Who’s With Me?

I have a sweet tooth that is so big I swear it’s visible from outer space. I often fantasize about ways to combine all my favorite desserts. I imagine a cupcake bisected by an oatmeal raisin cookie then topped with ice cream and then served as one crazy a la mode on a slice of pie. If I was Catholic, I’d give up sweets for Lent. Alas, I am not Catholic, so I never have to endure that torture.

Todd claims that he was never that into sweets until he hooked up with me. While I take my tea black, the lure of some concoction like brownies topped with crème brulee sprinkled with Andes candies never fails to seduce me. But I wasn’t always this way. Sure, I always liked dessert; I just didn’t have it every single day multiple times per day like I do now. In college I rarely had dessert after dinner. Never ate a cookie after a sandwich at lunch and never had ice cream at the ready in the freezer.

Now? It’s everywhere. And it’s my own doing. Yesterday Todd and I were talking about the decline of our eating habits, when he brought up the topic of our dessert consumption.

“I’ll bet you can’t go a week without sweets,” he teased.

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll go to the end of the month! What do I get if I win?”

And on the conversation went until it eventually evolved into a month-long challenge that will end on April 15th. Todd and I have resolved not to eat sweets until April 15th. If he caves, he has to take the trash barrels to and from the curb every week for a month. If I cave… well, I can’t remember what he gets if I cave. I am sure he does, though.  And even though I cannot remember, I am sure it'll be mildly unpleasant enough to keep my competitive spirit going strong.

So, Internet, I invite you all to join our dessert free for a month challenge. No sweets until April 15th.

All the cool kids are doing it. Are you in?

Birthday Week: Day 4 and 5 and a Computer Virus

Birthday week has come to a close.  It breezed right by me, in a sugar rush haze of chocolate, cupcakes and Girl Scout Cookies.

On Thursday morning, the day of my actual birthday, my dear friend Charlie brought me a box of chocolates from the world's best chocolate shop, The Chocolate Delicacy.  The label on the box said "Calorie Consuming Anti Matter Chocolate," and then the other label had the atomic symbol on it.  Of course, the box had all my favorites in it, because Chocolate Dave knows what I like after having been diving with me and eating post dive chocolates with him.

Then I met Todd for Mexican for dinner.  He presented me with a group of papers stapled together with a riddle on it.  He'd bought me tickets to see Willy Porter again (swoon) in April.  But he won't be around to see the show with me.  So he hooked up my friend Dennis from work and his girlfriend Nikki to go with me. 

Then on day 5 he baked me a chocolate cake, and got me a device from Amazon that will measure how much electricity (and money) the lights and devices in our house use.  Which I think will be fascinating to play with.  And maybe it will help me to bitch less about our electric bill every month.   So, it'll bring peace to him as well. 

Also on day 5 I caught a computer virus, which was both good and bad.  It was bad because I didn't get the chance to work on the book, or the freelance project I'm working on.  But it was also good because it forced me to unplug for a weekend.  Todd just finished fixing it a bit ago.

Thank you, love, for an amazing birthday week, and for spoiling the hell out of me once again. 

Birthday Week: Day 3

On the third day of birthday week
My true love gave to me
A red velvet cuh-uh-up-cake.

And then this morning I ran 5 miles on the treadmill to keep up with the excess consumption of goodies.

Birthday Week: Day 2

Birthday week, day 2 brought two boxes of Caramel Delites.  My favorite.

And they're great with Twisted Tea.

Birthday Week: Day 1

It happens the same way, and pretty frequently too.  The doorbell at work rings.  One of my co-workers who sit near it answer it.  They groan and say, "Beej?  Really?  Again?"

Todd likes to send me things at work.  He sent me flowers last year on the first day of spring.  He sent me flowers this year on the first day of February.  I've gotten them for Groundhog's Day.  I've gotten them just because.

Yesterday an Edible Arrangement arrived--chocolate covered pears and apples.  The card read "Happy Birthday Week!"

The women rushed in to share, because I ALWAYS share in my bounty.  And then they rolled their eyes, because it's my birthday week.  I get presents when it's not even my birthday.  (Hell, he's gotten me presents on HIS birthday.  Figure that one out.)

Is it wrong that I was pushing for a birthday month?  Not necessarily for gifts, more for chores.  For example, "I shouldn't have to chase the dog to the neighbor's again.  It's my birthday month."  Eventhough I often call Todd "Excellent Husband," he's not buyin' into the whole birthday month thing.

On This the Day of our Engagement

Scene: last night, in the hot tub at our house in Podunk, Rhode Island.

Beej: Hey, what’s the date today?

Todd: I don’t know. I don’t pay attention to that stuff on the weekends.

Beej: It’s October 17th. Nine years ago today you asked me to marry you.

Todd: (splashing around in the water) And what did you say?

Beej: (stretching out in the hot water and sighing) I said no. Then you asked me what you needed to do so I would say yes, and I said that you needed to get me a hot tub and I might consider it.

Todd: I think you might be remembering that incorrectly. Just a little.

On the night he asked me, October 17, 2000, I was working in Boston, and he was working in Providence. We lived between Boston and Providence at the time, and I used to take the train into Boston for work every day, then I went to grad school at night and caught the late train home. Todd drove the 45-60 minutes south to Providence for work, and came home at a million o’clock every night.

He called me at work on a random Tuesday in October and said “Hey, how about if I come into Boston tonight and we’ll have dinner together in the city.” We hadn’t seen much of each other at the time, and I couldn’t wait until I saw him that night.

I was late meeting him at Government Center. I had to take the green line to my professor’s office on Beacon Street to drop off a paper. He never ended up reading the paper and just gave me a B because it had gotten lost in his office. I thought I deserved an A because he was the one who lost the paper. The green line was slower than weight loss, and I frantically checked my watch every other second until the train finally crept into Government Center. I ran up the stairs and out the street exit. Todd was there with flowers that he’d bought from the vendor on the sidewalk.

“There she is!” he exclaimed. Finally I’d shown up, and it didn’t look like he’d been stood up. We walked to Quincy Market, and checked out the benches under the trees. White Christmas lights were strung in the trees, and the branches were lined with thousands of squawking birds. The benches were covered in poop so we sat at the base of the Samuel Adams statue.

It was chilly that night, and I felt the chill of the stone base of the statue as I sat. Todd put his hands in his pockets. I wondered if his hands were cold. But Todd’s hands are never cold. He’s exothermic. I swear the water boils around him when we dive. I watched his hands; I wasn’t listening to what he was saying.

He held out a ring and asked, “So, will you marry me?” I burst into tears and said yes.

Here it is 9 years later, and I still have no idea what he said before he asked. I wish I’d listened more.

Watching Our Backs

In general, Todd and I are very trusting people. We tend not to conduct our lives as if there are thieves lurking in every shadow. We only lock the doors in our house if we’ll be away from it for more than a day. And while I do lock the doors on my car, in the summer it’s soft top season—if someone really wants what’s in the car all they have to do is unzip it and climb in.

We’ve taken the same approach with our boat. We don’t lock it while we are away from it. The main reason why we don’t lock it is because there’s always the chance that we’ll forget a key and go out there just to not be able to get in. The other big reason is that if a burglar is hell-bent on getting into the boat we don’t want them to have to break a very expensive overhead hatch to get around a locked door. In the past we didn’t lock our dinghy, the equivalent of our car, when leaving it at the dock. We’ve kept it in the same spot for seven seasons now, and haven’t had too much trouble. Except for that one time when somebody stole it. It was later discovered floating around in the cove with a rope wrapped around its propeller. Apparently the thief didn’t know enough to keep the rope away from the spinning prop blades and thwarted their own getaway. Then there was that time last season when our gas tank was stolen. So, in seven years we’ve had two incidents. While we’d prefer to have none, two occasions out of seven years isn’t so bad.

We’ve grown very comfortable with leaving the dinghy tied to the dock with the key to the engine secured out of plain sight. This season we filled the gas tank for the dinghy’s outboard engine, and left it at the dock on a Sunday night. We returned on Tuesday after work and noticed that the key to the engine was conspicuously missing. Upon inspection of the gas tank we noticed that half the fuel was gone. Obviously someone had used our engine, traveled quite a distance with that half tank of fuel, and probably kept the key in hopes of using it again some day. We discussed getting a chain and a lock, and lamented having to do that.

We hopped into the dinghy and went out to Sabine’s mooring. While we were on deck one of our neighbors on another sailboat moored in the cove pulled up. The captain informed us that his sailboat had been broken into. The crooks broke the glass hatch on the deck, slipped inside, and took his tools and his foul weather gear. (Good foul weather gear is quite expensive. I recall dropping a few hundred bucks on ours.) He also said that a few other boats had been burgled, and that we should spread the word so everyone in the cove would be on watch.

The guilt washed over me as I thought back to the spent half tank of fuel in our dinghy. What if our carelessness helped our neighbors get robbed?

Over the weekend I slipped another key onto my key ring, which opens a padlock on a chain that secures the dinghy to the dock. I also brought my bicycle lock and tried to secure the outboard motor and gas tank to the inside of the boat, but the lock didn’t fit. I’ll have to get one that is narrower. And I hate that I have to do that.

Man's Best Friend

It's OK, Pal. Todd's home now.

A Life of Uncertainty

All of you, thank you for responding to “Indecision.” I don’t know if it’s the case that neither of us has the courage to go first and say “Hey let’s do this,” or “Hey, let’s not do this.” Just yesterday Todd joked that we’ll be in the old folks’ home when we’re in our 80’s still trying to decide. He turned to me, sucked his lips in as if he’d lost his teeth and said in a perfect imitation of an old man, “So, devil woman, you think we should have a baby?” I cracked up over it, because he says that when he's old he's going to call me Devil Woman, and say things like "Git me my tonic, Devil Woman!" I tried not to pay attention to the way the question made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and the way I feel the question looming behind me all the time, sometimes more so than other times.

I think it’s such a permanent decision. And no matter which way you go you just cannot undo it. I almost want the decision to be taken out of my hands by either a surprise pregnancy or learning that either of us is infertile. Almost.

Just last week I was talking to a co-worker who said something very interesting about the way he makes his decisions. He has a very interesting way of looking at life, and I find him very wise. He said that he looks to nature to help him decide. ‘What would normally occur in nature?’ he asks himself. I thought about it for a few minutes, and we got to talking about it. He said “Well, in nature animals reproduce all the time and our bodies are designed to reproduce and perpetuate our specie.” Then I asked him, “Well, OK, but is it in my nature?” Then I threw up my hands in frustration.

Todd and I talk all the time about things we’d do with are theoretical and non-existent children. We look at other families we know, and talk about how they live and what, if anything, we’d do differently. Would we switch to all organic foods like my sister did? Would we spank our theoretical and non-existent children? Would they ever eat anything produced at McDonalds? These are things we discuss all the time. He jokes that we’ll name our daughter Chlamydia so that the boys won’t go near her, and call her “Clammy” for short. We can talk about all this stuff, but still cannot come to a conclusion about whether any of it (aside from the name Clammy) will ever be a reality for us.

From what I’ve observed, being a parent is the hardest job in the world, and you don’t ever get a vacation from it. Is that what I want in my life? But, the hardest job also brings the biggest reward, doesn’t it? Will I look back on a childless life and regret it? Will I look back on a life with a child and regret not having the freedom that childless life allows? It's not like I can give birth, try it out, then return it like I would with a car that turns out to be a lemon.

I agree with the sentiment that I’ll know it when I am ready. I am struggling with the concept of having a feeling that I am not already familiar with. When I fell in love with Todd it was a feeling I was unfamiliar with too. And everyone else around me who was falling in love and getting married all said the same thing “You’ll just know if he’s the right one,” and that’s the same thing I say to other people when they talk about elusive concept of “the one.” I am sure that it’s the same thing--I’ll feel it in my gut.

But really I want to know if I will ever feel it. I really want to know how it’ll all play out before I step onto the field.

The Boy has Got Me Pegged

Allow me to reenact a conversation between Todd and I last Friday night as we drove to Vermont for the weekend. This conversation precisely demonstrates how well this man knows me, and I want to share it with you in honor of tomorrow’s “Beej and Todd’s 5th Wedding Anniversary Extravaganza.”

Todd: Hey, on the way home let’s try that other route that my Mom told us about. I want to see if it’s faster.

Beej: Sure. We’ll have to remember to take exit 10.

Todd: How do you know it’s exit 10?

Beej: Because I am the knower of all things good and evil, that’s why?

Todd: Good and evil? Ha. Try obscure and ambivalent. You are the knower of all things obscure and ambivalent.

Beej: What is that supposed to mean?

Todd: Well, only you would know which exit to take for a route that we’ve never gone on. You know more random tidbits of information than anyone I’ve ever met. I mean, you know how to sing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” in Swedish. It doesn’t get more obscure than that. Hell, I could walk into a store right now and point out a shirt and say “I want to buy that shirt” and you’d say something like “Oh, I saw that shirt at a Sears in Albany, NY in 1992. It was cheaper then,” without batting an eye.

And you know what? He’s absolutely right? I remember the phone number for my Dad’s company, the kicker is that that he sold that company when I was 6 years old. If you put a saxophone in my hands I will still remember how to play, note for note, the solo I played in “Blowin’ the Blues” in sixth grade jazz band.

Over the years Todd has come up with methods for dealing with my penchant for remembering the obscure and ambivalent. You would not believe how many conversations we’ve had that have gone something like this:

Todd: Hey, do you remember when we bought that gum you really liked?

Beej: Yeah, we were in Newport. Man, that was really good gum.

Todd: Well, do you remember the name of the band we saw at the bar the night before?

Beej: Of course I do, it’s blah blah blah…

Now, keep in mind, just because I bought that gum in Newport doesn’t necessarily mean that we saw that band in a bar in Newport. We could have been in an entirely different state. But because he knows that I would associate the great gum I bought in Newport with an entirely unrelated event from the night before he knows the right questions to ask. (Side note: I probably wouldn’t remember the brand name of the really delicious gum if he’d asked me. Maybe if he asked me what the name of the band was, I might remember the gum. My weird associations are not always reciprocal, however.) If he’d asked me, “Hey, do you remember the name of that band we saw that night?” I would probably say “No I don’t remember. How the hell do you expect me to remember that!?”

It’s for this reason that he was able to call me up when I was on a business trip in Saint Paul, MN and ask me “Where is our copy of Pirates of the Caribbean?” and I can answer “It’s on top of the TV upstairs,” and be exactly correct. If I was home and he asked me that, I probably wouldn’t have known.

Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary, we were together for six years before making it legal, and Todd married me anyway knowing full well about my knowledge of the obscure and ambivalent

Happy Anniversary.

This One Goes to Eleven

Todd,

It’s been eleven years since we kissed for the first time. After that kiss, I began to say things like “My boyfriend Todd and I…” and I would say “Yes, I do have a boyfriend,” when people asked.

In the years since that kiss, you’ve gone through a variety of titles. For three years you were my boyfriend, for another three years you were my fiancé, and soon it will be five years since I’ve been calling you my husband.

But there are a few other distinctions that have stuck to you over the whole of the eleven years.

Best friend.

Secret keeper.

Nurturer.

Heat source.

Dive buddy.

Love of my life.

Thank you for all that you are and all that you’ve added to my life. Thank you for all that I am because of you.

And most of all, thank you for taking this picture and not getting annoyed at me for posting it on the Internet.

I love you,

Beej

And It’s Not Even Groundhog Day

When Todd and I first started going out (11 years ago this Friday, by the way) he had this thing about showing up to where I work with flowers for me and treats for my co-workers—bagels, cookies, or some other yummy thing to eat. My co-workers loved seeing his face in the office, because apparently they were all starving. He is also notorious for sending me flowers to where I work on days like Groundhog Day.

Yesterday, just before quitting time, Todd showed up at my new job with a humongous bouquet of flowers, and a rather impressive mountain of chocolate from Chocolate Dave’s shop. I work with mostly women, so of course they all came out from their desks to check out the spread.

“What’s the occasion?” my boss asked.

“It’s Tuesday!” Todd replied

“No, seriously…” someone else began.

“What? It’s not Tuesday?” Todd smiled, mischievously.

I shared my chocolate, and showed Todd around my new workplace, and then we left for the day. We walked out together, me smiling from ear to ear with my feet barely touching the ground.

This morning my boss asked me “OK, seriously. What was the occasion yesterday?”

“Like the man said, it was Tuesday,” I replied with a big smile.

“You have got to hold onto that one,” she declared.

Oh, I will. I am the luckiest woman alive.

Weird Omen

This morning I got into work and turned on Pandora.com. The very first song was by a man named Dan Rockett. I turned to my officemate and said “Wow, the first song Pandora served up is by the man who ran Todd over with his car when we lived in Boston.” I wasn’t sure what kind of omen that would be, and what kind of day I’d have after that.

It was June 1998. Todd and I had just moved in together in May in this great apartment in Brighton, Massachusetts. I had moved there from Melrose, MA—where I had lived for 2 years. In those 2 years I had found things like hair dressers and doctors that I liked in Melrose, so I kept doing those things there after work. It was convenient seeing as how I worked north of the city in Andover, too. Melrose was right on the way home.

I was getting my haircut on that fateful afternoon, the phone rang in the salon and the receptionist said “Beej, you have a phone call.” I took the phone, and it was Todd. “Beej, you have to come home now, I was out on my bike and got hit by a car.” I glanced in the mirror at my half chopped off hairdo. I told my stylist “OMG, you have to finish cutting the rest of this hair, I need to go, NOW!” She swished the scissors 2-3 more times, just to make the hair even then I ran out the door.

I raced home, and found Todd lying on the couch, clutching his chest. His arm was bruised and scraped up. His bike was leaning against the wall by the front door, mangled and tires flattened.

“What happened?” I asked.

Todd was riding his bike on the sidewalk by the Bread and Circus supermarket. He was crossing the driveway for the store, and was hit by a car, and launched ass over teakettle into the air. Witnesses later said that he’d had about 6 feet of air, and then he crashed onto the pavement. One of the witnesses called 911, and he lay on the pavement while first the police, then the ambulance, then a fire truck arrived.

“Why is the fire department here?” Todd asked.

“I think they just come when someone calls 911,” someone replied.

“Maybe I should set my bike on fire, you know, to make it worth the trip for them,” Todd laughed, then clutched his chest.

The EMTs walked toward Todd, with their gear and a stretcher. “Do not touch me,” Todd said, “I cannot afford you. I do not have health insurance.” The EMTs stood by while Todd painfully stood himself up to give the police officer his statement.

Todd told the cops what happened, and then the officer asked “Do you want to press charges?”

“No,” Todd said, “I don’t. It was an accident.”

“You’re not from around here, are you?” the police officer asked, and chuckled.

The fire truck left, the ambulance left without giving Todd any medical assistance. The police officer left, the crowd dispersed. Todd and the driver of the car exchanged information. The driver was a man named Dan Rockett.

Todd walked his mangled bike back to our apartment, arm bleeding, his chest on fire with pain. On normal conditions it was a long-ish walk back to our place, and it was uphill. I cannot imagine how long it took for him to get there, in pain and dragging the bike.

I got home, and convinced Todd to go to the emergency room at St. Elizabeth’s hospital. “What if you have a broken rib or something?” I asked him.

He was x-rayed at the hospital, and sure enough he’d broken his number 1 and number 2 ribs. There really isn’t anything you can do for a broken rib—just make sure it’s lined up and wait for it to heal. The doctor cleaned and bandaged the road rash on his arm.

Over the next few weeks we went through the frustration of settling an accident. No matter how amicably the parties behave, there are the inevitable speed bumps. Todd and Dan agreed that Dan would buy Todd a new bike, and Todd would pay for the hospital visit himself—seeing as how they were both broke 20-somethings. Over the course of settling the accident, we learned that Dan was in a band. He gave us a CD of his band, called the Rockett Band. This CD is actually in our CD player at home right now. It’s a great CD, and it often finds its way into the player. I mean, it doesn’t get any better than track 5, “Shake Your Ass for Jesus.”

Just recently I learned that Dan has put out a solo album. I’ve only heard it on Pandora.com, but it is a ridiculously well done song. Beautifully written and executed. I look forward to hearing the rest of it.

Forget What Punxsutawney Phil Said About This "6 More Weeks of Winter" Nonsense

Spring has sprung, in my cubicle, at work. My cube, which normally sports pink plastic flamingoes, fuzzy dice, fruit shaped lights, a poinsettia, and a sea monkey tank, now sports a beautiful arrangement of flowers.

Why? Well, let's set the scene. Picture it, my cube, in a sea of cubes at the large corporation that pays me to do stuff to their web site. There is a large arrangement of flowers on the desk in the cube, in a pretty blue glass vase. I love blue glass things, by the way.

A passerby asks: "Oh! Pretty flowers, what's the occasion?"

Beej: (Absolutely beaming) "Well, it's Groundhog's Day!" (In a tone that suggests that Groundhog's Day is right up there with Valentine's Day, anniversaries and birthdays for giving and receiving floral arrangements.)

Passerby: "No, really! What's the occasion? Is it your birthday? Maybe we should get some cake?"

Beej: (Pondering the dilemma. Am I really about to pass up an offer of cake? Would it be in poor form to except a birthday cake a month before my birthday? Gosh, I'd really love some cake. Say something, dummy!) "No, it's not my birthday. See? The card says 'Spring is on the way. Love, Todd' My husband sent me flowers for Groundhog's Day."

Passerby: "Come on, really?"

Beej: "Yes!"

Passerby: "How long have you two been married?"

Beej: "1 year, 6 months, and 1 week."

Passerby: "Oh, so you two are still newlyweds." (Suggesting the rate at which floral visitors will arrive will decline after we've been married for a decade. But this person does not know that we've actually been together for almost 8 years now, and I still am the recipient of random floral arrangements, and pie. Yes, he gets me random pies sometimes.)

Beej: "Yep!" (Still beaming.)

Passerby: "I'll have to tell my husband about this."

I think a lot of the husbands of women who work here now hate Todd. I can just see it:

Husband: "Hi Honey! How was your day?"
Wife: "Why can't you send me flowers on Groundhog's Day like Beej's husband does??!!"
Husband: "Um...?" (Scrambling, Groundhog's Day? Is that her birthday too? Wait, the wedding wasn't in February, was it?)

What is it about random floral arrangements that bring about stories about when other people have gotten flowers, or downright rude comments about flowers.

At a past place of employment Todd once brought in flowers. The boss' wife asked me what the occasion was and I said that it was Tuesday, and that Tuesdays have always been special for us. She said, and I quote "So, he got you flowers for no reason? *snort* That'll change." and skulked out of my cube.

That'll change? Wow. (Yes, she actually said that. I've taken no poetic license here, to make me look like some stellar protagonist.) I fought the urge to say "Well, maybe for you it changed."

I, for one, hope it will never change. Thank you for the flowers, Todd.

We don't have a chimney...

The holidays have arrived once again. This time of year conjures up images of family by the fire, snowy days, good will, reflection on the year past, and recuperation. However for a vast majority of us, this time of year brings with it busy schedules, chaos, and stress.

Retail stores are consumed by shoppers. Employees are pushed to the edge of sanity by their managers and customers who have already lost theirs. Teachers and faculty are pushed to score tests, deliver grades, and wrap up the semester. Students are worried about passing exams and finding the dollars and transportation to make it home. The airlines, trains, hotels, and rental car agencies are beset by travelers desperate to make it home. Service businesses gear up for that last push before the official end of the fiscal year. CPA firms are drowned in a sea of tax projection paperwork. Food banks are stressed and searching for food. The homeless are trying to plan for the coming dark cold days of winter. Therapists are getting more calls from stressed out lonely people, and somewhere there is like 2000 elves that are 1.2 million toys behind in production with less than three weeks to go until the fat man flies.

People are cleaning, prepping, planning, cooking, coming, going, shopping, wrapping, writing cards, reading cards, trimming trees, hanging wreaths, and trying to find the time to keep the magic going for their kid who is just old enough to wonder how a reindeer could possibly be aerodynamic.

I am here to tell you that none of that means anything. The holidays are a celebration of all that has passed in the year before, and if that year wasn't so hot... it is a celebration of the fresh start that is just around the corner.

In the end, there are those that will feel the season and those that won't. You have to decide which one you want to be.



This is a birdo that we bought this season for our tree. I put him up top where he belongs.



Dangly legs look funny when our dogs tug at the lower branches of our tree.



Too many cookies!



My wifey got me this ship in an ornament for my birthday one year.



A Christmas penguin flotilla.



This was the first ornament that Beej and I got when we bought our first house!



This was the very first ornament we ever bought together.



Ya' gotta plan the route.


To feel the holiday you have to be a snowflake. You must be simple, unique, and you can't care about where you land (whether that is your living room or an office). Take the time to be silly. Trim a tree, sing the songs, make a snow angel, string some popcorn. If you can't leave your office... then turn the radio on and do a Christmas dance in your chair to the first holiday song you hear. Put lights around your cubicle and put tinsel in your briefcase.

I promise you, you will not regret it.




Happy Holidays from Todd, Beej, Griffen, Nemo, Neptune, & Sylvia Knapp