Death by Satellite Radio

Kids of blogosphere, I'm in a funk. I don't know if it's a holiday hangover or if I'm actually getting sick, but I feel le craptastic. Am seriously hoping that my body is just repelling having to go to work after 12 glorious days of deliriously awesome nothingness. But you know what's not helping? The sad-FM-easy-listening-for-the-over-40 piped in music causing my ears to hemorrhage in my office. It's sad enough that after two weeks of family love and debauchery with my crew that I have to come back to work and stare at my grey cube walls, but the fact that over the course of the day I have heard:

Memories by Barbra Streisand

Close to You, the Carpenters

It's all Coming Back to Me, Celine Dion

You're Still the One, Shania Twain

Hopelessly Devoted, Olivia Newton John

Tell Me Why, Backstreet Boys

I'll Never Love This Way Again, Dionne Warwick

...Well it's just not right.

We cube-dwellers have decided that this station was once the one playing around the clock Christmas music, and now that Christmas is over, it's back to regularly scheduled programming. Now I know what my Jewish boss was feeling during a month of "White Christmas," "Here Comes Santa Claus" and "Dogs Bark Jingle Bells." Generally pissed off and desperate for a song about dreidels.

I'm doing my best to ignore it, but seriously: there's no escaping those inevitable saxophone riffs that tend to pop up every quarter hour. Woof.

On the upside, I have a new favorite desk accessory.

Yes, it's a mustache mug. And I find it quite awesome. It makes me happy. It's awesomeness has the power to drown out the Kenny G.

Oh, oh, oh. And check this out.





Do you see that?

No, I'm not talking about the Xpress 101. We've already talked about it's magical powers. It's a plant. That I grew. That's not dead.

I have a notorious black thumb. In my first apartment, I thought it'd be a hoot to have lots of potted plants on our screened in porch (you remember this, Sus?). And for about a week they looked pretty adorable. Then I forgot about them. And they went through the harsh Alabama summer with no water. And then they went though the harsh Alabama winter (huh yuck) with no water. Or love. Or anything. Come move out time, I had lots of pots and withered-to-nothing-stumps-of-plants to throw away. Woops. The fact that I actually have an animal that is very much alive still astounds me. I killed a fern. A fern. That's like killing a cactus. Anyway, this tangent has gotten out of hand. In short: Plants fear me. Am lucky with animals.

I never expected the current pre-death plant to actually survive. It's one of those plants in a box with the bulbs and compressed soil discs. Mom got one for me and one for her. I knew hers would live. I think she has some plants that are still around from the Carter administration. Mine though...Yikes. But lo and behold it's still kickin. It will however, never go outside. Out of sight is literally out of mind for me. It'd be the equivalent of sending that poor plant on a Trail of Tears-esque death march.

In other, random news, I'm picking up my routine after a holiday abstention and going back to the sad, little apartment gym tonight. Maybe it'll make me feel better. At the very least, I'll feel better watching Biggest Loser tonight knowing that I'm not a complete lazy ass. I'm already one step closer to not feeling pangs of guilt while watching the BL by bringing in a leftover canister of buckeye balls (a result of excessive holiday baking) into work. Now they won't stare at me every time I go into the kitchen and ask to come join me by the couch.

And speaking of TV...I've got the first episode of the Bachelor on the DVR. But I just don't know if I have the strength or the stomach to watch and/or commentate this season. We'll just have to see about that one. Double woof.