Stripes and Plaids

It's a 4-way Finale on DWTS this season

2011-03-22T14:01:00.000-07:00

I watched the premiere of Dancing with the Stars last night. Don't judge me - it's mesmerizing and you know it. If you don't watch it, then you're watching some Real Housewives, or Jersey Shore, or The Bachelor. And you're not learning anything from those train wrecks, whereas I now know... Well, I don't feel dirty after the show is over, and you should, if you don't. So shut the front door.

Now that I am an aficionado of couch-ballroom-dancing-judging - this is my third season, after all - I am prepared to make my predictions for who will be participating in the 3-person finale. You gasp! It's only been one show - I know, but I'm that good. It's actually going to be a 4-way finale: Karate Kid - football player - Kirstie Alley - and Kirstie Alley's shapewear. I am not being catty - I am so impressed with her style, and her groove - she's 60 for f**k's sake! She might even bag Maks if her season lasts long enough, and I will be totes jealous if she does! And that might be an even better prize than the mirror ball trophy, because a man who can move his hips like that, well, you know what they say about dancing...

What? You don't know what they say about dancing? You're philistines. "Dancing is the vertical expression of a horizontal emotion." That's what they say.

I'm going to put an asterisk on my prediction, because this is a physically grueling sport, all sequins aside, and Kirstie's knees/back/neck might not hold up. In which case, the 3rd person will be: the Disney nymphette whose claim to fame is that she kissed Joe Jonas on screen. Chelsea?

You're welcome. If you have any spare cash, you should make that bet with your bookie right now. And the winner? well, America loves a comeback, a weight-loss success story, and a good backstory. So on all three counts, it's: Kirstie! Start taking your glucosamine/chondroitin, girlfriend!

What's on Your Emergency Evacuation List?

2011-03-17T22:49:00.000-07:00

I'm waiting for Japan to implode and overflow with nuclear effluvia that will fly into the atmosphere and head straight to San Diego. It's possible that I have been watching too much TV, but in all seriousness, this is a real, god-awful crisis composed of NUCLEAR ATOMS. IN AEROSOL FORM. So, for once, I'm only about 25% overreacting.
Which got me thinking - of course - about what I would take with me ~~when~~ if I had to evacuate in a hurry. What I would take with me as I fled, in my IKEA bag, since the rats ate my Samsonites? I mean, I want to be thoroughly prepared to join the giant traffic jam on the 805. So here's my list in the order they occurred to me, not in order of importance:

My migraine meds
Toby's flea pills and heartworm meds
my bras
cash
Tori & Woogie (who are cremated and in lovely cedar keepsake boxes)
my hypoallergenic pillows

And then several hours later (!)

my laptop + external hard drives, ipod, ereader, plus charger cables for all of it
there's probably some irreplaceable papers around here I'll need for, oh, the rest of my life
my expensive prescription reading glasses
jewelry?
CLOTHING - like, clean underwear, anyone? what are you going to wear those bras under, dipshit?

So, I'm not sure if I'm delightfully unmaterialistic, or if my brain is irretrievably broken. I will be working on this list, but in the meantime, what's on your list?

Tori's Big Adventure, Or How The Big Red Dope Locked Me Out

2010-03-18T19:31:00.000-07:00

[Tori dictated today's blog]: So, The Big Red Dope propped the front door open this afternoon when she got home from somewhere. We let her leave the house once a day - if we don't, she gets a little cranky. So instead of the yard, I decided to use the place that smells AWESOME where all the other dogs pee, and left the apartment. I'm 15 years old - I don't need to sign any log book when I leave the house! I took my time sniffing around the stairs and shrubs in the big square with walls.

When I got back to the front door, it was closed! I could hear talking inside, so I barked. And then I scratched. Nothing. I waited 5 minutes. I scratched again. I heard the Dope open the sliding glass door to the yard - where I was not - and I heard her slide the door shut. I barked again. She is not very bright, and doesn't speak Dog, but you don't need to be a genius to understand 'HEY' in any language, do you? I waited 5 more minutes, and I barked again.

And finally the Big Red Dope opened the front door, and said, like it was a big shocker, "Oh my god, you're outside! What are you doing out here?" She was still on the phone, and I didn't want to embarrass her, so I wasn't gonna say anything, but then she says to me, "You can't just wander outside without telling anyone! I didn't know where you were!"

Well, I knew where I was, sister! I was standing outside the front door!

I Didn't Win the MegaMillions, or any other lottery, in the last 24 hours

2010-01-30T15:21:00.000-08:00

I wonder if I should leave the house again today. There seems to be a limit to the number of items I can remember to bring with me when I walk out the front door, and the keys aren't always one of those items. I am quite dizzy today, a rising 7, and this morning, when I still wanted to take the dogs out for their walk, these were the prevailing conditions:

Sunny day = hat AND sunglasses required
2 barking, gyrating dogs = leashes AND poop bags
Cold weather (for San Diego) = jacket or sweatshirt
Outside = shoes

So I walked out the front door with my sunglasses, sun hat, sweatshirt, and sneakers on, with the dogs on leash and poop bags in my pocket, and pulled the door firmly shut behind us. Extra items in bold.

No keys.

I had to ask Frank the Fighter Pilot next door if I could climb over his wall to let myself in my own back door. He keeps barstools on his patio (!), so it wasn't too tough a climb. But the patio door was locked, so I had to lift my own weight over the cinder block wall into my grass backyard to go in the impossible-to-lock doggie-door to let the dogs in the apartment. I'm pretty impressed that I managed it with only a Home Depot bucket to stand on - max height maybe 15 inches. The cinder block wall is 6 feet high - I know this because I measured it for the grid.

Would a true gentleman have offered to climb over the wall himself and spared me the possibly ankle-spraining effort?

Should I sew a spare key pocket into the crown of my sun hat? Or maybe duct tape one to the casing of the dogs' retractable leashes. That would make a total of 5 spare keys to the apartment in and around San Diego: Lisa's house, Jennifer's house, the glove compartment of my car, and the keychain with the mailbox key. I don't think Alzheimer's patients have that many spare keys to their homes hidden in case of forgetfulness.

I'm ready to get my brain back.

Let's Pretend 2009 Didn't Happen...

2010-01-12T21:51:00.000-08:00

Someone asked me today if they could see my blog, and I said, uh, sure. My blog. I still have that, don't I? If pressed, I would have been sure that I hadn't posted here since June 22, 2009 - 'the day' the twerp stood still. I would have guessed that I hadn't posted more than once in 2009, since I had been so busy, and also so dizzy, during those 6 months. But I would not have said that the last post was dated September 22, 2008. On September 22, 2008, I still worked at Eventful, Nana was still alive, Shrub was still President, and [personal fact here that I'm just not going to share with you, even though we're close. We're just not that close; don't be upset about it, no one is that close, OK?]. I posted a lot while I worked at Eventful, because political events were eventuating, as Caribou Barbie might have said, and maybe did say, and Mom and Dad and I were emailing one another at a furious pace, and I was posting some of it. I was waiting for the avalanche of support to come in from the google group that my posts go to, along the lines of, wow your parents are old-school, good thing they have you to set them straight, and keep fighting the good fight. Somehow, the avalanche got lost in the mail, but I will have to pursue that line of thought another day.

Because a couple of days after the last post before this very post, Dad called to say that Nana was not recovering from her visit to the hospital the way she had from every previous visit to the hospital, and that he didn't think she was going to recover this time at all. This was difficult to swallow, the way it must be difficult for Woogie to swallow when I open his mouth with one hand, and put his pills all the way down his throat with the other, then close his mouth, and rub the outside of his throat with my other hand. His front paws come off the ground, and he pries with both of them at the hand that's holding his snout closed, not hard enough to scratch, but hard enough to let me know that he's really uncomfortable, that he would really have preferred another pill delivery method, and that I'm surely the meanest mother in America. I would love to work together on this medication problem, but he always finds the pills no matter how they're disguised - in the soft cookie, in the gooey pill case, in the pumpkin mash - and he always spits them out. And he needs the medication - so I do what every mother has to do, which is force pills down her child's throat even though it hurts, and it's sad, and surely there's a better way to do it.

I flew to New York on September 30th and said goodbye to Nana, and when she died the next day, Mom lost her best friend. Although they were best friends in the same way that Frodo and the ring were best friends, and we all miss her, Mom misses her most of all.

There's more to 2008, and a lot more to 2009, but I'm not sure I want to cover it all, and I know I don't want to cover it all here. A la Oprah, there's one thing I know for sure that I learned in 2009, and then I will close the curtain, only opening it again at my whim: I don't have a brain tumor.

Time to re-direct some energy

2008-09-12T10:09:00.000-07:00

I received a knitting newsletter this morning that I always skim for new things to start to knit, and then abandon halfway through. (Starting a project involves buying yarn, while finishing a project takes time and work. Duh.) This newsletter featured a charity founded by knitters who were sending, among other things, handmade blankets to veterans hospitals and the military hospital in Germany where evacuated casualties go first.
I encourage you to follow the link to Soldier's Angels and join me in registering to adopt a soldier. Even if you don't knit, they have many other options you can choose to contribute - care packages of food, hygiene, reading material, phone cards, etc etc. I realized as I was browsing the site that all my angst and frustration wasn't making much of a difference to anyone, least of all the people I was haranguing. But I can and will put my superlative shopping skills to work on behalf of a deployed or wounded soldier. And no matter what we think about political parties, individual candidates, and ideology, there are hundreds of thousands of soldiers who would love to just come home.
If you'd like to join me in adopting a soldier, let me know, and maybe we can join our efforts. You don't have to knit - check out the site and you'll see that there are other things that take time and not much money.
Don't worry, I'm still full of piss and vinegar, as the saying goes - or wait, is that as offensive as lipstick on a pig?
Love,
Boppie

This is so wrong, it's right...nope, still wrong

2008-08-14T13:36:00.001-07:00

First reply with the correct number of gratuitous full-splits in this video gets a signed photo of Woogie au naturel.

Courtesy of my new favorite website, dooce.com:

OH MY GOD. The following video is exactly why Al Gore invented the Internet. I AM MESMERIZED:

Woogie: update

2008-05-07T13:29:00.000-07:00

Dr. Hetzler called, and said that Woogie's THYROID is 'depressed' and that may be contributing to his weight problem. He's prescribing medication and wants to test him again in a month.

Lucky dog!! I'm convinced my problem is my thyroid (:)) but no one wants to give me any meds for it. *pout*

Woogie is Fat

2008-05-06T21:15:00.000-07:00

Now, you are no doubt saying to yourself: duh. Woogie has been portly for many years; he has his (birth) mother's physique, alas. But this morning, at the vet, he weighed in at 24.9 lbs, and he should weigh between 18-20 lbs. I have to take some of the blame for that - I've been a bad mother. However, he is very persuasive, and you're fooling yourself if you think you could resist any better. [In fact, he's very much like the Borg :)]

But Dr. Hetzler (Woogie's vet, at Ark Animal Hospital) made some good points, too, especially concerning how Woogie's 'avoir-du-poids' (as Dad would say) is affecting his agility and making his little heart murmur worse. He needs to lose 20% of his current body weight, and we started the regimen today.

Day 1 of Woogie Watch:

Tori and Woogie each ate 1.5 oz of Wellness Senior Formula and 1 cup of Sensitive Stomachs kibble. Normally, Woogie eats the wet food and walks away, and Tori eats Woogie's kibble too. I always relent about 2 hours later and give Woogie 1 to 2 cups of kibble to snack on. And then a dental bone, and sometimes whatever is left over from my dinner too. *shame*
But tonight, I mixed the wet food into the kibble, Woogie cleaned his bowl, and then I removed the bowls from the floor.

And now, Woogie is staring holes through me, wondering why I have suddenly become so very stupid.

Before you judge me, just take a look at this stare:

Now, I'm not claiming he is shooting blue laser beams into my brain, per se, but it sure feels that way. I'm going to have a hard time maintaining my own snacking program under this kind of scrutiny.

A la prochaine, mes amis - wish me luck!!

That Kid of George's

2008-04-06T20:36:00.000-07:00

Read this - contributed by my own father!

Beneath the photo from the REAGAN DIARIES is an actual quote that Reagan wrote about George "W" in his diaries . . .recently edited by author Doug Brinkley and published by Harper Collins"

A moment I've been dreading. George brought his n'er-do-well son around this morning and asked me to find the kid a job. Not the political one who lives in Florida; the one who hangs around here all the time looking shiftless. This so-called kid is already almost 40 and has never had a real job. Maybe I'll call Kinsley over at The New Republic and see if they'll hire him as a contributing editor or something. That looks like easy work."

From the REAGAN DIARIES------entry dated May 17, 1986.

I'm Still Alive...

2008-04-02T11:33:00.001-07:00

but "I'm one good stomach flu away from my goal weight." Not really, but I am convinced I look much thinner today.

Jacquie got engaged last month to Marcelo, who has promised to cherish Georgia as much as he does Jacquie. I haven't met him yet, but with heart like that, I think it's just a formality.

Erica is having a baby today - I think it's her fourth child - I haven't seen her in years but I bet she looks fabulous, with all her little blond kids and babies following her in a row like ducklings.

Facebook is reintroducing me to people I have totally forgotten ever knowing: Laura Galanaugh? Apparently we played softball together. and Alka Aneja? Her name is vaguely familiar, I think she went to West Milford and had very long black hair.

And Katie O'Connor is kicking my ass in Scrabulous. I never liked Scrabble; I like to make real words, and to win you have to make all those 2 and 3 letter words that fit in with the longer ones and get you double credit. But they're not really words.

One of my friends on LI says he can get me a job there whenever I want it. But I don't want to live on LI - my hair will never look good and I'd have to live inside except for 3 weeks in April and 4 weeks in October.

I miss my babies - I had a dream last night that I was in the Caminito Vello house for some innocuous reason and I woke up with my heart pounding in a panic. That's not right. There are too many things making me sick right now - no wonder I keep 'barfing'.

Plantie* still has flies - first, I killed her baby - the flower bud - and now I'm poisoning her to death with insecticide. But the other half of her that I replanted and kept at home is thriving. Maybe the office is killing Plantie too.

* Plantie is the unkillable plant Mom sent me for my birthday. Things were fine until JFoo told me that I had to re-pot her because the roots needed more room to expand.

Oh, for crying OUT LOUD! Cortisol Strikes Again!

2007-08-27T10:37:00.000-07:00

Stress May Wreak Havoc on Your MouthHigh Stress May Contribute to Gum Disease
By WebMD Medical News

Aug. 13, 2007 -- Too much stress may not only spoil your mood, it may also spoil your smile.
There is mounting evidence that there’s a strong link between stress and gum disease, according to a new review of research on the issue.
Researchers found 57% of recent studies reviewed showed a positive relationship between gum disease and stress and related psychological symptoms like distress, anxiety, depression, and loneliness.
Although it’s difficult to pinpoint the negative effects of stress on your gums, researchers say the studies suggest that elevated levels of the stress hormone cortisol may be involved.
In addition, stress may make people more lax about their oral health habits.
“Individuals with high stress levels tend to increase their bad habits, which can be harmful to periodontal health. They are less attentive to their oral hygiene and may increase their use of nicotine, alcohol, or drugs,” says Preston D. Miller Jr., DDS, president of the American Academy of Periodontology, in a news release. “Patients should seek healthy ways to relieve stress through exercise, balanced eating, plenty of sleep, and maintaining a positive mental attitude.”
If untreated, gum disease can lead to loss of teeth as well as bone in the jaw. Symptoms of gum disease include tender, bleeding gums, swollen gums, bad breath, and loose teeth.

Sign the PETA Petition

2007-07-20T17:03:00.000-07:00

You have all heard about this creature's disgusting activities on his farm in rural Virginia. PETA has posted a petition to send to the dude who runs the NFL. You can simply send it as is, or modify it as you choose. The link above will take you to the petition; I have included the letter I sent below. I don't know what else to say except that I saw one person's idea of punishment for Vick: tie him naked to a pole and splash him with raw meat and blood - as he apparently did to some of the 'loser' dogs - and set the surviving dogs loose.

(And please excuse the run-on sentence at the end - in my mind I was pausing to poke this dude in the chest with an accusatory finger.)

To Mr. Roger Goodell:
I was appalled to hear of the neglect and abuse of dogs discovered on Michael Vick's property. I hope that you take Vick's indictment seriously.

Please suspend Vick immediately. The NFL has created a funnel and culture of men who kill pregnant baby mamas, drive drunk and kill people in other cars, and do recreational and performance-enhancing drugs at will with few or NO REPERCUSSIONS from the NFL. Football generates huge sums of money from spectators, TV and merchandise licensing; talent (so I am told) and money have allowed this piece of offal to think he is invulnerable. The NFL created this monster - any ordinary sociopath found torturing animals and enjoying the pain and agony of dogs would be immediately put away for the protection of society. Are you going to allow this maniac with unlimited funds and no conscience to continue to enjoy the privileges he currently enjoys as a member of your organization? The damage he has done by participating in this so-called sport as someone that men and boys across the country admire and look up to is reprehensible.

Dismiss this amoral monster from the NFL and ban him for life - if Pete Rose can be banned for gambling, the NFL had better step up - or I will BOYCOTT any products that advertise during an Atlanta Falcons game of any kind. This may not impact your bottom line too much, but be warned that the moral outrage this person has generated will tarnish any company, team, organization or product associated with him in future. And before you laugh at my naivete, remember that it was the millions of people like me whose outrage at the number of Katrina animals whose owners were forced to abandon them to starvation and drowning during the evacuation that has completely changed the way animals are treated during emergencies.

This should sound familiar: Just do it.

OMG - URGENT - IMPORTANT - READ NOW

2007-05-17T10:57:00.000-07:00

I emerge briefly from my purse-browsing stupor to share this tremendous news with you. To wit,

"I wished out loud for a purse trading club, and New Girl piped up with the smartest thing she’s said since she started here. (J) (Why it took her so long to spit this out, I’ll NEVER KNOW!)

www.bagborroworsteal.com – the gist – join the club, borrow/rent brand-new and fabulous purses (and jewelry!) for as long as you want for cheap, and then return it when you’re tired of it and get another one!!!

PS – New Girl is actually quite cool, and is good-naturedly taking the hazing which primarily consists of calling her New Girl until someone else is hired. Since I was the last person hired before her, technically I was New Girl for about 20 months. I have paid my dues!"

Over and out ladies - happy shopping!

The Five-Second Rule Explored, or How Dirty Is That Bologna?

2007-05-09T10:32:00.000-07:00

An article from the New York Times, so you know it's legit...

[A] thorough microbiological study of the five-second rule: the idea that if you pick up a dropped piece of food before you can count to five, it’s O.K. to eat it.
We’re reminded about germs on food whenever there’s an outbreak of E. coli or salmonella, and whenever we read the labels on packages of uncooked meat. But we don’t have much occasion to think about the everyday practice of retrieving and eating dropped pieces of food.

[T]the true pioneer of five-second research was Jillian Clarke, a high-school intern at the University of Illinois in 2003. Ms. Clarke conducted a survey and found that slightly more than half of the men and 70 percent of the women knew of the five-second rule, and many said they followed it. She did an experiment by contaminating ceramic tiles with E. coli, placing gummy bears and cookies on the tiles for the statutory five seconds, and then analyzing the foods. They had become contaminated with bacteria. For performing this first test of the five-second rule, Ms. Clarke was recognized by the Annals of Improbable Research with the 2004 Ig Nobel Prize in public health.

It’s not surprising that food dropped onto bacteria would collect some bacteria. But how many? Does it collect more as the seconds tick by? Enough to make you sick?

Clemson ha[s] now put some numbers on floor-to-food contamination. Their bacterium of choice was salmonella; the test surfaces were tile, wood flooring and nylon carpet; and the test foods were slices of bread and bologna. First the researchers measured how long bacteria could survive on the surfaces. They applied salmonella broth in doses of several million bacteria per square centimeter, a number typical of badly contaminated food.

[A]fter 24 hours of exposure to the air, thousands of bacteria per square centimeter had survived on the tile and wood, and tens of thousands on the carpet. Hundreds of salmonella were still alive after 28 days. [They] placed test food slices onto salmonella-painted surfaces for varying lengths of time, and counted how many live bacteria were transferred to the food. On surfaces that had been contaminated eight hours earlier, slices of bologna and bread left for five seconds took up from 150 to 8,000 bacteria. Left for a full minute, slices collected about 10 times more than that from the tile and carpet, though a lower number from the wood.

What do these numbers tell us about the five-second rule? Quick retrieval does mean fewer bacteria, but it’s no guarantee of safety. The infectious dose, the smallest number of bacteria that can actually cause illness, is as few as 10 for some salmonellas, fewer than 100 for the deadly strain of E. coli.

Disorder in the American Courts

2007-05-08T15:00:00.000-07:00

Now, I know you know I didn't write this, and that we've seen it before, but it just seems to get funnier each time I read it.

These are from a book called Disorder in the American Courts, and are things people actually said in court, word for word, taken down and now published by court reporters who had the torment of staying calm while these exchanges were actually taking place. It's worth reading to the end!

ATTORNEY: Are you sexually active?
WITNESS: No, I just lie there.

ATTORNEY: What is your date of birth?
WITNESS: July 18th.
ATTORNEY: What year?
WITNESS: Every year.

ATTORNEY: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
WITNESS: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.

ATTORNEY: This myasthenia Gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
WITNESS: I forget.
ATTORNEY: You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot?

ATTORNEY: How old is your son, the one living with you?
WITNESS: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can't remember which.
ATTORNEY: How long has he lived with you?
WITNESS: Forty-five years.

ATTORNEY: What was the first thing your husband said to you that morning?
WITNESS: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?"
ATTORNEY: And why did that upset you?
WITNESS: My name is Susan.

ATTORNEY: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo?
WITNESS: We both do.
ATTORNEY: Voodoo?
WITNESS: We do.
ATTORNEY: You do?
WITNESS: Yes, voodoo.

ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?
WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?

ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the twenty-one-year-old, how old is he?
WITNESS: Uh, he's twenty-one.

ATTORNEY: Were you present when your picture was taken?
WITNESS: Would you repeat the question?

ATTORNEY: So the date of conception (of the baby) was August 8th?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And what were you doing at that time?
WITNESS: Uh.

A TTORNEY: She had three children, right?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: How many were boys?
WITNESS: None.
ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?

ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?
WITNESS: By death.
ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?

ATTORNEY: Can you describe the individual?
WITNESS : He was about medium height and had a beard.
ATTORNEY: Was this a male or a female?

ATTORNEY: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?
WITNESS: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.

ATTORNEY: Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people? WITNESS: All my autopsies are performed on dead people.

ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What School did you go to?
WITNESS: Oral.

ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?
WITNESS: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.
ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?
WITNESS: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy on him!

ATTORNEY: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?
WITNESS: Huh?

And the best for last

ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
ATTORNEY: But could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?
WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law.

The Modern Fairy Tale

2007-04-23T11:08:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of Mary Hoffman and her friend Nancy,

This is the fairy tale that should have been read to us when we were little:

Once upon a time
~~~~~~~~
in a land far away,
~~~~~~~~
a beautiful, independent,
self-assured princess
~~~~~~~~
happened upon a frog as she sat
contemplating ecological issues
on the shores of an unpolluted pond
in a verdant meadow near her castle.
~~~~~~~~
The frog hopped into the princess' lap
and said: " Elegant Lady,
I was once a handsome prince,
until an evil witch cast a spell upon me.
~~~~~~~~
One kiss from you, however,
and I will turn back
into the dapper, young prince that I am
~~~~~~~~
and then, my sweet, we can marry
~~~~~~~~
and set up housekeeping in your castle
~~~~~~~~
with my mother,
~~~~~~~~
where you can prepare my meals,
~~~~~~~~
clean my clothes, bear my children,
~~~~~~~~
and forever feel
grateful and happy doing so. "
~~~~~~~~
That night,
~~~~~~~~
as the princess dined sumptuously
~~~~~~~~
on lightly sauteed frog legs
~~~~~~~~
seasoned in a white wine
~~~~~~~
and onion cream sauce,
~~~~~~~~
she chuckled and thought to herself:
~~~~~~~~
I don't freakin think so.

2007-02-05T08:53:00.000-08:00

Session Two: Character Building

Assignment by Meredith

Gina emerged from her walk-in closet, wearing slim black Capri pants and a pink twinset, and carrying two pairs of black flats. She put them on the floor, and slid her right foot into a mule with a low heel, and her left into an open-toed sandal with a kitten heel. As she gazed at her feet in the full-length mirror, she noticed that the left big toe of her French pedicure was chipping at the edge. She took the sandal off her left foot decisively, and put the second mule on. She turned back to the sink, looking at her glossy, shoulder length hair critically; one side always took the curling iron better than the other did, and the bob was slightly uneven as a result. Checking her watch as she reached for on switch, she pulled her hand back and picked up a black elastic instead. She didn’t have time to re-do her hair if she wanted to be on time, and a plain ponytail was an acceptable exchange for punctuality. She examined her smile in the mirror, not really expecting to find any leftover bits of breakfast, while measuring the decline of the latest whitening treatment on her front teeth. She applied a coat of beige-pink lipstick, adjusted the set of the sweater on her shoulders, and walked into her bedroom. Once she finished moving the color-coded pouches from last night’s purse to today’s plain black bag, she walked down the stairs to the garage, her sunglasses carefully planted on her head.

Emma glanced at the wall clock as she passed through the doorway to the bathroom; it said 7:45, but that really meant it was 6:45. She needed to be in her car, backing out of the garage right now, to be on time; so every minute she spent getting ready was now a minute late. She was late already; but clearly she couldn’t leave because she wasn’t wearing pants, and she had not yet combed her hair. She didn’t wash her hair every day as it was, and sometime she arrived at the office without having actually brushed it. Thank the Lord for whoever decided bed head was sexy; sexy wasn’t really appropriate for work, but since she couldn’t style it ‘sexy’ anyway, it fell somewhere short. She couldn’t style hair to save herself, and it was obvious; she needed a perfect cut that only had to be combed out and left alone. Well, she amended, not perfect as such, more self-sufficient enough to look nice without ‘product’, masterful blow-drying, or any kind of guidance, really. 7:55, which was really 6:55; Emma put her wide-toothed comb into her purse, put on her black boots, and some beige pants. Her 10-second assessment in the mirror showed her tangled, flaming red hair over a flushed, makeup-less face, and dried toothpaste on her lips. She ran out the bedroom door down the stairs to the garage; she had some yogurt in the refrigerator at work for breakfast.

Do you recognize any of these people? :)

Assignment for Session One

2007-01-31T11:13:00.000-08:00

The first assignment for the writing workshop I'm taking was to create a 500 word piece describing a setting - no characters, dialogue, etc.

Also, I would like to make it clear to you, (Mom), that I'm not looking for advice or opinions - I'm just sharing. So you can send me the "I liked it" without the ", but..." part.

The minute she walked in the door, she knew what his apartment held. It didn’t smell in the den, exactly, but the heavy aroma of vanilla laced with Lysol was foreboding; it implied, this scent is better than the one it’s covering. The carpet was utilitarian, with no nap and in one of those shades that low-rent offices often sported. Except for a square patch of linoleum just over the sill, it was wall-to-wall. She saw crumbs, hair and pennies pushed up against the metal separating the carpet from the ‘entryway’.

The boy stopped in front of the television; the gigantic, more than 40 inches, some kind of HDTV television that may have cost him more than the car he drove. There were four speakers arranged in the corners of the room, mounted on brackets in the wall to provide the ear-splitting experience men couldn’t seem to watch TV without. She saw the requisite boxes trailing intestines of wires from the television: a PS2 console, several kinds of controllers, CD / DVD player, TiVo, cable box, and more. All these black and matte silver pieces were stacked up on top of one another, intermittent milk crates separating the heat-generating items from their neighbors. Umpteen DVD and video game cases and discs littered the floor; the certain knowledge that many discs were mis-’boxed’, boxless, or lent away triggered a full-blown OCD attack that turned her away from the horrible scene.

Unfortunately, with her back to the shrine, she faced the couch. She had never seen this couch before, but she knew this couch. It had belonged to the parents of this boy, or one of three other roommates, and had gone to college after several years as the family perch. It was ugly – d’oh – threadbare, and shiny, even though the fabric had been chosen to wear well rather than ‘show’ well. But years of greasy-haired drunks sleeping on the arms without a pillow, years of unwashed jeans making personal indentations in the cushions - cushions that didn’t flip, of course - and years of cigarette smoke, pot smoke, and stale food gave even this fabric a sheen that was almost sickly. She also knew, without ever setting buttock to cushion, that this couch’s cushions were sunken, lumpy, and the gateway to that repulsive maw where remotes, crumbs, condom wrappers and new breeds of penicillin lived. She was never, ever going to sit on this couch; never going to kiss this boy, let him try to get her horizontal. He would never know that she would leave immediately rather than ever take the chance that her bare skin, or even bare hair, would touch that fabric. She knew that romance, or even lust, would never have a chance between them because she would never be able to concentrate on his lips, or his yummy cologne, or anything else while sitting on that couch; she would only think about surviving contact with the couch’s ecosystem and its inhabitants.

I am proud to be a voter

2006-12-23T16:45:00.000-08:00

"What Christmas Means To Me", December 1, 1992

2006-12-22T21:03:00.000-08:00

Many thanks to Jonathan Mazur, digital pack rat and my hero, for producing this gem from somewhere in the archives at my request. I have copied it verbatim from the email I sent to him in response to his traditional email survey, What does Christmas Mean to Me. And without further ado, we whisk you away to 1992...

TO: JMAZUR@A1
Subject: RE: The Fourth (And Final) Annual X-Mas Survey!!!!

dear jonathan ,
herewith is my response to your christmas survey. i also passed this on to some of my friends since i figured you would enjoy as many responses as you could get. also, i hope you had a good time in london. nj was very dull as usual.

I love Christmas Day, but I don't like the Christmas season because I hate going shopping with my mother, and that ends up being what Christmas means to all of us, starting the day after the day after Thanksgiving, since it takes us at least 36 hours to recover from all that food, trying to shop for every person under the sun, whom we may or may not know well but have to buy a Christmas gift for anyway, because she is a perfectionist, and tries to get into everyone's head and figure out what object would make them the happiest person in the whole world, which will tell the recipient that we are loving caring people who don't just buy any old thing at the mall like everyone else does, but who instead give careful thought to each person's personality, likes and wants, even if we really have no idea what they are, all within a certain budget range which we end up going over anyway, since to my mother, a sale item means you should get 2 things instead of just one which negates the effect of the bargain, and which is different for each recipient and if they are under the age of 20 has a lot to do with what their parents bought me, which she already knows since they all tell each other what to get their kids anyway, which usually ends up being clothes, which no one ever wants, and if they do want them, then they definitely want to pick them out on their own, since no one wants what their mother picks for them to wear, and especially not what their mother picks for their friends to buy for them, and all this deliberation is very irritating and can last all night, since suggestions are always ignored even though she says a hundred times per minute, 'well, if you would just help me out a little here, we could go home' which we all know is not true, since we would only go to another store anyway, home is just a dream to cherish on the escalator full of bighairs, especially if you are, as I always am, the designated 'heavy winter coats, purse full of soda cans, cigarettes and catalogs, shopping bag full of another purse and ten more catalogs, not to mention an extra pair of shoes and a snack for my dad' carrier, which can get stressful and life-endangering, not to mention mood-altering when the department store is approximately 100 degrees Fahrenheit because the store doesn't want its shoppers to get cold even though they ALL brought their coats inside with them like we did, and since if I try to dress comfortably I inevitably get the 'why don't you ever dress nicely for your father and I, we deserve to see some of the things we buy you, I know you don't dress like that at school, you look like an orphan, I hope I don't see anybody I know' lecture, to which of course there is no response, so I'm always dressed to the teeth and very uncomfortable, so of course when I get naturally cranky after 5 hours of shifting from one foot to the other, shifting the bags from one hand to the other, and watching my dad sitting on the 'man' chair in the ladies lingerie department reading his newspaper and rubbing his temples and sighing loudly every 7 minutes, looking like the Christmas Martyr, I try to urge her along since it's now 10:47 and we have actually purchased nothing although I have an armful of potential gifts in addition to all my other burdens, and the store closes at 11:00 and even if I do get her to finish in this department, she will only go to another one half a store away, while I stand there buying all the crap she has collected as the store PA announces that the store is now closed, and all the doors are closed except for the one that gives out into the car-jacking section of the parking lot, and we run around trying to find our mother while dad runs for the car so we can all drive to the diner together, since we haven't even eaten dinner yet because eating before shopping makes her sleepy and she doesn't get as much done on a full stomach, although the rest of us need to eat every four hours or we get embolisms, which, if you don't know, are similar to PMS of the brain, and one of us at least is very conscious that every bit of food and fat eaten after 9pm stays right where it doesn't belong but has the most friends, so how am I supposed to fit into my new Christmas outfit, or maintain even a semblance of Christmas spirit with all of these problems, except if I don't, then I get the 'how can you be so selfish, you are so lucky, think of all the people out there tonight who have nowhere to sleep, nothing to eat, and no Christmas to look forward to, you don't deserve any presents, I think I'll give everything I bought for you (admittedly, enough to keep a small orphanage happy) to the Salvation Army' lecture, which is enough to make anyone wish they were an orphan, and contemplate the odds of getting reassigned to a new family if you try to get lost in the mall at the age of 21, which then makes you feel guilty for being so selfish at Christmas time, but really the best gift of all for me, if she only knew it, would be to not have to go Christmas shopping with her, but I can't say that of course, so I resolve to be perky and happy, which lasts all of ten minutes, which is when mom asks for the fortieth time, 'what do you think I should get Little Sam for Christmas', because if there's one thing I know I don't know, and never have known, it is what a 16-year-old boy wants, for Christmas, or any other occasion, but even worse is then getting assigned to purchase Little Sam's request ( and please don't ask why he's called Little Sam) because the thought of having to go to the record store in the mall where I am always greeted with pitying looks for my hair impairment makes me shudder, and having to look for the latest Whitesnake box set when under ordinary circumstances I wouldn't be caught dead within 200 feet of Whitesnake or anything they were responsible for, and I sit in the back seat of the car listening to Mannheim Steamroller Christmas music to my eternal shame, and I think to myself, 'This is what Christmas is really all about - earning your gifts in Shopping Mall Hell, the only place Dickens never took us, where every new day until Christmas holds its own special torment in store, and there will never be any escape, not even when you marry like your sister, because then you will want to go with her, to make sure marriage has not altered your taste in any drastic, unbecoming-to-a-Gronroos manner, which traditionally is to overbuy, overstress, overspend, and overwrap, so if you think its bad now, you know not whereof you speak.' This is what Christmas means to me.

Whatever, you know you pop them anyway...

2006-12-11T14:09:00.001-08:00

Earth Therapeutics Skin Care Tool

You know how you aren’t ever supposed to pick at or pop zits? And then we all do anyway? Well, if you get this, and follow the directions, you will be doing the wrong thing the right way.

This Skin Care Tool is specially designed to extract blackheads and whiteheads-safely and effectively. It is recommended that you use this tool after a steamy shower, facial sauna, or after applying a warm towel to the affected area. This opens the pores and prepares skin for treatment. Tool used by skin care salons and professional aestheticians. earththerapeutics.com Directions: Before use, make sure to disinfect and sterilize the tool with an alcohol-treated cotton swab. Make sure hands are washed and thoroughly clean. For whiteheads, wait until the whitehead matures and breaks open the skin. Then use the flat side to gently roll out the whitehead. For blackheads, press down the thin loop side directly over blackhead to gently remove. After use, clean and disinfect the treated area on the skin. Care hints: Please clean off the skin care tool with an alcohol swab after use as well. Store and protect the implement in the original storage tube that came with this package. Warning: Please do not use fingers to squeeze out whiteheads or blackheads. Use of the fingers can aggravate the problem and damage skin.

Fat Factors - New York Times

2006-08-28T14:00:00.002-07:00

Fat Factors - New York Times

I read this at the beach this weekend, while the magazine was resting on my food baby. It's a long article, naturally, since it's in the NYT Magazine, but fascinating - especially the part about how the mice with no microbes in their system weighed 30% less than the ones who had the natural amount. Also, the bacterial population of those who have had many courses of antibiotics is drastically different, and in a negative way, than of those people who have maintained their original set of microbes. And the obese woman who was participating in a study in the 1970's when she weighed 348 pounds? For a week they fed her exactly the right number of calories that would mathematically support 348 pounds at her activity level, and no more or less; she gained 12 pounds and they accused her of sneaking in food. She never ate that many calories in a day, and had a hard time losing weight for some mysterious reason. AHA!

Migraines, Sinus Headaches and Brain Lesions, Oh My!

2006-08-11T08:28:00.000-07:00

This article was in the New York Times today, and it is particularly relevant because I had a terrible migraine last night. As you know, I suffer from sinus headaches constantly, which aren't always concurrent with my also constant sinus infections. According to this latest update, there is no such thing as a sinus headache, in and of itself.

there is growing evidence that almost all so-called sinus headaches are really migraines. No wonder then that the plethora of sinus remedies on the market and the endless prescriptions for antibiotics have yielded so little relief for the millions of supposed sinus sufferers.

So I've been taking antibiotics unnecessarily, in at least half the cases that they were prescribed for, and I am a serious migraine sufferer - a category that I never thought I was in.

But the good news, of course, is that I can now pursue migraine treatment instead of sinus treatment - which should be more fruitful.

Although hard to mistake in their classic form, migraines can be — and apparently often are — misclassified as sinus or tension headaches, probably because they can cause nasal congestion, pressure or pain in the forehead or below the eyes, and discomfort on both sides of the face.

The second 'revelation' which was old news to me, is that migraines occur with the most frequency before and during the menstrual cycle. Something to do with estrogen withdrawal.

The best news of all is that I don't have a debilitating, degenerative brain lesion causing the headaches. I might have one, but it's not the cause of the headaches, anyway. And, I can return to my diet of chocolate, red wine and aged cheese, since the links to migraines have been disproved. The bad news, of course, is that I can't avoid stress, weather changes, fatigue or poor sleep.

Migraine sufferers have long been cautioned to avoid certain foods believed to bring on attacks, especially chocolate, alcohol (red wine in particular) and aged cheese. But the evidence supporting this notion is meager. More common causes include stress (positive or negative), weather changes, estrogen withdrawal, fatigue and sleep disturbances (hence, perhaps, the
association with alcohol, which can disrupt sleep), as well as overuse of over-the-counter pain medications.

So I will just have to buy a peignoir and a sleep mask to wear, and a chaise longue to faint on when the 'megrim' strikes again. Color me 'afflicted'.

Au revoir, mes chers!

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby

2006-07-24T15:33:00.000-07:00

Hi kids –

You know you want to see this, really bad. But maybe you’re embarrassed to go alone, because people might think you’re dumb for enjoying low-brow comedy. But you’re not dumb – you’re just intellectually confident. [OK, some of you are dumb, but I’m trying to be inclusive here.] But, if we go in a group, and wear turtlenecks and carry copies of On The Road or something similar, we can all pretend we’re just there to appreciate the irony of how eager the unwashed NASCAR masses are to be entertained. [We went to college; we know what we’re supposed to think.]

But I will lead you there, because I have no shame when it comes to the low-brow – no jokes, please, Mary Hoffman – in fact, I embrace it. I embraced Jean-Claude Van Damme in the early 1990’s; I embraced Jim Carrey in the mid-1990’s; and I embrace Will Ferrell in Old School, Anchorman, and whatever else he chooses to put on film. So come with me – on August 4th, 2006 – to the opening of Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. Show times are not available yet, but we should go to the movie, and then out afterwards to discuss the thematic congruencies with the Nouvelle Vague cinema of the 1950’s. It’ll rock!!

I will organize, if you will open your mind, and set it free. If it comes back to you, it was always yours. If it doesn’t, your name is Chad Hartley.

Signed,

Meredith, “The Master Cylinder” (get your own racecar name here)

No Shirt, No Shots, No Service

2006-07-13T19:26:00.000-07:00

If the Dog Whisperer had a cult, I would join immediately. I, too, need exercise, discipline and affection, in that order. Clearly, I feed myself too many biscuits, and don't give myself enough exercise. So imagine what poor Torque and Woogie feel like!

Anyway, Cesar (we're on a first-name basis) was featured in the Sunday New York Times Magazine last month, and you can read the article by following this link. I was watching an episode of the show when my roommate - male, metro-sexual, and a Marine, said, "That guy is so gay." Jealous!

So all the single women in my demographic with 'furry children' adore him, not just what he does to their dogs - he's sexy but harmless, despite his "energy of dominance." Is he the Alan Alda of the aughts? He's not gay, mind you - he has a wife and 2 children and that sexy accent - but he's about 5 feet tall, and has a very gentle manner. Not to mention he is the 'furry kid' daddy of our dreams. Single women no longer look for a new daddy for their forlorn bipedal kids - they want a new daddy for their quadruped kids; one that commits to dressing a 20lb dog that lives in California in a polo shirt every day. (BTW, for those of you who still call Cali "the land of fruits and nuts" (Dad), there are no signs outside restaurants that say properly dressed dogs are allowed inside, but not naked ones. No Shirt, No Shots, No Service ? Or, No Emotional Support Dog Service Vest, No Service. I'm working on the wording.)

Aha! I smell another movement

The Karaoke Set List, JP's Pub, 7/3/06

2006-07-06T14:02:00.000-07:00

1. Long Time Gone - Dixie Chicks - this is the first time I've performed this one. It sounds better in the car, and I'm not sure practice will make a difference. But they didn't have Sin Wagon, and I'm a little tired of Goodbye Earl.

2. Bitch, Meredith Brooks - this used to be Tara's song, so it reminded me of her.

3. Harper Valley PTA, Jeannie C. Riley - the karaoke lady's friend started to sing this, but you could tell it was just to kill time so the karaoke lady could go have a ciggie. She didn't know any of the intonation, and was starting to fade out. Train wreck, people! I, of course, know this song by heart, since it was adapted into a TV movie starring Barbara Eden, a k a I Dream of Jeannie. I ran up, grabbed a microphone, put all my twang into it, and nailed it. Of course.

4. Look At Me, I'm Sandra Dee - from Grease, of course, and I did it just like Rizzo - squeals, and asides and gestures. This was the most fun - I'm definitely doing this one again. Another song I know without needing to see the words.

5. I Love Rock & Roll, Joan Jett - this was my swan song, and I growled it out. My favorite part is the boy being 17, and i was bumping and grinding with the inflated guitar prop.

JP's Pub was a pleasant surprise as a venue: there is a stage, but it's on one side of the room, so the novices don't feel too nervous. And I loved the varied selection of songs this karaoke lady had invested in. Aside from no Sin Wagon, it was really good. I give it 4 mikes out of 5. :) And they have 2 pool tables, and a surprising quantity of cute boys. Ben says that there's a lot of Marine housing in Tierrasanta.

The love that dares not speak its name...(OK, it's TiVo)

2006-07-04T19:45:00.000-07:00

OK, I am a raging nerd, it's official. I just turned on the TV, and was picking a program on TiVo, when I noticed that TiVo was recording 2 shows AT THE SAME TIME!

And I said, quote, Wow, that is SO hot, end quote.

I never thought I was cool, but wow, I am really a dork. :(

More PetRevolution - To the Barkicades!

2006-06-25T12:53:00.000-07:00

Print Story: Think your office is a zoo? Companies go pet-friendly on Yahoo! News

Thank you to Jacquie for sending this link - although it is a corollary to the previous post about the emotional support dogs, she hadn't read that when she sent this to me.

I smell a movement...ok, poor choice of words...I sense a trend!

Wagging the Dog, and a Finger - New York Times

2006-06-20T17:40:00.000-07:00

Wagging the Dog, and a Finger - New York Times

I seem to be leading the crusade for the emotional support dog in my immediate vicinity. You need to check this out if you have a dog that you would like to travel with but can't because it's too expensive, or if you can't find a place to live that will accept animals. If New York City landlords are bowing before the power of the Americans With Disabilities Act, then you know it's got power.

The best part of all is that landlords, restaurant owners and store owners are forbidden by law to ask what your particular disability is. So if you are stark raving mad, you don't have to admit it - you just need to put a vest on your dog.

Good Gravy Hannah

2006-06-19T21:15:00.000-07:00

I am very sad to report that Popsie has passed away - yesterday evening. In my thoughts, he is already staking out a garden where he will plant his own too-may-dahs, some basa-nigole, and some mint for the iced tea. And while I will miss him, he was 82 and had had prostate cancer for a few years. I feel more sad because I think he wasn't happy - I know I wouldn't have been if I were in his slippers - but I don' t know what he felt about his life. I do know he lived in a completely different world than I did. He was born about 1920, I think he grew up relatively poor, was drafted to the Pacific theater in WWII, and married Nana years later. I don't believe he was happy his whole life the way I would define it - but he didn't expect to be either. He lived near the Sound, he (always) had a cat named Piper, he had his own, homegrown tomatoes, and his own basignole - and plenty of napkins and salt and pepper packets from the best franchise restaurants on Long Island. And I bet he thought that was pretty good.
Good Gravy Hannah, Popsicle. I love you.

Appalling lack of commitment to the blog, I know -

2006-06-14T12:27:00.000-07:00

But I have a really good excuse! On March 1, 2006, my niece Amanda Catherine was born, and I have been a little distracted since then.
Or, I was for about 4 weeks, and then I spent a few weeks recovering from those weeks. Because Mom came to Cali to help Lisa with the baby, so I had to make sure my house was really clean, instead of just tidy. [Although, she never came over, so I don't know why that mattered. Nonetheless.]

And then there was the Walk for Animals on May 13, for which I spent 4 weeks raising money at work. (I am listed on the event's home page as one of the TOP 10 online fundraisers for this year's walk - I know that's a pretty specific title, kind of like being Miss "Brown-Eyed Brunette Right-Handed" America - but I am still way proud.) Team Vistage was commended for its efforts: we hosted the Paws for Claws Bakery every week and raised almost $600; we held a Denim for Doggies day on Cinco De Mayo that raised $540; and our total was $2500!

And then I spent some time recovering from that; and then some more time recovering from being chastised by my boss for spending too much time on the fundraising, and not enough on my job.

So now I'm back.

In the interim, I have read some really good books -

Weather Warden series by Rachel Caine;
The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher;
the Temeraire books by Naomi Novik - these are AWESOME!;
the Arabesk series by Jon Courtenay Grimwood (Pashazade, Effendi and Felaheen) - as you know I am not inclined toward the Eastern milieu, but these books are really good, and have a definite sci-fi foundation;
the Merchant Family series by ... I forget.

Since I joined the Amazon Prime club: 2-day shipping for free with a one-time payment of $79, which I long since paid for, I am now addicted to buying books online. (But don't worry, Mom - I sell them again, since I read them so fast, for half-price, on Amazon. It's very meta.)

And I got an iPod as the reward for reaching $2500 in donations, and I am addicted to it now. I take it everywhere, and thanks to it, have finally achieved my lifelong dream: figure out how to read a book while at work!! Also, I bought an audiobook on Mandarin Chinese, and have completed the first lesson. I can ask you if you speak English, or Mandarin, and tell you that I can't speak Mandarin. Or, since the meaning of every word depends on using the correct inflection on every syllable, I could be telling you that your father is intimate with rickshaws. I just can't be sure.

So, according to Janet, my continued financial viability depends on me thinking as little as possible. So I think I'm going to pursue my latest idea for a novel: an office farce written as though it's an episode of The Dog Whisperer. So stay tuned.

PS - Lori resigned last week - and I am considering knitting her a going-away gift. I am not sure what that means.

PSS - and the puppies are still handsome and pretty, respectively.

"The rodent was dead when I picked it up"...

2006-02-24T12:11:00.000-08:00

said Torvill Marie Gronroos, in response to an accusation that she is a stone-cold killer. "I was out doing my business, you-know, with my bro' and my person (leashed, I swear), when I stumbled on a hidden treasure. Right under a bush, behind the mailboxes, was the dessicated corpse of some kind of rodent. So naturally, I snapped it up - I'm a terrier, people. Let's call a garden tool a garden tool."

An eyewitness, Wagner "Woogie" Gronroos, claims that Ms. Gronroos snapped the rodent in half, that in fact it was still alive and squirming. He believes that not only should Ms. Gronroos be subject to appropriate legal action, but the rodent, as her property, should devolve to her next-of-kin. Which would be her brother, "Woogie" Gronroos. Authorities are still weighing the probative value of his statement.

But what happened next is the true mystery: brutal daylight mugging, or selfless act of heroism? Since Ms. Gronroos' person is obviously not able to speak comprehensibly, we can only interpret her actions.

Ms. Gronroos states that after prancing away from the bush, toward her brother, with nothing more than simple gloatery in mind, her person suddenly began making high-pitched squealing noises. Then the person, who has been a beloved part of the Gronroos pack since 1995, jumped on Ms. Gronroos from behind and tried to pry her jaws open.

"Well, as I mentioned earlier, I am a terrier, so obviously ol' Thumbs couldn't do anything. But I didn't want to hurt her, so I just growled. This went on for several minutes, until Thumbs got the bright idea to stick her entire hand in my mouth." Ms. Gronroos paused, still distraught over the gruesome incident. "I really don't know why she went off like that - we've never hurt her, and we've always shared our decomposing corpses and garbage treats with her. Or tried to - she doesn't have a strong stomach.

"Anyway, she stuck her whole hand in my mouth, trying to prevent me from swallowing the rodent. I guess, accidentally, I may have punctured the skin on one of her fingers, but only because I was trying to hang on to the rat. You can't walk the street of Mira Mesa with bling like that just dangling from your mouth!"

Mr. Gronroos takes up the story from there. 'Well, you should have seen them wrestling in the middle of the mailbox area, with all the other people in their cars driving by. It was great - and I was only holding back because I didn't want to hurt either of them."

At this, Ms. Gronroos slants a ferocious glare at her brother. "Right! Sure! Anyway, I finally had her where I was on my back and she was at all four paws length, yelling and pulling at the rodent - and then I decided to let go. If she really wanted the rodent that badly, I was happy to introduce her to some fine cuisine. I expected thanks, but of course, I didn't get anything but more shouting and a really lousy dinner. You just can't get good help these days," she sighs.

Sharp Rees-Stealy Urgent Care reports that the Gronroos' person received a tetanus shot, and a bandage for the very small puncture wound on the person's right middle finger. The Urgent Care facility reports that the puncture is very small, and it was only the presence of the rodent in Ms. Gronroos' mouth that made the shot necessary. The person's instructions include keeping the finger clean and dry, and reporting any signs of bubonic plague or hantavirus on the finger immediately.

Final thoughts from the Gronroos pack? Ms. Gronroos says, "I saw a side of Thumbs that I've never seen before. It's disturbing."
Mr. Gronroos said,"I shoulda had that dead thing first, I coulda been a contender."
And Thumbs, when addressed, said,"Blah blah blah, Tori, blah, blah blah blah blah, Woogie. Blah blah."

Hopeful Pessimism update

2006-02-14T15:31:00.000-08:00

Hopeful Pessimism: Just once I'd like to see a headline...

Ok, you must go to Jonathan's blog and read the article about the British man who redecorated his entire condo to look like the bridge of the Voyager and then went bankrupt.

But I also made a comment and it reminded me of a true story.

I was in a training class once, as a student, when the instructor was trying to make some kind of point, possibly about many options that looked very similar to one another. He coiuld see that no one understood what the hell he was saying, and so he pointed to me and asked,
"Meredith, how many pairs of black shoes do you own?"
I am supposing that he wanted a number, and I was prepared to give him one, but first I had a qualifying question.
"Winter or summer?"
And of course, that made sense to all the women in the room, but being that this was Sprint, where all the men had only 4 pairs of khakis and 2 pairs of shoes - 1 pair of sneakers, and 1 pair of rubber-soled brown things - they didn't get it. Especially not the instructor, and he clearly thought I was being a wiseass. [The actual number isn't the point, really, and I don't remember how many pairs of shoes I have anyway. Just like I don't remember how old I am or how much I weigh. The answer to all those things is, enough.]

This goes to the classic legal adage: never ask a question of a witness if you don't know what they're going to answer.

Let this be a lesson to all of you on Valentine's Day.

Happy Valentine's Day - celebrating everyone's favorite massacre

2006-02-14T09:54:00.000-08:00

Yes, Valentine's Day is the anniversary of a spectacular massacre - something to do with the mafia in Chicago, possibly, involving Tommy guns. But it's just another day here at the salt mines, except that every amateur baker has brought in chocolate brownies, chocolate cookies, chocolate cupcakes, etc. It's cruel, mainly because we're all cooped up here, and those of us who aren't pregnant are in the grip of PMS, and the boys are all hiding under their desks. So it's a figurative massacre, I guess. In the true spirit of Valentine's Day.
My Valentine, Woogie, gave me 5 turds this morning, and I think I'm getting more presents later, too! :)
In other news, the mention of Travis Corcoran, long-lost and completely forgotten until Jonathan mentioned him last week, caused some confusion on Lake Forest Way. Somehow Mom & Dad thought he was a new beau of some kind, and pressed for all the delicious details. I had to disappoint them, while suppressing the urge to vomit; in fairness, though, no one had their best year, appearance-wise, in 1985. But while he may not still be pasty, pudgy, dorky and obnoxious, I bet he's still pasty and obnoxious; and therefore, not my type.
Speaking of my type, that elusive phantom, I read on Sunday that there is a dating site called Geek-2-Geek, upon which one can find one's intellectual soulmate without having to leave the comforting bluish glow of one's flat-screen monitor. I'm planning to investigate, and will keep you posted. I'm betting that some profiles are compsed entirely in mathematical notation, or heavily freighted with Star Wars references. I can hardly wait!!

The marathon training continues; Saturday was a bust, since Mary and I both overslept/chose to sleep in. But we did go on Sunday to the unofficial run along the Mission Beach boardwalk. It was a beautiful sunny day in San Diego, and the beach was full of the bold, the beautiful and the bulging. But the sun was strong, the waves were high, and I did not pass out. In fact, I ran a larger percentage of the 3 miles Sunday than I did last Saturday. Was it the pressure of all those eyes upon me that pushed me, or the incentive of the hot boys in their almost altogether that inspired me? I don't know. But while I didn't lose 25 pounds on the spot, I was very smug the rest of the day about my exploits. That's because I wasn't flamingo-pink in the face, mouth-breathing heavily, or sweating cartoonishly anymore. At the time, not so much. But let me tell you, my couch-dwelling readers, what I have learned from this experience so far: the ability to feel smug is worth almost any physical discomfort. Not for me the euphoria, the satisfaction of charitable effort, the endorphin high - just smug, and I can eat as many cookies as I damn well want to - because I ran 3 miles today! (Maybe that's why W likes to ride his bike.)

Speaking of Lake Forest Way, I'm still waiting for Mom to confirm that she will be here for the birth of Baby Watkins - last time we had the delivery room all to ourselves, but it's going to be crowded this time, and I need a wing-man. And I'm still waiting on the baby pictures of Lisa from her baby-hood - otherwise I will have to find a pink baby bonnet that will fit Woogie. (Don't ask, really.)

And I haven't picked a location for the shower yet, but I have the invitations (treacly and precious), glittery butterflies (maybe we'll name her Mariah), cutesy placecard holders, and baby confetti. I just need to pick the place, make a reservation, write the invitations and mail them, and come up with some sort of cutesy game to play while we're there. That's all.

I ought to go now - I"m expecting 2 joins today and I don't want to mess up my karma by goofing off too much.

A bientot, Meredith

Brace yourself - this is really big news.

2006-02-04T19:49:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I completely forgot about Travis Corcoran - and to know that I shut him down - that is probably the first time I realized what a rush it was to shut a man completely down. That moment has had a tremendous impact on my life. Damn you, Travis Corcoran!!

But that 's not the really big news - the really big news is this: I have joined Team In Training (The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society) and will run the Rock & Roll Marathon on June 4 in San Diego.

OK, breathe deeply, and bend over and put your head between your knees. The dizzy spell will pass.

I am too tired to write more, since I left my couch dent this morning at 6:30 and proceeded to run/walk 3 miles - literally from a couch dent of 3 years duration to 3 miles. And I have agreed to do more of the same 3 times per week, with alternate days of cross- and weight- training - until the marathon. [The shopping spree at Road Runner Sports, the World's Largest Running Store, was only a small consolation.] And while this is going to severely curtail my reading schedule, it will be a personal milestone that I have never before wanted to pass. Or maybe I just want runner's abs.

My dear friends are probably wondering if someone has hacked into this blog and is making up crazy stories - but it's really true. It will become more real to you when I send you literature and ask for your donation to sponsor me. With the heart- and wallet-string tugging picture of the tiny urchin with leukemia who manned the Gatorade station this morning. He literally tried to give me the Gatorade out of his own cup!

So I'm signing off now - my arms hurt because apparently my chicken wing method of boosting my speed is both unorthodox and highly stressful to the arm muscles.

2006-02-03T12:14:00.000-08:00

This is turning into a long and multi-part correspondence with Jonathan, or JAM as he has thoughtfully acronymed himself, but I think he asks good questions. And let's face it, youth wants to know! [Hi, Mom.]

First, I hope you're feeling better. Saw that you stayed home the other day. Second, I must ask -- Ben -- when you say "roommate" do you mean "roommate" or is that a euphemism? Also, is he wearing camoflage so the dogs can't see him? (Does that mean they would just see a plate of food?) Also, on that blog post -- I think we went to Hillcrest (wasn't that the old school they used for LU? -- Incidentally, did you know that Mrs. Rathyen retired a couple of years back? They had a whole party/event for her, and I sent in some memories via paper, because, well, I wasn't prepared to drop what I was doing and dash to NJ, but it made me feel old...) And I
wasn't brought into LU until 3rd grade, so I reckon that's when we met. But wow, I'd forgotten we'd known each other that long. (I was going to be smart and ask which did "sort of" pertain to -- the "long lost" part or the "friend" part... but then I figured you weren't feeling well, and didn't need me getting all lippy...)

Yes, I am feeling better today, thank you - I just have some seriously jacked-up sinuses, and so every germ that floats by settles in and torments me. In a truly amazing example of narcissism, my new boss actually asked me today if she made me sick, because she had noticed a pattern of me taking a sick day after every meeting with her. How does the aspiring sycophant answer that? Yes, you make me sick, because you are my sun and moon? Or, no, you don't make me sick because a force of goodness such as you couldn't possibly affect me in a negative way? I demurred, and said only that I was sure there was no connection.

Ben is just my roommate - not a euphemism, just a co-habitant. He wears the camouflage not to avoid detection by my dogs, but because he is a Drill Instructor for the United States Marine Corps. This makes him the best roommate ever, not because he has the dogs marching in lockstep, but because he is never home. When he has a platoon of future Marines under thumb(-rack), he sleeps many nights on the base with them close by, and only comes home to do laundry. He is a very nice boy, but at 27, he is much too young for me - or, too old, depending on what you've heard.

You're quite right, it was Hillcrest - Maple Road was the middle school. Mrs. Rathyen lived in my neighborhood, and when she retired, she sent a picture of me to my parents. My dad sent me a copy - I'm wearing some kind of Garanimals turtleneck and lab glasses, staring intently at something that was no doubt about to catch fire. I have a serious problem with candles, and now that I reflect, I bet that's where it all started.

And, wise-ass, the "sort of" referred to the long-lost part - I did attend your wedding, relatively recently, so it's not like I'm Michele Zavada or anything! I did see Alison Hoffman in 1994 - I was working part-time in the Macy's Housewares department, and she was there with someone she identified as her "husband." Now, that may have been a euphemism. And as we know, she might as well have called him her "first husband".

I do not recall catching the bouquet at your nuptials - I seem to be a bouquet magnet, and oddly enough, one of the few remaining unmarried women of my acquaintance. I remember catching the bouquet on several occasions: Kathy & Chris' wedding, Michelle & Randy's wedding, and I'm sure it's happened more than that. So there must be some sort of inoculating effect. Would you send me a copy of that picture? If it's digitized, of course - (like you don't have everything including this so-called cat of yours digitized.)

So what's this recurring theme about "Sugar is your nemesis"? -- do you mean in a medical way? Or more in a "no, I shouldn't have that second brownie" kinda way?And Balsamic Vinagrette gives you migraines? I get migraines too! (Sadly, with some frequency, though unlike you I haven't pinned down the specific trigger -- beond too much sunlight, that is, which is a lot better now that I wear polarized sunglasses -- they make a huge difference). Hmm, with all this in common, it makes me wonder how life might have turned out if you had gone to the junior prom with me...

Sugar is my nemesis - not in a way that is recognized by the medical establishment, but then again, I would refer you to your earlier mention of ADHD. Not all genuine problems are "dreamt of in [their] philosophy." I don't know what the problem is, exactly - I just know that I feel a lot better when I eliminate it - but that is almost impossible to achieve. If I had that much willpower, I would use it on some truly intractible problem, like religious fanaticism, or getting Tori to stop fishing in the toilet.

And as for the junior prom - it is clear to me now that a large part of my success as a novelist and memoirist will be based on the fact that I have never attended a prom. If you would deprive me of that just so we could hang around in the present day kvetching about our headaches together, then you are just not the person I thought you were! [:)]

Alright, JAM, you must spill all the details about our mutual friend J.S. I love nothing more than a good real-life soap opera.

2006-02-01T14:43:00.000-08:00

I just got up - I called in sick because I was up coughing last night - and then I fell asleep like you do after you've been drinking for hours - the weird dreams, with people that don't go together, doing things that seem normal but really aren't. And lots of drool. So whatever cootie is trying to bring me down, I hope I just napped it to death, or at least dormant. If living in a bubble were practical, I might try it. Or it could all be related to sugar - my nemesis.

Evan sent a lovely synopsis of what's going on with the Allisons in Chattahoochee:

Hey Mare!!
Hope you are doing well (I can't really tell from the blog). Life here is good. Spratt is growing like a weed and will be 3 in August. Cory bought out her partner and is now running WiggleWorm by herself. Our house is finished, except for a few punch list items and it's beginning to feel like home.

What's up with you? Who is Jonathan?

My question: What is WiggleWorm?

Jonathan is my long-lost (sort-of) friend, from the original nerd herd in 2nd grade. I have known him since we were both, what are you in 2nd grade, 8?, when we were tested, segregrated, and shipped on a literal short bus once a week to the special kids school for 'Learning Unlimited.' And I mean the special school - It was where our township sent all the different kids - physical handicaps, mental handicaps, and us, the ones who would have no normal friends forever afterward but each other. The bus picked up kids in wheelchairs, and kids who were seriously (you're not supposed to say retarded anymore) after they picked up me, Chuck Schmoyer and Chris Brantley and took us to Maple Road. It was like being a trio of gazelles that the cheetahs would cut out of the herd, trundle off out of sight for several hours once a week, and then return to the herd, expecting the herd to take us back in. Much like the wild animals of the African veldt, the American elementary school student just loves the "different". So we have been friends a long time - we danced at my sweet 16 costume party (Morticia and Dracula, thank you), I attended the Terminator 2 premiere field trip he organized at Rockaway Mall, and I attended his wedding, officated by the former Governor Kean of New Jersey. But most importantly, for one birthday he gave me the omnibus edition of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and thus was born a genre passion that has yet to die.

And despite my chronic sinusitis. and current death struggle with the siren Sugar, I am doing well, especially at the new job. Nice people, good karma, and I'm on track to hit my quota, and eventually take over the entire Sales division. Seriously. So things are good. And the puppies are doing well - I have included in this post a great picture of the kids trying to use their telekinesis on my roommate Ben's dinner.

2006-01-31T13:53:00.000-08:00

So, I wasn't supposed to let everyone know who Mr. Huge was - no surprise, it's not a common fact. ;) And Jonathan's in-laws live in Stuart, not his parents. Not that it matters, because Mom never leaves the house anyway.

I had to nap away the balsamic headache, so we didn't get our walk again yesterday. But I had my salmon for dinner, and limited myself to about 6 cookies. I know,' I'm not supposed to have any cookies - but let's be realists. And cookies, while not good for my skin selon Dr. Perricone, aren't exactly joints, cigs, crack pipes, etc.

I love the book I finished yesterday, The Depths of Time, and I started the next one, The Ocean of Years. It's really good, and the extension of the story is perfectly organic and suspenseful. I am so pleased - I have been worried b/c I haven't liked any of the books I've gotten out of the library lately. And I had a $27 fine the other night - 27 dollars!!! And I think the check bounced - I might be punished severely by the library for that. But either I've plumbed the scfi- fantasy depths in San Diego, or I've just made bad choices.

I think I'm going to figure out how to have a list on here of the good ones I've read lately - and then solicit suggestions. (From all the readers I'll have! har har.)

Oh, I submitted my co-worker to Jeff and Jer's Mile of Men for Valentine's Day:

Hi Tommy -

Please accept my co-worker Chad for the Mile of Men. He ended a long relationship in October, and he needs to have some fun with the right girl. He's 6'3", 200 lbs, brown eyes, shaved head (he has hair, he just chooses to do without), 27 yrs old, and all of his own teeth. He's in sales, and is getting his MBA. So he has long-term potential too. He likes beer, watching sports, playing practical jokes, and U2. A lot. He's the funniest guy in our office, and I have a great picture that really captures him for you to upload.
Please put him on the Mile - it would really be a mitzvah.
Meredith

I have a really funny picture of Chad, up in the left hand corner - that's not really the best spot since it doesn't make sense until you read this far, but oh well.

Dr. Hetzler called about T's urine sample - her micro-somethings are too high, especially since the tooth has been removed, and he wants her to have a round of antibiotics. It could be a UTI, it could be the Cushing's, it could be some problem with her kidneys - but it will be craploads of money. Again. [It's a good thing she's the prettiest puppy-girl in all the world, even if her organs are running amok.] And of course Woogie is still full of lumps - no point in removing them, although there is that huge one under his other arm - Dr. H says it's too malleable to be cancer.

So that's it until tomorrow - but I ampleased to report that February is looking like 5-6, and March is looking better - yay me!

This was really the 2nd post but I erased the 1st one accidentally

2006-01-30T12:49:00.000-08:00

The wrap I had for lunch was originally listed as a sandwich, on which you would never put balsamic vinegar. But when they made it a wrap, they put balsamic in the lettuce - not arugula as advertised, but red leaf, I believe. And balsamic gives me migraines. Usually almost immediately, but not today - it's just hitting me now and I ate 90 minutes ago.

Fascinating, I know.

I found out from Jonathan that his parents retired to Stuart, FL, and mine retired to Port Ste Lucie, which is all of 15 minutes away from Stuart. I know this specifically because the closest Starbucks to Port St Lucie (PSL) is in Stuart, the which I discovered when I visited in August and was afflicted with heat. I desperately craved a venti iced chai with soy and light ice, not to mention the peace, quiet and comfortable chair, but couldn't bear to walk from the house to the car. Literally.
My parents moved, and took the furniture that for 30 years we weren't allowed to even breathe on, let alone sit on, from the living room and turned it into the furniture.

Also, the funniest thing: the person who commented on Jonathan's blog, Hopeful Pessimism, as Mr. Huge, is none other than Jeremiah Daly. (I am sure the word huge refers to his intellect.)

I really like this blog thing so far. Look Mom, I'm on the internet!

Why a blog when the people I talk to don't know how to get here?

2006-01-30T09:30:00.000-08:00

I am anticipating that this will save me a lot of time on the phone. In this (not-so) new job, I spend almost all day talking, and when I get home, the last thing I want to do is talk some more. But those who love me want to talk to me all the time – now I can refer them here and get back to my knitting or reading or napping.

This weekend I did not take the kids to the Dog Beach in Del Mar, because the last time I did, I messed up the tide assumptions I had made, and the tide was even higher at 11am than it was the weekend before at 2pm. So we either have to go at 8 am, which is not ever going to happen, or later, at like 3 or 4. But it’s kind of cold by then.

I read the new Stephen King book, Cell, this weekend also. Bought it at Costco, and that was my exciting Friday night. It was a good book. I really envy him his writing talent – he makes even the most farfetched ideas and events seem so natural. I like farfetched anyway, but he makes it look so easy. Unlike that clunky The Fifth Ring. I like the plot so far, but the writing is painful. I guess I should have some hyperlinks here – Jonathan did in his blog – but then, do I really need to click on the phrase Mac & Cheese to see the Annie’s Organic website?

I bought a stack of new books at Borders on Saturday - the one I started with is pretty good - The Depths of Time - and the best part is that there are 2 more in the series. Which I also bought. Good plot so far AND good writing. I am getting very good at recognizing awful prose, and determining why it's so awful. All that does is inhibit me from starting my own writing again.

So thanks, Jonathan, for inspiring me. In fact, I am going to find that Christmas screed that you inspired me to write, once, long ago, about what I feel about Christmas. I think enough time has passed that Mom will find it funny - I think. :)