The good news is that the season premiere of "Lost" was on tonight. The bad news is that there's a foot of snow outside and the Winter Storm Warning is until six. PM. Tomorrow.

I would love snow if I didn't have a life to lead. If I were spending the weekend in a cottage in northern Wisconsin with nothing but endless bottles of wines, a hot tub, great movies, a couple of good books. Let it snow, fuckers, is what I'd say. I'd scream it to the sky. Bring it on. Unfortunately, I am not spending the weekend in a cottage. And the snow that we've had this season? Much more than a weekend's worth. I think I read today that this is the fourth snowiest winter on record for the past 25 years. No word on the 25 year period before that.

Aside from Dan and Meg coming up for a fun sleepover party on Saturday, this week has been relatively uneventful. Relatively. Granted, there was turmoil, but it was mostly self-contained. Mostly.

I am now getting word of the day emails. These emails will hopefully improve my vocabulary, inspire me to use language in new and exciting ways, and kill 15 seconds every day at work. However, I have already forgotten today's word of the day. I think it had something to do with driving a taxi.

Sigh. Spring, where are you? I have a bad case of the winter blues.

While the rest of them dudes were'a gettin' their kicks,
Boy I beg your pardon, I was getting mine....


While the rest of them dudes were making their bread
Boy I beg your pardon, I was losing mine

Chris got rid of The Chinaman (his old car, called The Chinaman because of The Big Lebowski and not some weird hang-up / obsession) and bought himself a semi-new G6. My period of mourning over The Chinaman was over and done with after a mere three seconds. Chris, I think he misses his old piece of crap. However, I know I will desperately miss my Harriet (our ten year anniversary is coming up) after I am forced to give her up, so I will not pass judgment on the slightly teary look Chris got when he handed over the keys for the "trade-in" which effectively lowered the G6 cost by... $200. The gas alone in the car should have been worth an additional $30, but we didn't argue as we're not combative people.

I wore a corsage this week at the Officer Reception. I can't remember my thirty second acceptance speech because I went to my Happy Place immediately upon walking to the front of the room. I could have said anything in front of all those suits- not really sure what came out of my mouth, hope I didn't mention that my button had recently popped off my pants and the only thing separating my ass from their eyes was a poorly timed exhalation or hip swivel.

"One Nation Under Blog" was the second worst Second City revue I've ever seen. They didn't mention blogging at all.

Chris baked a cake this week: a flourless chocolate masterpiece with a blackberry reduction, whipped cream, and chocolate shavings. I always love him a little more when he creates something in the kitchen. That was a nice night- Chris made a seafood dinner, the cake, we watched a movie ("Year of the Dog," in which Molly Shannon surprisingly didn't annoy me), and then ended the evening with a few turns of karaoke. Oh, the life we lead. How I love it.

MV and I went to Steve and Barry's this week where I finally checked out the Bitten line. Holy cow, what a deal. I'm wearing one of Sarah Jessica Parker's sweaters right now, a cozy black number snagged for $8.98. I wish I could go back in time a few months and invest in Steve and Barry's- if the stock price hasn't soared already, it will. SJP, you've started a revolution. You've latched onto my heart (which I wear on my wallet) and pulled, pulled, pulled.

Also, I'm very excited about the $1200 Chris and I are going to get for the rebate plan the government is working out. Somehow, it seems fiscally irresponsible on the government's part, but I don't care. I want my money. Add our tax refund to that amount, and here's what we can do with the cash:

1. Make one mortgage payment.
2. Buy two things at Steve and Barry's.
3. Not beat ourselves up if we accidentally leave a light on in the living room before going to bed.

The good life, it's right here!

I don't know where I've been this past decade, but Frances Bean Cobain is turning 16 this year. How is this even possible? Here she is in her daddy's clothes:


I don't know, but I feel like something is wrong with little Frances wearing Dad's clothes. I hate it. DNA or not, nobody should be wearing his sweater, his pajama pants. Although, I suppose it's better than if Courtney were wearing them.


God, that skanky, dirty whore. The worst of the worst.


Courtney claimed Heart Shaped Box was written about her vagina. I refuse to believe that.

One Nation Under Blog- this Saturday at the Metropolis in the fair suburb of A.H. Looking forward to it; surely, they will pull me on stage during this Second City production and ask me to say a few words about the state of blogging, the nation, etc.

What I'm not looking forward to, despite having tickets to a show that I've been eagerly awaiting since August (lame, I know), is the fact that it's going to be negative fifty degrees this weekend. The kind of cold where they tell you to leave your bathroom faucets dripping water just to be certain your pipes don't freeze. I don't know why, but making sure that my faucets are dripping water during the winter always makes me feel like kind of a loser. Even though a loser would be the person that DOESN'T leave their faucet dripping, thus resulting in thousands of dollars in property/structural damage.

Ugh. I hate Illinois. And not just because of the weather. Rod Blagojevich sucks. And I hope I spelled his ridiculous last name wrong because he's not worthy of having me actually look it up. Although apparently he is worthy of that explanatory last sentence. Nuts.

Good weekend. First off, borrowing Zelda: Twilight Princess for the Wii. It feels so good to be back in Hyrule, slicing shit up with my sword. Secondly, Monk and Psych are both back on the air with new episodes. New television shows, how I've missed you.

Then we have the great friends I got to hang out with this weekend. Gigi, pictured below, made a delicious dinner last night. The kind of dinner that you go to bed thinking about, wondering if you will ever have such a grand meal ever again. The sauce for the salmon looked pretty simple, but I know if I were to attempt it, I'd end up having to dump it into the trash and get out the ketchup bottle instead.


Then, today, brunch with Brian. He's an expecting father, you know, and I found out today that he's naming his kid Jack. After me! Well, he didn't say in so many words that it was after me, but let's call a spade a spade. I'm pretty worthy of having a namesake.

After brunch, we went to have coffee. At the coffee house, a father called out to his three year old son, "Christopher, are you going to eat your scone?" Brian said what I was thinking: that will never be a question that either of us will ever ever ask our respective kids. What kind of namby pamby kid eats a scone? Brian stated that a more realistic question for him will be, "Jack, are you going to eat your T-bone?" For me, it will be, "Hey loser. Stop eating crumbs from the couch cushions."


Brian's a good friend, great guy, going to be a wonderful dad. Jesus, I'm still not over the fact that I have friends having babies.

Also, if you're wondering why Brian looks gigantic in that picture, it's because we got seated at the children's table in the coffee house. "Adults sit here, too," the waitress assured us. Nonetheless, I didn't tip very well.

When The Lights Went Down- Clare Bowditch and The Feeding Set

This song reminds me of another song, but I can't place my finger on which one. Maybe it reminds me of every song. In the beginning, though, she says "This won't bring our dog back," which makes me think of The Simpsons. Eating dog food, so your tears smell like dog food, so maybe your dog will come back.... Damn, I almost had him eating dog food!

My promotion is going straight to my head, I can feel it already. I'm just so pleased at being nominated in the first place. Four fucking weeks of vacation helps as well. Plus my five "floaters," that's five weeks, bitches. Five! Of course, in some countries that would be considered a pittance, but in this country, I'm golden. My dear Chris only has two. Oh well, sucks for him.

I have a new TV show I'm obsessed with- Anthony Bourdain's "No Reservations." Have you seen this crazy shit? Oh, the disgusting things that other people eat. Oh, the dry and sardonic commentary. Chris hates the show. He thinks Anthony is a typical "New Yorker," whatever that means. I think Chris simply doesn't realize that a person eating a pig anus is just plain GOOD TELEVISION.

Started reading a Dean Koontz book. What's the deal with that guy? I think I hate him.

I had a dream that my uncle needed a brain transplant- from me- in order to survive his chemo. I told him no. He got all pissed, said it was going to be my fault when he died, and then drove off. I ran after him down the street and told him I couldn't give him my brain- I couldn't. I was pregnant, and I needed to "think for two." Then I panicked that he would tell my parents that I said that and that they would think I was pregnant. Because I was lying. I wasn't thinking for two. I just didn't want to give him my brain. Nothing personal, I love my uncle- but if I gave him my brain, then I'd have to take somebody else's brain, and who knew what kind of brain I'd end up with? Next thing you know, promotion off and I'm bagging groceries at the Dominick's while yammering inanely about why I like peas.

"Significant career milestone" today- got promoted to Officer! This is a huge deal for those of you that don't work at my company. I now have stock options! Among other things. I do wish that one of my new perks included my own bathroom, but patience is a virtue. One day, friends, one day.

I'm wondering when the phrase "Next order of business" will get old as I relish life in my new, more authoritative role. Probably never.

I got approached for another freelance job. I thought the marketing company had written me off after my attempt at funeral writing, but now they want me to create some "edgy" copy for a health care company. What's with this niche of the sick and dying that I seem to have found myself in? I suppose it's neat. Although I'm not sure what she means by "edgy." "Edgy" is one of the words we throw out there to sound cool and with it, but it has as much meaning as "out of the box" or "climate change."

Regardless, at least I keep them coming back. I have a few things to do for the local "newspaper" that I occasionally contribute to, and while it's stressful to have homework, it's also swell to have a few extra bucks in my pocket.

I just discovered Josh Ritter, by the by. I really like his stuff, and I found a completely legal mp3 on his site for "To The Dogs Or Whoever." I have about a dozen of his songs now, and I really like most of them. Here's the link to the mp3 in case you're interested. One of his better, but not his best.

To The Dogs Or Whoever (mp3)

My life is currently plagued by bathroom problems. At work yesterday, the sewers all backed up, and the nastiest stench of shit permeated our air. The smell was so thick that we could see it, and MV is pretty sure she tasted it. Our desks, MV's and mine, are right next to the bathrooms, so it was most unbearable for us. As a sidenote, I've never liked sitting by the bathroom. From my seat, I tend to notice who goes in and out and how often they stay inside. This is not only distracting, but it's led to the formation of strong opinions against some of my co-workers. There's one lady in general who I am certain must have some major intestinal issues. Actually, it might have been she that singlehandedly backed up the sewers.

Regardless, MV and I, after coming very close to vomiting, parlayed this into a reason to leave work early. Which was nice, because we had already had standing plans to meet some other people at a bar, and this gave me an ample head start on absorbing a few glasses of social lube before the others showed up. I don't think either of us smelled like the nasty shit stench; at the very least, nobody said anything.

Then, today, after turning an "hour project" of painting my loft into a five hour disaster, I went to use my toilet. I was exhausted, covered in paint, and when the toilet bowl began to overflow after I flushed it, I just about cried. I sprang into action pretty quickly, though, after my initial shock, and I ran downstairs, grabbed two rolls of paper towels, and then ran back upstairs to begin the task of soaking up the pee/toilet water that was in the process of flooding my floor. First I took my clothes off , throwing them backwards into the bedroom, and then began the degrading and ever attractive chore of sopping of the mess. Luckily, only liquid was involved. I would have had to put the house up for sale if it was anything else.

I called Chris on the phone after finally getting the floor cleaned, feeling as drained as my toilet was full. "Did you flush something down there today?" he asked.

"No, nothing, just my poop," I replied, and we had a good snicker for a moment or two. Poop. Poo. Doody. Excuse me.

"Well, I guess we'll have to call a plumber," he said, and I thought, how do you call a plumber? Just at random out of the Yellow Pages? How much does a plumber charge, how do you know if he is reputable, is it true that his butt crack will show while he does his work, how do you start a conversation with a plumber on the phone? Hi, my name is Jackie, and I'd like to take a dump in my master bath as soon as possible, so can you make it today between 12 and 2? Bring a mop and gloves.

After hanging up with Chris, I did some plunging on my own. There I was on a Saturday afternoon, in mismatched underwear, with purple paint streaked on my arms and face and toilet water splashing onto my legs . And I thought, this time I don't get to leave early to go to the bar. I'm a homeowner. I might have to call a plumber.

Yikes.

I was reading the "Offbeat" news on Topix.com when I come across this especially "offbeat" headline:

Husband Mistakes Wife For Intruder, Kills Her

I thought "offbeat" meant ironic, amusing, whimsical. Tigers giving birth to baby pandas. Automobiles powered by Kool-Aid. A man on his way to return pants and then falling in a puddle of mud on the way to the store, dirtying THE VERY PANTS HE WAS GOING TO RETURN. But a husband thinking his wife is a robber and shooting her? Dude.

Also, I found this headline in the same "Offbeat" section:

Teens Charged In Double Slaying

It seems the offbeat news section is losing its appeal as the one safe, lightly buttered news source I thought I had left. I might as well be reading the police blotter of the Trib for my daily jollies.

On a different topic, Chris wants kids. In fact, he wants this kid:

Jordan brought the babies over for New Year's. Yes, babies- he has two. And this is Chris bonding with the littlest one. Excuse the quality of the picture, which was taken on Jordan's picture phone. There's something about seeing Chris provide nourishment for a squirmy little sack of fat and bones that kind of makes my heart ache a little. I think I'll give Chris his own baby one day. It'll be his birthday present AND his Christmas present. For 18 years.