There's a goose in my office

Well, not really, but I'm sure my coworkers think so. I have a miserable cold and am letting out the most undignified honk of a cough every five minutes. I let Zachy sleep on our bed last night (shhhh) and I'm pretty sure I drove him away too.

As Murphy would have it, I have an appointment this afternoon and I REALLY don't want these particular peeps thinking this is par for course with me (e.g. cherry-red nose and accompanying snotrag). I already had a phone conference this morning with one of our clients, and I could practically hear her distaste coming through the wire. Who could blame her? I hate when people like me come to work sick, hacking and sneezing and touching every communal surface possible.

Poor Hubs. I gave him the scourge and he's traveling this week for work. At least I get to skulk home at the end of the day and get into our fluffy bed with clean sheets and a warm puppy. It's the little things.

Celeb tidbits

It's Friday, and that means I woke up just wanting to play! Damn this work stuff. Occasionally, I'll allow myself a Friday indulgence: a grande nonfat latte from Starbucks, something I cut out from my routine a long time ago. (Sidenote: don't underestimate the latte factor; David Bach was really onto something). But since I don't have coffee to keep me happy this morning, I moved on to Guilty Pleasure #2 - celebrity blogs. I love Go Fug Yourself, which is linked at the bottom of this page, and Jezebel, although Jezebel is really pop-culture, not just Hollywood trash. I normally reserve the latter for when I'm sitting under the dryer at my hairstylist - thanks T, for having such an eclecic selection of smut to choose from!

Moving on. I realized all of these blogs and magazines are spamming off each other, because there's an obvious homogeny to them. To wit:

Jennifer Aniston has a major chip on her shoulder about Brad and Ang, not newsworthy. But she's already moved past the five stages of grief over her and Brad's divorce so she's, well, lost her mind and is posing nude for GQ. (No comment other than, girl's got a set of fierce abs! And that we can all agree on.) Also mentions "cougars" a lot in interviews.

Jessica Alba apparently never had much of a sense of humor, but now she's unsmiling AND has a set of pretty tragic bangs, which for some reason remind me of the raspy-voiced mutt, Peg, from Lady and the Tramp.

Lindsay Lohan is a NOT a lesbian. Yawn.

Oprah is "embarrassed" to have gained 40 pounds in the past year. Sorry, did I fall asleep and it's 1996? Also, Oprah must be a masochist because the January issue of "O" features a "before" Oprah, with what must be Photoshopped abs, next to the current 200-pound Oprah. I've heard of dubious motivational tools like putting a fat picture on the refrigerator, but damn, an entire magazine cover?

Tom Cruise has a new movie coming out, so that must be why he's making amends with everyone he's managed to offend or scare with his Zulu-mind control theories, including Matt Lauer and Brooke Shields.

The girls from The Hills have cool-but-fake jobs at places like Diane von Furstenberg to match their cool-but-fake lives.

Heath Ledger has been nominated posthumously for an Oscar, which I think is fabulous. Hubs and I have watched The Dark Knight on our new pimp TV and Blueray for the past three nights. Yes, I realize that seems excessive but a) Heath is amazing in the role of the Joker and b) we've fallen into a hypnotic state by the new TV. (And c) Christian Bale is definitely a face to see right before you fall asleep!) I hope he wins.

It's back to the salt mines for me. Happy Friday!

I'm with the band

I'll admit it: I'm hooked on Rock Band.

If you know me in real life, you're not shocked. Especially if you happen to own Rock Band, in which case I've probably overstayed my welcome at your house on more than one occasion...maybe even after you fell asleep on your couch.

Anyway, who's counting. Luckily for those people, I recently bought my own Rock Band 2 and am proud to announce that I scored an 85% on the hard level guitar last night. As if that isn't lame enough, I'll take it one step further and admit that I created a rocker chick avatar, Mia, because somehow, I just don't FEEL like a badass playing my fake guitar sitting on the couch while wearing fuzzy Christmas socks. Mia looks way cooler than I ever will holding a guitar, plus she has awesome hair and a cute little rockin' bod.

It's all about the street cred baby.
In which case, maybe I should learn how to, ahem, learn how to play a real guitar. Some day.

No Excuses

It's not quite afternoon yet and I've already dealt with four separate people who have apparently bought into the popular notion that personal responsibility is for suckas. Now, I work in litigation so maybe it's an occupational hazard, but I don't think so. I've noticed a trend and maybe you have too - the facts and contexts vary slightly but the underlying theory is the same: "It's not my fault."

ARGH. So annoying. Here's the thing: I consider myself a reasonable and compassionate person. It's true that some things really are not anyone's fault. But MOST things don't fall in that existential "que sera sera" category. And you know, making allowances for people who shirk their responsibilities isn't helping them. As I type, I'm thinking of a few excellent examples of the above, but I'll save sharing for another day. An article I just read about "helicopter parents" comes to mind.

This morning I read an article in which the vice-chairman of GM basically called his company's CEO, Rick Wagoner, a "sacrificial lamb" because there's talk about conditioning bailout money on GM's getting rid of Wagoner. So...what's the problem? Isn't he at the very least ONE of the people who steered that company into its current shitastic state?

I mean, isn't that how we were all told this big mean world works? My fifth-grade teacher, Mr. Griffith, said this phrase alllll the time: "You better learn how to do this for yourself, because when you grow up no one is going to hold your hand and tell you how to do it." What a visionary! Telling a bunch of ten-year-olds to man up was probably ahead of the curve in 1990 and I'm absolutely certain it is today. Maybe we all need to go back to fifth grade.

That's my PSA for today. I'll try to stick to celebrity gossip or food next time! ;)

Parties for Dummies

Tonight is our annual Christmas party. I say "our" because now I'm married and Hubs acquired entry rights into this thing by default. But I've been throwing Christmas parties way before Hubs came on the scene - so I like to think I know a thing or two about throwing a good shindig. Actually, it's not rocket science - you have to have good food, good drinks (preferably strong) and good music. The last item is essential - bad music is just painful. (Hubs and I kept this trifecta a priority while planning our wedding...honestly, no one cares if you have awesome invitations if their food tastes like rubber and they are stuck listening to the YMCA all night.)

But even yours truly has made some real rookie party planning mistakes. It's a no-brainer that your guest bathroom needs hand soap. (Um, duh.) Or that you should test out any vessel in which you plan on holding ice beforehand, so as to not leak water all over your floor. Or that you need to keep hot food hot in order for it to be appetizing for your guests. Yep, these are all things that I've learned over the years.

Luckily people are pretty forgiving, especially if they're your friends. So rather than point out things that have gone wrong, my friends tell me how much fun they're having and compliment my outfit, which makes me happy. (Hey, I'm a Leo.) So don't be intimidated to throw a party (which is pretty common, I've heard) - stick to the basics and you can't go wrong!

And if all else fails, utilize my secret weapon: dimmers on low and LOTS of candles. Your house will instantly look better and so will everyone who's there - a win/win situation.

Cheers! Pictures to come.

Hunkering down

It's sooo cold today! I know the people who know me in real life, who know where I live, will make a crack about how I couldn't possibly know the meaning of cold. Trust this Yankee-trapped-in-the-South, it's teeth-chattering freezing.

I love it.

I love having soup for dinner.

I love evergreen-scented candles.

I love having cold feet and getting into my marshmallow-fluffy bed.

I love hot cider.

I love running early in the morning and seeing everyone's Christmas lights.

Bring on the holidays!

But please let my pants fit on January 1st.

A whole lotta turkey

Happy (belated) Thanksgiving! I hope you had a wonderful dinner with family, the kind that inspires meaningful and heartfelt discussion about gratitude and the truly important things in life.

I kid, I kid - who actually has those family holidays so reminiscent of a Publix commercial? The idea is nice, but at our house, there's usually chaos as everyone tries to sit down before everything gets cold. (We are a family of cold-food haters!) This year, I even toyed with the idea of idea of throwing in my own little message, but it seemed a little out of place, considering the grace delivered by my mother. It could be rivaled only by, say, Homer Simpson. (Sorry, Mom.)

And of course my brothers, the great conversationalists of the family, only add to the Rockwellian atmosphere at our Thanksgiving table. To paraphrase George Bernard Shaw, if you can't get rid of a family skeleton, may as well make it dance, right?

But it's ok. Life is not a Publix commercial (thank God - talk about pressure). And the next morning, as I stood on line at 6 am for a flat-screen TV with my loyal mom and dad, ready to spar - well, verbally - with anyone who dared try to ruin Hub's Christmas surprise, I realized that while no family is perfect, I'm pretty lucky to have the one I do.