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.]

I'm bringing sexy back...

Ok, first, thanks to all the wonderful words of support for Lola "Left-Eye" Pirate Dog. I spent most of yesterday alternating between worrying to death about her eye and wondering when someone had snuck up and plunged an ice pick into my left ear...so, all the words of encouragement were appreciated! Turns out, as of this morning her eye is fine and she is back to her normal, bouncy, happy self! Yay!

Not so much for her momma, though. It appears that I have, in fact, caught whatever strain of "Fell-like-Crapitis" that Matt had last week. By lunch yesterday the entire left side of my head felt like it was in a vice and I thought I might actually hear my eardrum explode (if that is possible). I left work early yesterday, headed home and straight for bed. By 3:00 I was out like a light--all snuggled up in bed in my most favorite and comfortable worn out, bleached out, holey 1993 Greek Week college t-shirt; a pair of worn pj pants that are now pink (but used to be red...I had laundry issues); no makeup; my hair slicked back in my make-up stained "facial" headband; and with a squinty, one-eyed Corgi curled up next to me snoring away like a chainsaw.

Around 7:30 Matt woke us up to make sure I ate, Lola went outside for a bit to take care of doggie business, and that I took my anti-ice pick-in-the-head meds. So, I manage to fall out of bed (not very gracefully), put on my flip flops and walk into the living room where I, oh-so femininely, hacked up some very gross mass of God-knows-what and annouced that I thought I was dying. Matt brings me dinner, meds and a glass of o.j. and, I swear by all that is Holy, looks at me and says, "You know what will make you feel better?" I'm thinking...lobatomy, morphine, ice-pick removal...

No...with a straight face he looks at me in all my illness-clad, hacking, dog-fur-covered glory and says, "Sex!"

Men, you have to love them. I did at least laugh, although I didn't think my eardrum was going to make it through the giggles. All I can say is that man is either blind, or blinded by love...or something.

And despite my "pass" on his cure-all, I do feel somewhat better today. The ice pick is no longer in my ear and now it's just my throat and head that are still achy/sore/icky.

Arrrrgghhh!!! Where be my kibble?

So, I wake up this morning to discover the left side of my throat/head/and ear are all sore and icky. I'm really, really, really hoping I don't have whatever it is that Matt just recovered from.

So, I finally emerge from my nice, toasty, warm bed and wander out into the hall and there is my Lola, the Wonder Corgi, running up to greet me! This always makes my mornings better, so I go to pet her and then notice there is something not right with her left eye and that she seems to be impersonating a puppy pirate... She is just kind of squinting with it, and blinking alot, and I can see her little doggie inner-eyelid. So, I ask, "Lola-Doodle, what happened to your eye?" And, she just kind of whines and insists on being all in my lap and petted for the better part of the morning. Otherwise, she acted just like her normal self...Dog Food, check! Chasing the cats, check! Growling at Matt, check! Refusing to go outside because it is "wet", check!

I kind of assumed that she had gotten into a WWF smackdown with one of the cats during the night and managed to get popped a good one in the eye. But then I discovered that both of the cats were outside all evening....hmmmmm.

Matt looks her over and he is convinced she will be "just fine" and will not require a puppy pirate eye patch and matching accessories, which I was very concerned about. By the time I left the house to head off to my jobby-job her eye was doing better. I have no idea what she did to it, but hopefully it will be better by this evening. Otherwise, Captain LeftEye will be headed to the vet in the morning.

La Princessa-isms

From the same woman who has given us the timeless quotes of...

"Is that poo? Or chocolate?"

"Can you zip my pants for me?"

and

"The man in the chair was telling me to go that way!"

Today at lunch:

Innocent Bystander No. 1: People keep asking me if I'm sick, but I feel fine.

Me: Well, there is something going around. Matt and Craig are both sick.

La Princessa: What kind of sick?

Me: Like a cold or virus thing.

La Princessa: Oh...because I threw up on the way to work this morning. But I think it was because my pants are too tight.

Yah...

Welcome to my world.

Mosaic Monday (or.."Dear Lord, I have had one, long, crappy-ass day!!!)

Today's questions and my answers:

1. Favorite Flower: "just because" roses from Matt (you know, like the ones that La Princessa then sends to herself from "friends" the next day because of her raging jealousy and insecurities)

2. Favorite Holiday: Halloween (and on that note, I learned at lunch today that La Princessa asked Kelly if she thought I was a Wiccan because I loved Halloween so much...me....a Wiccan?)

3. Favorite Day of the Week: Sunday (the day after I spent a whole day in the office Saturday catching up on work because god knows no one else will do it)

4. Favorite Song: Crazy Train...

5. One word to describe your week: FUBAR  (and it's only Monday...)

6. One word to describe your weekend plans: casual friday!!! (that's right...I'm marching in their in my March of Dimes t-shirt for the event that I coordinated and I'm going to stick it to the man!)

7. Something you're thankful for: having a clue (it's amazing how clueless the world is)

8. Something you couldn't live without in your life: love 

9. Fave cookie: all cookies (I don't discriminate--I am an equal opportunity cookie destroyer)

10. Something that makes you smile: crazy dog chases (they are running around like crazy in the back yard as I type...)

11. Something that makes you cry: Saving Private Ryan (watched it last night...teared up...again)

12. Night or day? Night (if it's night then I am usually away from the craziness that is my work life these days)

I've been tagged!

My sister has tagged me...because really, what else do sisters do? So, here is my list of seven tidbits about me that you likely do not know already-oh, where to start?

Tidbit No. 1:  In my fashion choices I have an odd sensitivity to whether or not I feel like my head/hairstyle at the moment is "balanced" by the jacket/shirt/top I am wearing.  This was especially a concern of mine back in the high school days when shoulder pads were the oh-so-in thing and I always felt like they made my head look too small. Which probably helps explain the GIGANTIC 90's hair pouf style I had going on at the time. I mean, in my Senior portrait (which is still proudly displayed in the entry way of my parents' home...really, I see it every time I am there) my hair, um, doesn't actually fit inside the portrait oval. Yah, really.

Tidbit No. 2:  I hate closed doors. Just hate them. In my house all doors are kept open as much as possible in keeping with general rules of decency.  Closed doors just make me feel creeped out. 

Tidbit No. 3:  I once dated a guy who I discovered would wake up at 3-ish in the morning and compulsively take a bath or very extended shower until he could go back to sleep. One night when I awoke and found him doing this I asked "why" (being the brave and curious soul that I am) only to be told that he had previously dated a witch. At first I just thought he was being insulting. Oh no. He explained that he had, in fact, dated a wiccan and that the break up was "bad" and she had placed a curse on him and that for weeks he would wake up in the middle of the night with a "dark presence sitting on his chest" so heavily that he could not breathe and would have panic attacks. Um...ok.  I am just lying in bed next to him staring at him and kind of looking for any dark shadows.  So, I stupidly ask, "why the bath?"  Silly me...apparently a very effective way to ward off or protect oneself from a spell is with (drumroll, please...) running water. Ta-da! Mystery solved!  But, I think the oddest thing is that my main concern was this guy had been sleeping next to me for nights on end with some potential demonic spell-casting creature coming to visit him...next to me... You think you might tell a girl?  I mean, it used to be enough to ask if a guy had been tested and was clean, but from then on I had to add "victim of magic spells" to my first date screening questions.  (All I can say now is, thank God for Matt!)

Tidbit No. 4:  I have a thing with odd and even numbers in my daily life.  In the car, my radio volume really needs to be on an odd number for me to be happy.  Have no idea why.  In the house, the thermostat has to be on an even number. Again, no logical reason...just the way I like things.

Tidbit No. 5: My sunglasses perpetually stay perched on the top of my head as a very useful hair accessory.  Also, I don't lose them that way...I am 34 now and things start "disappearing" from where I swear I had just left them...

Tidbit No. 6: I can't stand gin. I love the smell of it, I love all things juniper-scented. I WANT to love it. I just don't. Uck...

Tidbit No. 7: I am a paperclip mutilator.  Whenever I am in deep thought or when I am speaking in public (like in a court hearing or trial) and there is a poor, helpless paper clip around I end up bending it, twisting it, and otherwise mutilating it in to little paper clip twisted carnage. I have no idea I even do it until the end of my "speaking" when I inevitably look down at the court room podium to find a small collection of paper clip post-modern art pieces scattered amongst my notes.  I actually had a federal judge comment on one of my "creations" the other day, telling me it looked like a little person with a loop head and little arms.  :)

I'm supposed to tag 5 other people to share their tidbits, but I'm just leaving it to you. If you read this and want to share, then knock yourself out!

Flashback Friday (or "I'm so far behind at work now, why not waste some time on this...")

Ok, I am so proud I came up with this idea all on my own while lying awake in bed at 2am this morning listening to the sickly Matt snore/wheeze/gurgle in his sickly sleep. (ugh). So, I 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 for me (I limited my search from 1990 through today) and then I took the random date and went to http://top40-charts.com/chart.php?cid=27

to find 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 April 30, 1999

My Top 10 Song is....the Thong Song by Sisqo!

FLASHBACK......

In April 1999 I was actually finishing up my second year at law school at the good ole' U of A in Tuscaloosa. In fact, I was probably cramming for exams. But I guess this song stayed in the charts like, forever, because my flashback memory of it is actually in 2000 and whenever I hear this cheese-fest one-hit wonder I always think of the same thing...the three months I spent studying for the bar exam. I know...thongs...studying...they go hand in hand.

It was the summer after I graduated in 2000 and I spent like 3 months solid stuck in the apartment (that I then shared with my now ex-fiance Danny who, at the time, I just KNEW I was meant to spend forever with....yah, not so much...) studying my little heart out and stuffing my brain with everything anyone ever wanted to know about property law, torts, criminal law, contracts, the UCC code, civil procedure, and other fun and exciting "law stuff." I'd wake up, go to "bar class" which is pretty misleading because there was no bar in sight! In hindsight, I think I would have absorbed more information if I had been drinking... Anyway, then I'd grab lunch, come back to our little one-bedroom, bottom-level, below-the-neighbors- with-all-the-crazy-cats apartment and set up camp on the bed to study. I picked the bed because (1) it was comfy, and (2) it was about the only space in our aparment large enough and clutter-free enough for me to spread out all my stuff to study. Then I'd turn on the radio, plug up the laptop, open up all my books/notebooks/flashcards/study guides and spend the next 5-6 hours just cramming information into my head. I'd be stretched out on the tattered quilt of Danny's (I loved that thing...I probably should have kept it...) and I swear, the Thong Song played on the radio like every hour on the hour each and every day. It was like subliminal messaging. If I didn't hear that song each hour I think I started twitching. But the Thong Song's power was not limited to just my study time...

During this time, I had the worse time sleeping that I have ever had in my life--nothing helped. Not pills. Not warm milk. Not hot baths. Not chamomille or lavendar. Nothing. I think my brain was so overloaded with "stuff" being constantly shoved into it over the course of 3 months that at night it just would refuse to shut down. I'd be exhausted but just lie in bed unable to sleep with my brain just spinning...sometimes I swear I could feel my brain. And what was it spinning in my head at all hours of the morning? Yep...the haunting rhythm of the Thong Song (thong, th-th-th-thong...) meshed with intellectual property basics and statue of limitation spans. I believe this may be my Hell.

So, I'm probably the only person on earth to associate the Thong Song with basic legal principles...but, there you go!

"Here Boy! Come Here!!!!"

It's the Tuesday after the election...that's all I'm going to say about that.  Life is moving forward and I with it. 

On to more important issues, like the fact that I lost Matt's dog. Yah, I'm a GREAT puppy mom. To make a very long and convoluted plot short, I escaped the office early today to avoid dealing with a La Princessa disaster.  (I'm sneaky like that).  So, I get home about 3:30 and decide this will be a perfect time to crank up the Ipod and take down all the Halloween decor that is still haunting my house...you know, the bloody shower curtain, the severed heads, and the 6 foot ghouls hanging around the trees in the front yard.  It's a pretty day so I just have the screen door shut on the front of the house, leave the back door open and let Lola (the Wonder Corgi and BEST dog ever) and Roscoe (Matt's super-hyper Jagdterrier puppy in training) roam around in and outside the house while I de-horrorize all my rooms.  

So, I'm in the back of the house putting some skulls and various body parts in the Halloween storage bins when I hear Lola start barking like a mad woman, uh...dog.  I yell at her to hush. She doesn't.   I yell towards the front of the house again for her to HUSH!!!  And she doesn't. This is odd...Lola is very obedient.  So I walk to the front of the house to find Lola barking like CRAZY at the front door and she is all in a frenzy.  I'm telling her to be quiet and looking out the front door for some ghost, dog walker or crazy ass ex-boyfriend stalker that she might be barking at and then notice...where is her partner in crime? Where is Roscoe? Why is he not at the door with her barking like a hound from Hell?

So I call for him...no response.  I start looking all over the house...no Roscoe. I go into the backyard and call for him...no super hyper puppy comes bounding my way.  Lola goes back to the front door barking again.  It dawns on me--"did he get out the front screen door? It's shut, but did he get out?" 

Uh, yah. The answer is Hell yes he managed to open the screen door and get out.  So I'm outside yelling for him and looking around with no idea where the puppy-on-crack has gone to while thinking, "Great. I've lost Matt's dog. He is going to get lost, starve, get hurt and I'll never find him. Lola will be heartbroken and need counseling."  

Then I see TomCat (one of our other furry children) come sauntering up the hill towards the house and I realize that Roscoe has gone "that way." (TomCat likes to follow me and the dogs on our walks like some super stealthy cat spy...I have no idea why, but if it makes him happy...) So I head down the giant hill still yelling for Roscoe.  At the bottom of the hill are two guys loading a moving van and as I'm thinking I will just ask them if they have seen a super hyper black blur of fur go by I see him.  Roscoe comes bounding over another hill about a block away at full speed heading straight for the movers.  I start yelling for him, but he is way more intent on getting in the moving van.  Luckily the two guys see me and grab Roscoe and hold him (no small feat, mind you) until I get there.  I thank them and one of the guys says, "Um I think your cat followed him down here?" I just reply, "Yes, but the cat is smart enough to find his way home." and gracefully attempt to heave Roscoe up into my arms to carry him in all his squirming "free" glory back up the freaking steep ass hill to the house. (In my disarray I hadn't even thought of grabbing his leash when I went looking for him...yah, brilliant).

So, I'm holding Roscoe as un-awkardly as possible and start up the hill from Hell while ecstatic to have found him and pissed at him for running off.  

Then a car drives by.  

Roscoe likes cars. 

In fact, he LOVES cars. 

He loves to chase them. Even when he is on a leash this presents a problem and it's something we have been "working on" for a few weeks now.  But, needless to say, we aren' t "there" yet with the car thing.  So, Roscoe goes, oh, how shall we say....um, ape-shit over this car...while I'm still holding him...and I have the claw marks on my arms to prove it.  It was like I was trying to hold a wolverine or something. So, we survive this and I keep walking up the hill.

Then, here comes a fellow neighbor walking her giant lab. Roscoe likes labs.  In fact, he loves labs. In fact, he loves all other forms of dog on earth.  (you see where I am going with this) Again...we are "working on " this. (sigh) So, Roscoe starts going nut-so for the lab and I can no longer hold him in fear of having an artery ripped open.  So, I put him down and keep ahold of his collar and he starts "the barking."  Now, Roscoe does not bark often, but when he does his natural voice sounds like something that would make paint peel.  Shrill is not the word.  So, he starts barking, as if I am skinning him alive. The friendly neighbor looks very concerned, stops and asks if we are ok.  I am crouched down over Roscoe trying to keep my balance over him while he is pulling with all his might against my hold on his collar while emitting death rattle noises and I manage to smile and say, "We're fine. But just move on, please."  Wisely, she does. 

So, after threatening Roscoe within an inch of his life, I hoist him back up into my clawed and bleeding arms and manage to carry him (against his will) up the rest of the hill to the house. When we get to the bottom of the front porch stairs I put him down, still keeping ahold of his collar so I can catch my breath. Hmmm...he suddenly decides he now needs to be in the house...now...now...NOW!!! So, he takes off up the flight of 12 concrete stairs with my hand caught in his collar and me in tow.  I can't type the words I said...I'm sure they are not PG-13 or even R-rated.  So, we make it in the house. I am about to die...I can barely breathe, I have puppy scars up and down my arms and my knees are sprouting brilliantly red and purple new stair-bump-bruises.  Roscoe, on the other hand, is ecstatic and comes running at me with his lamb-toy ready to play some more!

Yah, Roscoe gets put out in the backyard.

I wash my arms off....I breathe deeply...I pick the various fur/leaves/grass off my shirt...I pour a large glass of wine.

Roscoe is going to obedience classes...soon.

Pigs, Donuts and Politics...

Can I possibly explain to you how freakin' ecstatic I am that the election will be O-V-E-R tomorrow? I doubt it...but here are just a few of the reasons I am so ready for the sun to have risen and set on November 4, 2008:

1. Hopefully I will not be subject to any more random physical assaults with copies of the New York Times. I realize that the gauge of La Princessa's craziness will not simply disappear after November 4th, but it makes me feel safer working away in my little beige corner of the world knowing that she isn't next door becoming incensed by comments made by Rush Limbaugh or by the covert Republican takeover of the media.

2. I hopefully will not have to listen to one more freakin' political consultant going on and on and on about why the polls are this way or why the polls are that way or why regardless of what the polls say the Democrats should already be loading up the moving vans for the White House. The media is soooo skewed and I just sit there and wonder how much these puppets get paid to sit around and "speculate" for hours on end and then I think of all the people, critters and causes that could actually really use that money as opposed to all these consultants and pundits that are just lined up feeding at the trough and the media machine that fills it. It makes me kind of ill.

3. And speaking of wasted money in a time when our nation really needs to focus inwards and pull itself and its citizens up...if I get one more e-mail/phone call/letter from various individuals running for office asking me for money I may just pack up and move to South America.

Just because I have met you in passing once or twice in this life or just because you know people who know people who know me please do not assume that (a) I share or support your political beliefs, or (b) that I would just LOVE nothing more than to be constantly barraged with your repeated requests for money. When I get your e-mails bragging about the millions you raised so far and asking me, yet again, for more of my hard earned greenbacks it kind of turns me off from voting for you at all. It reeks of greed, self-centeredness, and all that I personally believe is wrong with the political system in this country today. And this is the deal, if I decide to pony up some of my post-taxed dollars to give to a cause it isn't going to be to a politician--it's going to the ASPCA, the battered women's shelter, or a literacy program. Comprendo? I am just salivating with anticipation of the day I can open my e-mail account without any more panhandling messages-because in my opinion that is what it is--begging.

4. The "undecided" are getting on my nerves...almost as much as the rabid lefties that I am surrounded by at work. Ok, now I do need to disclaim that I believe everyone has the right to their own political beliefs...my problem with the aforementioned co-workers/bosses is that they all assume in a very elitest way that everyone they know must share their beliefs and, Lord forbid, if you don't then it is like being a heretic. So, basically, as the sole witch left in Salem these days, I'm ready for the water dunking to be over.

Ok, back to the "undecided." Really? How? I just don't get this. After the epically long primary elections which clogged all the media arteries for MONTHS and now with the 24 hour monitoring of the candidates, how is it possible that people to this date don't know how to place their vote? I mean, it really boils down to (a) the issues and where you stand on them, (b) the credibility of the candidates, and (c) what you believe each party/candidate offers that most benefits you as a citizen. And if you still haven't figured out where you stand on issues like our military policies, taxes (really???), religion, women's rights, freedom from government, health care, socialism, etc...then I just have to ask...do you think you should even vote? Let alone have the whole world focused on your actions as the deciding factor in who will lead the free world? Seriously?


5. My free Krispy Kreme donut!

If you vote, they give you one and I'm so taking them up on the offer!



So, everyone go vote, exercise your rights, have a donut and just slap anyone who looks "confused" at the polls for me!

Mosaic Monday (which I am totally and blatantly stealing from my sister)

Today's questions (my answers in parenthesis):

1. Favorite childhood toy. (Blackie Bear)

2. Favorite sport. (Shoe Shopping)

3. Beach or mountains? (Mountains)

4. Biggest fear? (drowning)

5. Hobby? (quilting)

6. Favorite movie? (Love Actually)

7. Least favorite color? (yellow)

8. Favorite book? (Lamb)

9. Worst school subject? (calculus)

10 What did you do last night? (recovered)

11. Last thing you ate? (french bread with cheese)

12. Favorite season? (fall)