A Yankee Swap

I have to participate in an office holiday "gathering". And this time around it's a "Yankee Swap". A lot of people just read that sentence and said- a what? A Yankee Swap is a gift exchange where everyone brings a wrapped gift and discreetly puts it on the table or under a tree (we don't have a tree so not to offend anyone, but people still want gifts, go figure). I actually find the term Yankee Swap offensive (I think). I'm not sure that I want to be thinking of my self as a Yankee because I live in the north east. I am assuming that's where the name comes from. It might even be racist. I'll think more about that and then decide if I will tell my office mates that I think the Yankee Swap is racist and offensive and only shows how inconsiderate they are. That will make them feel bad, but then they'll gain some cultural sensitivity. (I only slightly enjoy making people feel bad- at least, less so when I'm in the Christmas spirit).

SO . . . You sit around the gifts laughing, giggling, eager to explore the hidden treasures. Then you draw numbers. People go in order picking and opening a gift, then you get to keep it or swap it for someone else's gift that is open. When it's your turn you get to pick a new gift to unwrap or take someone else, and they then do the same. And on and on.

Oh, fun. You can bring a "real gift", a gag gift, or re-gift something you don't want that you had laying around.

So, I suppose I have to participate so that I don't appear anti-social- or so that it's not as obvious that I don't find them fun to be with. These "gatherings" are attempts to build community or hide the fact that the community is broken down. We play nice.

What I really want for Christmas is a vacation. Time away from the people who nag you can be quite uplifting. Unfortunately, I have way too much to do for my business and school project to really even appreciate time off of work. But once this project is done, I will relax. And then I'll plan a vacation (or a sabbatical).

Have a productive day.

I am woman, . . . hear me purr.

I love when people post comments on my blog. Usually I don't post a response. Nevertheless, I decided to respond to the Intimidation Factor. How exciting that someone was so thoughtful to post an article in the comment. I encourage my faithful readers to look at it. It made me think and laugh. Surely I am that woman, self-assured, confident, sporting dreads, involved in church and the community, and single. A hot catch, sexy as all get-up, intelligent, charismatic, funny . . . Yet nothing but good friends, and okay lovers to show for it.

On the outside, I can see why a man might be intimidated. I have this thing about always making eye contact with people. That can be intimidating. I shake hands instead of turning my wrist up and placing my fingertips in a man's hand when I meet him. That might be intimidating. Every now and again I where a tie with my button-up shirts, jeans, and heals. Some find it hot, but that could be intimidating. I rarely wear skirts because I hate runs in pantyhose and the threat of cold winds. But I do think that could be intimidating. When I dance to Haitian or Latin music, I find it hard to be led- unless he really can move. But I guess I should let him lead anyway. I just hate being thrown about the room.

So I appear intimidating. But don't judge a book by it's cover. Unless you get to know me in that way, I will be what I look like on paper. You may peel back a layer and find that I am not always serious and can even have a dirty mouth. But no one is one dimensional. There are not a whole lot of layers, but you'd need to get closer to see that.

I don't treat a male associate the way I would treat him if he was my man. But you'll never find out unless you step on that dance floor, take my hand and let me know that you're prepared to lead me. You may be surprised, brothers.


To tell you the truth, I'm not afraid of the love of a good man. I hope a good man wouldn't be afraid of mine.

Juror number 186, you are excused.

I had jury duty the other day. It's our civic duty, they said. So I had no choice but to trek downtown to the Superior court house at 8 a.m. Yes 8 in the morning. I wanted to cry. It was the coldest day yet, and snow was falling. Wonder Woman tried to convince me that I could arrive by nine a.m. and still be fine- but I was convinced I'd be thrown in jail for contempt. I didn't want to appear contemptuous before even appearing before the judge.

I had postponed my previous Jury selection date so that I wouldn't miss going to Disney with my friends. Little did I know that I would end up caught in the Jury Pool Revolving Door. Apparently, this is the time of year that they don't have enough jurors available for trials. No figure, since people are in the Christmas spirit, shopping and traveling, and not trying to seek truth and justice for the accused or the Commonwealth. You only get one chance to postpone your service date. There was nothing I could do. The court officer informed us that EVERYONE would serve on a jury because there were several cases that needed to be resolved. Furthermore, most of the trails would last until the end of the week.

I was determined that I would not be EVERYONE. They would have to do with Everyone minus one- me. I had too much to do in the coming days.

Needless to say, I got off. (where there's a will . . . )

It was one of the longest days ever. But I made it out and I wouldn't have to come back the next day. I was free. And freedom feels good.

Some day when I don't have an important project to work on, I would like to be a juror and do my civic duty. I think I could be impartial.

But the one I didn't get to serve on- that guy was obviously guilty, without a reasonable doubt.