2006 ... Oh the possibilities!

The New Year is knocking at our door, and it's an even number ... which means it's going to be a good year.

Seriously.

Most everything bad that's ever happened in my life has happened in an odd-numbered year. ... Family deaths, car accidents, parents' divorce, geometry class.

It's scientific, if you ask me.

On the flip-side, all things good have happened in even-numbered years ... First car, college graduation, first real paycheck, first visit to Crate & Barrel.

I have a feeling this year is going to be a good one ... not merely because it's an even number (I suppose I'm somewhat aware that's sort of a silly measure of how successful a period of time will be), but because I just have a gut feeling. I don't get those very often, so I'm going with it.

I've only got one true New Year's resolution, and that is (like the majority of the country) to lose weight. And I will succeed, dammit.

I wish you all a very happy (and safe) New Year!

I'll be downing Irish car bombs tomorrow night in Georgia to ring in the new year ... God help us all. *hiccup*

Merry (post)Christmas to you

OK, OK ...

Maybe Christmas isn't half bad. Not that all my pre-Christmas groveling wasn't sincere (trust me, it was very sincere), but I must say Christmas itself was quite nice.

A trip to Rome (Georgia, not Italy - unfortunately) to spend the first Christmas with my father since I was a little girl proved to be less of a disaster and more of a relaxing family-style holiday that usually doesn't fit into that side of the family's agenda. It was a nice surprise, and so was the pot roast.

Yep ... Pot roast on Christmas ... bet you've never experienced that before. And banana pudding - made with love for me by my stepmother who once heard me say homemade banana pudding quite possibly could be the most delectable dessert ever. Screw the Jell-O stuff - that's just gross.

On top of the dinner and yummy dessert there was rum. Oh, glorious rum. Dark rum from Jamaica to be precise. My father's gift to me because he once overheard me say that rum runners quite possibly could be the most delectable drink ever.

My family listens to me and delivers.

Gifts were exchanged ... rum and cash for me; the mandatory Georgia Southern University hat for dad, along with the mandatory golf shirt and belt; and an inspirational book and bath robe for the stepmother. Everyone was happy, that is until Dad decided to try to figure out the DVD/VHS player he'd received as a gift from a stepson.

Multiple nasty words were heard coming from the den as he flashed through page after page of a quite large instruction booklet. Me, being the non-DVD player owner that I am, sat back and watched in confusion. How could it be so hard to figure out how to play "Mr. and Mrs. Smith"?

Without going into all the details, I'll just say that Dad has decided he has no use for DVD/VHS players and that he'll just reconnect his old VCR next week when he has the time.

And that was my Christmas ... minus the meltdown that brought Jon up to Chattanooga all the way from Atlanta at 11 p.m. Details of the meltdown are not available, but let's just say everything's OK. :)

So this is Christmas ...

Despite past experiences, including once getting stuck in a store's parking lot for 3 long hours due to holiday traffic, I ventured to Target this afternoon. This absolutely unnecessary shopping excursion commenced at 3:30 p.m. ... the exact time everyone else in Chattanooga decided to head toward the big red bull's eye.

It was quite the Christmas spectacle - and I don't mean in a feel-good holiday spirit sort of way.

Frazzled store associates tried their best to help over-zealous soccer moms locate lap desks and Ryan Cabrera CDs. I heard more than a dozen screaming children, many of whom were pitching all-out fits over chocolates or various and sundry other stocking stuffers meant to be scarffed down on Christmas Day, not in the middle of a jam-packed Target aisle.

There were bright red shopping carts at every turn, abandoned smack in the middle of the aisles - their drivers, looking much like deer in headlights, peering up at store shelves not knowing what to grab next.

Red bows or gold bows?
Gift bags or wrapping paper?
White shirt boxes or printed shirt boxes?

The possibilities were endless, and too much for some folks to bear. I witnessed one meltdown between a mother and her teenaged daughter. It was over gift labels. I swear to God.

It's funny how the holidays turn typically normal Target shoppers into the (dare I say it) heathens who roam Wal-Mart aisles at all hours of the day. I know this is an evil thing to say, but you know I'm right. I avoid Wal-Mart at all costs - simply to steer clear of people who seem to be devoid of manners, common sense - or both.

I think the holidays somehow clear our heads and replace our normal-functioning brains with red-and-green mush, complete with tinsel and lights.

I will be so glad when Jan. 2 gets here.

'V' is for vacation

Today was Day 1 of six days off for me. I'm not going anywhere in particular, but right now that's just fine with me.

I've still got Christmas shopping to take care of, some rest to catch up on and an apartment that could use a good cleaning. I think six days will be just perfect for that.

I'm well-aware this post is lame, but there's really nothing else going on. So, with that, I say Happy Friday!!

Adventures in Laundry, Part Deux

To add to my previous laundry excitement, today someone left a dime bag of what appeared to be rather seedy marijuana in a dryer I was about to stuff two loads of clothes into.

Yes, a little bag of weed.
In the dryer.

My guess is the owner of the stuff realized he had some really bad pot on his hands and decided not to smoke it. Shoving it into his jeans pocket for when desperation really set in seemed like a good idea. But apparently, the dude never got that desperate and decided to wash his jeans instead.

Bravo.

That's where I come into the picture.

Imagine my surprise as I leaned into the dryer to check for such foreign objects as a dreaded panty liner, but instead found a little bag of marijuana, still perfectly sealed.

The only thing I could say as I grabbed the bag and chucked it into the garbage can was, "What's next?!?"

Stay tuned ... I'm sure the laundry saga will continue.

Happy holidays ... really!

It's Christmastime again ... and despite repeated efforts, I cannot get in the Christmas spirit.

I'm not bitter; I'm just not holly-jolly.

I really don't know what has brought this on, considering in all my 28 years I've always looked forward to the festivities, shopping and everything else that comes with this joyous time of year. I'm actually kind of concerned that I've lost the spirit, and I really would like it back ... soon!

How'd you know that?

I'd heard of those robotic voices that consumers are required to answer back to while attempting to reach a representative at companies that refuse to pay REAL people to man the phone lines. But until today I'd never been subjected to the bizarre feeling that accompanies talking to a perky voice that you know isn't connected to a living, breathing human.

I was forced into chatting it up with the fake woman this morning while trying to reach Sears about my new exercise bike that quit on me last night near the end of a rather high-octane workout (fueled by the fact that I've gained 3 pounds in a little over a week).

After doing everything I could to talk to a real person at the Sears store I had actually purchased my bike at, I finally relented and called the dreaded 1-800 number. After a grueling 6 ot 7 minutes of being careful to properly pronounce words (minus my Southern accent) like "warranty," "exercise bike" and "correct," I was on my way to an operator who just happened to know everything about me.

It was creepy enough talking to this mystery "woman" - but once I finally made my way down the pipeline to the operator, she knew my name, my address, the date of purchase, my credit card information and the type of bike I was calling about. All that without me telling her or the perky robot voice any of that.

I have no idea how all my information was right there in front of this operator, but it's scary. Between perky robotic voices and an abundance of my information at others' fingertips, I'm not so sure I'm liking this information age stuff. I'm frightened to think what could be next.

Reason No. 137 why I need my own home:

LAUNDRY FACILITIES CREEP ME OUT.

Example: Today, I found a panty liner stuck to the inside wall of the dryer in which I had just dried a load of white clothes.

Yes, a PANTY LINER, which somehow had gone unnoticed as I loaded my clothes into the vile dryer. My God, who leaves those things in their panties before washing them??

I am convinced the thing is permanently attached to that particular dryer after the sticky stuff melted to the metal. Regardless, I will never use that dryer again. Ever.

Thought for the day

Blessed be the person who thought to put Starbucks inside Target stores. What a perfect combination.

** Sidenote: Attempting to steer a shopping cart filled with bags with one hand while holding a cup of coffee in the other hand can be harmful to one's pride and possibly dangerous. I won't go into specifics, but trust me ... I know.