I'm in the cube, counting down the minutes until early dismissal, reflecting on my 2K9. There were lots of ups and downs...

One big highlight for the year (and in my life I guess) was starting my new job, which is actually sort of on track for my life. Ever the wavering and terrible decision-maker, I've wrestled with the whole "what do I want to be when I grow up?" thing for years and now I finally feel like I'm headed down an ok-ish road. It makes me cackle to think about what a pathetic position I was in this time last year. A lot has changed. Hip Hip Hooray! I'm also creeping toward total independence and adulthood. It's been a slow process, but I'm getting somewhere on that front I think. Otherwise, there were many times in 2009 that were quite the bummer in my life.

So in the spirit of both continuing on my "movin' on up to the Eastside" streak and putting crappy things behind me, good riddance 2009. I've started crafting my annual list of New Years Resolutions....here's what I'm thinking:

1. Clean up my sailor mouth. I have a few bad habits, but cursing could be one of my worst. Its not intelligent, it's not classy, I'm better than it (sidenote: I try this one every year).
2. Get into my 2005 jeans before a wedding I'm going to in March. There will be lots of high school people there I haven't seen in a while and I'm determined to look smokin'. Call me shallow, but it's also just sort of a realistic timeline for me to get rid of my muffin tops.
3. Read a book per month. I stole this one from a friend, but I want to read more. It's a realistic endeavor too.
4. Connect with more of my old friends. I frequently feel like I don't have enough girlfriends, but I really do have tons, I just lazily slip out of touch with them. I know some stinking awesome people and should take more advantage of that.
5. Conversely, try to branch out and make some new friends. I'm sort of in a new city, so I need some fresh faces to go along with it. So far the d-bags run rampant in Dallas, but all hope is not lost.
6. This is the biggie: I really want to generally be more positive. I've always been a glass-half-empty person and I think I want to switch things up. I think being more upbeat and looking on the brightside more often will go a long way in being a happier me. I know its more pleasant to be around an optimistic person, and in 2010 I'm going to be one of those people dammit (sailor mouth cleanup doesn't start until tomorrow).
7. Beef up Poodleism. No more details...wouldn't want to release any spoilers.

Well, those are the things I can think of for now. I'm extra thankful to be embarking on a new journey with manfriend and the prince by my side. I hope to keep on keepin' on with the professional advancement and sunny attitude, but talk to me tomorrow after I celebrate tonight. I bet I'll want to be be back in '09.

Thats it for 2009 my few and very valued readers. See you next year!

One of the carpoolers alerted me to a very interesting/hilarious glimpse at the collective American consciousness. When you enter a search term in Google, it tries to guess what you'll be searching based on popular searches before you finish entering it. This is a nifty thing, but it says some giggle-tastic things about the questions we (yes we, you know you use Google to satisfy your most outlandish curiosities...) ask. The top fives that cracked my shiz up...

If you begin typing "why do....", you get these answers in this order:

1. why do men have nipples (I am curious about this...)
2. why do cats purr (much love to the pet lovers out there on these next few)
3. why do dogs eat poop
4. why do dogs eat grass
5. why does my vag smell (ARE FLIPPING KIDDING ME?)

If you begin typing "what happ....", you get these ridiculous 'popular searches':

1. what happens when you die (totally legitimate)
2. what happened to seal's face (Huh?)
3. what happens in vegas
4. what happens when you lose your virginity (hello parents, do your job and have that talk)
5. what happened on my birthday (ummm....?)

Another hilarious one is to begin typing "how come...". I don't want to go there, it gets a little X-rated, but no less priceless.

UPDATE: a pal found this fabulous website Called Autocomplete Me with even more great searches to browse.

Anyway, I love this meaningless sociological crap. My absolute favorite is that the number two question (ON THE WHOLE INTERNET) beginning with "what happen..." has to do with Seal's face. I'm not going to disagree that that is one ugly mug, but I can't believe that many people are so interested. I guess all the other washed up stars out there should consider some sort of similar facial alteration to stay relevant (I'm talking to you Tara Reid) instead of the occasional planned nipple slip.

I thoroughly enjoyed this little exercise on a slow day in the cubicle. Try it out yourself. You may be shocked and tickled at what you find.

First things first, sorry for the Poodleism hiatus this last week or so. It was a rocky holiday and the blogosphere kept descending on my to-do list. Additionally this topic has been burning in my mind since it happened, but I didn't want to ruin the surprise for the few lucky ones who received this iconic image via Holiday greeting card. Absorb this before you proceed:

Notice anything funny about Santa?

The prince and I decided to include Old Saint Nick in our annual holiday portrait session. After researching all places to visit Santa, I found that at PetSmart they'll take you and your furry friend's picture with Santa for $10. JACKPOT. And, all the proceeds visit the North Texas SPCA. DOUBLE JACKPOT. So one Sunday afternoon, we trucked it into the store for our photo session. Upon arrival I immediately groaned at the sight of this piss-pore Santa. Manfriend insisted we stay for the comedic value. As we waited for our turn, it became clear that Santa was not only a woman, but a woman that liked other women. I was one of the few in line without a small child, so judging by my own discomfort, I can imagine the Dallas housewives in the queue with me were absolutely horrified. This social tension amounted to total hilarity.

Per my usual Sunday sluggishness, we were the last photo of the day and Santa was just getting off duty. As we were waiting for the picture to print, Santa began to de-robe right in the middle of the store. As she began peeling away her Santa suit, which had gotten uncomfortably "sweaty" (so she reported to the crowd of strangers watching in amazment), she exposed her Texas aTm t-shirt and man jorts beneath. VOMIT. Then as the red felt pants dropped to her ankles, she revealed her calves to be covered in tatoos of pinup girls. At this point I'm staring and can't stop. She replaced her Santa cap with an aTm baseball hat, which proved to be the crown jewel atop her completly ridiculous appearance. But, she forgot to take off the stick-on gray Santa eyebrows and walked away cooly to "go out back for a smoke." After her departure Manfriend and I both were nearly exploding with commentary and giggles. Comedic value of this little endeavor proved priceless, good call manfriend.

I feel a little guilty for being so appalled at this woman. I like to think of myself as a liberal, worldly, accepting kind of person. Apparently not. This lady was just so ridiculous I almost couldn't be polite. The best part of it all was the shock that all my loved ones received in their mailbox. Several of them have followed up with a strong "WTF?". From now on I think I want to deliver comedy as my holiday gift to others. Probably will take me the whole year to figure out how to top this one.

I can't not say it, and this is a whole other topic for another time, but aTm people are so freaking wierd. As soon as I think they're as freaky as they can be, they out-freak themselves.

One of my great pals got engaged last night! Hip Hip Hooray! She's getting married to a fine gentleman who I find nice and hilarious. I can't wait to get the whole scoop on how the romantical event went down. They're San Franciscans. I miss them like crazy on normal days, let alone those where congratulations are in order. Here's them keeping it classy, but also a them in party mode (my favorite mode for them to be in).

Congrats to the happy couple! In prior engagements I used to groan at the news thinking all my friends would turn non-fun when they were wives, but these days I'm more excited. Maybe I'm growing up....wierd.

So as many of you are aware, I have a deep fascination for space and all outer-worldy things like stars, black holes and galaxies. This interest began in college when I took Astronomy for non-science majors (thought it would be a cake walk...WRONG), which continually took my little mind on adventure to the deepest reaches of our galaxy and beyond. This is a pic of professor Gephardt; the image of this man is burned in my mind and occurs to me whenever my brain is about to explode with space wonderment. Yes, he has a ponytail longer than mine. Each lecture left me thirsting for more knowledge and thus only spurred more questions about the abyss outside of Earth. Now I see things in the news and television and am instantly catapulted back to space-think, which really sends me into a tailspin.

Today scientists announced that they've discovered an earth-like planet in a nearby galaxy. It's 40 lightyears away, which is sort of right next door when it comes to space. They believe this "super-Earth" has an atmosphere, probably contains some amount of liquid water and could support life. Here's an illustration of it orbiting its version of our sun. This is an awesome discovery that opens the door to so many cool things. I'm exhilarated.

But, this is just the kind of business that takes me on a mental odyssey. What if this other planet is living in a parallel universe to us? What if they have their own kind of life with their own tales like Twilight and their own kind of pet poodles? What if our whole universe is a fleck of crap under the fingernail (if they even have those) of some beast in a land far far away? It's all ENTIRELY POSSIBLE. What my synapses are doing as I'm thinking about this is unexplainable. It's like someone just lit a strand of firecrackers in my skull...and I can't get enough.

Even just sitting here thinking about it the final frontier is just rocking my little world. With a mind as cluttered with gossip, Gaga and sparkles as mine, this space stuff is unique fodder for contemplation. Kudos to the scientists for discovering this one. Great little break in my normal news consumption. Don't know if I can do any more work today...SPACE BLOWS MY MIND.

Hi. Christmas just got a little merrier. Too bad this isn't real.

I've sort of been meaning to discuss Lady Gaga....so now's a good a time as any. Gaga really puts me into a glass case of emotion. Somedays I'm annoyed at her, some days I'm in love with her. Lately its been more and more annoyed because she is such an attention-whore that it's just ridiculous. She acts like she's so revolutionary, but an attention-seeking popstar isn't anything new (Madonna's "Like a Virgin", Christina Aguilera's appalling "Diiirrrty" video, bald Britney attack (really all Britney behavior) etc...). She is just the 2009 version of famous talented poptart with loose-ish sexuality. C'mon show me something I haven't seen.

But on the other hand. She is just so bizarre I can't look away. So maybe she has hoodwinked us all. And, lest we forget, she produces fabulous and sparkly dance tracks loved by girls and gays the world over. I'm a slave to that and probably will always be. It's a wash.

So Tiger Woods. Where to begin? I’ve been thinking about this topic since the Thanksgiving car crash and have been collecting my thoughts and waiting for things to settle before I react to the matter. The problem with that plan is that every day some new freakish, strange thing comes out. I guess I just can’t wait any longer, the floodgates are still pouring with Tiger smut.

More than anything, his “transgressions” (which is what the news outlets are referring to his sluttines as) just make me sad. Why do famous people do so many bad things? He was one of the few shining bastions of classiness and decorum left in the celebrity world, especially sports (If you’re listening Kobe, Mike Vick, Plaxico, wave your freak flag for a while…nobody is looking at anybody but Tiger). It breaks my heart/spirit, but it is refreshing to hear that the waspy elitists of the golf world aren’t exempt from “transgressions.” Now that things have gotten totally crazy, here are my favorite of the revelations about Tiger’s “secret life” :

• 14 (and counting) women have come forward! I think I may say we had an affair to get my own US Weekly cover…its one of my long-time dreams.
• He likes to have sex on Ambien…WTF?
• He’s an avid sexter and never makes grammatical/spelling error in texts (I know this because I read many of them), kudos on that attention to detail.
• He has accomplices to his infidelity. I cannot fathom how awesome it must be to have a full staff of people to help you be secretly devious. I plan to look into that.

One side of me wishes that the freakiness would just keep pouring out, but really can’t we just leave him alone? He is the master of the fairway, not moral code (obviously). Maybe his indefinite leave from the PGA will send golf pack to ESPN the Ocho channel, keeping televised golf off manfriends radar for a while. If that happens, thanks Tiger.

Yesterday we had our office lunch potluck and gift exchange. There was a cornucopia of delicious things. I even made a specific effort to get to the gym before work so I could really go all in on the mid-day gluttony. One of my co-workers, and the lady who got me to start a blog, made this:

These are cake pops. Inside the exterior of sprinkly goodness is a ball of moist and rich cake. Oh holy hell. There has never been a dish more perfect for me. It's like I was born to partake in these. Here are all the reasons they're awesome: obviously the deliciousness, festive and cute, small portion (if you choose...I ate three) and its a new fantabulous spin on an old favorite. I fully intend to try my hand at these treats for my little cousins at Christmas. Mad props to the culinary genius of co-worker/friend. I like her style.

We also did a "Chinese" gift exchange. We couldn't figure out why it's called this. It felt offensive, as we have a couple Asian-Americans in our click. I've just spent a few minutes trying to come up with a better name, to no avail. Anyway, it's the thing where you draw a number and can pick a gift or steal someone else's. Some people were REAL serious about not having their Starbucks gift card or bottle of wine snatched up. Just relax, this is supposed to be fun. I had the very last number in the whole batch, which is a great place to be strategically. I stole an extremely girly jewelry box from my friend, he was miserable with the thing in his hands. Merry Christmas to him. Helping him may have to be my charitable act for the yule-tide season, and I ended up with a girly trinket that looks fabulous in my apartment. Double score!

Cake Pops + Christmas Cheer + Long Lunch hour + Shiny box = Major Victory of a Thursday.

So, per our usual, the carpoolers and I found ourselves pondering a curious and oddly self-revealing topic and I can’t get it out of my head. Fans of Poodleism, brace yourselves for a bizarre post.

The captain of our pack presented a hypothetical situation for us all to deliberate. If presented with a nude photo of one of our co-workers would we look at it? I’m not exactly sure how this came to the forefront of our chatting agenda, but it’s recurred a few times since.

The co-worker in question is a particularly creepy and skulky man who nobody really knows what to make of. The kind of guy who’s pretty quiet until you accidentally brush him in the hallway and then awkwardly shuffle your feet to make a quick exit from the situation.

If we were in possession of a nude picture of this, would we look? The two girls in the conversation immediately barked “NO WAY JOSE.” But the boys said they’d look. Not would they want to look, but just would they look. Upon further examination of this conundrum, we all reached the decision that we would pretty much look at a nude photograph of anyone if it were just laying on the table in front of us. It’s not a question of the desire to see, but the inability to look away. And I definitely think this is true. If you were presented with the opportunity to see miscellaneous people in everyday life naked, I bet you’d do it. Just for curiosity’s sake.

This brings me to my next question, are we just disgusting freaks or is it the curse of the human race not to be able to resist the sight of others naked? I feel odd about the whole situation, but have given it some thought and I don’t think I’d be able to turn down that opportunity. Wouldn’t ask for it, but wouldn’t say no. I’m wierded out at myself.

Here's my cubicle all Christmas-ed up. Tree, lights, sparkly garland...feels cozy in here (well, almost). ♪ It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas! ♫ If this were a video you'd hear my holiday cheer playlist. Sometimes when "Santa Baby" comes on the playlist I sing it to Edward who's always an armslength away. Note the Wintery tin on the shelf. It was once full of 5 lbs of chocolate covered popcorn. Now there are around 4 kernels. FML.

Another random tidbit...This is a blooper shot from last year's Christmas card photoshoot. The Prince and I got all gussied up in our Holiday best to take our card picture. My friend, the camera-woman, was over with her Dachsund, Dignan. Dignan lept into the frame and Chuy got so mad/jealous that he snarled and bit Dignan. I felt like Michael Vick in the middle of it all. This year I'm hoping the Prince minds his manners at Christmastime. Maybe he just thought Dignan was going to drink all the Egg Nog. I'd probably bite him too.

Continued Merry Chirstmas to all!

My feelings about Lady GaGa are a mixed bag these days, but the radio has started playing Lady Gaga's "Christmas Tree" again (it's from last year) and I CAN'T. GET. ENOUGH.

One wierd thing that occurd to me is that this track and video are so GaGa-licious, meaning so bizarre, strange, absurd....and FABULOUS. It's from last year, which means when it came out we hadn't seen any of the other GaGa-licious things of 2K9, which was a real doozy for her absurdity. This is all the more awesome given the timeframe. It's Christmas. It's Gaga. Loves it.

Yesterday manfriend and I went so see a brilliant little movie called Pirate Radio on the recommendation of my dad, who tends to be a harsh critic. For him to like a movie enough to suggest it to me is sort of a big deal. So we went. And yes, we partook in the earlybird special again, and were the only ones in the movie theater.

The movie was fantabulous. It's all about British radio stations prohibiting rock 'n roll radio stations in the 1960's. Yes, this is a ridiculous notion as that was the heyday for British rock. To address this, radio stations would broadcast from the ocean aboard ships. These ships amounted to a swingin' good time and that's sort of what the movie's all about. That and the cultural revolution through which the rock radio was legalized in the UK.

It was fabulous. The characters were funny, serious, dynamic and well-acted. I love British people and their hilarious antics. The music was also obviously to die for. For the first time in a while I'm contemplating an actual compact disc purchase -- the soundtrack.

Another great find of this movie, the hopeless and naive main character, Carl. He's the character who comes of age in this tale and is one steamy 'lil sexpot. Real life name is Tom Sturridge. (Just learned on IMDB that I'm older than this person. Can't say I'm surprised but I don't know at what point the hearthrobs I love became jailbait...boo) Watch out R-Patz. This little starlet is tousled, sexy and ready to steal your tweens. He's no Edward, but he gives R-Patz a run for his money on the hot-o-meter for sure. I predict we'll see more of him.

All things considered, I recommend this flick to everyone, especially music lovers.

Last night me and manfriend, plus two other couples, made our way to the Dallas Stars game. Manfriend and his two buddies that came along are all ex hockey players and avid fans so they were out in full force. For me, it was my first time to see hockey, NHL or otherwise, in real life, so obviously I went into observational sponge mode. I live for little cultural experiences and chances to observe people.

First things first. I guess I sort of knew it going into the thing, but hockey games are played in giant room full of ice. I thought that since we were in the nosebleeds it would be like any other sporting event, and boy was I wrong. It was cold enough that I never removed my overcoat or scarf. I pretty much spent the whole event shivering. I couldn’t even comfortably grasp my drink to try to get on my beer jacket. Note for next time: dress as if I’m headed to Antarctica for two hours.

After the second period during halftime/intermission/two-thirds-is-over-break (or whatever you call it) they interviewed one of the players. He was ridiculously unable to speak our language…I couldn’t figure out what the deal was with this Norlandic man on the jumbotron. I later learned the NHL is swimming with Scandinavians. Who knew? Funny quip from manfriend: He observed that some extra-thug football players are even harder to understand – and English is their first language! Ha.

The Cheerleading/Whoring group for the Stars are the Planet Tan® Dallas Ice girls. These girls really didn’t do anything. They skated out and swept up the snow on the ice with bare midriffs and cleavage showing. Skating across the pristine white ice rink they were so tan it was just dumb. They also looked ridiculous. Did I mention that it’s a room full of ice? There were a small pack of them, the A-team of the bunch I presume, doing little shakes/dances between plays, but the majority of it was bouncy Hairography (Hair + Choreography), one of my biggest pet peeves of all time. They are all that is wrong with this world. Maybe I’m just still pissed about the Pear-Shaped thing.

Another funny tidbit: After the Stars score a goal they had a soundbite wherein a deep Barry White-like voice boomed through the arena, "THE WHEELS ARE OFF." I fully intend to use that in my everyday life when things get a little out of control.

All in all, I enjoyed my NHL experience. I felt right at home with the hockey moms and Joe Six Packs (the semi-rough crowd was decidedly Arian, blue-collar and extremely intoxicated, but I don’t know if I want to go there) up in the upper deck. I’ll definitely go back again, as the sport is fun to watch, but wielding a parka and some blow darts to aim at the Ice Girls.

My colleague (I’m trying out this new word, its fancy talk for “work friend”) and I were skimming the pages of the December issue of Glamour, one of my favorite women’s magazines because it’s full of shiny things as well as articles that tickle my noodle. Here’s the cover, with Michelle Obama wearing shiny things – fabulous editorial decision on their part to attract the “thinking women” and the “women who like shiny things.” Worked on us.

This is something about women’s magazines that has irked me for years but stirred the debate pot in the cubicle bay yesterday: What is up with the little stories that teach you how to dress for your body type? Every single label they give the body types is so freaking mean. Why don't they tell us what type Michelle Obama is, or whatever flawless starlet is on the cover? They've gotta have their own body image demons. See the snapshot of the actual spread below (Yes, they’ve literally put a red box around her “problem area”).

It’s just so mean. Why haven’t those Dove people on the crusade for real beauty sunk their friend-chicken-chompin’ teeth into this one? I’d re-name the body titles to these:

Plus Size – Lots to love, and even more to offer

Boy Shaped – Curves, who needs ‘em?

Pear Shaped – Hippy and fabulous

Busty (seems like it would be positive but the girl is always fat) – Boobilicious

Admittedly, everyone who falls into these categories – which is every woman operating in the real world -- isn’t thrilled about their particular “problem area,” and the article has good intentions, but calling someone “Boy Shaped”, really? Isn’t that like the ultimate slam? As a sidenote, I fall into the “Pear Shaped” category and it infuriates me to no end. This “pear” label always seems to pop into my mind when I try on clothes that don’t quite look right. The pear really isn’t a silhouette I want to resemble.

Damn you popular media. I wish I had the strength of mind to boycott you. But if I did, what would I think/blog about?