MOAM's Best & Worst of 2007

I've been reading all of these Top 10 lists and I realized, Hey! I've been blogging all damn year, I should do my own Top 10s. It was kind of tough putting it together, because I know I've left stuff out. There are things I find exciting in different ways that didn't make the lists, but are certainly worth a mention: Katie getting pregnant, or the little earthquake we experienced. That said, here they are, for better or worse:

Top 10 Best Things That Happened in 2007:

10. I reconnected with nature in Lewiston and tasted the best French toast I've ever had.
9. B and I bought new cars.
8. Our lovely friends had us over for wonderful meals to celebrate birthdays and holidays (I know this one is a cop-out). It was at one of these that we discovered a new, wonderful game: Baseball Cards.
7. Rock of Love
6. Mike & Tanya's bachelor/bachelorette party in Vegas
5. Mike & Tanya's wedding
4. My birthday. I took the day off and got a massage.
3. Our anniversary. We went to the Ritz.
2. Brendan's IPO.
1. I found out I'm not dying.

Top 10 Worst Things That Happened in 2007:

10. I got my first two gray hairs.
9. Our cupboards were momentarily infested with moths.
8. We were forced to cancel two vacations.
7. We were both in car accidents in our brand new cars.
6. I dieted fruitlessly.
5. My new company bought my old company and now I work back in the same office I was trying to get away from.
4. Endless doctors visits.
3. My sister was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.
2. Rahim died.
1. Putting B's grandma in a home.

So it's all a little overwhelming to think all this stuff happened in the space of one little year, but it's also gratifying because sometimes it seems as though the years fly by and you wonder what happened to it and whether you managed to actually accomplish anything.

What's this gift telling me?

Hubs and I gave each other the same gift this year: A book titled "What's Your Poo Telling You?" I'm not sure what this says about our relationship.

I have discovered a new, wonderful web site.

It's sort of like the "blog" of unnecessary quotation marks, except meaner!

There's truly something about Christmas that brings out the worst in people. Well not Christmas, specifically, but certainly the holidays and the pressure of getting everyone on your list the right gifts and coordinating visits to seldom-seen family members' homes. To top it off, businesses frequently insist on holding holiday parties, which -- getting drunk with coworkers and making an ass of yourself -- what could be better? On Friday night, Hubs and I went to this Japanese hibachi restaurant in Campbell called Kyoto Palace with a few friends. We'd been there before and the rule of thumb seems to be the later you arrive, the drunker the patrons will be. In desperate need of some alcohol myself, I downed several little cups of sake. We were in a clammy room with tables full of rowdy celebrants. You could tell which were the company holiday parties -- they always look like the most mis-matched group of friends ever. The drunkest, by far, was a table of dentists, hygienists and the like from some dentists' office. The women were practically making out with each other -- sure to be a conversation piece on Monday. At one point one of the women was lying across several people's laps and she kicked a glass off the table, breaking it. No one bothered to pick it up and the group eventually dispersed. But later, a fight actually broke out in the restaurant. A chick fight, nonetheless! Although we missed the majority of it, apparently a food fight at one table angered a patron at another, and a lot of hair pulling and neck scratching ensued. Boobs even emerged from blouses, Jerry Springer-style, according to our waitress. She shook her head in disbelief.

A woman I work with met a handsome man at a swanky black tie party over the weekend. I know he's handsome because I saw his photo -- sort of Clark Kent meets Jeff Goldblum. He told her he worked for UPS as a driver, and she, being the daughter of a long-time UPS driver, was disappointed. She's a single mom, looking for a well-to-do fellow who wants to sweep her off her feet. At the end of the evening, the man asked my co-worker if he could have her phone number, and because she'd attended the party with a different man, she told him she didn't feel comfortable writing her number down, but that her work number would be really easy for him to memorize if she just said it aloud to him. Which she did. So yesterday, her phone rang at work, and it was him. Remembering he held the apparently undesirable occupation of UPS driver, she brushed him off. But today, out of curiousity, she googled his phone number. And it was his work number. At the real estate agency he owns. We know this because he has his own website with his photo and everything. We have concluded that he lied to her to see if she would still be interested in him, although she believed he held a blue-collar job. She obviously did not pass this test. But he doesn't know that she knows what he actually does for a living, so she's now considering going out with him.

Overheard at the office: "Life begins when the kids go away and the dogs die."

When I was growing up in Milpitas, we used to receive calendars and magnets from a married couple in real estate named Craig and Debbie Way (slogan: "Do it the Craig and Debbie Way!") One year they sent a very helpful plastic orange jar opener. This do-dad made opening stubborn jars super easy. Eventually the Ways divorced and started sending separate paraphernalia, but it was never the same.

Now that Hubs and I have started house shopping, albeit prematurely (hell, we've been going to open houses for a year and a half), we've landed on several mailing lists, and one stands out to me. Wayne and Angel Mason are another married couple, and every month they send me a newsletter that has nothing to do with real estate. One was about getting organized. One was about maintaining your vehicle. Basically, they're helpful tips. I just received this month's in the mail today. It's titled, "A new year. A new you." It's got a number of tips on setting New Year's resolutions, and even a list of suggested resolutions (my favorite: "Watch more sunsets."). Why thank you, Wayne and Angel Mason.

This morning a mild Taco Bell salsa packet that was resting in the butter section of the fridge asked me if I would marry it. I told it I would like to, but that it has too much baggage. Also, I am already married to a spicier salsa.

I feel obligated to mention the shooting that happened at New Life yesterday, given the coincidence that I blogged about the church on Friday. I may not agree with the way New Life has been/is run, but I would certainly never wish death upon its parishioners. My sister and brother in law still have friends and former coworkers who work at and attend that church, so it's obviously a little frightening for them to think about.

You've really got to check this site out! It's making me hungry for a nice Irish breakfast!

God bless Mark Morford for the sometimes divinely inspired columns he pens. This link is to his column today on a disturbing development at the Christian college that my sister happens to have graduated from.

It seems the founder's son and his family have been living it up quite illegally on students' tuition money (no small cost, I assure you). My sister seems to have no luck in these areas -- her former minister, one Ted Haggard, was removed from his post at the rather disturbingly large New Life church in Colorado Springs, for sexual misconduct. These incidents and others in the religious community (priests molesting young children, anyone? This also happened at the church we attended as children in Milpitas) make me want to pose this question: Why in the world would I ever want to attend church again? People who attend church are, for the most part, good people. But there are, among them, hypocrites and deceivers who make me seriously uncomfortable.

I am in a dire situation with my work pants right now. I own one pair that are decent enough for work and still fit my ample booty. Another pair, the same size and style but a different color, inexplicably fit me much tighter than the decent pair, but I am forced to wear them due to my limited options these days. Another pair I wear only on the most desperate of occasions since they look like utility pants. They're black (hey, dressy, right?) but they have pockets on the sides for, like, wrenches and other tools, I suppose. The last pair were purchased for a recent trip to Las Vegas and hence are pretty much unfit for public viewing, at least during daylight hours, and they also require me to wear a thong, which I pretty much hate doing. Yeah, I know there's a whole desirable group of women who wear thongs every day and probably even sleep with them on, but to me there is simply nothing as uncomfortable and exposing as having cloth in between your butt cheeks. Do you think the people at work will notice if I wear the same pair of black pants every day? It's kind of getting to that point.

Have you seen "Intervention"? It's the most gut-wrenching TV show... I keep promising myself I won't watch it, but then I do. Last night was an episode about an anorexic woman. She baffles me on a few levels, probably mostly because I'll never understanding NOT eating, only OVEReating. Other shows have featured people addicted to heroin, meth, alcohol, etc. They almost always accept treatment and almost always fail, which is the heart breaking part. I read somewhere that only 14% of alcoholics stay on the wagon after going through AA.

An Open Letter To The Two Douchebags Standing On Coolidge Street This Morning While Drinking Coffee And Indicating To Drivers Who Are Already Adhering To The Speed Limit That They Ought To Slow Down:

1. It is 8 a.m. WTF are you doing standing in the street drinking coffee? Who the fuck are you anyway?

2. Congratulations. You have purchased a home on a major thoroughfare. Douchebags.

3. Your obnoxious Children At Play sign is counterintuitive. Read this and stop gesticulating at innocent drivers.

A morning tip for the ladies: If given a choice between the stairs and the elevator and you happen to be wearing cuffed pants and three inch heels, choose the elevator.