"The Most Wonderful Time of the Year..."

I have been off my game. The holidays have a way of doing that. Your schedule fills up, you flit from one party to the next and you get the otherwise ridiculous notion that you are a jet setter.

We're not even into heavy holiday party season and I'm already seeking out red sequined tops (only acceptable this time of year) and eating more cheese than can be digested by a single human being.

Gastrointestinal issues aside, I just love this time of year. Dressing up, seeing old friends, making new friends, toasting to just about everything on the planet and all under the glow of twinkling white lights. (Everything is better with white lights).

But tonight I finally got back to my computer, pulled up the ol' blog and realized that all I can do is worship my Pagan tree, listen to holiday music and revel in the "Holiday Me". So just for tonight Christmas is all about me and not the lil tike in the manger.

Don't fret for my eternal soul, I'm an ordained minister and will absolved myself of sin later. Tonight it's white lights, cheerful tunes and the glee of how good I look in red.

Pop Quiz

There is a blog that I check on occasion. All A Twitter.

She has some fun posts and a Wednesday haiku competition that I'm becoming addicted to. Anyway, she had this little quiz on hers today and since I didn't have much to say, I thought I'd give you this...

1. Diamonds or Pearls? See? Right off the bat I'm bitter, as I have neither and want both. I'd go with "and" over "or" on that one.

2. Chocolate or Vanilla? A family credo: If it's not chocolate, it's not dessert.

3. Beatles or Stones? I'm more likely to wax poetic over N*SYNC or Backstreet Boys, Britney or Christina. Only because I like to make fun of them and there isn't much I find humorous about the Beatles and Stones except that some women still find them attractive

4. Steak or Pasta? Am I the only freak who can totally pass on steak? I wish I were a marathon runner, which would make my propensity for eating my weight in pasta much more acceptable.

5. Revolver or Semi-Automatic? Can you tell yet that my dad told me about this blog? If we're talking about doors, I get a little freaked out in revolving doors. If, as I suspect, this is gun talk - I prefer spitballs.

6. Feather or Foam? Foam. Feather beds always stick me with their prickly quills. I'd like to think we've evolved since Little House on the Prairie

7. Republican or Democrat? I'm beginning to think they need a much smarter party if I'm gonna dance

8. Stick or Automatic? I once was lost, but now I'm found. I'd only ever owned sticks and didn't know the luxury of an automatic transmission. I've gone soft, but cruise control gets me over it.

9. Table Service or Buffet? I have high enough blood pressure without fighting a testy geezer for the last egg roll. Cute waiter me.

10. Summer, Winter, Spring or Fall? If a land existed that was Fall year around, I think I'd pack it all in. Naturally their national language would be "Pointing and Grunting"; national food - cheese; national bird - none, because they think birds are unpredictable and frightening too; national pastime - baking and mocking

11. Sailboat or Motorboat? I don't care as long as someone else is at the helm and there are no shark fins peeping out at me

12. Dogs or Cats? This often-debated question is a big DNA (does not apply). I am the proud owner of a colony of dust bunnies. What they lack in cuteness, they also lack in slobber and unexplained trails of feces

13. Beer or Wine? I could no sooner pick a favorite child or star in the heavens. They are both perfect just the way God made them

14. Hugs or kisses? Chocolate is chocolate

15. Cary Grant or Jimmy Stewart? Cary Grant is much too sophisticated for the likes of me (my friends are all nodding in agreement) Jimmy, now Jimmy would call you "dollface", give you a smack on the ass and order you both Gin and Tonics

16. Pie or Cake? Neither? I'd take a cookie over the both of them. Although I make an amazing Pecan Pumpkin Pie and a Peanut Butter Chocolate Cake that has actually made men weep

17. Tea or Coffee? If it's good - coffee, black. If it's so-so - coffee, masking as chocolate milk. If recovering from a hangover - tea, pepperminty

18. Male Friends or Female Friends? I used to be a big "Girls Stink" Girl. They seemed catty, petty and some other -tty word. But then I got me some great girlfriends and you just can beat that with a stick

19. Pool or Beach? Doesn't matter, but there better be that great coconut smell from Super Duper Accelerating Tanning Lotion wafting in the air

20. Hotter or Colder? Beverages? Weather? Come on, hook a girl up with a qualifier. Weather - colder; beverages - both have a time and place; the game - colder makes you feel like a real loser

Something's a-Brewin'

My friend, CT, is a pretty cool chick. (Don't worry, she doesn't mind if I call her "chick" - she's about as kindly and un-offendable as they come.)

We grabbed a drink this weekend (as we some times do) and talked (as we always do) and CT said something that really was quite profound: "some drinks just remind us of certain times and places."

Maybe that's simple, but that doesn't make it any less profound. We were talking about this guy we know who likes Hacker Schoor. He absolutely flips over Hacker Schoor. Myself and CT's BF, MB (dig the acronyms, you can tell I've spent too many years at the Farm) anyway, me and MB think Hacker Schoor tastes like some freakish kind of deli meat, like Mortadella or something equally gag-worthy. Anyway, our friend who likes it takes us on a walk down memory lane every time he orders one, which got me walking down my own lane-o-memories:

Old Speckled Hen: When I went to London (by myself because I just couldn't wait another day to get a stamp in my passport) I made a deal that I would drink whatever was on the handpull. OSH was on the handpull at the bar where I crashed a mason's retirement party and had one of the best nights of my life.

Bell's Oberon: The summer before I moved back to Michigan - I saw this amazing band called Third Coast Something or Other at Bell's Brewery, hung out with my oldest friend, danced like a crazy woman and discovered there was a beer that got you drunk after only two pints.

Merlot: When I was new to the Hartford theater community, I was trying to act so much more mature and grown-up than my (nearly) 21 years. I hadn't had much wine (unless we count 2-liters of Sun Country Wine Cooler) up until then. But drinking wine with these wonderfully creative and smart people made me feel creative and smart too.

Vanilla vodka: My friend, K(H)B. She's my soul sister. I drink vanilla vodka (or even a Diet Dr Pepper Cherry Vanilla soda) and I think of how much I love her.

Old Style: Egads, it's almost the worst beer on earth, but every time I even catch a whiff of it, I think about hanging with my cousin in the smokiest bar in Kalamazoo, MI (rhymes with Preen Mop) and having these insanely funny conversations about our family, our lives and what we had just written on the bulletin board in the Womens bathroom.

Coors Light: Canoeing and Tubing. It doesn't matter if your can gets half-filled with river water, it still tastes the same.

Jack Daniels: an old boyfriend, no matter how hard I try to reassociate. I stopped drinking it all-together.

Guiness: damn the ex-boyfriends.

Tangueray and Lemonade: A delightful afternoon on my father and step-mother's deck. It totally changed my opinion of gin and the cool-factor of hanging out with one's parents.

Dirty Martinis: Hanging with my girlfriends. Even if I was the only one drinking them - I remember eating a bleu cheese-stuffed olive and thinking "We have become Bawdy Women".

Margaritas: For some reason, the most Mountain Manly man I know, KDave, has probably been my most frequent partner in crime around the blender. I'm not sure if over the course of our friendship he's changed or I have or we have, but he's this amazingly intuitive and precious soul. And when the sour and salt meet - I think of him.

Bell's Amber Ale: Shitcan Monday. The day I got "let go" from the best job on the planet. My oldest friend hooked me up with a case at 10 a.m. My friend, Carter and I both got the boot and every time I think of ordering an Amber Ale, I remember his sage and experienced words of how Shitcan Monday would go: "10:30a.m. apply for unemployment. 11a.m. we start drinking. Soon we'll be fielding phone calls from ex-co-workers and family. We will console them and continue drinking. Start making plans of where we will meet up with ex-co-workers. Start a tab at 3pm at our bar of choice. By the time our still-employed friends show up - they will pick up the tab and buy rounds of shots. Tomorrow, start looking at the Want Ads." I no longer drink Amber Ale. That is exclusive to me, Carter and life-altering events.

Okay, I've gone on and on.; I could go on and on some more, but will let you go with this thought, our lives are in the details. Graduations and weddings are captured in pictures, but it is in the odors, smells and tastes of life that lie our true life stories. These are just a few of mine.

A Woman Who Loves a Tiara

I am a woman who loves a tiara. I own two.

Oh no, I've never been crowned any sort of Queen, Princess or royalty of any kind. I just happen to own two tiaras.

One purchased so that I and my two dearest girls could go as the Queens of Ale, Porter and Stout to a local brewery's annual costume gala (okay, it's held in the back room on concrete floors, but our presence raised it to gala level)

The second was most un-Queenly begged for from my sister (also a woman who loves a tiara). It is currently sitting atop my head as I type this entry. And, in my opinion, should be dusted off at least on a weekly basis - even if only to vacuum and mop my floors.

Every woman has a little Cinderella in us. All of us feel woefully underappreciated and just know in our heart of hearts that our size 10's will fit in that glass slipper. (Just hand me a shoe horn and won't I prove it.) And once we're waltzing in our finest crystal we'll never again have to scrub the refrigerator down or clean hair out of the sink drain.

But a tiara's true purpose is to remind us to raise our chins a bit, walk a little taller, to smile a little sweeter and to gently lower our eyes in false modesty. Because we all really are royalty. Me, my sister, my girls - Queens - one and all. Nothing less than beautifully and regally divine.
This is one of those rare moments when I actually feel sorry for men. For what would I do if deprived my tiara?

Well, I would still raise my chin, walk tall, smile sweetly and gently lower my eyes in false modesty - because the royalty is in us, not an adornment.

Martha Stewart Doesn't Live Here Anymore

I’d like to sit down with Miss Martha and ask her what things were like in the Clink.

Specifically, did The Man try to institutionalize the decorating goddess right on out of her? I wonder if they forbid her to knit an afghan for her bunk bed or use flowers indigenous in the prison yard to make swags for her barred windows. I wonder if they said the big “no” if she tried to hang pictures of her previously created meals and spectacularly adorned cocktails. I’d have to assume “no” – which leads me to my current conclusion.

The Cube Farm is worse than prison.

The space I live in is approximately a 5-foot cube, smaller than your standard jail cell, which I guess is fair, since I rarely sleep here (unless I’ve been out drinking with the girls the night before and can somehow manage to cradle my forehead in my hands and look like I’m intently reading “Developing the Extraordinary Organization”).

My main source of decoration is a series of 3” black binders that encircle my cube wall, occasionally broken up by a pile of scrap paper and two very out-of-date phone books. I have a black computer monitor, a beige telephone (almost black from the Ghosts of Grubby Hands Past) and an ergonomically correct keyboard. That’s it. Nothing else. (Ok, there might also be a few empty diet Coke cans and several ill-attended dust bunnies, but that's it).

My dilemma is – I’m a decorating fool. I like having things on my walls and desk that say “a funky, fun woman works here”. My new “workspace” resides in the land of vanilla and there is very little that is deemed “appropriate” in our little hamlet of Blandville.

But last night, I broke down. I decided to take a leap and make my little fabric cell a little homier. I found some great little prints at my most favoritest store (rhymes with Smarget) and brought them in to display. I even came in a little early; to make sure I wasn’t using company time to do frivolous things like make my workspace bearable. They are these great prints (from the 30s or 40s, I think) that are old-time advertisements of Martini and Rossi. They have these funky mime guys on them and one has this awesome “man in the moon” licking his lips. They were fun. They were artsy. They were up for approximately 9 minutes before a manager swung by and most grievously told me that they should come down because of their content (i.e. booze).

Did you all just think “COME ON!”? Because that’s what I thought. I thought it so loud I was sure that my head would explode and decorate my cube walls with bits of brain matter and mucus, which I’m sure is also inappropriate for the Farm.

And no, I wasn’t upset with the poor Manager. It must be hard enforcing rules that you think are ridiculous. No, I think I’m upset with political correctness. Political correctness has run Camp Goodtimes right into the ground. Everything is offensive. Everything is skeptical. Everything is bad and should not be said or shown. Political correctness is a big ol' stick up the corporate ass.

Political correctness sucks the big one. And if Martha bothered to answer any of my phone calls I just know she'd agree.

A few of my favorite things

I can't tell you about all of the many things I am thankful for in life.

Okay, fine - here are a few:

1. Blizzards - when it snows so hard you know you aren't going to have to go into work the next day
2. White lights - on trees, in buildings, year 'round
3. Red wine - especially in the fall and winter, especially with my girlfriends, especially when I remember to take aspirin and drink water before bed
4. "The West Wing" - dear lord if politicians were that honest, that funny, that smart. What a wonderful world this would be...
5. Irish pubs - even when owned by Euro-mutts in the U.S.
6. Jersey-knit sheets - just when you thought sleeping in your softest, most comfortable t-shirt was bliss...try sleeping wrapped up in one
7. My sister's laugh - it's the most perfect sound to my ears
8. Sharpened pencils - mechanical pencils are fine, but a newly-sharpened pencil just writes perfectly
9. Going to an art museum by myself - actually enjoying the art, instead of trying to find something meaningful about the art in order to say something interesting to my companion
10. Karaoke bars - I applaud the bravery and then point, stare and mock (I never said I was a good person)

The list goes on and on and let's be honest, is sure to be continued...

How Words Find Us

I'm not entirely sure how words find us. But I believe it to be true, rather than this idea that we find them. I will not wax poetic on the notion. The man above understood it at a level that I can never dream to. I'll just prop myself up on his genius and hope to be found.