My Dog

My dog has issues. Let us discuss them now.

#1 - He REALLY like the taste of poo. This REALLY upsets me. Not only does he like the taste, he likes the smell and is able to hone in on that smell from a good 50 yards away. He’s like one of those drug-sniffing dogs. Except I can only imagine what kind of criminals he’d catch.

#2 - He REALLY likes laying in water. It doesn’t really matter where the water is. He learned of his love of water while laying in a baby pool at a dog park. But now EVERY time I take him to my dog park he doesn’t let a little thing like lack of baby pool get in his way of laying in water. So EVERY time he lays in the mud puddles. A lady asked me the other day, “Are they water dogs?” as she looked at my dog, lounging in up to his ears in a puddle of mud and water. “No, he’s a crazy dog. His breed has nothing to do with it.” The other day, while at yet another dog park my lovely dog made his way over to one of those water fountains that has the human water fountain at the top and the doggie water fountain at the bottom. After the doggie’s drank out of the fountain my genius decided to sit in the fountain. Because, you know, there’s water in there, and water is for sitting in.

The only good part of #2 (maybe the poo one should have been here instead...) is that I have figured out a fantastic way to bathe the dog post-mud dip. Initially I was trying to bath him in the sink like I normally do for his baths. But this was not a good time. Because most of the mud is on his underside and trying to spray that underside usually resulted in my spraying mud up into the air and all over my damn kitchen. And I have to keep the kitchen clean, because sometimes I put take-out boxes on the counter.

So then. Instead of taking him inside for the bath I have decided to keep him outside for a squirt down from the hose. I hold on to his little leash and spray him off. He thinks he is getting shot and I think I’m taking out a lot of poo and mud anger on him with a high-powered sprayer. This makes me much happier than the mud in the kitchen.

#3 - He’s got issues. He’s gotten a lot better about going up to people and not being super afraid of every human being that isn’t me. (Which always cracks me up, because in his little life span, I’m the only human being who has spanked him, yelled at him and sprayed him with a high-powered hose. Yet I’m the only one he trusts. Like I said, issues.) He is mostly okay with people outside, but once they come into our house, he’s not a huge fan. He backs away from them, he barks, he hides. Maybe he thinks that they are going to spank and yell and spray too, who knows.

So I hired a dog-walker, because he didn’t seem to like Doggie Daycare that much (How do I know this? Because I too have issues and watched him on the internet doggie cam.) so I figured I’d just leave him home and have someone come over to walk him once a day. I know, I’m a yuppie. Whatever.

So the dog-walker came over the other day and when I got home there was a note that read: “Please call me.” There were also many a toy thrown throughout the living room. Uh oh. I’d seen this scene before, when I asked the roommate to take the dog out one time when I wasn’t home. I came home to all of Nola’s toys at the bottom of the stairs, an obvious attempt by the roommate to lure the dog towards the front door. From the cussing I heard coming from upstairs I figured that these attempts had not been successful.

I called the dog-walker, she was distraught. “I don’t know what was wrong, I tried for 45 minutes to get him to come to me and all he would do is bark and back away. I’ve never experienced anything like that.” “Well, my dog is unique to say the least.” “Don’t worry, I won’t charge you for today, since I never was able to take him for a walk.” “Uh, yeah, it’s not your fault my dog is insane, go ahead and charge me. At least he got a workout trying to get away from you.”

Tomorrow the dog-walker returns to try again. I’ve put leftover chicken in the fridge to aide her efforts. Of course I should probably just recommend bringing some poo, that ought to get him to come to her right away.

God Bless the Internet

Whoever invented the internets should be sainted. I think that goes without saying. I mean, there’s the e-mail, the Google, the porn, the list goes on and on. But I must say that without the internets I don’t know that I’d be able to work a 9-5 job. (Don’t worry, I’m not looking at porn at work (but do you know that a guy got fired for looking at porn at the last place I worked? Isn’t that funny? And even more funny is the fact that it was his SECOND time being caught looking at porn at work. He’d just gotten a warning the time before. Seriously. What kind of idiot #1 Looks at porn at work and #2 Keeps looking at porn at work when it has been made clear that looking at porn at work is probably not in the best interest of his efforts to remain employed? People have issues.) But I digress.).

I have discovered the most wonderful thing of all: Online radio. Where the hell have I been that I never discovered this before? I do not know. But I am here now and I am here to tell you that one should not reside in a cubicle for hours on end without the aide of internet radio.

God bless internet radio. And god bless Adam Carolla. I’m sure that some of you either don’t know who Adam Carolla is, or think he’s an idiot (The Man Show), but I do not care. He is my savior. The guy has cracked me up since LoveLines and ever since Howard Stern left radio Carolla has been doing a morning radio show. Given the fact that I haven’t seen a lot of mornings since Howard Stern went off the air, I hadn’t listened to Carolla’s show. But now, because I am a functioning member of society I get to listen to all the morning radio I want. Morning radio and Mountain Dew are the only thing that get me to noon without passing out. And Adam Carolla. He helps a lot. The guy is just a “dude”. He likes cars and building things and has a general bad attitude about everything on the planet. He cracks me up. And when spending time in a cubicle, his rants sure do help the time go by.

Then after him there are these three called Frosty, Heidi and Frank. Frosty, Heidi and Frank used to be Jaime, Frosty and Frank and I used to listen to them during my ridiculous commute when I lived in LA. Until one day I turned on the radio and it was just Jaime. And Danny Bonaduce. Jaime, Frosty and Frank had worked together for like 10 years, starting in Denver or something and then moving out to LA together. Then, after all that time Jaime totally stabbed her boys in the back and saved herself. Bitch. I never listened to the show again. Who knows what she is doing now, because Bonaduce is now on Adam Carolla’s show. Followed by Frosty and Frank. Jaime? Off the air. Karma. It’s a bitch too.

So then. As you can see, the internets provide me with both entertainment and life lessons throughout the day. Can’t ask for much more than that.

I’m Confused

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Wrong

I got this postcard in the mail today.



Uh. Does this seem really, really wrong to anyone else?

"Well, yeah, cancer sucks and all that, but it's not really a big enough reason to go get myself checked. Whatever, I'll do it sometime, when I- Oh! The possibility of $100 towards Cosmetic Services?!!! Sign me up!!!"

The New Girl

Some of my best friends are people I met at work. I guess it’s natural, because you spend so much time at work. You are going to either end up loving or hating the people surrounding you (On the same note, some of my least favorite people are ones I met at work). One of the things I missed when I worked freelance from my house was the interaction with my co-workers.

But sometimes it takes awhile to go from being The New Girl, to being A Friend.

Today I walked into the bathroom at about noonish. When I walked in I saw my reflection and I saw that on that reflection was a large white spot. On the reflection’s boob.

Apparently I’d leaned into my bagel sometime on my way into the office and had spread cream cheese all over the underside of my boob, and its black top, in the process.

This cream cheese wasn’t visible to me because it was, well, under where I can see. But it was visible to every person I passed and talked to for half the day.

But no one said anything.

The best friends I mentioned earlier? They would have pointed, laughed, made fun of me and told everyone else within earshot to come look. But they wouldn’t have let me walk around looking like a lopsided lactater for half the day.

I miss being Friends.

Pictures

Look at me! Two days in a row with the blogging. Hot damn. I might have made the error of drinking a Pepsi an hour ago and I might now be wide awake, even though it is 10:30 and I just finished work and I should go to bed so I can get up and do another 15 or so hours of pretty-making tomorrow. But no. I had a Pepsi. So you get a blog. It's very exciting.

Some pictures for you:

I took this when I was in LA a couple months ago, and I guess I forgot to post it. It just struck me as funny. "Under New Management. Now Serving Falafel." Those other managers were falafel haters, apparently. And that is why their business failed. These new managers are bringing the falafel and they are ready to make some money.

I saw these in a bookstore this weekend. They are laminated pocket guides of sorts. You buy them, I guess, and then you have a nice little pocket guide for whatever topic you might need a pocket guide for. Such as? Western Civilization (this is a lengthy topic, so it needs TWO pocket guides). Or maybe you were looking for some help with your public speaking? I can think of no better way to learn about public speaking than a laminated pocket guide. I'm sure Martin Luther King carried one of these around right before his Dream speech.

The most alarming has to be Personal Finance. Please. People. Do not make personal finance decisions based on a laminated piece of paper at the local independent bookstore. I mean geez, at least go to a chain store for that kind of information.

My new lovely car has a lovely feature that tells you how many miles you have left until the lovely car runs out of gas. When you push the button and you get nothing but stars? That is not a good thing. That means there are no more numbers, no lower the lovely meter can go. Ru roh.

This is not the first time I've seen the stars. See, another lovely feature of this car is that not only does it burn gas like a fool, but it also has a problem with the gas tank thing. Depending on the gas pump sometimes my gas tank just won't let me put gas in. It does that ANNOYING thing where it clicks the gas pump off, as if it were full. But, uh, not full. Not even $3 in the gas tank yet. Good god.

So here I am trying to hold the gas pump just so, to convince the gas to come out. Of course holding it just so makes the gas come out as if it were mud coming through the nozzle. So I end up having to hold it for minutes and minutes at a time. But guess what? I don't have a functioning hand that is able to hold it for that long without needing some sort of pain medication and/or arm transplant. So I usually end up only putting like 10 bucks in. Which in SUV speak is like 4 feet worth of gas.

So then. I've been seeing a lot of the stars.

Speaking of mud. This is the underside of my puppy. Can you see it? It's not the best shot. But it's a lot of mud. All over his belly. Oh, aren't puppies just a joy?

When he goes with my parents to the dog park by their house there is a little kiddie pool there that he has become quite fond of. Can't get enough of that cool water, promptly plops himself in it right when he arrives at the park. But at the dog park by my house there is no pool. Never one to let a little thing like that slow him down my brilliant K9 found the nearest thing that resembled water and plopped himself down in it. Unfortunately it was a mud puddle.

The funniest part (besides me trying to hold him off of my new leather seats while I drove home) was right before he sat down everyone in the park went, "Uh, ooooh," plop "Ohhhhhhhhhh no." They all got a chuckle out of it. Mostly because they weren't the ones holding a mud-drenched puppy out from their body.

And this is just a little picture of Nola saying hi. Post-mud bath.

Another Week Gone By

Yet another week has gone by since I last corresponded. I’m not doing so well on the blogging of late. There are two reason for this. 1) I’m absolutely exhausted and have no energy to come up with blogs before I go to bed and 2) I don’t really have anything blog-worthy to tell you about.

Remember those 10 weeks I went off to travel the US and pimp my book? Well, those weeks weren’t cheap, and lets just say that now is the time when I’m paying the price. So here I am. And there you are. Both of us without any writing on this blog. It is so very sad, all if it.

Even sadder? I am typing this right now because it’s 9:30 and I think I may go to bed soon. What the? Last week I went to bed at 9:30 two nights in a row, because I was so exhausted. To give you a bit of a perspective on this, I don’t think I’ve gone to be at 9:30 since I was like 7 years old. And even then, I was probably feeling under the weather or something. The saddest part of my early bedtime is that it doesn’t really matter, I’m still exhausted the next day.

I went to bed the other night at 9:30pm and got up at 6:30am. That is a nice little 9 hours of sleep. That’s good night’s rest. But noooooo. I was still exhausted the next day. Yet, when I used to go to bed at 5am and get up at 11 or 12 I was fine. No tired. You know how some people are just born with the ability to play golf or run really fast? I think my skill is being nocturnal. It’s a skill that doesn’t come in so handy when you go to bed only an hour after it gets dark. I’m working against destiny here people.

This weekend was another one of doing a whole lot of nothing. I was actually sore last night from laying down too long on the couch. I had to take some Advil because my neck and the back of my head were throbbing from laying in the same position for so very long. I might have had the early stages of bed sores. Which was exactly my goal.

I was supposed to go camping this weekend, but I just couldn’t do it. It’s the yearly trip that my friends have been doing for awhile now. Every year I hate camping, but I enjoy the company. But this year the logic of driving 4 hours each way to sit outdoors with people who live in the same town as me was just not quite apparent. I started out the week with high hopes of getting out of town and relaxing with good friends in a great location. Then, as the week (and I) dragged on the thought of wasting precious non-working hours in a car just started sounding like less and less of an ideal way to spend my time off. I was supposed to drive with a friend and we were both secretly hoping that the other one would flake, so we didn’t have to make the trek. We started an email correspondence around Wednesday about the logic of this camping trip. And by Thursday we had decided there was no logic and we’d be better off just staying home. We did get together on Saturday to hang out, at which point we both looked at each other and said, “God, I’m so happy we didn’t go this weekend.”

I think we are officially old.

You know how to feel really old? Have a 21 year old live with you for a few months. Jesus. This guy that is renting my spare room has more friends and more of a life in this town than I think I ever did. Every time he comes home it’s from some adventure or party or whatnot. He came home the other day, “Look! I have pictures of me sky diving!” Then a week later he comes home in a wife beater tank top, with paint splattered all over him, “We went paint-balling!” Then one night he headed out, looking sharp as hell, “Whereya headed?” “A friend of mine is in town for a sorority convention, so I’m going to go meet up with her and her friends.” “Wow, you gotta like your odds at a sorority convention.” “Sly smile.”

One day he comes out with a pair of shoes, “Do you think these will pass for shoes instead of sneakers? We’re going to some fancy club in San Fran and I can’t wear sneakers.” I looked at the shoes that probably cost more than his monthly rent, “You’re a black man, you know how to dress, no one can tell you what suitable fashion is. Tell the bouncers that.” “True, true.”

I think he will be moving out soon, which is good, it’s exhausting just hearing about his exciting life, I don’t have the energy to keep up with it...

Funny, and Sorta Sad

Things

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...

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.

Graduation

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.

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."

"Riiiiight."

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.

UPDATE:

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

I have issues.

Twelve

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.

Radio

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.

Peace.
(With a few firebombs)

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.

Almost Friday

Ever.

So.

Tired.

Brain.

Not.

Functioning.

One.

Day.

Left.

Never.

Been.

So.

Happy.

To.

See.

Friday.

Peace.

Out.

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.

...

I suppose I should go to bed.

As that's what responsible people with jobs do.

I gotta start playing the lottery.

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.

Dogs

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.