Happy Anniversary

To me. And this site.

I just noticed that my last post marked my 100th posting on this site. Kind of makes me wish I had written on something more substantial than my dying flowers. Unless I meant it as a metaphor, in which case that post was very deep. Yeah. Suck on that. Go back and read it and see if you can find the deeper meaning. Maybe you should do that for all of my posts. Maybe I'm a genius and each of my stories are symbolic of something larger.

I wouldn't put too much money on that theory, though. Typically it's just me rambling.

Uh, so yeah. One hundred posts. That calls for a celebration. Feel free to buy me gifts. Or just send cash. It's tradition.

The curse is back

A moment of silence, if you will.

My girls have gone to a better place.

Yes, 'Cilla, Mary, Penelope, et al have been removed from my office. They were all on their way out, so I have given them to Maryanne so she can attempt to revive them. In case you've forgotten, these were my flowers. Which, as plant life, have an innate revulsion to me. They were so desperate, in fact, to get away from me that they faked their own deaths so some other person would take over their care.

I stopped naming the blossoms once they started to die (or go into comas, because they all look fine and dandy now that they are out of my hands). This is why I am not to be trusted with plants or flowers. And why I hate them, too. I gave it my all, and those stupid flowers just took, took, took, and gave nothing in return.

Luckily, I still have my Elvis decor to keep me company at work. We didn't need those flowers cluttering the place up. So there.

Stupid blossoms.

Thursdays are weird. And stuff.

Random thoughts/things from today:

1) I have two books that are overdue from the library. They are sitting on my desk. Which is a three-minute walk from the library. I stared at them today and thought, "Aach. What's another day?" They are still on my desk.

2) I could not stop whistling the theme song to the Andy Griffith Show for 18 solid minutes. Luckily, I was alone. Sadly, I noted the time.

3) I spent a good ten minutes considering how my life would be different if I had had the crazy first-grade teacher (Mrs. Yancey) instead of the super-fun Mrs. Quick.

4) I bored a student to sleep today in class. All. By. Myself. I was oh-so-proud.

5) I spilled coffee on my nice white shirt, right before leaving the house. God bless Clorox.

6) My dog ran into a wall.

7) I have a Sophie's Choice moment coming up: go to an Elvis tribute act or go to a very fun party. Mitigating factors: the ETA also has a Jerry Lee Lewis tribute star and the party might include people I don't particularly enjoy.

8) I forgot to mail some things. That were to go out yesterday.

9) I spent a pleasurable ten minutes marking birthdays in my day planner.

10) I wondered how hard it was to learn how to sail a sailboat. Mainly I just want a sailboat so I can name it. 'Cilla's Dream.

Awww . . .

I was having a good day anyways, but then someone sent me the nicest email. It was very complimentary, and enthusiastic, and appreciative of some work that I've done, and it made me feel all sorts of good.

Then I came home to find Fatty had also earned her other nickname of Pukey.

Oh yes, another list

One of my friends sent this survey to me. Since (a) mass emails bug me (b) email forwards bug me and (c) I hate email surveys, I decided to not reply to the email. Then I thought about and realized that I like answering these types of surveys, just not in an email. Because that's gay.

And I figured that this site was perfect for that since (a) it's my site and I can put whatever I want on it (b) I like to write about myself and (c) I'm guessing that if you read this site, you have nothing better to do than read all about me. I'm taking advantage of this. Read on, and learn much trivia about me.

1. Hum a jingle of which you know all the words: I love what you do for me! TOYOTA! (as an added bonus, I love that commercial when all the people jump up excitedly on "TOYOTA!")

2. What game did you cheat at as a kid? Uh, cheating is always bad. Um-kay. But I might (might) have occasionally cheated at Uno. I wouldn't always draw four.

3. What song have you always sung the wrong words to? What words did you sing? I can't think of any as an adult, but for many years as a child I thought that Jan and Dean were heading off to "Smurf City." Sounded like fun.

4. What is the most embarrassing childhood story that your parents love to tell just to amuse themselves: I would "run away" from home whenever my sister was all about the mean to poor little Ace. Knowing my dad would come find me (and usually take me for ice cream), I wouldn't go too far. I'd head about five houses down and sit with my two lunch boxes full of running away essentials: stuffed animals. I had streets smarts even then. Pocatello will drive that lesson home to you, if nothing else.

5. What all jobs have you had: Ticket taker at the local race track, baby-sitter (derh), dish-washer, courier for a travel agency, cashier at Arby's and later Wendy's, waitress at a fifties place (where I'm pretty sure I hold the title for Worst Waitress Ever), sales associate at Penney's, secretary, TA, library peon, and instructor. Current job: resident bad-ass in my department. Man, I just reread that and I'm lame.

6. Top four favorite TV shows: Currently, Arrested Development, Scrubs, 24, and Criminal Minds. Ever, Brady Bunch, Seinfeld, Friends, and Sex and the City.

7. Best four places you've been on vacation: Vegas, Ocean City, Bocono, and Island Park.

8. Top four web sites you visit on a daily basis: Yahoo mail, my online banking, Pork Tornado (dude, update!) and some random porn . . . I mean, uh, CNN online. Yeah.

9. Top four favorite foods: Non-dessert: Cheddar-broccoli soup in a bread bowl, homemade raviolli (sorry, Chef Boyardee), egg rolls, and turkey. Dessert: chocolate cake, pumpkin cheesecake, peanut butter-chocolate ice cream, and cookies (close tie between chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin).

10. Top four places you would rather be at right now: Somewhere where it's not winter, in bed reading, Elvis-a-Rama in Vegas, and anywhere with room service.

Perhaps tomorrow I will make my list of celebrities I hate. I love lists.

My newest screen saver

What an odd way to end a weekend. One of my friends sent me this picture today. My response was simple:

What

The

Fuck?

Is that the most messed-up picture you have ever seen? And do you love it just as much as I do?

Oh my Idaho

I don't even remember how I found this website, but it made me laugh. And laugh. And laugh some more.

I'd defend my home state more, but (a) much of what he says is true (b) I'm not incredibly well-known for my own driving skills (c) the lines "According to the 2004 Census report, Idaho's population is 1,393,262. Just for comparison, there are 1,970,000 cows in Idaho. New rule: if your state has more cows than people, you don't get to be a state anymore. " might be the funniest things ever written (d) the author of the site lives in Utah, and that also strikes me as funny and (e) the name of the site is "The Best Page in the Universe" so I can't pick a fight, since now I'm envious of that title.

I suddenly want to change the title of my blog. And eat some mashed potatoes. And watch Napoleon Dynamite.

My wine glass is half full. Please to be pouring.

Double check your calendars, kids. Today, clearly, was Friday the 13th.

Please excuse my language, but today (and last night, as well) was shit. If it could go wrong, it did.

And I choose not to write about everything (because I'm not even telling my friends half of this crap, let alone some unknown lurkers). In order to skip out on a bitter, snarky blog I am holding off on putting anything on here. The funnier messed-up stuff will probably find their way here, but not until they start to be a bit funnier to me. I'm going to need at least one more day.

The only bright moment of today was when Maryanne (she of the dee-lish pumpkin cheesecake legacy and who has also now fully attained her unassailable position as one of the top-ten people in my life of all time) gave me either a late Christmas gift or an "Oh my God. I can't believe I was seen purchasing this, but I hope you'll enjoy it," just-because gift. My EPE Blue Christmas Cabernet Sauvignon is sitting upstairs. And I love it.

Elvis + wine = making Ace's Friday a whole let better. Thanks Maryanne. And just for that, there will be no snide remarks about Southerners for at least a week. Or 5 days. Yeah, a work week. Or, maybe a weekend. Yup, a weekend. No snide remarks on Southerners for two days. And today's almost over, so let's just say one day and call it good.

Generous to a fault. Yes?

Someone take my remote. Please.

Ok, so I watched Criminal Minds tonight (my new favorite show) and all that I have to say is that I'm never licking an envelope again.

Watch this show. So. Good. Next week's is about a husband and wife serial killer team. I like it when couples do things together. It's all cute. And stuff.

Speaking of couples, happy anniversary to my father and his wife. Not that either of them read this site (not that I would ever give them the link, either; I'm thinking they don't need to know half of the things only Ace thinks about). But happy anniversary to them anyways.

Winning is fun. Unless you're a loser.

Just a few quick notes on the Golden Globes last night. I had to watch some of it, since I had some money riding on a few of the categories. And I like to judge celebrities for their hair (Penelope Cruz--holy hell!), clothes (Mariah Carey--oh my), and poor choices in other areas (Kevin Bacon, please see my following comment for Joan Rivers on plastic surgery).

Celebrities are here for my amusement. So I don't feel badly for judging them. If it hurts their feelings, they can just go count all their money and laugh at all of us little people, who have to budget for dog food (Fatty eats a lot. A. Lot.)

A) Joan Rivers needs to stop with the plastic surgery. Ew. When your eyebrows meet your hairline, it's time to just say no more. And she needs to stop drinking before doing live TV. She said some of the stupidest things ever. Stupider than half the things that come out of my mouth.

B) Steve Carell wins for funniest acceptance speech ever. He claimed that his wife wrote it for him, and my favorite part was when he said, "And I'd like to thank the cast and crew, without whom I wouldn't be standing here." He then muttered, "Well, I don't know how true that is." I snorted out loud.

C) Natalie Portman needs to be reintroduced to a concept I like to call "eating." Double ew.

D) Did anyone else find it hysterical that William "I'm on the ORIGINAL CSI, dammit!" Petersen and Pamela Anderson were teamed up to present? No? Just me, then?

Let the countdown begin . . .

Is it possible to get drunk off of food? Because I'm pretty sure I did last night. I've been on a bad-ass diet and workout schedule this last week, but last night I decided to forget about that and try out a new Italian restaurant.

Where I ate.

A lot.

It was so good, and I just gorged myself. Felt great.

The diet began again today, but I have a distinct ending to this diet/workout thing. Come the second week of March, all bets are off. Which is just in time for me to buy some Girl Scout Cookies, which go on sale next month.

Last year, I got screwed over and all they had left were Caramel deLites. I'm a Thin Mints type o'gal. Swore the whole way home over that one, while shoving cookies in my mouth.

But this year, that isn't happening again. And if you want to buy me some, I also like Peanut Butter Patties. Oh, God, I think I'm drooling.

I love this time of year. God bless the Girl Scouts of America.

Tension relief (but not THAT relief)

Do I feel like doing work today? Not so much. Instead, I've been thinking about what one of my friends said to me yesterday, regarding my OCD. And guess what? We all have OCD on some level or another, I'm just more open about mine.

Maybe the world would be a better place if we could all admit our own odd little tendencies. To inspire you, I've made a list of five of my own.

(1) I like to have my silverware exactly centered on my napkin. I typically spend at least 30 seconds fixing this when I go to a restaurant, and I get a little tense if they aren't perfect.

(2) I have very specific orders for things. Some make sense (like having my DVDs and CDs alphabetized, and having all of my Stephen King books ordered by publication date), and others less so. For example, when I get ready in the morning, I lay out everything I'm going to need in the bathroom in the exact order I'm going to need it. Comb, gel, brush, blow dryer, different brush, curling iron, hair spray, floss, baking soda, toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, etc. Again, tension happens if things get mixed up.

(3) When I go to bed, I have to fold my top bedcover a very specific way and remove my decorative pillows in a specific order. They also have a very specific home at night while I sleep.

(4) In the same vein, when I get ready in the morning, I cannot make my bed until after I have blown my hair dry. I won't do it before.

(5) My friends all know this: I hate odd numbers. This applies to dates as well (although I give certain exceptions: I like the first, anything ending in 5, and the 21st). Even worse is if the date is in an odd month, and on an odd day. For example, I hate July 9. We don't know why. It just really makes me anxious.

Rest assured that I have many more, but I think that's enough sharing on my part for now. And contrary to what someone may say, I don't alphabetize the contents of my refrigerator. Do I? Am I having a panic attack right now because the mayonaise is on the wrong side of the mustard? And don't even get me started on where the lettuce is . . .

And the curse is broken

So I house-sat for someone this summer. I kept his dog alive. I kept people out of his office. I kept the house all sorts of tidy, even scrubbing the carpet so it was actually the color God intended it to be.

I did not, however, keep his plants alive.

Because of a family curse.

No one in my family can keep indoor plants or flowers alive. It is just impossible. My Aunt Toni (not by blood, thus skipping the curse) would have to come over and rescue our plants, slowly nurse them back to health, and then reluctantly return them so they could once again receive their death sentence.

I followed my friend's direction to the letter this summer, and those stupid plants still died. I think they did it just to spite me. Bastards.

Anyways, as you may (or may not) recall, I won a door-prize at the Snow Ball. The prize was some potted flowers, called paper whites (right?). I took them to my office so others could try to convince the flowers not to kill themselves, and not allow me to murder them.

So I've been watering them and caring for them. Hell, I've even been talking to them. But I talk to almost everything, so that doesn't make them special (but don't tell them that).

And two of the stems have bloomed! Or blossomed! Or opened! Or whatever the correct terminology is!

Goodbye curse, hello green thumbs.

Oh, and I named the two little blossoms. Keep your fingers crossed for 'Cilla and Mary.

Breaking resolutions . . .

Dear.

Lord.

I love Criminal Minds, on CBS! It is my new favorite drama, and Wednesday nights have officially been redeemed. I know that you're all thinking it's just another cops show, like CSI, CSI: Miami, CSI: New York, CSI: Pocatello, Cold Case, Close to Home, etc. But it's not. So, so, so much better.

Love it.

As an added bonus Mandy Patinkin is the head FBI guy! Yup, Mandy is a guy. And before you start mocking his girl-y name, just bear in mind that he played Inigo Montoya in Princess Bride. He was the alcoholic swordsman. I'm just waiting for him to be interrogating some guy on Criminal Minds and break out into, "'Ello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You kill my fadder. Prepare to die." He's all man, baby.

So my free promo for CBS is all done. Please to be watching this show. Come on, there's nothing else on on Wednesday.

Hunka, hunka, burnin' pain

Someone is going to hell. Straight. To Hell. And it's not me, for once. It's some crazy lady in Australia, whom God now hates. Because God loves Elvis. Anyways, please see the accompanying news story that not one, but two of my friends sent me this morning. I think it was a warning. A plea, if you will, to be careful. Duly noted: knives shall be hidden when I crank up The King.

SYDNEY (Reuters) - An Australian woman will face court charged with repeatedly stabbing her partner because he played an Elvis Presley song over and over again, police said Tuesday.

Police said the 30-year-old woman was charged with unlawful wounding after her 35-year-old partner was stabbed with a pair of scissors in the back, shoulder and thigh at Northam, about 62 miles east of Perth in Western Australia state on Monday.

The man, whose injuries were described as "non-life threatening," had been repeatedly playing the song "Burning Love," a police spokesman said.

The 1972 song was the U.S. rock great's 40th and last top 10 hit on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

Sometimes I'm all dumb. And stuff.

I miss my vacation. Not that I've had a trying week or anything, but people expect me to do things once again. And by "things" I mean show up to work, and not sit around and watch TV. Damn.

In the last two days back at work and school, I have seen many a'example of human stupidity. Which I actually can't mock, because I have more than my fair share of this endearing trait.

Best examples from the last week:

(a) Spending five minutes in the dark trying to figure out why I couldn't find the light switch at the bottom of my stairs before remembering that the light switch was on the wall behind me. Where it has been for the last two years that I have lived here.

(b) Confusing Gene Simmons with Richard Simmons when a friend was telling me her celebrity spotting at LAX--and, even sadder, I was disappointed when I figured out who Gene Simmons was. When I was telling people about this sighting, I was picturing the Sweatin' to the Oldies guy. Because I'm a loser.

(c) Getting way too caught up singing along to "The Boxer" and doing the "ly-ly-ly . . . ly-ly-ly-ly-ly-ly-ly . . . ly-ly-ly . . .KSHSHS!" part way too loudly and enthusiastically. I don't make good sound effects. To let you know.

Uh, yeah.

Holiday-us Interrupt-us

My vacation is almost over.

Which is one of the saddest sentences ever. Topped, perhaps, only by, "Sorry, miss, we are out of pumpkin scones today." Which is greeted with silent tears running down my cheeks.

In my valiant effort to lose some of the sitting-on-my-ass-and-eating-everything-in-sight holiday weight (damn that tin of chocolates. And all those pieces of pumpkin cheesecake. And glasses of wine. And seconds on stuffing. And birthday cake. And, well, you get the idea. I loves me some good food.), I returned to the gym today. I don't believe in going over vacation, so my trip today was very symbolic.

But I am so, so, so glad that I went. First, the girl next to me on the elliptical machine sang along to her little Ipod for the entire 35 minutes we were next to each other. I didn't recognize the grand majority of the songs, but the off-key renditions were incredibly entertaining. And think of all the extra calories I burned while giggling at her.

Second, Sundays are "family days" at the gym, so there were all these kids running around. Some jerk who shouldn't be a father made his six or seven or eight year-old son wait around while he did "a quick five minutes" on the rowing machine. The five minutes was ten by my count. The kid grew bored and started staring at the other people working out, when he was mesmerized by a young lady's ample, uh, area of her young lady-hood while she was doing the stair-machine. The dad noticed where his kid's gaze was aimed and announced loudly, "That's not for you for a few more years son. Stop looking at that woman's boobs."

What good parental advice. And not at all inappropriate.

Ah, the gym.

___________January 8, 1935___________

Nerd Alert

I have to figure out how to type with a British accent, because that is how you are to be reading my title. I can do my Idaho accent easily in type, but foreign accents get me everytime.

Uh, so, moving on.

Clearly, the people I work with have nothing to do. This, of course, includes me, but I hate to use the word “work” in reference to me, since most of my day consists of me sitting in my office staring at pictures of Elvis. There have been two recent converts to the world o’blog. Go see Cynthia’s and Maryanne’s (link to be coming as soon as she figures out how to make her background green and pink paisley). Actually, don’t see Cynthia’s unless you are ready to go to Def-Com 5 for hatred. Her site is filled with pictures from her three-week vacation in Guam. Oh yes, we hate her. Or maybe I’m just jealous that my souvenir wasn’t a male *fertility* knick-knack.

And clearly I have time to waste since I redid the color scheme on this site. What do we think of this? I’m semi-color blind, so I was aiming for burgundy for the background. Was I even close? I was waiting for a phone call from a friend saying, “Hey, retard, what’s up with the orange background?”

Is this background too girly for me and my site? Especially since most of my jokes revolve around sexual innuendos of the 12 year-old boy variety.

Which reminds me, while Cynthia was off traveling around Guam (can you hear my seething even now? And I’m not envious. Pullman is often called the Guam of North America. Hah, so there.), she and her boyfriend found a massage parlor called “Itchy Bang.” That just seems like bad advertising to me. Who wants to get a massage (or a happy ending, for that matter) when all that you’re promised is an itchy bang?

This just makes me sad, since one of my friends is still suffering from the syph. Our thoughts are with you. Maybe that’ll teach you to go to “Al’s House of Massage” instead of “Itchy Bang Massage.”

And that, in turn reminds me, of another story. Some people think I have a dry sense of humor. I disagree. I think my sense of humor is pretty blatant, but to each their own. Anyway, apparently one of my co-workers went up to one of my friends and said this (bear in mind, this man speaks with a heavy foreign accent and sometimes has trouble conveying his thoughts to us), “Hey, are you dry like Ace? Yeah, you’re both pretty dry.”

Is this really any of his business?

Here's a sport I could get behind...

I can't ski, but I can drink. Do you think I could be an Olympian?

Outspoken Miller Admits Skiing Drunk, Says It's 'Not Easy'
Controversial American Acknowledges Partying Has Hurt Performance in Interview

NEW YORK (Jan. 5) - Bode Miller knows he puts his life at risk when he skis drunk, but the outspoken Olympic favorite admits he may try the dangerous activity again.

Talk about a hard challenge right there. ... If you ever tried to ski when you're wasted, it's not easy," Miller told "60 Minutes" for a segment that will air Sunday. "Try and ski a slalom when ... you hit a gate less than every one second, so it's risky. You're putting your life at risk. ... It's like driving drunk, only there are no rules about it in ski racing."

Asked if the risk meant he would never ski drunk again, Miller replied "No, I'm not saying that."
In the interview, the 28-year-old Miller acknowledged that his partying has affected his performance in the past.

"There have been times when I've been in really tough shape at the top of the course," he said.

Miller, the defending World Cup overall champion and a two-time silver medalist at the Salt Lake City Olympics, was also blase about the possibility of winning gold in Turin.

"Whether somebody wants me to get five gold medals or whatever it is, I sort of feel like they are all other people's concerns and issues, not really mine. ... I don't really care what everybody else says," he said.

Miller has drawn attention - and criticism - for his outspokenness before. He has called drug rules in skiing that he deems too strict "a joke" and was fined last month for refusing to take a boot test after a World Cup slalom race.

The Future Mr. Ace

Ok, that title is much funnier when I say it with my real name. But I don't want to. So there.

Anyways, here's a news story that another site (link below) had that celebrates the wonder that is Don Geronimo (whom I love):

"DCRTV's Person Of The Year: Don Geronimo - 12/27 - At the end of each year, DCRTV picks one or several folks to be our "Person/People Of The Year." Someone who's had a big impact - for better or worse - on the local media scene. This year, the choice was easy. Probably the most illuminatingly "truthful" voice on the radio dial - WJFK-FM's Don Geronimo (aka Michael Sorce). We've heard he's painfully shy in private life, but get him behind a microphone and he opens up and lets it flow. For 20 years, with his radio partner Mike O'Meara, Geronimo has shared with DC area radio listeners just about everything - from the pet peeves of day-to-day life to the raging, somewhat petty wrath for his mortal enemies in the radio biz. And he has let us all share in his family life, including his marriage to Freda and the raising of their son, Bart, now a college student. Freda's death last summer in a car accident caused many to speculate that it would also be the end of Geronimo's radio career. How could he ever come back to do his show again - at least like it was, we wondered. But Geronimo did. No, it wasn't easy. For him or his listeners. Hearing about his trip to the Baltimore ER to see Freda's still life-supported body. Or his tales about run-ins with telemarketers who still call Don's house and ask for Freda. But it was "real" radio. Especially on August 1, 2005 when Geronimo delivered a stunningly heartfelt monologue on his first day back after Freda's death. Yeah, it's no secret that not everyone likes Don Geronimo. We hear the criticism. He's a blowhard, a pompous gasbag, he's over-the-hill, he's a hack. Yet, too much of radio these days is pre-fab, consultant-driven crap. Boring and bland. Corporate. But, Don Geromino lets it all hang loose - heart and soul, flesh and blood, the current WJFK program director be damned. Geronimo, whose head contains an encyclopedia-like history of the past three-plus decades of DC area TV and radio, brings to our radio airwaves a refreshing, powerful, brutal honesty. Yeah, perhaps he'll never be a big nationally-known superstar, but when it comes to DC area radio - it doesn't get any bigger and brighter than Don Geronimo."

For those who want to hear the August 1 show--ok, for maybe the two of you who want to--go to this site. You have to scroll down, but it is well worth it. Have the tissues ready. Unless you're all manly and stuff. Oh, and before you get to the sad part, look at the pictures that Keith has up of baby porcupines and try not to laugh. Two words: Im and possible.

Bangin' Double D's

Man, I forgot how much I enjoy Scrubs. Laugh-out-loud-fun. Hope you all watched it last night, but in case you missed it, here are my favorite lines:

"Frickety-frick-frick-frickin-frick."
My title for this post
"Just let me make a quick two-sie."
"I'll have a single-pump mocha," which was followed by, "Wasn't that your nickname in high school?"

And, of course, I think everyone should carry around their "Man" cards that their boss can take from them when they do something particularly *pansy-ish*. Oh, J.D.

Bad news

Aach. My neighbor is back, half a week early. No more playing loud music while I shower. And I guess I should end the practice of singing loudly along to Foreigner while in the shower.

Ah, the little things

Set the VCR, kids. Scrubs is back tonight. Combine the triumphant return of Scrubs with some delicious cookies someone brought into the office this morning, and I am on cloud nine. It doesn't take much to make me happy.

The King Lives

Apparently I am easy. To buy for.

Sickos.

I received my Christmas presents from my family today and after ripping through the wrapping paper like a six year-old on crack, I discovered some duplicates in my presents. And in one case, an instance of triplicates.

So, in case you're thinking right now, "Man, I need to be buying a gift for Ace--for no particular reason. I think I'll buy her a book on Elvis," don't buy the one pictured here. I own it. Many times over. And I love it, but I don't need another copy. Although I think I am keeping two copies of it. One for home and one for my office. In case of emergencies. And stuff.

If you really just can't shake the feeling that you need to buy me a gift, I need a bike. And snow tires. And a big screen TV.

And I dedicate this post and the title to the newest Champion.

Resolutions

Man, I don't feel like doing work today. And why should I? It's Sunday, and a holiday.

To celebrate, I ate pumpkin waffles for breakfast. I think I'm beginning to fall in love with that World Market place up in Spokane.

Anyways, here are some of my resolutions:

(1) Walk my dog every day that is not all rainy.
(2) Watch less TV. Luckily, I only get about 8 channels, and apparently they have all signed a contract that stipulates they can only play crap. But, Scrubs is back this week.
(3) Eat more fresh vegetables. My problem is, I'm too lazy to go to the grocery store often enough to keep well-stocked on these.
(4) Stop rolling my eyes at people. Apparently this is not polite. But it is often well-earned.
(5) Read at least one fiction book a week. All I ever seem to read are books for school. Time to break that habit.
(6) Find some small country to take over, and become a dictator.
(7) Buy a bike.
(8) Use my credit cards less (how does that go with resolution 7?).
(9) Plant a garden. But I'm afraid there will be snakes out there. Probably big, poisonous ones. It might be safer to skip this resolution. I'll just stay inside where it is safe and watch TV.
(10) Develop pictures that I take. I take an ass-load of pictures, upload them onto my computer, and then do nothing.

Who wants to place a bet on how many of these resolutions I keep?

Added side-note: While I was typing this, I heard this horrible noise. Both my dog and I jumped up at the sound, which I thought was a Cold War air-raid alert. Nope. My cat just started snoring. I have never heard an animal make such a bizarre-o/scary noise. My animals are so weird.

Oh, the ball

Oh._____My._____Dear.______Sweet.______Lord.

I loved, loved, loved the Snow Ball!

Words can't express how much fun it was, but since that is the medium I am using, they will have to suffice. This is going to go down as one of my most favorite New Year's Eves. Ever.

First, Maryanne, Sarah, and I ate a delicious dinner at their place, punctuated with my squeals of delight since I Love the 80s was on. I don't get VH1, and I miss it. Sorely. And I love them eighties, and every video that they showed was greeted with an, "Oh my God! I love this song!" (And the "Oh my God" portion is in my Chris Farley voice. Just to give you an accurate reading.)

Then we all changed into our finest Snow Ball apparel and headed out. Oh, but first, I made the ladies (not those ladies) pose for pictures. This is why I can't ever have kids: I will mortify them on prom night.

So, at the ball, the DJs were trying to go decade by decade through the music. When we got there, it was a lot of big band stuff and all these cute old couples were cuttin' a rug. The real dancing began, though, when they hit the 50s and 60s. I would say that every third song was Elvis and every fourth or fifth was The Beatles. Every time an Elvis song would go on, some crazy lady in the back would scream. It went something like this:

"Whooooooo-hoooooooooooo! He is THE KING!"

Damn, that crazy lady, as it turns out, was me.

And, be prepared to gasp everyone, I got out on the dance floor. I did the twist. Oh yes. Like I did last summer. And when they played "Shout!", almost everyone at the ball was on the dance floor and Maryanne and I reenacted the Animal House scene. Sans togas.

Highlights from the night: I decided that next year I will emcee the event. Their emcee sucked, and if you want entertainment, just hand me a microphone. I love me a good mic. I also found my DJ for the next ball, the owner of my favorite store in Palouse (whom Maryanne and Sarah think looks like a pirate). I won a door prize. I was *assaulted* by a hula hoop. I was propositioned by a cute little old man. We got Sarah out on the dance floor. When we all grabbed our noise-makers and other assorted New Year's Eve thingies, the comment was heard, "I don't think I'm blowing hard enough." Good gracious, you'd better blow hard at the Snow Ball.

Oh, and buyer's remorse be damned. I kept the dress. And it kicked ass by the truckload.

I also received four drunk-dial voice-mails from three different friends in two different time zones. So belated "Happy New Year!" to all of you.

That's all I got. Maybe Maryanne and Sarah can add in their memories of the evening. Oh wait, one final thing: the evening ended with a big group of us at the mayor's house. I hung out with the mayor. Don't know why, but that tickled me.