Joyful, joyful, we adore thee.

Ah, 2007, we hardly knew ya.

I have a secret love of all the year-end recap stuff - best movies and music, people of the year, and, especially, the remembrances. I guess that last one is for the same reason I love reading obituaries - people are so interesting! And so much of real life, you couldn't make up, and if you did, no one would believe it.

Anyway.

So, here are my personal year-end picks.

Best movie
I saw exactly three movies this year, which is humbling and mostly embarrassing. Knocked Up, Superbad and Dan in Real Life were all good flicks. However, I have to give the crown to Superbad. This movie made me giddy and was the first flick to which I've ever snuck in beer.

Juror's Award goes to Once, which is actually making many year-end lists. I didn't actually see this film, but my periodontist talked about it for an hour and a half while I was supposed to be knocked out during a very painful gingival graft.

Best music
In 2007, my iTunes list continued to bring me joy and embarrassment. I don't think Gino Vanelli is going to make anyone else's Best of 2007 list. However, my brother saved me and got me James Taylor's One Man Band for Christmas. I've yet to watch the DVD, but the audio CD is amazing. Sweet Baby James is still the man. Mad props to his tricked-out version of Slap Leather.

Best book
Oh, so many to choose from! Seeing as how I have no energy for keeping up with the latest releases, this is a new-to-me category. However, I loved Pontoon by Garrison Keillor, which is actually new this year. And I discovered that, err, mass production chick lit on CD is a great way to pass the commute. Jennifer Cruisie, Janet Evanovich and Mary Kay Andrews, you have my ear. And my gratitude.

Best discovery
Roasted Garlic Triscuits. Need I say more?

Best realization
This one comes courtesy of my coworker Dorothy, who, in an inebriated moment of clarity, proclaimed, "I'm obsessive. But you're a workaholic."

Holy shit.

She's right.

And it's not funny. I'm concerned about what food I put in my body and what chemicals I rub on my face, but I'm actually poisoning my body with stress and tainting my life with a skewed sense of reality. This brings us to ...

Best resolution for 2008
I'm going to remember what's truly important. I'm going to see Corporate Behemoth as a means to an end, not a source of identity. I'm going to relax, and let go of the fear that keeps me stressed. I'm going to focus on joy.

And, of course, I'm going to eat more Roasted Garlic Triscuits.

Better living through Braille.

We’ve determined that Geriatric Poodle finds his way around by running into stuff.

At first, I didn’t understand, and it made me very, very sad. But having compared notes with Mr. Wonderful and having watched Grandmaster Fluff work a room, it’s really pretty ingenious.

He rams his head into stuff to get a point of reference. Then he goes on his merry way until he rams his head into something else. Another point of reference. We’re cooking with gas now!

He’s mastered not only my house but also that of Mr. Wonderful, who has a big carpeted stairway. Although Geriatric Poodle occasionally wanders aimlessly because he doesn’t realize everybody went downstairs, he’s adapting really well. And we’re learning not to abandon him in a different part of the house.

I walked Foxie Doxie and Geriatric Poodle three times a day, every day, rain or shine, for the two looooong years I lived in an apartment. Admittedly, I bought a fenced yard with a house attached. And so, I’m so excited about not having to walk them that I often don’t. Bad mommy!

However, Mr. Wonderful relishes walking the pups, and the extra exercise is making a difference. Geriatric Poodle has a spring in his step. I can’t even begin to imagine all the smells and delights that he finds, so the fact that he trips over the sidewalk is ok. He’s adapting seamlessly, and I should wake up and appreciate his example.

From my family to yours.

I'm tired. And grouchy. And generally don't even like myself at the moment.

You want to read more, don't you?

I'm doing about 27 different things simultaneously, and I'm not doing any of them very well. And a very merry Christmas to you, too.

So, in celebration of overextended women everywhere and the true meaning of the holiday, I'm sharing my favorite Christmas song ever - it even tops Bruce Springsteen's version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and that's really saying something.

I know I've posted this before, but it's a sweet little reality check against Martha Stewart, who would have you believe that everyone else's holiday features crystal, brie and Cornish hens. Let's hear it for bloody marys and Robert Earl Keen.

Why didn't they sing "Cat Scratch Fever?"

Ladybug's preschool Christmas program was this afternoon. She goes to a preschool in a church, and the program was held in the sanctuary.

As expected, the program was a hoot. Kids dressed in holiday finery waved to parents. Kids didn't know when to stop singing "Jingle Bells" - but, to be fair, that song really has no ending. But sadly, no kids cried or hid underneath pews, which was one of the high points of the program I went to last year to see a girlfriend's little boy.

I guess there's a big difference between the 2-year-old program and the 4-year-old program.

I was surprised, though. The program was very Santa-centric. Like, totally about Santa. Eight-pound, five-ounce baby Jesus did not make an appearance of any sort.

Now, I think matrons who wear puff-painted sweatshirts that say "Keep the CHRIST in Christmas" just need to loosen up. Besides, I find the all-caps "CHRIST" to be really condescending. Oh, Christ? Is he related to X-mas?

But it seemed really odd to be in a church sanctuary and have no mention of The Big Man.

Not the bearded one.

Well, except Jesus did have a beard later, since evidently he grew up to look like Ted Nugent.

You know who I mean.

A little perspective. And pudding.

Mr. Wonderful was visiting with an old friend this week. His friend is in the same boat as Mr. Wonderful – divorced dad dating. Choppy waters, indeed.

The friend shared that his 4-year-old is jealous of his girlfriend. The child will ask, “Who do you love more? Me or Girlfriend?” And when they’re all watching a movie together, the child will sit between the lovebirds and say, “I’M SITTING BY DADDY!”

Oh, lolly.

Mr. Wonderful wasn’t even finished retelling this tale of woe before my hands were raised in the air and I was falling out. I am so frickin’ lucky. Thank you, sweet eight-pound, five-ounce baby Jesus.

Mr. Wonderful’s daughter, whom I call Ladybug – not sure why, it just seems to fit – appears to really, really like me. When I arrived at their house yesterday, she had about 17 things she wanted to show me and stuff we needed to play with immediately. After about 10 minutes, I finally convinced her that we should go find daddy just to say hello.

And at dinner? She laughed hysterically when I told her that eating pudding was serious business and that there would be NO FUN EVER at our dinner table.

Later, she hugged me. Voluntarily. Completely unprompted.

And then later, we pretended that the living room carpet was actually a sea of pudding that all the stuffed animals kept falling into.

I think I’m finally loosening up.

One of my friends, who has had a stepmom or two, gave me what I now realize is priceless advice. She told me to just own it.

So, I’m trying to not fabricate an ex-wife/mom who judges my every move. I’m working on owning it. I’m a good person. I’m good with kids. And I’m not afraid to pretend like I fell off a couch into a sea of pudding and need to be rescued by a stuffed bunny and a 4-year-old girl.

I should have joined the A/V Club.

When I was in grade school, we’d have movie day right before Christmas. All of the grades would pile into our gym/cafeteria and the principal would project movies on to the painted cinderblock wall.

I think the teachers stood outside and smoked.

There was usually one longer-length main feature that was about the importance of family or some such thing. But there would be filmstrips, too.

Remember filmstrips? If you were super cool, you got to run the filmstrip while the teacher went out for a smoke. The cassette soundtrack would beeeeep! and you’d turn the little dial to change the slide.

Now, I distinctly remember one of the Christmas movie day filmstrips being about … the birth of Jesus.

Yes, I went to a public school.

And no, there weren’t any Jewish people in town.

And no, I don’t think Kwanzaa had been invented yet.

And no, I don’t think cultural sensitivity had been invented yet, either.

This all makes me laugh – teachers smoking in the breezeway while 250 kids crammed into a sweltering gym with one always-on radiator learned all about the birth of our lord and savior from a filmstrip.

Oh, yeah.

You know, if I had to spend the week before Christmas with 25 overstimulated little kids, I’d probably a) start smoking and b) abandon them to pretty much any filmstrip – Jesus? Charles Manson? Fine.

So, to all my old teachers – no hard feelings, ok?

Woof.

So, I was in the midst of writing this depressed post about how work is stressing me out and I’m popping antacids like Pez.

While it would have been a contender for Worst Post of the Year, I’m excited to report that Alice called me before I could finish my diatribe.

She’s getting a beagle puppy. Or maybe two.

I’m so very, very excited. Alice is one of my dearest friends and in need of a bit of change in her life. And what better change is there than welcoming a furball who loves you unconditionally?

Hi, I’m a crazy dog lady.

So, bully for Alice. And that lucky little dog or dogs who will soon claim her.