Monday, August 27, 2007

Sunday, August 26, 2007


As promised I did a whole lot of nothing this weekend. It was lovely. And now we are once again back at Monday again tomorrow. Why do Saturday and Sunday go by so much quicker than Monday and Tuesday? What is that all about? Who knows.

I really have nothing to report as my life is pretty much a blur of work and work and work these past couple of weeks, so I don’t really know what I’m supposed to blog about. I did go see a show that was funny as hell, Avenue Q. If you ever get the chance to see the show as it travels around definitely go check it out. It is High-larious. It’s kinda like a completely inappropriate Sesame Street. Completely inappropriate. As in, yes, there are puppets and no, do not take the children. Some of the song titles were “It Sucks to Be Me”, “Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist”, “The Internet is For Porn” and “If You Were Gay”. Ha. It was awesome. And so so wrong. I don’t think we realize what a padded world we live in until you watch things that don’t make any effort to be politically correct.

And speaking of racist, I took this picture in the supermarket and I thought it was sorta funny. “Excuse me, do you have any Hispanics here?” “Aisle 15, right next to the Asians. You’ll have to go down a couple aisles for the French though.”
And because my friends have lives and are doing things besides working and attaching themselves to their couches when they aren’t working, here is a trailer for a short film a friend of mine is cutting together. It made me laugh, so I thought it might make you guys laugh as well.

I will try to have something noteworthy happen to me tomorrow, so that there will be things to blog about...

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Hello Out There

My lord.

It’s been like a week since I’ve written. What have you people been doing to fill your days if not with the wonder that is my blog? No, don’t tell me, it’s probably better that you put that pain behind you.

As for me? You know that candle they speak of? The one that burns at both ends? Yeah. I’m on like my 10th candle. Burning them like crazy. I feel like I might be coming out of the other side, into a life that doesn’t involve so little sleep, so much work and a steady stream of Advil to help my aching carpel tunneled arm. But then again, every time you feel like things are calming down they have a way of picking back up again. But for this millisecond they fill a bit calmer. And I hope to extend this millisecond into my weekend, where I intend on doing absolutely nothing. It will be lovely.

Anywho, I’m sure there are things to update you on. But I’m sure I don’t feel like typing any more right now, because of that before mentioned arm pain. I will say that I work in a big building now and the management of that building held an ice cream social in the lobby this afternoon. And that is about the happiest I’ve been in a long time. Give me whip cream and sprinkles and I’m all set.

I will leave you with this:

The dog for August. Yeah. Seems my mother is a bit busy too, because she just dressed the damn dog. He was a patriot for like two months. I think he was afraid of what George W. might do if he changed out of the patriot costume and into this costume.

Mainly I think my mother was just really really hesitant to put a pimped out dog on her front porch. Every month I was like, “When do we get to the porn star?” And every month she’d just shake her head, because she was not looking forward to the porn star. Or the pimp. I’m not really sure what this costume is. I am sure that it is missing something though. See the curly hair under the hat? In my original design of this costume there was supposed to be some of that hair peeking out of the shirt as well, Fido showing off his chest hair. But mom didn’t understand my vision, “I just couldn’t do the chest hair, I couldn’t.”

She also couldn’t do this costume in the right month either, “I think this costume is supposed to be October, but I have the ladies coming over to my house for Bunco in October, and I just can’t have a porn star dog on my front porch when then come.”

Obviously these ladies don’t understand art.

Thursday, August 16, 2007


Nola graduated from Puppy Class tonight.

By the way, when exactly did my life become one in which I race out of work at 5, go pick up the dog at Doggie Day Care, then go to Puppy Class? Things have taken a weird turn.

Anywho, Nola probably shouldn't have graduated from Puppy Class because his mom has had a hell of a couple of weeks and has done nothing in the way of teaching him the things a puppy would need to know to graduate. But he's cute and the teacher likes him, so he got to pass. Kinda like high school, really.

Then the teacher gave us little graduation caps to put on them. And by put on them I mean wrestle on them... We weren't really able to get a clear shot because he was moving so much. I think part of him knew that he didn't deserve that hat, because he didn't do every single thing he was supposed to to pass. I think another part of him knew that the hat was annoying the hell out of him...

Here is a picture of what a good puppy looks like. Notice, no blurring.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

First Day of School

Tomorrow is Nola's first day at Doggy Day Care. And my last day as a self-respecting human being.

I called to make an appointment for him and the lady said, "Try to get here as early as possible, because he is a boy and he needs to establish dominance."

"Uh huh."

"We open at 6:30 a.m."


Seriously, I don't care if my dog has a few adjusting problems if it means that I can sleep in longer. It's bad enough that I'm even taking him to this damn place, now I have to get up early so that he can establish his dominance? Screw that. He weighs 8 pounds, he's going to need a lot more than me getting up at dawn to help him with his dominance.


I actually checked the doggy cam online as soon as I got to work.

I have issues.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007


You’ve heard me talk about The Kid on here before. The Kid is my cousin Kate, who is turning 12 today. When she was born I was still in high school and had very little interest in the little ball of baby on the floor. I was a teenager, I had other things to do, you know. My aunt brought her over to my house and given the fact that my aunt hadn’t recently given birth, I asked what the baby was all about. “She’s my granddaughter.” “How long are you taking care of her?” “Just a little while.”

A little while turned into 12 years. And that little baby turned into a little adult. Right before my eyes. (Is it me, or is 12 years old a lot older than it used to be?)

You go through your days, you want them to matter, you want to feel like something you are doing might actually mean something beyond this 24 hours you are living. And I must say, you will be hard pressed to find a better way to spend those days than by being a part of a kid’s life. Those little days, those hours of games here, minutes of random conversation there, seconds of hugs and “I love you”s, they all add up to something.

Kate didn’t have a lot of people she could count on and I made a promise a long time ago that I would be one of those people. Of all the twists and turns my life has taken this last decade that promise has been one of the few consistencies. And I know for a fact that it has made me a better person. You look at the world differently when you’ve made a kid an important part of your life. Some things matter more, some things matter less. You make decisions differently when you know there is someone who is looking up to you. This isn’t exactly groundbreaking, but I don’t know if I would have learned a lot of things as early as I did if I didn’t have Kate in my life.

It seems weird to me that she is already 12, that the time has passed so quickly. But I look forward to it continuing to pass. I look forward to continuing to watch her grow into who she will ultimately be. People always say they have their favorite ages of kids, but I’ve never really had a favorite age. Whatever age she is right now is my favorite, because it’s just so much fun to watch her morph into a little person. I see kindness in her, and humor. And that’s all I really need. The kid has a good heart and the ability to be sarcastic. My work here is done.

In April Kate came out to New Orleans with my family and friends. She was the only kid in the group. I wondered how she would do, as manual labor isn’t the best way for a kid to spend her vacation. The first day she grabbed a shovel and started mixing cement next to a man more than double her size. She exhausted herself, but she didn’t complain (any more than the aching adults). Then the next day she was the first back to work before lunch was over, ready to hammer some nails. During down time she explored the neighborhood where we were working, moving slowly through the remains of dozens of families, a very privileged kid taking in what it means to lose everything.

A month or so later she spent three weeks in Africa with my aunt and some other people. (Are you jealous of the 12 years old’s travel schedule yet? I am.) During their trip they visited an orphanage, where Kate fell in love with all the kids.

This weekend she’s having a birthday party. (“I’m having the big one this year, with all the family and stuff, so that next year, when I’m 13, I don’t have to have adults, just my friends.” (Ahhhhh the teenage years)) On her invitation there is a picture of Kate holding a kid at the orphanage. Below that it reads, “Instead of gifts, please make a donation to the African orphanage we visited, together we can make a difference.” The invitation is on my fridge, it will stay there long after the party is over.

Don’t get me wrong, the kid isn’t perfect. But at the end of my days, when I’m wondering if they’ve mattered, all I need to do is look at that kid and I know. Thanks for letting me come along for the ride Miss Kate, nothing and no one has made me prouder.

I look forward to the rest of the trip.

Happy Birthday.

Monday, August 13, 2007


I haven’t had anything resembling a commute for quite some time. And let’s be honest here, I don’t have anything resembling a commute now. When there is no traffic it takes 6 minutes to get from my office to my house. When there is traffic it takes about 10 minutes.

But still.

That is 20 minutes more radio than I’m used to hearing in a day. When I work at home I usually have the Itunes going and listen to my million and one songs I have on my computer. Or I go over to that awesome 90's station and relive my pegged pants years.

But in the car I listen to the radio.

Some things I’ve noticed:

The Shane Company (Now You Have a Friend in the Diamond Business) needs to be firebombed. Seriously. This guy is on EVERY FRIGGIN STATION. Trying to convince every demographic that you need a diamond for pretty much every event in your life. “Did your sweetheart stub her toe today? Show her you care with one of our diamonds.” This guy has officially guaranteed that I will never in my lifetime buy a diamond from him. Now, to be honest, he’s not missing out on any business, as I don’t ever have any intention of buying a diamond in my lifetime, but still. I might go buy one somewhere else just to prove a point.

I would also like to firebomb Delilah. Delilah is a radio chick who is syndicated throughout the land. How do I know she is syndicated? Because I was lucky enough to hear her throughout my entire 10 week road trip across this great land. As if the middle of Nebraska didn’t have enough problems without this woman. Arrrgggg. She is so peaceful and loving and CONDESCENDING, she makes me want to hurt her.

I think I might have issues with overly calm sounding people. They 1) make me nervous 2) make me distrust their sincerity, 3) make me want to give them an IV of caffeine to speed their speech up a little bit and 4) they are usually full of crap.

The song below is the most annoying thing I’ve ever heard. It is on about 23453 times a day and everyone LOVES it. I know I’m behind on this, but I really think it’s better that way, because I don’t think I could have dealt with this song in my life for any more time than I've already endured. Listen to it until at least the chorus. That is where it gets poetic. Hold on, let me see if I can get you the lyrics.

When there’s sunshine, we’ll shine together
Told you I'll be here forever
Said I'll always be a friend
Took an oath I'ma stick it out till the end
Now that it's raining more than ever

Know that we'll still have each other
You can stand under my umbrella
You can stand under my umbrella
(Ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(Ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(Ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(Ella ella eh eh eh eh eh eh)

Please note the
(Ella ella eh eh eh eh eh eh)’s
My dear lord. It’s art, right here in front of you.

And just to prove that I’m not completely heartless, this song makes me cry every single time I hear it in the car:

It’s simple, and cheesy in some parts, but the “Laaaaay meee down” - that one line, gets me every time.

(With a few firebombs)

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Monday Already?

Geez. Only two days off? Who made up that rule? Someone needs to do something about that ASAP.

The guy living with me has a great schedule, one that I think should be implemented the world ‘round. He goes to work at noon on Monday and leaves at noon on Friday. They work extra hours during the week to make up for the lost hours at the beginning and middle of the week. Man, I could get used to a schedule like that.

I could get even more used to being independently wealthy though...

You know what’s funny, in a sort of alarming sort of way? Pretty much every day it is a struggle for me to remember where I parked my car in the morning. I park in a parking garage and every day after work I push a button and sorta hope that it’s actually the floor where I parked. I’m about 50% on accuracy. I can usually remember where I parked on the floor, so then it’s just a matter of going to all those floors and looking in the spot where my car should be, if it were to be on this floor.

This whole scenario does not bode well for my menopause years, is all I’m saying.

But if you think about it, it’s kinda amazing that we are always able to remember where we park. I mean, you’ve come out of concerts or sporting events and been one of thousands of people who parked their car, and yet you can remember where you parked your one car. I find that amazing. I don’t really know why.

But I do know that it’s much less amazing when you happened to be running late for your concert or sporting event and just parked and ran in, making no note of where you parked. Then afterwards you are like, “Uh oh.” And then it’s dark and so most of the cars look the same color. And your only real hope is wandering around pushing your alarm or unlock button, desperately hoping to see your little tail lights calling out to you in the distance, guiding you home.

Not that I’ve ever done that.

Not that I’ve ever stood in a parking garage with people, pushing a button while yelling, “Shhhh, listen for it, listen! There, do you hear? I think it’s up one level.” “No, that definitely came from a floor down.” “Maybe that was someone else’s alarm all together.”

I may just take a lot of public transportation once I reach menopause, it will save me a lot of effort.

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Almost Friday



















Wednesday, August 08, 2007

I’m Still Alive

But I am very tired.

Who knew how tiring it was to work for a living? Hmmm.

It’s about 10:45 and I’m writing this cause I need to go to bed. What happened to my wild and crazy lifestyle of watching the sun come up on a regular basis? It has sadly gone away. So far away.

I saw The Bourne Whatever The Name Is this weekend and I decide that I think I want to be a hired killer for a living. It looks like a lot of fun. You don’t do much, just kinda lay around waiting for a call and then you’re off to do the killing. The cool part is that the killing usually takes place is really cool foreign countries. I’m sure they cover your travel expenses. It really looks like a cool job. I mean except for the whole having to kill people thing. But, I mean, if I get free airfare...

Nola has had a rough week as well, with his mother off trying to work for a living. My parents (who are done working for a living) have decided that they think that the dog should probably stay with them during the week and I can have him on the weekends. Who am I, Britney Spears? I can’t have custody of my own damn dog? Geez.

So Nola has been over at my parent’s house for most of the week. Today he was home all day and I about died of guilt. So I went to the local doggie daycare after work and picked up an application. I know it is ridiculous to pay someone for the privilege of having your dog sit in their house instead of your house, but still. At least I’ll know that he is with other dogs and not just sitting at home crying and trying to plot a way to eat my red couch.

The greatest thing about the doggie daycare is that they have video cameras that you can access online. Because paying to leave you dog at a daycare isn’t psychotic enough, they want to give you the opportunity to stalk your own pet on the internet. Good lord.

Monday, August 06, 2007


I suppose I should go to bed.

As that's what responsible people with jobs do.

I gotta start playing the lottery.

Friday, August 03, 2007

Final Friday

Tomorrow/Today is my last Friday of Freedom. It’s all so bittersweet. Today I had to meet friends for lunch at 11:30 and I was exhausted by the effort. I do look forward to Monday morning when I have to be to work at 8:30. I might be one of the first people to really fight for the Mexican siesta tradition here in America. I’m brown, I can pull it off as a fight for my heritage. I don’t see why only babies and retired people get to nap during the day, it doesn’t seem right.

Tonight was Puppy Class with the dog. Yet another week attempting to turn the dog into the perfect puppy. I think he might need more than one hour a week towards that effort. To be fair, he is overall a really good dog. He just has this teensy tiny little habit of not coming when I call him. I mean, he doesn’t do it all the time. Like when we are inside or at the dog park or in a backyard somewhere, he comes to me right when I call him. But when we are outside of my condo, with the whole world at his disposal, he doesn’t have much interest in the whole “come here” thing. He just looks up, thinks for a second, and then goes back to trying to find cat poop. And then I get mad. And I go after him. And then he thinks we are playing. And I am the opposite of playing. And by the time I do finally get him I am the opposite of happy. Which is probably why he doesn’t want to come to me in the first place actually - because when he finally gets to me I’m always in a really bad mood.

But other than that he’s just perfect.

And I need to know, is there anything cuter on this planet than a puppy class? Seriously. It’s like cute overload. I don’t even think a baby class (Do they have baby classes? They aren’t mobile, so they don’t need the “come here” lesson.) wouldn’t be as cute. Because babies cry and stuff. Puppies just play and jump around and generally love life and everything about it. Then when you have 10 puppies all together? Cute overload.

That is all I have to say for today. I’m in mourning for soon-to-be-gone sleeping patterns and can think of very little else. May they rest in peace. No pun intended.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007


I don’t watch the news. It makes me angry. It depresses me. Plus, I used to work at a news station and I know that what is considered “news” really depends on how slow the day is. But I don’t want to be totally uninformed, so I try to get my headlines off of Yahoo. It’s amazing how informed you can be by simply logging on to Yahoo’s main page right before you go check your e-mail. All sorts of headlines await you there. And as you know, you don’t need to read much beyond the headline to get the news.

Because Yahoo is 24 hours a day they are sometimes hard-pressed to come up with things that are worthy of Top Story status. Sometimes there is just nothing going on. Take for instance the fact that the other day I logged on and saw a picture of Oprah. Next to her picture was a quote from her saying something like, “I felt like I’d been stabbed in the chest (maybe stomach (maybe heart (definitely torso area))).” When I saw that I thought, “Oh dear, Maya Angelou is dead! Or some other old fabulous black person. Maybe Sydney Poitier. Let me click and investigate further.”

Then when I clicked I was led to a story about Oprah’s damn dog dying. Seriously. This is how famous this woman is. Or how slow a news day it was. Can you think of anyone else on the PLANET that would get a headline on the front page of Yahoo because their DOG DIED? Please. This woman is really just living in her own world of fame and fortune and god-like status. “Publicist Person, my dog died. I’m going to need you to write up a press release. Possibly even release some pictures of me looking very sad.”

Today I saw a great headline on Yahoo: Hollywood’s Pigeons to Get The Pill

I don’t know for sure, but isn’t there a war or something going on? You know, people dying and being blown up and slaughtered in the name of Jesus and freedom? Or something? I dunno. All I know is that you shouldn’t let your dog eat rubber balls and the pigeon poop problem in Hollywood warranted the attention of several people and committees and possibly even some scientists. Ahhhh, America.

Because I too am very famous, I will let you know that my dog still has a cone on his head and he is still not happy about it. He is less happy about the fact that I removed the cone for about an hour tonight and then had to put it back on. My friend, who is his vet, said that he was probably okay to be cone-free, so I took it off. But after a week of not being able to lick and bite wherever he wanted he went a little crazy. I feared that me may not stop until he had completely removed all of his private areas.

The saddest part of all is that when you walk a dog with a cone on his head people assume that the cone is because he is a biter. Then all of a sudden instead of, “Oooooohhhhhh, what a cute puppy!” I get, “.....” That “....” is accompanied by sideways glances that don’t quite make eye contact with the animal. My poor cute puppy has been branded a crazy biter. Which coincidently he became, this evening, when I removed the cone. The people giving him the sideways looks shouldn’t be worried, the worst that is going to happen is he might obsessively start biting his dinger off.

Put that on Yahoo.