2006, A Space Odyssey

As a person born in the 70s (late 70s, but still), when I was little the year two thousand-anything sounded very far off and filled with gadgets we dreamed up on the Jetsons. I gotta say, I'm still waiting for Rosie to come and clean up after me.

Who would have thought we'd come so far, and yet, not so far at all. In a world were we can talk to people across the continent or across town while in our car, how is that we still don't know so much about one another? How come we've got all these things to make our lives "easier" and "simple," and they clutter up my purse, my car and my house and seem to add more steps?

And so, for 2006, I've decided to keep it real...er, simple. Why reach for the palm pilot when a piece of paper will do? I'll set aside my iPod in favor of some life music every once in a while. And, unlike Lance Bass, I will not be pursuing a trip to space.

A Holiday Postmortem

Hello, readers. Another holiday has passed and I am at work this morning trying to combat the emails filling my Inbox. However, I am in a fleece and jeans, so somehow it makes it okay. Between deleting things promising to make my penis larger (which, I admit, would be a feat) or yet another piece of breaking news, I have been reflecting on this year's holiday season.

I would say it has been in the top 10 of Christmases, but am not sure why. It may be because I did not receive an American Girl doll, as I did when I was sixteen and was expecting a CD player instead (note to grandmas everywhere: this is the WRONG gift for a girl already battling the dramas of puberty) or maybe it's because for the first time that I can remember, we didn't have to drive anywhere on Christmas Day---family came to us. There is something wonderfully delicious about staying in comfy clothes all day, sitting in front of the fire and trash-talking euchre with your grandmother.

'Twas the Night Before Christmas (Eve)

Merry Christmas to all!

Amazing Grace

I'm recovering on the couch right now after spending last night at the hospital and meeting Friend Jessica's new baby girl, Grace. Mom, Dad and Baby are doing well and can't take their eyes off each other.

I've decided I'm in the perfect position--doting auntie who gets to spoil the child, but return her home at the end of the day. And, I didn't even have to get an epideral!

Two Thumbs Up

'Tis the season of Tiny Tim and warm hearts...and tears induced by Disney and (who would have thought?) HBO documentaries about paper clips. For those of you who have not gone to see Chronicles of Narnia...go! It does justice to the books we loved as a kid (or adult) and dang if you don't want to just stand up and cheer alongside Lucy, Edmund, Peter and Susan. And, lovely bits to analyze and compare to The Good Book itself.

Regarding paper clips, I got sucked in to the story on HBO portraying one tiny community's school project to collect 6 million paper clips to have a physical representation of how many Jews died during the Holocaust. Suffice it to say, I was an emotional goner after the principals and teachers started tearing up, much less the visit from the Holocaust survivors from New York who gave their testimony in a packed Methodist church in the middle of Appalachia. (A much better representation of the good folks of Tennessee than Dollywood, I would think).

Just a couple suggestions to fit in between A Christmas Story and watching that crazy Chevy Chase celebrate the holidays for the thousandth time.

Auld Lang Syne

As one year closes and the next comes upon us, I've decided to compose my own Big in 2005, in no particular order.

• Girl Friends. In the past year, my amazing comrades have given birth, gotten married, traveled all over Brazil while working on a thesis, made major life decisions, bought and sold houses, persevered through illness and, generally, made me darn proud to call them a friend. Most importantly, they have all continued to be the wise, strong, clever women that support me and brighten my life every day.
• Pink. Who knew this lovely little color would come back with a vengeance? Pink is no longer for little girls and Hello Kitty...even The Donald has embraced the pink power shirt. Can lime green be far behind?
• Jib Jab. Often the only political touchstone for my brothers (and the rest of a grateful nation), these funny little cartoons have made it cool to talk blue and red, dove and hawk again. And I'm all for anyone who takes on the big box store.
• Mother Nature. Tsunami, hurricane, earthquake, tornado...you name it, we had it. However, like a phoenix, we've risen from the ashes, shaken ourselves off and realized that we aren't so far away from one another after all.
• Books. From Oprah's book club to Harry Potter mania, at least we are all reading something. Some of my favorites from the last year: Kite Runner, Secret Life of Bees and Jon Stewart's America.
• Ipod. Who knew it would be so fun to carry around enough music to listen to for the next 67 days? Personally, I could listen to three weeks of 80s pop and 90s hip-hop alone.
• The Truth. After some nauseating years of ostrich-like behavior, we've finally started to demand the truth from our president and his posse. Now, come on, tell me Karl Rove doesn't look shifty just by looking at him?
• Celebrity Trash Magazines (my personal drug of choice). I admit it, I have a problem (isn't that the first step to recovery?). Sit a copy of US Weekly, Ok!, In Touch or People in front of me and I will devour it, cover to cover, without ceasing. I have a small problem with making the lives of celebrities enter into my own to the point where I know the details of Nick and Jessica's makeups and breakups more than I know important things like the plots and subplots of War and Peace. It seems this year has brought a rush of these mags to the bookstore and I've probably dropped some considerable cash just to look at pictures of stars (they're just like us! --us weekly) or even non-stars (Chloe what's-her-face). Maybe I will give up on crap literature next year...or maybe 2007 would be a better time to try cold turkey.

Get Out The Vote (a surprisingly serious post from May or May Not)

A big bravo today to the Iraqi citizens who have "gotten out the vote" in a far greater fashion than we apathetic Americans seem to. Let us all hope that this is the start of something amazing in that region---and the beginning of the return of American troops.

Score: Democracy 1 Crazy Dictator 0

For news coverage:
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20051216/ap_on_re_mi_ea/iraq (Yahoo)
http://www.cnn.com/2005/WORLD/meast/12/16/iraq.elections/index.html (CNN)
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/12/16/international/middleeast/16sunnis.html?ei=5094&en=7be33c83a466e7ce&hp=&ex=1134795600&adxnnl=1&partner=homepage&adxnnlx=1134742215-4z+ZrHC/uN0T9mdj7g1oiw (New York Times)

Stop in the Name of the Law!

How exciting! Tonight I get the oh-so-cool experience of observing a focus group. Not only is this fun research stuff for work, it also means that I get to be the person sitting behind one of those two-way mirrors. I'm considering dressing up as a cop (plainclothes, so as not to attract attention, but wearing some sort of badge) to make the experience all the more fun.

Unfortunately, our consultant is on the up and up, so in actuality it will probably be 10 people sitting around a conference table over-dosing on diet coke. Maybe I can run in to the room screaming "citizen's arrest!" at some point to spice it up a bit.

Updates on Past Posts

• True to the apocalyptic warnings, the new parking passes have caused untold horrors in the parking garage. Every day, we continue to get new emails about how to use the passes appropriately---don't wave them at the machine, don't bite them and yes, they are different than the old ones. Oh, the horrors.
• My friend from the baby shower still has her bun in the oven, so to speak. Consequently, we are on high alert for calls from her and are all prepared to make our way to the hospital at any given moment. I sorta feel like a doctor on call.
• The snow is meelllttinngg (said in the Wicked Witch of the West voice) around here and the blizzard is officially over.
• As of yet, I've received no free gifts as a result of my shopping guide. This is making me feel morally superior, as if I am doing some sort of service to the world.
• The dog story is spreading far and wide. I am happy to say that in a short time I should be getting some sort of forward that will be filled with only the basic storyline plus a lot of stuff that has been made up. The story has been told to friends and friends of friends of friends of friends all over the US of A and even other continents. The good news---you heard it here first.

Doogie hearts Willa

So I had the lovely pleasure of watching My Antonia on HBO this week, starring the one and only Neil Patrick Harris (post-Doogie). While it does have the cinematography of a Hallmark movie, it is pretty good overall, if only that anyone who will make a Willa Cather movie is on the up and up in my book (pun intended).

It has also reconfirmed my opinion that being a pioneer really was not as fun as Caddie Woodlawn and Laura Ingalls made it out to be. Stringing cranberries around the Christmas tree really doesn't make up for the lack of electricity, communication and transportation. And let's not forget those nasty incidents down at the crick.

Oh, the weather outside is frightful...

Today, a blizzard hit Indiana. When I say blizzard, I mean more like 7 inches, but still. If I were Queen of the World, anytime there was more than 2 inches of snow, everything would shut down...except for Target and Starbucks (as if we could survive without the staples). That way, instead of dreading snow and the impending doom of traffic, we could do as we did in elementary school and spend the day sleeping in, watching daytime TV and building snowmen (or women).

In other current events, a real shocker. DJ Adam and Nicole Richie have called off their engagment. I know, I should have told you to sit down. This is nearly as surprising as Madonna learning a new yoga pose.

Well, I'm off to watch the OC. Teenage angst just never gets old.

Step back, Chicken Little.

Well, this week at work the sky is falling. No, there hasn't been a recent down-sizing announcement or a directive to cut the budgets by 25%.

The parking passes have changed. Or will be changed soon. Or should have been changed. Or might be changed from morning to night. Or might change tomorrow or yesterday. We've received frantic emails from the facility people on all accounts. What to do if your pass doesn't work, what to do when it does work, what to do when you arrive and the old system is still in place, what to do if it's the new system, what to do if, God forbid, the system changes while you are inside at work and it's different when you exit the building.

I am just imagining people in an absolute panic as they pull up the parking garage. Screaming, pulling out their hair, throwing themselves onto the ground as the bar refuses to raise. Oh, the agony.

A Few Little Tips, From Me to You

In honor of my office holiday party tonight, I thought I'd give a few helpful hints for all your merry-making:

1. When attending your holiday party, don't be "that girl." You will know you are she if you are the only person left at the party and the hosts are shoving coffee down your throat in an attempt to sober you up.
2. Inevitably, you will have a high number of small talk instances. Talking about kids and family is okay. Do not, however, relay details of breastfeeding or (gasp) labor with your coworkers or their spouses. Remember, you have to see these people on Monday.
3. Moving on from the holiday party to holiday decorations: Do not decorate the outside or inside of your house with a one-toned lighting scheme, unless that color is white. Frankly, all you people that put up thousands of little red lights make your neighbors think that you just might be recreating Dante's fifth circle of hell.
4. Accept it, Christmas will never ever be as good as it was when you were five. No gift can ever equal your first Care Bear. Move on.
5. When composing your Christmas newsletter, give the details that people actually want to know about. This does not include every award won, car bought or, God forbid, raises given.

Move Over, Oprah

In the spirit of Oprah and every magazine in the universe, I've composed my own "favorite things" list for the holiday season. These would be for the ultra-discerning shopper.

I do not receive any sort of monetary gain from this list, however, should these companies like to personally thank me with some free stuff, I'd be up for it.

The List:

• Jane Boatman Geller Stationery: My friend Whitney and I are fairly obsessed with Jane's cool plaids and timeless preppiness. Visit www.janeboatmangellerco.com
  for info and to drool over her Christmas cards.
• Library of Congress Prints: This is not quite as dorky as it may sound. Turns out that as an American, you get the rights and copies of all the prints that the Library of Congress owns. So, looking for something for your Depression-baby grandfather? Try some old blank and white of a Hoover-ville. Or, simply search for your state or hometown to get some neat old pictures that would look oh-so-hip in pottery barn frames with black mats. The LOC's site is: www.loc.gov.
• Land of Nod: Need something for the half-pint in your family? If you can't find it here, they don't need it. Ohh and awww over the cute bedding, prints and vintage toys. Heck, if you don't have a kid to buy for, get it for yourself. www.landofnod.com.
• Tie It With A Bow: My friends and I received bags from this store last year for a bridesmaid's gift and have been complimented on them ever since. Make sure to get it monogrammed for that extra touch. www.tieitwithabow.com.
• Sephora: Finally, a store that you can register at before getting married or having a baby. Don't you deserve the makeup and bath treats you want all year long? Make sure to fill your registry and have your friends do the same. Your stocking stuffers may actually be stuff you want this year, instead of five toothbrushes and enough floss to circle the globe. www.sephora.com
• Browns on 5th: Zionsville, Indiana's own Vera Bradley supa-store. They have a HUGE selection of Vera and other fun girly stuff. Make sure to ask for free monogramming. www.brownson5th.com.
• One Horse Shy: Been looking for the perfect gift for your 90210-obsessed buddy? Get her (or him) the oh-so-cool Donna Martin Graduates t-shirt? It's a gem. www.onehorseshy.com.

Life is Rush

Once upon a time, when I was president of our sorority, we showed a video that proclaimed over and over, "Life is Rush." The more and more "grown up" I get, the more that I am convinced that truer words were never spoken.

For example:

• Job interviews are nothing more than first, second and third round of rush. The first round is generic (What's your major? has been replaced with What are your three good and bad qualities?), the second is slightly more personal...and you get a tour, and the third is when the stakes are high, the possibility of tears is significantly higher, and you will all sing kumbaya together as they try and convince you that this place really is like a family.
• The sorority formal has laid a nice foundation for what would become summers filled with weddings. Gotta find a date, gotta make sure you're sitting with people you like and, above all else, make sure that Like a Prayer is on the playlist.
• And, of course, there are the rules of Positive, Negative, Positive. When tactfully telling a coworker that their idea sucks, it is best to use the rush formula. (Example: I think it's great that you have spent so much time on this and shown your dedication. However, it's not what we're looking for. I feel confident with your talent, you'll be able to find a better solution.) This is the slightly more professional version of, she's really cute. she's not a good fit, but she's really nice.
• And, finally, the most important rules of Rush: Make sure you go where your heart leads you. My heart, for instance, did not lead me to places that circled your fat or required you to purchase pearls. I suggest you use the same yardstick in your professional life.

Falling Off the Wagon

No worries. I haven't started using drugs or become an alcoholic. Thanks to Nancy Reagan, I just say no.

However, today I have absolutely succumb to my own little addiction--shows about D list celebrities. I've been sitting on the couch for the last five hours, with only brief breaks to switch and fold laundry, watching large quantities of THS and Breaking Bonaduce.

In an attempt to pretend that all of this has been somewhat productive, I'm going to pull an Aesop. I've come up with the moral of all the stories of Danny Bonaduce, Webster and the cast of Growing Pains:

Get your head out of your behind, stop trying to be trendy (you will never be cool again, unless you are Neil Patrick Harris and Patrick Dempsey) and grow up.

I think we've all learned a little something here. See, TV can be good for the soul.

Happy Freakin' Thanksgiving

Say it ain't so.

Sadly, in the space of one week, we've been forced to face the sad celebrealities of both the break up of our favorite Newlyweds and the upcoming finale of Alias (and subsequently, Jennifer Garner's spot on the A List).

We saw the signs. Didn't we all wonder how Nick could handle Jessica's spaciness for an extended length of time? After all, he's a good boy from the Midwest who may like his girls pretty, but also values a modicum of common sense.

And, let's be honest, Alias jumped the shark this season. A pregnant spy who's (very cute) fiancee dies (for the second time) and is out for revenge?? JJ, I believe you've officially lost your touch. This has been confirmed by your recent alliance with Tom Cruise, the Mayor of Crazy Town.

Chin up, reader. This is the holiday season. The only thing to do is dry your eyes and hope that you'll find your very own subscription to US Weekly under the tree.

Rest In Peace. Or, Just Give It a Rest

I can't take credit for the above picture, but I sure do like it.

A New Leaf

Upon reflection, I have decided to embrace getting older. Instead of bemoaning the lines that are appearing on my face, I will celebrate each laugh line because it means I earned them. I will welcome each gray hair with delight as it means that surely I must be getting wiser. Instead of cursing the scale, I will be thankful for every pound because it means I have enough to eat. In short, I will be thankful for all my 27 years, even if it kills me.

I am so grown up.

Welcome to Oldville. Grab a Shawl.

Tomorrow I will be celebrating my 27th birthday. Okay, perhaps celebrating is a bit extreme. Maybe the word is enduring.

I'm quickly coming upon 30 and have come to the remarkable realization that the days of being excited about a birthday are over. I've got my license, I'm able to drink, heck, I'm even able to rent a car.

The only thing left is getting a senior citizens discount and joining AARP.

Sob.

A Word to the Schmuck I Parked Next To This Morning

Dear Fellow Parking Lot User:

It is not your right to take up 1.5 spaces in the already crowded and narrow parking lot. Just because your new, fancy schmancy car is sooo important to you does not mean you are allowed to force others to walk an additional block because you are taking up most of two of the closest spots.

You are, in short, a self-centered jerk. Who, incidentally, drives a new but UGLY car.

Sincerely,

The Small Honda Civic Owner Who Was Forced to Climb Out of Her Car Using The Passenger-Side Door.

EstrogenFest 2K5

This morning, I am recovering from what I am lovingly referring to as The Girl Weekend. In honor of our friend's pregnancy, females gathered from far and wide to ooo and awww over pink rompers, snuggly blankies, and very small shoes. Diaper cakes were displayed, pink ribbons tied, and pictures were taken...all the ingredients for a lovely weekend celebrating womanhood.

Of course, we kicked it off with dinner and drinks (of which our pregnant friend did not partake so don't be calling child welfare) the night before, so we had laid the foundation for fun well.

Surely the guys didn't have nearly as much fun--they were out grunting and sweating while taking down some trees. Although they maintain using a chainsaw is more fun than going to a baby shower. Yeah, right.

I am woman. Hear me roar.

PS. What does that phrase even mean? I can't remember ever roaring in my whole entire life.

Let the Urban Legends Begin..An only Three Times Removed Story of terror, grief and a dead dog in a suitcase

While I got this story from a friend of a friend who was friends with the girl involved, you may all feel free to take it as your own and spread it far and wide, as it is quite hysterical, although unfortunate for one much-loved pet.

Once upon a time (that's how all great stories start), a Midwestern girl fresh from college moved to The Big City. Upon arriving on the crowded, but magical island, she set about moving her belongs into her new apartment, finding her way around and making new friends.

About a week after her arrival, she got a call from a friend of a friend back home who was looking for a dog-sitter while their family went on vacation to a much warmer, more tropical island down south. So the girl agreed.

On the arranged day, she went to the apartment building, got the key from the doorman and let herself in to feed and walk the dog. Upon entering the apartment, to her shock and horror, she discovered that the dog, a friendly black lab, had recently left Manhattan for Doggie Heaven.

An emotional wreck, she called the friend of a friend on vacation and sadly told them the news. They were not shocked, they said, as dear Fido was getting old and tired. Call the vet, they said, and he'll pick up the dog and prepare him for doggie burial.

So the girl called the vet, who told her the unfortunate bit of news about the state health department and their inability to pick up said dog. She would have to transport him to the vet and they would take care of him there.

Calling the grieving owners back, she explained the situation. To which they replied, "The big suitcase is in the closet."

Yes, dear reader, it's true. She had to carry the dead dog to the vet in a Samsonite.

Our intrepid Midwesterner loaded the dog into the suitcase and set out for the vet's office, via the subway, like any true New Yorker. (we can only hope the suitcase had wheels and a nice long handle)

While on the subway, she sat next to a rather shady looking, but seemingly friendly guy who inquired about the suitcase, where she was going and what sort of travel plans she had. Before she could think up a suitable answer, the train stopped, the doors open, the guy grabbed her suitcase and ran out.

You may think I am making it up, but it's true. She got mugged on the subway while carrying a dead dog in a suitcase. Now this would be better if we knew somehow what the mugger though upon opening the suitcase and discovered the body, but sadly we are left to wonder.

Ahoy, matey!

Have you all seen this? On Saturday, a cruise ship off the coast of Africa WAS ATTACKED BY PIRATES!

I'm imagining the job posting:

WANTED:
Pirate to sail the seven seas, most especially those off the coast of Africa. Must be a team player with a thirst for gold, rum and drinks that come with tiny umbrellas on cruise ships. Previous experience and references required. No parrots allowed. Special consideration will be given to those who have previously held positions of captain, first mate or cook. Booty (that's the pirate word for "salary"--get your minds out of the gutter) dependent on experience.

Like, totally, 2005

It has entered my consciousness that 2005 might very well be the year the 80s return. Yes, for those of you who have been waiting, it may be time to tight roll your jeans, break out your hypercolor sweatshirt and put Tiffany in the boombox.

You see, this is the year that Patrick Dempsey has returned to pop culture, Jason Bateman is hitting his stride and Neil Patrick Harris truly shines.

The best part of all of this? They have grown up with us and can inspire the same level of crush that we had when they graced the cover of Seventeen (and, let's be honest, our bedroom walls).

So, while we may be beat over the head with the 2000's, never fear. The days of our childhood will always rein supreme.

Democrats, unite!

In honor of the leadership session I attended today, I've composed a short list of soundbytes to clarify the D possition. After all, it seems we can only absorb two sentences at a time.

And so, here we go:

• Civil rights are good. Taking them away is bad.
• Diversity is good. Not having it is bad.
• The Man should work for The People. Not the other way around.
• Donkeys are cool. Elephants, not so much.
• Christians can be Democrats. So can Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and even Madonna and Britney Spears.

So, break out your sandwhich boards and sharpies, folks. The revolution is upon us.

The Nasty Underbelly of Democracy (which actually isn't nasty, just slightly inconvenient at times)

Well, friends, it's that time of the year. The time when individuals all throughout the office are in a panic over the choices in health insurance.

Each year, we get a packet of information detailing the benefits of each plan, designed to have us asking bizarre questions about what prescriptions and services are provided. Then, we all ceremoniously pretend to ignore said packets until the last possible day (which would be today) to make our decision.

At such time, we start screaming questions down the hall about flex plans and tax savings and eye care as if we, 15 rather rational adults, can't figure out these mysteries without heavy hand holding and pats on the back.

And so, as I've just proclaimed to my insurance-induced-comatose coworkers, I wish I didn't have a choice. I just want them to choose for me and then let me bitch about it. I don't want to regret my decision of A over B in 6 months because it didn't cover a broken toe; I want to blame someone. The Man, if you will.

Which has lead me to the following Carrie Bradshaw-like epiphany: Why do we have so many freakin' choices? When our founding fathers threw tea in the harbor, do you think they were thinking, hmmm, I hope someday Americans have a choice of 55 different kinds of brewed delicacies in a large 15-acre store that looks like a box? No, I don't think so.

We, as Americans, are over-choiced. Since when did picking toilet paper require major thought and consideration? I could write a dissertation on the benefits of two-ply over single ply with ripples.

For the love.

Editor's Note: This in no way means that I want my choices taken away. This is a rant, folks, not a lifestyle change.

Hey Xzibit, Pimp My Ride

Yesterday, on my way into work, I started feeling a vibration. As I was going through a construction zone, I thought maybe I was driving over hidden rumble strips or some such thing.

I was wrong. Within two minutes, the gentle hum of my car had turned into a growl that brings up images of nitrogen-helped cars and Fast and the Furious. I am not Vin Diesel.

So, for the remainder of my ride into work, and then back home, I had to endure the many stares and blatant laughter of my fellow commuters and the odd pedestrian on the street. Apparently my muffler had tanked out and taken all of my pride in my little Civic with it. Suddenly, I was embarrassed, if not ashamed to be driving such a crass car. It was like my Honda had farted in the middle of rush hour.

Consequently, I'm now sitting in the car dealership waiting for my new muffler and the opportunity to hand over $490 to cure my car's flatulence problem.

The Great Pumpkin or, When the Frost is on the Punkin'

Happy Halloween! Yes, it's that lovely day of the year when it is okay to dress up like fools, knock on strangers' doors and gorge on candy corn. American consumerism at it's best.

In honor of the spooky holiday, I have composed a brief list of "to-do's" to make your Halloween all the more special:

1. Watch Silence of the Lambs and perfect your impersonation of Buffalo Bill's voice. ("You 'bout a size 14?") You will win 'em over at the Halloween party.
2. Eat nothing but candy, all day long. Might I suggest Junior Mints for breakfast, Snickers for lunch (you'll need something that really satisfies) and Kit-Kat's for a pre-trick-or-treating snack.
3. Be imaginative when thinking up your costume. You'll get extra points for originality. However, make sure it's something that doens't need constant explaining. A character from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, for instance, might not be the thing, unless you are an English professor going to a party of coworkers.
4. Use dry ice as much as possible.
5. Do not, I repeat, Do Not Give Out Raisins! The children in your neighborhood will hate you and you will be come "Old Mrs. or Old Mr. So-and-So" for the rest of your life.
6. Forget the traditional Jack-O-Latern and carve your pumpkin into the face of Lindsay Lohen or some other scary Hollywood-type.
7. Turn your office into a scence from Psycho using stuffed birds and screeching violins.

And remember, don't eat Smartees from strangers.

The Unwritten Rules of Work Voice Mail, According to May or May Not

You May:

• Be Cheerful
• Be Concise
• Give an alternate number or way to reach you

You May Not:

• Give a 20 minute dissertation on your whereabouts at every moment of the day because you are that important
• Omit your name and organization
• Give 10 different numbers or ways to reach you, again because you are that important
• Go over 30 seconds, leaving your caller with nothing to do but sit there and wait while you ramble on for 2 minutes when all they want to do is leave a 5 second message.

Back Home Again in Indiana

Following a powerful week of rebuilding in Gautier, MS, I have composed a short list of the things in my daily life that I am v. thankful for:

• Showers that are both hot and allow you to control the temperature. Oh, and ones in which you don't have to wear shower shoes.
• A house without black mold and that has my possessions in their place, instead of strewn about as if they were in a washing machine.
• A bed. Not a cot, a bed.
• Food that is not fried. Sorry, I'm a Yankee thru and thru.
• Bathrooms that flush. Whoever invented the "Port-O-Pot" was a fool. Or maybe its those of us forced to use them that are the fools.
• My non-manual-labor job. My desk is going to look so good tomorrow.

Besides the lack of creature comforts, the trip was an amazing experience. Rebuilding is going to take years, but the spirit of the people we met in Mississippi is as it has always been--generous and warm.

A few pictures from the trip:

There used to be a house behind this mailbox. In the back you can see the gulf.

A house a bit in from the gulf with items still left on the bookcase, despite the fact that the waves broke down one brick wall, washed in, and washed out another wall in the house. Our little home away from home, Tent City.

To Be Continued...

I'm leaving tomorrow at a horrifically early hour to go spend a week in the swamps of Mississippi. So, May or May Not will be ghostly silent for a week, as I am not so dedicated as to haul a laptop along with my sleeping bag, 2 gallons of deet and knee-high rubber boots.

Stay tuned for an all new fresh posting next week. (I know, I'm so WB).

It's getting hot in here. Wait, it's just me.

No, I'm not Nelly. But I am recovering from days of high temperatures and other lovely flu-like symptoms. During the last few days of groggy TV watching, I'm discovered that I actually would rather be at work than watch daytime dramas. Shocking, I know.

In other news, I've finally learned how to pronounce the name of the town in Mississippi (again, you're all spelling it out loud--it's just a fun word) that I'll be visiting in two short days, Gautier. Now, maybe you francophiles out there will instantly come to the right conclusion, but for those of us who took Spanish for three years, it looks, at best, like Goat-ear. To my relief (and amazement) it is actually, Go-shea. Much better. Brings up visions of overpriced shea butter and other treats at Sephora.

In Indiana, it'd be Goatear. After all, Versailles is Vur-sailes, Milan is My-lan and occasionally Brazil is Bray-zil. Apparently our Hoosier ancestors didn't get out much.

Stop, Drop and Roll

During my morning commute, I was thinking of times in our adult lives when we are instantly and often hysterically, converted back to small children. So, for this morning's Show and Tell, I thought I would share a few:

• The Fire Drill: Upon hearing the clanging bells, I am instantaneously a third grader once again. Trying to hide my slight panic, I try to cooly proceed to our appointed meeting point, all the while frantically trying to remember whether or not I got my car keys out of my office in my haste to evacuate.
• Airport Security: Why is it I always feel as though I'm going to get in trouble somehow? How has a psuedo-cop TSA outfit suddenly put me back in the days where your principal was the scariest person you knew? I love how we all meekly shuffle through the line while keeping our eyes averted as if to silently scream "Not me! Please don't pick me! I'm innocent, I swear!"
• Doing Lunch: While we all hate to admit it, the grown-up "grab a bite to eat" at a new workplace is ever as scary as the lunchroom on the first day of school. You don't know who to ask to sit by, who will think going to lunch is for pansies, who will match your dining tastes and, who will be your work friend (not to be confused with your friends outside of work).

Now, if I could only figure out how to bring coloring books into the boardroom.

Nickname = Trouble Ahead

While watching SNL this morning on TiVo, I came to a sudden realization: all of Bushie's cohorts with nicknames are the ones most troubling to us progressives. For example:

• The Hammer---currently heading for the Texas hills, this one-time frontman has come to a unfortunate political end. Darn those pesky ethics.
• The Blade---currently subjecting Hoosiers far and wide to his unfortunate brand of budgeting. Namely, that the budget comes before Hoosiers. Money before men, so to speak.
• Dub-ya himself---while this is probably not a nickname Bush himself owns up to, doesn't it just warm the heart to say? Aww, shucks, he's just a good 'ol boy from Texas. Who also doesn't like those pesky ethics.

And who says SNL has gone down the toilet?

The Great Outdoors

So in a little over a week I am leaving for the swamps of Mississippi (I know you all just spelled that in your head while reading it, it's fun, isn't it?) to help with the rebuilding effort after Katrina. I mention this, not to pat myself on the back, but because of a rather startling realization that I had last night: I don't like camping.

While the thought of living in a "Tent City" for a week at first gave me lovely visions of Mother Teresa and Calcutta, I've since come to the conclusion that it will be like a Prebyterian Woodstock. Without the music, but surely with the mud and bird-sized mosquitos. Being a child of the 80s, I've never wanted to go to Woodstock, as hemp smells funny and I find showering to be pleasant.

So, in the coming week, I am girding the loins, so to speak (that's an awful phrase, btw) and buying my weight in batteries so as to have as many of the comforts of home as possible.

Did I mention I won't be able to charge my cell phone? Heaven help us all.