Birthdays are meant to be fun, right? While I’ll admit that Christmas A) started out as a mixture of Christian and pagan holidays (the Romans sure were a sneaky bunch); and B) is more of a shopping and food than religious holiday… in my family it’s always been fun.

Well, not so much last year because my mom was in the hospital. And certainly not that year my dad and I almost got arrested for stealing (morticians have no sense of humor). Then there was the Christmas the neighbor’s yard caught on fire, and we certainly can’t forget the year my brother drank milk from the jug and then barfed all over the kitchen floor.

OK, so not always fun but definitely always a story to tell. NOTHING is ever boring in my family. NOTHING.

So Christmas Eve in Pammy Girl’s house this year was no different. Eat some junk food, wrestle with my siblings, make fun of each other… and teach my 67 year-old mother how to play the drums on Pretty Fly For a White Guy via Rock Band.

I laughed so hard I think I peed a little. I’m not so sure God loves me but I’m positive He loved the birthday party we threw for Jesus.

If you lived on the East Coast and can remember (with a shudder) the Blizzard of 1978, then you’ll agree with me and say, “Now THAT was a storm.” I think the city of Boston shut down for several days and I know we were out of school at least a week. My dad had to jump out of my bedroom window so he could trudge around the house and shovel out the front door.

My mother was (and still is) a huge believer in food storage. Thanks to her forward planning and despite the shut down of all nearby grocery stores, we didn’t go without. I remember her handing out rolls of toilet paper to neighbors who didn’t have any. That might be why I have 27 rolls of TP in my linen closet right now.

Anyway, there’s no doubt the weekend stormed dumped on DC in a big way, but I question the liberal use of the word “blizzard” that the media is using. In my neighborhood we got about 2 ft. of the white stuff.

Sunday morning I ventured to find a snowdrift behind my car that, at its peak, was up to my thigh. Crap. I chatted it up with my neighbors who were also shoveling out their cars. I assumed, which was dumb, that one of them would let me borrow their shovel. They didn’t.

This was before I completely fell into the snowbank trying to reach my car.

The snow plow didn’t make its way to the back parking lot so with the drifts of snow, I spent 2 hours clearing the back parking lot. With… a dust pan. Yes, a dust pan. And I did a damn fine job, too.

OK, so maybe it lacked some precision but I did this with a DUST PAN! I’m so amazing!

My weapon of choice.

You can see more photos (nicer ones of softly fallen snow) HERE.

Turns out that the main roads were wet but clear. I was able to run some errands but found myself growing more and more irritated with the pedestrian traffic. With the sidewalks still covered, people walked down the middle of the roads and didn’t bother to acknowledge oncoming traffic.

I wanted to scream out, “Hey dumb asses! Who do you think stands more of a chance of getting hurt should I hit an ice patch and and run into you? Jump into that snow drift and get out of my way! Moron.”

And then I drove by the Masonic Temple, which was built on an excellent sledding hill. Unfortunately if you’re going too fast on your saucer and can’t stop yourself, you’ll fly into traffic. One crazy kid almost gave me a heart attack and a dented passenger door. I think he heard me scream. Moron.

There are a few sections of town that contain what we’ll call the ghetto. You know, where murders and drug busts are a regular occurrence, and I live about a mile from such a place. A group of guys thought it would be fun, I suppose, to hold a snowball fight between themselves and cars driving past. I made a special finger gesture and almost drove into a parked car. Morons.

On an average day, the road to my condo is narrow. Add snow packed cars on both sides of a snow packed road and you get one car at a time driving 3 mph. I clearly had the right of way when a Chevy F350 charged me. So we had a stand-off, yes… we played chicken. I finally drove into a snowbank and the female passenger, who I estimated to be about 54, gave me a snotty look. I stuck my tongue out at her. PFFFFFFT. Morons.

So rather than call it a ‘Blizzard’ can we call it ‘The Moron-Maker of 2009′ instead?

NOTE: After spending all that time digging out on Sunday morning, I should point out that I didn’t warm up until last night (didn’t work yesterday… the federal government was closed). I took a 30 minute bath and boiled off the top layer of my skin. Totally worth it.

As soon as Al Roker announces a big winter storm for your area, everyone rushes and cleans out the grocery stores to ensure they’re stocked up on bread, milk and diapers. Why? In the maybe 2 days you’ll be home bound, how many sandwiches or bowls of cereal do you plan on consuming? Can’t you hold out for 48 hours?

For me, it’s brownies. Or cinnamon rolls. When trapped inside for an indefinite amount of time, anything that requires time and has a sweet reward is what I’m going for.

But tonight I didn’t purchase anything for either one of those items (probably because I’ve already got all the ingredients in my cupboard). No, turns out I was asked to prepare a meal for a funeral tomorrow and since I’m leaving for the holiday on Tuesday, I don’t have enough in storage to feed a family. So I braved the crowds and found myself at the grocery store.

While I’ve never been to a communist country, I swear tonight I went shopping at the Soviet Safeway: no choices and long lines. Most people were kind of numb and purchasing the weirdest stuff like 9 cases of diet cherry Pepsi, garland, sausage, and mincemeat filling. Let’s not forget the beer. Entire carts full of beer. Really people? If you’re having a party then OK, but it’s just a snowy weekend and you need that much beer? Nothing says Christmas like the family drunk, I guess.

Yes, I snooped in people’s carts, what of it? When you’re standing in line for 37 minutes to purchase 4 cans of clams, a pint of cream, some onions, a bag of potatoes, celery and ice cream (of course), you get bored. As I stood in the card and paper products aisle to check out, I counted that the line was 9 carts deep. The couple behind me thought I was a bit off my rocker but they were the ones purchasing enough soda to string out 78 middle schoolers and a small dog.

Guess everyone who isn’t a hunter went for the hamburger.

Chicken? I have no idea what’s missing from this case… but apparently no one eats bacon.

Good luck finding eggs.

Who knew Eggo has such a corner on the market?

The line to get out.

Upon discovering how long I’d be in line…

The parking lot was another story… such frustrated and hyperactive drivers as they cut each other off and nearly ran over pedestrians for the few available parking spaces. I was actually frightened. I even refrained from yelling or honking my horn, which was a major accomplishment for me.

The crowds and insanity were proved to be the same story at the gas station, Blockbuster and CVS. Well, that’s not entirely true. The people who work at Safeway were pleasant and everyone else was not. Also, it seems the ginormous bread bakery by CVS either caught on fire, was bombed, or someone tried to break in as there were cops, vans, dogs and even a CSI truck. That made for a bit more excitement in the evening.

So how will I spend the trapped in my house weekend? That’s assuming the storm (which will supposedly produce 8-12″ of snow) actually shows. I’ll be baking banana bread and probably lemon poppy seed bread, too. Say what you will about my choice of activities and see if I care. I’m embracing my dorkitude because I can.

It seems as though when you have a seafood allergy it’s for ALL seafood, not just certain ones. I’ve been playing Russian Roulette (my innards vs. anything out of the ocean) to see what will make me worship the porcelain god for an hour or two. I’m nothing if not entertaining.

Sadly, after our incredibly nice holiday office lunch at the W Hotel today, I’ve discovered that my experiments really need to stop. It was calamari and oh… right now I’m resisting the urge to curl up into the fetal position under my desk. It did taste REALLY good, though.

While I don’t feel all that great (admittedly it’s entirely my fault and therefore have zero room to complain), there is one thing that makes me smile. During lunch all of us received a VERY surprise gift from a former co-worker:

How cool is that? This gets an ‘A’ for creativity and an ‘A’ because I was not expecting it.

It was brought to my attention the other night at dinner with an old friend that I have two very distinct and almost contrary personalities: 1) I’m incredibly competitive; and 2) I’m the most insecure person on the planet.

The pronouncement came from someone I’ve known since 1980 but haven’t seen since we were both 21. He was in town on business and suggested we get together for dinner. We had 15 years to catch up on and lots of life has happened for both of us: his marriage, divorce, remarriage, grad school and five kids vs. me… and you all know I’m crazy, so there’s that. It was refreshing to talk and laugh with someone who knew so much about me and was totally honest with their own short comings and (sometimes fallen) expectations. I appreciated that.

Let me fast forward to the evening’s third hour because you’d most likely find the rest of the evening pretty stale unless you grew up with us. He told me that I fail so often in relationships because: I can’t let things go and must one-up the other person, and reminded me that I pretty much hate myself. I told him he should quit his construction management job and become a life coach. But seriously, I can’t get mad… he was right and after what happened last week with my boss, it just confirms what he was saying.

My boss is a great guy,  incredibly smart, and well-connected. I’ll always be grateful to him for professionally saving me (twice) and couldn’t ask for a better place to work. I really do love my job.

The other day the office went to a yogurt shop for an afternoon snack and he was telling us about experiences he’s had and some famous people he dated in his past.There’s NO WAY I can measure up because the closest I’ve gotten to dating a famous person was the one time I happened to sit next to Donnie Osmond during a bad Nick Cage movie (City of Angels).

So… I squeaked out my best Ralphie Wiggum and said, “One time I threw up on myself in a bus terminal.”

Folks… it doesn’t get much better than this.

I love Target. I really do. In fact, there’s a slim possibility I’d consider living in Targetland if I could be the Mayor. Why wouldn’t I love Target? It has food, outdoor equipment, entertainment, hair care products and pajamas.

Since I probably won’t make it to heaven, I’m hoping purgatory resembles Target… on a Saturday. Because if I can survive a trip to Target on a Saturday, in a snow storm, with a mass of Christmas shoppers (most of whom are from Maryland; Why do they cross state lines? Maryland has Targets!)… then I’ll do just fine in Hell.

As I’ve said before, I long ago finished my shopping. So why go to Target? Because Target was having a sale on flannel and jersey sheets. Did I mention that my heater has two settings these days? OFF and SAUNA. Since the flannel PJs and the wool socks aren’t getting the job done, purchasing the sheets was a necessity.

I suppose I should mention that I spent about 90 minutes in the gym that morning. From the gym I went to a nursery to purchase a poinsettia for my coffee table. It looks like this:Then I went to Home Depot to help a friend find some bendy cord thing that goes from the fridge to a hose or something. I wasn’t much help and mainly looked at Spackle and garbage disposal buttons. I could really get lost in Home Depot. Seriously. Not for the same reason I could get lost in Nordstrom’s, though. I know where everything in Nordstrom’s is and I’d get lost in shopping ecstasy. Home Depot just fascinates me because I have no clue how to use anything in there.

I got home and I was now stinky, damp from the sweat and snow, and wearing far too much fleece (sweats on top of shorts) so I looked like the Michelin man. Perfect time to decorate the tree I purchased the night before (at Home Depot, I might add). Unfortunately, I was missing garland which would require a visit to Michael’s, and some material for one of my nativity sets, which meant a trip to JoAnn’s. So of course I went to the World Market instead. Duh.

Material… check (lavender silk and cream… well, it’s something classy and diaphanous ). Red wooden garland beads? Check. Things were going well. I realize my decor is kind of plain and simple. This may startle some of you because I know I may come across as high maintenance and I am, but not this year. Mostly because I can’t afford it right now. I’ll have you know that’s actually a 6-foot tree… the angle is just off.

So I braved my way to Target. In the snow. I drive a small SUV and have spent chunks of my life living in snowy climates so I know how to handle a vehicle in crappy weather. On a normal day I scare myself because I don’t pay attention, but I’m on my best behavior when it snows. I’m pretty sure it’s because people here absolutely meltdown when the first flakes start. They even abandon their cars on the freeway! Babies.

The first sign (besides it being a snowy Saturday) that this was a bad idea was the tour bus in the Target parking lot when I arrived. I kept hoping Miley Cyrus and those creepy kids from the Twilight movies were holding an autograph session in the nearby Best Buy because screaming tweens and socially retarded middle-aged adults, in addition to crabby toddlers in severe need of a nap, would make my trip even more special.

No carts inside Target, so I went back outside in the bitter wind to find one. Guess all the homeless folk and students borrowed them because there were none to be found. I waited with the other desperate crazies for about 15 minutes before I was able to snag a cart. It would’ve been less but I let a guy with 2 small kids take my original cart. Not because I’m full of the Christmas spirit or thought he needed help… it’s that one of his kids was already in Tantrumville and I didn’t want to hear the wailing and spazzing from the other side of the store.

I bee-lined to the sheets, zipped to the paper aisle for tape and To/From tags, and wouldn’t you know it… that’s when I ran into someone I knew. Still unshowered, with stinky work out clothes, and bedhead. At least I had the foresight to brush my teeth. The good news? She hadn’t showered yet either and it was around 3 pm at this point.

On to the personal hygiene area for razors because last week my trainer mentioned that he notices (and it grosses him out) when women don’t shave their legs before they work out. Throughout the store, I kept running into the same people who were lazily smelling all the shampoos and conditioners, candles, and anything else that might have a scent. People would block aisles with their carts and bodies, saunter rather than walk, or ignore their goblin children who were having near epileptic fits… all ringing in my head. I wanted to scream.

While it could’ve ended quite badly, I should note that I didn’t run over anyone with my cart—although there were about three people who deserved it.

No, not drunken grope-fests in hall closets. Not throwing up over the grand staircase at the Carnegie mansion only for it to land three floors down and splatter everywhere (thanks, by the way… the barf REALLY set my outfit apart from the rest). And certainly not awkward kisses under the mistletoe with that weird guy in the copy room who sniffs all the paper.

Holiday parties are for eating stuff you’d never have the patience to make at home (baklava, anyone?), showing off your rockin’ bod in that brand new dress, and ignoring that obsequious sycophant (or weasel, from here on out) who threw  you under the bus on a daily basis and tried to get you fired more times than you can count.

Never let it be said that I embrace the theory of letting go or not holding grudges. I’m still annoyed at that lady who gave me a nasty note (in church, mind you) when I turned 18 and got my Young Woman’s Recognition Award. She said I was rude to her daughter and therefore didn’t deserve the award. I wanted to be flip and say her daughter was a self-righteous cow who sucked at basketball and was solely responsible for us losing the championship game and continually annoyed me by calling to repentance for saying the word ‘crap’. Maybe I should get over that one since my vocabulary has greatly advanced. But back to the weasel…

He wore these brown shoes every day that squeaked. The sound they made was equivalent to nails on a chalkboard but at least I always knew when he was lurking (eavesdropping) nearby. If tasked to work on a project with me, he wouldn’t do the work; I did it myself since I knew that would be the end result anyway. I just figured it would save me some frustration. He told our boss (AKA: tattled) that I wasn’t being a team player and was purposely not allowing him to work on projects.

The weasel kept track of my calls and reported all phone conversations to our boss. He pointed out if I left the office to run an errand or took more than an hour for lunch. He said I yelled at him and made him feel badly about himself. Let’s not forget my all-time favorite: He told our boss that I’d had cancer and was moody from radiation treatments. Oh… and he said I wasn’t professional.

This coming from the guy who brought in an iced coffee for his initial interview and drank it throughout the process. Yes, I did yell at him. But only after I asked him at least a half dozen times if he’d finished a project. So he felt bad about himself after coming in contact with me. I’m sorry he felt “badly” since I would’ve he rather felt my rather pointy shoe up his backside.

I had to keep a detailed log of all my phone calls anyway (I was the media relations person), so I don’t see why he found it necessary to report those conversations. I refused to take personal calls at work for just this reason. He would show up around 10 or 10:30 and leave as soon as our boss did but always tell her he was there until 7 or 8. I think he ratted on me about the lunch hour because I actually had people to eat lunch with and he ate at his desk because no one liked him. And the cancer thing? He wasn’t even working there when I had the tumor removed (which was benign, by the way). I was moody because I’m pretty sure I hated him.

After I quit that job and moved to LA, I got a message from the weasel wanting to connect on Facebook. Let me be quick to tell you that connection never happened. In fact, I think that’s the last time I thought about him… until last night.

I headed towards some fancy schmancy hotel for this holiday reception and who do you think is the FIRST person I see when I walk through the doors? I mean come on! Someone told me he moved toI did my thing and in between eating roasted potatoes and celery, I doled out hugs and double cheek kisses to former colleagues and other industry folks. While I avoided a handful of people who still make my insides erupt with violence, I was feeling happy and pretty good about myself. And who wouldn’t? I’ve now got a fantastic job, a great boss and fabulous co-workers. No one yells at me, tells me I suck (or that I’m faking sick), or threatens to fire me. My professional life is excellent!!!

On my way out the door, the weasel called my name. I turned, we made eye contact and then I said to myself, “Oh look! My ride’s here and it’s a huff! I believe I’ll leave in it!”

Hey… I never said I was perfect. Now enjoy the joys of your holiday parties!

What oh what shall I do with my Christmas bonus? I already know where the money is going and while I’m thrilled and grateful to have it, the money’s ultimate destination will result in zero sexiness (thank you, MasterCard and other bills)… which is why yesterday my friend and I had a deep discussion about it. Rather than a check that the government takes a bite of, I’d like a boob job and a butt lift.

I see it as a win-win situation. I’d feel better about myself and because I’d feel better about myself, I’d do better work. That, in turn, would generate more money, recognition and publicity for the organization.

I didn’t see a downside until later. Apparently a former Miss Argentina went in for a butt procedure over the weekend and the liquid injected in her backside reportedly went into her lungs and brain… then she died (see article here).

First of all, I’d go to the BH (that’s Beverly Hills for you non-SoCal folks) and not Argentina. If anyone knows about vanity and plastic surgery it’s those people and they’re the ones I want in charge. Second: I don’t want butt injections, I want butt implants… totally different procedure.

Do you know how many squats I do each day? I don’t either… I’ve lost count. But are they working? Not remotely. I partially blamed the Hershey company and those peppermint sandwich cookies from Trader Joe’s.

So what would you LIKE to do with your Christmas bonus but won’t?

As you know, I’m in “training” (AKA: deluding myself) for a triathlon (The Spudman) on July 31, 2010 . I do not look like a porn star nor do I resemble an athlete. As a 5 year-old, however, everyone always told me I looked like Gretel from The Sound of Music… but that’s neither here nor there and doesn’t help in the fitness department.

Last Friday A, my trainer, suggested I run in Alexandria’s annual Turkey Trot — a 5 miler through parts of the city. Of course since the “new math” concept never really sunk in with my generation (which might be why we purchase milk and gas in gallons but soda in liters), I assumed 5 miles was 5 kilometers (3.1 miles). Not so. 5 miles. Ugh. And the worst part? I’ve only worked out once in the last 2 weeks… so I was in no way prepared to do anything. Oh well.

By mile 2, need to pee permeated my thoughts. Blisters, lots of dogs to avoid, and misty rain joined me on my journey (I left visiting family behind). But wait. It’s all good news: No asthma attacks! I didn’t wet myself! And the biggest accomplishment… I ran all 5 miles without stopping!!!

I know there are scores of real runners out there who are no doubt harrumphing my “triumph.” I don’t care. It was my first real race and while I can’t feel my legs right now, I finished. Imagine what I could have done if I’d actually prepared for it! OK, I realize that’s a stretch but maybe I could have shaved a minute off time. I’m not looking for miracles here.

I think there are a few 5K races I’ll do next month. Maybe (hopefully) I can improve my run time but if not, at least I know I can finish. Next stop… Burley, Idaho!