mother's here. merry christmas. happy all that.

- Mother's here and she brought with her 200 tons of cookies, fudge and foodstuffs from home. Because we just don't have food here in Colorado, you see.

- Cross reference with previous post, RE: triathlon.



- There are dogs a plenty, too. Six of them. Two huge, one big, three medium. A whole lotta laughing.

- We went skiing with 15,000 of our closest friends. In the small world category, we parked right next to a guy I used to work with. How weird is that? OK, it's weird to me.



- There was a blog party with my BFF Kate and Fiesty Scribe Katrina.

- We held our 2nd annual company holiday party. Everyone who came had a great time. The board of directors were unfortunately absent. They had a meeting to attend in the backyard.

- The CFO showed off our new budget for 2006. More money for everyone! Whoot! Whoot! (Yes, I am ashamed for having typed the words, "whoot! whoot!")

- Then this happened, or will happen, or will hit news stands in some remote locations but mostly appear in people's mailboxes...


Hope you all had a lovely holiday. Mine was a peaceful, easy feeling. What did I get?! What did I get!? Why, I got a new kitchen!

Before


After

I must have hit my head.

I'm thinking about doing something I've never thought I'd do in my life. It's something that people who know me laugh out loud when I say it. People who don't even know me that well would laugh at me. It's a sinister thing, really. Evil. Wrong in so many ways. I think I'm going to do it anyway.

What could be so laughable? So immoral? So wrong that I might think of it?

A triathlon.

See? You even laughed.

I'll admit, when these ladies/new friends suggested it at happy hour over a pint and artichoke dip, I nearly snorted the Strongbow out my nose. Me?! Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Me?! Who did they think they were talking to?

I. Don't. Exercise.

This is common knowledge among my friends and foes alike. Oh yes, I walk the hounds. I ski. I golf. I'll swim in a clean pool (clean, key word). But I don't exercise. I don't train. I have bad knees. And bronchial problems. I wouldn't even know where to start. And then there's the logistics. My BF Megan said to me, you have to swim in a reservoir. So? I replied. Think about it, she said. A reservoir. With other people. And things that have crapped in it. Oh. I said.

So I put it out of my mind for a few days. On Saturday while skiing, I caught an edge and fell, head over boots, flew 180 degrees around in mid-flight, and landed on my back. Then my head hit the cold, frozen snow. Wham! I thought I was concussed for a moment. I shook it off, got back up, and skied, ever so slowly, down the mountain. Panting. All. The. Way. Wait. Take. A. Breath. Where's. My. Inhaler? Ok. Go. Wait. Stop. Rest. Damn. I'm outta shape.

Monday I weighed myself for the first time since pre-surgery. Damn. I'm tubby. 'Splains so much. Hmm, what would help that? No, don't say it. Hey, I know?! A triathlon. That makes so much sense. Yes. Let's do that.

Why a triathlon? Why not? It's something I've n-e-v-e-r done. Something I n-e-v-e-r thought I could do. So why not? This has been my year of pushing myself past my comfort zone and lately that comfort zone has expanded to include my ginormous ass. Why not push myself even more? And I'm not getting any younger or in better shape as I sit on my Uge ass. Plus, it's the Danskin Triathlon. The triathlon for women who don't think they can do a triathlon.

Problem is, except those two g-friends from the other night, no one else wants to do it with me. Not my BF Megan. Not... wait. Maybe she's the only one I've asked so far. Huh.

Alright, I'm putting this out there. Any fine ladies in the Denver area want to do a triathlon with me? Or maybe just sit around and taunt?

CSI: Aurora

Who dunnit?

Scotch Tape

Whirrrrl! Is it Monday again? It goes by so damn fast. On Thursday, my friend/editor sent me a PDF to proof before blueline. My infamous project is on press as we speak. Then on Friday, my favorite postal worker brought my copy of the DBJ with the insert I created. It's not the glitzyist. In fact, it looks like a newspaper. But that's the point.

An update to my three readers (yes, I've declined in readership from 6 to 3, it's true): we spent Cubicle Liberation Day on the slopes. Er, well, we tried. Four hours on the slopes, in freezing snowiness. Met up with our friend George and his latest girlfriend, Danielle, around 10 a.m. The lasses with frozen toes hid out in the warming hut for a half hour while the men did a few runs. Broke for lunch with said friends. Broke for drinks immediately after lunch. It was cold. I was celebrating. George's latest is, of course, adorable, sweet, nice, funny. The kind of girl I could see shopping with, getting pedis with, skiing with. But I can't get too attached. The last one, Becky, was also adorable, nice, friendly, funny. She lasted about 6 months before they called it quits. Something about fear of commitment. He's moving to California in a few months, so there's the end of that one. I just can't put too much into these relationships. I've been hurt far too many times.

We left the mountain early to get home in time for take out Mexican and the foosball game. Our celebration came to an end around 9:30 p.m. when hubby dragged my comatose butt off the couch to go to bed. Wooo hoo. We are rock stars. No pictures, please.

Fast forward to Sunday night, the hounds, hubby and I sat down for some prime unwinding. Our todo list todone with the typical Sunday-around-this-time-of-year list: sent cards, made fudge, entertained neighbors. Mmm. What should we do with the rest of our evening, we pondered? Let's On Demand something. Torn we were between Shark Tale and an unheard of to us film with Ewan "Swoon" McGregor. Young Adam it is, we decided.

This was no Star Wars, no Down With Love, oh no, not even a Big Fish. Quirky, not so much. Dark. Different. Somewhat French in a way, with no neat little ending and a clear idea of what the hell is going on. No noticeable soundtrack to cue the tension. Non-linear flashbacks. It really should have been titled, "The Many Ways Ewan Has Sex." With full frontal. God Bless the Scots. It's in Glasgow, which I adore. With a cast of Scottish people, whom I adore more. But it's really all Ewan, all of him, that steals this show. And there's a crime/punishment/murder/mystery element to it. He's a character with no redeeming qualities, I may add. You want to like his character, because it's Ewan, nekid, really, really nekid. But we soon learn that he has what today we would call "issues." He's not a nice person, really. But he's nekid, did I mention that part? (Pun intended.)

As unAmerican cinematographic as it was, I enjoyed it..? With a question, I guess. It lingers. It reminds me of people I know, in a place I once lived. I was 16 and lived with a working class family on exchange. A half hour by train from Glasgow. They are so delightfully different from my own experience in a middle class American family. My family's not bad, mind you, just different. The movie captured some of the hard life of the people I fell in love with during my time in Scotland. It failed, perhaps intentionally, to show the joy, the welcoming hand of friendship, the sense of family that I experienced. It's almost 16 years since I saw them, but we could meet again and feel like time never left us.

That brings me back to my point. And I really do have one. Saturday. Cubicle Liberation Day. My anniversary of the end. My anniversary of my beginning. I think that I've always had this sense of adventure running through me. It's bred into me from immigrant grandparents. It explains so much about my desire to go out on my own. At 16, I dared to leave this country, on my own, to a place I'd never been, to live with people I never met. But it turned out to be fantastic. Life changing. Life shaping. Because there, in a place so far removed from what I knew as comfortable were people who cared for me, guided me, loved me. Going out on your own is terrifying and exciting, all at the same time. It is made easier by the people who are there to help you become the person you are meant to be. There is great love in this world. You just have to let go to find it.

And did I mention I saw Ewan nekid?

Don't mess with Clark W. Griswold

Since Katrina/Feisty posted about Mr. Xmas, it jarred my memory about the Griswold house I found by accident the other night. I was driving to a friend's house and took a wrong turn. Oh, but it was the right turn after all. It was so bizarre to me that I went back a few days later with my camera.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Exhibit C:

I used to be all deck the halls this time of year. Hell, I used to deck the halls for nearly every holiday. (but never this deck the halls) Then I got lazy, or tired, or just didn't feel like it anymore. I have boxes of decor for various holidays in the garage. Someone at the Goodwill will love them. Last year, in spite of the joyous celebration surrounding Cubicle Liberation Day, we didn't even put up the tree. This year, we had our living room cleared out for the new floor. Before we put furniture back, we forced ourselves to get the tree out. Yes, the fake tree. Pre-lit, doncha know. No sap, no needles, no worries. 'Tis a beautiful thing. Now it's up. It's decorated. But I still can't bring myself to risk life and/or limb to put lights out on the house. I'd pay someone but it just seems silly. I'll spend the money on wine instead. 'Cus that's much better.

Cubicle Liberation Day

Yes, you read that right.

And, sorry to all those still stuck in one. Indeed, the day is fast approaching when we celebrate the latest holiday craze: Cubicle Liberation Day! It comes every year on December 17 in honor of my Cubicle Liberation Day on 12/17/04. What's that? I can't just make up a holiday? Well, Dudley Dudder McDudderson, I just did. Fa.

Since December 17 is, in fact, a Saturday this year, this does not damper the celebration. Oh, no, no, no, no, no! And no. Just celebrate Cubicle Liberation Day on December 16. Or December 19. Or both. Your choice. If you are still in a cubicle, tell them it is a holiday and you can't come to work. That won't fly? Call in sick. You have my permission. If you are not in a cubicle, call in sick anyway. Personally, I'm going skiing.

The best thing about Cubicle Liberation Day is that it is a no-gift-no-present-no-stress holiday. And couldn't we all use one this time of year? You know, when "the holiday" is just around the corner. Yes, get your last minute Solstice shopping done soon. Before the big evening, take some time out for yourself to celebrate Cubicle Liberation Day. It's the best gift you can give this year.

So, how are you going to celebrate Cubicle Liberation Day?

Some people call me a dreamer.

But I'm actually pretty practical. I've been getting a lot of "offers" for "projects" that "might" someday "lead" to "something" else. So, yes, I have a big imagination. I have about 50 project ideas running through my head at one time. They range from self-promo pieces to new tile in the bathroom. But I'm not too keen on the "do this for cheap now and it might lead to more later" line. It's tawdry, in a way. Don't get me wrong, I've been known to do a small piece for a potentially big client, which has led to large projects. But I don't get the squishy stomach feeling when I agree to do them. These bait and switch deals come with the squishy tummy. It's The Sign. Sometimes The Sign is actually bad milk from Starbucks, but I listen to The Sign as much as possible.

Right now I'm creating an ad that I got on trade in a big publication. It was a trade/cash deal that we both walked away from feeling like we got something out of the project. We both feel good about the project. In the process, I got to meet some amazing people in this town. One of which might actually help me get another project down the line. Or not. But I feel good about it. I feel good about the work I did. I feel good about the relationship with my client.

Is it all about feelings? Perhaps. It's all I know how to do. For far too long I ignored my feelings. I told myself that Big Business Women don't operate that way. I worked in some jobs that I wasn't happy at. I job hopped trying to find the right fit. Every time I talked myself into why it was a good idea. Every time I left, unsatisfied with the position. Now that I'm on this awesome adventure by myself (with the help of my very supportive friends and loving CFO), I'm going to listen to those feelings. I might be wrong, but chances are more often than not I'll be right. Right for me.

In the end, I want to make money just like everyone else in business. I just don't want to do it by ignoring my true self. My darling hubby and CFO told me this morning that I control my schedule, my business, my choices. OK, he didn't say it exactly that way. He said, something about sticking it to The Man and how he couldn't have gotten as far as I have. It sounded really sweet when he said it.