It's like I'm 16 again
And it's not because I had a dream I was back in high school the other night. (Side note: In the dream I was trying to get a masters in statistics but I was taking classes in my high school with my seventh grade math teacher. Hmm. Weird.) It's because while I was home I actually drove! A car! (Technically, a mini van. Big Mama is still alive and kickin'.) I don't think I've been this excited about driving since I had my learner's permit and driving to the grocery store was a big deal. I only drove to a Mexican restaurant downtown, which is maybe five minutes away, but as I hadn't driven at all in at least a year a half, this was a major trip. It felt so good to be driving again that I told my mom I felt like hopping on the interstate and driving seven hours to Columbia just because I could. This idea got vetoed rather quickly. Oh well. But I am making a promise to myself that I will never go that long without driving again.

Good Riddance
2005 is almost over. Thank God.

December
I really haven't blogged this month. Oops. Can I blame it on the transit strike?

Viva Las Vegas (Jersey Style)
The company holiday party was delightfully tacky. It was held at a swanky country club that's not actually a country club but does have valet parking. An Elvis impersonator greeted me and took my coat. There was a live band that played such hits as "This Is How We Do It." (Is that even what it's called? That song from the mid-90s about how I gotta get mine in a big black truck, but you can get your's in 64. I'm sure I butchered those lyrics, but you know what I'm talking about.) There was a photo station where you could get your face PhotoShopped onto Elvis' body. There was gambling with fake money. There was good food and free booze. There was someone sobbing in the bathroom by the end of the night. And an editor-in-chief of one of the magazines got drunk and flashed everyone. One word. Classy.

Who needs the Grinch when you have angry MTA workers?
So the transit strike was a pain in the ass. The first day was cake because I got to work from home. But then my boss insisted I come into work the next two days. My options: walk approximately 7 miles in the cold to the bus station where I can still catch a bus to Jersey, walk approximately 3 miles in the cold to the apartment building of someone who could give me a ride (at some point carrying all my luggage because I would have to go directly to the airport from work on Thursday), or chuck all the last minute stuff I was going to get down Tuesday night, pack early for the trip, pay for an over-priced cab to the PATH station so I could crash with the boy in Hoboken and get a ride from a co-worker. I chose option C. (Less walking, more boy.)

But the fun wasn't over. I spend Wednesday freaking out about how I was going to get to the airport. The taxi service in New Jersey was booked. All the lines were busy for all the car services in Manhattan because everyone was either trying to get around the city somehow or get the airport at the same damn time. I was about ready to start walking around the office begging people with cars to drive me to the airport if I paid them. My boss suggested just taking the bus over the bridge and trying to flag down a cab, but considering how chaotic the city was, this seemed less than reliable. Finally, I got a number for an expensive car service that the corporate types at our company use and was able to get a reservation. Luckily, it got charged directly to my credit card (tolls, tip and all), so I won't have to see exactly how painful it's going to be until I get my bill. But at least I got to the freaking airport and made it home so I could start trying to restore the Christmas spirit the transit strike had killed. I have a feeling I won't have as much luck getting back the $100 or so I dropped on various forms of transportation due to the transit strike. Bugger.

X-mas Highlights
-I met a friend's five-day-old baby on Christmas Eve. He was as small as you would imagine a five-day-old baby would be. And he was a total angel because he pretty much never woke up while we were there. And his name is Gage. Yeah, rhymes with cage. I guess celebrities don't have dibs on all the strange baby names.
-While we were trying to take a family picture this afternoon, my brother managed to knock over the Christmas tree. (Technically, he only halfway knocked it over because I caught it just before it landed.) And, no, he hadn't been drinking. I swear.

Aunt Mike* Quote of the Day
"Be good. And if you can't be good, be careful. You're old enough now that I can say that to you."
-as she's kissing me good-bye at the end of the day.

*For those of you who aren't in the know, Aunt Mike is my rather eccentic 92-year-old great aunt. I believe she was flapper back in the day.

Fed Up
Have you ever felt like if you had to write one more quiz question you'd start throwing things at people? No? OK, I guess it is a bit specific. But I definitely hit that point this afternoon. And what did I do next? I wrote more quiz questions! I guess I'm just gettig burnt out. Burnt out on quizzes. Burnt out on spending so much time standing in the cold waiting for buses. Burnt out on getting home so damn late every night. (Seriously, tonight I had to stop at the bank and go to the grocery store for croutons and sandwich bags, both errands that are on my way home and take about five minutes each. I got home at 8.)

Ugh. I guess I just feel like complaining tonight. If you don't like it, just come back next time. Our company Christmas party is tomorrow night, and I'm bound to end up with a few good stories. Just a preview: Last year there were cage dancers. And who said working in Jersey wasn't classy?

Love/Hate Relationships
This weekend I fell in love with a man named Jason. It wasn't quite love at first sight. His shiny-bald-head-and-sideburns combo made me a little nervous. After all, I was about to let him near me with sharp objects. But there was no need to worry. He gave me the best haircut I've had in quite a while. (Granted, I hadn't had a haircut since May.)It was the perfect length, and after he blew it out, I felt more like a movie star than a broadcast news reporter. So after two and a half years in the city, I think I'm ready to settle down with one ... stylist.

After my haircut, I went to this great bagel shop down the street. They have fantastic bagels, but the past two times I've been there with the boy, they have managed to mess up our order. Or more specifically, the same guy keeps messing up our order. There are plenty of other employees there who seem perfectly competent, but this guy can't handle an order for three bagels. When I went there on Saturday, he ended up waiting on me again. I was optimistic, though. After all, I would be ordering only one bagel. It would be hard for him to mess it up, right? Wrong! I ordered an everything bagel with cream cheese, and after wandering around for a while he informed me they were out of everything bagels. Tragic! I realize that technically this wasn't his fault, but it's too late. To steal a phrase from a friend, the bagel guy is officially on my list.

Vomiting
Earlier this week, I stayed home from work because I felt like vomiting. Luckily, I didn't. Now I feel like vomiting on my keyboard. Not in a puking-up-the-crappy-pizza-I-had-for-dinner kind of way, but in the spilling-my-guts-and-dumping-all-my-thoughts-out kind of way. It's what one of my favorite professors used to call a first draft. Vomiting on the keyboard. But this isn't a first draft. There won't be a final draft. There won't be revisions. I'm just spewing my thoughts into cyberspace. Maybe some of you care. Maybe you don't. But the thing is I have no idea what to say. I have all these thoughts and worries and insecurities swirling around in my head, and I don't know what to say. I wish I had all the answers. I wish I knew exactly how everything would work out. I wish life didn't all fell like one big risk. Like I jumped off the high dive and can't quite remember how to swim. Where are the life guards? What if I hit my head on something on the way down? What if I'm so battered and bruised by the time I hit the water that it hurts too much to move a muscle and I sink like a stone? What if I grab onto the person trying to save me and drag them down, too? I'm not making sense. I'm not quite sure what I'm saying. But I'm vomiting onto the keyboard and maybe it's making me feel a little bit better. Or maybe I just sound like an idiot.