No resolutions for 2009. I have the overarching desire to simply "be a better person," but I've made the occasional vague attempt at being sweet and nice in the past, and nothing's ever come of it. I think I just have to accept that I'm not the good, kind, generous, wonderful, caring person that I'd like to be. I'm selfish and mean-spirited and enjoy making fun of people. I live by the seven deadly sins, especially sloth. And gluttony. Sometimes wrath. Lust, not so much in my post-newlywed years, but every once in a while, sure. I don't think I suffer terribly from pride, as I mostly hate myself, but every once in a while I will admit that I think something I've said or done is pretty damn awesome. Let's see, what sins have I forgotten to mention here? Greed and envy? Oh, hell yeah.

Anyway, here's to a happy 2009 nonetheless. In my mind, I've composed a 2009 poem. 2009 rhymes with wine and whine and dine and swine and malign and everything's-just-fine. So, since it basically writes itself, I'll spare myself the chore of typing it out.

First we did the Death Clock thing at work, and then we started talking about 2012. I've been convinced for a while now that world as we know it will come to an end on Dec. 21, 2012, but I usually manage to keep my views about this out of ordinary, everyday conversations. Today, though, it was all we could talk about for the last half hour of the work day. This led to a lot of internet surfing, and I found this handy list of what might happen when the Mayan calendar finally comes to an end:

Human

• Flu Pandemic
• Nuclear War / WW3 / Biological War
• Large Hadron Collider
• Nanotechnology
• Religious Apocalypse
• Nuclear Accident
• Rise of the Machines
• Genetic Modification
• Time Travel Error

From Space

• Nearby Supernova
• Explosion from the black hole at the center of our galaxy - read about how something similar could have caused the recent tsunami
• Gamma Ray Burst (GRB)
• Asteroid/Meteor/Comet
• Coronal Mass Ejection (CRE) from our Sun
• Cosmic Rays
• Solar System Falls Apart (butterfly effect)
• Alien Invasion

From Earth

• Magnetic Pole Shift
• Crustal Pole Shift
• Supervolcano - ie Yellowstone
• Ice Age
• Global Warming

First, let me just note that this list is in Comic Sans on this guy's website, which basically wipes out any credibility he may have had on this subject, or any other subject. Now, let's look at the list.

Some of these items, I could actually look forward to with a good deal of excitement, such as time travel error and alien invasion.

Some of these items just seem ridiculous, such as rise of the machines (really?) and ice age (Al Gore, anybody?).

Other ideas, they seem completely plausible: flu pandemic, global warming, asteroid, and nuclear war.

Other ideas, they don't seem as plausible, but I can still imagine a scenario in which they occur. I'm talking magnetic pole shift, religious apocalypse (Apocalypse? Now?!?), that collider thing, and genetic modification.

And that brings me to my favorite one, the one in which the universe simply falls apart (butterfly effect). This one is just plain fascinating, and not because I kinda liked that Ashton Kutcher movie. Oh no, that "Butterfly Effect" will have nothing on this one. I'd actually be interested in seeing the graph of this, how a series of incidents originating from maybe you, maybe me, dropping a doughnut on the sidewalk on a Tuesday could ultimately result in the universe collapsing. I love that butterfly effect bullshit, and I'm almost completely willing to sacrifice the world and life as we know it just to see how it might go down. The only problem with that, though, is that I wouldn't see how it would go down- I'd just wake up one morning, get in my car, turn on the radio, start making a mental grocery list, and then- OH SHIT WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ONNNNNNNNN??????? Poof.

Anyway, maybe 2012 will come and go, and we'll all be left here feeling slightly jilted. But maybe not. The clock- the real death clock- is ticking down. Where will you be on 12/21/12? Taking a vacation day from work, I hope. Because there's no way I personally am going in that day- at the very least, I'm sleeping in.

One of the Christmas gifts that I received was a Wii game called "Order Up!" It's one of those stressful cooking/ restaurant games that I love so much, the kind of game that makes me wonder why I didn't pursue a career in the fast food industry, since I'm so dang good at managing time, efforts, ingredients, etc. I could have had a stellar career at McDonalds, I suppose, if only I had really put my heart into it back in high school where I slaved there for my $5.15 an hour. Then again, the amount of stress that I put on my complexion alone wasn't worth the $5.15, much less a whole lifetime of oil-slicked skin for a career max of maybe $28k a year, tops. Anyway, I digress. What I meant to originally say was that I got this game, "Order Up!" that is supposed to come with a paper chef's hat. The idea is that you wear the paper chef's hat while playing as to look like a really big retard and to have your husband laugh at you for hours on end. And, I gotta tell you, I was really looking forward to tearing into that game and putting on that hat. However, somebody at the game factory messed up, because my copy of "Order Up!" did not come with a hat. This is unacceptable, and I'm considering writing a letter. In the mean time, I suppose I will play "Order Up!" while wearing a homemade hairnet that I plan to fashion from some old nylons. That's called "making do."

It's 8:00 PM on Christmas, and a sense of relief has washed over me. It's over, and I'm glad. But I wasn't always like this- when I was a kid, 8:00 on Christmas night would be filled with disappointment. Why couldn't Christmas last forever? Why couldn't it be every day? I don't know when I changed into such a grump, but it's clear that I have. And not just in regards to the holidays- in regards to life. I'm constantly trying to get things "over with." And I don't want to be that person, at least not all the time.

I found out my cousin is pregnant, nine weeks along. And what I felt upon learning this was something very akin to jealousy. I'm not sure why I'm admitting this so openly, especially when I'm not sure that it was envy, but it was a notable feeling that hit me rather powerfully, right in the gut. Actually, in all probability, it could have been gas. I've consumed a lot of food in the past two days. You know the bad thing about Italian food? Three days later, and you're hungry all over again. I saw that on an apron, and I thought it was pretty funny. So, while I'm turning into a grump with odd maternal/ digestive issues, it also appears that I'm turning into the kind of person that finds sayings on aprons humorous. That's great, just great. Somebody put me out of my misery already.

Because I'm what you might vulgarly call a "Snow Pussy," I almost canceled last night's plans with Carole due to the storm that hit on Friday morning. I didn't, though, and despite the fact that some of the roads were still pretty bad out here, I got to her apartment in just over an hour. All things considered, I actually made excellent time.

And I'm so glad I put my fear of snow driving behind me, because Carole and I had a great time. She took me to see The Screwtape Letters at The Mercury Theater, and it was an excellent show. Carole's on the same "I-need-to-get-more-cultured" kick that I am, and we agreed that next time I go downtown to hang, we'll either see another play or find a gallery opening to visit. We also had a great dinner at some Cuban restaurant near her place, did quite a bit of bar-hopping, and ended up closing the last bar down that we hit. It's about twelve hours later, and I think I still might be a tad bit tipsy. All in all, a successful night.

I just finished up my Christmas shopping, and now I have the rest of the day alone. Chris is out for the entire day with some of those dudes he knows, and I've got a nice little plan cooked up for myself. Step one, make a pound of cheese fries. Step two, go put on my robe and slipper socks. Step three, open a bottle of wine. Step four, pop in a movie. Step five, enjoy all of those things at once. I know, I know- it's hard not to wish you were me right now.

MV is getting shipped off to the Schaumburg branch, which means I'll have a new partner in crime at work. I think (fingers crossed) that it will be Gigi. I can work with Gigi; Gigi and I can get shit done and, more importantly, have a good time together while accomplishing aforementioned shit. However, yesterday I heard that our supervisor was still interviewing for the position. And that she was interviewing (are you ready for this?) TWO BOYS.

I can't work with a boy. I can't train a boy, I can't depend on a boy, and I can't have the same "wow-we're-ovulating-at-the-same-time" camaraderie with a boy. There are so many things wrong with having a boy co-worker that I barely know where to start. But let me try.

1. Our bosses are men. And I don't want to get all sexist on your ass, but it's against the order of things to have two male bosses and then one female assistant and one... boy... assistant. Our bosses can't charm a boy the way that they can charm us females. They can't introduce a boy assistant to their clients without silently admitting that the system got fucked up somewhere along the way. See, we do things "Mad Men" style at the bank (sans the Scotch). We females sit in front of our guy bosses, and we laugh at their jokes, and we, let's be honest, basically become their work wives, and there's no fucking way that some boy is going to be able to slip into that shoe. It'll just be wrong, and it won't work for anyone- the boy included.

2. Me and my new MV replacement, we're going to be spending a lot of time together. Eight hours a day, to be exact. And if this MV replacement is a boy, we're going to have the following boy/girl problems:

2A. I won't be able to talk about my inner-most feelings and female body issues with a boy. And I need that in a co-worker, I just do. How do you talk about menstruation leakage with a boy? About sore boobs and scenarios involving John Cusack, circa 1998, and an empty, clean but still sleazy, motel room? You don't. I won't. And, heaven help me, work is where I get MY THERAPY.

2B. There's a very real possibility that this BOY might develop a crush on me. Let's be honest here, I'm pretty desirable. Not because I'm super hot and put out or anything, but because I'm so damn funny and interesting and full of great stories that don't at all pointlessly meander into nothingness. It's happened before at work. Boys who work at the bank just like me. And I don't have time to be dealing with my closest coworker lusting after me. I have stuff to get done. And that shit's tiring.

3. Boys are lazy. Don't try to argue, they are. And I'm not picking up the slack for some lazy boy. I'm just not doing it.

4. There are things you have to worry about when you work with a boy, as opposed to working with a girl. You have to worry about cleavage (well, not me specifically, but girls in general) and balancing the right line between smart and pretty. You have to worry about whether or not you can be honest about the big poop you have to take. You have to worry about your freesia body spray not smelling like ass. About having a boy judge you based on your girlness and vice versa. About acting like a bitch or a cunt. About all of those normal attitude things that another girl will just brush off while a boy- a boy will automatically attribute to PMS. And, again, that shit's tiring.

So I'm not sure what will happen if Gigi doesn't get the job and some punk boy shows up instead. I have him already pictured in my head as some blond boy doofus with spiky hair and a penchant for trying to get away with things just by winking. This imaginary boy scares the crap out of me, and I may possibly scare the crap out of him, what with all my adjusting of my imaginary cleavage. It'll be a problem. Work is hard enough- give me a girl, for chrissakes. Someone that I can ovulate with, someone who won't judge me by my ass or try to flirt their way out of problems. Someone who I can be myself with, someone to whom I can say, without feeling ashamed, "Hold my calls- I have to spend some quality time in the big stall."

1. Chris and I celebrated six years of being together last weekend. It was our "date-iversary." Six years is a pretty long time, and we've definitely grown throughout the years. Whether or not we've grown "our separate ways" is something that will remain to be seen. Ah, but I jest. It's been a good six years. The best six years of my life. Of course, I'm only 28, and I don't remember the FIRST six years of my life, and nobody in their right mind would ever choose their high school years as part of the best years of their life, so really- I don't have a whole lot to go on here. But let's just say we're still happy and in love and we haven't killed each other yet and really only average about one fight per year (spats don't count, nor does bickering), soooo- what else can you really ask for?

2. Christmas is next week, and I have about nine-six percent of my shopping done. I realized today that we didn't get Chris' Grandma anything yet, but I'm not too worried. Walgreens is open on Christmas, I'm sure we'll find her something nice there. Cold medicine, perhaps, or batteries? What do grandmas like more: AA or AAA?

3. Polly the Cobalt actually handles worse in the snow than Harriet the Cavalier did. I didn't think it was possible, but Polly slips and slides all over the place. And, because Polly is equipped with a fancy dashboard system full of all sorts of concise, yet important, messages, she is constantly blinking out the words LOW TRACTION. That refers to my tires, I think. And this little yellow icon of wavy tire marks in an orange triangle blinks on and off like crazy as well. I'm pretty sure that icon means basically the same thing as LOW TRACTION, but, either way, it's a distraction that I don't need while I'm tunnelling my way down Rt 12. The thing about Harriet was that, while she was a death trap, she didn't really distract me. No warning images or messages, no horrible noises or bells or whistles, no little plug-in thing for I-Pod, no automatic adjusting of my lights. And we got where I needed to go while ignoring the fact that I was only seconds away from careening into a ditch. Polly, she's annoying. And she handles like a go-kart. I'm thinking about getting sandbags for my trunk, but since the word "sandbag" makes me giggle, I can't actually see going out and getting some. Where does one buy sandbags anyway? The sandbaggery?

4. Chris gave me this book that he thought I would enjoy reading. It's something about Robin Hood and Sherwood Forest. The first thing I thought was, "Lame." The second thing I thought was, "He's turning into my dad." Because my dad always got me stupid boy books to read (mostly Jack London and old Westerns) and, I gotta tell you, it almost turned me off to reading entirely. Nay, it almost turned me off to the English language. But here I am. Here I am.

I've always hated this fucking guy. Good fucking riddance.

Things I've Learned About Babies From Sixteen Straight Hours of Jacob-Care

1. The reason that Lauren left out so many outfits for Jacob is because he needs them. When you try to change a baby's poopy diaper, poop will get everywhere. Especially on the person changing the diaper.

2. Babies will let you know when they are done eating by throwing food at you and then by performing a combo spit-up/vomit move, complete with a burst of demonic laughter.

3. Babies don't like to be put down for a nap, but if you turn off the baby monitor and try your best to block him out, the aforementioned baby will eventually sob himself to sleep.

4. When the baby wakes up, he will let you know by screaming as if he's been hurt. When you run into his room, he will look at you, instantly stop screaming, and lift his arms as if to say, "Now pick me up, you asshole."

5. If you try to build something with the baby's blocks, he will insist on knocking them down, thus ruining what would have been a kick ass replica of the Chicago skyline. Douche.

6. Babies like to be sung to, and if you don't know the words to any baby songs, you can just as easily sing Soundgarden.

7. You'd think that anything on the TV would keep the baby's attention, but you'd be wrong. He only wants to watch Sesame Street. And Sesame Street is actually pretty hysterical these days. Elmo taught the kids about balls. Elmo talking about balls was awesome.

8. Babies will laugh hysterically when it is just the two of them and you are acting silly. Later, when your husband stops by, you will try to do the same silly act all over again to show your husband how funny the kid thinks you are. With that extra adult in the room, baby simply glances at you as if you are bat shit nuts. Babies make you into a liar.

9. Baby likes to pee while you are in the middle of changing his diaper. Nice.

10. Baby likes to drool, but he doesn't like his drool wiped away. Baby's whole shirt will get soaked in his own drool, but baby won't mind a bit. Even when you remind him how disgusting he is.

11. Babies only want to touch what they're not supposed to. And, after a while, you'll let him touch everything. You don't care. What time is his father coming home anyway?

12. Babies eat dirt off the carpet. Babies also eat bits of Kleenex. The Kleenex will be your little secret.

13. When baby is warm and quiet and all nestled in your arms while watching Sesame Street, a strange, maternal feeling will make you feel all needy and aglow. Then, when baby tries to roll off the changing table with a fistfuls of his own excrement in his hair and all over his tummy, that strange maternal feeling will turn into something close to loathing. You're lucky that babies don't know what you're saying. You hope baby's first word won't be cocksucker.

14. Babies are good at climbing up stairs. Not so good at climbing down.

15. Don't forget to put the bib on the baby when you're feeding him. Don't forget twice.

16. Cats hate babies and will likely shit right next to baby's toys. True story.

Here I am at Lauren's house.  She's having her second brain tumor removed today, and I am baby-sitting little Jacob.  We have a long day ahead of us.  I've been here since five a.m., and I'm not going home until well after Jacob's  had his bath and been put to bed.  I won't lie- I'm a bit apprehensive.  I've never been alone with a baby for more than a few minutes, and I'm hoping that I don't forget to do something important today, like feed or change him.  Luckily, there's post-it notes everywhere to remind me to do various things.  Lauren was thorough- she even put post-its on the different kinds of coffee that they have.  "Kind of a spice blend," says one post-it on a bag of Starbucks' finest.  "Kind of a mild blend," says another post-it on a different bag.  Strangely enough, she put the post-its right over the spot where the manufacturer had already labeled the coffee.

Jacob will be waking up soon (it's a little after seven a.m.) and then the fun will begin.  Lauren put all of his clothes downstairs in the family room, and I've already picked out his outfit for today from the pile of no less than ten pairs of pants and over a dozen shirts.  So many options!  The shirt I picked out has a dinosaur on it.  Babies like dinosaurs, right?

I just hope that the kid doesn't take one look at me and start wailing in fear.  I just hope that he doesn't pee on my face when I try to change him.  I just hope that we can keep the drooling and spit-up to a minimum today.

Time to start getting breakfast ready.  Do babies like breakfast burritos with ham and cheese?

My sister decides to stop into my mother's part time job, a department store in Orland. So, she walks into the store and starts asking if anybody knows where Nancy is. A lot of the employees are seasonal, and they claim not to know a Nancy. Finally, one kind soul says to my sister, "Can you describe her?" And my sister, struggling with how to put our mother into words, replies, "She's tall... kind of a weirdo...." The kind soul then interrupts her and says, "Oh, yeah, I know exactly who you're talking about!" And she leads my sister directly to my mother.

Tall. Kind of a weirdo. There it is in a nutshell, my bloodline.

All of this news about the unemployment rate has really got me down. I think my job is pretty secure, but who knows! This small element of uncertainty has me thinking that maybe I should take steps at work to make sure that I become INTEGRAL to the day-to-day operations, that I am, essentially, IRREPLACEABLE. But how to go about this new plan of attack? What can I do to make sure that everybody and their manager knows that the company now lives and dies based on whether or not I'm seated at my desk? There's not a whole lot of options here- at the end of the day, I'm probably really replaceable- which has led me to another train of thought. I simply need to out-work my peers. To make sure that I do at least 110% of everything that they do, 110% better. That way, when the hatchet falls, I'm still safe since I'm obviously more awesome. A good way to accomplish this might be to try to get here on time in the morning. I could also try to keep my lunch break confined to the allowed 60 minutes. I probably shouldn't purchase shoes online at Kohl's while I'm "working." And I should use my email system only for business purposes. Finally, I should probably keep the at-work blogging to a minimum.

Hmm. Crap. So far today, I'm batting zero.