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.