Whoooooosh.

That's what happened to today. Suddenly, the hours had passed, and it was over. I woke up at 4:30 am this morning and never got back to sleep because I was thinking about all I had to do today and tomorrow morning before I take off. Today was insane. I only had one unscheduled hour at work. My sweet team took me to a nice birthday lunch (Galaxy Cafe on West Lynn...YUM!), and they're giving me birthday cake when I return to the office next week.

I've got to meet the coworker who's going with me, Paige, at work at 10:45am to carpool to the airport. My only real exciting news is that I got us reservations here tomorrow night for my birthday dinner. It's expensive, but fuck it. It's my damn birthday.

Toodles, friends. I'll post from Las Vegas if I can. And if I see Paris, I'll be sure to punch her in the face. With surgical gloves on, of course.

Pray for me to have luck at the tables, okay?

I have real excuses, I promise.

I haven't posted in a while not because I don't love you (you know I do), but because I have been even busier than normal, which until this week, I didn't think was possible. A brief update:

I've been having to prepare for/do the job reviews for the folks who work for me. It's my first time doing this, so I'm taking it very seriously.

I also had to have MY job review this past week (and do all the preparation therein) which, I'm happy to say, resulted in a raise. Huzzah!

We're hiring a new person on to our team, so I've been dealing with the resume influx, phone interviews, and rejections that are all a part of that. At first, we opened up internally only, and out of the 40k people who work for my company, we haven't found anyone who fits the bill yet. (Yes, we're that picky.) So as of Friday, it was opened up to the outside world, and the resumes are coming in fast and furious.

After a week of being away from the office (MLK Day + ICE STORM '07+ Trip to Colorado), I was playing major catch up this past week. And tomorrow (1/29) is my only day in the office THIS week b/c I'm going to a conference in Vegas from Tues. - Fri. I've got so much to do to get ready to head outta town, it's not funny.

Yesterday was my mom's birthday, and I did a lot to get ready for it--bought some KICK ASS gifts (really, I went all out. We didn't really do Christmas for each other this year, and she's done SO much for me, I figured she deserved it), secured a babysitter, and took her out to a very fancy restaurant last night. It was fun.

The Geej has been fighting a cold all week, coughing and producing buckets 'o snot. Today, the cold finally won, resulting in a 103.5 fever, and a very miserable little girl. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that she bounces back before I have to leave town because I'll feel like the 2nd shittiest mom in the world (the 1st is Britney Spears) if I have to leave my sick child to go to freakin' Vegas.

She's doing great with the potty training, by the way (the Geej, not Britney). She had one accident this week at school, and she still wears pull-ups for nap and sleeping, but other than that, it's all big girl panties, all the time.

I pulled about 7 million pounds of weeds in my back yard yesterday and barely made a dent. Fucking weeds.

I have been CONSUMED with reading "The Devil in the White City" by Erik Larson. It had been recommended to my by several friends, and I finally bought it when I was stuck in the Denver Airport. Oh my GOD, it's good. As soon as I finish it, I'm going to buy this guy's book "Issac's Storm" which came out a few years ago and which I understand is fantastic. His writing style and this genre (historical nonfiction) were made for me.

Tuesday also happens to be my birthday. Honestly, I could give a shit. I don't know why, but having 38 stare me in the face is not a great feeling. Oh well, hopefully I'll win some money at the craps tables and have a good meal in Sin City that night.

I haven't chewed gum in over 2 weeks, and my TMJ has gotten MUCH better. I crave gum like a junkie, but thus far, I've managed to resist falling off the wagon.

Blah, blah, blah.

So there you have it. My posts will most likely be sporadic this week what with the craziness and traveling and all. But I'll write when I can.

Do NOT mess with The Geej.

For some time now, one of the disciplinary techniques I've been using is the traditional "time out." But instead of calling it that, I say, "Do you need to go and be angry/sad/whiny by yourself?" The answer is always "no," of course. But when she has to go be by herself, we talk about why, and then let her decide when she's ready to say she's sorry and explain to me why she's in trouble. She's verbal enough for this, and it seems to be effective for us.

Then, there are her babies.

Apparently, they're ALWAYS getting in trouble and having to be by themselves. And, The Geej being the world's biggest tattle-tale, loves nothing more than coming to tell me about the exploits and wrongdoings of the babies and also about the punishment smackdown she's putting on them.

Typical conversation:

Geej: Simon bit Abby.

Me: Oh NO! Biting isn't nice.

Geej: Needs to be by himself.

Me: Yes he does!

Geej: Wanna talk to him?

Me: Sure. Simon, we don't bite our friends. It hurts their bodies, and it isn't nice. You need to go be by yourself and think about why biting is wrong. When you're ready to talk about it and say you're sorry, you can come out.

Geej: (with a VERY self-satisfied grin on her face) C'mon Simon. Need to go be by yourself.

The result of this is that, usually by bed time, every baby has hit/pushed/pulled the hair of/bitten or in some other way harmed every other baby, and they're scattered around the house, by themselves, sitting against a wall, sometimes facing a wall, and sometimes in closets or under beds.

Tonight, I opened up the kitchen pantry and found this:

From left to right, Baby, Abby, and Simon (nekkid as a jaybird, by the way), all having to be by themselves. I think this happened this morning while we were getting ready for school/work. There's really no telling what they did to warrant this level of punishment. All I know is they'd been in there all day.

I'm totally calling CPS on her ass.

Rain rain, go away.

Seriously. Get the fuck out of here, rain.

Colorado in January.

Another fabulous trip to see Mr. Wonderful. Actually, it felt like two trips since we spent the first night in Denver at the swanky Hotel Monaco and having a really, really good dinner at a place called Jax Fish House. It was clear and very cold outside, but most of the Christmas decorations were still up and downtown Denver was quite lovely.

The next day, it was sunny and not very cold--low 40s. We took our time getting out of town and heading to his little town in the northeast corner of the state.

That night, his two boys came over and we ate pizza and played board games. It was fun. They're great kiddos, and it's really special getting to know them better. We all went to bed super early that night, and I could NOT get to sleep because it was so freakin' quiet.

Next morning, we got up pretty early and went to the neighboring town to watch the older boy play in a basketball game. His team won, and the game was over way more quickly than I expected. Mr. W and I grabbed some breakfast at a little restaurant called--I kid you not--T.J. Bummer's, and then we started the drive back home as it began to snow. The longer we drove, the heavier the snow became. By the time we got back home, it was coming down hard and steady. It never stopped.

That night it was just Mr. W and me, and we cooked dinner and watched a movie while the snow piled up outside. By the morning, over 5 in. had fallen, and there was no sign of it letting up. We left for the airport about 2 hours earlier than we would've otherwise because it was getting pretty bad out there. All the way to the airport I kept thinking, "There is no way I'm getting out of here today. I'm going to be one of those poor bastards they show on the news, sleeping on the floor of the airport." We finally got to Denver International, and I discovered my flight had only been delayed by an hour. Not bad.

Mr. W got back on the road pretty quickly because it was only getting worse out there. My flight got delayed a couple of more times, but we ended up actually getting the hell out of there, and I only ended up being about 2.5 hours later getting home than I'd originally planned.

You gotta hand it to the folks at that airport--the fact that they kept the planes moving at all is a minor miracle.

Here are some photos from the weekend:

Mr. W's doggy dog, Shiloh. She is SO sweet. And we totally bonded this weekend. Here she's like, "Could you please turn the light off? I'm sweepy." Awww...

My sexy-as-hell toe socks given to me by the lovely Texpatriate. Seriously, any guy who can still find me attractive while I'm wearing these is pretty amazing. Or insane.

My sweet man shoveling snow so we'd be able to walk from the house to his car without busting our asses.

Yours truly standing in the middle of Main Street. Yes, you read that right: Main Street.

It's not every day that you fill up with gas next to one of these. The thing at this interstate gas station that I DIDN'T manage to capture with my camera was the chubby dude in the very effeminate fur jacket (think "rabbit fur jacket" from 5th grade, and you get the idea) driving a tricked out stupid looking school-bus yellow truck with a "I sold my sperm on E-Bay" bumper sticker.

Oh yes we did.

What I looked at at the airport for many hours.

Damn, I'm tired.

Ya'll, I have a big post brewing about my trip to Colorado this weekend, but since I spent 6 hours in the Denver airport and just got home (it's 10:30pm), I'm going to have to save it for when I'm not completely brain dead and stinky.

But here's a teaser:

That was taken on the INTERSTATE people, while we were driving to the airport today. Holy crap, the snow.

More tomorrow.

Great Thaw '07

I did manage to escape the house yesterday--however briefly--and traveled downtown to pick up some bills from my desk that were in dire need of mailing. Then The Geej and I met Jaye at Maudie's and toasted Ice Storm '07 with Bloody Marys over our lunch. Man, it was good to have a face-to-face conversation with an adult. The Geej was an angel--SO good and sweet. I think she was just as happy to be out of the house as I was. She wore her big girl panties all day yesterday (except for naptime) and did just great. Her school is opening at 10:30am today, and I'm sending her to school in panties instead of a pull-up. Keep your fingers crossed for us.

After dropping her off, then the frenzy really begins. I'm running back here and picking up this disaster area of a house of mine and packing to go to Colorado. Mom's coming to take me to the airport (and later, pick Geej up from school). God bless her. I'm so broke that saving the money on parking is a godsend.

Mr. Wonderful and I are staying in Denver tonight rather than driving all the way out to his corner of the state. He's being all secretive...won't tell me where we're staying or what he's got planned. I'm curious, but I'm not really worried. I'd have a fun time with him even if we were sitting at a drive through line at the bank. I love that guy...

Take care, Internets. And enjoy the the thaw.

Oh, and another thing.

It looks like a freakin' toddler bomb went off in this house. I just quit trying to pick up after her because, what's the point really.

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph people. I'm going nucking futs.

Remember in The Shining when Jack Nicholson goes all crazy when he's cooped up in that creepy hotel with his creepy wife and creepy kid and that creepy Scatman Corothers and he starts having drinks in the hotel bar with an imaginary bartender and there are those creepy twins and the hallway full of blood and that creepy old lady in the bathtub and Jack ends up running around with a hatchet wanting to hack up everyone in his path? Yeah. I'm beginning to relate to Jack...

It's Wednesday morning, and I'm beginning Day Five of ICE STORM 'O7 by myself with a very chatty, very under-my-feet, very bored toddler. Lord help me. Yesterday, my office building was closed for the first time in my seven years of working there. It's still closed until at least noon today. But I swear to you, if they open at noon, The Geej and I will be there by 12:01. I need adult human contact before I go totally insane. I love her completely, but there's only so much I can deal with alone.

Oh and ya'll, if this fucking ice shit keeps me from leaving for Colorado to see Mr. Wonderful tomorrow afternoon, you'd better avoid me at all costs because there will be innocent people harmed.

Here are some cool things that have happened during our isolation--

1) Frito Pie made with turkey chili and real Fritos.

2) The Geej wearing Big Girl Panties about 80% of the time for the first time ever.

3) This:

4) Really good afternoon naps.

5) Earl all puffed up and in snuggle overdrive:

6) Potato soup:
7) Getting to wear things knitted for me by my friends:
8) Finally filing my fingernails and reading really good books (and my "really good" I mean "shitty"):
9) Finally watching movies that have been on my TiFaux since March '05 (yes, I'm that lame):
10) Walking outside at night and having it be utterly quiet except for that weird creaky sound you hear when the wind goes through the icy branches of trees.

11) Clearing out waaaaaaaaay too much of my iTunes Shopping Cart:

12) This:
But even with all that, if this shit doesn't end soon, you can look for me on the evening news. (And that's assuming they'll break in to their round-the-clock freaked out weather coverage.)

The shortest route to crazy town...

...is being cooped up by yourself with your extremely chatty and needy toddler for (what will be tomorrow) five days because of the weekend combined with the threat of an ice storm. I am exhausted and pretty much out of things to stave off our boredom with this situation.

All I know is that there better be a 6 in. layer of ice on EVERYTHING tomorrow to make all of this hype well worth it.

In which I am hemorraging money.

God, ya'll.

I finally went to my long-awaited appointment with the ear/nose/throat doctor on Friday to see about this damn TMJ that's killing me, and he basically said, "There's nothing I can do for you. Go see your dentist. That'll be $120 for the five minutes we just spent together." Fuckity-fuck-fuck. So it's back to eating handfuls of Advil until I can see a dentist who can--hopefully--help me get some relief.

That night, Jaye came over to hang out, and throughout the night, I kept noticing that every time I opened the fridge, it seemed to be getting less and less cold in there. Finally there was no denying that it had become room temperature in my refrigerator. Shit. The freezer was still working, but it was struggling at best. It rained HARD all night Friday night and most of the day on Saturday. I woke up and everything in my fridge had started to stink. I called a repairman thinking that there was no way I'd get someone to come out a) on a Saturday and b) in this craptacular weather. But they had a guy at my house by 12:30, and by 2:00, the fridge was fixed, and my wallet was about $300 lighter. Yay!

So today I had to go to the store to replace a lot of the stuff I ended up having to throw out due to the whole fridge debacle, and I get home and realize that they'd totally forgotten to put AN ENTIRE BAG worth of stuff that I'd bought/paid for back in my cart. And I didn't notice because I was dealing with a cranky 2 1/2 year old. And as pissed as that made me, do you really think I was going to load the baby back into the car, drive all the way back up there, fight for parking, unload her (in the cold rain, I might add), and then go try and find some customer service person to help me deal with this?

Grrr...

The only real bright spots in my weekend were the 2 time The Geej pooped on the potty. Yep, shit has become a "bright spot" for me. Try not to envy me too much.

In which I reveal that I truly am an Artist (with a capital "A").

When The Geej went on Christmas/New Year's break from school, they sent home these 1 ft. tall paper doll cutout things with us with a note that said: "When we reconvene, we'll be talking about our sense of selves. Please create a 'paper doll' with an image of your child as you think s/he is. Represent him/her completely. Happy Holidays."

Um...okay. Sure.

Quite frankly, after two weeks of holidays and toddler shuffling and working and blowing my knee out, etc. the whole paper doll think had COMPLETELY slipped my mind. I show up back at school on Tuesday, and of course, there is a WALL FULL of paper dolls that you can tell they spent their whole holiday time creating. There's paint pen. There are sequins. There are stickers. There are posed/printed photos. There is actual cloth material, yarn and mother fucking brick-a-brack.

Fuck.

So tonight, totally post facto, here's what I came up with for The Geej:

The photo sucks, but the real life version kicks MUCH ass. If I'd had a little bit of forethought, I would've added glued on seeds and beans and pasta, but I had to work with what I had.

I'm fairly sure she'll be the only one with a Loteria crown in her class.

I'll go ahead and admit it: I ain't crafty. At all.

It was just one of those moments...

Tonight after getting The Geej out of the bathtub, she did her nightly wet streaking run around the house as I waited patiently for her on her bedroom floor, footie pajamas in hand. Usually, this run lasts a couple of minutes and includes jubilant shouts of, "I'm NEKKID!!" and "Look at my PEACHES!!" But tonight, it was cut a tad short as she came into the room, purple lipped and goose-bumped proclaiming, "Mommy it's COLD!" So I says to the kid, I says, "Well, honey, let's put on your jays," ('cause that's what we call her P.J.s because we're street like that). And she just started spazzing completely out and giggling. I said, "What are you DOING?!" To which she stopped and replied (as if I were dain bramaged), "I'm shaking my booty!!"

The girl just kills me sometimes.

Oh, and apparently her grandmother taught her to say, "Look at that HOTTIE!!" every time she sees someone on a motorcycle.

Sigh.

"Math is hard."--Barbie and Karla May

I blame it on Mrs. Blankenship and House Bill 72.

I had always been good at math and been in gifted and talented or advanced classes as long as they'd been offering such a thing. That is, until I drank the deadly cocktail of 9th grade algebra + a shitty, impatient teacher. To cut her a wee bit of slack, she may not have been shitty or impatient if it hadn't been for the Texas legislature's recent passing of HB 72, better known as the "no pass, no play" bill (and the beginning of the "teach for the test" bullshit the Texas public school system can't rid itself of today). You see, besides making sure athletes had to have passing grades in order to take the field (which should've been happening all along, but hey, this is Texas, and we love our football!!), one of the things this bill did was determine these "essential elements" for every grade, every class. These were things that teachers HAD to cover in any given school year, and if they didn't (and couldn't prove through their templatized lesson plans and statewide test scores that they'd done so), they could lose their jobs and the funding for entire school districts could suffer.

Maybe I've got the facts wrong, but this is the way it was explained to me when I dared to fall behind in 9th grade algebra. There were concepts in algebra that I just could NOT get. This was very alarming and stressful to me, as I'd never EVER struggled--even slightly--in any other classes before. Except for P.E., but that's because I was a spaz.

But I digress...

I fell behind and would raise my hand to ask for a problem to be explained or re-explained, and Mrs. Blankenship wouldn't even try to hide her exasperation with me. "Come ON, Karla May. You're holding up the class. This is an essential element, and we've got to cover it today. This train has left the station, and the rest of us can't wait around on the caboose." That's right people: the bad permed bitch called me a "caboose" in front of the entire class. More than once. I was fourteen and mortified. She made me feel stupid. Really, really stupid. I finally just quit raising my hand, and cried through my homework every night. I struggled through the rest of the year, and barely managed a "B." I ended 9th grade absolutely math-o-phobic and wanting to disembowel Mrs. Blankenship and the entire state legislature.

The next year was geometry, which I was dreading. But at least it was "normal" math, not advanced math anymore. So now I was with other kids who might hate math and be just as dumb as me. Perhaps that meant I wouldn't be the only "caboose" in class. But something magical and totaly unexpected happened: I got geometry. Somehow the spatial relationships and proofs made perfect sense to me, and I sailed through class with an easy A. Fuck you, essential elements. Karla May was back, and confident. I loved geometry, and didn't feel like a huge dumbass anymore.

Then came Algebra II, and of course I found myself back in the conceptual Hell that I'd thought I'd left behind in 9th grade. And why? Because I'd never really learned Algebra I in any real way, plus I was scared shitless of it. So I spent yet another year crying through my homework and freaking the fuck out while the rest of my friends were mastering Trig and Calculus. My caboose ass somehow managed to squeak a "B" out of Algebra II, but just barely.

My senior year? I took "computer math," which was some BASIC programming on first generation Apple computers. The class was filled with potheads and jocks, and served as the last nail in the coffin of my one time love affair with math.

Fast forward to my (second) senior year in college. I met with my graduation counselor at the beginning of the school year to make sure I'd covered all of my graduation requirements--my "essential elements" if you will--and guess what: I lacked a math credit. Yep, it's just like those recurring nightmares you have where you've suddenly found out you have a test and realized you never went to the class. FUCK. ME. I was a fucking math-o-phobic English/Drama double major with a bad case of senior-itis. I could barely do the math required to balance my checkbook--even with a calculator. And now I was going to have to take a fucking MATH class to graduate when I hadn't taken math since 11th grade?! Jesus H. Christ. My counselor calmly advised me to take the misleadingly titled "Applicable Math for Liberal Arts Majors." I thought, "Oh awesome! I'm going to learn how to do my taxes and figure out how much I should invest in my 401(k)! Yipee!" But guess what kids--it was algebra. Straight up. And to put the mustard on top of this shit sandwich, it was taught by an Italian T.A. whose accent was so thick he sounded like one of the Mario brothers, and I couldn't understand a goddamned word he said. God it sucked. Again, I busted my ass to just try and pass the fucker. The only smart thing I did during this time was schedule to take the GRE because I figured, hey, I'd better take that thing when I was in the throes of a semester that included a math class because, as soon as that fucking semester was done, I planned on hitting "Erase" and forgetting everything I'd learned and/or bonging myself into oblivion.

But again, I digress...

Fast forward about 80 years to the present day: I STILL fucking hate math. Everyone who knows me knows this. Don't ever ask me to to figure out how to split a bill at a restaurant. I don't count change, so you could pretty much rob me blind, and I wouldn't know it. I haven't balanced my checkbook in over a decade, and I've still never done my own taxes.

Today, Jaye and our friend Jimmy and I were trying to figure out how to split the bill at lunch. For some reason, I was the one with the pen and paper trying to figure who owed what before tip after tax. Once again, I was in Mrs. Blankenship's class, afraid to raise my hand. But at least I wasn't the only one. It took the three of us about 20 minutes to figure it out, and we even had a calculator!! Our waiter actually asked if we'd been drinking because we all seemed so confused.

So congratulations, public education system. And fuck you, Mrs. Blankenship, wherever you are.

Don't let the name fool you.

I'm not a big red wine drinker. Occasionally, I'll have a glass. Or maybe two if I really like it. But, for the most part, red wines just don't do it for me, and I don't really know why.

I have a little wine rack that has had about 5 bottles of red wine sitting in it the birthday party I threw for myself last year. That was last JANUARY, mind you. Well, last night I found myself craving a glass of red wine (which is an odd occurrence to begin with), so I just grabbed the first bottle that my hand hit. It was called Lengs & Cooter Victor Shiraz, 2003, South Austrailia. Personally, I don't think I ever would've bought a wine that had the word "cooter" on the label, but to whatever unknown party guest brought this bad boy into my life, can I just say, "Thank you." SO good. So smooth. Wow, what a wonderful, full, complex wine. I didn't just like it, I loved it. I had 2 glasses last night and then polished off the bottle tonight with my dinner. I highly, highly recommend it.

Speaking of wine, I got this catalogue in the mail yesterday, and I pretty much want everything in it. I've never been to the Napa Valley, but man I'd like to some day.

In other big news: I finally got all of my Christmas stuff taken down and put away this weekend. Everything that is except the damn tree. It's so big, I need help to get it taken down and shoved back in it's box. What in the hell was I thinking buying a 9' tree?

Some things I will probably never do (or will probably never do again).

Eat veal.

Go "noodling" for catfish.

Try to snowboard.

Smoke a cigarette.

Snort coke.

Drink Pepsi.

Get divorced.

Vote Republican.

Cheat on a test.

Own a ferret.

Think clowns are funny.

Like the music of Dave Matthews.

Buy a "Bratz" product.

Shop at Wal-Mart.

Take free time for granted.

Do a round off back handspring.

Go to Detroit.

Basejump.

Get a "Brazilian."

Understand the Russian adoption process.

Have a nose job.

Stop loving cartoons.

Rollerskate.

Drink Absinthe.

Attend Mardi Gras.

Stop missing my dad.

Take Ecstasy.

Play polo.

Drink coffee.

Stop having nightmares about hospitals.

Own a Jack Russell terrier.

Drive a stick shift.

Fly a crop-duster.

See/communicate with my ex-husband.

Admit how old I really am to myself.

Be fearless about flying.

Get around to writing that book I'd love to write.

Be in a moshpit.

Eat proscuitto.

Finish reading the dictionary.

Stop loving Jon Stewart.

Understand the sense of entitlement, self-importance, obnoxiousness, and "I'm so much smarter than ANYone" bullshit that saddles most 20-somethings I know. Yeah, I said it.

(Speaking of 20-somethings...) Be ashamed for digging Justin Timberlake.

Try to make a "Baked Alaskan."

Grow beets.

Understand how George W. got elected as our president. Twice.

Under appreciate a good night's sleep.

Know what I hate?

When you walk into the restroom at work and it's empty but it TOTALLY reeks because of the damage the previous user inflicted upon it, and then you go into your stall and take a totally innocent pee very quickly because you're about to suffocate, and then, while you're washing your hands, someone else comes in and thinks it was you that funked up the joint.

Yeah, I hate that.

Has it really been four days since I kicked my own ass?

I'm still recovering from New Year's Eve. How sad is that? The hangover is long gone, but the bruises. The BRUISES, people!! If I didn't think I'd alienate and/or totally gross out most of you who take the time to read this silly blog, I swear I'd post pictures. The one on my butt is the most amazing. In a few short days, it's grown to the size of a small galaxy, complete with what look like vivid, spindly blue and purple fingers emanating from its center. Sexy.

My knee is better. I can almost walk like I'm not injured. However, I'm still not able to straighten it out completely. Again: Sexy.

And my newest ailment? TMJ. I've been waking up for at least six weeks now with aching, popping jaws and a bitch of a headache. I looked it up on this here Internet thing and, sure as shit, I've got me the TMJ. Symptoms list:

• Frequent aching/popping jaws and headaches? Check.
• Been grinding teeth for a long time? Check. I've worn a bite guard because of grinding problem since I was in my early twenties.
• Chew gum a lot? Oh yeah. Like a cow with her cud. Because it's classy, yo. But seriously: I chew gum like hardcore smokers smoke--frequently and with much pleasure.
• Stress? Yep.
• Insomnia caused because of aching jaws? You know it!

Sigh. I guess I can go ahead and start blowing through this year's medical deductible with a trip to an Ear/Nose/Throat doctor to get this thing officially diagnosed and hopefully get some relief.

See kids? Getting old is FUN!!

I have yet to lift a finger to take down any Christmas decor. I guess I've got to do it this weekend under penalty of law, huh? Really, I'm just kind of sick of looking at it. I'm ready to pack it away and forget about it until next December when I can (maybe) be charmed by it all over again.

Okay, I'll leave you with some randomalia for good measure:

• I find the smell of Play-Dough insanely comforting.
• I'm not buying the Jan/Michael thing on "The Office."
• I'm jonesing for the return/finale of "The Sopranos," but haven't been able to find out shit about when it's coming back on. Anyone care to clue me in?
• I may be going to a work conference thingie in Vegas ON MY BIRTHDAY! Hello, craps tables. I've missed you...
• I'm cooking up the best birthday surprises EVER for my mom. She drives me totally nuts, but she's so wonderful and has been so supportive of me through all of my BULLSHIT over the past year or so. She more than deserves it.
• My good buddy Michelle has been added to the blogroll over there on the right (Ruby Bird). Check her out. She's one of the coolest ladies in the land.

More. Soon. Freaks.

Ouch.

Here are all the locations on my body where I have bruises after the roller-skating/dancing/drink-a-thon last night:

• The top of my left foot
• The front/middle of my left thigh
• My right butt cheek
• The middle of my right forearm
• The heels of both of my hands

Yes. I had fun. Waaaaaaaaaaay too much fun, in fact. Don't believe me? Well, maybe the fact that my right knee got dislocated last night and is swollen to about twice its normal size will convince you. Lucky for me, this is the fourth time I've dislocated this sucker in the past decade, so I have a plethora of knee braces lying around to assist me.

And I think you'll be happy to know that our Iranian cab driver, Jaye, and I solved the problems of the Middle East last night during our ride home. So THAT'S fixed.

God, I want someone to take me out back and shoot me.

Oy.