Snowy New Year's Eve, as I wait for Chris to get home and our dinner to commence:

I love generic items. Love them. I get a kick out of generic names, and I think I bought the generic Triscuits at Jewel not to save the dollar but because I found the name so giggle-worthy.

Woven Wheats. Isn't that great? I guess that is what they are, but, I don't know. Offering a guest a slice of cheese on a Woven Wheat is bound to raise an eyebrow or two, don't you think?

Time to say good-bye and good-riddance to 2007, a year fraught with tension and stress and mild doses of depression. How my fragile self managed to survive, I'll never be able to explain, but here I am on the edge of a new year with a doting husband, a beautiful house, a crew of wonderfully dry and bitchy friends, and three whole cabinets of hard liquor.

Here are some New Year's Resolutions, most of which I am just making up as I go along.

1. Write one chapter of a book each month for twelve months. By this time next year "Love In The Time of Cheese and Crackers" will be complete.

2. Work further on photography and compiling photos for my on-going "retrospective," as Chris likes to call it. Note: Chris doesn't know what the word "retrospective" means.

3. Finish painting my house, decorate it so that it looks like a page out of some awesome, cutting edge design magazine, continue to be afraid of drinking dark liquids in the living room.

4. Try to be more detail-oriented. My orientation to detail sucks ass. I can't think of a single project, large or small, that I didn't completely half-ass this year. Also, my penmanship is downright terrible.

5. I shall resolve to go to Alaska. Maybe not this year, but eventually. Lately, I am obsessed with all things Alaskan, excluding snow and "Northern Exposure." But, really, I want to take a trip. See this quote I found on an Alaskan travel site:

"On a scale of 1 to 10, I rate Alaska as a 20."-Richard Ulmer, Jacksonville

Well, Richard Ulmer of Jacksonville, you sold me on the idea! Very descriptive.

6. Eat more fruits and vegetables. I think my body received most of the fruit part of the food pyramid from Apple Jacks this year. No, I take that back. I had a banana in March.

7. Try to be more positive. Whenever I feel like grunting or rolling my eyes, I shall instead smile and say something polite, such as "Why, isn't that a pretty dress! It makes you look so slim."

Addendum---

Tara was in the can when we took this picture, otherwise she'd have been right there with us:

I have a picture of me, Carole, and the birthday girl Jessie, but Carole is a complete blur. She looks like an apparition. It's not cool. So, maybe we'll try to recreate the moment next year.

Went to my aunt's house for a holiday party, then left early for a holiday drink with Dan and Meg. I was spending the night at my parents', and I got to the house a few minutes before my mother arrived home from the party. The phone was ringing when I walked in, but I didn't answer it. Not my house anymore, no need for me to be answering their calls. My mother walks in, and I wonder where my dad is. I don't ask, though, and then the phone starts ringing again. This is what I hear from my mother's side of the conversation.

Hello?.... Oh, fuck.... How did I forget.... Fuck!.... Can't you get a ride home with anyone else?.... I don't know, I just left!.... No, I didn't realize.... Fuck, I have to get back in the car?.... Christ. FUCK!

She hangs up and drops another F-bomb. "I left him there," she mutters to me. She had just gotten in the car and driven off without my dad. How she managed to forget that she was married and that she and my dad clearly, obviously, needed to share a car ride home is absolutely beyond me. It's unbelievable, really.

So, if it were me, if I had driven off without Chris and then received a pissed off phone call from him telling me that I needed to come back and get him, I'd immediately get back in the car and go get him, apologizing profusely. My mother? She exhibits not an ounce of urgency or regret. She uses the bathroom, (I can hear her swearing above the sound of her tinkle), comes out, makes some small talk with me (How's Dan? Did he tell you I saw him at the bank?), has a fucking banana and a glass of juice, and then, THEN, after fifteen minutes of screwing around, finally goes back out, starts the car, and goes to pick up my dad.

Stranger than fiction.

I feel bad that Chris has been working six day weeks for the holiday season. He works long and hard, and he doesn't get home until after 10 at night. Meanwhile, my work days have been filled with dicking around, and then having various people buy me drinks after I leave my desk at 4:30, 4:45-ish. And now I don't go back to work until December 27th, while Chris only has Christmas Day off. It feels like I haven't seen him in quite some time, and I won't even be spending tomorrow night with him at our house. The plan is to go "down south" and sleep on my parents' couch. Which, really, is something that he should pity me for. Have you ever tried to get a good night's sleep in my parents' home? Next to impossible. It's not the house itself; it's my mother. She is incapable of just leaving somebody alone, even if it is two in the morning and you've made it very clear that you are dead tired and too drunk to keep your eyes pointed straight. So, really, Chris should feel bad for me. Or at least that's what I'm starting to think.

I saw these icicles hanging from our house, and the first thing that I thought of was one of them dropping off and stabbing either me, Chris, or an innocent delivery man right in the skull. The coroner and the police would be so confused; as we all know from various puzzles, an icicle is really the perfect murder weapon. No fingerprints, and it melts right away. I wonder how often people are killed by icicles. All things considered, probably not often enough.

Nobody really knows what they're doing. I try to tell myself this so I will feel better at work during those times when I have to wing it, to make a guess as to what, exactly, I'm supposed to do and say. I think this is mostly true. I think our entire society and the industries within it are run by people just like me, who spend their days taking good-natured stabs at what is PROBABLY the correct plan of action. We are all clueless. We are all trying to finagle good resolutions to tricky problems, and the path to not screwing up is littered with nothing but our screw ups, our attempts, our estimates, our prayers that somebody will not find out about our mistakes and periods of poor judgment.

The important thing is that our moments of brilliance shine so brightly that they distract from our moments of complete and utter incompetence. I'd like to believe that this is true in my case; of course, I could very well be miles off base. Sometimes I invest so much energy in trying to cover up my wrongs that I end up making them a whole lot worse. It's very much like that shitty wall I painted. It was bad at first, so I tried to slap more paint on it. That didn't help; it just looked worse. By the third layer of paint, I realized that I probably should have just left it alone. Or hung a painting over it. By then, though, it was two coats too late.

I have never really known what I was doing, either in my job, at school, or in my personal life. I have half-assed most everything. My dad used to tell me that if I wasn't going to do something right, then I shouldn't do it at all. If I listened to him, though, I'd never get anything done. And it's not like I get a whole lot done now, as it is. The forensic archives of my life are full of partially finished projects, shoddily assembled bits and pieces, a bunch of garbage in a bag that's punched full of holes. But at least I'm employed. And as long as I don't have to take on anything too complex, I should continue to advance at an acceptably mediocre rate of pay and prestige.

Ugh, this has been the kind of day that makes me want to walk out of the building and never look back. Every time I crossed off an item on my "Things To Do" list, I had to add three more. I'm so tired of Adult Life and Adult Problems and Work Issues. I can't wait to go home and watch Lost. Finally, season three is out, and was it worth the wait? Yes. So much crazy shit happens on that island, and I love it. What's the big mystery of the island? Is it purgatory, is it some big master plan, is it the work of maniacal masterminds with spinal tumors? Is it all a dream? Is it an island at all? What the what!?

I wish I had a big mystery to solve. Instead, I'm stuck with my insignificant daily mysteries, which are much more unexciting. To date, I have solved the following mysteries:

1. Who left the milk out by the sink?
2. Why is the toilet clogged?
3. Is that number a 7 or a 2?
4. What's the deal with Tyra Banks?
5. Why do I keep dreaming about high school, and did I or did I not pass gym class?
6. Who keeps leaving the shopping cart in the bank parking lot?
7. How can I turn a skirt into a shirt?

Just add sleeves!

Dreaming of being stuck on a mysterious island is like my old dream of joining the army. This was when I was back in high school. I thought joining the army would be great! For about a day. Until I realized that the army probably frowns upon sleeping until noon. Thank goodness I talked myself out of that one! Not that the army would have accepted me. I don't weigh enough to give blood (you have to weight 110 pounds, so suck it!), so I doubt I weigh enough to give my life for my country. Although, then again....

Whoops, quitting time!

Five years ago today, Chris and I had our first date. I recently found a picture of the two of us taken two months after we met. We both looked so young; Chris had the face of a baby. Now it's five years later, and we look five years older. I, of course, have aged as gracefully as possible. Moisturize, ladies, that's the key. Chris, he's developed a few subtle lines around his eyes- smile lines, I think people politely call them. But they suit him well. Regardless, when I found this older picture, a nice warm feeling overcame me. So young, so in love, twenty-two and twenty-four. Now look at us. We're five years older and bitching at each other about a clogged toilet.*

But still so in love. To five gut-busting years- and a hundred more.

* I flushed something I shouldn't have. Whoops.

Chris is so funny. He's out there salting the driveway in anticipation of this ice storm we're supposed to get. Our driveway is one car length long and two car lengths wide. If it ices up, it's not a big deal- it'll just help our cars slide out quicker in the morning. But Chris is all about salting it up. He's really taking his role as man of the house seriously- shoveling, salting, talking about fertilizers, sprinklers, something about mulch.

Also: The Ice Storm was a great movie. Rent it tomorrow.

Chris and I drove up to Kenosha yesterday to go to a grocery store so Chris could buy some Wisconsin beer. Kenosha's about half an hour away, which is ridiculous. Anyway, this grocery store, Woodman's, is FUCKING INCREDIBLE. First of all, it's gigantic. It's like the Mall of America! Second of all, they sell EVERYTHING. Every variety of everything. The cheese aisle alone is as long as my parents' house, and almost as wide. Chris almost pissed himself when he found the pop section. Not the pop aisle. The pop section, which is the size of a Radio Shack. Thirdly, the prices are so low, the manager must be crazy! I am doing all of my shopping there from now on. I am renting a moving van once a month, driving to Kenosha, and going nuts. I will have to buy a freezer for the garage, and don't think I won't!

Woodman's. Go there.

Holiday office party last night. I definitely drank too much, which probably wasn't the brightest thing for me to do. At least I didn't fall down. I did, however, sing karaoke at this crappy little bar we ended up at after the "official" party ended. Karaoke in front of your bosses: not the best idea. But, fuck it. I did a duet and sang both the male and female parts myself. I'm pretty sure I also danced with myself as well. My desk will probably be cleaned out for me on Monday morning.

I had the day off today, and I just woke up from one of many naps. Oh, napping, where have you been? I can't remember the last time I was able to enjoy a nap. I feel so dang refreshed right now.

I'm going to try to take one photo every day, at least until I grow weary, which very well may be tomorrow. Here's today's photo entitled The Apples Without Stereo. I can't eat apples. I haven't had an apple in years. But sometimes I buy them just because they're pretty.

I don't know, I really like that new David Gray song I keep hearing on the radio. You know the one- Started talking and the line went dead, never heard a single word you said, you don't have to turn the sound up; babe, I want you from the ground up....

It's very lite FM, but maybe that's the way I'm going? Lately, I've been listening to that new station, the one that advertises itself as lite, but not too lite. Fresh 105.9, I think it is. I've been telling myself that that's because it's the only radio station that just plays music in the morning (I hate morning "talk" shows), but I think it's because I actually like the music. Lord....

This weekend was long. I took off Friday and today for a four day weekend. Trouble is, except for Saturday night, I didn't bother to plan any activities for myself. Today was the worst. Although I did fit in five episodes of "Coupling," so that was kind of good.

On Saturday, Dan and Meg drove up and spent some time with us in our little house. Good times, natch. They really braved the elements to get up here. That's true friendship: risking your life and/or car just to hang out. True friendship is always tested this time of year. I usually fail that test. But that's me, always letting the weather forecast run my life.

Not driving in the snow, listening to lite FM, spending a day off of work watching television.... sometimes I worry about myself.

Oh, by the way, I have a christmas tree. My parents brought one up on Sunday, and I set it up. No ornaments or garlands, just lights. And I didn't have enough lights to work with, so it's a bit uneven. But it has given me an unexpected feeling of pride. It's in the front window of the first house my husband and I have owned, blinking crookedly away as if to say, "Yeah? What of it?"

Doesn't "wintry mix" sound like it would be a good thing? Like it would be a gift basket of hot cocoa, red wine, turkey and gravy, warm sweaters, and gift cards? This is just another way that we are fooled by language. A wintry mix is the worst possible kind of weather: snow and rain and sleet and slush. It is nothing like the good mixes in our lives: Chex Mix, mixed CDs, mixed emotions, Jiffy Mix, mixed drinks. It is the worst kind of mix ever.

And mixed emotions ARE a good thing. They often lead to choices we end up regretting, which in turn fuel art and light amounts of substance abuse.

A customer gave me a $250 gift card to Macy's for Christmas. Just her way of saying, "Sorry for being such a pain in the ass this year." Of course, I accepted her non-verbal apology, and the gift card, then proceeded to call everyone that I worked with to tell them the news. Suck it, losers. That's what I wanted to say, but didn't.

Anyways, I took my gift card to Macy's yesterday. I have never had such a difficult time deciding what to buy. The thing is, I don't think I like Macy's. I didn't like any of their clothes, and the one pair of boots I actually liked, I decided that they weren't worth $100, even with a gift card. Plus, I liked them, but I didn't love them. We could be friends; we could never be lovers.

So, after almost an hour of trolling the racks, I finally decided to go buy some silverware. I found a stylish set of service for four for $35. Good, perfect. The saleswoman gave me 20% off for some reason, which I found mildly irritating, because at this point I just wanted to get rid of the funds on the card. Of course, I could have chosen the more expensive flatware, but it was the style of the $35 set that I really liked- very sleek, these forks and spoons are. I took my silverware and went upstairs, back to the juniors' section. By this point I had already been through the more age appropriate section, but had unhappily discovered that the age appropriate clothes were not only ugly but would not properly fit my thin, quite boyish frame. Back to where the fourteen year olds shop. I was in the juniors' section for quite a while before finally finding a pair of jeans, a black cardigan, a purple turtleneck, and a black "bar-hoppin'" top. Wouldn't you know, another 20% off, PLUS the purple turtleneck was free. Buy one, get one bullshit. I still had well over a hundred dollars left, and I was PISSED.

Back downstairs, and I decided to look at purses. Ugly, ugly, ugly. First of all, I like small, discreet handbags. Nothing with those nasty Coach and other pompous logo patterns that are all the rage. Nothing with any kind of extra bullshit. So, finding a purse is always difficult. But then, I found a purse that I actually liked. Black, small, just the right amount of subtle brown stitching, no logo. It was a hundred bucks, good. I grabbed an overpriced black belt for good measure and headed up to the register.

The purse and the belt were both on sale, then I got the extra 20% off again. When the sales lady told me I still had thirty bucks left, I said, "For crying out loud!" She gave me a surprised look, and I explained that this gift card was the bane of my existence. She didn't seem to pity me.

At this point I had been in Macy's for close to two, two and a half hours. And I had to go to the bathroom really bad, so I just left. I fumed in my car, so fucking irritated. Which is a far cry from how I should have felt about the whole situation, which should have been grateful and excited.

So I still have $30 left, and I think that next time I am at Macy's, I will buy some socks and just call it a day.