackass”

Capricorn
You cannot deny the significance of a key family member in your life, nor do you want to. Recognize that this person can be impossible. Tonight: You will need every second of sleep you can get.

-taken from today's Cleveland Plain Dealer

Hmm. Finally, a horoscope that somewhat makes sense to me. I'll have to ponder this one for a while.

Shorts
Yay for Wendy's. Boo for no Awesome Wendy's Grandma at the drive-thru window. Instead, was greeted by younger, slightly less peppy, non-grandma. *pouts* But my mandarin chicken salad was fantastic.

Today is LeBron James' 19th birthday. Or, as my husband and I like to call him, BronBron. Just today alone, LeBron probably made more money than I will make in my lifetime. And what exactly do you buy as a gift for someone who could wipe their ass with a $100 bill?

The guy who played Wilson on "Home Improvement" has kicked the bucket. That's weird because I had a dream last night that I was romantically linked to Eric from "That 70's Show." Oh wait, those two things are completely unrelated. My bad.

Alert... alert...
My husband, due to my begging him for some entertainment while he lounges away the entire week at home, has finally updated his blog. It made me laugh but that's because I understood all the inside jokes. And because he sent me an e-mail entitled "to all our adoring fans" (meaning, basically, me) and with the body copy that he had finally posted. Hee. I love that man.

Slave to the routine
In the morning, if I do just one thing out of the ordinary realm of getting ready for work, I inevitably forget something. This morning, just as I was walking out the door, I remembered that I had to mail something. So I put down my purse and lunch on the kitchen counter, got the piece of mail, picked up my purse and ran out the door, leaving my lunch forgotten until I was halfway to work. Damn.

So what should I get to eat? I'm thinking Subway maybe. Wendy's is always a possibility, and then I can see Awesome Wendy's Grandma. She works at the drive-thru at Wendy's, and whenever you pull up to get your food, she is always happy to see you. "Hi, honey!!!!!" she says to me each time I pull up. And then makes some comment on the weather. If it's raining she has a plastic shower cap-like thing over her Wendy's baseball hat. If it's snowing she's bundled up in a scarf she probably knitted herself. She is just so cute, I can't stand it. That settles it. I'm going to Wendy's.

Correlation does not equal causation
So I got a Palm Pilot for Christmas. And I'm trying to hook it up to my computer at work, and fiddling around with the back of the PC part of the computer (what is that called -- does it have a name other than "computer"?) and suddenly, I get a message saying "you are no longer connected to the network." I hadn't even plugged anything in yet. Then I fired up ye olde blog. And the comments went down.

So now I'm paranoid that it all has to do with me installing the Palm Pilot software and causing a major meltdown within the servers.

Why do I need a Palm Pilot, you ask?

Because I need something to beep at me and say, "Make your car payment, you ass!" Otherwise I'll have the prerecorded phone message from Fifth Third Bank asking to arrange a pickup for my leased vehicle, like I did twice this weekend. Because for the second time, I was late on my payment. They don't mess around. It's in the mail; I'm sure it probably will get there today. Jeez! Cut me some slack, people! What is it, four days late? I'm sure your company won't go bankrupt without my $250 for my Toyota.

Back to figuring out where to stick this cable thingy.

Back to the grind
So far at the office today... I found out one of my coworkers is pregnant. I'm happy for her -- it was totally unexpected for her, and it kind of sidelines some of her career plans, but I think it will be a good thing.

I have gotten the updates on everyone's holiday. No one enjoyed theirs except Incompetent but Likeable, who flew to Arizona for the week.

I have listened to some new CD's. I got Josh Rouse, "1972" which I am enjoying, and Jonesarelli let me borrow Sheryl Crow's greatest hits, of which I burned my own copy, sans some of the bombs. I really enjoy some of Sheryl Crow's music but some of her songs (the ones that get overplayed) I really, really can't stand. The biggest offender: "Picture," her duet with Kid Rock. Hated it from the get-go.

Other than that, the phone has not rung once for me (knock wood) and I am delaying doing any actual work until I absolutely run out of options. And since the blogging universe is rather silent this morning, those options are getting slimmer and slimmer.

I'm looking forward to New Year's Eve. The band is playing, there's a buffet dinner before hand at the place, and my friend Amy is coming to hang with me, as well as my sister-in-law and her on-again, off-again, currently on-again boyfriend. The bar is in a town right outside of Kent, called Brimfield. I have heard it called (sorry if this offends anyone) Brim-tucky, if that gives you any idea of the surroundings. At least it's better than the winery in the serious frickin' middle of nowhere.

That's all that's happenin' here... off to see if anyone has posted anything anywhere that will help delay my productivity further...

Blue Christmas
A Tragedy in Five Acts

I.

Alison and I exchange glances between the front and back seat of my husband’s Honda Passport. “Why the fuck is he getting the mail?” I say loudly between my set of chattering teeth. “We’re cold!”

“I know,” she agrees, “I don’t know why he had to get it right this second.”

Owen gets in the driver’s seat and hands me a stack of mail. “I was hoping that Bob’s nuts would get here.” We had ordered a tin of nuts emblazoned with the saying “Bob’s Nuts” as a gag gift for his 17 year old brother Bob. The item had backordered and was probably not going to arrive for Christmas. “Well, maybe it will come tomorrow,” I say, as he starts the car.

And we’re off to the first stop on our Christmas Tour 2003.

* * * * * * *

Annoyed again, I glare at my husband – more accurately, his ringing cell phone. “Who calls Christmas Eve?” I ask the room, and the women all nod with me. He plugs his ear and ignores all of us. “What could this possibly be about?” I ask my sister-in-law. “This better be something good.”

He ends the call and turns to me. “That was Scott. He just drove past our house and said that someone plowed into our mailbox and totaled their car.”

Good thing he got the mail before we left.


II.

After managing to avoid the platter of pickled herring (as did my father-in-law, claiming he worried about “mad herring disease”), I wasn’t sure what to expect when we got home. Utter chaos? Carnage?

Instead, we were greeted with three utility trucks surrounding our driveway. My husband put on his hazards and ran out to find out what was going on.

Apparently, the driver didn’t just take out our mailbox. He then went on to knock down our telephone pole, leaving us powerless, phoneless, and cableless. (And would remain so until late in the day on the 26th) The utility truck was working on the power part. They would have that restored within the hour, but there were live wires strung across our driveway, so we couldn’t get in yet.

On Christmas Eve, nothing is open. Not even Taco Bell. Thankfully, our in-laws live about five minutes away. So one hour and a good portion of a James Bond movie later, we arrived at home. It had been a long night, and we were going to follow it up with an even longer day. The Christmas Tour of 2003 had three more stops to get through.

III.

My father-in-law is shaking a box that is obviously holding a neck tie. A high school English teacher, his love of British literature get the best of him: “Is it a Thomas Hardy necktie?” My husband, playing along, shrugs in dismay. “How did you guess?” My brother in law chimes in. “Yeah, it has Jude the Obscure...” my other brother in law adds, “The dead children...” And my husband adds the finishing zinger: “And it’s a clip-on so you don’t hang yourself!”

I guess you had to be there.

IV.

We’re at my aunt’s house, one more stop to go after this, and everything is fabu. I know this, because my aunt declares it to be so at every opportune moment. We play a game in which we all hold wrapped ornaments, and my uncle reads “Twas the Night Before Christmas” aloud, and on each recitation of the word “the,” we are supposed to pass our wrapped ornament to the person to our left. So you can imagine, all the passing and giggling and hooting and ornaments shooting out of people’s hands. “That was fabu,” my aunt says afterward.

Opening a gift of a charm bracelet where all the charms are high-heeled shoes: “Fab.... boo!”

Telling us all about a play she and my uncle saw... fabu.

“Well, that party was fabu,” I said to my husband as we got in the car to go to our final stop, my mother’s house.

And then I thought to myself, or maybe I said it aloud, “I hope my mom hasn’t had too much to drink.”

V.

We’re relaxed. This is the home stretch, nowhere to go after this. All the presents are unwrapped. My mom has, in fact, had too much to drink, but it’s Christmas after all, and she seems to be in good spirits.

“Just check on the roast,” my mom told me, slurring her words a bit.

I got up, my husband followed, and my aunt for whom I am named also came into the kitchen to begin setting the table. We got the roast out, my husband was slicing it, when we heard the crash.

My aunt and I exchanged glances. This has happened before to us, and it’s a surefire sign of trouble to come.

She went to check on my mom. She had fallen into the table, knocking a platter of shrimp and cocktail sauce onto the carpet. But my mom was just sitting there, on the floor, the chaos around her.

“Get away from me,” she said.
“But I just want to help you clean up,” my aunt said.
“I said, get the fuck away from me!”

In the kitchen, I began to feel sick to my stomach. I know that nothing from this point on is going to be pleasant. My aunt comes back in to the kitchen and says to me, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Ignore her,” I say. “She is probably looking for some drama.”
So we eat. But the whole time, we are dead silent. Sometimes exchanging glances. Sometimes just trying to eat as fast as possible to prepare for the inevitable showdown. Sometimes just listening to make sure that she’s still there. And to hear what she’s doing. A couple unwrapped gifts were tossed around. But nothing major.

I can’t explain what got into my mom. She has fought alcoholism for many years but never have I seen her the way she was on Christmas. It didn’t end there. She screamed for us all to leave her alone, called us names that don’t bear repeating, and finally went upstairs where we thought she may have passed out.

"This is going to get ugly," my aunt said. "I just want the two of you to get out of here."

As my aunt and I tried to put away the remains of the ruined Christmas dinner, my husband hurriedly packed up the car. From the kitchen, we heard sounds of a woman screaming.

Both of us froze and then ran to the front door. I envisioned my mom screaming at my husband, hurting him in some way, and I panicked.

In an instant, I heard the words “baby daddy” and realized that it was the family across the street, involved in their own set of Christmas unpleasantries.

But for my aunt and I, it broke the tension, and we both smiled, briefly, and embraced. “We’re not the only ones,” she said.


Epilogue: Picking up the Pieces

I haven't spoken with my mother since Christmas Day. After we left, it got worse for my aunt. Both my mother and aunt have bruises, and it eventually led to my aunt having to leave the house at 2 in the morning, in the middle of an ice storm, and find a hotel room. We're not sure what caused my mother to snap the way she did. But it goes beyond the drinking. My aunt then told me a series of stories about my mom which shed some light on certain events. I'm still trying to process all the information, but it's overwhelming and throws all I thought I knew about her out the window. I have a feeling that it will be a rocky road to all of us being a family again, if ever. We don't know if she will remember her tirade, or the way she acted. I kind of hope she doesn't, because I'm sure she will be embarrassed and ashamed, but on the other hand, I hope she does, because maybe this will be the breaking point that she needs to get some help. I know that I can't do anything to help her, because any interference only heightens her rage.

The owner of the car who hit our mailbox came to our door yesterday to offer to reimburse us for the cost of a new mailbox. He was not hurt, miraculously.

Happy holidays
Whatever holiday you're celebrating, even if it's just the "day off of work" holiday, which is always worthy of celebration, I hope that all of you enjoy yourselves. Be safe, and watch out for falling Christmas trees and those bah humbug moments that suck the joy out of the season.

I will be enjoying the next couple days by doing a tour of northeast Ohio. Will be visiting several sets of relatives scattered throughout the region. Tomorrow I will be making the MPF (mince pie face, for those of you not familiar with Tuna's newly-coined term), at some pickled herring, and finding a polite way to decline. The sight of it makes me want to hurl, and it is a tradition in my husband's family to eat it Christmas Eve. Repugnant, repellant shiznit, if you ask me.

On Christmas Day there will be three stops -- first at my in-law's, then at my dad's sister's house, and then at my mom's house. It's fun when your parents are divorced and you have tons of in-laws to visit, no? I'm sure it will only get worse when we have kids. At that point, I think we'll be calling the shots. Anyone who wants to see us can come see us at our house.

I'll be relieved when it's over... anymore the holidays are just exhausting for me. Aren't I brimming with Christmas cheer?

On an interesting side note... my mom ran into the parents of an old friend of mine in the grocery store twice in the past week. My old friend is apparently home for Christmas. We haven't spoken in, I'm guessing, 6 or 7 years. She is living in Manhattan and doing the struggling actress thing. You may remember her as the jury foreman on some random episode of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. OK, I don't remember her either. So I'm having some weird mixed feelings about calling her. On one hand, I'm curious to see how she's doing. On another hand, I don't know that we have much to say to each other beyond the catching up stuff. We'll see.

Hope all of you are doing well, may your days be merry and bright!
Or something like that.

Top 20
I just posted a "Top 20 albums of all-time" list on another message board, but since I'm hard-pressed for something to do, and for something to post, I'll share it with you as well:

1. Ryan Adams – Gold
2. Beatles – Abbey Road
3. R.E.M. – Automatic for the People
4. Smiths – Louder than Bombs
5. Morrissey – Vauxhall and I
6. Ryan Adams – Demolition
7. Shawn Colvin – Whole New You
8. Dave Matthews Band – Under the Table and Dreaming
9. Josh Rouse – Under the Cold Blue Stars
10. R.E.M. – Life’s Rich Pageant
11. Barenaked Ladies – Maybe You Should Drive
12. Morrissey – Bona Drag
13. Beatles – White Album
14. John Mayer – Heavier Things
15. John Lennon – Imagine Soundtrack
16. Josh Rouse – Home
17. Shawn Colvin – A Few Small Repairs
18. Ryan Adams -- Heartbreaker
19. Pete Yorn – Musicforthemorningafter
20. Jason Mraz – Waiting for my Rocket to Come

Those are just off the top of my head, are in no particular order, and will probably change tomorrow.

What's your top 20? Or, if you can think of that many, your top 5? Top 2? Top 1? Most recently purchased CD of good listenin's?

Alone in the office
Hello(o...o...o...o...*echoes through empty office*). No one here but me. Bad Lady went to pick up her pinkeye perscription and the other two people that weren't already on vacation, have gone to lunch and to pick up a Honeybaked Ham.

*does McCauley Culkin "Home Alone" face*

So what does one do when alone in the office?
Spin around in the chair for a while?
*dizzily picks self up off floor*
Sing along loudly to "Feliz Navidad" when it comes on radio?
*prospero ano, felicidad... ha ha!*
See if I can still do a cartwheel down the aisle of cubicles?
*decides against it*
Peer, prairie dog style, over the top of cubicle wall?
*peers*

Drat. Fun over. Bad Lady has returned from the pharmacy. I hope she had to stand in line behind the grocery shopper and the wig lady that Grace encountered during her last trip to the pharm.

Lunch time!

Props
To the weather today. It's supposed to reach 50. December 23 in Cleveland? I'll take it. Forever.

Great news
Bad Lady is fairly certain that she has conjunctivitis (a.k.a. Pink Eye). But she assured us that she is washing her hands a lot and doesn't think she will infect us. But, uh, what about yesterday, when you didn't wash your hands and manhandled the cookies right before I did? Yeah. So I got that going for me.

Thought I'd share
Now, in my lifetime, I've probably heard the 80's collab Christmas song, "Do They Know it's Christmas?" by Band-Aid, I dunno, I'll guess at least 100 times. I always hear it a couple times a year, plus I played the 45 of it ad nauseum when I was a wee one.

Today, while driving to work, I heard the song again, and embarrassingly recalled that when this song came out, in the early 80's, I was all of six or seven years old. And I had the BIGGEST crush on Simon LeBon from Duran Duran. So I would play his singing part over and over and over and over again on my little Fisher Price record player. This morning I had that little flash of memory, just like it was yesterday.

Who's with me on this one?
I think Celine Dion should hereby be banned from doing any remakes of Christmas songs, any new Christmas songs, or any songs at all.

Setting: auto-pilot
So I figure, it's past noon, I haven't done any work so far, why start now? I spent most of the morning in a novocaine-induced stupor, and sharing with my co-worker pals what I think my husband is getting me for Christmas (which is just a hypothesis at this point; I could be way off the mark on this one. And since he reads this from time to time, I will refrain from putting into words what I think "it" is.) Then we had a "staff meeting" which consisted of the four of us who comprise the design staff going over our schedules for the week (jack and squat) and then bitching about some of the recent developments in our company, such as the "no jeans" memo, the 10 years' notice for vacation, etc. Which took up the greater part of the 11 o'clock hour.

So now here I am, waiting out the 20 or so minutes before I'll take out my lunch (I'm not allowed to eat anything yet anyway -- dentist's orders). Plus, the dull numbness in my back molar area has mutated into an acute, throbbing pain. Should have anticipated this and brought mush food to eat, but didn't. I will probably have some difficulty crunching down on my apple.

The cherry on top of my day: Bad Lady just said to me, "You sure get a lot of cavities!"

My response: "I know. But thanks for pointing that out."

Christmas Cavity
My mouf is numb right now, due to novocaine and a dentist's drill. What a way to start off the week, eh?

Actually, I know this sounds silly, but I swear, the novocaine affects my brain. Like, until it wears off, I feel that it is perfectly acceptable for me to stare blankly at a random spot in my cubicle. As long as no one is looking. And no one is here to look, so I'm golden.

More when my brain de-mushifies.

Do you believe in ghosts?
This article creeped me out.

Just caught a look of myself
in the mirror. Death Warmed Over would win a pageant crown next to what I resemble right now. Is this the onset of illness? Say it isn't so! I wouldn't be surprised. People are hacking, sneezing, sniffling, snorting, blowing, wheezing, dripping, honnnnnking. Let's all join in, shall we?

New favorite song
"Hotel Chelsea Nights," by Ryan Adams, off his 3rd cd release in two months, Love is Hell, Part 2.

Goodies
Run-down of the stuff vendors and clients have brought us today:
~tin of pistachios
~tin of mixed nuts
~box of chocolates which includes toffee, mixed chocolates and more nuts
~ tray of cookies
~ a Christmas wreath
~ tin of hot chocolate

This about sums it up
Fox's runaway hit "The Simple Life," featuring Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie cavorting around in Arkansas, had higher ratings than the Diane Sawyer interview with George W. Bush after Sadaam was caught.

Hee.
Ha.

This just might be the latest way for me to waste oodles of times at work. Because chances are, I'm saying yes to most of these people. There's a quiz, too, "Are you annoying?" I was moderately annoying. *goes home and pulls covers over head*

Woah, Nelly
I have to wonder sometimes at why people click on this site... the most recent example of this is someone who was searching for "nelly pants sagging shirt off." This is what they saw on Google:
The Sketch Factor
... Herre (not a typo; spelled correctly according to rapper Nelly) It is ... I shall miss
thy sagging waistband. ... as a voted-off tribesperson was to put on some pants. ..."

So apparently I had four words: Nelly, sagging, pants, and off. Which was from three different entires. Hrmm.
Not to mention the 5 or so hits daily from people looking for pictures of Ally Hilfiger, Jaime Gleisher, or Johnny Fairplay. I should find pics just to give the people what they want. But... uh... no.

Clean
During my shopping escapades, I picked up a (small!) tube of Clean Cotton scented hand lotion at Yankee Candle company. I love this scent; it smells like laundry fresh out of the dryer.

Well, on the hands, diff'rent story. It smells like I manhandled about 50 dryer sheets and then rolled around in them. A wee bit overpowering.

Not recommended. But the candles: yes!

*sniff*
The one day that I bring something for lunch that needs to be microwaved, there's a party going on in the kitchen and thus I have to slink back to my desk, smelly food in tow. This is a huge problem, because a) Bad Lady turns her nose up at anything that isn't a piece of lettuce; b) another company president has reamed our department for having "smelly food" at our desks; c) I really wanted to get away from my desk for even a few minutes.

So I shoveled down my leftover dirty rice (Zatarain's!) before the smell could waft outside my cube. But still, Bad Lady caught wind of it and made a comment about how she could smell it -- "not that it bothers me," she said. Yeah. And I'm the Queen of England.

Calm
An unsent pithy response and a package of Nip Chee later, I'm all better. Besides, my anger would go unnoticed, as my boss has called in sick. Yeah, no 30 days notice for his sick day. Doesn't he know he has to plan in advance?

I'm back in my happy place. For now.

Back in the saddle
I suppose I should check in and at least say a few words. Hello. How are ya.
I'm feeling very well-rested, got a lot of shopping done yesterday (but STILL not done!) and got a little mental break from the office.

However, I'm seething with anger right now at the e-mail waiting for me this morning from my boss, to the department, about people asking for vacation days during the holidays at the last minute and how, as a president in the company, he's required to give 30-60 days notice on vacation time. My point being, I am not a president in the company. And I'm not compensated for not taking a vacation day and having it go to waste. They don't roll over into next year, so if I have some days left over at the end of the year, I'm takin' 'em. And to give him advance notice... well, for me that's just unrealistic. 30 days from now I could either be staring at the wall with nothing to do or I could have work coming out of my ears. It's too difficult to predict.

So I'm thinking about how to craft a professional rebuttal that illustrates my point without getting me fired.

Excess
Reading Patent Pending and his anecdote about waiting in line for Christmas cards reminded me of my own Christmas card problems. Though, unlike him, my problem is that I buy too many cards. Case in point: in early November I ordered the cutest matching Christmas cards and labels from a catalog. Around that time I also found a box of leftover cards from, I'm guessing, three or four years ago. I was stoked at the find.

Then, when rooting around in a box in our basement, I found two more half-used boxes of cards, from two years ago and last year, respectively. More stoke-age.

And that didn't stop me from buying the cutest pack of cards at Tar-jay over the weekend. Whee!

On Christmas tree decorating day, I dug further into the Box o' Decorations and found an unopened box of cards that I bought at Tar-jay last year! Which brings our grand total of boxes of cards to 6.

And the kicker: I write, maybe, 30 cards at the most per year. So I'll have at least 4 boxes left over when all is said and done. Either that or I need more friends. Send me your address -- I'll send you Christmas greetings!

Spam
Does anyone know if there has been some recent anti-spam legislation passed? Because I haven't had nearly my normal amount of porn e-mail lately. It's almost like they've given up on me ever wanting to see Paris Hilton naked or to enlarge my manhood. And frankly, I'm feeling neglected by the likes of Umberto Villalobos and crew.

This article may have answered my question. But it doesn't take effect until '04. Hmm.

Queer Eye alert
The Queer eye Christmas special is on tonight where they are going to update us on some of the straight guys, including my personal fave, Butch. Then there's a "making the video" special on afterward, which I still don't completely understand... they apparently have a cd out, which I am going to have to investigate further. I think the video is for their opening theme song. A-ha! The cd will be out Feb. 10, 2004. And has been added to my wish list!

Whoo-hoo!
I've been granted a vacation day for tomorrow. Woot! This is an excellent bit of news, because there is nothing going on here. I can actually hear Bad Lady clicking her mouse it's so quiet in here. No phones ringing (except Bad Lady's kids every half hour), no Big-Ass Projects looming, no boss at the moment, even Incompetent But Likeable has been keeping mostly to himself these days. No jingling pocket change roaming up and down the cubicle aisles.

What do I plan on doing tomorrow? Sleeping late, for starters. Then probably more Christmas shopping. My husband has Wednesdays off, so he and I will go together. We have to shop for his family -- which reminds me, they requested a wish list from me. My father in law asked for "Dude, Where's My Country" which I think rocks. My sister in law wants the Triumph the Insult Comic Dog CD.

I'm sure I can think of something for them to get me. But time's a-wastin'! This is the last shopping weekend before Christmas. Can you believe it? It always creeps up on me. Like bad underwear. Ok, maybe not like that. But like something else that creeps.

Subliminal message
Domino the Bad Kitty was at it again last night. My husband and I have this tendency of starting a project and then not cleaning it up for a couple days afterward. So from the Christmas tree decorating project of Sunday, we still have some boxes upstairs, as well as a few scattered items laying on the floor, such as two stockings that do not have a place to be hung, as we do not have a mantel. Or a fireplace. Or a chimney.

Both of us wondered, but didn't say anything to each other about it, why the unopened plastic-wrapped devil horns that I got as my not-so-Halloween costume were laying on top of the stockings. Both of us thought the other one had brought them up from the basement mistakenly, or that they had gotten mixed in with the Christmas stuff and neither of us had bothered to put them away. So finally, my husband asks, "What's with the devil horns being up here?" I say, "I don't know, I thought you brought them up or that they were with the Christmas stuff." My husband gave them a closer inspection. "There's a suspicious toothmark in the package," he reported. A-ha. Bad kitty! (Said in Cartman voice)

This is not the first time the bad kitty has moved a random item in the house where he nearly escaped blame. Last year at about this time, my husband had requested that I leave one of my rings out so that he could take it to the jeweler to have my engagement ring properly sized. So I left it on the kitchen counter, on top of a notepad, dead center, where there's no way he could have missed it.

I went to work, and at the end of the day, I came back and asked how it went. He said it had been fine and that he took the ring that was on the etagere in the bathroom. (The one that I wear on my middle finger!)

"Why didn't you use the ring I left on the kitchen counter for you?" I asked, the panic rising in my voice.

"What ring?" he asked me. "You mean the ring that was on the bathroom floor?"

At the same time, we both realized what had happened. Bad kitty!

Dom's modus operandus at that time was to find items, usually off the Forbidden Kitchen Counter of Doom, and then take them into the bathroom, which had a tile floor, perfect for batting said items around. Actually, it's very lucky that he didn't take that ring somewhere never to be seen again. So he nearly sabotaged my engagement ring.

Luckily, my husband was able to take the correct ring to the jeweler that same day, no harm done. And we lived happily ever after.

How many times
am I going to click onto msn.com today and think that the shaggy-bearded man is Rupert Boneham, when in actuality it is Sadaam? Not that they look alike. I just see the beard and think Rupert.

*Gasp*
I have the blank ad banner. It creeps me out when it's blank like that. What, blogspot, you couldn't pick any random word like you usually do? Like, Grandpa? Or tree? Or climb? Or 70's porn star mustache? (I'm sure there's a site for that).

So I've been having these weird dreams of late. Probably because I haven't been sleeping all that well. Like, Saturday morning, I had a dream wherein I was on a doctor's examining table, with a few coworkers, including my boss, standing around watching. They were looking down my throat with that popsicle stick gagger thing, and then the doctor and my coworkers consulted and decided that they needed to operate. So the doctor came at me with a needle and I tried to fight but she jabbed me anyway and I could feel myself passing out (which was a very strange feeling). Then later in the dream I woke up and I was wearing this huge collar thing, like when you hurt your neck, and I couldn't talk.

Then this morning I had a dream that I was having the perfect hair day and so I put all kinds of gel/mousse/gunk in it to keep it exactly in place, and I was being watched by the Queer Eyes at their Queer Eye Hideaway while I shoozhed. And I was saying to myself that I hoped that I was shooshing correctly.

So am I completely mental or what?

Worst (and only) Sadaam joke I heard on the way into work
Q: What did Sadaam say when they dragged him out of the hole?
A: It's OK, I ate Subway for dinner!

I know you all will be excited to know
that I have found my new favorite potato chip: Grandma Shearer's Premium Select. My previous favorite was the "Grandpa's Choice" variety of chips, also a Grandma Shearer's product. But the Premium Select may have trumped the Grandpa's Choice in both crunch and flavor.

I don't think Grandma Shearer's chips are widely distributed; they may only be an Ohio delicacy. But take my word for it, I consider myself a bit of a potato chip conossieur, and these chips are rockin'.

Oh Christmas Tree
I am anxious to see if the Christmas tree will still be standing when I get home from work today. Dom is doing his damnedest to shimmy up the middle of the tree and dismantle it from the top down. We have a fake tree, and the middle part of it is basically a pole lined with pine-like synthetic material. It is quite easy for a kitty with claws to get a good toe-hold. And with his 12.5 pounds of pure terror, I'm fairly certain that he could topple the whole darn thing. And send it crashing through our picture window.

Yesterday, he would wait until we weren't looking and take his best shot at climbing it. We brought out the spray bottle and he got sprayed a couple of times. I kept yelling "four on the floor" to him, and every time I'd see his paw go up to either bat an ornament or to begin the pole climb, he would get sprayed. But when he wants to do something, ain't nothing going to stop him, even if he has to wait a week to do it.

My husband's shoes scare him, as a result of some unfortunate incidents where his tail was stepped on because he was underfoot, so we're thinking that if he won't leave the tree alone, we'll put the shoes under the tree and maybe that will do the trick. (The same shoes that kicked his butt the other day, I might add.)

Meanwhile, Molly just looked at the tree with a "huhhh?" expression on her face, and then went back to whatever she was doing. It's so funny how different the two of them are.

If worse comes to worse, the tree will have to be moved, anchored, strapped down, and stripped of any ornaments of sentimental value that could get broken, gummed, clawed, or batted underneath a large appliance. Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

Wait for my go
Another Survivor season is behind us, and it went out with a whimper, rather than a bang. While most of us were expecting Sue Hawk-style jury speeches, we got watered down questions to the final two of Blubbering Lil and Fiery Sandra. Even Johnny Fairplay, who hinted that he would "not play fair" during the jury questioning, did nothing more than a Vinny Barberino-esque strut into Tribal Council and the idiotic hand signal, not to mention the 70's porn star mustache.

I was expecting more, I guess. For what I think has been the strongest Survivor season since the first one, I thought the finale would be a bit more exciting.

The final four, though, were less than awe-inspiring. First, Darrah, who suddenly was very bitter that she got voted out, but barely made a peep throughout the season, probably the best example of "under the radar" in a long time. She never had a clear-cut strategy, except to remain invisible, and it bought her fourth place.

Jon -- too much has been said about him already. When he finally had to fend for himself in a challenge, it became obvious that the only part of the game he had mastered was "outwit." Although I, myself, would call him a "nitwit". (Sorry)

By the time Lill won final two immunity, I just wanted to mute her every time she opened her mouth. Waah waah waah, I shouldn't have worn the scout uniform but I'll still wear it to finale night even though I don't want to represent the scouts, and I'm a good person even though I lied to everyone and screwed them all over and followed whatever Burton said until something better came along. Poor, poor Lill.

And Sandra, the winner by default... did she really outwit, outplay, and outlast? Let's see. The outwit part... she fell for Jon's schemes time and time again, so, no to that... Outplay? Did she ever win an individual immunity or reward? Negative. Outlast? That's about all she did. Just like she said, "as long as it was anyone else but me." Maybe she did some wheeling and dealing that we were never privy to.

The reunion show was, again, disappointing. I wanted Jon to be strung up by his toes and tortured in plain sight for all to see. But we actually had people congratulating him, and Lill of all people patting him on the back for pulling off the dead grandmother lie. They are a lot more forgiving than I would be in that situation, I guess.

And an A-plus to Jiffy's fabulous couture. That pattern shirt was quite spiffy on Jiffy. I was a bit disappointed that we didn't have a "Jiffy transports the votes via helicopter" sequence.

On a good note, Rupert is feeling much better about himself, and was basking in the Rupert-Love. Good for him, I say. I hope he beats some ASS next season.

And now, I will go into a month-long Survivorless funk.

So This is Christmas
And what have I done? Well, for starters, some cards. And more shopping. And trimming of the tree. Now the Browns are on and I finally have a few minutes of down time. But that won't last long. There are 5 inches of freshly-fallen snow that need to get the heave-ho out of the driveway. And seeing as how my husband is parked in front of the tube, this duty may just be falling to me. Snow removal consists of the old fashioned method of shovel and pure elbow grease, of which I am lacking.

But tonight? Ah yes. Survivor finale. Three hours of Jiffy, Johnny, Sandra, D 'n' Lill. My predictions are that Darrah will take it in a 5-2 vote over Lill in the final 2. Then Jon will be drawn and quartered, tarred and feathered, and hunted down by the legions of Fairplay Haters far and wide.

See you when the last torch is snuffed!

Thankful
I am thankful for a lot of things in my life; obviously the basic things like food, water, shelter, husband, kitties, job. But here are a few more things that I am thankful for:

1. That Trista and Ryan's wedding is in the past. Hopefully they will now fade into obscurity. Where is the justice in that those two schlubbs received $1 million for getting married on TV? (Not to mention the $4 million wedding) I'll get a root canal on TV if it means I'll receive a cool mil for my efforts.

2. Stumbling blindly onto a fantastic group of virtual friends while looking for live feed recaps on Big Brother.

3. I-Tunes for Windows. It's like the Deuce Bigalow, Male Gigolo version of Grace's bf.

4. Kyan, Carson, Thom, Ted and Jai. And did I mention Kyan?

5. Being able to schedule my missed hair appointment on Tuesday for this coming Saturday. No harm done.

6. Having two more vacation days left this year, other than what I've already decided to take for Christmas. I hope I can use them.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it
I went to the vending machine to get something to tide me over until the holiday party. So I punched up the button for Baked Lays. Naturally, the little coil turned and the bag got stuck. So I did what any rational person would have done: I bought the Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips that were right behind the Baked Lays. Both fell down. Making my day twice as bright!

Deck the freakin' halls
Today is that magical day, that special time of year, where ye olde office mates gather in a party room at a local hotel and consume mad alcohol, undercooked meat, veggies and dip, and mass quantities of cheese and crackers. That's right, folks, it's the annual company holiday party! Beginning at 2 this afternoon, this festival of debauchery will feature a drunken escapade by at least one person, on the dance floor. This usually involves saying someone is "hot" and trying to dance with them. And it's usually a president of the company, who is happily married, and who is unhappily mortified at the experience.

It's always somewhat embarrassing for everyone in attendance to see the booty shaking that goes on at these affairs; at least it is for me. When I witness the booty shaking, I'm always so horribly curious about it, that I can't stop staring. Sure, they are having a good time, but at what cost? Do you really want to be known for grinding on the accounting manager? Not so much. Because that's the stuff that is never forgotten. It's kept alive by the likes of the Diet Club, who sit in the lunch room the next Monday and repeat to anyone who will listen, "Did you see so-and-so on the dance floor?" *giggle* And then it finally gets back to you that you're the topic of conversation. You vaguely remember dancing, but not with whom or for how long.

Friends, don't let this happen to you! Don't be that person at the holiday party! Don't tell your boss you think he's hot! Don't hit on the catering staff and make them try to dance with you!

I have seen all of these things, and I can tell you, it ain't pretty.

Fun facts about me!
-- I am a lefty.
-- I am an only child.
-- My grandmother is named Universe. She is my only surviving grandparent, and she is in better physical shape than I am (knock on wood). Still kickin' at 83.
-- I am known by several names: Kathleen (to clients at work, and to my dad), Kathy (to some friends), Kath (to Incompetent But Likeable), Kat (to Internet friends, certain high school friends), KJ (to certain college friends and one of the receptionists at work), and lastly, K-Dawg (to my husband)
--I went to an all-girls, Catholic high school.
-- My husband and I have our birthdays on consecutive days, January 10 (me) and January 11 (him). He's turning the big 3-0 next month. I'm turning the big 2-8.

Previously... onn Survivor:
So the girls use their brains (oh -- they only share a brain, I forgot. Women am stupid, according to Johnny Fairplay) and finally get rid of a guy. Too bad it had to be hot, yummy Burton. And his revealing tanline! Oh well. At least he'll get a shave and be on the jury.

Sandra, I was lukewarm on you, until tonight. Job well done. A little over the top at Tribal Council, but you pulled it off enough to fool Fairplay at his own game.

I was also glad to see Rupert smile. He high-fived RyanO when Burton got the deuce-boot. See, Rupie, life ain't so bad, now, is it? There is justice in the world. Now you jury boys play nice with each other!

The finale is Sunday, at which point I'll go into serious withdrawal. ASS is still a month away. That's a long time from now!

Big-Ass Project Part Six: Big-Ass Project Goes to Hollywood
Press proof has been moved to 5 p.m. No going home early for me. In fact, going home late. So mad I could cry. But I won't. But my boss SO owes me. More than he even knows.

Happy ending: I have successfully whined my way out of going to the last press proof!

Karma Kitty
The funniest thing I've seen in a while, a true "Planet's Funniest Animals" moment, occurred last night while I was watching TV in our basement. Dom likes to hang out on the basement steps when someone's down there, just to keep tabs on what's going on. At the top of the steps is our side door, which is our main entry way. So my husband comes in, takes off his shoes, and his one shoe gets loose and starts tumbling down the stairs, heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to toe. Dom sees it coming and tries to outrun it. So I look up in time to see Dom, followed closely by the shoe, which catches up with him and the toe part of the shoe kicked him right in the butt.

It still makes me laugh when I think about it. His ears were totally pinned back and he was running like the Dickens, but the shoe still kicked his ass.

And he deserves it, that bad little kitty.

Big-Ass Project Part 5: Big-Ass Project Takes Manhattan
Scratch that "going home early" statement from this morning. A slight snafu at the printer has the 2:00 press check postponed until 4. And the problem? Fonts! Curse those fonts. I swear, this project will be the death of me. When it's finally done (tomorrow, 9a.m., delivered for my boss' meeting) I will do a dance of joy unlike any that has ever been danced.


On a good note, Survivor is on tonight. At least I have that to look forward to. Not that Johnny Fairplay is going anywhere. Grr!

Have a cup of cheer (with a chaser of bitterness)
As a special holiday treat, we received a memo this morning from management, saying that casual Friday has "deteriorated" from its original intent and thus, they are revising the policy and eliminating jeans, tennis shoes, sweatshirts, sweatpants, t-shirts... basically my entire casual wardrobe. They would like us to wear "slacks" and sports shirts (??), mock turtlenecks and sweaters. Well, other than what I wear Monday through Thursday, I don't own any of the previous items. I have sweaters, but they are sweaters I'd wear with jeans. Mock turtlenecks? Puh-leeze.

This is not going down well in the office. Bad Lady crumpled up her memo and slammed it into the trash can. Which kind of make me chuckle.

In other news, I was at the printer, approving color proofs for Big-Ass Project at 7:30 a.m. which meant I left my house at 6:30. I thought to myself as I was driving, "so this is what the buttcrack of dawn looks like!" Mind you, I usually don't wake up until 7:15. I'm definitely not what you would call a morning person.

And I'll be back at the printer later this morning to approve Big-Ass Project on press. Then again at 2. The upside to this? After giving the boss my itinerary, he told me not to bother coming back to the office after the 2:00 press check. Bonus for me. I'll go home and slip into my now-forbidden favorite pair of jeans, the skankiest, oldest sweatshirt I can find, and savor the bone I've been thrown.

*sing song voice*
I'm eating a chicken fajita burrito bol from Chipotle and you're not!
I'm stuffing my face with it. It has a huge dollop of guac on it, too.
Plus, all the proceeds from the lunch shift at the Chipotle I went to were going to benefit a local charitable cause (the same one which had me handing out turkeys to the masses a couple weeks ago). So that makes me feel good.

It's like the Subway commericals (which make NO sense to me, btw) where you justify doing something horribly bad by saying that because you did something good (such as eating a delicious, low-fat Subway sandwich). I'm doing something horribly bad for my stomach by consuming the Burrito Bol. But, the money I paid went to a good cause. See how that works? I know I feel better about it.

Queer Eye thoughts
Ross the Marine was hot. But really didn't undergo a transformation, per se. He got a chemical peel, got some new clothes, a new apartment, and learned how to salsa dance (sort of -- his girlfriend learned though), but no major lifestyle changes took place. But my favorite moment of last night's episode was when Kyan beat him in the push-up contest. Kyan ... man, that guy is good looking. And in great shape. Carson is starting to wear on me, I must admit. But the rest of the guys are fantastic! Even Jai. I'm glad they are making a concerted effort to broaden his role in the show.

And... next week is the Christmas episode where they update the "make-betters" of last season. I'm especially looking forward to seeing Butch.

Bad Lady update
She is all about flu shots today. I think she has called every clinic and doctor's office in a 50-mile radius to see who has them, and has plotted out a course of action for getting one. She's actually leaving work in the middle of the morning to get one. And wants us all to go with her. Because if we all go, then it somehow makes it right that she has once again found a way to skip out on work.

Wondering...
Where you live, are Pet stores ALWAYS either next door to, or in the same plaza as, a Chinese buffet? Because where I live, it's like that everywhere. Pet Supplies Plus? Right next to Thai Gourmet. Pet Smart, just a few doors down from China King. Etc. Etc. Etc. Is it a strip mall thing, or is there some other kind of disturbing connection??? I've been wondering about that.

Ok, my mom just sent me this e-mail:
What happens when you have:
1) nothing to do
2) a sharp knife
3) a large lime
4) a patient cat
5) too much tequila
6) and it's football season?

Not much to report, so I'll just babble as usual...
Monday night football took its toll over our household. The Browns suffered another loss, which at this point, no one really cares anymore, we're all looking toward the Indians spring training. My husband chucked his Dawg-ears at the tv, and I excused myself and watched a little bit of Average Joe and then called it a night to try and catch up on lost sleep.

Tonight's great debate: to go out for wings or to not go out for wings? My sister in law wants us to come out with her and a couple other friends. First, I am getting my hair cut at 6:30. So that puts me home around 7:30, 8. By that time, I'm in for the night. Plus it's a full night on my tv platter. We've got 24 and Queer Eye to watch. Also weighing in on my decision is that my sis-in-law has been a little ... hard to take lately. She is very, very, VERY high-maintenance and I am sooooooooo not that way. I avoid drama! Like the plague! Whereas she? Lives for it. And has more of it than anyone than I've ever known. It's a little exhausting sometimes to try and keep up with all of it. The breaking up, the getting back together... the situations she finds herself in.

I'd just rather take my drama in the form of Keifer Sutherland tonight, know what I mean? But mmm, wings do sound good...

Big pout
My friend in D.C. met Ryan Adams. Met him! Didn't just go to his concert, although she gave me full details of it, which I muchly appreciated. So jealous. But so happy for her, too. In a "if it can't be me, I'm glad it's her" kind of way.

Under the weather, or, Bad Kitty
I have a serious case of winter blahs setting in. I despise the cold (as I'm sure I've said numerous, numerous times) and my body tends to shut down in 30 degree-or-below conditions, even if I'm indoors. So I spent almost all of Sunday parked on the couch. I had a brief cleaning frenzy but that was just out of guilt.

Plus, thanks to a certain black and white cat, I lost many precious hours of sleep Sunday morning. Here's how it started... usually, Dom sleeps with us at the foot of the bed. For some reason, Sunday at about 4:15, he decided that he needed some attention. So he comes up in between us and starts going "CHEEPpurrrrrrCHEEPpurrrrCHEEPpurrr" non-stop. I try to ignore him when he does this so he realizes it's not an effective way to get attention. But he is persistent, so finally, I picked him up and threw him off, but by then I was so awake that the pop-up thought bubbles started to haunt me. A bit of tossing and turning convinced me that I was not falling back asleep anytime soon, so I got up and read, in its entirety, Rosemary's Baby by Ira Levin. Which, if you've seen the movie, it's exactly the same. Almost word for word. Which is unusual for a book that's adapted into a screenplay. Finally, at about 7:30, I went back to bed.

At about 8:30, I was once again awakened by bad kitty. This time he was batting a Starlight Mint around on the floor right outside the bedroom. I was pissed that I was awake again, and double pissed because I knew he got it off the kitchen counter, which is a Forbidden Area for him.

So I got up for the day after that, to avoid the pop-up thoughts that crowd into my brain at every opportunity... and was thus extra grumpy yesterday. If that Dom wasn't so darn cute I would still be pissed.

I did, however, go in and tackle him while he was sleeping, just 'cause I'm a brat like that. It kind of made up for everything.

My Saturday Capers
Greetings and happy weekend to y'all. When all was said and done yesterday, my lil' ol' neck o' the woods got hammered with about 6 inches of snow. It's very pretty to look at from indoors but I absolutely detest driving in it/walking in it/falling on my ass in it. It took me over an hour to drive home last night, which is about 30 minutes longer than my usual commute. On the Turnpike. And, as a side note, there have been a couple more linked shootings down in Columbus since last Sunday when someone was killed. I really hope they figure out who is responsibe, soon.

I dragged myself out of bed around 9:30. This is actually early for me on a Saturday. (Wait til I have kids, I can hear some of you saying. Yeah, I'm not looking forward to that. I'm not a morning person AT ALL.) After some intense lounging by the TV, leafing thru catalogs, I went out and got my eyebrows waxed. I had a new waxer, Alea (pronounced Aaliyah), who was super cool, except she went a little nuts and plucked the hairs that were covering the scar from an eyebrow piercing debacle from when I was 19 and going through my rebellious, black hair dye days. (Not pretty -- my hair is naturally a medium brown hue, which I have, of late, infused with more auburn, with a few greys thrown in for good measure -- I've had those since age 22.) Anyhoo.

After my waxing, I treated myself to my guilty pleasure -- McDonald's all white meat Chicken McNuggets. Some may ask, what were they before they were all white meat? Bascially they're the same, they just eliminated those nuggets that were comprised of, *ahem*, rather... unsavory pieces of chicken. You could usually tell which ones they were before you bit into them. They'd either be round, or kind of look like the state of Minnesota. Well, those are ghandi, my friends.

Then I returned home, finished my catalog browsing, and then high-tailed it up to the computer, wherein I commenced a flurry of online ordering for Christmas. I took care of my mom, my aunt, my husband, and the cats (yes, they got presents... you got a problem with that?). And if a khaki-colored curduroy jacket in my size found its way into the shopping cart, I have no idea how. Still outstanding: my dad, my grandma, my mother and father in law, my sister in law, my brothers in law, and probably someone else I'm forgetting. But I've made good progress.

And, ITunes got $2 from me while I was shopping. Hey, it's like going to the mall and stopping for an Auntie Anne's pretzel or something.

The hubby is at band practice. They have a gig coming up this weekend in B.F.E. and I may or may not go, depending on the weather. As I mentioned above, driving in snow is not one of my favorite pastimes. Last year, I smashed up the front end of my car making a left turn, skidding on black ice, and plowing into the curb. I was going, maybe, 15 miles an hour. So ever since then I'm completely freaked out in the snow. I'm that jerkoff you want to kill because I'm going 30 mph in a 60, keeping about 10 car lengths between myself and the car in front of me. Occasionally I flip on my hazards if a car starts riding my ass. Just because they make me nervous. Yep, I'm pretty much a pansy. I admit it.

So we'll see if I have the cojones to go to the gig in B.F.E. It has a lot of windy, deserted stretches of road and farmland on each side. (Oh yeah. Like all of Ohio. Come on, I know that's what you all were thinking!!!) I'm a suburban chick. I live close to chain restaurants, major highway interchanges, and shopping malls. And I like it that way.

Well, I'm off to shower and try some new hair product that Alea gave me to sample -- it supposedly will straighten out the ends of my hair, which have this nasty habit of getting frizzy and curling any which way they want to. So excuse me while I go shoozh (not the correct spelling, but tzus just doesn't look like a real word.)

OCD with DND
We have this nifty little feature on our phone known as "Do Not Disturb." You press a button, and -- voila -- all calls go into voice mail. So I pressed the DND button this morning after a slew of calls kept interrupting the Big-Ass Project. (Which is almost, almost done, I think, maybe.) But when there's a message in my voice mail, a red light flashes. Now even though I'm working on Big-Ass Project, I MUST KNOW who called. MUST listen to the message, right away. Kind of defeats the purpose, don't you think?

Props
One of my daily reads, Patent Pending, is hilarious today. And I just wanted to share it with everyone.

Good Things About Today:
I have a nice, fat paycheck in hand. The bank account is now ready to pay out to Kaufmann's, Target, the mortgage company, and anyone else who is waiting to take their chunk out of the paltry sum I receive every two weeks.

Other good things: the boss is taking us out to lunch. Even though everyone is kind of in pissy moods today, me included, it's a FREE LUNCH. The lunch is commemmorate the November birthdays of Bad Lady and Jonesarelli.

Bad Things About Today:
The snow is here. The forecast for Cleveland is 1-4 inches. But where I live, which is in the Akron/Canton region, south of Cleveland, we are expected to get 2-6. Hoo-freakin-ray.

Big-Ass Project is still not done. I got changes from Big Boss, from Big Big Boss, and just my regular boss. Grumble.

Immunity. Back Up for Grabs.
I didn't realize that they had allowed a brand new castaway into the game. Her name is Darrah. Darrah, say hello to everyone. OK, now that introductions are out of the way, lil' miss Darrah is gon' kick some ass, southern-style.

Well, tonight, we saw more blurred boobies than a "Girls Gone Wild" TV promo. My husband was digging it. But he was un-digging Lillian's underdrawers -- her bloomers, if you will. He said he'd like it if they un-blurred the boobies and blurred Lill from the waist down.

Everyone is still walking around with "SUCKA" plastered to their forehead. Wake up people! Jon is going to take you all to the cleaners!

New pics!



This is Domino, having an attack of the crazies. He is actually underneath the couch, peeking out, and I'm on the couch, looking down at him. I'm pretty sure that after this photo was snapped, a little white paw came out and tried to take a snipe at me.



And that's Molly, caught in a rare moment of playfulness. She loves that orange toy thing (it has catnip in it) and that is the only toy she shows any interest in. She also will occasionally scratch herself along the bristles of that loopy toy thing she's leaning on.

Funny quote
On the way into work yesterday, the discussion was about stupid soundbytes from celebs and politicians. Well, of course, there was a huge one from W. and there was one from Rumsfeld that made absolutely no sense. But the one they kept playing over and over was from the Governatah, Ahhhnold Swartzanagahhh, who said (picture him saying this): "I think gay marriage should be between a man and a woman."

Really, you do?

Must Stop Posting... I am out of control!

Tha Doggfather
Getting e-mail from someone you haven't heard in a while rocks, especially when it's from Tim-Dogg, the originator of the term "Sketch Factor." His message cracked me up. Anyone who can work in the terms "whack M.C.'s" and "playas and playettes" in one e-mail message is OK in my book.

Don't Mess With the Original
One of my main pet peeves in life is when something good is remade into something crappy. For instance:

1. The Charlie Brown Christmas Special. Simply put, you do not mess with this. Under any circumstances. You don't put out a second, more modernized Charlie Brown special and try and pass it off as good. I assure you, it ain't.

2. Anything P. Diddy has ever ripped off via sampling. Examples: Every Breath You Take by the Police. Diddy, you have no business touching this song.

3. In the 80's, we had a really cute, cheesy movie called "Can't Buy Me Love." It starred Amanda Peterson as the snobby rich popular girl, and ?? Patrick Dempsey?? as the nerdy loser guy. By circumstances which escape my brain at the moment, they strike a deal wherein Popular Girl conducts a make-better on Nerdy Loser Guy, and he becomes popular.

In 2003, a movie called "Love Don't Co$t a Thing" comes out, same premise, but more urbanized. I say fie upon it. Don't mess with 80's movies. And if a John Hughes movie gets remade into crap, I will go postal.

4. Hotmail. Question: why is it, I just get used to their interface and they change it again? Funk dat! About once a year, Hotmail revamps its e-mail system, sending me into a months-long tizzy. Let the tizzy commence.

Of course, I'm a total hypocrite. I just bought off I-Tunes (aka virtual crack), mere minutes before posting this entry, the Sugar Ray remake of Joe Jackson's "Is She Really Going Out With Him?" And I must say, it's a catchy little number!

Soooooo Jealous
My friend who lives in D.C. is going to see my boyfriend Ryan in concert on Sunday. Waaaah!

Favorite snack
Sadly, there were no candy bars to be found, and I was quite distressed. So I went down to Ye Olde Vending Machine and lo and behold, waiting for me was my absolute freakin' favorite snack in the world, Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips. 75 cents later, I'm a happy little camper.

I'm slippin'
O.M.G. I forgot Queer Eye was on last night! What is wrong with me? Ah, no biggie, it will be on again tomorrow night. But still.

Another Postcard
Some chimps in swim suits!
Some chimps in jack boots!
Some chimps in hard hats!
Some chimps who love cats!

... Since that song is caught in my head now, suffer with me. Suffer, I say! Suffer! Even though I love chimps, and between my co-workers and I, we refer to each other as chimps (as in, a chimp could do our job -- or the classic, someone called our department and asked, "what chimp at corporate wrote this ad?" -- and the person who wrote the ad took the call and was pissed) but, this song has got to go. BNL done bad by me.

BloggerWatch 2003
As is the new pastime with many of us, I am intrigued by my (and others') advertising banners which appear over our weblogs. Today, mine says something about Wonka candy (I have a feeling it has something to do with the pretzel crunch bar, which, damn, I could go for right now -- I wonder if Allie got to Hollywood yet? Note to self: go investigate kitchen for trace evidence of candy).

Damn. It's gone now. It had a funny related search but I already forgot what it was. Oh well. Time for lunch. I'm not hungry this week for some reason (which, hey, isn't something to complain about, considering I ingested the monthly caloric intake of a elephant last week). But if there's a pretzel crunch bar to be had, I'll suffer the consequences.

Housekeeping
First, I must apologize to my husband, who has endured more than his fair share of my bad moods. Last night I was so work-whupped that I collapsed on the couch for a good five minutes, before I even took my coat and shoes off. I don't think he knows what to do with me when I'm like that. When I got home last night, I needed some serious unwinding time. So thanks. And thanks for cleaning the George Foreman, too. You know how much I hate doing that.

Second, Tuna, I'm honored that you liked my GT heiroglyphic. I thought it more resembled a goldfish, but then, who's ever seen a tuna up close that's not in a can? Not me. Of course you can use it!!! You can probably snag it right off this page by right-clicking. Otherwise, I will give you the URL to where it is stored.

Third, I watched The Simple Life last night. Two Hollywood ditzes in Arkansas. Hoo-whee! This is some down-home fun.

Fourth, today should be a little bit less stressful. Knock on wood. Which is good, because I've put a lot of stuff on the back burner trying to get Big-Ass project done.

Fifth, must order Christmas gifts online today. I am not into the whole "wait until the last minute" thing. Procrastination is not my friend. Never has been. So I will take care of business today. At least partially. Still don't know what I'm going to get my dad. He is the hardest person to buy for -- with maybe the slight exception of my father-in-law, but I think I even found something for him this year.

And that is all. For now at least.

At the tone, the time will be:
5:50 p.m. Big-Ass Project has been completed. I took a 10 minute breather and was talking to a co-worker and the boss approached me with the Big Boss in tow and asked, "Do you have a mechanical on [project for Big Boss that he gave me at 3:30]?"

No. I don't. Because I was working to finish Big-Ass Project. But now I look like a fool because I'm standing around talking instead of working.

I can't win!

... And the winner is ...

Three guesses as to visitor 1000 was. (Sorry, I'm no artiste)



And the first two don't count.

Coming in a close second...



Again, not the best drawrer in the world. Now, back to work for me. Still trying to finish Big-Ass Project. And I haven't eaten lunch yet. I'm not that hungry though. Surprisingly. Can't say that too often about myself.

Quickie
I'm working on a deadline project (deadline: this afternoon, or, ASAP, whichever comes first) so once that hell passes, I'll be back in full blogging force. I am due to get my 1000th visitor today so that is exciting for me. Who will it be? Maybe it's you? Will you win a prize? Probably not, but you might get a shout-out from me. A prize in itself, no? OK, no. It's exciting though. Scroll down to the verrrrrrrrry bottom to see what # visitor you are... and if it's you, let me know!

Here's me this morning,
approximately 5:00 a.m.
Get up to pee.
Settle back in to bed.
*pop* into my mind comes Project A that I know I need to work on today.
*pop* into my mind comes SWF, and her random snubbing of me last week.
*pop* into my mind comes another work-related stressful thought.
And so on, and so on, and so on.
All I want to do is go back to sleep for the remaining moments that I have. But nooooooo, *pop* I start thinking about the balance in my checkbook until Friday ($46). *pop* I start wondering what I'm going to buy my Dad for Christmas. *pop* I wonder if I can clear my mind. *pop* I remember what Ally Hilfiger told Jaime Gleisher on "Rich Girls" when Jaime was stressing about losing her virginity on prom night: tap your third eye 21 times to clear your mind. *tap* *tap* (x21) *pop* SWF -- why the hell wasn't she talking to me last week, is she still pissed about the time when I didn't ride in the elevator with her because I wanted to take the stairs? *pop* What am I going to write in the blog today? *pop* Clear. Your. Mind. Go back to sleep. *pop* Did I remember to change the litter box? *pop* Should I return the sweater I bought at Talbots to wear to the dreaded company party next Friday? *pop* $46 in checking. Holy shit. *pop* Johnny Fairplay. *pop* SWF. *pop* Stressful project. *pop* Boss. *pop* Go. To. Sleep. *pop* What should I wear today? zzzzzzz *sound of alarm going off*

OK, I just have to know:
What exactly is a platymapus shirt? Because apparently I said something about a month ago about Jessica Simpson saying that she thought it was "plat-a-ma-pus" and now I've gotten 5 or 6 hits on this blog from people looking for a platymapus shirt. I have to know what it is now. I'll do my own search. But I'll probably end up on this blog. Must. Find. Out.

UPDATE: my search has proved inconclusive. On MSN, The Sketch Factor was the only result. On Google, "platymapus shirt" didn't yield any clues, either. A few platypus shirt sites were there, but no conclusive evidence as to what the "platymapus" shirt was and why it's so daggone popular.

Mission accomplished
The wallpaper is up. I repeat, the wallpaper is up. This is not a drill.

For those of you who have never hung wallpaper before, I do not recommend it. Paint is the way to go.

What a total nightmare. That was an entire Saturday of hell. The first pattern we bought didn't quite match up when we started putting it on the wall, so we went back to the store and bought a second pattern. That worked well. The pattern we got is called "sky crackle" -- it's a light, sky blue, with a crackle texture pattern. Easy to match, and looks great. We bought a new shower curtain too, which has some of the light blue but also some sage green and yellow... it really brings the room together. I'm so happy that it's done!

But man, seriously. Never again. I wasn't even the hanger -- I was only the measurer and cutter, and I woke up Sunday and my entire body ached. Probably because I'm an out-of-shape wuss, but that's beside the point.

I'll have a picture someday... in addition to not having a tv by the computer, I still have one of those old-fashioned cameras that only take film. I need to get with the program.