Where has January gone? Tomorrow it'll be February, and I'm not anywhere near prepared!

Of course, that's my problem. February doesn't really require any preparation, but it's quite a momentous occasion. I mean, how many times are there five Fridays in February? (And, while you're pondering that, say it five times -- fast.)

I'd love to do something fabulous on Feb. 29, just so I can remember it and have a great Feb. 29 story to tell.

I guess I have 29 days to figure out what all the fabulousness will be.

Another Wednesday, another issue of the paper out the door.

Good riddance!

These last three days were so difficult that I made a pact with my co-worker to never speak of the issue again.

So, that's the end of that.

To Thursday and beyond!

I need a vacation.

I'm not the type of person who usually takes long trips; I prefer four-day weekends. In fact, I hadn't taken more than a week off from work in my entire adult life until three months ago. How glorious it was! I got a chance to go overseas and really unwind for two weeks.

How I wish I had something like that on the horizon.

It amazes me how quickly the rest and refreshment fades away. It's been only three months, and I'm ready for another trip. (I did take a four-day trip a mere three weeks after the two weeks off, but that was based around a family weekend, so it doesn't really count.)

I have a work-related conference coming up in April. It's four-nighter in another time zone, but it's for work, so I'll only count the downtime I'll have to go to the theater or the Hard Rock Cafe. So, by my calculations, it's 5 percent vacation, 95 percent work.

In May, we're traveling to Houston for my sister's graduate school graduation. That's only a two-nighter. I figure the whole graduation day will be graduation-related, so the other half-days on either side when we're one either in a plane or waiting for a plane will be vacation. Verdict: 50 percent vacation, 50 percent family event.

In July, I may travel to see friends for Independence Day. That's not set in stone yet, but I'm pretending it is, just so I have something to look forward to. By then, my friends will have a newborn and a 2-year-old, so I'm betting this three-night trip won't be all fun and games. The score: Vacation, 85 percent; Helping Out, 15 percent.

I hope to squeeze in a long weekend in New York at some point this year. I've gone to the Big Apple every year for the last 10, and I have no plans to break my streak in 2008. A couple of times, it was me and mom for three nights at a Times Square hotel, four Broadway shows, at least one visit to a museum, one trip to the Carnegie or Stage Deli, one soft pretzel from a sidewalk vendor and the traditional pilgrimage to Fortunoff on Fifth Avenue. (And, if we're lucky, autographs of and pictures with some stars!) Mom and I are always on our best behavior, and we both enjoy the theater more than anyone else in our family, so we have a great time. My prediction (should we do this trip again): 100 percent vacation, 0 percent heartache.

And that's all I've thought of so far. In fact, just thinking about the possibilities has considerably lightened my mood. And I didn't even have to pay for airfare.

I dread going through the process of buying a new car.

In fact, I dread it so much that I've been driving my mother's car for two and a half months.

I love my mother. I wish I could say the same for her car.

Don't get me wrong: The car has treated me well these past 10 weeks. (I tried to do the same, but I broke my winning streak with last week's tire-destroying trip to the gas-station.)

I consider myself a fairly decent shopper, but I hate the idea of car shopping. To me, car shopping is the worst kind of shopping there is. (Coming in a close second to car shopping is house hunting. I hated that, too. It took longer than car shopping, and cost more, too. Yet, somehow, it was not nearly as painful for me.)

Anyway, I've already chosen three cars I'd like to try out. I've done online research. I've picked colors. All I have to do is go to the dealerships and figure out which of the three is best for me.

And, yet, I just can't bring myself to do it.

It's times like these that I wish Amazon.com sold cars.

I know that Ryan Seacrest's ultimate goal is to be host of every hostable program on television and radio, but when I heard he was going to be presiding over red carpet arrivals at the Super Bowl, I had to stop for a moment and process the information.

There were going to be red carpet arrivals at the Super Bowl?

I know that the Super Bowl is an event that mere mortals such as myself don't attend on an annual basis. Therefore, it goes without saying that celebrities and other financially well-off folk are more likely to attend the event -- even if it's in Phoenix, Arizona. So, I suppose they go through the special entrance to get to their luxury box or 50-yard-line seats (the better for the camera to find them during the game's downtime).

But does all of America really need to see that? We already get four hours of pre-game analysis. Besides, this is a sporting event; it's not an awards gala. Or, is the television industry so bummed out about the writers strike that they are willing to turn any event into must-see TV? (I know the Golden Globes press conference was awful, but this is not the way to make up for it, people.)

Which brings me back to Ryan Seacrest, who was introduced on a national level in the summer of 2002, during the first season of "American Idol." Five years later, he's everywhere: still hosting "Idol," hosting "Dick Clark's Rockin' Eve," hosting "American Top 40," hosting a morning radio show in Los Angeles, covering the red carpet for E! Entertainment Television and doing too much behind-the-scenes work to list here.

While it's not unusual for the network hosting the event to show off it's talent -- I recall Fox continuously panning to Calista Flockhart sitting in the front box at Yankee Stadium (in a Yankee cap, natch) during the World Series back when "Ally McBeal" was still on the air; they also plant network stars in the "Idol" audience -- did Fox learn nothing from the debacle that was the Ryan Seacrest-hosted Primetime Emmys last year? I believe it did not. (I also read that "American Idol" judges Paula Abdul and Randy Jackson will be a part of the festivities, but, again, there's not enough time in the world to talk about how wrong that is. And I loved Paula Abdul back in the day. I even have some records of hers. Yes, you read it right: I said records.)

Sure, I miss seeing the stars all glammed up, strutting their stuff for the cameras as they arrive at awards ceremonies. I hear they're going ahead with the 50th annual Grammy Awards next month, but I haven't watched that in years. (I'm getting old, I suppose. After all, I still have my records. Maybe they'll go retro in honor of the golden anniversary.) But, I'm still holding out hope that there will be an Academy Awards telecast this year, because that's the grand dame of all awards shows. (C'mon, guys. ABC is already advertising it. Jon Stewart is hosting. I love him! And, it's the 80th annual event, so it's a pretty major milestone. Please, won't you let me have just three hours? I won't even get mad if you run late.)

The bottom line is this: The Super Bowl is not a red carpet event. It's a football game. Or, for people like me: 90 minutes of a sport I don't care about, interspersed with some clever commercials, followed by half-time, which is followed by 90 more minutes of a sport I still don't care about, interspersed with some commercials that were clever the first time around, but sort of lose something after repeated viewings.

I know what you're thinking: She's got a lot to say about something she cares so little about. Yes, I do. But, you're in luck: I'm almost done. All that's left to say is: May the best team win.

And may Ryan Seacrest trip on the red carpet and spare us this kind of nonsense when the Daytona 500 is broadcast on Fox.

Sometimes it's good to just have a couple of days to yourself to clear your head, clean your clothes and clean up your house.

Well, as I've heard more than once in a song: Two out of three ain't bad.

I enjoy my quiet weekend time. I read, watch some TV and do the necessary loads of laundry so I don't end up naked in the workplace.

But -- and I'll be the first to admit this -- my house leaves a lot to be desired. When I first moved in here, I was vigilant about cleaning floors, scrubbing bathtubs and dusting the furniture. Nearly four years later, it's lost its luster.

I suppose cleaning, to me is like exercise to, well, me: It's something I'm content knowing that other people do.

However, I think I need to change my thinking. First, I'll resume the vigilant cleaning. Second, I might try some exercising.

Oh, who am I kidding? Exercising is for other people.

I figured out the best way to avoid trouble during the evening commute: Don't go to the office.

Now, I'm not advocating playing hooky from your workplace. I'm just saying that arranging to have a day when you work from home is definitely beneficial to one's well-being -- and sanity.

As I had to take care of business with the tire today, I was unable to be at work in the morning. By the time that was taken care of, it was lunch time. A girl's gotta eat, right?

And, hardly anyone was in the office today. That included the person who would be responsible for moving things to me so I could accomplish my job.

Let me tell you: For two people working from their respective home offices, we did just fine. In the end, it won't matter where the work was done. All that matters was that it got done.

And I didn't have to worry about making it home safely -- because I was already there.

I thought today would be different. Leaving work in the sunshine of an earlier-than-rush-hour part of the afternoon, I figured that heading home would be a breeze.

I was sorely mistaken.

Yes, it was clear and sunny. Yet, we still crawled south on the interstate, for no apparent reason. And then, we crawled west, never moving at more than 30 mph.

When I finally reached what I thought would be the end of my journey, an hour had passed.

I was sitting at the traffic light, my condo complex within my sight. All I had to do was turn left, then right, pull up to a pump, fill the tank and go home.

It was supposed to be easy.

Of course, things are never as easy as they should be.

I turned left at the light, then right. Before I could pull up to a pump, I had to navigate around a large truck, which put me at an awkward angle. I had to maneouver back to the left to line up the way I usually did.

Only this time, I was a little too close to the pump. I heard the scraping and I knew it couldn't be good.

I opened the door, got out of the car and surveyed the damage. The concrete slab the gas pump sat upon had scraped against my left front tire, leaving a two-incha gash and a flat tire.

Almost immediately, a Good Samaritan came over to help replace the damaged tire with the temporary one. Unfortunately, after getting four of the screws out (with difficulty) the fifth wouldn't budge. He apologized, asked if I had AAA and suggested I call them. I thanked him and dialed AAA.

A half-hour later, relief arrived. Within minutes, the old tire was off and the temporary one was on. I was so thrilled that I nearly drove away without filling up with gas.

By that time, it was pitch black. Still no rain, though.

But when I finally made it home, I realized that today's commute had taken nearly three hours.

Tomorrow when I leave for work, I'm bringing an overnight bag. Maybe it'll be better not to be a commuter anymore.

I thought last night's commute was bad, but I was clearly mistaken.

Tonight, it was even worse.

Not only was I stuck behind someone who was flashing hazards, but this car had an added bonus: The right hazard was out. This is a case where less truly is less. You see, not only was this person flashing the hazards, but he or she was completely oblivious to the fact that their right tail light was out. So, it looked like they'd be making their move any minute into the lane on the left. For 10 miles. I kept waiting for such a move. You know when it came? When the car exited the highway, one exit before mine.

Of course, it was a right-lane exit.

And, as I continued on to my exit, I glimpsed over to see another poor, unsuspecting vehicle settle in behind the hazard light-flashing car.

Anyway, I've come up with several things to keep in mind:

Lesson No. 1: Do not drive with your hazards on in the rain. Even if it's pouring. There's no need to alert the person behind you that you're going slowly. We're all going slowly.

Addendum to Lesson No. 1: You may use hazards if you are experiencing a hazardous condition. In that case, get over to the shoulder of the road as quickly as possible and call for help.

Lesson No. 2: Do not use the shoulder of the road as your own personal fast lane. There may be cars sitting there, waiting for assistance. Use the other six available traffic lanes. Yes, you'll have to share with the rest of us, but you're really not that special, so suck it up and join us.

Lesson No. 3: Check your tail lights regularly and change any bulbs that have blown. The person driving behind you will thank you.

Lesson No. 4: If your lights aren't broken, remember to use them. I was stuck behind a heavy-duty truck tonight, driving with no lights on, in the pitch black, pouring rain. Did this truck's lights work? Yes, they did. But only, apparently, on the highway. (I guess putting your lights on while driving city streets is for sissies.)

Well, that concludes today's instruction. Again, I thank you and remind you to drive safely.

Note to Florida drivers:

According to the Florida Highway Patrol's Rules of the Road, "people often drive with the hazard lights on during heavy rain, but that can actually cause more harm than good."

"What happens is you get someone with hazards on and then someone comes up behind them," trooper Kim Miller said. "That person thinks they're stopping, changes lanes and then there's a pileup."

It's bad enough that it's raining buckets, visibility is poor and we're all going 20 mph. There's no reason to flash the hazards. It only makes it worse. Especially if you're in the middle lane.

Please, for the sake of me and all the others who drive hundreds of miles a week: No more hazards.

Except, of course, if you're in a car that's hazardous to your (and my) health. Then, you may flash the lights, move over to the shoulder as quickly as possible and call the AAA for help.

Thank you.

Today, at the dinner table in a Chinese buffet, my sister's cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID, then immediately got up to take the call.

Now, from what little I heard her say, I knew the call was important: It was a close friend with a health scare who was far away.

But what about the other half-dozen people on our side of the restaurant who interrupted dinner to take calls?

I understand that cell phones are great technology when you need to get in touch with someone in an emergency situation. But must everyone be so accessible all the time? I mean, is time spent at the dinner table no longer quality time with the family (or friends)?

And another thing: What's up with the Bluetooth earpieces? I understand if you're driving a car and you have to be on the phone. But what about the people who walk around with something out of Star Trek stuck on their ear, talking animatedly to seemingly no one as they shop for groceries? Are we that busy that we have to talk and shop for groceries at the same time? Or is it to keep us from getting bored? Or is it to keep us from having to make eye contact or small talk with anyone else at the supermarket?

I think it may be the latter. I mean, it's always easier to seem engaged in something than not. Sure, we say we're doing it because it's a good use of our time. But, do we really mean that we're doing it because we're afraid of what else we might be doing?

For instance: I'd imagine it's hard to meet a new person if you're rocking a Bluetooth, caught up in conversation with someone six time zones away, as you're waiting for a connecting flight at a busy airport. That little earpiece is a major obstacle to human contact. Sure, we're on the phone with someone. But we're not having a face-to-face conversation.

And I think that's the problem with today's technology: It takes away from human contact. It's too easy to send off an e-mail without so much as a second thought.

And then there's the story my sister told me, of the person who wanted to blog Thanksgiving dinner. So, with a plate full of food, sat down in front of a computer. In a home office. Nowhere near the Thanksgiving dinner table. Was the family not worthy of this person's presence for Thanksgiving dinner? I don't get it. If you must blog on a holiday, wouldn't it be more fun to take part in it, then write about it?

What's really going to happen in a home office? Not much, unless you're craving some quality time with your PC.

Have you ever tried to hide a yawn? I have.

My go-to move is to quickly put a hand in front of my mouth, smile widely and giggle. It usually doesn't work, but at least I'm putting forth some effort.

So, consider this a virtual wide smile and giggle. I'm going to bed.

I used to love to read.

I read so much that I'd stay up past my bedtime with a flashlight or stay on "the throne" until my butt hurt (or until I finished a chapter, whichever came first).

These days, I read far less for pleasure and more for work.

But, when I get a chance, I pick up something and read. It may have taken me two months to finish the 1946 Pulitzer Prize winner, but it was worth it. And I followed that one with the 1996 novel that many say was written in the same vein (and caused some major headaches for its author, who wanted to remain anonymous). It wasn't as long and there were far fewer words per page, but it still took two weeks. And I savored each page I read.

Sure, I could've seen the movie adaptation of either of these, but I much prefer a good read to a good film. In fact, I'm one of those people who, after watching a movie whose story was adapted from a book, will always say that "the book was better."

I love books. And one look at my two tall bookcases will second that. There are books arranged by type, by size, in alphabetical order by author. There are books in front of other books and books stacked on top of those books. And there are books that don't even fit in the bookcases.

What's an avid reader to do?

You see, not only do I love to read, I love to buy books. I must have dozens of books, bought over the last decade, that I haven't even read yet. Some are hidden from view, while others are right beside my bed.

Before I was a writer, I was a reader. I think it's time to go back to my roots.

Today, my mother Googled me.

I suppose it's my fault. I'm sure I am the person who told her what Google is and how to Google things. Boy, was that a mistake.

My mother called me at work this afternoon (as she often does) to ask me a question I would have thought she knew the answer to (as she often does).

And then: "What's this Chocolate Chip Chronicles?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me: the Chocolate Chip Chronicles."

"Oh. That's my blog."

"Your blog?"

"Yes, mom, my blog."

You see, mom didn't know about the blog. Not many people do. It's a personal daily writing exercise. A diary, if you will.

Only now, my mother holds the key to the diary.

My mother: the woman who has to call me at work every time she wants to open an e-mail attachment or reply to an e-mail and attach an attachment. I love her dearly, but she'll be the first to admit she's not the most computer-savvy person on the planet.

And, yet, she Googled me and found my blog.

How scary is that?

I've done my job for so long now that, at times, I forget what I'm doing.

Sometimes, when I find myself moving through my day as if I'm set on auto-pilot, I come to a screeching halt because I've forgotten how to do something that I do every week (and have been for nearly five years). I stop in mid-task, and think, "Now, how did I do that last time?"

I've been doing the same job for so long that many of the things I do have become second nature. I once tried to show someone how to do something that doesn't take me more than 10 minutes. It took me close to an hour to show this person how the task was done. Going through that process made me realize how quickly I'm able to do my work. But it also served as a reminder that I need to stop and think things through once in awhile.

One of the Web sites I visit each day is Playbill.com. Its slogan says it's been "serving theatre since 1884," but I was introduced to it about 100 years after that. (More than 20 years later, anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm a theater junkie.) Anyway, the site is full of the latest news about Broadway, off-Broadway and regional shows, plus fabulous features.

One weekly feature I enjoy is Cue & A. Current theater stars fill out questionnaires with random facts, backstage trivia and pop culture tidbits. Fan favorites Hank Azaria (Spamalot, The Farnsworth Invention) and Norbert Leo Butz (Rent, Wicked, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Is He Dead?) have filled out the survey, as have former "Laverne & Shirley" co-stars Cindy Williams and Michael McKean.

Recently, Seth Rudetsky, an actor and musician, began writing a weekly column, Onstage & Backstage. In this week's installment, A Tenor, a Soprano and a Mermaid, he mentions two stage actors who, after long runs playing the same character, forgot their lines during a performance. They were each able to recover, but after the curtain fell on the performance, each knew it was time to move on. One of them explained the phenomenon thusly: "If you repeat the same action over and over again for a period of time, you can go into a completely meditative-type trance."

Now, I'm no Broadway star, but I get the point. In fact, I've had to jerk myself out of said trance on more than one occasion. Luckily, I wasn't in front of a 1,000-person audience.

Anyway, after reading that, I couldn't help but wonder: Is it time for me to move on?

First, the obvious: It's less than two weeks into the new year, and I'm already slacking on my resolution to write something each day.

Second, the reason: For most of the last two days, I was either a) waiting for cold medicine to kick in; or b) feeling like a meringue because the cold medicine had kicked in.

I wish I could say that the effect the cold medicine had on me caused some great hallucination or groovy dream that I could recap here -- but I can't. There was, as they say, nothing to write home about (or, as is more appropriate here, nothing to write in cyberspace about).

Today was a rather blah day at the office, but at least no one else "is no longer with the company."

Over the course of the nearly seven years I have worked for my present employer, I have been on the receiving end of countless mass e-mails with some version of "so-and-so is no longer with the company." On a few occasions, that has been followed with something notfiying us that "the code to the front door has been changed."

The most recent e-mails came today.

I knew the contents of the first even before its arrival. The second took me by surprise, but I wasn't altogether shocked, either.

My department manager said it was an "amicable parting," told the 10 of us who were still there late on a Friday that the recently departed former co-worker did excellent work, and that sometimes, things just don't work out. (Well, that and we'd have to come up with a strategy while we were down one person -- a person who'd been doing the job for years and will be difficult to replace.)

Nobody's perfect. And, in this case, I believe it was a "three-strikes-and-you're-out" kind of deal. Today was the third strike.

I'm hoping this person will be able to take the experience and learn from it, though I doubt that's possible.

In nearly seven years, four people in my department have inspired "so-and-so is no longer with the company" e-mails and two have warranted "the code to the front door has been changed."

Today, though, it was different. Today, I was sad.

It's 9 p.m. on a Thursday night, and I am overcome with guilt.

Maybe "overcome with guilt" is too strong a way to put it, but I do feel regret over missing dinner with some out-of-town relatives for 60 minutes of television. (It's actually 44 minutes if you don't count the commercials.)

With the ongoing writers strike, I've been keeping close tabs on the few shows I regularly watch. There was only one episode left for "My Name Is Earl" and "30 Rock." Those episodes were just broadcast, and I was watching them.

But my relatives, who I get to see once a year, were dining without me.

Does that make me a bad person?

Well, it's Wednesday. You know what that means?

I'm tired.

In fact, I was so tired that I had to use all my power not to fall asleep during the evening commute. This was difficult, as it was pitch black at 6:15. That and the fact that I could only go 5 mph at times.

My question is: Where do all these people come from? And why are they leaving work at the same time I do?

I have a suggestion: Forget 9 to 5 (or 8 to 6 or 10 to 4) and let's be more flexible with the work schedule? It's the 21st century. People can telecommute. There's no reason that every working person South Florida has to be in the car at the same time. (I know, we really have no viable public transportation, but that's another story for another blog.)

It's bad enough that I have to drive 28 miles to work (and 28 miles back) each day. Yes, I know some people drive further, and I thank the employment gods that I don't have to cross a county line (as I did in the late 1990s). My goal is to make that drive as quick and painless as possible.

So, I've come up with a few suggestions:

1. If you see people who have been in an accident but look OK on the side of the road, keep driving. There's no need to gawk at them. If everything's under control, it's not your problem.

2. If you see people who have been in an accident and everything's not under control, it's OK to pull over and ask if there's anything you can do to help. However, you must pull over to the shoulder and not block any travel lanes. Do this quickly, then return to your car and be on your way.

3. If an accident occurs in the middle travel lane of an interstate highway or a similar road, drive past it as quickly as possible. Again, no need to slow down and inspect it. If you're unfortunate enough to be in the same lane as the accident, you may not see the obstruction coming. That's OK. It's not your fault. But when you realize what's in your way, pick the lane to your left or right and move there. (Using your turn signal before you do this would be a nice touch.)

4. If you are riding on a highway that has so-called "smart signs" across the travel lanes every so often, read them when you notice they are lit. But, please, read them quickly and keep moving. It's one thing to be going 60 mph. It's another thing to be going 60 mph and have to slam on your breaks because the person in front of you is a slow reader. Also, if the sign has a warning about a lane blockage or accident coming up at some point in your route, take the opportunity this advance notice affords you and pick another route. If you read the message, don't adjust your route and get held up in traffic, you have no one to blame but yourself.

5. If you have a cell phone, and you must be on it constantly, buy one of those nifty earpieces. It's bad enough you're going to be distracted by a phone call. The rest of us don't need to deal with a person driving like a maniac, holding the cell phone in one hand and twirling her hair with the other. (And, yes, I'm talking to you, gum-popping girl in the Honda Civic on the Garden State Parkway.)

6. And, finally, if you have an iPod, I highly recommend plugging it in and listening to it on any long drive. It does make a difference. Just don't use those ear buds. They're horrendous.

Following these six simple steps will make your commute (and mine) a much more enjoyable experience. Happy driving!

How much networking is too much networking?

I don't know the answer to that, but I can tell you how easily it is to get caught up in all the networking sites that are out there. In fall 2006, I signed up for MySpace. Last week, it was Facebook. Today, I gave in and got LinkedIn.

For the most part, I'm networking with people I see all the time or talk to frequently. However, I'm also connected to friends that I wouldn't normally keep in touch with on a regular basis, so that's a plus.

It's quite satisfying when someone you haven't seen in 15 years finds you. But what happens if you put yourself out there and no one cares? It's a scary thing, putting yourself out there. But, then you remember the old adage "nothing ventured, nothing gained," and everything's OK.

And on the seventh day, she rested.

Just kidding!

I was hard at work today, and I came across something I wanted to share.

I was reading one of my favorite blogs, the wonderful Pop Candy, from USA Today. A post brought to my attention another blog, Why We Write, which, according to the site, is "a series of essays by prominent - and not so prominent - TV and film writers … and by people like you: writers and those who hope someday to call themselves writers. Conceived by Charlie Craig and Thania St. John, the campaign hopes to inspire and inform all writers during the strike and, perhaps, beyond."

Today's installment (No. 11) is by Bill Lawrence, the creator of "Scrubs" -- my favorite show of the current decade. Not only is his essay funny, but I could definitely relate to it.

He writes: "I don’t write because I couldn’t do anything else. I’m a bright guy, I could hold down a number of jobs. I could run a hat shop. I don’t love writing. Nobody does -- it’s worse than fishing. Anyone that tells you that he loves to write has either never written anything or is, in fact, an alien."

As a journalist, I totally get that. Writing, to me, is something I have to force myself to do. I love the information gathering, but when it comes time to type it all up and submit my piece, I have issues. Don't get me wrong: I love to see my byline. (Of course, as I am a copy editor, I hope it's spelled correctly.) And, as Bill Lawrence says: "I write because as horrible as writing is, having written something is pure pleasure. I like that my parents have something to talk to strangers about."

And there you have it: He likes that his parents are proud of him. Isn't that what we all want?

This evening, it was cousins night. We sat around, chatted, ate pizza and watched "The Devil Wears Prada." I'd never seen the movie before, but I heard it was great and I was really looking forward to it.

Needless to say, I was a little disappointed.

Sure, Meryl Streep (as Miranda Priestly) was excellent, but the movie just wasn't all that, in my opinion. I haven't read the book, though I'm afraid my opinion of the film would have been even less had I done that.

Anyway, the one part of the movie that I could relate to was the Andy Sachs character. She takes a job at a fashion magazine, just to get her foot in the door. Eventually, it consumes her, and she becomes the type of person she detests. Now, that's not happened to me, but I can see exactly how it could happen. I mean, what girl wouldn't want a free designer wardrobe (with accessories) or a trip to Paris for Fashion Week? Even I wouldn't be able to say no to that.

Anyway, the viewer thinks Andy has become all wrapped up in her new world, but when Miranda points this out to her, she decides that's not who she wants to be. When Andy chucks her cell phone into the fountain, I was cheering (on the inside) for her.

She eventually takes a job at a newspaper, presumably doing what she was trained to do (writing, not assisting). It reminds me of myself: I took a part-time, low-level editorial-assistant job just to get my foot in the door. Now, it's nearly seven years later, and I'm loving my life as a copy editor.

Sometimes, things have a way of working themselves out.

When the story of my life is written, what will be said? I know I'm probably too young to be thinking about what my legacy might be, but that's what I do.

I wonder: Am I ambitious enough? Am I taking advantage of all that I have been given? Or, am I -- as many of my generation are -- slacking off?

Depending on the day I'm having, I think one of two things:

1. I'm doing great! I work full time, own my residence and am quite self-sufficient (most of the time).

2. I'm not doing so well. I get up in the morning, get ready for work, spend all day at the office, drive home, eat dinner, watch TV and go to bed so I get some rest before I wake up and do it again the next day.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Am I tiptoeing through life when I should be living it to the brim?

I've always been afraid to try new things -- until I try them, that is. I enjoy the comfort and solitude of my apartment after a long day of work. But I fear that I'm using my home as a crutch -- poor choice of words, I know -- and staying inside its walls when I have free time instead of going out, meeting new people and experiencing new things.

I know my hesitance to do such things holds me back. And, yet, I can't seem to make the leap and try something new.

It's already five days into the new year, with just five months until my next birthday. In those five months, I want to try five new things, whether it's going someplace, doing something or meeting someone new.

So, wish me luck. I promise to report back in June.

Winter is officially over.

Now, I know that, technically, spring doesn't arrive until March. But here in South Florida, we don't follow the same seasonal patterns that the rest of the nation does.

For instance, this week, we went from fall to winter to spring in a matter of days. I was as shocked as anyone when the temperature plummeted 40 degrees overnight, but I was thrilled that I'd finally be able to dip into my extensive winter wardrobe. (I also work in an office where the temperature, most days, makes it feel like a meat locker, so it was great to know it would actually be colder outside than inside.)

Two weeks ago, when I felt a slight chill in the air, I went inside to change into warmer attire: I traded in a short-sleeved shirt for a top with three-quarter sleeves. This week, I bundled a sweater on top of a sweater on top of a shirt. How wonderful it felt to layer it all on!

But, as the saying goes: All good things must come to an end. And I fear this is it for our brief cold snap. Sure, I could always turn up the air conditioning at home and in the car. Of course, there's still the workplace. But what fun is it to walk to the car in the morning all bundled up when it's 80 degrees outside? Not much, I tell you.

And so, just four days into the new year, I raise my glass to toast the prematurely departed winter: May you come again soon; perhaps in December next time.

The Writers Guild of America strike has taken its toll on my evening viewing habits, and I find myself in need of relief. Don't get me wrong: I completely support the writers, but sometimes, a girl just needs a little wind-down time after a long day at work. Luckily, I've got TV on DVD to help me through this difficult time.

Tonight, I watched an episode of "Scrubs," one of NBC's four Thursday night comedies that make up my "must-see TV" each week. That is, until they ran out of episodes.

"The Office" was the first to go. Due to a season that began with several weeks of one-hour episodes and was cut short by the strike (12 half-hours were produced), I spent very little time with the folks at Dunder-Mifflin in late 2007. And that's a shame, because they were really starting to grow on me.

Next, "My Name is Earl" premiered. That show, too, started with some two-parters, which tended to feel (much like "The Office") as if it was just too much at one time. So, with 13 half-hours produced, there's only one new episode left to air.

I decided to give "30 Rock" another chance this year, since it fell between "The Office" and "Scrubs," so it wasn't as if I was going to take a nap or do laundry in those 30 minutes. Boy, am I glad I did! That show has really hit its stride. However, the more I enjoyed "30 Rock," the quicker, it seemed, the episodes went. And now, out of 10 produced, there's only one left to air.

And, finally, there's "Scrubs." In it's seventh season, it's the oldest weapon in NBC's comedy arsenal. True, the network has never shown it the respect it deserves, but at least it's still on the air. This one started the season in late October (which, I suppose it better than late November or early January). There were 11 episodes produced (out of the final 18), and six have already aired. The good news in all of this is that I have five episodes to look forward to. The bad news is that, unless this strike is settled soon, I fear we may never see the final seven installments. Creator Bill Lawrence has said he will do everything in his power to wrap up the story he began telling in 2001, even if he has to call up the fans and read them, the script over the phone. If that's true, where do I sign up to give him my home number?

I have stayed with "Scrubs" from the get-go and throughout every time slot change. (I even skipped my company's holiday party so I wouldn't miss a fresh episode. But in case anyone asks, I don't really like boats.) Yes, I know how the sixth season played out, but during the writer's strike, it's comforting to know I still have something to watch. And when I'm done with "Scrubs," I am going to move on to an NBC show that only lasted a single season: "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip." (It never lived up to the hype, but I'm a sucker for an Aaron Sorkin story.)

Have you ever experienced a Wednesday that felt like a Monday? Or a Tuesday that felt like a Sunday? Well, thanks to this year's holiday, that's what my week's been like, so far.

Monday was odd, because it felt like a Friday. Tuesday was weird because it felt like Saturday and Sunday, all rolled into one -- and with no spare time to get the laundry done.

Today, after just one day off, it was back to work, sending this week's paper to press. It wasn't as long or as difficult as I imagined it would be, but last week was still easier. Nevertheless, I was on the road at a decent hour (although it felt like it was past my bedtime). Of course, there was traffic. And the inevitable errands (which also got lost in the shuffle of my faux weekend). And then I had to feed the car ($48!) so I could head back to work in the morning and do it all over again.

In 2008, I hereby resolve to write something -- anything -- every day. Even if it means I'm the only one reading it. I need to start writing again, whether it's the mundane details of my life, or something more.

As a youngster -- so my parents tell me -- I would be put in my crib for bed, and once my door was closed, I would recite the details of my day into the darkened room. Well, this is my new darkened room. Except it's not dark. And it's not exactly a room. But, I'm going to give it a shot anyway.

Today, I made it to the new IKEA here. It was pretty cool, albeit a little overwhelming. I'll have to take some measurements and go back again soon.