Burning at both ends...

The epic saga continues...so far, so good. Treadmill hiking is back in full swing and I also got a pilates/strength machine for Christmas and after figuring out how to use the thing without strangling myself in various "tension cords" I've actually used it and have the sore tummy muscles to prove it (I wouldn't have believed I even have muscles under all the, um, "fluff" except they are really hurting now...maybe it's growing pains from actually creating muscle where none ever existed...)

I should write more, but my creativity and humor reserves are running pretty low right now. I have a trial coming up in January and about 800 million various deadlines between now and then to meet with the Court, so I am just kind of hanging in there until January 12th.   For instance, today I had like 11 court filings due.  What sadistic person makes court filings due the Monday after Christmas? Well, I can tell you but for the sake of my bar license and trial strategy they will remain nameless.  Ugh.  And I have like 11 more due on the Monday after New Year's.  So, while my whole office is eerily quiet with tubleweeds passing through all of the empty parking spaces of my fellow co-workers who have taken off for the holidays, I am [sigh] working my arse off each day.  Oh well...it's the glamorous life I chose to lead [insert huge does of sarcasm here]

So, I'm basically operating in "stress mode" and plan to take advantage of that birthday spa-day gift certificate pretty soon :)

May the force be with you...

Long, long ago [ok, like 3 months ago...] 

in a galaxy far, far, away [or really, more like in my back computer/sewing/treadmill room]

an epic struggle was underway between the forces of good [that would be me]

and of evil [that would be the treadmill]

Last year our office had a "Biggest Loser" contest that was oh-so-originally inspired by the t.v. show of the same name.  (Our office manager is not what you would call super creative). However, unlike the beefy contestants on t.v. show, we office dwellers were not provided with personal trainers, dedicated chefs, or like 5 weeks of vacation from our daily grind and lives in which to transform ourselves from chubby little lawyers/paralegals/assistants into poster children for the healthy and fit lifestyle.  But, we did have to come in each week and meet with a "nutritionist" and weigh in so the "nutritionist" could chart our progress.  This pretty much did it for me..I am very competitive and if I am being graded/scored/charted then I am pretty much going to give it my all because I just came into this world naturally wanting the shiny gold start sticker on my paper. And, while I am sure the "nutritionist" is a love-ly person, it really did not help that the person that had to weigh me in each week (like I was some beached whale having her stats recorded by a sadistic marine biologist) was this little, teeny-tiny, lithe, petite blonde who honestly looked as if she had never lifted anything weighing much more than her 3 lb. can of hairspray, let alone had to work out to maintain her figure.   Bitch. 

Ok, so I join the competition and after the first week or so I see progress on the scales...of course, I am now living off of ricotta cheese, fruit, salads, and eggs...but still, the scale starts moving downwards.  Then it stops moving...that damn little needle just wouldn't budge no matter how many gallons of water I drank a day or how much arugula I consumed at every meal.   [sigh]  I had to face it...if I wanted to keep making progress towards the shiny gold star and be able to stick it to Twiggy, then I was going to have to....exercise.  Ugh.

I've never been an exerciser...partly because God only gave me enough coordination to make it up a flight of stairs on a good day...and partly (well mostly) because I'm just lazy.  So, taking on an exercise regimen was quite a daunting task for me.  But I did...I started a vigorous hiking program on the treadmill with multiple inclines, speeds, and heavy breathing.  At first it just sucked ass...there are no other words for it. Then, it got better.  I actually got to where I was looking forward to tackling the workout each day because I felt so much better afterwards. Me? Really? I also started mixing in some pilates and yoga (it's amazing how sore your body can get from just holding still...).  Pretty soon the scale was moving again, but more importantly I felt better and could see and feel the changes in my body.  The contest ended, and I still kept up my routine.

That is...until some time in October. I'm still not sure what happened, but around October the whole exercise thing just kind of vanished.  The treadmill became buried under a pile of summer weight comforters and blankets...my pilates mat returned to it's hiding place...and my cute little hiking shorts migrated to the back of the shelf.  I was still eating pretty healthy (not as strict as when I was in gold-star-mode) so the scale didn't really move much and I guess I just didn't think about it.

Until Christmas.  The family was all together and we had a GREAT Christmas with too much food, lots of presents, puppies galore, and time spent together.  At the end of all the festivities my dad plugs up his digital camera and we all it down to watch a slide show of the events.  And then it happened...a picture of me...on a slideshow...I almost cried.  When did I get all...soft...round...and Michelin-man-like?  Oh my God! 

On the way home with Matt I could hold it in no longer, "Well, after seeing this pictures at mom and dad's, I have realized that I let myself go and am fat...so the treadmill is coming back out and we are buying healthier stuff from now on."  Matt, of course, tells me I am being crazy, that I'm not "fat" and that women are "supposed to be soft and round."  Um....whatever.  He also tries to tell me that I do not resemble a stand in for the tire commercials.  Sure...

So, the treadmill is officially back in business. As of yesterday, I re-started my hiking routine and while it definitely was not a piece of cake after nearly 3 months of sitting on my ass and drinking wine, it didn't kick my ass like I thought it might (which basically means that Lola did not have to perform some Lassie-like heroics to entice a rescue squad to come find me after I had been flung off the contraption into a crumpled heap on the floor ).  It wasn't easy...and I realized just how much 3 months can set you back, but despite my oh-so-positive forecasts last night, I can actually walk today and it doesn't hurt...much.  

So, the epic saga has been reborn...the battle continues...and while on the treadmill I do kind of breathe like Vader. 

Silver linings...buy one get one half off on aisle 5!

I haven't posted in like a whole week (I know, you missed me and were likely forced to console yourself with cheap wine or vodka...well, that's what I would do anyway).  It's been a LONG week. As well as getting all the last minute holiday crap together (er, um lovingly prepared gifts, etc.) my family has had a whirlwind of bizarreness going on.  Thursday morning I get a call from my pseudo-sister Lu. Ok, first you have to understand that if anyone calls me, oh, before the hour of 10 a.m. it is for an emergency (mornings are not my friend, the snooze button is). She says, "Have you talked to your sister?"  This cannot be good.  I hadn't, in fact, talked to my sister (apparently I missed her call while under the tortuous heat of the blow dryer). I then learn via Lu that she got a frantic call from my lil' sis and learned that her furry four-legged child, Maggie the Dalmation, had died.  Maggie was not old. She was not ill.  Turns out she just died...very unexpectedly and for no known reason...right before Christmas. This falls in the incrediby "not good" category. 

So, I went to visit my Sis on Friday, armed with wine and chocolate donuts and the power of cuteness that is known as Lola the WonderCorgi.  We hung out, talked, drank, ordered pizza and watched the Muppet Christmas special. Things got better, and as of today my sister has become the mommy of Annabelle, the German Shephard puppy who is adorable and makes my sister smile! Yay!!!

Then today, I start the morning off with a phone call from Matt informing me that apparently over the weekend some no good, lazy ass, sons of bitches broke into his bladesmith shop and stole a few grand of his equipment...like the stuff he needs to make a living...rat bastards! Grrrr....

An hour later...my phone rings...it's Dad.  They just had to put my mom's third daughter, her cocker spaniel Honey, to sleep today because she had congestive heart failure. 

I mean, really Fates of the Universe? Really?

But then I got a call from Dad this evening, and for Christmas he has gotten my mom a little Sheltie puppy. Named "Rebel" (I'm not sure where this ranks on the Redneck list, but I'm sure it's pretty high).  but more importantly, my mom is smiling now, too.

And Matt...well he has since gotten over the theft-angst after hearing from several friends today who were going through some real traumatic times...like worse than doggy deaths. Perspective...it can be a wonderful thing. 

So, I am left with this...the circle of life (insert Lion King music here) never stops...our family Christmas will be a full out Puppy-Palooza brawl with Lola in the lead (and I will post pics)...I am more than blessed to have my wonderful family and our unconditional system of love and support...Matt and I are blessed to realize that "things" aren't everything and there is much more meaning to life and the Season than powertools and broken locks.  I mean, really...we live in a free country where we have the luxury of even owning powertools and not semi-automatic weapons in order to survive (although Matt does have an impressive gun collection, too, and those low down thieves better thank their lucky meth-head stars that he wasn't at home with the aforesaid guns when they decided t break in his shop)...we all have our health and will be together at Christmas.  What more can I really ask for?   I mean, other than some awesome pics of Puppy WWF SmackDown? :)

Everyone have an awesome holiday, however you celebrate...hug those you love, remind yourself of how blessed you are to live your life, and if you see some crack heads trying to pawn off a hand grinder, some hand forged knives or a Bose sound system, hit them...hard. :)

 

Ahhhh...the Spirit of Christmas (as sponsored by Nintendo)

First, I want to thank everyone in my little bloggy world for all their kind words from last Friday's post. The wine and pizza were great, Matt was wonderful and Lola even got an international doggy boyfriend out of the whole thing...so, really, I can't complain!  Again, thanks! I am feeling much more like myself today!

My problems of Friday evening were quickly replaced on Saturday morning with some amusement.  Matt was going to see the oldest kiddo in a her Holiday (seriously...it was so p.c. that no one even played anything that was blatantly "Christmas" which I find even MORE ironic considering it was held in and lessons are sponsored by a church...but anywhoo...) piano recital (read: 2 hours of watching like 46 other kids do their non-Christmas musical thing while you patiently wait to see your kid's 3 minutes of tickling the ivories to "Oh Suzanna").  I have gone to several of these with Matt and watched his kiddos, so Saturday morning I managed to avoid the recital due to all the various and sundry Christmas chores I had to do.  And I really did have like Christmas deadlines since I had a Christmas dinner with friends that evening at 5:00 and as of 10:00 still had not finished making one of the gifts (Martha would be proud of me).  So, I was all ready to stay home, pull out the sewing machine and get all crafty!

Then, as he is leaving, Matt says, "Are you going out to the store today for anything?"  Why yes, yes I was.  He then says, "Well, I think I do want to get the kiddos a Wii for Christmas after all, so if I give you the cash can you just pick one up?"

Seriously?

I said, "Sure" while thinking to myself, "Really?!?!?!"  Ok, let me explain some history here. Oh, like back in early November he had mentioned the possible Wii gift.  I, being the super supportive woman I am, said that sounded great (despite my general aversion to all video games existing in my home) and told him that if he planned to do that we needed to go ahead and get one now, before the holiday craze.  Flash forward like a week later...I again mention that if he still wants to get one, we should do it now.  Flash forward like another week later...same helpful suggestion.  Ok, now it's like Thanksgiving and I say again in an uber-supportive way, "Honey, if you still want to get your kids a Wii we really need to get it now and before December officially hits."

Yah, well as you can guess from the start of this post, no Wii purchasing was done.  So, this Saturday (like, oh, less than 2 weeks before the fat man in a red suit forces his way down our chimney) he just asks if I can "pick one up?"  [sigh]

So, I go to the big box store from hell (where rollbacks are king) and wander into the electronic department which is just bustling to the seams with people buying every gadget and gizmo in sight (recession, my arse) and ask the video game guy if [gulp] they have any Wii (what is the plural of Wii? Wiis? Wii-i?) in stock.  I am apparently the 3,456 person to ask him that morning and he politely says "uh, no" and then informs me and like the 12 other people behind me that they are getting a shipment in tomorrow.  Hmmm...ok, not so bad. (turns out that was all a vicious, horrid lie meant to make desperate shoppers return to Wally-World only to be told, "Uh..not sure what happened.") I make a couple other local stops at various "marts" and shockingly no Wii in sight.  Of course, the whole time I have the tune of "I told you so" playing in my head. 

So, when Matt gets home with the kiddos I pull him aside and tell him the news.  He seems to be shocked that I couldn't just "get one."  Really? What is the deal with this? I have never understood the male tendency towards last-last-last minute gift buying, but c'mon...a freakin' Wii less than two weeks before Christmas?  Ok...whatever.  My theory is that the Y chromosome carriers walking among us are just pre-conditioned to believe that if they want something that it will just magically appear, despite global demands mixed with holiday fanaticism and Nintendo's secret plot to work the commoners into a craze for their product.  I mean, it works in most other aspects of their lives...Clean laundry? Magically appears! Groceries? "Poof!" and they are there.  Toilet Paper?  Gnomes must sneak in each night and put it on the roll.  Detergent? Of any kind?  Obviously, they are just self-replenishing! So, I guess it is not shocking that they believe that just because they want or need something that it will almost instantaneously appear in their lives. 

So, on Sunday once the kiddos are back home with the ex-wifey, Matt with a very serious face tells me that he will "just call around and find one." Oh, and did I mention that he just refused to buy one via the internet because of the "communist mark up"? So, with my inside voice I said, "Heehehehehehe! Good luck, sucker! Oh...and I told you so!"  With my outside voice, however, I very lovingly said, "Well, maybe."  You would think I had slapped him with a white glove and challenged his manhood or loyalty to the UFC!  He was like, "Oh, I will find one! If I just put my mind to it I will!"  Um...yah.  So I replied, "You do that, honey....you do, that" and removed myself from the Wii hunt for the rest of the weekend. I mean, really...does he forget that I not only worked like 10 years of my life in retail? And that as a chick I have been in charge of like all gift purchasing for years?  The proverbial gauntlet was so thrown! 

So, as of the writing of this post here is the situation on the Wii....oldest kiddo is getting an Ipod and youngest kiddo is getting a compound bow/archery set.  I think Matt's last words on it were, "Nintendo can just suck my big, fat..."  well, you get the idea.  And me? I have learned while wandering all over the city as the sidekick of Mr. Determination that you can internally sing along to almost all Christmas tunes with the refrain if "I told you so! Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la!"  

A new post...or something like it...

I feel the need to make a new post, but my heart is really just not in it tonight. I've had a totally shitty afternoon....let me clarify, it was the kind of afternoon where I spent the last couple of hours in my office crying.  Me... yah.  It was one of those.  

I'd love to get into it here, but for reasons I can't disclose...well, I can't disclose it. Let's just say that someone I am very close to (and if you have read any of my other blogs you can probably guess at least at the internet-pseudonym I've given her) has some serious issues and has needed help for a long time and now it is coming to a head...as in others are approaching me and forcing my hand in the situation and I am NOT in a good position for "forcing of hands" in this matter.  I am NOT enjoying this.  It is much more fun to watch Intervention on A&E than to be forced to participate in one.  [sigh]

So now I 'm at home and my eyes are all puffy, my contact lenses are all stingy, my Honey has hugged me like 3 times and ordered pizza for me, Lola the Wonder Corgi is sensing my grief and won't leave my side, I'm on my third (yah, third) glass of wine and am on my last cigarette.  

Thank God above that it is Friday!!! 

Well, Hot Damn I'm on a Roll!

Guess what I got? Guess what I got? Guess what I got? Yesssss...another bloggy award! This is so cool! Two blog awards in one week? Can I even handle this? I mean, the paparazzi was getting bad enough, as is! So, seriously, my surrogate lil' sister Lu over at AveryTales gave me this super cool Honest Weblog award! (which I am just loving because it has bullet holes...makes me feel all Gangsta'!)

So, now I get to honor Lu for giving me the bloggy bullet-ridden award (Lu, you rock) and encourage you all to check out her blog if you haven't already.

Next, I have to name 10 Honest Random things about me...hmmm. Okay here goes...

1. I'm starting to get a complex about bloggy awards :)

2. I once had an alterego superhero character known as "The Disser" (but then, that's a whole blog unto itself...)

3. Within one year I was asked out by/went on dates with a magician, comedian, absinthe distiller, and knife maker (I kept the knife maker...he is now my lifelong cohort in crime!)

4. I never actually took a road test to get my driver's license :)

5. If in an effort to outsmart the traffic pattersn you pull out in front of me at a redlight and block the intersection while my light turns green, I WILL lay on my horn and stay on it the whole time until you move your ass out of the way...big pet peeve over here.

6. I cannot stand when people say, "You know what I mean?" in general conversation. No. No, I don't know what you mean...if I did then I wouldn't be wasting my time asking you about it or talking to you at all.

7. I have 3 of my 4 wisdom teeth because, per my dentist, my mouth is big enough for them all...who knew?

8. I am tattoed.

9. I blatantly defy the rules and regulations of my company by having and using my spaceheater in my office like nearly everyday.

10. I was propositioned via a written Hallmark Thank You card left in my front door for a three way by one of my old high school friends and her husband...who happen to live like 2 blocks from me...and who I also happened to be the Maid of Freakin' Honor for in their wedding!!! Seriously? (and for the curious, I declined the invite in a few choice words...but I'm keeping the card forever so that when I'm like 70 I can show it to the grandkids and tell them that "Granny had it goin' on!")

Okay...now after all that random honesty, I get to choose 7 blogs to pass the Honesty Torch to that I think are brilliant, pretty, or just way cool and list them for you to check out....Drumroll please!!!!!! [insert drumroll...]

1. Amy over at Bitchin' Wives Club is da' bomb and her blog is way worth checking out!

2. Lianne is not only a cool college buddy who has more dirt on me than should be allowed by law, but her blog Socks are NOT the Enemy is hilarious, inspirational and has wicked Christmas snow!

3. Speaking of inspiration, Julianne over at Be Inspired Today posts some truly deep thoughts which you can delve into while listening to great tunes!

4. Did I say tunes? One of my most favorite things about checking up on the newest shenanigans of Claire, or The Girl with the Down-turned Smile is her taste in music...that and her use of lists...and the way she tells people off in "British" :)

5. Danielle and Mason over at Life in Chauncelot were like some of my first bloggy pals and their posts crack me up...and they have like the best comments ever!

6. If you need some humor, parenting tips (more humor) and some seriously good apricot bread recipes...check out Annikke over at Mom is in the Fishbowl

7. And lastly, but not least...I can't recall how I stumbled across Rachael over at the Scientific Nature of the Whammy (best blog title ever...) but I am oh so glad I did! She makes me laugh and truly has some of the most wicked Haiku talent I have ever seen!

So, enjoy!!!

Hawks, Pancakes and Christmas Lights...

Just some updates on life...Roscoe the Jagdterrier pup is now in his new home! Yay! Matt took him down South yesterday and he is going to a guy with a huge farm who spends his days hunting and roaming around in the woods with hunting dogs. This will be perfect for the sweet little cracked-out dog! And, now Lola will not be "bait" and we can actually use our back door to exit the house again without fear of Doggy WWF smack-down...I am so relieved that he is going to be happy and that our house is back to a state of normalcy....well, at least our version of normal.

And, while dropping Roscoe off, Matt got to spend the day out in the woods with his friend Chris and Chris' hawks. Yah, the guy has trained hawks that he takes hunting. Matt was all into it and was going on and on last night at dinner about the hawks, how they hunted, how cool it was when they landed on your arms and just climbed up to your shoulder. Yah...I guess it sounds really cool if you aren't, like me, kind of freaked out by birds. Not sure where my "issues" with the feathered ones come from, but my bet is on Mom letting me watch Hitchcock's immortal Birds when I was like 5. I also have an ingrained fear of walking over grates in a downtown sidewalk ever since I watched Gator back in the day as a small child and am still convinced to this day that (a) I will fall through the grate into the jaws of a super-gigantic alligator powered by the corpses of lab test animals, or (b) the aforesaid mutant alligator will burst up through the grate to eat me. And then there is my fear of flying at night while seated on the wing seat of a plane...based totally on those horrific scenes of John Lithgow being mentally tortured by the gremlin ripping apart the plane in the Twilight Zone movie. Now that I think about it, Mom probably should have monitored my tv watching a little more...

Anyway, Lola is back to having the run of the house as the puppy Princess that she is. I was worried she would be all upset about her playmate and buddy being taken away, but she really seems to be totally into ruling the roost again and is spending most of her time hogging like half the couch, taking me on walks/hikes, or going on special trips to the PetStore to "mingle" with the locals. Ah, the life.

Ooooo! Feliz Navidad just came on my radio! [I'm like totally dancing in my chair right now] Speaking of felizes and navidads...we got the tree up this Sunday (ta da!)...which is a far cry better than last year when we managed to go get the tree, oh, like 3 days before Christmas. But, I have to say that we did learn last year that if you wait that long you can get a tree for only like $15. So, last year we had "Charlie," as we named him after the Charlie Brown tree...we managed to find him beneath all the picked over trees and he was great--small and cute! This year Matt and I actually managed to do the tree thing before Christmas Eve and now have a nice, fat one in the living room. I just LOVE decorating the tree and pulling out all my crazy ornaments! Matt kind of supervised the tree-decorating from the couch where he remained holding his stomach and occassionally moaning. He claims it was from eating all the blueberry pancakes at Cracker Barrell. Really? Because I had the same thing he did, ate all of mine (being the dainty girly-girl that I am...yah) and was still able to spread festive joy all through the house! Wuss. So, last night he officially did the tree topper for me (I am vertically challenged) and the tree was finito! Nothing like watching Rock of Love Charm School in the glow of a fat, glittery Christmas tree!

Temple + Google = ???

Ok, so I am blatantly stealing this very cool idea from one of the awesome bloggers over at SITS...

You just Google "[your name] needs" and see, well, what it is you need. I was really hoping for some great universal sign like "Temple needs to buy lotto ticket number 8549562189" or "Temple needs those super cool red leather boots she has been eyeing", but this is what I got"

1.  Temple needs to keep up with the times. [huh? I watch the Today show each morning...and the Soup each weekend...doesn't that count?]

2.  Temple needs overtime to beat UMass. [wtf? Is this some foreign language? How in the holy hell did I of all people get a sports reference?]

3.  Temple needs a prayer. [no doubt...I mean, otherwise I'll probably never manage to get overtime...]

4.  Temple needs to do it. [Ummm...ok. I'm sure Matt will LOVE this one!]

5.   Temple needs your art.  [cool...not quite the boots I was hoping for, but I'll take art]

6.  Temple needs a paint job. [man, I KNEW I should have got a pedicure today!]

7.  Temple needs your e-mail address. [fine with me! send them on! I'll add them to my growing Outlook Address Book collection!]

Peace out! Oh, and I'm still getting the boots. :)

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That is my utter squeal of joy, joy, joy!!!  Not to be confused with the very similar noise I make upon sight of anything eight-legged or when being pursued in my house by giant, killer cicadias...but then, that's another blog]

Ok, so why am I all super giddy and in my "I'm so pretty! Oh so pretty!" mode? I'll tell you why! Because today I got....

THIS:

My first ever Blog award!!  Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!

Amy, over at Bitchin' Wives Club gave me this super cool award...and what is even super cooler? The fact that like I think Amy rocks the blog-o-sphere so I am totally pumped that she picked me! [Note to reader...I am still freakin' grinning over here].  Oh! And we are like going to be total internet drinking BFF now (I'm saying that in my internal "Tina Fay" voice...it helps).  I mean, I think the last time I got anything even resembling an award was when that dude at the mall the other day gave me a Chik-Fil-A coupon (which was also totally cool, but more in a "free milkshake" kind of way and not in a "you are a rockstar" kind of way). 

Ok, so super thanks to Amy and you guys go check her out if you haven't already...she is wicked funny and OBVIOUSLY has great taste! :)

Now, as with most titles of notoriety, there are responsibilities I must bear...[heavy sigh] so I now begin my reign as cool-blog-award-chick and will lay out the rules and fulfill my duties.  

Rule 1  The uber-cool, award winning nominee (or you can just call me "Your Highness"...it keeps me humble...) gets to put the prominently displayed Award Icon on their blog. 

Rule 2    New royalty must pay homage and link to the person that bestowed them with such cool, blog super powers...

Rule 3   As the new Queen-elect you get to pick seven of your bloggy buds to be recipients of the award...and for Pete's sake, don't just go pick everyone that Clinton already did...

Rule 4   After you select your seven peeps...announce them! Link them on your blog so everyone can check out their coolness!

Rule 5     Notify your seven peeps that they are winners so they can get all "How cool am I" about it and grin like an idiot, too!

Ok, so with all the protocol out of the way...here is my Cabinet of Cool:

1.  Tiffany at Alabama Redhead....I mean, not only is she my sister but the girl is hilarous and has some truly wicked photoshop skillz...

2.  Lu at AveryTales... a great friend and one of the most inspirational and truly devoted human beings I know. If you need a dose of faith or a spiritual pick me up, this is the woman to visit

3.  Speaking of spirituality...Braja over at Lost and Found in India pretty much makes me laugh every day and I LOVE her caption pics...you have to check them out!

4.   Anna over at Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder already has a large following...and very well deserved. She cracks me up, is cute as can be and always has awesomely witty comments. She rocks.

5.  Check out the antics over in Mulletville in Frogs in My Formula

6.  Marinka over at Motherhood in NYC just rocks...that's all I have to say. 

and...

7.  Jennifer and all the zaniness over in The FunHouse also pretty much makes my day! She was one of the first "followers" I had and I love reading about her life...from accidentally pink hair to the adventures of Pickle...she's awesome!

Ok! So get to clicking and check these newly anointed "winners" out!!!

Oh, and there will be autographs, coffee and a quick Q&A after the blog...thank you! :)

If you have to ask...

While recently trapped in a car on a decently long road trip with La Princessa (although these days any trip more than, oh, 2 blocks with La Princessa is incessantly long to me...) this occurred:

Me:  [innocently driving and minding my own business while listening to like the 5th recycling of the NPR news bulletin, because really, she apparently does not realize there are like a gazillion other radio stations to listen to...]

La Princessa:  Can I ask you something? 

Me: [shudder...this question is like a giant red flag]  Um, sure...

La Princessa:  Well, you have to promise to tell me the truth.

Me: [gulp!  really? The last time she told me this was right before she asked me if I thought her recent cosmetic lip enlargement looked "weird." (and for the record, she only had the upper lip enlarged, so it had kind of a Marge Simpson-hit-with-a-2x4 effect). If I go ahead and start lying now by saying "ok" then does that count?]  Um, ok.

La Princessa: Do you think it would be tacky if...

Me: [totally interrupting her Highness] Ok, let me stop you there...if you even have to ask a question that starts 'is this tacky' then most likely the answer is always going to be 'yes.'"

La Princessa: [pause...pause...the wheels are turning...] Ok, but see I wanted to get each of my nephews [she has like 4] a really nice, big Christmas gift...

Me: [knowing better...] And?

La Princessa:  Well, do you think it would be tacky if I buy them each a really big, nice gift but only if they agree to keep it at my house so they can only play with it when they come to visit me?

Me: Yes, La Princessa, that would be tacky.

La Princessa:  But, it would make them probably visit me more?

Me:  [sigh]  Perhaps...but generally, holding a child's Christmas gift hostage for your own personal gain is considered tacky.

[long pause...filled by at least two more NPR stories that I can recite myself at this point]

La Princessa: [sigh] So you think it's a bad idea, then?

Me: [turn to La Princessa, nod head...return to driving]

Happy SITS-as Holidays!

As inspired by the awesome ladies over at SITS-as, I have managed to concoct a holiday Chirstmas card (while looking as if I were diligently working...score!)

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except my blogging computer mouse.

The stockings were hung on the mantle and the tree stood all in lights, as it had survived several cat attacks and puppy plight.

The presents were all nestled under the tree, with cat claw marks and pet fur as giftwrap accessories.

And Matt in his boxers, and I with my merlot-cab, had just settled down for an Atlanta's Housewives re-cap.

When all of a sudden there arose such a sound, we sprang from the couch with a leap and a bound.

Away to the bedroom we raced with speed, while I kept my wine glass perfectly steady!

The glow from the streetlight through the window, gave a clear view of a vision to behold!

And what did we find when we rushed down the hall? But our bed covered with sleeping fur balls!

With little kitten purrs and puppy snores galore, we knew at that moment we couldn't ask for more!

Things I Have Learned Over the Turkey Holiday

Always yearning for knowledge? That's me! Especially odd, trivial, "how and why does she know that?" knowledge.  This Thanksgiving holiday turned out to be a virtual bounty of new information to cram into my brain for future reference.  Like, did you know....

1.  That if you bake a pumpkin pie and then after slicing it into beautiful, perfectly portioned pieces you take the first bite only to discover that, oh, you forgot to put the sugar in? Well, you can then scrape it all back into a bowl, add the forgotten sugar and another egg, blend it into mush and re-bake it into the glorious pie it was meant to be?  Yah, me either. I learned this from Matt's sister (see pre-Thanksgiving blog for some insight on this cooking wonder of a weekend).

2.  The metal stairs on a 1940-era U.S. battleship are both wicked steep and not designed for today's modern shoes of choice for stylish young ladies.  Man, my right shin is still killing me.

3.    Apparently, it is not unusual at all for the locals in Hurley, Mississippi, to see three people hanging out next to their various "trucks and vehicles" around 9:00 p.m. in the parking lot outside the local Family Dollar and Sub-Mart...with two of those people being men swapping a bowie knife for cash and the third being an undercover cover-model holding a half full glass of chardonnay in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and favoring her right shin.

4.   Long haired chihauhaus LOVE Matt...and he loves them back. 

5.   Throwing a chihauhau's miniature dog bone into a trampoline full of your frenzily jumping friends may sound like a funny idea to a 9 year old, but it can result in serious trauma (or at least pretend, over-the-top drama kind of trauma) should the aforesaid dog bone become a sudden projectile of death headed towards someone's ankle. Seriously...

6.   If you mix up a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies and about 5 minutes into the baking-in-the-oven process realize that you, uh, forgot to put in the FLOUR--well, you can scream "Oh Shit!" while grabbing the cookies out of the oven, scrape the melted goo off of the cookie sheet (resulting in a melted-chocolate-chip-brown-gluelike substance), add the flour in, mix it all up again, and re-bake it for perfectly good "melted chocolate cookies."  Seriously, Matt's sister discovered this little secret the night following the pumpkin pie re-bake incident. We laughed so hard I nearly spilled my chardonnay...which would have been bad, because I needed it to take along for the ride to Hurley, Mississippi.

7.    3-D glasses for movies are now like, real little black 80's Ray-Ban looking things and not those paper pieces of crap with the red and blue saran wrap lenses like they used to give you when I saw Jaws 3D back in the day.  AND they have the magical power of making kids virtually speechless!  Thank you Disney!

8.   Eating a movie theatre hot dog, small popcorn, half of your sister's nachos and a pack of Sour Kids for "lunch" can make a 9 year old boy simply pass out from exhaustion...but you have to look closely behind the 3-D RayBans to tell...

9.   My father has apparently invented what Matt has lovingly termed the "Missouri Quick Start" on his little piece-o-shit Nissan so that in order to get it started  you turn the key while simultaneously contorting your body to also flip a hidden "toggle switch" of my father's own invention which then causes the "engine to turn"...HOWEVER, immediately upon hearing the turning of the hamster in the ball you must then immediately flip the magic "toggle switch" off to keep the hamsters, ahem, I mean the engine running.  I know this because Matt's car just died on him today for no apparent reason and while we await for the dawn to bring us the opening of the mechanic's and towing to ensue, my dad has graciously lent him the hamster-mobile for his personal use.  Last I had heard, dad had sold it off for like $500 to some recent immigrants (if you get my drift) or had set it on fire just for the Hell of it.  But no, it is still around...more specifically, it is parked behind my house right now where the hamsters will no doubt have a good night's rest.  

10.    The time it takes to go get the Hamster Mobile and master it's toggle switch magic? This is the same exact time it takes for the sweet potatoes you left roasting in the oven to turn into little black sweet potato charcoal. Mmmmm mmmmm! Nothing smells quite like that!

11.     Lola the Wonder Corgi thinks sweet potato charcoal ROCKS!

12.   So do the hamsters.

Ok, so I have to go now. Matt keeps coming in here to tell me that Rock of Love Charm School is on and he is waiting for me to come watch it with him. Seriously--some days I think he loves this stuff more than I do!

I just have to say...

I've been back here in the computer/sewing/painting room catching up on all the bloggy goodness of my internet peeps...

and I keep getting interrupted like very 5 minutes...

by Matt...

coming to update me on the Housewives of Atlanta!

Man, I love this guy! ;)

My Green Bean Casserole Can Kick Your Yam's Ass!

I'm not generally a food snob--I'm just as into a Sonic vanilla malt or can of spray cheese served a'la Chicken 'N a Biscuit crackers as the next self-respecting Southern gal.  Krystals? With extra onion cubes, liquid cheese and a side of chili-tots? Bring it on!

But, I have recently had a personal epiphany...a true milestone in my "path to self development" (to quote some pages xeroxed from a self help book and left crammed in my mailbox by a crazy, stalker ex-boyfriend in an effort to win me back...yah, seriously..but that is another blog to itself). I have discovered that when it comes to holiday food, I am not only a snob, but quite the brat.  

See, for the past 34 years I have never actually celebrated any major food holiday (Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Flag Day...) away from my family.   Fortunately, I have always had significant others whose families lived like 8 gazillion miles away beyond a waterfall of doom and within an evil enchanted forest OR I've dated men with "mom issues," "dad issues," or "I hate my whole family issues" (see reference above to Self Help Dude).   While these harbingers of therapy-laden relationships resulted in lots of tears, bad break-ups and the occasional restraining order, they did have the benefit of meaning that every major holiday was spent with MY family and not with the people who had created the freaks I was involved with.

That is, until now.  I have finally found the man of my dreams...the sensitive, sexy, supportive and awesome chef of a knife maker known as Matt.    Matt has no "mom" or family issues.  But there is a trade off for dating someone who is sane...this year we are headed to Mobile, Alabama, to spend Thanksgiving with his family.  More specifically, at his sister's house.  And I LOVE his sister...she is great, awesome, funny and used to date Eddie Money (I mean, the coolness factor on that alone is just off the charts). But she cannot cook. At all.  And I don't mean she just would have problems with consistently basting a 15 pound turkey or perfecting a made-from-scratch dessert recipe. I mean the woman can not cook.  

For example, on one trip to her house we walked inside to discover the foulest smell ever...it was like something had died in a dryer vent...and then other somethings had tried to rescue it only to suffer a similar dryer vent death.  It was dinner.  Dinner in the shape of a pork tenderloin that she had left in a crockpot all day on high with no liquid of any form.  And, she had accidentally set the crockpot on part of the stovetop....which she had forgotten to turn all the way off...resulting in a half melted crock pot containing the aforementioned tougher-than-shoe-leather burnt pork.  Mmmmm....yummmmm!  Nothing like charred pork infused with the taste of melted plastic!

And on another occasion, she made pancakes. Or at least that is what she sad they were. To this day I still don't know what I actually ate that morning, but once I drowned them in syrup and butter and chased them with "not really crispy at all" bacon it wasn't too bad. 

So, now we are going to her house for Thanksgiving.  (sigh) 

And I come from a long line of Southern cooks who just base the entire months of October through January preparing menus and comparing notes for holiday and football-oriented feasts.  Typically my mom, sister and I break it down and after a marathon of three cooks sharing my mother's kitchen the table is magically transformed and filled to the rim with butter and cajun-injected, succulent roast turkey; clove-studded smoked ham; green bean casserole (my all time favorite); homemade 4 cheese macaroni; real corn bread dressing (actually made from cornbread that we also make); biscuits; corn pudding; broccoli and cheese heaven; real cranberry sauce (that does not come out in a tube form); sweet potato casserole with a yummy roasted pecan struedel topping; pecan pie; Italian Cream cake; and some form of chocolate bread pudding with whiskey sauce.  Oh! Excuse me! I think I just had a "moment" just thinking about it!

So, yah...I'm going to miss Thanksgiving with my family...and I'm really going to miss our food and all the time and love that goes into making it.  At this point, I'm hoping that my honey's sister might cater the event.  Or at least the turkey...

The things we do for love.  Although, in the long run I am more than happy with the trade off and I wouldn't trade Matt or his family for all the corn pudding in the world (green bean casserole...uh, that's a hard one...)

Hope everyone has a wonderful, family-filled, and "Oh God, I need to change into my stretchy pants" Thanksgiving!

It's Hard Being a Gangsta'

Ah, the life of Lola the Wonder Corgi...and notorious street gangsta'  

She is resting up now, after her day of, uh, crime.  Little did I know that my sweet little short-legged princess was harboring a cruel heart and and treacherous mind. 

Being unaware of my little furball's predisposition for larceny, we took out on our daily walk through the neighborhood.  With the recent puppy peril in the household and having to keep the furry siblings separate for now; Lola had been inside alot more than usual (which she is totally fine with...[Lola says, "Cable tv, heat, full kitchen access...Hell yah!"].  So, today we went on an extra long walk and enjoyed the great outdoors and the brisk weather (she more than I considering her natural fur coat vs. my fleece pullover).  We were nearing the last leg of the trip and headed back home when one of the locals pulled up to the curb (presumable outside his house), parked his car and was in the process of grabbing a plastic bag and getting out of the car.  Puppy brakes engaged!!! Lola was instantly infatuated with this man and was practically unable to move...or more importantly, unwilling to move. Why, I don't know. It wasn't like Johnny Depp or Ed Harris had emerged from the dark blue sub-compact, but whatever. She was not moving...just totally standing completely still and staring at this guy like he was a giant hotdog with legs like on the stranded-island Bugs Bunny toons. Like staring to the point of awkwardness. He closed his car door and (unable not to notice the psycho like stalking of a Corgi on the sidewalk) just kind of smiled.  Great--he probably thinks I'm some desperate single chick who has trained her dog to find, stalk and approach men (as if I could train Lola to do that even if it had been Mr. Depp or Mr. Harris).  

So, then they have like this weird "neighborhood guy" vs "cute little dog" stare off.  It was odd. I'm trying to get her to go, but she's not having it.  Then the guys says the magic words, "Come here, sweetie...do you want to be petted?"  Ok, now I am assuming he is talking to Lola and not me (although had it been Mr. Depp or Mr. Harris she would have had to wait in line for the free petting offer...) and based on that assumption I let her go to him with me in tow on her leash. She goes towards him all cute and sweet looking and starts to bow her head down...He kneels down and reaches out to pet her with one hand, while still holding his plastic bag in the other...and just as he reaches to pet her cute little noggin while saying little "good puppy" comments to her...

SHE TURNS, GRABS THE CORNER OF THE BAG FROM HIS OTHER HAND AND TAKES OFF WITH A BAG FULL OF TACO BELL GOODNESS!!!!  

I am mortified. We both just stood there for like a second or so in shock as Lolita the Bandita is trying her best to run away to her hidden lair with a bagful of my neighbor's gorditas and realizing her entire well-laid plot was foiled by her arch enemy, the leash.  Luckily it wasn't real hard to get her reined in and the guy had a sense of humor.  Also, no tacos were harmed. 

Really, Lola...

Flashback Friday (and other ramblings...)

So, I have survived the week and am now sitting in front of the computer with a cig in one hand and a glass of wine in the other (which, by the way makes typing difficult). I normally am a BIG "no smoking in the house: kind of girl, but Dude, it's like 29 degrees in November and I live in Alabama, so I made the executive decision as the mortgage payer around here that I am just "allowed" for tonight.  Plus, I only smoke clove, so it really is just like potpourri :) 

So, Matt's cooking dinner (I am so marrying this man) and has the Ipod cranked up and I am just decompressing with the help of vino and clove-laced nicotine.  After the past week of puppy peril and general work crap...well, it is deserved.

I just had to spend two (count, them two) hours of my life at a work-social event.  Dear Lord...it took 3 glasses (and by glasses I mean the little miniature solo cups) of wine to get me through it. So after shaking hands and listening to people talk about stuff I could care less about while acting interested (which, I must say, I have an inherent talent for), I finally begged out on the excuse of "My man is cooking dinner, I need to go home."  Very progressive of me, huh? 

So, it's Flashback Friday time... this is how it works.. Use the "random date generator" (seriously, this exists) at

http://sqa.fyicenter.com/Online_Test_Tools/Random_Date_Time_Value_Generator.php

to pick a random date ( I limited my search from 1990 through today) and then I took the date I got and plugged it into Google with Top 40 Hits and voila,  I got the Top Songs for that week and pick one and have a "Flashback" This site is helpful too, http://top40-charts.com/chart.php?cid=27

So, my random date is : June 12, 1998

My song is: Uninvited by Alanis Morisette

In 1998 I was still (ugh) in law school and honestly, music wasn't a HUGE part of my life...as opposed to constant studying and fear that I would never find a job. But Alanis, oh, she is just a part of my past... a great part.  So, I'm kind of borrowing from my more past, past on this one. Like the memories of my Senior college sorority formal where, after a VERY bad break up, I proceeded to attend the event "stag" and get what you would call "shit-faced" on wine and me and all my peeps not only sang loudly and drunkenly and repeatedly to "Isn't it Ironic," but we even staged an entire photographic panorama (which I still possess) to the lyrics...complete with cigarettes on your "break", hands in pockets and other various staged lyrics.  Oh, those were the days.  Not to mention the every-girl's-mantra of "You Oughta' Know" dedicated to every jerk, creep and scumbag that did us wrong....Actually, now that I think about it the same "bad break up" guy had also inspired much singing (or screaming) along to that song, as well....

Life's lessons...life's lessons...

I am officially getting off my ass and going to the dry cleaners tomorrow

I had a hearing in court this morning...not an oddity considering my profession.  And I've known about it for weeks now, so really not a big surprise.  So, after my various morning rituals of showering, letting the dog out and the cats in, eating my super-fiber loaded and allegedly "slimming" cereal, doing the makeup, watching Ann Curry, and fighting the hair I go to my closet to find a suit.

Now, I have to clarify something here. I am a lawyer, but I am not one of these L.A. Law/Ally McBeal/Law & Order lawyers most of America sees every night always clad in some dark, 3 piece power suit.  My firm is pretty laid back (thank God) and my daily attire is more along the line of a pair of cords with some boots and a long sleeve t-shirt from Old Navy.  Or maybe a nice sweater with some semi-casual pants.  I own and wear virtually nothing that requires ironing, because, well...because we girls didn't fight for emancipation and voting rights just to have to iron?!?!  Thus, the need for pulling a suit out of my closet is not like a daily or even monthly thing for me.  So, this morning I go to get one and just stand staring into the void of my closet.  I can't find one...I have this hearing in the federal court house in like 35 minutes. Hmmmm.

Now, I do own suits. Several, in fact. And some very snazzy ones, if I do say so myself--I am particularly fond of my red one and my pink one. But, the problem is that none of them are clean and in my closet where I am hunting for them. They appear to all by in my "dry cleaning pile."  And by pile, I really mean that huge, black mesh laundry bag taking up a sizable corner in my bedroom behind the door where I put all of my "to be dry cleaned" stuff.  

The problem is, I have some insane mental block/laziness streak about actually taking the "to be dry cleaned" stuff to the actual dry cleaners. I have no idea why. the dry cleaners have never done anything to me and the 2 or 3 times I've been there in the past, oh, 3 years, they were always very nice and helpful. I obediently go to my dentist every 6 months. I dutifully go to my eye doctor every year.  I even voluntarily make the wonderful "feet in stirrups" trip to have my hoo-ha examined every year as scheduled.  But the dry cleaner...not so much.  

I'm not even sure what all is in that big, black mesh bag. And since it is conveniently kept in the corner behind my bedroom door I don't really see it everyday.  I imagine if I actually broke down and took it to the cleaners I'd probably double my wardrobe, easy.  But...I just haven't. 

So, I look deep into the far back reaches of my closet--you know, where I have that cute little black and lace number I wore to an evening wedding in St. Louis like 6 years ago and...oh! So that's where my leather pants are!  Yah..that far back.  And, miracle of miracle I find a suit! It's a pantsuit, but we gals are now allowed to wear those in court (viva la resistance!) despite the prior arcane "rules" of court from several years ago keeping us all in skirts.  The angels of wardrobe mercy have saved me! So, I pull it out and then just stare...

Matt walks in and sees me having a staring contest of wills with the suit and asks if there is something wrong with it. "Um...no," I reply...still holding it at arms length and staring at it as if I had just discovered a severed head in the fridge.  He waits...asks again, "is everything ok?"  I sigh...there is nothing wrong with the suit. It is actually a very nice, dark green pantsuit with a detailed jacket and these awesome carved buttons.  I confess, "Um...I bought this suit back when I was still in law school for job interviews."  He looks at me vacantly, in only that way a man trying to understand his woman can look.  I continue, "Um, like back in 1998..."  Again, more of the vacant man stare...  I break down, fling the suit onto the bed and announce, "Dear God, I hope it still fits!" At this point Matt, very wisely, backs out of the room and disappears somewhere into the house.

So, while running through my brain to remember where I keep my ultra-super-control-top hosiery I try on the pants...and...they fit! Sweet Jesus they fit!!!  I think I actually squealed with joy!  Matt (hearing the squeal of joy and recognizing a "safe zone") returns to the door way and, very wisely, says "Honey, it still fits you perfectly!" (good man...he will get so lucky tonight just for this one comment)

So, I go on about my business and finish getting dressed and rush off to the halls of justice grinning with the madness only possessed by a woman who has discovered she can still wear the same pants she wore in 1998...before she was THIRTY.

Alas, my joy was short lived.  Very soon I realized that while the pants fit...um, the fashion styles have changed drastically since 1998.  More specifically, in 1998 apparently the waist of suit pants was, oh, intended to sit directly under my boobs.  In my morning glee I hadn't realized that the top of these miracle pants came up to within 2 inches of my bra...seriously, if I had pulled them up a little more the bra may not have even been necessary.  But with the jacket over them, you couldn't tell so I got over it, because as long as I kept the jacket on and buttoned no one would realize I really looked like this:

So, I go to court and the hearing goes fine and no one is the wiser that I am secretly impersonating Bill Cosby (but without the bizarrely patterned yet incredibly muted sweater). By 10:00 I'm back at the office and ready to finish out the day.  Then I realize a side effect of the pants (other than making me feel like I was wearing a back up bra).  Ok, when I am not out fighting wrongs in the halls of justice, I spend alot of my time sitting in front of a computer...like now.  Except, unlike now, from 10:00 til 6:30 today I was not wearing my uber-comfortable velour lounging pants that very healthily sit right below the belly button.  No, no, no. I was wearing pants that could double as nipple-protectors if I really needed them to.  So, within an hour or so of sitting in the pants, I pretty much felt like I was wearing this:

And not in a sexy-secretary way, but more in an iron lung way.  Yah. Now, I know you will all be shocked to know that my rock-hard abs (giggle...giggle--I couldn't even type that with a straight face) found this irritating, but they did.  Even legal super models like me have our limits.  I felt like that relative at Thanksgiving who no one actually invites but he shows up every year anyway and eats like 3 times their weight in food and then lumbers to the couch to unbutton their pants just so they can breathe...except I was at work, in a law firm, dealing with people...and I thought it might be a little rude to prop my feet up, undo the side zip and button on the pants and expose myself to various attorneys and clients. So, I did what women through history have done in the name of fashion, decency and the insanely unfair male dominated media world of fashion--I sucked it up...literally. And I could not freaking wait to get home tonight.

I walk in from work, tell Matt "hi" and before he can hug me I brush by him, already undoing the like 10 inch long zipper from hell, and tell him to hold on because I have to get out of these pants now! Matt grins as if I have answered a dying boy's birthday wish and follows me quickly into the bedroom.  "Um, no honey...I have to get these off, breathe and restore circulation to my internal organs."  

So, tomorrow...To Do List Number 1: Dry cleaners.  If I do nothing else all day, I am going to the cleaner's  and reclaiming a chunk of my wardrobe that existed post 1998. 

Mosaic Monday (I know, I know, it's Tuesday but my life still feels like a Monday so here it is...)

1. Favorite gemstone. Sapphire

2. Chunky or creamy peanut butter? chunky

3. Weekend plans? it will most likely involve lots of alcohol

4. What's frustrating you right now? doggie drama

5. Favorite smell. fresh cookies!

6. What you wanted to be when you grew up? glamour gal

7. Cat or dog? both

8. First thing that comes to your mind when I say: orange? um, an orange

9. What are you currently reading? Lonely Werewolf Girl

10. Lucky number? 9

11. Favorite turkey day food? green bean casserole!!!

12. Your celebrity crush? Olivier Martinez  (purrrrrr)

Today's Question...

[La Princessa enters stage left into office doorway]

La Princessa: Hey, I have a question.

Me: [shuddering on the inside at any conversation that begins with "I have a question"] Umm, Okay...

[La Princessa enters further into interior of office and stands over desk, scratching head]

La Princessa: I wonder if I should spend $80 on a book on the pathology of pedophiles? Do you think I could get reimbursed?

Me: [slight pause] By who? And why?

[dramatic pause...wheels turning]

La Princessa: Amazon has the book for $80, but I don't know if I need an $80 book on pedophiles in my personal library.

Me: Probably not.

La Princessa: [turning to leave out office door] Yah, you're right.

Dear Lord....

I type with a heavy heart and the support of several glasses of wine...

I have been distraught all day...completely distraught.  Our little Roscoe was making HUGE progress and we spent a very nice, fun, fur-loving weekend with him. Then, out of nowhere this morning he attacked my Lola the WonderCorgi.  Not once, but three times. The last time it took both Matt and I to separate them and he managed to bite her on one of her hind legs pretty good. It was horrid.  I have no idea what happened or why.  For the past 5 months they have been like twins...perfect pals and each other's playmate and shadow.  Then, for some reason this morning they had some serious dominance issues that apparently have not disappeared.  

We separated them all day--Lola inside, Roscoe outside.  By mid-afternoon I had convinced myself that it was a fluke, a puppy-spat gone wrong. When I got home tonight I let him in and within seconds he was on her again.  I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get them apart on my own (Matt wasn't home yet), but I managed to get them off each other.  Lola's front left paw now has a couple bite wounds and up until an hour or so ago she was limping pretty heavily. Now she seems to be getting over it.   My heart is just broken...and my eyes are all puffy,

I don't know if this is because of his hunting dog instincts, or if he is "becoming a man" now at 6-ish months and all the testosterone is resulting in serious dominance issues or what.  All I know is we can't have them together. So, with a very heavy heart and Matt's clear "man" thinking, we are going to have to find Roscoe a new home. Luckily we know several people who love his breed for hunting, so hope to have him placed soon.  But it still sucks...and I'm still crying...

(sigh)

Will the real Slim-Roscoe please stand up?

For those of you who have not been formally introduced...this is Roscoe:

And the fact that he physically held still long enough for this picture to be taken is a freakin' miracle unto itself and speakes volumes as to the success of our, um..."training" with him recently. In fact, only a week or so ago I had another blog about some Roscoenian adventures with this lovely picture and my sister said, "That is a great picture of Roscoe! I can't believe he sat still long enough to take one!"  I had to come clean...it was not a picture of our Roscoe...it was one of some other apparently well-behaved Jagdterrier I found on Flickr, because the thought of our Roscoe holding still long enough to be captured by a high speed digital camera shutter? really? Hahahahahahahaha!!!!  So, yah...I faked it. And it was a pretty good fake, too. But, the darling little furball above is our actual little Roscoe.  Ta da! And no blood was shed in the taking of these pictures! 

Roscoe is a Jagdterrier, which apparently is some German bred hunting dog which requires much pleghm and a complete ignorance of the letter "J" to correctly pronounce the breed name. Roscoe joined out little family a few months ago as a "gift/payback" to Matt from some "guy he knows" in south Alabama who owed him some "favors" and apparently imported some of these love-ly critters from Croatia to breed.  I just don't ask questions...all I know is Matt came home with this adorable little furball who became Lola's little brother and new best friend!

Ok, to say that Roscoe is "high energy" would be like saying Brittney Spears is just a social drinker.  Dude...this dog is on FULL SPEED AHEAD like all the freakin' time.  We (and by "we" I mean "I", because Matt's idea of training is just to put him outside til he "grows out of it") have been working with him to chill the hell out and just be a "good boy."  And (dare I say this outloud...) we have actually made some progress.  For example, Roscoe now sits on command to get petted instead of just running at me at full speed and knocking the piss out of me.  He also is house-trained [insert choir of angels singing here...] and no longer views Lola's puppy-bed as his own personal crapper.  And, he is getting much, much better at just being inside the house without acting like he is on crack. 

Last weekend I let Roscoe in for most of the 48 hours and we had a long talk...a zen-like discussion of how he needed to just learn how to "be" and chill out. And, I think it may have worked! Just call me the puppy-zen-master! 

So, this morning, I let he and Lola inside and the just "being" began.  And he did great! I mean, we had some "minor" events, but in the grand scheme of things it was great! 

Like, I was sitting in the computer/sewing room doing some internet browsing and both pups were quietly in here with me just "being" and playing with their puppy-toys.  Then, I heard this noise...a loud "bang"...followed by some shuffling.  I look around and realize Roscoe has managed to sneak out of the room...quietly. This dog does nothing quietly...  I walk into the spare room (where the various bang, thump, shuffle, bang noises are coming from) and find this:

That would be Roscoe there on the left...the one that is not so subtly dragging off the poor, stuffed bunny (small furry bunnies wearing pink suspenders being the natural prey of Jagdterriers).  And the clock? I have no idea. The bunny had been on the spare bed and the clock on the nightstand, so I'm assuming that in his quest for Bunny, the clock became yet another casualty of the mighty Roscoe.  So,  I get the bunny from him and explain "bad dog" to him. Then I pick up the clock only to realize the back had come off of it and a battery falls out. Guess who grabs the battery? (apparently the other natural prey of Jagdterriers...) So, now I am chasing Roscoe around the house trying to get a AAA battery out of his jaws of death, because I am pretty sure that if he eats a battery it will be what we in the professional field call "not good." So, after much bribing with cat-food (it's like Kryptonite to my dogs) I retrieve the slobber-covered battery.  No harm, no foul. 

So, like after an hour or so later of perfectly behaved puppies, I decide to take a shower.  I brilliantly decide to leave the bathroom door open just in case any more "loud noises" should occur in the house.  Water on...shampoo on...rinsing hair... Aaaackckckckckcck!!!!What the hell is that on my leg?!?!?!  I swear, it's like giant furry tarantula is climbing up my calf! [Note: I HATE spiders!!!] In mid scream I wipe the shampoo out of my face, turn and find...

I have to laugh...hard.  And the poor guy looks absolutely terrified from my shrieking.  So, I stop laughing, tell him to "get out" and, miracle of miracle, he does! Of course, he is wet and takes out about 2-3 various shampoo/conditioner/soap bottles with him on his way out, but he did obey.  So, I chalk this one up to puppy shenanigans, laugh and finish my shower thinking to myself, "See, he's getting better!" Then I get out of the shower to find this:

Ok...so, it's a work in progress.

And I shit you not...as I was just wrapping up this blog I heard an odd chewing sound and went to investigate...I have just returned from about 5 minutes of chasing Roscoe through the house trying to retrieve a pair of my panties from his mouth...Nice...

Flashback Friday (complete with hallucinatory cold medicine side effects)

So, this is how the game is played, kiddos. Use the "random date generator" (seriously, this exists) at

http://sqa.fyicenter.com/Online_Test_Tools/Random_Date_Time_Value_Generator.php

to pick a random date  (I limited my search from 1990 through today) and then I took the random date and plugged it in to Google with "top 40 hits" and voila, I got  the Top 10 Songs on that date. The idea is to choose one of the Top 10 Songs from your random date and then have a "flashback"!

Ok, so my random date is June 26, 1992

My Top 10 Song is.... Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-A-Lot

(with an honorary flashback mention for Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover 

by Sophie B. Hawkins)

FLASHBACK!!!

Ok, dude, as soon as I saw my random date was in June 1992 I KNEW this would be good, because I graduated high school in 1992 when all was right with the world, my hair was large, my shorts were small, and my friends and I had one kick-ass Senior trip to....where else, Panama City!   Baby Got Back....ah, the timeless thump-thump-booty-thump masterpiece that saluted all of we women with, uh, some extra padding.  This song always makes me think of my Senior trip when me and the girls (Resa, Tara, Kristi, Jenny, Laura and Laura) all loaded up and headed to P.C., Baby--home of the mullet and the drive-thru liquor store!  On the way down to the beach, my car (an 86 LeBaron convertible made of more tonnage of steel than most air craft carriers), had a slight tire malfunction (as in the tread ripped off while we were on some back county highway).  We relied on the assistance of strangers, got the spare on and made it to P.C. Wooooo Hooooooo! Party on!!!  And as soon as we hit the strip, what did we hear....Oh yes, the young, Southern-male mating call of the "thump, thump, thump" of cars cruising with the bass all the way up as Sir Mix-A-Lot explained in lyrical magic that his anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, 'Hon. This song became the eternal background filler of the entire trip. It was everywhere.  You'd walk to the beach from the condo and suddenly out of nowhere, "You can do side bends or sit ups, but please don't lose that but."  You would be in Mickey D's scraping up change left over from last night's beer run to get a breakfast burrito and from the open drive thru window would come, "Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda..."   Stopping at Wal-Mart to get some Aloe for that "dear Lord what was I thinking?" first day sunburn, and "so they toss it, and leave it, and I pull up quick to retrieve it..."  Ah, the memories.  

Perhaps the only other song that got as much airplay that trip as Baby Got Back, was that catchy tune by Sophie B. Hawkins, Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover. Mostly because, as a rule, when young teenage girls are crammed into a car/condo/McDonald's while "intoxicated" any song that has a chorus that starts with a loud and emphatic "Damn" is going to get sung out at the top of their lungs...in unison...and quite possibly slurred...as it did quite often that trip. [Note: this rule is similar to that for any girls from south of the Mason-Dixon line when Sweet Home Alabama is played.]