2005: Lindsay Said It Would Be My Year, And She Was Right

My good pal Lindsay is a freakin' prophet. 2005 was a good year for me. A lot of stuff happened, but the action was mostly internal. I spent the year getting my shit together. I mean, it's always been about me, but this year it was in a good way. Monica once said she was "exfoliating [her] life" and that's how I feel too. My life got microdermabrasion in 2005. Monica and Lindsay - wise women, those two.

I have a tendency to get lost and howl at the injustice of it all. Howling is fine. You have to howl occasionally. But then you have to stop howling and freakin' eat the caribou. I am devouring the caribou in 2006 and there's plenty to share with the pack. I don't have to eat the whole thing. But I get first crack at it, being the alpha female of my own life.

I'm going to get a CritterCam from those penguin guys and make a wildlife documentary about myself. See you at Sundance!

PS. Love and happiness to you and yours, and lots of mixed metaphors while I'm at it.

100 Blogs of Solitude

Unlike our pal WritingGal, I'm not giving anything away to the 100th commenter. I'm shocked as hell I'm still posting in the first place. Me, I get bored and move on. Like the time I tried to teach myself to crochet. I made a sort of trapezoid about 4x3x2x3 inches. I'm not a crafty gal.

But I like hammering things. I watch The New Yankee Workshop on PBS all the time and I'm amazed by carpentry. And I love how Norm Abrams takes care of every detail. I hate it when people don't miter the corners of their molding properly. I notice those things. But I am so impatient, I can't measure anything because it takes too long. I want it done perfectly, now. I bet I'm a pain in the ass to live with.

I need a haircut, a massage, a manicure, a pedicure and a facial. I'll settle for the haircut and the massage. Someone go make me a cup of tea. God, I'm so high maintenance.

Question: At what point does taking a nap become going to bed at three in the afternoon? Last Thursday, I left work at noon, had lunch with Matt, picked up some DVDs and took a nap on the sofa. I woke up at 9 pm. I slept for about six hours. Is that a nap or did I go to bed and get a short night's sleep? Note: I was not sick, pregnant, drunk or up all night. Discuss.

Should I Wait?

Every year my parents send my presents early and my dad makes me promise I won't open them until Christmas. Since Dis is on her own, she usually ignores him and opens them anyway, except for last year when he made me wait until he was on the phone and could hear the paper tearing. My presents are here. In the trunk of my car. I want to open them. Should I?

Discuss.

Also there's a chance I could go on a blind date with a bald, fat sportswriter. That will definitely be discussed if it comes through.

Merry Christmas!

Oh, The Weather Outside Was Possibly Frightful, But I Wouldn't Know Because I Never Left The Couch.

I missed The Will Clarke Show due to over indulgence. I got your message, Niebaum, but I was too hungover to have a conversation.

I saw Gary Cogill, the movie reviewer, at the Balcony Club with Matt after the book club party and promptly alienated him by proclaiming loudly, "Hey that's that guy from TV! I think his name is Ed Bark!" Ed Bark is the television reviewer, and as far as I know, he doesn't have a show and doesn't go to Cannes. Oops. Gary ran away from me and sat by himself in a booth. I am not good with celebs when I'm hammered. I did the same thing to Babe Laufenberg on my birthday one year.

We also ran into Toaster Boy, who hit on me as usual. Ah Colm, that ship sailed long ago. Actually, it was never launched in the first place.

It was a good book club party. I got Jacquie's book and I haven't read "Snow Falling on Cedars" so I was happy and she was happy and all was right with the world. She's so pretty. What a gal!

I found out Surgeon Steve reads my blog and I'm a little freaked out, but I don't know why. I mean, I know people read this thing and it's not like I'm trying to hide anything. And I'm pretty sure he already knew I was nuts. So everyone say hi to Surgeon Steve!

It amazes me that someone my age and that I know holds lives in his hands every day and still drinks cocktails (not when he's on call) and is normal. Wow. I have accomplished so very little. No, that's not true. I'm fabulous and I bring the flair. And when I'm done with nursing school it'll be like ER and I'll be the nurse who knows everything and he'll be the surgeon with a terrible bedside manor and there will be friendly banter. I love television.

Surgeon Steve and Doctor Kory (who is also a surgeon btw) are good people and I'm glad I know them. I would so let either one of them operate on me if I needed it. Just don't leave a big scar, ok?

Everyone Go To Will Clarke's Reading Tomorrow

Will Clarke, author of "Lord Vishnu's Love Handles" which will soon be made into a feature film, is reading and autographing tomorrow at 3 p.m. at Border's on Greenville at Lover's, across the street from Central Market. (Niebaum, I expect to see you there. I am going to be so hungover.)

Will is a refugee from advertising who wrote his book at the same Starbucks I go to. He is every Dallas advertising employee's secret dream. We will worship him as a god.

Also, BIG NEWS AT DISRESPECCA'S OFFICE!

They fired Sarge last night after he made yours truly and another co-worker cry in the same meeting. First, Dis ran out in tears and slammed the door, then co-worker B ran out in tears and slammed the door harder. Dis was comforted in the ladies' room by Laura the nice woman who cleans up after us. She hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek, but since she only speaks Spanish and I only speak English, I'm not really sure what she said. Co-worker B went straight to Sarge's boss who went to HR and that's all she wrote. It's unfortunate this is what it comes to, but I'm so glad it's over.

Book club Chrismukkah party tonight! Rock on!

What I Want For Christmas

Every year, I go nuts and buy myself an extravagant Christmas present. I kinda did that already this time, so I won't be getting myself anything else. (That's the problem when you go shopping and buy the entire line of Laura Mercier and don't look at price tags on anything. You get a shock when the credit card bill comes.) So due to my grieving through visits to Target and my have-to-look-good-in-Vegas trips to Nordstrom, I believe Christmas is done for Dis.

But if someone else were to get me a present, this is what I would like:

All the DVDs of the great Christmas specials I loved as a kid so I can hang with Yukon, Baby New Year with the big ears, Aeon the bird who kidnapped him, Charlie in the Box, Rudolph, Frosty in his snappy vest, the caveman from the Archipelago of Time whose upper jaw moved instead of his lower jaw, The Abominable Snow Monster, Mr. Heat Miser & Mr. Freeze, young Kris Kringle and the missus and the gang from Peanuts.

Oh the good memories I have of all of them! Back before Christmas got complicated. Before I had to choose between parents. When I believed.

When I watch the shows on TV now, I get a little of my childhood innocence back and it is a precious thing. Having the DVDs would be like having the Christmas spirit in a bottle.

The Dealio With What Went Down With Jersey Frank, For You Pervs Who Want Details

I got back to the casino (The Wynn) after shopping for a couple hours and saw all the girls in the lobby bar with a bunch of guys I didn't know.

I walked up and said, "Hey, kids. What's up?" There was drinking and smoking in progress. The guys on the sofa at the table said "Hey come sit over here!" So I shoved my Neiman's bags under the table and ordered an Absolut Mandarin and tonic, which I didn't pay for.

I had just gotten my makeup done at Laura Mercier and I looked good. I had my hair done in loose braids and pinned up in a sexy mess, which I shook loose in a cascade of blonde waves (at the moment, my hair is really long, like 1997 long) and then the guy to my right said he was Frank from New Jersey and he liked my hair down better than up even though I was hot both ways and 20 minutes later we were making out and people took pictures. We were holding hands or leaving hands on thighs and I was calling him "Sugar." It was pretty much the land speed record for DisRespecca getting a little play, or a Vegas Boyfriend, as I call it. It was 5 in the afternoon and I was sober. I don't know about Frankie, but he was making sense and he wasn't slurring.

Neither one of us was sober when I called him later that night. In fact, he was passed out on the sofa. I have no idea what time it was. I just know we were headed for some crazy underground late night club and I was tired of walking and I didn't know how much further we had to walk and I was cold, and I saw that Caesar's was across the street so I left Gillian with the Canadian cowboy who just got out of jail for armed robbery who was giving her a piggy back ride down the Strip because her shoes where even more ridiculous than mine, and I actually called Jersey Joe's phone number which was written on my arm along with the suite number and told him I was looking for Frankie.

They met me in the lobby and convinced me I would not be killed if I went to their room. I know, technically I'm an idiot, but it turns out I was right because I am still alive and unscathed and everyone behaved like gentlemen, which they had earlier as well.

I think I had a drink. I know I turned the air conditioning down because I was hot and that I get hot when I drink too much. I know Frankie and I kissed on the couch like teenagers for a while. It's all a blur.

I just know I woke up fully clothed and freezing and I was pretty sure that my Laura Mercier had melted down my face at some point and I did not want to be there when anyone else woke up, and my phone was nearly dead at 7 am and I called my dad and told him to pick me up outside Caesar's Palace. Nice suites in that joint, by the way. And it was cold outside, which was good, because I was in bad shape and the cold helped with the nausea.

My dad and step-Linda drove me home and I had to ask dad to pull over on Tropicana so I could get sick. I went to bed and slept until 4 pm. Then I ate some chicken noodle soup, got dressed and went to dinner at Shintaro at the Bellagio where I was the queen of making out with strangers. I win!

ReadBecca Hasn't Been Worth A Damn Lately.

I know. I'm a slacker. But genius cannot be summoned on demand. It's possible ideas are brewing. I'll whip up some amusing commentary soon, I promise.

Did I mention I made out with a guy? I haven't kissed a stranger in forever and it was so fun. I am going to make it a point to do that more often.

Vacation Over. Need A Coffee.

Just yesterday, I was still sleeping at this time, about to wake up in half an hour. I could be eating Lucky Charms right now. Naked. Nah, I'd probably just be in my jammies and not bother brushing my hair. Vacations are good.

I had two days at home after Vegas and I did nothing. I cleaned nothing. I organized nothing. I put up no Christmas tree. I did no chores of any kind. I ate Frito pie.

Yeah, you heard me, and this is something I have long wanted to confess. I like Frito pie. I like it in the chip bag eaten with a spork. I like it from Sonic or DQ. I like the chili homemade or out of a can. I like it with generic corn chips or name-brand Frito-Lay products. I like it with more cheese than Ben Affleck's Christmas card. I like Frito pie and I don't care who knows it.

I also like hot dogs and I don't care what they're made of. I will eat them from 7-11. I will eat them from A&W Rootbeer Restaurants. I will eat them at a ball game. I will eat them grilled on the 4th of July or on any given Tuesday. I will eat them microwaved or boiled if I have to. I will eat them footlong or bun-length. I will eat them from a cart in the street. I like hot dogs and I don't care who knows it.

I do not like Moon Pies, however. I just thought you should know.

Thanks For Making Out With Me, Frank From New Jersey.

I stayed out Friday until 8 am. I spent one dollar. Everyone go to Vegas immediately.

Frank has pretty eyes and is an excellent kisser. I would definitely kiss that kid again, if I had the chance.

He let me boss him around a bit. I should have married him.

He didn't believe I am almost 35. I should have given him a son.

I also robbed the cradle a little. I think he was 28. I may start collecting younger men. Remember Clayton from Atlanta? (I don't know how to do internal links so look up the archives from last summer.) I am so going to be Mrs. Robinson.

Vegas bottom line: An excellent time. I only wish I hadn't been too hung over to go to Light, but that's a whole other story.