I don’t know, maybe they had mistletoe in their little Toyota truck. Maybe the Spirit was Moving Them and they needed to express their deep burning passion for one another in the face of retail madness. But as I sat there in the World Market parking lot, blinker on, waiting, waiting, WAITING because there were no parking spaces, because hello, it’s December 21, and then waiting and waiting and WAITING and my patience was ebbing faster than a bleeder on the triage table, I am noticing that these two in the small truck with the engine running, these two are MAKING OUT. In their truck. Big passionate kisses. Long ones. Presumably with tongue. Just when you thought they were done? MORE KISSING. Jesus. Have you just met? Can you please go park over in the Chili’s parking lot and do this shit?

The only reason I didn’t honk? Because I figured they’d just git it on and have full-on Festivals of the Genitals in the truck just to spite my impatience, and really, what would I have done then? Gotten out and knocked on the window? Stymied, not giving a tinker’s damn about Love or Compassion or Romance, I tried to convey my impatience with large hand gestures and shouting at the top of my lungs in the comfort of my car. Because there was wine to be bought, and lines to stand in, and by God, I know Consumerism is not exactly the True Spirit of Christmas, but public displays of passion are not acceptable anytime of year, and you can liplock on YOUR OWN TIME.

Speaking of spirits, my Christmas spirit is called “Bombay Sapphire”. Hey, gin kinda tastes like a Christmas tree, what with the juniper berries……

Don’t worry, I’m not turning this into an infomercial for Radio Shack. But my aforementioned terrier-obsession with fixing my TV connections? Is at ease, for the moment. Here’s the story of yesterday – along with a frightening glimpse into the Pit of Madness – aka, my brain.

So, over my lunch break, I got into PowerPoint. And I created boxes & text boxes within them, for all the electronic components that needed to be hooked up. (I even made little boxes for each of the speakers. NERD.) Then, on my way to pick up my lunch, I swung into the midtown Radio Shack. And was completely ignored by every salesperson in there. I was nervous, anyway, so I didn’t get all indignant (typical path), and instead bought one red-blue-green video cord. Because of everything I didn’t know, I had at least figured out that I needed it. Got back to work, set everything aside, except for the terrier in my mind who was shaking the new cord back and forth and not lying down. Whatever, buddy, I have a shitton of work to get done, I can’t obsess every minute of the day.

On my drive home, I made a last-minute lane change, and went to the bigger Radio Shack, by Ward Parkway Mall. I could see there weren’t many people in the store, and I thought, “Maybe. Just maybe.” So I go in. I have my little folded up piece of paper. A young, somber little man named Scott walks up to me and, unbeknownst to him, opens the Door of Madness, saying, “Can I help you?”
“Yes. OK. I have a home entertainment question. I am extremely stubborn. I know I can do this, but it’s NOT WORKING.”
I proceed to tell him everything, smoothing the paper out on the counter. I omit the conversation from earlier in the day with my father, who told me to approach the project like a dullard. “Because the Geek Squad people aren’t necessarily SMART, Jennifer, they’re simply CAPABLE.” Glimpses into my formative years, people, GLIMPSES.

And then? Scott encouraged me to go back to my car to get all the owners manuals I had confessed to bringing with me but not into the store. And Scott? Spent half an hour analysing everything & we drew on my PowerPoint slide and I only needed to buy two more cables, and while Scott never smiled, I knew he was one beautiful cat inside his pasty geeky body and that he wasn’t a dullard, but he sure as shit WAS CAPABLE. And I came home and collapsed from the stress flowing from my body, and I didn’t even get on the floor to start the rewiring process, because I KNOW now how to do it, and that is 9/10 the battle, and if I encounter any problems? I KNOW WHERE SCOTT WORKS.

Just so you know, I’m not the only one dipping my toe in the Pool of Insanity this week. In fact, yesterday afternoon, Kristin came into my office and threw herself down on the floor. Flailing. While telling me she was DONE with the holiday knitting (because she wasn’t actually done with it), and then a couple people came over because they thought someone had FALLEN in my office because her foot was poking out the door, and really, in retrospect, what does that mean they think of ME? That I would just let someone fall down on the floor and not even get up & just TALK to them while they writhe in agony and pain? And while I’m talking about crazy, NO MORE POPCORN. Sweet baby jesus, the tins of popcorn keep pouring in. I thought about donating one, but to where? Old folks home? EEEK. Denture Madness. I love popcorn, and I love presents, but we have 3-4 tins in our kitchen at work (for under 30 people), plus Kristin & I each got three tins apiece yesterday. (One was a mini tin, all caramel with pounds of pecans. Uh-huh. YUM! Terrier likey!)

By tomorrow, I expect I’ll be barking. The terrier inside will take over on the other things, like work, cards, presents, whatever, and instead of using language, I’ll just bark. That will cut down on my time spent on phone conversations, I suspect. Peace out, peeps. Stay crazy, and keep on truckin’. And wirin’. And diagramming all your problems so the nice people at Radio Shack can give your inner terrier a rawhide bone.

When Suzy learned to swim, she inflated herself by filling her lungs with as much air as possible. You could squeeze her like an accordion & make her grunt-burp, and it was hilarious. Polly, on the other hand, did everything in her power to stay above the water by trying to walk on top of it. This meant she raised her head up high, and high-stepped with her paws, like a drum major or something. The drawback was that she created immense splashing, causing her to squint, but not inconveniencing her enough to get those paws below the water. She’s gotten better, but it, too, was one of those priceless things to watch.

Right now, I’m marching-band-dog-paddling. We have a whole bunch of work, the holidays are almost upon us, vacation needs to be taken, relaxation needs to happen, and I’m completely aware I’m splashing myself in the face with my panic, but unable to stop.

Thing was, I was a terrier of some sort in a former life. Right now, I am maddened and frustrated by my electronics hook-up with the whole new tv setup. Everything was fine until we exchanged the DVD burner, and re-connecting the new one has knocked out everything but the cable. It’s all there, somewhere, and there’s a nagging suspicion I need better cables to improve the picture, and it’s all this stuff that I barely know anything about but should be able to figure out because I’m smart, just not patient. But I get obsessed. And because I know there is a “right” solution, I can’t let go of it. I spent an hour on the floor last night, trying various connections, reading each owners manual, and stopped short of taking all the wires in my mouth and shaking them viciously from side-to-side like the bad weasel they are.

That’s when I realized I’m just a few high marching steps away from Holiday Breakdown, where you sit on the side of the road, torn paper and ribbon around you, cable wire between your teeth, a crazed and empty stare as you pray for it to all pass. Soon.

We went to the lake this weekend to celebrate Christmas with James’ family. On the way there, we drove by a swarming field of snow geese (and took some pictures), and then a little bit later, we saw something almost indescribable. At first, I thought it was a retail business. Because nobody would have that many inflatable holiday decorations out, unless they were displayed for sale. Of course, we stopped & drove by that location as well – and discovered rapidly that this was no retail establishment, but 4 mobile homes situated near one another, and obviously had a close, co-ordinated relationship. There were easily 100 balooning figures dotting the landscape. I took a whole bunch of pictures, and yet, it still failed to capture the enormity of the scene. Short of renting a helicopter, I don’t know how I could convey the huge open countryside, the surrealness of seeing ALL these blow-up holiday decorations, and the mobile homes & barking dogs & bizarreness of it all. I’d recommend seeing the whole photo assortment on my Flickr Account; I have a lot of editing to do with commentary & boxes, that I’ll get to eventually. A select few pics for those who don’t want to see the whole shebang:

I’m not kidding when I say we both felt like we needed a stiff drink after we left the scene. It was…. something. And it sure makes my neighbors down the street look like small potatoes with their measley THREE blow-ups on the lawn. I can only imagine how commanding this panorama is at night….

Right now, time, lists, projects, must-dos – they are just circlin’ the drain. I’ve got a hunnert things to do, twice as many things I want to do, I have trips & appointments, time-eaters and commitments, and boy, howdy, it sure must be the holidays. I am grateful the office kitchen is on another floor, because I’m not as tempted to eat all the sugar & popcorn when it’s far away! (hi, it’s not about self-restraint, the fact is, I’m lazy.)

Things are good. If they weren’t good, all of the above would have me huddled under my electric blanket, waiting for the undertow to take me away. 8 months later, I still like my job, I still like my bosses, I have a lot of things on the horizon that are good, and I work with one of the funniest women I know. Between the two of us, we’re a media minstrel show. I told her she needed to take up the banjo, so we could really take our show on the road. (I, of course, am the soft shoe, spoken-word performance part of our nationwide tour. With jazz hands.)

Oh, and an update on Inflatables Watch 2005: Snowman has been flat on his back two nights in a row, the penguin is leaning backwards, and Santa looks drunk, as he is lurching forward at a rakish, dangerous angle. I have never viewed a yard so challenged in keeping their holiday spirit upright.

Happy Weekend. Don’t sweat the small stuff. And yeah, pretty much? It’s all small stuff. Except Drunken Santa. He’s rather tall & looming. When he’s standing up all the way.

When I lived in St. Louis, I worked with some people who were from New York, and there’s an electronics chain in NY that uses “Can’t beat the Wiz!” as their tagline. For whatever reason – laughing, drinking, telling stories, it molded into my own vernacular, and it is absolutely perfect for today’s blog.

For today? Is our company holiday lunch. I am looking forward to it, because historically I’ve had to go to evening galas and freeze my face into a smile of joy, especially the last couple years. Two years ago I drank so much gin, I ordered my girlfriends to flank me at all times so I wouldn’t get myself fired for all the bitterness oozing out of me. Good times! Anyway, along with our lunch (and we don’t go back to work afterwards, woo-hoo!) we have a White Elephant exchange. And my gift is gonna be a doozy. It’s 100% credited to JWo. First off, his grandmother enjoys shopping at thrift stores. I know she’s found awesome deals on clothes for our nieces, that’s cool, but this summer she found some stuff for us. I am not trying to sound ungrateful, just keep in mind we pretty much want for nothing, and I have just gone through an enormous divesting of possessions, so extra tchotchkes are giving me hives this year. Unless you happen upon some pink milk glass. Say, the punch bowl set? That would make me jump up & down and actually shift one of the layers of the earth below me. I’d bet as far down as the mantle. In any event, one of the gifts was a toilet seat cover & tank cover set. With embroidery and ruffles. James felt we were obligated to put it out; I vetoed him, but said if he felt strongly about it, he could put it on HIS toilet seat in his bathroom. That didn’t happen, so it’s now going in to the White Elephant present. But the OTHER thing, that makes it so funny, and is 100% credited to JWo (the idea & everything), is that I’m putting a brand-new, factory-sealed DVD of “The Wiz” in the box. James won a backgammon tournament & the agreement was that everyone who played & lost had to send the winner a present – one of the things he got was a copy of “The Wiz”.

Can’t beat it! Happy Friday, peeps. I’m ready for….lunch!

Update: Kristin just stormed into my office in a frenzy of excitement, because The Wiz is apparently one of her favorite movies & she does not have it on DVD. I was treated to a few bars of “Ease on Down the Road” and some scarecrow dance moves, which left me – how do you say? – dumbstruck. I posted this blog more as a warning to her not to pick my present? And now? She’s goin’ for it. I guess it’s true: The Wiz cannot be beat.

SOMEBODY’s lyin’ down on the job of Christmas this year. MIGHT be more than one somebody.

Sweet lord, it is a new still-life every time I drive by this house. A week ago, the snowman was threatening to fall over in the morning, and by nighttime, was bent forward in a deep side-bend-pilates kind of move. They got him back up again and the penguin went next, he seemed to be leaning way back for a while. Tonight, when I drove home, both Santa & Snowman were flat on their backs and I laughed so hard, I got my camera and went back out. I hope they didn’t notice the fact a flash was going off, repeatedly, at their front yard, and I thank them for the free therapy. For I have strong beliefs about how you should decorate for the holidays (I’m actually abstaining this year), but “tasteful” rules & trumps all notions of excess. Some basics? Pick a theme. A theme of ONE. White lights? Multi-lights? ONE. PICK ONE. You don’t need to fill every square inch of your lawn, one or two things is sufficient to indicate you are IN THE SPIRIT. That said, I do enjoy driving by insane set-ups, just as long as it’s not on my street.

So you can imagine how I reacted to THREE inflatables plus neon plus lights plus a flag plus window and door clings. No wonder Santa & Snowman are tired. I get overwhelmed just lookin’ at ’em. Good thing I don’t have to blow ’em. Up. UP! Stop it! BAH!

Well, seems like we started something with that post yesterday; phsymom asked in the comments if we knew people who stored OTHER stuff in their bras, beyond the errant bread crumb or salad shrimp.

I worked for a woman in Minneapolis who kept her cash tucked in her bra. She was interesting, her name was Pat, she was brusque, and she had a bob haircut & slavic features. Pat + Bob + Brusque = Manly! But she never wore pants, always dresses & suits. Anyway, she was a shorter version of Janet Reno without the glasses, and dressed as conservatively as ol’ Janet did. She had a suit-type dress in several bland colors that she just rotated, so it became a uniform of sorts. One of my co-workers enjoyed calling her Pat-iooooo furniture behind her back. Why, I’m not sure, but it was funny. My line for her was, “What’s got into that PAT?” I digress. Back to Bra Storage 101: it was always disconcerting when you’d go in her office, suggest we get bagels for the team meeting, and she’d agree, reach into her dress & whip a $20 out of her bra & hand it to you. There’s a reason it’s lovingly referred to as cold hard cash. Warm bills throw you off your game. You’d take the money, gingerly & hesitantly, and tell yourself you’d never become her.

Then, you do. It starts randomly & innocently… Every place I’ve worked seems to put the vending machines in close proximity to the bathrooms. Therefore, when you take a little bathroom break & decide to be efficient with your time – you bring a little cash along with you to get a soda or a candy bar. I can’t stand to set anything down in a restroom, so where do you put your dollar bill if you have no pockets? You tuck it into your bra strap and think, “I’ve become Pat.” Of course, I’m far more stylish and would never hand warm money to co-workers, but necessity is the mother of invention, and bras can provide short-term storage options (for things beyond your boobs)…. The bigger the bra, the bigger the real estate – and storage!

So, one of the drawbacks of having enormous bosoms is that your cleavage turns into a crumb trap if your shirt has any neck/chest showing. (I guess one of the plus sides is that you have cleavage to begin with? I try to balance my negatives out. And end all my sentences with prepositions.) I would say this drawback is particularly cumbersome if you’re prone to spills, and especially if you eat toasted sandwiches for lunch, like me. And if you’re not prone to wearing turtlenecks, like me. So I try to dine on those types of things in the presence of understanding friends (not sales reps or MY BOSS), because inevitably, I am clawing down my cleavage to retract some errant flake of crust that is itching the bejesus out of me, and NO IT CAN’T WAIT.

I should knit myself a cowcatcher to go ’round my neck, so all the crumblies just fall off and escape the Cleavage Crevice (or Crevasse, if you’re trying for smart aleck…) I guess it’s called a “bib”…. but that seems so unfashionable. And you know me: pinnacle of all that is fashionable. I can prove it, just give me a minute to get these crumbs out of my bra…..

You should meet my friend Roger. Of course, he’s crazy in a good way, but all the same, the man takes Christmas & shopping to a level that can only be defined as professional-grade.

We were headed to Costco on Saturday & he described the process of shopping within his family. First, everyone makes a list of what they want. Then, he puts his into a SPREADSHEET, and color codes the items – red is what he’s buying for sure, blue for the rest of the stuff. That gets printed out, as he showed me in the car. (Lest you think perhaps it’s just lip service.) Then, he has another worksheet with a budget for each person, and as he buys things, he enters what he bought, how much, and it automatically calculates how much he has left to spend. Oh, and of course he keeps all his receipts. Things that require long-term proof-of-purchase get photocopied, because receipts fade.

Now, you certainly are nodding and going, “whoa.” But it doesn’t stop there. Because his family lives in a smaller town, they are all searching for things in various places – online, etc. For some gifts & certain recipients, they go in on things together. And they call each other, with questions, updates, and requests to buy things they saw or didn’t have a chance to get when they were in town, so by Christmas, they all owe each other money. One of their rituals is to sit down at the dining room table, all of them with adding machines, go through their receipts & settle up. They love the whole process & it seems to be quite fun for them all – I think it’s absolutely hilarious!

I told Roger that James? Would pass out or die of a heart attack if he had married into a family that did that. I have the potential to be a contender, given my proclivity for shopping. I just don’t think my organizational skills would measure up, even with the recent improvements. And don’t think I’m saying Roger’s any more of a shopper than me – the reason we went to Costco was for my big TV!

In unrelated news, on Friday night – I told James that Richard Pryor was dead. (James always thinks EVERYone’s dead, but he corrected me on this one.) And then, Richard Pryor died on Saturday. Soon I, too, will have my own tv series…. called “The Death Whisperer.”