Polonius said something about brevity... I remember it being ironic...

Maybe it's because I haven't homed my skills as a truly great writer, but I find that it is easier to write about raw pain and angst. To write about something where you are emotionally connected flows easier and brings joy by giving the satisfaction of accomplishing in place of brooding. It also brings about a much needed therapeutic release. An emotional evacuation.

I don't think I'm alone in this school of thought. Looking at my blog roll at the blogs I read, I have to accept that as life and joy intrudes on the writers, the posts become less frequent and less forthcoming. Simply less. I can see it in Chuckieeverdapper and me and Vegasgustan, as off-blog parties occupy thoughts and much valued time.

And yet some days are like this: nothing bad has happened, nothing good has happened, and there is no emotional connectedness to write from, enabling the diarrhea of the keyboard and bending words to fill a need rather than elevating them to reflect an idea or emotion. Some days are such that I just seem to go through the motions.

I think blogs, and their owners, follow cycles. Like seasons, they reflect the emotion of whom is behind it, and with job and good tidings assured maybe the cold and raw posts of winter are something that just don't exist for me. Is it in the chill of loneliness, in the searching that most people find a voice? Is it simply easier to write from the dark moments of experience and imagination?

Maybe if I were a better writer, I could endure the winter storm, which is indeed not the blusters of life, but rather the stagnation of it.

Or maybe it's for the very perfect of reasons: I don't feel like it.

How to get out of jury duty

This case is actually one that I wouldn't mind working on. However, the justice system only comps you for $25 a day. Making $750 a month for three to four months would get me evicted. I can't live off that amount.

Which makes me wonder about the people who do see these trials through. Not exactly a jury of your peers, are they?

Edit 2:49 PM. This has turned into a hilarious topic at work. How would you get out of jury duty? What would you say? What would you wear?

Huh. Didn't see that one coming

If I say Brian Nichols in Atlanta, everyone knows he's the man accused of the courthouse shootings in 2005. (I wrote about it here, but spent a little more time complaining about Geraldo than actually talking about what happened. Typical me. I also spend more time over here making fun of Ashley Smith, the only person I know who can offer crystal meth to someone who just (allegedly) killed five people and still be called a hero. Again, typical me.)

Anyway, his trial is approaching shortly and everyone is aware of it because it is such a high profile case, a death penalty case no less. On the news tonight, they announced that they have summoned 3500 residents of Fulton county for early next month to begin jury selection.

I walked over to my kitchen counter and picked up a letter I received a couple of days ago and checked the date with the one they gave on TV. Wouldn't you believe what I received...

Chillun

I was at a bookstore over the weekend, knocking my six nieces and nephews off the Christmas list. What was supposed to be children's books, in and out, turned into a several hour expedition.

Lesson: Always read children's books before giving them to other people's children.

The first one was about a dog befriending an old lady that died.

The second one had a picture of the devil (with horns and a tail) that would come take bad children away.

To directly quote the third one, "When you're sixteen, you will go off to war and die." No lie.

The fourth one's main character was a man who was hungry and he ate but was never satisfied so he began eating larger and larger objects until he ate the world. I'd rather not explain what existential crises over consumerism is to 4-year-olds.

I hope y'all will enjoy your Dora the Explorer sticker books. I tried to get y'all something educational, but, omigod, are there some scary books for children out there.

Or maybe that's what I get for trying to buy out of the bargain bins.

Pink Floyd on the pink iPod was going to be so cool. So cool.

I had planned out my Christmas bonus for the maximum amount of fun: paying off the credit card (debt-free is fun!), cash to play around with, and the pink iPod. Laugh all you want, but I visit that iPod every day on apple.com. I've been working on my free engraving they were offering for the holidays (current inscription ideas: Frolics in '06, No more dicks: 2006, E'er more antics: 2006).

I received my check on Friday and I purposely left it at work over the weekend so I could think about my decision. Well, that and my Wachovia is on Boulevard and that place kinda scares the hell out of me, so I prefer to do my banking in Buckhead.

Today was iPod Day. I went down to the bank and cashed my check. I set aside enough to pay off my credit card (debt barren in 2007), put some play money (Monopoly money?) in the checking account... and added the rest to my money market account.

Um, when did I become a grown-up exactly?

Damn, I really wanted that pink iPod.

I spread the spirit of Christmas wherever I go

I try to work on my road rage, I really do. And I think I'm getting better at it.

Not.

I had a Buddhist boyfriend once. Needless to say, we were exact opposites. He would actually thank people as he passed them. I asked him how he could not freak the eff out when people unceremoniously cut him off. How some mornings it would get so bad it would make me late to work. How it's a blatant disrespect to me and my truck. How I hate their false sense of entitlement. He told me that it was okay because he viewed it as aiding them in doing something more important.

"So you think what they are driving like assholes for is automatically more important than what you're off to do?"

"Well, they obviously think so."

"That makes no sense."

"If I can help them get to where they are going faster, then good on me."

I think I pffawed before breaking into uncontrollable laughter. He seemed annoyed. Not very Buddhist of him in my opinion. He was aiding in my laughter.

Today I found myself in another "situation." It escalated to the point where I got out of my truck to holler at him. Good news is if worse case scenario ever comes true, and I find myself homeless and living on Boulevard, I know I can hold my own. I'll be just fine.

We shouted at each other and drew a small crowd. Finally, I had had it.

"You know what? YOU KNOW WHAT?"

He and his wife stopped yelling.

I leaned across the hood of my truck, cocked my head and smiled. "Merry Christmas," and gave them the double bird, a gesture I don't think I've ever actually used before.

Their mouths dropped, and they stayed silent. I got in my truck and smiled again before leaving, with visions of Clark W. Griswold dancing in my head. (Hey kids, look, a deer!)

Yup, I'll be just fine on Boulevard. As well as in the pits of hell.

Being Brandy Crawford

Only I don't have iChat.

Or cute picture icons.

But I do love my MSN and Gtalk.

That Fateful Night

With the exception of 2 - 3:30 AM Sunday morning, the Christmas party went very well. Deciding to not bring a date was one of the best decisions I made all year, and I have made a lot of good decisions this year.

Boss: Jamie, I can't believe you are wearing four-inch heels and you are able to squat in the corner with a drink and one hand and still take a photo with the other.
Jamie: Yeah, it was a skill I picked up in college. When I put "multi-tasks" on my resume, this is what I actually meant.
Boss: (Had enough to drink to find that hilarious instead of concerning.)

Oh, and I looked pretty good:


Afterwards we went to East Andrews and continued our fun fest despite the $10 cover and the sudden decrease in their number of heat lamps.

And now for

What I learned between 2 and 3:30 AM Sunday morning:

• Don't let drunk friends wander off. Especially if it's in pursuit of the boy who has also wandered off.
• Don't get the car out of valet thinking that said drunk friend will realize the bar is closed and will go to the car.
• Always make sure your friends keep their phones on when going out.
• Repeatedly calling said friend will drain the hell out of your battery.
  
• Sitting in the car for a half hour at 3 AM really sucks.
• Always make sure your door is locked. Otherwise Really Drunk Guy will get in your car and will proceed to give you directions to his house.
• Telling him you aren't a cab will not get him to leave your car.
• Telling him you aren't taking him anywhere will also not get him to leave your car.
• Asking him politely to get out of your car will not get him to leave your car.
• A squad car behind you will not get him to leave your car.
• The squad car turning its lights and horn on will not get him to leave your car.
• Screaming "GET THE EFF OUT OF MY EFFING CAR OR I WILL EFFING MACE YOU!" and holding up the can of mace that you hid in your driver-side door will get him to leave your car. (Thanks to the boy who advised me a couple of months ago to take it out of my glove box and tuck it there, BTW)
• The receptionist at the Embassy Suites did not see your friend walk in with "4 to 6 boys, one possibly wearing a hat" at 3:15 AM.
• Sitting in the Embassy Suites at 3:15 AM in the hopes that said drunk friend will walk in with the boys she met at East Andrews who are staying there really blows.
• God bless Cubicle Neighbor who drove across town from where she was partying and found said drunk friend in a parking lot.

Huh, guess that story isn't boring after all.

The Girlie Tree (Not to be confused with The Giving Tree)

After swearing up and down for 15 minutes and dragging the last third of my Christmas tree from the Box That Is Too Big And Awkward to Carry By Myself And Ergo Will Remain In the Back of My SUV Until New Years When I Haul It Back To My Parents' House (from now on shall be known as BTITBAATCBMAEWRITBOMSUNYWIHIBTMPH), I realized that this is my first year that I have my own Christmas tree. Every other year I have lived with a man. This year, I don't have to share it with anybody.

In celebration of not having to share my tree (I've never excelled at sharing, but I have never really embraced my selfishness like I have this past year), I have decided to buy all new ornaments and give myself a Girlie Tree:

(as always, click for big)

The Girlie Tree is only decorated in red, pink, and silver.

Huzzah for pink glitter balls!

The bad news about not sharing a tree: there is no one to put the tree up for you. And like I warned Annex, if your boob starts to itch really badly, check your bra for fake pine needles. That was an experience.

But it was not as bad as trying to wrestle BTITBAATCBMAEWRITBOMSUNYWIHIBTMPH back into the SUV after pulling it halfway out and realizing that that bitch isn't going anywhere.

Remember, remember

The 5th of December?

Fine, twist my arm. I'll have a fifth on the fifth.

Turns out I'm still evil

I took this quiz twice in hopes I would get a nicer answer. Nice to know some things never change:

Case in point #1.

Case in point #2.

Case in point #3.





BTW, Juggernaut of Sin is my new Superhero name.

FYI

"Police" and "report" are not funny words.

A lesson in disconcertment

After spending over two days attempting to fix a margin in the footer for a company newsletter, I was stuck. CN was stuck. The gutter was just not behaving and all the html table code was correct. We both combed through it.

Then I remembered my office boyfriend.

I plopped down at OB's desk and he saw the print outs of the HTML and started laughing. He took one look at my code and said, "You're tables look good. Delete this one colspan requirement down here and you should be fine."

I love my OB. I announced this to CN as I sat back down. "If this works, CN, I'm just going to have to marry OB."

"Is he aware of this?"

"Not yet." I deleted what he told me and whooped. The gutter was behaving beautifully.

"I take it that it works?"

"Yup, Office Boyfriend has just been promoted to Office Husband."

"Hey, Jamie repeat that?"

"I just said that I'm going to marry Office Boyfriend--" I swiveled in my chair to face the direction of the question.

Office Boyfriend was standing behind me. He wanted to check up and see if he helped me or not.

He did not know about our relationship, so you could see why he was a bit surprised about the wedding.