Redecorating on New Year's Eve

I had big plans for today.

As a Christmas bonus, the head honcho at the Zoo granted all of the full-timers a day off to spend with our families. And I did. Today, the kitties and I slept late and lounged around the house doing very little on the physical side. The kids moved with me to the couch, where they continued their afternoon nap. I chose to watch movies; I had a few that had arrived from Netflix that I'd not yet seen.

One of those movies was Me Myself I. For those who haven't seen it, it's about a thirty-something single woman questioning the decisions she's made in her past life. And, since I am also a thirty-something woman constantly questioning my decisions in life, I really connected with the story.

The story follows the "alternative reality" plotline. Suddenly the single career woman who finds her life lacking in love and hapiness is immersed in the life she would have had with "the one that got away," the boyfriend whose proposal she's declined years ago. She had to learn how to adapt to a completely foreign life, one with a husband and children and all the consequences that had resulted from the decisions that accompanied those actions.

And no, I haven't had that kind of experience. I have, however, been looking at my life over the last little while. I've looked at where I was five years ago, one year ago. I've become rather introspective about the Myo that was, and the Myo that is standing here today.

(And I've been having dreams about people that I've not seen in years, and I wonder what they mean. Are they trying to tell me something? Am I supposed to be learning something here?)

I've noticed something. Somewhere over the course of last year, I think I grew up. I'm not sure when and where it happened, but I think I passed a milestone unaware. And as much as I'd feared and resisted it in the past, I think it was a good thing. I care about my home. I care about my job. I care about where my life is headed more than I ever have.

I still have my vices. I smoke. I drink. I slack off whenever I get the chance. (Like today, for example.) But somewhere along the way, I started to care more. I think I became more aware of the world around me. I've looked at decisions and situations that I wasn't happy about, and decided to change them. I've tried to think about what was good for me. I don't mean that in a selfish way. There have been many points in my life when I haven't liked myself as a person and haven't really given a shit about what happened to me, or what happened around me. I was stuck in this little self-loathing bubble, and waked through my life with no regard to what resulted from my actions.

Somewhere in the course of stumbling through my life, I became aware of the fact that I could change things. I didn't have to accept whatever Life threw in my path. I could make decisions to not do thing that made me unhappy. And slowly but surely, I've been trying to make important changes and decisions that affect my life and my surroundings.

I've recently come into contact with a person who seems as lost as I was a year ago, but is handling things in a different manner. Where I looked up from the mess I'd made and realized that some things needed to change, this person is awash in where Life has led them, but doesn't seem to want to make the effort to want to change and improve matters. And while I want to help, I understand that person needs to make the personal decision to want to change, and I can't offer any assistance until that important decision is made. Watching this person in this situation is frustrating, like watching myself last year if I'd made different choices in my life.

I'm not faulting that person. Each person must come to their own decisions about the life they lead and what they want to do with it. Just because I care about that person doesn't mean that I have follow them into their own personal darkness. I can be there for them when they call for help, but I have my own life to lead. I have my own path to follow. And I think I like where I'm going.

I didn't make any resolutions for New Year's. I was still in the process of moving in to my new home, mentally and physically. I decided to postpone my statements and observations until the Chinese New Year, since it fell upon a weekend and a new moon, and conveniently was on February 1st. And so today, on New Year's Eve Redux, I decided to spend the day contemplating the path I've taken over the last year or so of my life. I didn't get my laundry done. I didn't go to the grocery store. I didn't get my DSL installed. I didn't paint the bathroom. I sat on the couch and watched movies, and just thought to myself.

I discovered the secret life of my cats. Every night there's a power struggle in the apartment, with flying tackles and claws drawn. However, in the lazy afternoons, they curl up together in slumber, occasionally awakening to bathe each other's ears.

I answered an email from Roger Mexico, and smiled about how happy hearing from him made me, how much I trusted him with my life.

I looked at myself as a completely different person, me in a new skin. I looked back on the things I'd changed about my life because I like the new me, and was happy about being me, newly empowered and anxious about my life.

Of course, there are still changes I want to make. Things I'd like to fix, things I'd like to arrange differently. But for the moment, I just want to look back at the last year, and marvel in how much has changed in my life for the better. I'll think about the road ahead and how far I have to go tomorrow. New Year's Day is the time for new promises and heartfelt vows. New Year's Eve is the time for celebration of time past.

Game? What Game?

The play by play continues:

United Way commercials with NFL players crack me up. Where does lightning come from?

The halftime show starts. I've said it before, I'll say it again. Who dresses Shania Twain, and why haven't they been arrested yet? And oh yeah, she's lip synching too. The second song in her medley featured that Cher-like voice distortion. How disappointing.

No Doubt is not lip synching. Go Gwen! (And yes, Gwen is dressed like a freak, but we expect it of her, and somehow she pulls it off, unlike Shania Twain.) Although I could have done without the ska-pop cheerleaders.

Sting opens with "Message in a Bottle," and I remember why I thought he was so cool in the 80s. Gwen duets with him. Somewhere, Stewart Copeland is sitting at home cursing at his television. No Doubt is sitting in as his band, and they look like they're having the time of their lives.

8:15 p.m. - The referees are "reviewing" The Bachelorette. Eww.

20/20 will be featuring an interview with Jason Priestly. Glad to see he's doing OK, but I'm not all that interested.

Local advertising. Blech.

And a Foo Fighters/P.O.D. medley leads us back into the second half. Um, that didn't even mix. Poorly done.

(Mmmmm. Bagel Bites.)

8:35 p.m. - Bruce Almighty? God Almighty, no.

Diet Pepsi does the "parents not acting their age" joke, this time in a mosh pit. I try to imagine my parents in a mosh pit, and fall over laughing, despite the stupidity of the commercial. This is why I drink Diet Coke.

Hotjobs. com features a bunch of folks singing "The Rainbow Connection." I have a soft spot in my heart for that song, and could probably be convinced to buy almost anything with it. Winner of the "Aww, Sweet..." award of the night so far.

Alias is on after the game. Yeah, whatever. I'll be watching something else. Putting Jennifer Garner in her underwear will not convince me otherwise.

8:50 p.m. - I just realized that this is Super Bowl XXXVII. Thirty seven?

Bud Light does the "girlfriend will look like her mom in twenty years" joke. Another weird butt joke. I'm suddenly losing my taste for Bud Light. I might switch to Captain Morgan and Diet Coke for the rest of the game.

Subway. Jared dreams about new sauces? How sad a life he must lead.

Charlies Angels: Full Throttle. Stupid girls-kicking-ass fun! Yay! With Bernie Mac as the new Bosley. Not sure how they're going to explain that one away, but I'm willing to suspend a little disbelief.

Cadillac commercial with retro guy getting on a train. Is that what the new model looks like? I'm not impressed.

Anti-marijuana commercial featuring anxious parents giving daughter an EPT test. I hate this campaign, because any one of them could be re-edited with the word alcohol and make the same point. Oh, but alcohol's OK, because it's legal, and Anheuser-Busch threw an awful lot of money at this evening.

George Foreman grill... you know, I've had one for years and have never used it. If I had something grillable I'd break it in later. Wonder how Morningstar Farms Prime Grillers would taste on the Foreman?

Are You Hot? No, but I'm disgusted.

Reebok introduces Terry Tate, office linebacker. Did I hear him right? Cover sheet? TPS reports? Tee hee! Guess I'm watching Office Space after the game.

Bud Light, again. A third arm? That's it. No more beer tonight. Hello, Captain!

9:20 p.m. - Smirnoff Ice commercial. A blind date with a mullet and chivalrous intentional mistaken identity. Scary guy in mullet ("The Brad" - there's a carpentry joke there somewhere...) is homophobic, but I suppose it's OK since he was supposed to be the guy we didn't like? Sometimes political correctness confuses me.

More local ads. I'm not in the market for a new home, and I won't be getting Skyline Chili unless they've suddenly started delivering. Whatever.

Budweiser, guy tunes out girl discussing emotional issues for play-by-play commentary. She thinks he's a good listener. Is this saying that women are easy to fool, or that men are insensitive jerks? I'm thinking way too much about a beer commercial.

"No next year" ESPN commercial with fans stating that their teams will be contenders next season. Funny, you don't hear that much in Cincinnati.

Another Cadillac commercial. Still don't care.

Alias is still on after the game. See above comment.

9:36 p.m. - Sony urges baby boomers to spend their money frivolously by paying to take Lance Bass's spot on the Russian space mission and videotape it for the kids in lieu of a trust fund. I do like the cover of "Carry On" by Alana Davis though, and appreciate the fact that they told me who it was. Sure beats tracking it down on the internet.

Antiques Roadshow satire for mLife. Until you can improve my clarity, I won't be losing my regular phone in favor of my cel. And how would I get online?

Budweiser designated driver Tim McGraw with the talkative uncle. I think I've been trapped in that car before.

"Leaving your cash at home - priceless" debit card, with the Dead Presidents waiting up for the guy. Poor Lincoln looked so worried!

AOL Broadband. The ISP of hell. I got a "welcome to the neighborhood" packet from the Post Office, and there was an AOL setup disc in it. They're everywhere....

8 Simple Rules, According to Jim. This is what I miss for Buffy. Oh well.

9:52 - MyFICO.com. Again, not looking into buying a house anytime soon. No comment.

The Osbournes on DVD! Whee! How bloody f***ing brilliant.

10:04 - Michelob Ultra commercial. How much does it crack me up that there's now a beer for the Atkins Diet?

Tennis Masters Cup. I don't watch much tennis anymore. No comment.

Bon Jovi is the post-game entertainment. And now "Living on a Prayer" is stuck in my head. Great.

10:08 - Just got a very nice email from MyoMom. No, Mom, I don't think you're hokey at all.

10:13 - Just saw that last touchdown. Huh. Did I just miss a good game?

Bucs win, 48 - 21. Um, yay? I really don't know. The shots of John Lynch and his little boy were awfully cute. I'm such a girl sometimes.

Ohhhhh, we're halfway there.... ohhhhh, livin' on a prayer....

10:18 - Bud Light commercial, with men ogling a yoga class. Ewww.

Athlete's foot remedy. I really didn't want to think about athlete's foot tonight.

The Monster.com truck commercial is still not funny. Bring back "I want to be a yes man!"

10:22 p.m. - Lisa Marie sings? What? How did I miss that?

Bon Jovi opens with "It's My Life," which has that same waaaah waaaah sound as "Livin' on a Prayer. But I must admit, Jon has aged well, and he finally got rid of the Jersey Hair. Instrumental accompanies of previously recorded interviews with the winning team. As I don't know diddley squat about the players, I just want them to get back to the music.

The Vince Lombardi trophy is presented. Ooh, how official. And I still think that Paul Tagliabue is a funny name to say. Tagliabue! Tagliabue! It's kind of neat that the Bucs coach is the youngest coach to win the Super Bowl, too.

10:32 - The running of the bulls, according to Cadillac. I think this is my cue to leave.

OK, what have we learned from this little experiment?

First, we have learned that recapping the Super Bowl ads live is a job best left to the professionals. I'm exhausted. I need a nap.

Second, we have learned that the ads weren't as good overall as they have been in year's past. Granted, it was better than last year's solemn patriotic themes, but overall I was disappointed. And the Budweiser/Bud Light commercials were extremely sub-par. Usually, they're the only sure thing at the Super Bowl.

And apparently pop and country crossover divas are afraid to sing live.

There. I'm done. Maybe next year, the Packers will play and I'll actually watch the game.

Play By Play, Pay By Pay

4:25 p.m. - OK, I'm trying a little experiment today. I'm going to watch the Super Bowl, like much of America. Beer will be quaffed. Salsa and chips will be eaten. And I will be writing this entry as I watch, commenting everything except the game.

I'm not a big football fan; I half-heartedly follow the Green Bay Packers every year, and annually hang my head in shame for the Bengals, but I don't religiously block out my Sunday afternoons to watch all season. However, almost every year I do sit back to watch the Big Game. Or, to be more precise, the Big Ads. As manipulative and evil as the advertising world is, I'm fascinated by the way business presents itself to Joe Consumer, and at two million dollars for a thirty second spot, this should be the cream of the crop.

And given my penchance to comment on award shows and pop culture as I see it, I've decided tonight that I will write as I go, and be assured that I actually get around to posting my thoughts. (I have three pages of witty observations about the Golden Globe Awards that I never got around to posting, and by now Sharon Stone's famewhoring and Lara Flynn Boyle's tutu are yesterday's news.)

This may turn out to be a really choppy post, depending on how much editing I get done during the actual game (as well as how much Bud Light I drink). I'll give time checks as I go. The experiment begins in 1:55.50....

(OK, a preliminary comment. Jimmy Kimmel saying goodbye to cable was funny. He made Joan Rivers cry! He interrupted Inside the Actor's Studio, and James Lipton thought they were cancelled! The Sopranos dumped him into the river! Unfortunately, he started talking football, and I tuned him out.)

1:55 to go. Back in a while.

5:06 p.m. - By the way, I'm not watching the pregame yet. I had just tuned in earlier to get a kickoff countdown, but I'm not all that interested in the dissection of the two teams playing in less than two hours. Malcom X is on channel 19, and the EasyView rerun of Smallville just started a few minutes ago. I watched it on Tuesday night, but it was a good episode - chock full of cheesy goodness - so it'll be something fun to watch until I turn over to the last few minutes of the pregame coverage.

I'm already out of salsa. Damn. At least I have Bagel Bites and microwavable popcorn. I've decided not to start the fine American tradition of having a few brews and watching the game until the game actually starts. I'm finishing off a pot of coffee, left over from this morning, instead.

Major thanks to Zappagirl for the leftover Bud Light from last night, and for getting me the deal on my laptop. The experiment wouldn't be possible without them....

Since there is no pregame fashion show, I'll have to cover that myself. ... Myo is looking particularly unstunning in a faded set of men's cotton pajamas from the extensive Wal-Mart line, and rainbow striped PowerPuff Girls slipper socks. Her hair is in a sloppy ponytail held back with a black scrunchie.... Hey, it's snowing, it's cold, I have nothing on the agenda. I think that calls for an all day jammies day.

Back to Smallville. The power of Lex compels me.

6:04 p.m. - Oh dear. Has James Cameron really sunk so low? Ah-nuld just did the bumper for the team introduction, using a T3 tie-in. I know there's supposed to be a trailer for the movie later, but that reading of "Are you ready for some football?" (complete with the Terminator cyber-eye) just left a bad metallic taste in my mouth.

Pointless Honda Element commercial about a road trip.

ESPN commercial with people from all walks of life yelling at the basketball game on TV. Hee, it's me from the year the Packers won the Super Bowl a few years back.

Did we really need a new Dragnet? With Al Bundy?

NOOOOOOOOO!!! Celine Dion is singing "God Bless America" for the eight millionth time. What happened to her retirement to raise her kids? (And I still have to deal with her selling Chrysler products later. Ick.) Also, she looked like she was lip-synching.

The Dixie Chicks sing the National Anthem. I think they're lip-synching too. Come on, folks. I sang live at a Reds game with my show choir a cappella, and we did 4 part harmony.

Ugh. Why is Pizza Hut trying to sell me pizza with the marriage-hungry stereotype? Ick, ick, ick.

Missed a few commercials in there when I got a long distance Name That Tune call from Kansas. Glad I could help, Tammy. Hang in there; you're in my thoughts and prayers.

Coin toss. Time to get a beer.

6:30 p.m.The Budweiser commercial with the zebra reviewing the replay between the two teams of Clydesdales was great. I toast the folks at Anheuser-Busch, or at least their advertising team. Much better than Bud Bowl.

Celine Dion covers "I Drove All Night" for Chrysler. Roy Orbison rolls over in his grave. I'm too busy trying to stop my ears from bleeding to see what model car she was shilling this time around.

I was already spoiled for the Pepsi Twist featuring the Osbournes and the Osmonds, but I still giggled at it. Poor doddering Ozzy!

Fed Ex comes through with a clever self-referential Cast Away satire. Would Tom Hanks have been smart enough to open the package and find the GPS and phone?

Shania Twain, Sting, and No Doubt are the halftime entertainment. I really don't know what to think about that.

America gets its first official glimpse of The Hulk. Looks cheesy as hell, but I'm still intrigued by the fact that Ang Lee is the director. Hmmm. Bryan Singer did some fun stuff with X Men. Are all cool directors doing a comic book movie?

Bud Light industrial fridge pull... didn't do much for me. Anheuser-Busch slips to .500 in my book.

Dodge Ram Heimlich commercial. Ewww. This makes me want to buy your truck how?

Matrix teaser. That was very cool, and I need a smoke now.

Michael Jordan plays one on one with younger version of himself for Gatorade. Nice effects, and I still like Mike.

ESPN SportsCenter. Super Bowl ring in the soup. Is grosssituations involving food going to be a running theme tonight? Because, ewww.

Anger Management. I have no interest in seeing this movie whatsoever. Adam Sandler still owes me $2.00 and 90 minutes of my life for Little Nicky.

H&R Block. Willie Nelson. Shaving cream. Hee hee. (Makes mental note to do taxes soon.)

Bud Light, featuring what can only be described as the literal interpretation of a drinking asshole. Hot dogs? EEEK!!! I'm not sure if I think it's funny or disgusting. I'll have to think about that one.

7:00 p.m. - Yao Ming Visa commercial. Yo! Yo! Gi! At the moment, it's funny, but it could be the "Waassssuuuuuppp?" of the future.

Terrorist drug commercials. I'm not going to get into my rant about how much I dislike the latest commecials that combine the War on Drugs and the War on Terrorism. Maybe another time. Right now there isn't enough time or space.

All Star Sunday next week on ABC. So what? I won't be watching. It's sports.

A local (Cincinnati Bell) commercial. Doesn't move me to expand my services. Oh, except to get DSL. (Have I mentioned lately that dialup sucks?)

Veritas? I have no idea what this show is, but if it conflicts with the snark-o-licious trainwreck of schadenfreude that is Joe Millionaire, forget it.

Bud Light. That man is wearing a dog on his head. Oh my. Stupid, but I giggled.

Daredevil - I know very little of the background on this comic, but I know that I dislike Ben Affleck in non-Kevin Smith movies. But Kevin has weighed in that the movie adaptation looks good, I think. What a dilemma!

Monster.com blows up a bunch of stuff with a runaway truck. I'm not impressed.

Sierra Mist. Yeah, it's like that. Yeah, I still don't want any.

I like Michael Jordan. I like Jackie Chan. I like the new Hane's tagless shirt commercial.

See, a sentimental anti-smoking commericial about talking to your kids is much less offensive than those damn Truth commercials!

Alias commercial. I still don't want to watch this show.

Sierra Mist, anthropomorphizing baboons. Yeah, it's like that. Yeah, it's still stupid.

Trident commercial. The awful truth behind the 5th dentist apparently involved a squirrel up his pants leg? Weird, and funny as hell.

Bud Light commercial involving an occupied sea shell being held up to a guy's ear. Ick. Bodily harm doesn't make me want to drink beer.

From the creator of The Sixth Sense: Miracles. Wasn't this show already on? Wasn't it called Mysterious Ways?

7:30 p.m. - Whew. I never realized how many commercial breaks there were during the Super Bowl. I keep falling behind.

Bad Boys 2 - sorry, Jerry Bruckheimer and Michael Bay equals no Myo in the theater. Even if you do use a BT song in the background.

Visa commercial with the twins (whose names escape me) redux. "So you're watching the Super Bowl, and you're playing in the Super Bowl." Hee!

Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines. So the new Terminator is a girl. And I care why? Too little too late, King of the World.

Levi's commercial with the couple standing in the middle of a bison stampede. What does this have to do with jeans?

Melissa Rivers will be a "contestant" on I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!. A thousand tons of hell no, I won't watch this.

7:45 p.m. - Gilligan's Island satire for mLife. Dumb anachronisms don't sell me cel phones, little buddy. But a monkey with a cold and "shook up ramen" will win my heart every time.

This entry is getting long. I may start a new one at halftime. Right after I put some Bagel Bites in the oven and run to the bathroom.

Crazy? Don Cheadle? For the NFL? Um, seeing as how I didn't watch many games this year, I can only nod and smile.

Jimmy Kimmel debuts with George Clooney. I'm there.

The Practice moves to Monday nights. I'm not there.

Dear Rolling Stones: Please stop selling "Start Me Up." I'm losing interest and respect.

Potty break! Continued next entry....

All in a Day's Work

Well, if the rest of the year keeps up at this pace, I might not make it to April.

Granted, I haven't been doing anything glamorous. I've been spending most nights haunting the aisles at K Mart and Target, obsessed with getting everything just right in the new place. Tonight's excursion included Lowe's, to look for an adaptor so I can replace my shower head, new drawer pulls to pep up the kitchen cabinets, and paint chips to decide on colors for doing a faux finish in the kitchen and bathroom. I couldn't find the adaptor, the drawer pulls are a fraction of an inch too big, but I did decide on colors (Yukon Gold for the bathroom, and Bright Cerulean for the accent wall in the kitchen - I've been watching Trading Spaces a bit too much). One out of three. I celebrated by restocking my liquor cabinet; as much as I hate my "new" Kroger's -it's too big and I can't find anything - it has a bank and a state liquor store located within. It's a handy convenience to be able to buy a bottle of Captain Morgan and soap in one trip.

I also bought a sturdy yet attractive plant stand which is exactly the right size for my phone, answering machine, and phone books (the miniature ones). I am too clever for words.

OK, enough boring news about home decor. On to today's subject....

I know I've mentioned it before, but I have a not-so-normal job. I figured I'd give a rundown of what a typical workday for Myo looks like.


8:55 am: Arrive at work feeling rather smug about being early. Spend next five minutes digging through purse looking for office keys.

9:00 am: Turn on computer and write the morning's meetings on the whiteboard in the lobby while computer boots up. Reassure Mary (the building services person assigned to the Education Center) that she did the room setups right, and she can stop panicking. Thank the Powers That Be that we have someone assigned to our building again, since I did the majority of the setups during Festival of Lights.

9:03 am: Greet supervisor as she enters the building with several bags of notebooks and a large animal carrier in tow. Try to figure out if it's Telly (the Waldrapp's ibis) or Elsie (the cattle egret) in the carrier. On most days, she'll bring in one of the two to allow them some socializing time; they're both "demo" animals in our education programs that are regrettably underused.

Today it's Telly. He greets both of us, but his vocalizations sound very much like someone hocking up a loogie. I giggle to myself all the way back to my desk.

9:05 am: Pick up voicemail. Three messages. The first is someone who wants to bring their Girl Scout troop to the zoo for an overnight program. Forward call to registrar that schedules Nocturnal Adventures.

The next call is from a woman who is helping her grandson with his homework. She wants to know what the collective noun for a group of ducks would be. Look for the information on the internet (flock when they're in the air, paddling when they're in the water, or team in general), and make note to call her back.

The last call is from a teacher who wants to bring her class to the Zoo in April. Write down name and number, and make note to call her back.

9:10 am: Check the headlines on CNN. Notice that a release date has finally been announced for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Do happy dance in chair, and email the link to Zappagirl.

9:15 am: Call back grandmother with the duck question.

9:25 am: Realize that body is horribly uncaffeinated. Go upstairs in search of coffee and Diet Coke; come back with both, as well as leftover donuts from Volunteer Educator meeting yesterday.

9:35 am: Call the number that teacher left on voicemail. Leave a message with surly receptionist at school. Wonder why most teachers insist on leaving their number at school when they are next to impossible to reach there.

9:45 am: Answer emails from summer camp coordinator who needs to schedule rooms for her programs. Block off every available room for every morning in the month of June, July and August on room reservation spreadsheets.

10:30 am: Take a call from a woman who wants to know if spiders have a sense of smell. Realize that I don't know the answer and seek out the answer on Google while a co-worker consults a book in her desk. (Apparently, they don't have olfactory senses. Logical, but I had no idea.)

11:00 am: Take a call from a teacher who wants a program about penguins. Explain that we don't have anything that specific, and give her a brief overview of available programs. Try to contain temper when she interrupts three times to again ask if we have anything that focuses on penguins.

11:30 am: Say hello to designer from Graphics department. Agree to attend happy hour on Friday; spend twenty minutes gossiping until he realizes that he's going to be late for a meeting.

12:00 pm: Run up to restaurant to get lunch, with a brief pitstop at the Nursery to check on Otji. (As usual, he's sleeping.) Laugh at peacock who is happily displaying his impressive tail for shrubbery rather than the peahens behind him. Grab a slice of pizza to go, and get back to desk.

12:30 pm: Receive panicked call from woman who is trying to plan an outdoor wedding next summer, and is concerned about the emergence of the local brood of 17-year cicadas. Advise her that she might want to look into a later date or an inside facility, because next year is indeed that time.

1:00 pm: Take registration from a teacher who wants to bring her students to the Zoo next month. Verify the school's ZIP code that she has given, since it doesn't correspond with the city where the school is located. She vehemently insists that her information is correct. Check address before entering registration and discover that she was wrong, and probably would have called screaming if paperwork was returned. Sigh heavily, and be thankful that she at least knew her street address. At least half of the teachers I speak to have no idea what their school's address or phone number is, and deny having an email address merely because they haven't checked their account in a year and a half and can't remember what it is.

1:15 pm: Answer call from man who wants to know if his tarantula is dead (it hasn't moved in two days). After further questioning, conclude that it's just taking an unusually long time to molt.

Since my office is located in the library, I end up fielding a lot of strange animal questions. I answer what I can (and I have the internet pulled up at all times to search for assistance), but a lot of the calls just leave me puzzled. I had a guy call once to ask about prairie dogs; turns out he bought one at a yard sale on a whim, and wanted me to tell him how to care for it. He'd done absolutely no research, hadn't located a vet that knew anything about exotic pets - he just thought it was cute, and plunked down his money. People, please think these things through. We get calls on a daily basis from people that bought Burmese pythons without thinking or think that a monkey would make a great pet. There are plenty of animals at your local shelter that need a good home and won't become destructive upon reaching sexual maturity. Cats and dogs are domesticated animals, lions will look at your three-year-old as a tasty treat.

1:30 pm: Take a call from a teacher that wants someone to come to her school and speak at a Career Day program. He wants the speaker to bring animals - "you know, elephants and tigers." Patiently explain that we don't bring out those kind of animals (our education animals are more manageable species like African hornbills and striped skunks). Mention the Cat Ambassador Program, and offer to transfer him to their extension. He decides he doesn't want to pay for his program (especially since his class won't be allowed to touch the animals),then asks if he could bring his class to the Zoo for a behind the scenes tour. Um, no. I work here, and I've only been behind the scenes on very rare occasions (I got to see an okapi calf that was born last month - from a distance, on the other side of the enclosure). Our liability insurance simply doesn't provide for 25 unruly middle school students wandering around behind Gorilla World, and it wouldn't be beneficial to the animals' well being.

2:00 pm: Direct confused parent to the Children's Zoo, where her child's class is located. Apparently she didn't bother to read the confirmation postcard that said the class would be held at the Otter Creek Outpost in the Children's Zoo. Smile politley while she tells me it's my fault that little Johnny is going to be late for the program.

3:00 pm: Answer call from the teacher that left the message earlier in the morning. Despite the fact that she left a number where she wouldn't be available all day, she actually has her act together and books a guided tour about classification.

3:30 pm: Teacher calls back, needing to change date of field trip because she can't get buses for the previously arranged day. Change date, and explain that her confirmation packet is already in the mail with the old date, but we will honor it on the new date.

3:45 pm: Take call from woman who is doing her son's homework. Not helping with it, doing it. Well, that's not quite right. She wants me to do it. After she asks a few incredibly general questions that could be answered by opening an encyclopedia, I suggest that maybe her son should go to a library to start his research. She states that she doesn't have time to take him to the library.

4:00 pm: Give a little cheer when volunteer that comes in daily to exercise our program skunks arrives. (She is quite knowledgeable about skunks and has been doing this for years. She's one of the few exceptions to the "no contact with the animals" rule.) Sneak across the hall to watch the skunks run around a classroom. Feel very honored when Chanel decides to take a break and curl up in my lap. Laugh at Daisy, the smallest of the skunks, as she threatens me by stomping and sticking her tail up in the air. (We refer to this as "the stinky dance.") Excuse self from skunk break as my phone rings again.

4:45 pm: Receive call from the leader of a 4H club that wants to schedule a Zoo Careers tour. Explain that I can only schedule school classes, not extracurricular groups. Explain further that our tours run in the morning, when her kids would be in class. Offer to transfer her to the Wildlife Comes to You registrar. She declines, stating that her budget wouldn't cover the fee.

While I sympathize with her, there really isn't much I can do about bending the rules. Unfortunately, we don't have much to offer for after school programs, and what we do have are programs with fees attached. I wish there was a way that we could offer an education program to every person that calls for one. I wish we didn't have to charge folks to come in the door and learn about animals and conservation, but things just don't work that way. Animals have to eat, we have to pay for their upkeep, and unfortunately it costs a great deal of money. Take into account how much it costs you to feed your pet the best food, take him to the vet, provide him with bedding and enriching toys. Now multiply that times a whole zoo, taking into account that it costs a heck of a lot more to care for a Sumatran rhino than a cocker spaniel.

5:15 pm: Start to clean off desk, since it's past quitting time and it would be best to get out of there before another parent calls with a request for a behind the scenes tour or a meeting with a keeper. There's always tomorrow to deal with those calls. That's what the voicemail is for, right?

5:35 pm: Make way out to car, eyes on the sidewalk to avoid stepping in peacock poop again. Because, damn, does that stuff stink.


Yeah, it's a desk job. But it sure ain't normal.

The Sound of Music, 2002

It's official. I am moved in, and have had my first official social gathering. Thanks to all for coming over and hanging out. Hopefully it wil be the first of many; we don't get together enough!

On other fronts, I finally broke and watched a FOX reality show. Joe Millionaire is quite possibly the most offensive, anti-feminist show on television. The women were, for the most part, money-grubbing hos and the "millionaire" is a big dumb lunkhead. Having said that, I'm completely hooked by the snark potential and I will be tuning in for every episode. I feel so dirty.

And I am soooo disturbed by the touring cast of Jesus Christ Superstar that's coming to town soon. Sebastian Bach is playing Jesus. Yes, the Sebastian Bach from Skid Row. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

The nominations for the Grammy awards came out yesterday. (Here's a partial list of the nominees.) You know, I'm not sure why I still care about these stupid awards. The wrong people always win, and I spend the majority of the show cursing loudly and throwing things at the screen. Now, I realize that the recording industry is vast and the people that vote on the awards can't possibly listen to everything that comes out, so the nominees are mostly top 40 artists. I don't listen to the radio all that much, so I am not all that in touch with the artists that are "graced" with nominations. However, I still feel the need to comment on the selections and pick winners, and this year I'm sharing them with you. So be warned: these are choices not based on talent or unit sales. They're simply the babblings of a highly opinionated out-of-touch thirtysomething in Cincinnati.

Record of the Year - Wow. I feel so out of touch. I don't know half of these songs. I've heard that Norah Jones has a lovely voice (from Flounder), but I've yet to hear a note. I do know the Nickelback song, but I kind of wish I didn't. This is how you remind me/How much this song sucks..." As much as I hate to say it, I'm rooting for Eminem.

(Dear Eminem: I hate everything you stand for. You're a misogynistic jerk. Please stop writing such catchy songs. No love, Myo)

Album of the Year - BRUUUUUUUUUUUUCE! That is all.

Song of the Year - Perhaps I should explain that last outburst. I was a moderately big Springsteen fan in high school. While I will probably never buy another of his albums, the man writes well-crafted songs like nobody's business. I've heard this song (unlike most of the other nominees), and after hearing an endless barrage of schmaltzy 9/11 tributes and gung-ho jingoistic patriotic crap, I was moved by the beautiful simplicity of the Boss's latest offering. I'm behind "The Rising" all the way in this category.

Oh yes, and Avril? Please go away.

Best New Artist - Wait, Avril, come back. Come back and win this award. If you will I can be assured that you will disappear forever. Please win this award. Not because you are deserving, but so you can save John Mayer from the curse attached to this award.

Female Pop Vocal Performance - Um. I really like that Pink song. Yeah, it's been played out, but so has that Sheryl Crow song. Didn't "Soak Up the Sun" come out two years ago? Or does it just seem like it because Sheryl Crow has been omnipresent in the last year? And while it is technically a better quality song, it's never made me want to shake my groove thing. "Get the Party Started" indeed.

Male Pop Vocal Performance - AKA the Old Men Who Haven't Done Anything of Note Lately Category. Elton John? James Taylor? And Sting? While I attest that "Fragile" is a beautiful song, I refuse to root for you because it seems like you've been coasting on this song for years. It's your "cause" song, and it gets dragged out of the mothballs whenever something tragic happens. I was tired of it when it served as the theme for a very special episode of 21 Jump Street. I'm all for John Mayer on this one. (As cheesy as this song may be, it gives me - to quote Anthony Kiedis - "that funny feeling in my tummy.")

And who is Craig David, anyway?

Pop Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocal - Gotta go with No Doubt here, because that song is unbearably catchy. Behold the power of Gwen.

Pop Collaboration with Vocals - The India.Arie and Stevie Wonder song was used in one of the few holiday commercials that didn't make me cringe. However, it ain't nothing compared to the dancing Joe Boxer guy. My vote's with Tony Bennett and k.d. lang on this one.

Pop Instrumental Performance - Dear Moby: I was going to root for you here, but to honest with you I don't even remember what this song sounds like. I've only listened to this album twice, and all I could think of when I played it was how much it sounded like Play, Part 2. Therefore, I'll be over in the B.B. King section until you choose to write an album that's not a retread of a previous one.

Pop Instrumental Album - Kenny G? John Tesh? Ewwwwww. This is the category of evil, and I will abstain from making a decision here.

Pop Vocal Album - Britney, I don't care if BT produced a few songs on this album. Your fifteen minutes is still up.

As I have not heard any of these albums, I will have to go on hearsay. As previously mentioned, Flounder has recommended Norah Jones, and Zappagirl says that the No Doubt album kicks ass. Advantage: No Doubt, again due to the Gwen quotient.

Dance Recording - Dirty Vegas is immediately disqualified due to that crappy Mitsubishi Eclipse dancing robot girl commercial. Groove Armada gets my vote due to that non-crappy Mitsubishi Eclipse commercial from a few years back. Yeah, yeah, it was for a different song, but... Kylie Minogue is starting to creep me out.

Daniel who?

Traditonal Pop Vocal Album -Tony Bennett, all the way. Bernadette Peters Loves Rogers and Hammerstein? Yes, yes, and Joanie Loves Chachi. I believe that Michael Feinstein merely exists to be nominated for this category. Rod Stewart? What happened to the hard-rockin', spandex-wearing, do-ya-think-I'm-sexy guy?

Female Rock Vocal Performance - Anything, anything, anything but "Sk8er Boi." That song makes my ears bleed, and it's the only one I know in this category. How sad is that?

Male Rock Vocal Performance - AKA the Old Alternative Rock Guys Category. Despite the good things I've heard about Elvis Costello's new material, I'm going with David Bowie here. Roger Mexico played Heathen for me a while back, and it blew me away. I heard the Peter Gabriel song a few months ago, and it didn't leave a lasting impression. Plus I really can't support him until he stops dressing like Dr. Evil.
Not that any of this matters. Bruce is going to win this one, too.

Rock Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocal - I like the U2 song, but isn't it too old for consideration? I've not heard the Aerosmith song, which is surprising since WEBN plays them every twenty minutes (in between the AC/DC and the Led Zeppelin). "Hero?" Meh. Overplayed, and not that great to start with. I know I'm suposed to like Coldplay - they're supposed to be brilliant, but I find them boring. I'm going for the dark horse here - Tonic, the most underrated band around.

Hard Rock Performance - I'm so torn. I really like the System of a Down song, mainly because this is the first song of theirs that I've been able to understand the lyrics without hearing a Richard Cheese cover of it. (Zappagirl: Why did you leave the keys upon the table?) However, my love for Dave Grohl knows no bounds, so I can support a win from Foo Fighters or Queens of the Stone Age.

Metal Performance - No contest in my book. Rob Zombie, because the song kicks major ass, and I'm a little scared of him.

Rock Instrumental Performance - Again, I must respectfully abstain from making a decision here. I know little about this category, and none of the nominees merited more than a "meh" from me.

Rock Song - See above comments about my Dave Grohl love. Foo Fighters, all the way.

Rock Album - As much as I am opposed to an album winning in two categories, BRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCE!!!

Alternative Album - Wait. Elvis Costello had two albums out this year? I am so out of touch. And I'm writing in a vote for Sigur Ros, just because I think they deserve it. In fact, I'm going to go listen to them right now....


You know, maybe I should just quit while I'm ahead. And consider renting a movie on February 23rd to just save myself the pain. Looking over this list was almost as painful as watching Crossroads.

New Year, New Beginnings

Happy New Year, everyone. Here's hoping that all hangovers have subsided by this point just in time for the weekend parties.

The last month has gone by non-stop. Much of it was spent sorting through every last piece of crap in my apartment, trying to decide if I really needed it, and carting off what didn't make the cut down to the apartment complex dumpsters in the wee hours of the morning. It was slow going, seeing as how I was ill for the majority of December, and spent more than one night on the couch desperately clutching a box of Kleenex and waiting for the room to stop spinning at centrifugal force.

My car, of course, decided not to play nice in the relocation proceedings. The day before the movers were to arrive, one of the volunteers at work stopped into my office to report that my car had a flat tire. After calling AAA to change the tire, I was informed that it was just a slow leak, and it would be better to reinflate the tire for the drive home rather than put the spare on the car. (It was raining, and my car is already tiny enough to be hazardous in inclement weather.)

Fine. Good. I had neither the time nor money to replace tires at that point. I still had much of an apartment to pack before 8:30 in the morning.

I pulled an all-nighter and managed to get everything except for the closets sorted and packed. The funniest part of the night had to be when, at 4:15 a.m., my Furby decided to wake up inside the packing box, and chatted happily to itself for an hour. It insisted on telling me how bored it was. I rolled my eyes and hauled another load of crap destined for the dumpster out to the car.

The movers arrived an hour late, determined that they were parked outside of the wrong door (even though the dispatcher had been given explicit instructions about which door would be best to park outside of), and started to move my belongings to the truck. Well, after they used the bathroom. Now, I understand that it's a basic human function and I certainly wasn't going to deny them the use of the facilities, but I had sequestered two very unhappy cats in the bathroom, and I wasn't looking forward to opening that door and then having to catch them again.

After all of the movers had, um, taken care of things and I had tossed the kitties back into the bathroom, I stood in the kitchen swigging coffee (pot #2, for those of you keeping score at home) and listening to the radio. One of the movers (who seemed to be in charge) reminded me that his crew was allowed to accept tips. Yes, Mr. Baggy Pants Mover Boy, I read your contract. I saw the section that you'd highlighted about tips. Reminding me is just tacky.

After all of the furniture and boxes were packed in the truck, I wrote out directions to the new apartment for the movers. Of course, I was wondering to myself why they didn't already have this information. I assumed naïvely that movers were equipped with street maps of the Greater Cincinnati area and had a general working knowledge of the main thoroughfares, so I gave them the directions that used the expressway and major well-marked streets. Any moron could have followed these directions.

I was wrong. These weren't just any morons I was dealing with.

Zappagirl arrived after the movers left with the cat carriers. Now, to say that the kitties were agitated was a gross understatement. After I finally let them out of the bathroom, they were stunned to find an apartment empty of familiar furniture. It took them 45 minutes to adjust to that. And once they had finally stopped hiding in the laundry (still to be sorted - my new apartment has little closet space and required a major paring-down of the wardrobe), we forced them into little boxes and carried them down to Zappagirl's car. I think all of Clifton was aware of Ma Huang's displeasure; he vocalized his feelings at full Siamese volume.

While all of this was going on, my mother called from the new apartment. Apparently the movers were lost, and had taken an hour to make a 10 minute journey. And Mr. Baggy Pants Mover Boy had not only reminded my mother that tips were accepted, he'd also asked if I was single. Mom took one look at the guy, tried to picture him at a family dinner, and made up the oh-so-serious but oh-so-invisible boyfriend.

I love my Mommy.

Mom and I busied ourselves with placing furniture and unpacking a few boxes while Zappagirl played kitty therapist. Kismet wasn't very traumatized and took the opportunity to explore her new home (and "help" us unpack), but Ma Huang was terrified. He laid on the futon, eyes wide and trembling (more than usual).

After the cats had adjusted somewhat, Zappagirl and I went to Best Buy in search of wires to hook up the stereo/DVD player/VCR/TV to the optimal effect. By the time we had arrived back at the apartment, Dad had joined us and took everyone out to dinner.

The following day, my sister and her family arrived to drop off towels and couch cushions. The nieces were more interested in seeing the cats, which was a challenge since the kitties had never dealt with little people before. Allison tried to crawl under the dining room table in hopes of getting to Kismet (Ma Huang had crawled under the couch upon hearing the VERY LOUD doorbell), while Amanda stood back and watched, occasionally commenting, "Kitty! Yay!" (She's a real life blonde version of Boo from Monsters, Inc.)

The next week was spent covering four jobs at work (mine, my supervisor's, housekeeping, and the IT guy... I was only supposed to be logging problems for the contracted service to fix, but a few people seemed to think that I had the knowledge to fix their computer problems). Thankfully it was ridiculously slow, and I spent more than a little time making lists of things I needed to do to make the settling process at the new apartment go smoothly.

The Christmas Eve party at Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's was loads of fun, as usual. Good food, good friends, and much silliness. I drank a bottle of wine and crawled into a sleeping bag in the dining room somewhere around 3 a.m.

Christmas at my parents was wonderful, also. I ate entirely too much too many times, took a nap, read a few books to Amanda, and went out with Dad to rent DVDs for the new player they received from Sydney and Steve.

I spent New Years Eve dying my hair, setting off the smoke alarm (by preheating the oven), and toasting the kitties at midnight with a glass of California champagne. (Cook's now makes 4 packs for those of us who don't want to drink an entire bottle alone.) I also spent the evening taking silly online personality tests at Emode, in hopes of getting some ideas for resolutions for the new year. I didn't get any resolution ideas, but I did find out that my aura is crimson, my "style of sexy" is "sweet & sexy," my flavor is cinnamon, my lucky number is 4, my true color is green, my superpower is animal communication, my party animal style is owl-like, my perfect car is a minivan (NOOOOOOOO!!!), and I'm still single because I don't want to compromise.

So here it is, an hour into the 4th day of 2003, and I'm sitting in my new apartment contemplating the year ahead as well as the one that has past. I feel like I'm starting my life over. This time last year, I was unemployed. I was driving a car being held together by rust, bungee cords, and sheer will. I was a single feline household in a complex near the university with neighbors I'd never bothered to meet.

In the past year, I got a great job working for an organization I actually care about. I got a new car that doesn't leak a puddle of oil every time I park it - and actually learned to drive it. I got to write an article for the monthly Zoo members' magazine (yeah, it was a boring rehash of last year's article, but...). I got a new kitten that quickly turned into a very large cat while retaining her kittenish curiousity. I got the pleasure of watching my nieces grow older, albeit too fast. I discovered the true value of friendship, and learned who I could count on and who would remain questionable the next time I programmed my redial. I learned that I was getting too old for the club scene on a regular basis, and that I much preferred getting together with friends to watch movies and chat over coffee. (An occasional night out dancing is OK, but every week? No way.) I wrote half a novel, and will be getting back to finishing it soon. I moved out of my pseudo-grad student crackerbox apartment into a new building - older, but with character. Kinda the way I want to look at myself when I look in the mirror.

So, all in all, it was (as the Tori Amos song goes) a pretty good year. It's too early to make any judgements about 2003. It's only 73 hours old. I have high aspirations for the path ahead, though. I'm starting from a better place than I was (physically, emotionally, spiritually) a year ago. I suppose that's a start. So to all of you lifestyle pioneers out there, best wishes for a yearful of pleasant surprises from me, Ma Huang, Kismet, and Shirley (who is resting happily in her brand new garage, antidcipating the new tires I plan on buying her tomorrow morning).

(And as a sign, I just received an email from the "questionable redial" person. I'd included him on my New Years greetings list, and he actually emailed me for the first time in six months. Fasten your seatbelts, folks. It looks like this is going to be an unpredictable year.)