All I Want for Christmas

If you are looking for the gift your loved one will love to hate, this is the list for you. Unlike Oprah and others, these items are for those you maybe don't even like all that well, but have to give something to.

TOP TEN GIFTS TO GIVE TO THOSE YOU SORTA LOVE BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO:

1. A Simon Gift Card. Nothing says "I don't know you" like an impersonal piece of plastic that will later charge you for using it.
2. A puppy calendar you got on clearance. It may be missing a month or two or even have the wrong days, but whatever, you tried.
3. The leftover White Elephant from the office holiday party. Yes, it may be a doily or perhaps a Santa that is blue and red rather than green and red, but nothing says I have to get you something like the bad gift leftovers.
4. The classics. And I don't mean Jane Austen or William Shakespeare. I'm talking ChiaPet, the Clapper and other made-for-TV goodies.
   
5. Fruitcake. The universal symbol of gift-giving lethargy.
6. A nativity scene. For your Jewish friend of a friend.
   
7. Cheap chocolate. Normally this is only reserved for cheap grandmothers around the Easter season, but you can easily extend this little gem to include gross little nuggets of bad chocolate Christmas trees.
8. It's a Wonderful Life. It's a crappy movie but no one will admit it. Every time a bell rings, drink.
   
9. A years subscription to a magazine. Last year's subscription, that is. Use this opportunity to clear off the coffee table and get rid of all those pesky copies of TIME, OK and Dog Fancy. Tell your giftee that you've started their very own time capsule.
10. The Vintage Item of Your Choice. And by vintage I mean old and out of date. Think of all the possibilities lurking around your home, office or neighborhood junk store.
    

Like a Corner of My Mind

Last night was not my office Christmas party. No, last night was my old office Christmas party, which is way more fun.

When else are you going to reminisce about the time that a coworker asked an intern to stop at the local "naughty store" to pick up a thong for her, or when she opened up to the group and shared how she exercises for her husband in the nude. Or when yet another coworker assumed the role of a former president and propositioned an intern...in front of the other interns. And then there was the time that a new mom coworker was nursing her baby, had a male coworker walk in the office without knocking and then proceed to have a conversation while the new mom continued to be, well, exposed.

How come work always seems more fun after you leave the office?

Help Wanted

Position: Presidential Candidate
Employer: We, the People

Qualifications: Must be over 35 years-old (sorry for the age discrimination!), have appropriately graying hair, wear suits most of the time, unless conversing with "the people", in which case, a nice polo will do.

Desired traits:

• Team Player (most of the time)
• Good public speaker--ability to speak without talking points a plus.
• Knowledge of domestic and foreign policy--or at least a desire to learn and former college roommate who "knows that kind of stuff."

Finally

Have you ever noticed that the last two weeks at work before the holiday break seem a lot like finals in college? I've been making a list of the items I need to get done, day by day, in order to leave the workplace for two whole weeks. As if suddenly everyone else in the world will be put into hyper drive, rather the stand-still that actually will occur.

I'm planning late nights, early mornings, bizarre sleeping patterns and lugging my laptop around with me everywhere. I'm buying weird things at the grocery store to keep my blood sugar in check during late nights at work and feeling an overwhelming desire to put on flannel pants and an sorority t-shirt that says Catch the Fever.

Happy Freakin' Birthday

Last week, May or May Not turned the big 2-8. This is getting alarmingly close t0 30. Perhaps even more scary is the fact that I often have trouble remembering how old I actually am. I generally have to round. It may be that I am the first twenty-something to join the old folks home.

As usual, since I am a Thanksgiving baby, my birthday is more of a birthday Hanukkah, an 8 day festival. It was kicked off with a bang at the IU/Purdue game, when my great uncle interrupted the birthday cake to talk about his new "companion" and how they were taking a cruise, but NOT, I repeat, NOT getting married. Ick.

Fast forward to my actual birthday when the Grinch Stole Christmas. I've been working my tail off on this holiday give away for the homeless and this lady called and said we should cancel. So I spent the big day making sure this did not happen. It diminished the birthday cheer quite a bit.

However, to make it up to myself, I just changed my birthday celebrations to the next day, which I had off. My faux-birthday was spent lunching with the girls, getting pedis and generally being totally indulgent. Much better.

I've decided that, in the spirit of the Mad Hatter, I may just throw myself birthdays at whim. Perhaps every 16th Tuesday or 400th Wednesday. Why the heck not?

It's A Zoo Out There

May or May Not friend Whitney had an alarming experience this week that must be recorded. Friend Jessica received a frantic, but hilarious call from Whitney (and family entourage), who was trapped in a utility closet at the Pensacola, FL zoo.

Turns out the cougars slipped out of their enclosure and the zoo officials, in a panic (rightfully so) shoved the zoo patrons into any available safe spot. Thus, Whitney, daughter, mom, sister and nephew were huddled in the broom closet for three hours while the pesky critters were caught.

To make up for their trauma, the zoo gave them free passes for another visit. Maybe they'll let the tigers out then...

Highs and Lows

High: Dems have won control of House AND Senate (and Indiana House).
Low: Now we have to listen to our own leadership make fools of us all by posturing, politicizing and playing around.

High: It is the holiday season, we've got upcoming vacation and time to spend with family.
Low: It is the holiday season, we've got upcoming vacation and time to spend with family.

High: Brit and K-Fed have called it quits. Finally, the trucker hats can stop.
Low: Sweet Reece and Bad-boy Ryan have also called it quits, making us all question true love.

High: Michelle Kwan recently named UN ambassador, confirming everything is right in the world.
Low: Sasha Cohen's website still has the tag "Sasha Does Hollywood!" up. Please insert appropriate inappropriate remark here.

The Kicking Asses

It's no secret that May or May Not has a decidedly lefty slant. It should come as no shock, then, that last night served as one of the best in recent election memory, what with all the R's losing and all.

Some particular highlights include the winning back the Indiana House, the House of Representatives, the majority of the Congressional delegation, and a few choice local positions.

Sadly, my man Joe Pearson did not win, so the BMV will stay in turmoil and Todd will continue to disenfranchise voters.

So there is still work to be done, hearts to win and donkeys to pin.

Get Out the Vote

Whether you're D or R, Green or Liberated, don't forget to vote tomorrow.

In an attempt to collect her own thoughts, May or May Not is offering the following endorsements for those living in the Hoosier state.

• Joe Pearson. He's the best. A farmer from nothern Indiana, he's not only taking on the secretary of state's office, but has decided to revamp the BMV as well. A little of his farmer's common sense would be welcome at the State House. And, frankly, I'm ticked about that Votor ID law of Rokita's.
• Beth White. She's running for Marion County Clerk. Her main superiority over her opponent is that she can actually count.
• Julia Carson. Yes, she's a little batty, but listen to her for long and you'll suddenly realize she makes sense.
  

Trick or Treat

Top Ten Inappropriate Halloween Costumes to Wear to Work Tomorrow:

1. Loraina Bobbit (complete with bloody knife and appendage made of pork sausage)
2. Slutty Care Bear
3. Bratz
4. Terri Shaivo
5. The Little People, Big World family
6. Jon Benet Ramsey
7. Mammy
8. The Girls Next Door
9. Lindsay Lohan
10. A Congressional Page
    

Woof.

Recently, I've acquired a sweet onery little dog named Max. Max is very cute and cuddly, but tends to be over-excited about life and I decided he needed to learn how to be a good citizen. Jumping on people is rude.

So, we signed up for dog training class. Friends, this is a whole other world I was not aware of. Unbeknownst to me, there was entire dog subculture teaming under the surface of our day to day lives. Suddenly, Max and I were thrown into an environment of competitive collar and leash combinations, snide comments about the size of particular dogs, and, tears, yes, tears, at the thought of telling the dog no.

In the last three weeks, Max has learned to sit (most of the time), walk on a leash without pulling (when he wants to), and that the spray bottle is bad. I have learned how to "speak dog owner," the subtle, but significant difference between big dog people and small dog people, and, most disgustingly, which brand of plastic bag is best for picking up poop.

How far we've come.

Mea Culpa

Dear Reader:

I have been an awful correspondent during the last month. Among my excuses, I have moved, gotten a dog and generally been overwhelmed at work. I promise, it will not happen again. (well, more like I'll try to not let it happen again.)

xoxoxo,
May or May Not

Stickin' it to the Man. Or rather, he's stickin' it to me.

Attention Movie-Making People:

Please stop releasing DVD's the week before the next season starts. It causes people like me to watch 6 discs of Nip/Tuck in four days and is harmful to my overall productivity. Please remember, I am not only dedicated to your show, but also have to catch up on the new releases of Arrested Development, Prison Break, Footballers Wives, etc. Soon, I will have to quick work, friends and anything not-TV related if you don't quit.

Pro or Con?

Dear Reader,

If you are outside of Indianapolis, you have missed the highlight of the summer conference season...the GenCon Convention. Now, I'm not surely exactly what goes on at GenCon, but I do know that somehow it results in people dressed up in Star Wars, Pokemon and D-n-D costumes walking through the mall. For four days, it seems perfectly normal (well, that's a lie, it's still weird) to hear phrases like "The Federation Has Spoken" and "When you get to level 33, you are totally on another plane."

Maybe, just maybe, if you are very lucky and practice your X-box like a good little girl/boy, you might get invited to GenCon 2007.

xoxo,
May or May Not

HR

I'm serving on the "hiring team" at work right now. Basically, this involves scanning piles of resumes and making remarks on them. I've decided this is the ultimate in self-esteem boosting. There are some very large idiots out there. For instance. Joe Public, your experience as "lead cashier" at Wal-Mart does not qualify you for managing multi-million dollar budgets.

Also, Cindy Citizen, your awful and blatant misspellings have caused me to invent new snide and insightful comments to write in the margins of your cover page. FYI, Indianapolis is not spelled Indianpolis and it is not correct to use the phrase "I'm being so interested in applying."

However, the best part of this whole process is the assumption that at the end of the process we will have new, competent staff to take some of the work off my back. That, dear reader, is worth reading even Jane Doe's "writing sample" taken from her years on the high school year book staff.

Give me land, lots of land

Well, readers, I've become a real estate mogul. Or, at least, a person who has a Realtor and is looking at house...which is nearly the same thing.

I've decided looking at houses is a wonderful experience. You say your preferences and Poof! you get a phone call an hour later saying yes, here you go, let's go see them. It's as if suddenly I am The Most Important Person in the World and all that matters is my latest whim. I need to see something with two stories. Done! Make it have a patio. Done! Wait, how about a master bath with a whirlpool tub. Done!

So, since I have some serious sticker shock about the actually buying, I've decided to prolong this little adventure for as long as possible. However, I anticipate that by fall I will be a homeowner, begin shopping at Lowe's, and become an expert on water heaters.

Why I'm Proud to be an American

1. The lovely combination of pride and distaste for American white trash.
2. Obsessive fanaticism about all things sporty--including bandwagoning on the World Cup when, in all honesty, we didn't know what soccer was 20 years ago.
3. An equal love for bad pop: Ryan Cabrera, the Britney era, Wayne Newton...
4. Las Vegas
5. Horrid comments made okay by the phrase, God Bless Her Heart or God Love Him.
6. Excess. Excess. Excess.
   
7. Supreme guilt because of that excess.
8. Our fascination with train wreck news stories: the runaway doe-eyed bride, the man who chopped off his own arm, Lorena Bobbitt, etc.
   
9. The patronizing thought that imported celebrities didn't really exist before they arrived on US soil.
10. A place where we can argue about gay marriage, flag burning and abortion and still manage to change the channel to watch Guiliana Depandi talk about pink being the new black.
    

God Bless America

Well, readers, it's nearly that time of year again. When we all gather to eat hot dogs, indulge in either boxed wine or cheap beer, watch fireworks (professional or amateur) and celebrate our independence. Or alternatively, the day that both Thomas Jefferson and John Adams died. Your pick.

This year, my entire dysFUNctional extended family will be traveling to a dude ranch of sorts in French Lick. For those of you not native to Hoosier, this is a town, not a brothel. I envision wonderful moments of trying to get my grandmother on top of a horse and perhaps some drunken awkwardness during the hayride. One can only hope.

Your Moment of Zen

WTF, Connie.

Staying Current

I've been attending and presenting at a conference for the past two days. As is typical, we heard from a couple different Big Deals on What's New. Apparently, the new thing now is to go back, to jump back in the Box.

Now, last year, we learned the World is Flat. Previous to that, we learned Not to Sweat the Small Stuff, Who Moved our Freakin' Cheese and the Seven Steps to becoming a paragon.

Of course, at the background to all these comments is the apocalyptic notion that India and China and Sri Lanka are leaping forward of us and This Solution will fix our problems. We've heard about the Gap and GM and how they have failed us as Americans and the new world order is filled with Toyota and some call center in New Delhi.

Frankly, I've decided I don't want to be in the box, out of the box or beside the box. I want a new box where people aren't paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to come up with corporate b.s. and sell us all on their new non-revolutionary revolution.

Damn Yankees

This past week, my family and I embarked upon the annual family vaca. The only thing different is that, for the first time ever, we took a city vacation instead of our traditional Floridian trip.

So, off to Boston we went. It was wonderful. I had a history orgasm while looking at Paul Rever's grave, the place where Abigail Adams listened to the Declaration of Independence being read and touring Old Ironsides. We stayed across from Mother Gooses' grave, for the love of God.

However, most suprising to me, was my conversion to a baseball fan. Now, I've gone to many a baseball game, minor leagues and family softball tournaments. I even sat through two seasons of t-ball for my brothers. But I have never actually enjoyed a baseball game. After sitting through a most exciting bottom-of-the-ninth-bases-loaded-home-running win, I'm a Sox die-hard. Who'da thunk it?

Stickin' It To The Man

Well friends, it is the start of another political season. Yesterday, I attended the Indiana Democratic Party state convention.

As usual, it was filled with the usual potshots towards Their Man Mitch, humorous wonderings by Representative Julia Carson, and the beauty of the democratic process. In what other country could a little ole lady bus driver from Vigo Country run for state auditor? It warms the heart.

I myself purchased a button with the words "Ditch Mitch" and was happy to receive my complimentary tote bag. I'll take that over running for office any day.

I want my MTV

You know, there is something really wonderful about MTV. Just when you think good TV is over for the summer and all the season finales have occured, you get little gems like The Hills, a Laguna Beach two-day marathon, and, on its sister station, the wedding between our next top model, and a former Brady.

Yes, I am a product of the 80s and 90s and have an unnatural love of all things Real World, I admit it. In fact, I may have a problem. It's true, I did watch that crappy show about the former O-Towner, Ashley Parker Angel and have indulged in season after season of Road Rules-Real World challenges. I will even go so far as to say I have watched nearly every episode of Making the Band.

I've seen countless cat fights, akward reunions, horrific hookups and could probably win any game show category, so long as it references a show on music television. And, just when we think we've sunk too low, that it's time for us to move on (after all, folks, we are nearing 30), they reel us back in by Rocking the Vote and taking a stand for things that are "real."

They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a program. But if watching MTV is bad, I don't wanna be good.

In Which I am a Gardner

I have been a farmer as of late. My crop? Zinnias. I'm a bit obsessed with them, have a huge love of cut flowers and have begun searching the internet for obscure varieties. I'm fairly certain this is the white-trash version of orchid growing.

However, rain or shine, I've been tromping out to the back 40 (read: garden) to check on my tiny little seeds to see how they are doing. Yesterday, success! They have popped up and I am feeling quite proud.

Perhaps this is my biological clock ticking, but I have a sudden urge to nest and see thing grow. To whit, I've been planting like a dervish and redoing a series of dining room chairs found for $5 each during a recent trip to Purdue salvage.

I'm sure my grandmother would say the only thing I really need is a good man to cook for. What I really need, though, is a good man to cook for me and carry the mulch.

Parents just don't understand

I just returned from my brother's soccer game. Which was interrupted, first by an injured player and then by a set of dads from the game going on behind us.

Apparently, these three middle aged men who look like their most recent athletic event was the remote Control Challenge, are experts in the game of football, or soccer, as we crazy Americans call it. They must have been because they certainly had opinions on every aspect of the game, who should be doing what, how number 15 was inappropriately shoving and what the ref should do with certain unmentionable parts of his anatomy.

Note to self, when I become a parent, if I should ever become a part, I will not act like I know everything about a sport that I really know nothing about.

Move Over Lifetime, ABC Family is Kicking Your A%&

Well, it was a wonderful, deliciously boring rainy cold weekend filled with inordinate amounts of naps, wearing fat pants and, yes, cheesy chick TV. Friend Jeanne introduced me to "Lucky 7," perhaps the best made-for-TV movie ever (well, second best, She Cried No with Candace Cameron and Zach from Saved by the Bell has the first place in my heart).

In case you were unaware, this little gem is stars Kimberly Williams and Dr. McDreamy himself, Patrick Dempsey. In a crazy twist, she meets the perfect guy (or so we think!), but is unable to commit because he is not Number 7 (which has been predetermined by her deceased mom). So, naturally, she decides to make McDreamy number 6...but...wait for it...he turns out to be 7 after all. I know, it's just too much for you to wrap your head around.

I hate to say it, but Lifetime has just lost a loyal viewer. I believe I will be turning to ABC Family for my rainy-day fixes. No more Victoria Principal or Kellie Martin. Well, let's not be rash. They will just be second on the list.

ET Phone Home

There's been a bit of a disaster in my technological world lately. A few weeks ago, during my un-exciting trip to Boulder, I dropped my cell phone. Now, I've dropped my phone numerous times in parking lots, in meetings, even in the middle of the street once, but apparently the hard floor of the Denver airport sent my little Motorola V180 over the edge.

The hinge in the flipper is broken on one side, so it tends to disengage, cause an unnatural separation between the top and the bottom with a tiny wire umbilical cord remaining to hold the two halves together. So, talking on the phone now takes two hands, a large amount of dexterity and a degree of patience I just don't have.

Upgrade, you say. Well, here is the really sad part. I'm not due to renew my contract until November 5th. So I'm left to either A. suffer with the Siamese twin phone B. pay 5 million dollars for a new phone (or $100 for the Firefly with four buttons) or C. Gamble on a phone via EBay. Regardless, I feel like somehow I've been screwed by the system. My lifeline has been damaged and I'm so despondent about the whole thing that I just keep using the sad little phone and am somehow hoping that it will fix itself.

Sniff.

Things that make you go Hmmm...

• Life Immitating Art Immitating Life:
  La Lohan is "acting" in a new movie where she has to make out indiscriminately with guys in order to retain her good life. Wow. Call the Academy.
• TomKat(e)
  Apparently, Katie Holmes will now be called Kate because, and I quote from Mr. Crazy himself, "she is a child-bearing woman now."
• Drowned Alive?
  While I think this whole David Blaine mania is beyond weird, what bugs me most is the title. It would be a bit redundant (nay, impossible) to drown someone dead. And, really, isn't the whole point for him not to drown?

Barf.

The title of today's post is a bit literal-minded as I have spent considerable time today cleaning up after my sick little brother (11) and the, uh, bi-product of said sickness. Apparently it is coming on fast because the carpet, couch, pillow, blanket, chair and generally everything else in the house has served as a receptacle...that is, everything except the toilet.

So I am Queen of Spot Shot carpet cleaner and have gone through an entire bottle in an attempt to ensure no one will accidentally sit down on a wet spot and discover they have been soiled with stomach acid. It is all bringing back memories of the year April Peel vomited all over her desk in the third grade and the distinct smell of that sawdust stuff the janitors used to clean it up.

Perhaps I should get a jumpsuit with my name on it. That would be classy.

Snap!

Last night I won a moral and physical victory. The mouse that has invaded my house and lived within the baseboards and walls for the last four weeks finally succumbed to the lure of peanut butter covered bacon and lost his life.

His lifeless little corpse has had a proper burial in a Marsh bag and I have officially closed the chapter in my life where I check mouse traps twice daily.

Life is good.

Granola

I just returned from a conference in Boulder, Colorado. I'm sure Boulder is a very lovely city and is a great place to live---as people kept telling me--but we were staying in the Residence Inn right smack in the middle of a concrete office park.

However, as if my subconscious mind knew that I was visiting the land of granola, I forgot both my deodorant AND razor. So, I was au natural for the three days of my visit. Next thing you know, I will be buying Burkeys and living out of a van..down by the river.

Oh, Hail.

Spring has officially arrived in the Midwest. This of course means beautiful tulips, warm weather and the onset of The Tornado Season. In the past month, we've experienced copious amounts of rain, tornadic activity and, most recently, hail the size of baseballs.

Suddenly, everyone is talking about the weather, who got the hail, who saw a funnel cloud, who has the most flooding, etc. We have all become proficient in reading a weather map and even know what the pink spots mean (hail) and how to track a storm like those guys you see on the Discovery Channel.

And, let us not forget the real weathermen. The months of April and May are their professional wet dream. It as if they have been waiting all year for this moment when they can show their stuff, give us x-ray visions of the storm and put their years of training to use.

Note: In the event of a tornado, find a hall closet, basement or interior room. In the event of hail the size of baseballs, run like hell.

Hippity-Hoppity

Well, readers, it's Easter time. This means that I get the joy of playing Martha Stewart and decorating eggs (I've done a marbelized egg theme this year--I highly recommend it, they look fabulous, if I do say so), sending out Easter cards with cute polk-a-dotted ribbons and, of course, helping with the Easter meal. It's really the height of my domesticity all year long.

This is all off-set by the wonderful weather outside which is making me feel like going to a park and wearing sunglasses everywhere. That is, except for the fact that my allergies are making my eyes puff up to twice their normal size, tears are running down my face 45% of the time and the other 55% is spent with me rubbing my eyes and increasing the puffiness. A lovely sight. It makes me feel like Claire Danes looks during crying scenes.

Hope you all have a lovely Easter weekend, filled with egg hunts, family bonding and copious amounts of chocolate.

Spam-a-lot

My inbox seems to be filled lately with spam. I think the delinquents out there are somehow sticking it to the man, and thereby, ensuring that I get an inordinate amount of messages related to cialis.

According to Thomas Friedman, the world is flat and we are able to access global information within seconds. That being said, I'm proposing that the world is also a utopia, if judging by spam.

According to my Inbox:

• There is no need for diet or exercise, ___ diet pill will have me losing pounds faster than Xtina lost her virginity.
• Remarkably, I can increase my penis size and please my woman. I hate to burst their bubble, but I am female and don't think I'll be dipping into the world of transgenderism or lesbianism anytime soon.
• Little Suzy needs your help She's 9 years old with cancer and her family can't afford to pay her bills. Won't you please contribute to her cause? You can send your credit card information to Joe in Tijuana.
• I can work from home only a few hours a week and be a millionaire.
• Svetlana from Russia is only looking for the American dream. Will you help her by promoting prostitution?
• Oh, no! Your bank lost your file. Please submit all personal information, including the name of your first pet to help them recover their records.
• And, finally, ___ Company is looking for investors. They are on the verge of cutting edge technology that is sure to have you quitting your job and living the life of leisure.

Hmmm. Where do I begin?

R-O-C-K in the USA

Well, readers, John Mellencamp did not disappoint. In Indiana, attending a Johnny Cougar concert is a religious experience, complete with conversion, goose-bumps and the occasional "amen!" All the oldies but goodies were played, and the opening and (Little Big Town) was great...I even iTuned their album.

In other news, I'm having a hard time adjusting to this whole daylight savings time thing. I realize that the rest of the world has been doing it for quite some time, but we've just converted here in the Hoosier state. Somehow yesterday, between 12 a.m. and 5 p.m., I lost two hours of my life between springing forward in Chicago and driving home to Indianapolis. And then this morning, our computers did not "spring" and so our manual attempts to change things has resulted in our calendars springing to far and then duplicating holidays. A mess, to say the least.

I Wonder as I Wander

A few musings from the past couple of days:

• The Final Four is coming town. For us locals, this means the circle has been closed down, traffic is a mess, there has been a sudden influx of RVs, and, of course, all the good stuff that comes with March Madness. This is Indiana, after all.
• To fill the void left by Santino and Project Runway, I've succumbed to Bravo's newest reality venture, Top Chef. Who knew chefs were such temperamental a-holes? Stephen is about the most pretentious person I've ever seen...it's almost to the level of surely he's doing it as a joke because a person like that couldn't really exist, right? The boy needs a little perspective and a whole of growing up.
• I'm currently on an expectation high about my upcoming weekend....Friday night I've got killer seats to the John Mellencamp concert and Saturday and Sunday I'll be in Chicago having good times and IKEA visits with Friend Becca (who is a super smarty and will soon be attending Harvard Business School--go Bec!).
• And, lastly, I watched Memoirs of a Geisha this week. I have a sudden urge to move to Japan and buy a little house with sliding doors. I do not, however, have a sudden urge to become a geisha. That pretty much sucks.

Cat in the Hat

There is a mouse in my house.
And lest you think it's cute, this ain't no minnie mouse.
How can this be? How can this be?
I'm so upset, I might climb a tree.

A wocket in my pocket would be so much better
than a rodent that makes me feel like Hester and her scarlett letter.
My place is clean, there isn't a spot!
But I won't rest until this mouse is caught.

It's now been three days since the invasion.
And I know now that I am of the chicken persuasion.
For, you see, I've had to evacuate my room.
And sleep upstairs, lest there be impending doom.

I could not bear it, no, not at all.
If upon my covers a mouse did crawl.
And so, until the beast is caught.
I'm afraid my fear is all I've got.

Little Round Top

Good afternoon, readers. I am back from my trip to our nation's capitol. Some highlights:

• During our trip to Gettysburg, going into a timewarp as we entered the visitor's center, circa 1963. The culmination of the "retro" decor had to be The Electric Map. It is just that--a very very very large map with little lightbulbs all over it. You sit in an auditorium surrounding The Map, listen to a recording that may have been done by Edward R. Murrow, and watch as the little lights light up according to the army movements. All for the bargain price of $4.
• Gettysburg itself was fabulous. Who knew it was so big? It took us a good three hours to make the trip around the park and we weren't even diligent about reading plaques and monuments or counting cannons.
• Oh, and did I mention that there were renactors everywhere? There is something delicious about sitting down to lunch and watching a man in full Yankee garb munch on a club sandwich. This was only topped by a t-shirt in the shop next door that proudly proclaimed "I am Period Correct."
• My trip to the National Gallery of Art was wonderful, as usual. This trip there was a Dada exhibit which made me want to live in Sweden in 1943. And, I got to say Dada a lot.
• The conference itself was God-awful. However, it was made somewhat better by the fact that I got upgraded to a suite and had a kick-ass hotel room with a pillow-top mattress.

Now it is back to the regular grind. Sniff.

Four Score and Seven Years Ago

I'm getting ready to leave for Washington, DC for a conference. This means spending the day clearing the desk, composing the perfect out of the office reply, and, perhaps most importantly, researching tours of Gettysburg.

For you see, my conference doesn't begin until Monday night, but I am flying out early to visit Friends Abbey and Jon, who are fellow history nerds and enjoy taking trips to places like Pennsylvania. If you have a friend like that, hold on tight to them....it'll be hard to find another. Last visit, we took a drive into the heart of colonial America and spent a wonderful two days in Williamsburg. We've decided to jump forward a century and visit the battlefield where Lincoln once tread. And, it means that I can check another state off the list...only 20 more to go.

The battlefield visit is sure to be sandwiched in between shopping, eating, and a fun road trip, so really, the weekend sounds just about perfect. Almost makes the following two days of listening to federal compliance guidelines bearable. Almost.

PS. Happy St. Patty's Day, readers. May the road rise up to meet you, etc, etc, etc.

Nothin' Says Funny Like Being Tried for Genocide

Sometimes I think political leaders are just crazy. I know, you are shocked. But consider these gems:

That crazy Prime Minister or President or whatever in Italy who claims to be more popular than Jesus Christ. Oh, and he just happens to own all of the media outlets, so they are putting journalism aside and investing in some quality propaganda. And, our own Veep, who shot the man standing next to him in the face "on accident." Yeah, I do that all the time.

In a shout out to his counterparts around the world, Saddam Hussein (who is "Insane in the Membrane") has joined with dillusional leaders throughout history during his latest day in court. First, he repeatedly told the judge that he was the Iraqi head of state. Not was the Iraqi head of state. Is. Now, I'm generally your Pollyanna optimist, but even I would probably throw in the towel after spending years in spider holes and international prisons. However, if he is trying to make the case for flat-out insane to the point of inspiring pity, he may be getting close. It's like Liza Manelli trying to tell America what a supastar she is. Sad and patently untrue.

Finally, in another brilliant statement, Saddam declared the whole trial a "comedy." Yeah, it's a real stitch. I loved the part about mass genocide. It's almost like that crazy comedy, the Holocaust. Although, I'm sure Saddam is like those other nutcases who have decided in true revisionist fashion that the murdering of millions of Jews during WWII never happened.

Now, generally, I'm pretty practical about our politicians...surely there as many crazy ones as there are sane. However, I think that Saddam may have tipped the world leader balance on this one.

An excerpt from my soap opera, er, job

Dear Steve,

FYI, it is not acceptable to use passive-aggressive techniques in your emails. I would really appreciate it from now on if you would change your tone. After all, we have to work together:)

In the future, it would be wise not to forward emails containing personal attacks to my boss. Although, I'm sure that was just an error! :) :)

Thanks for all your hard work!

XOXOXO
May or May Not's Co-worker

Hoosier Hysteria

My little brother and I are having a brother-sister bonding weekend. As he is 14 and this weekend is also his birthday weekend, I have endeavored to be a good older sister and do things that he will enjoy.

This includes watching 8 hours of high school basketball in one day.

This morning, we rose and shone in order to get tickets and a good seat for the regional 4A basketball games. These games because, A. that's the region we live in B. the second game featured Lawrence North's Greg Oden who is supposed to be the next Lebron James (and at 7 1/2 feet tall, I would guess there's not much guesswork involved), and C. it was at Hinkle Fieldhouse, the only true place to see high school and college basketball (and I'm not even a Butler alum).

So, off we went, ready to cheer for any and every team (aren't we benevolent?). I must say, I am more of a football fan than basketball, but there really is something wonderful of walking into a gym with the sun shining in, fans with painted faces and the mysterious pull of the underdog. While I don't think I need to dedicate a Saturday to high school basketball again anytime soon, I do feel a strange hankering to watch Hoosiers and sigh about the good ole' days...before the brackets.

Common Phrases That Don't Actually Make Sense

• Heart of hearts.
• Son of a gun.
• Nonetheless.
• Well I'll be.
• Flying by the seat of your pants.
• Pushing the envelope.
• Hunky dory.
• Passed with flying colors.
• Dead as a door nail.

And the winner is...

Well, I'm sure that you all tuned into the Superbowl of Entertainment last night...the 78th annual Academy Awards. If you did not, some highlights not to be missed (and surely can be found on countless entertainment websites or a good ol' Google):

• God Bless America, there was falling. Or at least near falling. Jennifer Garner, unable to retain her balance due to her baby-feeding mammaries stumbled, then over-corrected on her way to the podium. We had to watch it in slow motion to catch all of the magical moments. The realization of the stumble, the horror on the face and the flailing.
• Michelle Williams is being called a fashion diva. That is a lie. She was wearing a tangerine colored dress and too much red lipstick. I hate to say it as I still have some Dawson's loyalty, but she looked a bit Courtney Love.
• Reese Witherspoon and her cute hubbie were, as always, fabulous and flawless.
• Cut to Phillip Seymour Hoffman (who I think looks a bit pervy, but my friend Katy thinks is cute) who continued to say awful statements like, "Yeah, I figured I would win. I've won all the others, you know." Not to mention he apparently couldn't be bothered to shave.
• And the little engine that could, Crash, pulled the big one out over (as Jon Steward pointed out wonderfully) the not-so-new gay cowboy movie. While I have not seen Brokeback, I can't imagine it is better than Crash which alternately makes you want to cover your ears and eyes, cry and awkwardly laugh all at the same time.

All in all, a lovely evening. Especially since there were martinis involved. Despite the fact that I was feeling a little ill, I forgot it all for about four hours.

The only low note: if only Dolly would have won. I know, I know, it's historical and revolutionary that Three 6 Mafia won, but come on. Dolly doesn't have too many good years left and surely she deserves a little golden statue to put on the bookcase in Pigeon Forge.

The Golden Statue

I am currently in full Clarissa Dalloway mode. I'm having an Oscar party soiree this evening, complete with cosmos, prizes and an assortment of dips, chips, salads and other goodies. So, the house must be cleaned, the food prepped and, most importantly, I must pick my Oscar predictions.

You see, reading the Academy's mind is my own Special Talent. For the past five years, I've swept the competition at these annual parties and walked away with all the glory. Next to Deloitte & Touche, my accuracy is unmatched.

Will it be Brokeback's big year? Will Reese walk the line on up to the podium? Will Crash crash and burn? I have much to deliberate.

Happy Oscars, readers.

On his soapbox. Oh, wait, he's just short.

Their Man Mitch seems to be, uh, shall we say, "vertically challenged." Thanks to the good folks at www.takingdownwords.com. I shamelessly stole this from their site.

Boo!

So last night I made a big mistake. I've had a stack of Netflix movies piled up on my TV for about three weeks now (which goes against every "don't put off what you can do today" instinct) and finally could simply not stand the little red packages staring me down any longer.

And so, I popped The Skeleton Key into the DVD player. At 10 p.m. In the dark. By myself. BIG mistake. I had somehow forgotten that I'm a bit of chicken when watching anything scary (which is loosely defined. I once screamed and hid under the cover during Signs). About 45 minutes into I realized the error of my ways but was too caught up in the suspense and trying to figure out if the movie was filmed before or after Kate Hudson had her baby.

Cut to 12 a.m., when I am sitting in my room, afraid to put my feet on the floor in order to get to the bathroom and generally feeling like I did at age 7 when I watched that scary fire episode of Webster.

I believe tonight I will be watching the Gilmore Girls instead.

Take a Look, It's in a Book

I'm recovering today from a late night Augusten Burroughs bender. You see, this week I finished Dry, his memoir about his experiences battling alcoholism. It was so good I couldn't stop there. I had to run out to the bookstore and get Running with Scissors, his memoir about his, um, eccentric childhood.

As promised, my corresponding book reports...

Running with Scissors

• Somehow makes living with your mother's psychologist, to whom she's given you away, having a 33 year old boyfriend and not going to school past middle school fairly normal, in a bizarre way.
• Burroughs self-depecrating humor is marvelous. Where a lesser author would have taken these tales of horror and bemoaned his very existence for 250 pages, the book is filled with humor, honesty and a practical look at a rather unusual upbringing.
• This book is not for the faint of heart or prudish---there are some rather abrupt graphic scenes that would not be appropriate for the wee ones.

Dry

• Loved this book. Absolutely loved it. I've never been an alcoholic, but I think everyone has struggled with an addiction of some sort (my addiction may be trashy magazines and chocolate).
• Again, Burroughs takes a situation that could easily be suffocatingly painful and transforms his thoughts and experiences into the story of a journey, not an end.
• I am neither gay or male, but I appreciate that the story is not overtaken by his sexuality. Like all of us, it is a minor part of our overall selves. Again, bravo for not taking the easily sensational or trite route.

So far so good on the New Year's Resolution. My love of literature, seemingly dormant for the last couple years, is coming back strong. My college professors would be so proud.

Closure

Last night was a beautiful night...not only did I get to share in the Olympics festivities with a party that included coming in your pajamas (it was a school night after all and you needed to dive into bed immediately upon your return home), eating cheesy dip and Jimmy John's, girl porn (read: US Weekly, Life&Style, People, etc), and wearing medals around our neck that said "winner", but last night was also The Night That Sasha Fell. Twice.

I know, I know. That sounds horribly mean. But there is something so wonderful about the Karma of it all. Mean people should not be allowed to win Olympic gold. And, as I've said before, falling is funny. It almost made the fact that the Kwan wasn't there okay. Almost. And, our girl Kimmie didn't do so bad.

And so, I feel my Olympic obsession reaching a more healthy low. Until next time, that is.

Tick, Tock

When did we all become such impatient people? Was it when the telephone was invented? Or the car? Or, heaven help us, the Internet?

Today, I fell victim to our overdeveloped need for "Now!" I noticed it in my phone calls, my urgent messages, the exclamation marks added to emails, and, yes, my annoyance with the long salad bar line.

It was during my five minute salad wait that I suddenly regained consciousness and realized that I was being an impatient a-hole. Does it really matter if I get back to work five minutes later? No, I would be eating at my desk anyway. Did it matter if someone called me back at work instead of my cell phone? No, the world is not coming to an end. Did it matter if Yahoo! kicked me off email, thus erasing already-typed messages? A grudging no.

I fear that impatience has become like stress...something you feel that you must be under in today's world. Maybe the good ol' days were filled with hard labor and a decided lack of running water, but at least you didn't feel like your boss followed you home somehow via your cell phone.

Stay Tuned

Tonight's the night, dear reader. Women's Figure Skating begins.

Lest you think I have loss all class, let me clarify that the crap that's been on for the last few nights (ice dancing), is NOT a sport. Although the glares that were going on between the Italians (think Telemundo) put any staring contest I ever participated in to shame.

No, tonight the real fun begins. The montages, the skating fun facts (yes, lil' Hughes did bring Irena's dress to her), and the commentary of Dick Button. And, dear Lord, let there be falls. Dramatic falls. It may sound mean, but falling is funny. It brings back memories of way back when...when you thought Tom and Jerry were funny.

A brief aside: this past weekend was spent at my church with 75 high school girls. Despite the fact that, in general, it made me feel about 75 years old, it was reassuring to know that teenagers are still listening to Brown Eyed Girl and dancing to Like a Prayer. If they had only been wearing overalls, flannel shirts and birkenstocks, it would have been 1995 all over again.

Book Report

Part of my New Year's Resolutions List was to read at least one book a month and then talk about it with someone else. Friend Abbey has joined the bandwagon and has served as part of my book club so far, but I thought I would take a page from Entertainment Weekly (sorry, that's a horrific pun) and review said books on here as well.

And, so, I thought it only appropriate that to kick of the New Year that I read The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. The highlights are as follows:

1. Ms. Didion does a masterful job of describing those times in your life when what is sane and what is not begin to blur. aka magical thinking.
2. Despite the fact that the subject of the book is decidedly grim (a year of mourning), it somehow leaves you with a great sense of timeless humanity and the sameness of us all.
3. Joan Didion is one of those people that you only see within the stories of Vogue and remakes of the Great Gatsby. I have yet to meet a real life person like this, but through this book, am more convinced they exist.
4. The book's phrasing and syntax are yummy and make you rethink writing and language.

Stay tuned for the next report on Dry, Augusten Burrough's self-deprecatingly painful memoir.

XOXOXO

LeVar Burton

Don't Shoot!

Wow. So our VP is a moron. A gun-totting, law-breaking, friend-shooting moron, nonetheless. In Dick's honor, I've composed a brief Letterman-style list.

Top Ten Ways Dan Quayle is Looking Better and Better

10. His name is not Dick.

9. Though his mental health was often in doubt, his physical capacity to serve never was.

8. Danny was only involved in partisan newspapers, not nasty oil companies with ties to unmentionables in Iraq.

7. That whole Murphy Brown thing ain't looking so bad.

6. Marilyn Quayle is not the nut-job Lynn Cheney is. Like it or not, your choice of spouse says something about you.

5. What a waste it is to lose one's mind...or part of your face due to some buckshot.

4. Thankfully, Danny has moved to AZ and denounced any Hoosier roots. Texas still has to deal with Dick on a daily basis.

3. His name is not Dick.

2. Danny did not shoot an old man in the face.

1. While hunting drunk without a permit.

Can't We All Just Get Along?

My irritation of the day is a coworker (or two) who is of the mindset that no matter what is happening, what they are doing is most important and can interupt you at any given moment.

It makes me want to crack unprofessional jokes and send snide comments over passive-agressive email.

Seriously, what's up with these people who constantly scream "It's all about me!" and suddenly overtake your life when you were just sitting in your office, minding your own business.

Perhaps I should suggest Emily Post training for the workplace. Surely she too would be for politeness and against ego.

Long Live the Kween

Yesterday was a dark day, my friends. The Kwan has injured herself and will not be making Sasha Cohen eat ice in Torino. Sob.

I'll admit, it was hard to watch the press conference yesterday. I thought Scott Hamilton and Bob Costas were going to start crying like 13 year old girls during the interview (didn't we all?).

However, after a days worth of emotional distance and the accompaning perspective, I think it might be for the best. Isn't this better than the possibility of a skating embarrassment or a triple gone wrong?

And so, let us hope that the Kwan continues as she always has--no regrets and a gracefulness of spirit that seems to be lost on the Sasha and Taras of the world. So, for Torino 2006, long live the Kwan, down with Sasha and gimme Kimmie.

The Olympic Spirit

It's officially begun...the opening ceremonies have kicked off another two weeks of Olympic glory. Within the coming days, we will become intimately acquainted with athletes from Colorado, California, New York and all points in between. When we didn't know they even existed, suddenly we will care about that cute speed skater who has been going through a rough spot, only to find his spirit in skating. For the next two weeks, we'll know everything about the previously unknowns, only to have them dwindle into relative obscurity for the next four years.

And there are our old favorites, who we were previously introduced to thru 2002 montages, interviews and commercials. Vonetta Flowers. Apollo Ono. Mean Jean Racine who is not Racine now but may still be Mean. Those crazy curlers.

A few notes on the ceremony last night...First, what was up with the music during the parade of nations? It was like bad disco tunes from the 90s. The only thing missing was the My Heart Will Go On dance remix.

And, the outfits. Can someone please tell me why the Germans were wearing lime green and orange? And, apparently, the new trend in hats is fur, fur and more fur. The more Russia 1912 it looks, the better.

In short, or long, really, it's go time. Bring out your gold medal and American flag. Brush up on new skating scoring and the importance of athletics in a world gone mad. Remember the miracles of the last games and the promise of this year. Let the games begin...

You Get Knocked Down, But You Get Up Again

A belated thought or two about the Super Bowl...

• Commercials with people falling down are funny. Always.
• The Super Bowl is best watched with friends that are willing to be destracted. Really, it's not about the game (unless the Colts actually made it, in which case I would actually be paying attention to every down, pass and fumble).
• The Rolling Stones are old. I'd venture to say they roll very seldom anymore.
• Really, is a 19 hour pre-show neccessary? Give me a break. No one cares that much.

Cat Woman

So yesterday we had our regular Big Meeting with The Very Important People talking about Very Important Stuff. Normally, I try to be a fly on the wall and help the meeting go smoothly, while completely distancing myself from the topic at hand. Generally, this is easy because lately the the topic at hand seems to be finance or testing and frankly, I get bored.

Yesterday was really no exception except for one thing: The Cat Woman. Someone I got placed next to a woman I only know peripherally, and really can't even remember her name, only to discover that she REEKED of cats. At first I thought it was me and was trying to think where I had been that my coat would have picked up such a scent and then, it hit me, it was not me and that scent was not from a smokey restaurant or a weird mix of perfume. No, it was cats.

I spent the good portion of the THREE HOUR meeting trying to alternately breathe without smelling (which is hard) while sending my mind to some sort of zen and plotting how I could move without seeming horribly rude. In the end, I had to make the move, although I thought I covered it fairly well with an excuse that I couldn't see.

Here's the thing, I like animals. I don't really love cats, but I can tolerate them, provided they keep their distance (they are just kinda creepy). Give me a big sloppy dog any day over a cat that makes you feel like somehow you are undeserving to be in its presence. But surely this woman had to have LOTS of cats to make her whole being smell like a litter box. Ick. Makes me feel a little sick even to think about it.

So, for all you cat owners out there, a little tip, from me to you. Don't have so many that they compose a herd. And, for heaven's sake, don't get to the point that you don't even recognize the stench because you are surrounded by it all day.

Well, Well, Well: A Glimpse At What's Making News

So I saw in the news today that Baby Jessica (yes, from the well) got married this weekend. To a 32 year old man. Now, by my guess, taking into account my own age and the fact that I couldn't have been more than 9 when this happened, she's gotta be like 13 years younger than him. I believe my own parents response to that would be a big "hell, no!" However, let's be honest, my parents probably wouldn't have let me play in a well when I was a year old either. Although, my memory on the actual event is fuzzy, so it could be I'm judging their parenting skills with no real fact to back it up.

In other news, Michelle Kwan is officially in. According to Mr. Button, of course she's in. So, I'll be gearing up for full figure skating obsession in about two weeks. Torino or bust, etc.

And, last, but certainly not least, something I have been remiss in not mentioning---Their Man Mitch's recent winter heating costs infomercial, featuring said man wearing a horrible knit hat in what can only be assumed is an attempt to look homeless. It's a DISASTER. Not only is he awkward on camera and looks shifty (he is both), but why is he asking Joe Citizen to chip in on the price of gas. Isn't this something his corporate friends should be thinking about while looking out over their spread on Giest?

One Flu Over the Cuckoo's Nest

So, about this bird flu thing...

According to Oprah (the speaker of truth in a world gone mad), the bird flu is a-comin'. Lest you think this is just another show topic, she had a real expert on, the guy who advises the WHO (the world health organization, not the band), the UN and probably Angelina Joile on health topics.

Dr. What's His Name basically said the pandemic is upon us and we should begin to prepare. Buy enough food to be stuck in your house for 6 weeks straight, horde prescription drugs since the modern world will stop functioning, and plan on an extensive "snow day" from work and school. Oh, and the economy of the world will cease to function. Cheery, huh?

I'm alternating between full-blown panic and a cynicism based on countless earthquake drills in 6th grade to prepare for the 9.0 that never happened (did I mention I live in Indiana? Who was the fool that thought the big one was going to strike the Midwest?). Apparently, this outbreak will mirror the Pandemic of 1918, which was, as the name implies, a bad bad thing. (As a side note: I was a history major in college and have never heard of this pandemic. I'm feeling slightly cheated.)

However, as a public service, I thought I'd include some links to flu pandemic preparation sites. You just never know when the world is going to shut down. Or, perhaps you will be buying 20 lbs. of canned soup for no reason.

From the WHO:
http://www.who.int/csr/disease/avian_influenza/en/index.html
From the Indiana Department of Health:
http://www.in.gov/isdh/pdfs/PandemicInfluenzaPlan.pdf

Democracy At Work

I'm at my desk taking a brief break from packed committee rooms, marble staircases filled with lobbyists talking frantically on cell phones and trading my professional soul for a good seat up front.

Among the bills working their way through our system:

• The Bill of Bigots (as I am charmingly calling it), which doesn't let them eee-legal Mexicans use our hospitals or schools. I imagine that this lovely bit of ignorant legislation is coming from some jerk who has decided that the only immigrants he wants are of the WASP variety and all others should be left to rot. You can decide for yourself if the jerk is the one who is actually sponsoring the bill or the constituent he is pandering to.
• Fetal Development Curriculum Bill, which pounds in to our young people that abortion is murder with lovely pictorials of aborted fetuses. While I myself would not choose an abortion, I do not think that this is perhaps the way to go about changing minds.
• The Non-Regulation Deregulation Bill. Yes, that is actually a double negative, making the deregulation bill quite regulatory. In the words of Coffee Tawk, talk amongst yourselves.

Stay tuned for other fun bits from the statehouse. The session is just getting warmed up.

Let It Begin

I'm just going to come out and say it. I love figure skating. I love the Olympics. I love the competition, the glory and the cheesy montages.

And, so, it is no surprise that yesterday had me watching Sarah Hughes and Friends on NBC while folding my laundry. It was a disaster. Britney-like Slave For You Dancing, awkward pauses and way to many shots of Sarah looking like a Who from Who-ville.

For you see, while I love figure skating and the Olympics, I do not love Sarah Hughes...or Tara Lipinski. Michelle Kwan stole my figure skating heart a long time ago---namely, when I was 12 and thought I might have a chance to make a go of it. I've even gone so far as to purchase a ticket to Champions on Ice to see the Kwan in all her glory.

And, let us not forget my favorite sports commentator of all time...the Great Dick Button. I love him. Only he can get away with saying such things as "Isn't it great when we see all these attractive people on the podium?" or a snide, "Gee, that's original." Sorry, Peggy Flemming, you'll never hold a candle to Dick. (that sounds somehow dirty...my apologies).

So, keep your eyes on the prize, readers. Light the fire within. Embrace the Olympic spirit. Etc, etc, etc. (set to John Williams music).

A confession

Forgive me, reader, for I have sinned. It's been four days since my last post.

In my defense, it is not because I have been trying to ignore you, but the fact that my job keeps getting in the way. Well, that and the fact that when I finally do get home at night, I've been obsessively watching season 2 of Nip/Tuck.

Yes, sad to say, I've become firmly engrossed in the goings-on of Drs. Troy and MacNamara. I've been taken back to the days when I was equally obsessed with Carrie and her cronies. Could this be the TV show to fill the void left by Sex in the City?

In addition to my job and Nip/Tuck, I've been sick...again. Apparently my body does not like the yo-yo weather of late and has left me with strep throat. And so, I'm left smelling like a menthoyl bomb and chewing Ricolas like they are candy. However, it is not as bad as my friend Becca, who had to take a cab to the hospital in the middle of the night the other day, only to be diagnosed with shingles. (which reminds me of scurvy for some reason but involves neither citrus or ships).
May your weekend be filled with neither shingles, scurvy or strep (or any other S illness), but with rest, fun and maybe even an episode of Nip/Tuck.

Love Shack

I'm a little bleary-eyed this morning after indulging in the Golden Globes from 8 -11 p.m. last night. In all, it was a Walk the Line/Brokeback Mountain lovefest. I've not seen the cowboy romance flick yet, however, I've heard good things about Ang Lee's masterpiece and as for the Johnny and June Carter Cash story, it's debatable on who you want to make out with more (yes, that is a shout out to Mary Louise-Parker's comments from last night).

Other observations:

• Pamela Anderson wore a DISASTER of a dress last night, trying to step out in a non-slutty way. It's just not you, Pam. Accept it. It won't work to drape a large black tablecloth over your shoulder.
• I saw some serious tension last night between Teri Hatcher and the rest of her DH castmates...who didn't stand by her once and rolled their eyes when she kept shouting into the microphone. Seems like Wisteria Lane might be having some real life problems. (Two words: Vanity Fair)
• The most divine stars of the night: Reece and Ryan & Felicity and William H & Faith and Tim & Steve and Nancy, in a proud display of normalcy in Hollywood. Turns out you don't have to be a skanky ho (read: Taradise) or man whore (read: Colin Farrell) to make it big. I think we've all learned a little something here.
• Did anyone else catch that horribly akward moment with Isaac Mizrahi and the toothy Hillary Swank? He asked how her new single life was treating her, to which she stammered out a statement about making her marriage work.
• And the real winner last night: the nervous giggle. Turns out that when you when a Golden Globe, all you really want to do is laugh hysterically.

Leave All Reason At The Door

Yes, it's that time again. I know you have all been checking off the days and setting your palm pilot in eager anticipation. It's go time, folks. The Indiana General Assembly is back in session.

As part of my job, I get the lovely experience of camping out at the statehouse for long periods of time, becoming intimately acquainted with sections of the Indiana Code and dealing with our lovely lawmakers. (I only say the last with a minimum amount of sarcasm).

Some things I have learned from sessions past:

• Expect things to not make sense. This is not the land of rational thought.
• Everybody loves a good anecdote. If Joe Bob's cousin had trouble getting her driver's license, then it must be true. Forget facts and figures---Joe Bob knows the truth.
• There are just as many kooky Democrats as there are Republicans.
• Time does not exist. Bills will be heard according to the chair's internal clock, not any of your fancy schmancy watches.
• It's all about the Benjamins. It all comes back to money....who wants it, who's got it and who wants it back.
• Nothing burns or panics a legislator more than someone trying to take his power away. This includes the governor (whether he's their man or not), their peers in the house and the senate, the lobbyist, and the almighty voter.

So, that all being said, if you're looking for a little entertainment this spring, you might want to stop by the statehouse. It's free and you get to feel civic minded.

Bringin' It Home

Well, I've embarked on some major decisions in the last couple of days. Within the period of the next few to six months, I'll be purchasing a new (to me) car and some sort of housing. To kick of 2006: The Year of the Buy, Mom and I went yesterday to visit some condos that I might be interested in.

I loved them. LOVED them. But of course, had to spend our time with the agent acting as though granite countertops were below my expectations and that I was generally dissatisfied with what I saw. And so, begin the games. When I asked about different options and upgrades, I got an incomplete answer about how I ask for what I want and they give me an offer. So I said, say if I just wanted upgraded cabinets? Or floors? Can't you just tell me what the difference would be? To which Jennifer, the snotty agent, replied, "Why wouldn't you want both?" As if adding on an additional 17K to get the complete upgrade was Monopoly money.

So I will be sitting back and biding my time for a bit while I figure out priorities and fun stuff like mortgages, escrow and association fees. Being a grownup sucks.

As a side note: isn't it interesting that the housing market and the car market require haggling, while nothing else in our normal lives do? I can't go to Target and ask if I buy two bottles of Pledge can I get the third free. Oddly enough, yesterday I was transported back to my time in the Philippines where I once haggled a pair of flip-flops for 25 cents.

Just Another Day with the Wild Wild Web

So, I've spent all of this morning with our IT guy, trying (with little luck as of now) to get rid of a virus-type thing that has infected my computer. Ironically, it calls itself Spy Sherriff, although if it was in a John Wayne movie, it would definitely wear a black hat. (I, however, would be the heiroine wearing white and swooning).

What a wonderful way to spend my first real day back at work after the holidays. Imagine if these jerks would have used their powers for good instead of evil. Instead, they are preying on little old grandmothers and others naive to the ways of The Internet while sitting back and laughing.

In other news, Friend J has joined my resolution bandwagon. However, I must admit, she has blown my "keep it simple, stupid" mantra out of the water with her committment to "sparkle in 2006." For those of you who watch Real World, this would be being "on 9." For the rest of you, it is a simple choice to choose your attitude. This comes following a particularly horrifying first date where she discovered her suitor is into playing Dungeons and Dragons. At age 29. Frequently. Internationally.