Can I Panic NOW?

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

2010-06-14T03:09:00.001-07:00

To Everything There Is A Season

2010-04-14T01:41:00.000-07:00

The kitty Princess didn't make it. Even before her chemo was half way through, the cancer spread to her spine and brain (which they said almost never happens). Once the downhill started, it was mercifully quick I guess. The cancer in her brain should have meant that she just got sleepier and less alert, and then within a day or two passed quietly in her sleep. But instead at the end her lungs started filling up with fluids, and that meant one last emergency vet trip in the middle of the night, and one more hard decision.

My two Chocolate Labs both died from cancer, tumors that were only discovered mere hours or days before they died. I always thought that if we'd caught it sooner for either of them, we might have been able to save them. Well, now I know that the extra month to say goodbye may be a gift, but watching them die slowly - no matter what you do - is a whole different kind of pain.

She hated the car trips, she hated the treatments, she hated the vet visits. She was a perfect lady with the vets and technicians, though. Every visit, one or another of them would come down and say what a sweet cat she was, how good she'd been. The cancer changed her, our having to give her pills and treatments changed her, made her less trusting of us. And yet, every time we touched her, right up to the end, she purred. She loved us even though she didn't understand what was happening or why we were doing the things we were doing. Pure, sweet love. In spite of everything.

Many cats don't even have a chance to benefit from treatments because they won't sit still for 1/2 hour IV-drips three times a week. Our Princess politely put up with every single treatment, every single time we packed her in the hated carrier and loaded her in the despised car right up to that very last trip. And it still didn't really do any good.

I'm glad we chose the treatment we did, the wonderful doctors we had. The extra time with her was precious, and until those last few days i think she had a good life. From this whole thing, I learned that when the cancer is this aggressive, more time doesn't necessarily mean a cure. It may just mean stretching out the pain for all of us.

If I had to do it again, I'd make the same choice. But I don't think I'm sorry anymore that I didn't "get" to make the same choices for my Labs.

Thanks for your kind words and support, it helped.

Go hug your pets.

There's Good News and Bad News

2009-12-18T10:16:00.000-08:00

Hi all, and thanks again for all the good wishes.

The Princess is officially in remission. Before her second treatment, the tumor hadn't changed. But within 36 hours of her second treatment, the tumor had shrunk so much you wouldn't have been able to find it if you didn't know where to look. And as of last week, she's officially in remission. Hooray! The Doctor's very, very pleased with how she's coming along, and we did an ultrasound to make sure the inside tumors were responding as well as the outside tumors, and the news was very very good. She's got one more weekly treatment, and then we're down to once every 3 weeks. SUCH a relief. Now he's not expecting a really long remission for her, since the cancer had spread to so many places, but her rapid improvement so early in the treatment is very very good news.

Unfortunately, the rest of our month has not been so good... I haven't posted because I just couldn't wrap my head around the relentless scares and bad news.

My Dad has been diagnosed with acute bacterial endocarditis, caused by a staph infection. One of his parishioners died from it, and they think my Dad was infected while visiting the man during his last days. Pop's one of the ones with "high risk conditions", so if you listen to "Dr. G00gle", fatalities are in the 50-70% range for folks with his history of heart surgeries/conditions. But they knew he'd be at risk, they knew he'd been exposed, and they tested immediately once he started feeling fatigued so they caught it before the staph even showed up in blood tests. So the news should be good, in spite of Dr G00gle's Doom and Gloom. In the mean time he's got 4-6 weeks of daily iv antibiotics administered into his heart (I didn't ask how... I'm squeamish) down at the Doctor's office / hospital, and then we see if this particular form of staph still responds to antibiotics.

And just as I started to breathe again after that scare, my Mom's brother - who'd been wasting away for a year due to rampantly uncontrollable brain tumor - died the weekend before Thanksgiving. They originally thought it was Alzheimers, but found that his formerly in remission cancer had metastasized, and was in his brain. Those of you who have been reading for a while may remember that he's the reason I took up knitting in the first place... I'd needed something to do while staying at his house to keep him from wandering off in the middle of the night until an alternative care situation could be arranged.

I wish I was feeling up to talking about all of this in some sort of meaningful and pithy way, but I'm afraid I'm a bit numb. We're all fine, we'll all be fine, but I'm sort of in head-in-the-sand mode right now.

If you need me, I'll be in the bunker stacking up sand bags until 2009 takes the hint and GOES AWAY.

Why Don't You Pick on Someone Your Own Size, 2009

2009-11-06T12:03:00.000-08:00

Our cat has lymphoma.

The good news is that she has no symptoms yet, so she's not in any pain or discomfort as far as we can tell. Keeping my fingers crossed that we can find a way to pay for the chemo.

Between the pet deaths and illnesses, job losses and money troubles, I am SOOOO ready for 2009 to be over.

EDITED TO ADD:

The kind of lymphoma she has is aggressive. The prognosis without any treatment at all is 30 days, and it took us almost 3 weeks to get through enough tests etc. to end up at the oncologists. At the very last minute, my boss managed to come up with about 15% of the total amount of the invoices that they owe me, so I was at least able to pay for the first batch of tests and treatment which is a huge relief.

The most recent set of tests has determined that the cancer has shown up in her spleen, left kidney and several lymph nodes. So even though she doesn't have any symptoms except for the visible tumor, her condition was serious enough to put her life expectancy without treatment down to a matter of days, not months. With treatment she should have 9 months of healthy happy life before the cancer comes back, if she responds well to the chemo and her remission is typical.

She's always been a bit of a benevolent diva, treating us like a kitty concierge service. But in spite of her imperious demands still manages to be one of the sweetest and most loving cats I've ever met. Since she's only 8, another 9 months for her is a significant percentage of her total life, and completely worth it to us if we can get a chance to spoil her for another year before she starts feeling any pain.

Plus I already spent one Thanksgiving Day just a few years ago having to put down a pet who'd suddenly gone into seizures and then a coma from a newly-discovered series of unsuspected silent tumors... I'd prefer not to spend another Thanskgiving Day at the emergency vet having to make painful and difficult decisions.

Busy Hands...

2009-10-10T01:42:00.001-07:00

It has been a stressful couple of years, and while I take pride in my career, the things I make are never of any practical use once they're done with them on set.

So, to keep my brain from hamster wheeling, and to feel like I've accomplished something, anything, I've been knitting.

and knitting...

and knitting some more. Gives me a chance to sit while NOT looking at computer screens. While I'm doing it, I can listen to free audio books from the library. And end up with some new things to wear, without having to brave the mall.

Love the Owls made out of cables!

But I think my favorite is the one I just finished.

Cozy wool, but knitted loosely so it drapes a bit, and the perfect vintage buttons.
One more reason to love fall weather!

Goodbye

2009-08-03T18:56:00.000-07:00

I was hoping to be back with a happy post soon, but I guess that's not going to happen this week.

Our 23 year old shi-tzu, The Doodles, passed away on Friday.

It wasn't a huge surprise. She had congestive heart failure, and wasn't doing well.

We'd tried her on a new medication that last week and she'd rallied for a few days, bouncing around like her old self at least a couple of times a day. So I'm glad she had a few good days at the end there.

But it gave me a false sense of how much time we had left with her. So when she went from bouncing around happier than I'd seen her in months to not really able to settle anywhere and get comfortable over the course of a few hours, it was doubly hard to watch.

At least she passed in her sleep, here at home, and not at the emergency vet needing to be put down after days of medical tests and interventions, like my last two dogs.

I feel like I should have done more, and at the same time like she was saved from my needing to do more. Because really, it would have been for me, not her. I'm never going to feel like I did enough unless they come out the other side alive and well. Which wasn't an option at her age, in her condition.

I'd always preferred the big goofy dogs to the itty bitty ones. The tiny dogs I'd known had been yappy, cranky bullies inclined to bite and nip. If I were forced to be honest, I'd have to admit our Doodles would never have passed one of those doggy IQ tests. But she was by far the sweetest dog, not a mean bone in her body.

We'll miss her.

Rats!

2009-07-15T13:58:00.000-07:00

The job got pushed back, and pushed back, and then just fell through. Apparently the folks who'd been lined up to pony up the financing weren't in a position to make the promises they'd made. So the whole company isn't going to happen, not just my job. Which is much worse news for the great folks who'd spent months trying to make this happen. I can't even imagine what they're going through.

Obviously I'm hugely disappointed. Not to mention that the reasons I quit haven't changed and will not change. So yeah, there's that. Back to the old slog.

Because I quit, I've lost a couple of key jobs due to my not being available when the shows were being booked. And I'm sure I won't be first - or second or third - in line for any new projects this fall, due to my defecting in the first place. So finances this fall will be a shambles, pretty much.

But it could be sooo much worse, as at least for now I have an old job to go back to.

Ah well, the world keeps turning.

Changes

2009-06-05T18:23:00.000-07:00

I quit my job.

I can hear you now, "Are you nuts? In THIS economy?" (that was the actual reaction from my next door neighbor.)

But I had been offered a job by a previous employer a few weeks ago (name your price , any job in the company I want), and I had very regretfully turned it down because I couldn't imagine turning my back on my current career. I'd worked so hard, for so long. Put so much into it.

Then my current career stepped over the line, so to speak. And I realized in a fit of clarity that it was never going to get better. No matter how many extra hours I worked for free, no matter how much extra I gave it, my efforts were always going to be met with eye rolling and exasperation. Because they were only ever going to be satisfied with it if it was free, and ready 24 hours before they asked for it. That they would promise anything when it needed to get done, but then reneg when it came time for presenting the bill. And after yet another unpaid all nighter or three, I was not prepared to take yet another uncalled for temper tantrum. Especially one that had nothing at all to do with my work and everything to do with their bad day.

So I called the lovely job-offering lady back, and I have a full time job (full time!) working from home (from home!) with full benefits (benefits!) and performance bonuses (bonuses!) and stock options (stock options!!!). They came pretty close to meeting my asking price, so I'm going into this at a respectable starting salary. And I will start it all, with luck, week after next.

I may have just figured out what I want to be when I grow up.

{{{Relief}}}

No Really, We Actually Meant It. Yes, Really.

2009-05-07T04:08:00.000-07:00

So I've been engaged for, like, a whole two weeks now and apparently that's actually just code for "your save the date cards are already three months late". Who knew? Before LB even got the engagement news out - practically before he'd finished his sentence - it was "when are you getting married?" "when's the wedding?" "I want to get my tickets... when's the wedding?"

We've tried telling folks the truth. That we're enjoying being engaged and we're not even going to THINK about weddings until a year from now. Which would be totally 100% true if they'd just STOP ASKING US WHEN THE WEDDING IS ALREADY. And we don't want a "wedding" anyway. No DJ. No jordan almonds. No stress, no huge debt. I know, we're a little peculiar. But we actually meant it. Mean it. Present tense. Yup, we mean it.

Only LB forgot that he'd met his family before, and actually admitted to his mother that we had maybe discussed once or twice planning a private thing, just the two of us, somewhere romantic. Umm, not his finest moment. In case you were wondering, that's really not going to fly with his mother*. Really, really not.

She told him today that she's going to a Dental Convention in Hawaii in October, and wondered if we could get married then.

That's a nice big "No Thanks". For one thing, I'm pretty sure that "October" will be coming along about 7 1/2 months sooner than that aforementioned "year from now". Oh, and we're also not going to a Dental Convention to get married. Even if it is in Hawaii.

Ummmm LB, this is going to be... a very long year. Sigh.

*EDITED TO ADD - LB's Mom is truly a delightful lady, and I will be very very lucky to have her as a Mother-in-Law. However his entire family seems to have an unnatural fascination with weddings. In the past seven years or so his brother, sister, four cousins, two step-sisters, and assorted other friends and relations have married. And somehow their hunger for steam buffets is still unsated. This unnerves me, as I was pretty much all receptioned out after the first ten weddings.

It Can't Be April... It's Snowing!

2009-04-16T01:58:00.000-07:00

I just got back from a job in St Louis, where it snowed on the first day of the Cardinal's opening game.

Crazy weather. But great for breaking out the hand knits I don't get to wear much here at home. Which brings me to the shot I promised you lo, so many weeks ago. Mariah, finished:

There are also three other partial-sweaters in various stages of "time out", waiting for me to address their various not-insurmountable problems. The good news is, I have actually managed to finish an entire sweater since then, the "Owls" sweater, by Kate Davies. But that one's waiting for some eyes for the owls. And maybe me losing a few pounds before I model it.

And I thought I was joking when I told Laughing Boy that I'd have to get a manicure before I showed off my birthday present. But after taking a few dozen pictures trying to get one I don't cringe at, I think I may be hiring a hand model for the next couple weeks...

Yes, that's the left hand ring finger. And of course, I said yes.

Not to Jinx It, or Anything...

2009-02-03T02:25:00.000-08:00

... but I have been spending every free moment (and several that weren't) since the last Christmas gift was completed working on a knitting project I started almost a year ago.

I stopped working on it after 6 weeks or so last April because I needed to practice my cable and chart reading skills, and because I knew it would take many, many, many, many, many hours to get it done and Instant Gratification Woman needed to finish something already.

So it wasn't until 2009 rolled around that I managed to get back to it. Somehow in the past year I have managed to pick up quite a bit of speed. I'm still a ridiculously slow knitter, but at least I'm not slower than your average glacier. And, miracle of miracles, it's actually the size I MEANT it to be. Exactly. I know, I'm just as shocked as anyone.

As of now, it's done except for adding the zipper. Since I don't sew, I'm pretty sure that that's not going to be as calming as drifting lazily downstream on a long summer afternoon. Wish me luck! If all goes well, I may eventually have some finished sweater pictures.

Or we may never speak of this again.

Edited to Add: I have achieved Zipper-dom! I put it in as the tutorials suggested, so the edges of the knitting matched exactly and hid the zipper when it was closed... And the first time I unzipped it, it snagged all along the left side, and pulled out three stitches. Aaaaargh! So I whip-stitched the edge of the knitting down all the way up, and it looks fine even though the zipper is showing now. Still love it! Pictures to follow when it stops raining.

Tis The Season...

2009-01-02T20:54:00.001-08:00

... to FINALLY finish the last of the hand knit Christmas gifts.

I know handcrafted/homemade gifts can be a bone of contention in some families. Those who do not like them insist it's cheap. Those who do insist it's a gift of love that transcends the humble ingredients.

As for me, it's my way of saying, "we care more about you than our current financial situation would indicate".

I'm just so relieved I'm finally done.

And my family is probably just as relieved that this year's gifts are considerably less lumpy than last year's gifts.

... although I couldn't resist at least one "not your grandma's knitting" design for my niece.

Yo Ho Ho, Merrrrry Christmas me hearties!

And the Winner Is...

2008-12-24T02:20:00.000-08:00

Nobody! Or both of us, depending on how you look at it.

This visit was, miracle of miracles, pretty tame. The Namelesses were on their (for them) best behavior, and only hit 9 out of 25 possible squares. Which left us each at 4 across, and me at 3 across in two other rows as well. So no winner's podium and extra strong martinis for us, alas.

Which is actually pretty stupendous news, as Mrs. Nameless once would have hit 5 across on at least one card in the first five minutes if we'd been keeping score at the time. My favorite of her 5-across high scoring insult-fests was in the first few minutes during the coffee hour following LB's father's funeral. Which explains - if the necessity of our developing the "game" itself wasn't enough - why we try to spend as little time as possible in the same city as them.

Unfortunately, the only reason they're behaving now is that last year they pulled something so heinous that even their staunchest supporters had to protest. So they're being forced to play nice, at least in public. And since the last time they were forced to pretend to be nice publicly led privately to the situation culminating in the aforementioned heinous nonsense, we're planning on watching our backs for the next six months. At least.

Still, this may very well be our first holiday season without any new emotional scars from LB's paternal gene pool.

So maybe we both won something after all, even if we can't stick an olive in it.

Let The Games Begin

2008-12-17T00:32:00.000-08:00

LB is a delightful man, who lights up when around other people. His family are really great folks, too. And he enjoys spending time with them, although they really don't get to hang out often so it's extra special for him when they can. Which means that going home to visit this weekend to celebrate his sister's masters degree should be pretty cool.

Except.

There is one member of his family who has never gotten over LB's birth, as far as I can tell. From the day LB was born, this person seems to believe that everything that LB gets in life somehow comes out of their karmic pocket. I know it's common in a family for one child to resent another, especially if money is tight and now used-to-be-an-only-child can't go to camp because little brother needs braces. But when you're approaching the half century mark and you still haven't pulled your head out of your behind, it becomes a little... um. Ridiculous.

LB never retaliates, just lets the nameless relative and nameless relative's significant other snark and be mean. Mock, belittle, insult, back stab. Pretend they're joking. Lather, rinse, repeat. But it's a little depressing to never be able to look forward to a holiday or family event because of the constant nastiness.

Well, this time we've decided that if they're not going to stop with the childishness, we're just going to treat it with the care and dignity it deserves.

Presenting "B1tch0"

Some of these topics will only make sense to LB, but highlights of the weekend will, I'm sure, include:

"Too Many Men on the Field"
This is a classic. Mom gets upset that there is tension between the two, so she brings Nameless Relative over, and forces him to say something nice to LB. Usually followed almost immediately by:

"Silent Seethe"
Perfect opportunity for one of their little snarks, but because of the presence of someone else in the conversation who would know it wasn't a "joke" and be able to call foul, they have to hold it in.

"Insultpliment"
Doesn't really need an explaination, but LB thinks this should go immediately in the Oxford Eng. Dictionary.

"Nana Maneuver"
This is a classic. LB goes over to his Nana's house. While he's there, offers to take out the trash. She says no, it's not full. Everyone knows you can't take out the trash until it's full. She had a lot of fun rules like that. So the next day, we come home to an absolutely hysterical, invective filled 10 minute rant on our answering machine from Nameless Relative's spouse, demanding that LB go back over to his Nana's house and take out the trash. Immediately. Or else. That was my favorite part, the "or else". That and the fact that the phone call was made while Mrs. Nameless was standing right next to Nana's little 5 gallon trash can, the one that needed to be emptied. The technical definition of a "Nana Maneuver" for this weekend is when either one of the pair turns a non-situation (not-full trash not needing to go out) into an international crisis - which you are required to take care of RIGHT THIS SECOND - via misrepresentation of the facts or outright lies, with bonus points if it's caught on tape.

"Troll By"
Entering a conversation they aren't even a part of just to say something insulting. Not to be confused with a "Sniper Attack", which is just completely out of the blue and unconnected to any current or recent conversation.

"TSLSRWD"
Upon hearing anything that's happened that is the opposite of brilliant, saying "That Sounds Like Something LB Would Do". This is sort of a gimme on the card, since I don't think that in the decade I've known LB the spouse of Nameless hasn't uttered this little gem at least once in an evening.

"Insult Replay"
Repeating an insult more than once, just to make sure everyone heard it. This one's worth double points if it comes up in a completed "B1tch0"

"Holier Than Who?"
This is one of my favorites. Mrs. Nameless launched into a monologue last family event on how she was raised so religiously, and how treating others well is something she still, to this day, feels is an important part of her life. We went to the store. And when we came back half an hour later, she was still in the middle of her "why I should be nominated for sainthood" speech.

"... as a baby"
At least one conversation will be interrupted by Mrs. Nameless announcing that LB was "dropped on his head as a baby", for context see "TSLSRWD", above.

LB and I each get a card.

One "B1tch0", across or down = loser buys "winner" a martini

1 B1tch0 across and 1 B1tch0 down = loser buys "winner" brunch or dinner at restaurant of choice

Diagonal B1tch0, or any B1tch0 that includes the center square = dinner at favorite restaurant in town.

Full B1tch0 card = Thai Massage.

I never thought I'd say this, but we may actually be looking forward to this trip.

I Didn't Expect Victory to be Bittersweet

2008-11-10T17:13:00.001-08:00

(sorry for the excessive comma-tization, crappy grammar and wildly swinging verb tenses of this post, but I'm still too horrified by the passing of Prop 8 to form a coherent sentence. But I'm posting anyway, because shame on us, California!)

I know you'd expect me to be exploding with joy about Obama's victory, and I am. I'm thrilled that this country will finally have some leadership that will care about every American, and not just the rich white ones.

I am overjoyed that this country has come far enough to finally elect a non-white President. But I can't help regretting the media's, and society's, need to incessantly label him as "black" first and an intelligent, talented, hard working man, husband and father second. Gender and race are valid things for individuals to be proud of, and to label themselves with, if they wish. That is their choice, their right, their decision, their pride and their convictions. It's when we who stand outside their groups apply those labels to them, and force them to be only that label for us, that it heads into dangerous and dis-empowering territory, even when the intent may have been the opposite. That is, I believe, an insidious form of racism and just assuming that it's inherently benign is a mistake.

The race and gender issues in the election were, and are, a topic and source of pride and rejoicing for so many out there. I'm proud to have been able to cast my vote for him, to see this milestone passed finally. My problem is with people making it THE topic, in every situation and every article. I'm not sure I read a single article where Obama's race wasn't mentioned, and in a few cases microscopically dissected - down to percentages of how much of each race are in his genetics. Are we really doing this in 2008? Seriously? And for those of you who think I'm being overly sensitive, please note that I never once saw them introduce McCain as "the white candidate", or "John McCain, the male candidate, will bring out the older white male voters..." It would have struck the eye and ear as just plain wrong. And I would hope that we could get to a day - hurry up, already - where the other labels we come up with to pigeonhole, limit and marginalize people sound wrong too. As if all someone has to offer us is their race or gender, and if they're not rich/white/male and you're still voting for them it must be because of that and that alone. As if I wasn't already excited to be able to cast my vote for - hands down - the best candidate I've ever had the opportunity to vote for in my entire adult life. And I'm really getting old here, folks.

All these discussions over the last months implying that you should vote for Hilary because she was a woman, and Obama because he was African American, and if you vote for him then you're not supporting women and how dare you, and visa versa, on and on, seemed to me to be trying to take away from their very real qualifications and achievements. They go from being the very best candidates this country has to offer, to being just SpokesCandidates for the label-de-jour. Which outrages me on so many levels. We're electing a President, not casting a commercial.

Those labels and assumptions are what I believe led directly to the Republican Party's apparent strategy, "Hey, let's get us one of those purty little women around here, and folks'll think we're all modern and progressive too! And without us having to join the 21st century at all! Buy her $150,000 worth of clothes, and we have our very own Republican Barbi3!" As if just the fact of gender makes Hilary Clinton = Sarah Palin on whatever scale you drop them on. Proof, if you needed it, that they just don't get it.

And then to wake up to the news the next day that Prop 8 had passed... I'm ashamed of California, and embarrassed that we now stand for bigotry and intolerance. I was a lot more comfortable with the crunchy granola and fake-tan label, myself. I expected better of us, I really did.

The one thing that has comforted me was seeing the stats for the votes. Voters 18-29 voted against it, by more than 60%. It was the voters over 70 who voted for it, by about the same percentage. Change is coming, and via those very same "young people" the haters used to smokescreen their bigotry, with their out-of-state-funded scare tactics about school curriculum. Until the religious out-of-staters (you know who you are) started their ad campaigns just a few days before the election, Prop 8 was losing in the polls. The blame, however, still rests squarely on the shoulders of the voters of California, for letting this happen. For going into that booth and using our hard won and defended freedom to vote by choosing to add hatred to the constitution of our state.

But I know that this won't last, this attitude of smug exclusionism and hatred hidden behind self-righteous religious excuses. The haters, and the generations that accepted it as just the way things were, can't live forever. And the young voters will raise families of their own, a new generation of voters who understand it's unacceptable to deprive anyone of their civil rights. But it should have been now, we should have been that generation. It is years too late already.

And a question for all of you who voted for Prop 8 - what happens when it's your civil rights they decide to take away next? I'm sure that will be different. I'm sure you'll be chock full of moral outrage then. Good luck getting anyone to feel sorry for you when that day comes.

In the same way that the very elderly relative who used negative stereotypes and slurs as a part of casual conversation at the Thanksgiving table was met as time passed with embarrassed silences and finally - thankfully - loud disagreement, we can hope the folks who legislate hatred and denial of civil rights will soon be relegated to muttering to themselves in a ratty recliner in the corner while the rest of us set a few more chairs at the table and welcome everyone to sit right down.

It should have been today.

Just passing by...

2008-10-31T15:50:00.001-07:00

LB and I have been so busy with work these past few years, we haven't had much time for, well, anything that wasn't work. So with work being so slow these days, we decided it was time for some fun. Inexpensive fun.

So I've been working on the two-sticks-one-string stuff:

And when LB was sent to Michigan to work on a project for a couple of days, we both went and checked out what this thing called "Fall" looks like:

We've done some other stuff, like go to the beach, up to Santa Barbara for a couple of concerts, and down to Orange County to the museum to see an exhibit on China's Terra Cotta Army (no pics allowed in the museum... I'm still bummed). This having a life thing is great.

As long as you're not too into paying bills and all. Ahem.

Which is why it's going to be a relief - and a tiny bit sad - to start on a new show next week. Hooray! I think.

It's 100 Degrees, so Bring On the Wool!

2008-08-29T14:05:00.000-07:00

I hadn't mentioned the thing with the sticks and yarn since I finally finished the 2007 Christmas presents, mostly because I hadn't progressed much past rectangles.

And seeing that it's summer in Los Angeles, I can't imagine why anyone would be interested in long sleeved wool sweaters.

Except me, because... IT DOESN'T SUCK!

I know, I'm thrilled. (Excuse the lumpiness in that picture, but that's actually me and not the sweater... and yes, I really am that pasty white).

For those of you who are still reading this far, that's the Gathered Pullover (that's the Ravelry link...) from Interweave Knits Winter 2007 issue, design by Hana Jason. Knitted in a teal/emerald green bamboo-merino superwash blend yarn.

Independence Day

2008-08-11T20:18:00.000-07:00

LB and I have spent much of our 9 years or so together slogging through one crisis or another. Not things we've done to each other, mind you. But you can't hit the middle of your life without running headfirst into some sort of drama, be it family or financial or The Ex or medical or employment or friends or house or... Anyway, after nine years of slogging, we were ready for some fun. Hence the Maui trip.

Coming back and jumping into the chaos has been harder than we thought. If you'll pardon the analogy, it's kind of like dancing in pointe shoes. During the performance, your toes stay pretty numb. It isn't until you stop that the pain kicks in. And the next day is the worst, when you have to squish your sore, battered toes back into the same shoes for more abuse. We knew all along that we were working ridiculously hard, but we hadn't had the time to step back and notice how little fun we actually have on a daily/weekly/monthly basis. So here we were, back after too-few-days of nothing but fun, and work was being... particularly work-ish.

And then 4th of July weekend came along, and we were - I admit it - complaining that we wished we were snorkeling somewhere. I won't admit how long it took us (me) to realize that some people do actually come here, to California, to snorkel. Cue the heavenly-revelation music. We didn't even have to get on a plane. So we staged our own mini-rebellion against the current reign of chronological tyrany, and off to Catalina we went.

The best part was, our local dive shop (Hey, we have a local dive shop? Wow) had a great deal on an Olympus Stylus 1030 SW, a little point-and-shoot digital camera that was waterproof to 10 meters /33 feet.

It has 4 different macros for underwater shots, although LB just set it on one and handed it to me, and I snapped away.

I'm sure you can tell I'm not a photographer. I've never had a decent camera, and so have never taken any pictures I like. But these shots make me smile. The kelp is beautiful, and the Garibaldi fish just glow against all the blues and greens.

And then after we got through paparazzi-ing the fishies, we did this:

You really can have fun in Southern California. Who knew.

You, yes you... no, the other... yes, you. Right.

2008-07-17T20:50:00.000-07:00

Hey, Guy!

You. No, on the left. No, with the ironic facial hair. Yeah, you.

I just want to ask... Isn't that a lot of pressure to put on 6 straggly hairs? Hairs which, I'm sorry to say, really look more like something left in a drain at the M0tel 6 than an actual intentional growth. I mean, ironic is asking a bit much of them. Not that they're not trying their best. It's just that, irony used to require mental effort, thoughtful arguments. Socrates even had his very own kind. But you, you apparently just need to randomly miss a spot when you shave and presto! Irony.

I'm just having a bit of trouble with the continuum. Socrates, Sophocles, Voltaire and... your chin. Hmmm. Nope, not buying it.

It could be cosmic irony, I guess. You're the dupe of cruel fate, in a world where facial hair is hawt, and that lip lint is the best you can do.

Or, or, or... maybe you meant it as an example of dramatic irony, where we, the audience or iron-ee know more than you, the perpetrator or iron-er. As in, we know without a doubt that that sorry ass goatee-lite is never going to get you laid. And you obviously don't.

Or you'd shave already.

Really.

Maui and Me

2008-07-15T14:51:00.000-07:00

I do love our house. But mostly because it's ours and not because I have a fondness for 1960's nondescript ranch-style tract homes. And I'm sure I won't shock you when I admit that this...

...is NOT a picture of the view out our front window in the San Fernando Valley. And neither is this...

Which is why we went to Maui.

Where we got to look at this:

And this:

And do this:

And spent a lot of time driving around in a convertible doing this:

When we weren't eating or sleeping. (You'll notice I spared you the pictures of us doing that. You're welcome)

Hey Guys, Sorry About the Sushi...

2008-07-11T16:51:00.000-07:00

In addition to the work, work, work, I've had to deal with my favorite show that I've ever worked on getting moved out of state and putting me back looking for a job this fall, and the upcoming Yes-Virginia-there-really-is-another-strike SAG-fiasco...

And then this spring my Dad had a bit of skin cancer they thought they'd caught in time spread to a saliva duct (gland?), with all the concomitant surgery and radiation. They caught it all, and early. But the surgery left him with some lingering facial nerve damage, and the radiation he's finishing up this week may leave him with permanent hearing loss on one side (waiting to hear on that...). So things Chez Panda have been up-and-down. Which hasn't left me in the mood to write much here, because dropping off the face of the planet just to pop up and whine once every three months seems a bit, well, rude.

All that to say, hey - we actually had some fun for once! Look, fish!

(click for bigger-er)

And sea turtles!

(you should really click this one... it looks much better bigger)

Those shots are some from the Hawaii/Maui trip. We took a boat ride out to Molokini, and I rented a still camera from the boat. LB rented a video camera from them, but the video needs to be converted before I can share it here. But it's not bad (way better than my stills, anyway) considering it was our first time snorkeling AND first time trying to film fish underwater while we were floating one way, and they were swimming the other.

I think they call it "having fun". Huh. It may actually catch on.

Honey, where's my pipe?

2008-06-12T01:24:00.000-07:00

... and just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I made LB take the test.

As a 1930s husband, I am
Very Superior

Take the test!

I have no earthly idea how he did it, but THAT makes me laugh.

I'm A Failure

2008-06-11T13:45:00.001-07:00

Work has been insane, so that took up three months. (A few weeks of three meager hours sleep spread out over three or four days... very painful, but very boring). And then we actually took our very first real vacation in NINE YEARS! Sorry for the all caps, but we GOT ON A PLANE. And WENT SOMEWHERE. Somewhere that DIDN'T INVOLVE A FAMILY WEDDING.

And not just that, but it was MAUI!!! Four days, so okay, two days on a plane and only two and a half days in paradise, but still. MAUI! US! NOT WORKING! NO WEDDINGS!

They had to drag us back on the plane kicking and screaming, and I've been a bit resentful of having to go back to work full speed. But it was enough of a success that LB is even willing to DO IT AGAIN SOME DAY!

yay.

And I am inordinately pleased with this, too:

As a 1930s wife, I am
Very Poor (Failure)

Take the test!

I have never been happier to fail anything, ever.

High Noon

2008-03-18T23:48:00.000-07:00

We've been letting Banana Dog into the back half of the house, keeping 18" high gates in the two bedrooms back there so the cats still have some private space. Our gray cat, Handsome Boy, is pretty okay with Banana Dog. If he's in my office, he'll move under my desk when she bounces into the room but he won't leave, even if he ends up licked half to death. The Princess, our black cat, is furious about all of it. She'll sit safely on her side of the gate, or in the middle of the hallway and yowl threats if she sees Banana getting near her brother. Or if Banana even looks at her. Everyone pretty much ignores the Shi Tzu, Doodles, no matter where she is or what she's doing.

Tonight, LB was playing referee between Princess and Banana, while Banana sat sedately in my office doorway, and the Princess swore at her anyway. All of a sudden, Doodles stuck her tiny head past Banana into the hall, and let out a growl. Wow. So she's protecting the cat? Odd, but since she's been joyfully stomped on every hour, on the hour, for the last four or five months now, I guess it makes sense that she'd finally get fed up and tell the Banana to just sit the heck down for once.

Doodles pops back into my office.

The Princess let out a few dozen more curse words.

And Doodles ran out into the hall, got between Banana and the Princess, and started growling and yapping. She was protecting the gigantic 80 lb Banana Dog from the 16lb cat! I'm not sure who was more surprised, us humans or the erstwhile combatants. Doodles barely weighs 10 lbs soaking wet, so even the cat outweighs her by a good 6 pounds.

Everyone except Doodles looked embarrassed. And we decided it was time for a short break in cat/dog relations. Dog's not bright, but she's got guts.

Schools Out!

2008-03-01T03:55:00.000-08:00

You are 3:15 p.m.

You are the moment when the last bell rings and school lets out for the day. You are resistant to schedules and obligations, so you love feeling like you're in control of your life again. You are the very moment when the second hand hits the 12, and the halls fill with noise and motion. Even if your after-school time is packed with activities, lessons, or a job, somehow, you just feel freer in the late afternoon than you do earlier in the day. Maybe it's all that blue sky and afternoon sunshine? Nah -- even on rainy days, 3:15 is always a beautiful time.

I am, indeed, 3:15... all about the moment when other folks' demands, schedules and expectations are done and I can get on with my own thing.

Which makes it particularly absurd that I keep picking careers that are one non-stop deadline, day after day. Ouch.

Drawing Lines in the Sand..er, Garage Floor

2008-01-21T04:36:00.000-08:00

A while back, when we were first (or second) discussing what we would like to do around the house, LB turned to me one day and said, "If you could decorate one room in the house any way you like, do anything you want, would it be okay if I did one room any way I like?" I must have looked a little wary, or confused at least, and when I didn't answer right away, he rushed on. "Which room would you like, would you like the master bathroom?"

Um, blink. Blink, blink.

I'm trying to come up with an answer to that while simultaneously running through all the options for which room/what the hell he's planning on doing with it that would require a bribe like that. I mean, come on. It's not like we can afford to replace the hand towels without running up a budgetary impact report, but pie-in-the-sky dreaming of doing "whatever I want" with the master bath could some distant day translate into a Japanese soaking tub, skylight and fireplace. Knowing me, and knowing that, what's he got in mind for his room? Los Angeles Valley Community Broth3l? Black-velvet-painting Elv!s shrine with mandatory white sequin jumpsuits for all guests? My brains are rocketing back and forth between visions of copper tubs and corner steam showers (good), and our living room someday looking like a goth-dungeon threw up on a tiki lounge (very, very bad).

"S.s.s.sure, honey..." I stammered. "Whatever you want." I tried not to flinch. "What room did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking... I'd like to do something with... the garage."

The garage? Is he serious? I mean, he must be since he's still standing there, staring at me as if he really needs to wait for the answer. But, the garage? Seriously? I do know it's ATTACHED to the house. It's a PART of the house. But... I'd never really considered it a room IN the house. Still, I can't believe that's it. There's got to be a catch. Does he really think that he's coming out ahead in this deal? That I'd say "no" to what he knows I would consider a legally binding agreement to someday pick out any tub I want in order to, to... to what? To reserve the right to decide what color the concrete floor in the garage ends up? To have veto power over which side of the room the workbench is on?

"No, that's great," I finally managed to say.

Today, while I slept (back around to working nights, long story), he went out and bought fancy track lighting for the garage. Hmmm. Still a little vague on details, but he has assured me it's not going to be the Neighborhood Br0thel, so I'll keep you posted.

Knitty Issues

2008-01-16T00:17:00.000-08:00

I'm not a very good knitter yet (I'm being optimistic with that "yet"), but am rather proud that I managed to finish all the Christmas presents. Out of 26 projects begun in 2007, I've gotten through 24 and 2/2s. The "2/2s" are 1/2 of a sweater for me (tubey from knitty.com, in burgundy with black stripes... my first attempt at stripes), and 1 of 2 out of an alleged, and at this point entirely apocryphal, "pair" of socks. Everything else is off the needles. Since "everything else" includes 16 rectangles...

aka scarves, I'm not expecting any real knitters to be too impressed.

I, however, am ridunculously pleased I managed to get through this...

I haven't got the hang of beading, lacework or blocking (aforesaid blocking occurred post photo-op, you and the recipient will be relieved to hear) yet... and I'm embarrassed to admit that I knit an entire "test scarf" of this one - down to all the beading - before I started on the "real" present. All in all, I'm relieved I ended up with anything vaguely recognizable. I owe blocking a beer.

And, for me, the penultimate in overweening delusions of grandeur...

The price tag for organic cotton made me hesitate, remembering my only other foray into sweaters (no evidence, I mean pictures, for that mess), but I figured even if this one ended up too big, kids grow. I'm a tiny bit over gauge, but it's sized for a "2-3" year old, and the kid's just now getting into the 2's clothes, so I'm probably good. Right? I mean, yeah. I'm good.

Sanctuary

2008-01-12T00:57:00.000-08:00

May I present... the new bedroom (sunglasses may be required)

My camera can't seem to handle the colors we've got going on in our new room. It's got the richness down, but seems to have gone to town with the saturation. Believe me, it's almost this vibrant. The "almost" is key. I admit, it's not a room where someone would walk in and say, "How... subtle". Beige, it ain't. But neither is it quite as eye poppin' contrasty as this looks. I use Photoshop all day for work, many hours at a time. And I just couldn't force it to make the photo colors match reality. This next picture is closest, if a bit dark. (and yes, the lens on my camera was spotty as hell... but I'm not quite sitty-uppy enough this week to retake it, so I'm going to pretend it's fine)

Still, it's a long way from the original dirty pinkish beige carpet, white popcorn ceiling, and white white white walls. BTW, the doors haven't been painted yet, so we've got the one you can see above covered temporarily with a curtain.

Happy 2008

2008-01-09T20:04:00.000-08:00

I've been gone so long, I wanted to post the perfect post to catch everybody up on things (all two of you who are hopefully not yet fed up with my sparse-posting ways). And then I realized that if I waited until I wrote that post, I may well be wishing you both a happy 2009.

So, in a nutshell.

1) Bad - Writers' Strike has put both of us out of work. Merry Christmas... as long as no one is too stuck on having a roof overhead or food on table.

2) Good - One of my former web jobs totally came through, and has provided both Laughing Boy and me with part time work. It's at half our regular rate, and no benefits, but it's better than we'd make on unemployment so... yay us! Not quite enough to cover all the bills, and will probably dry up by middle of February. But we won't have to give up eating until March at the earliest, so I'm calling it a "good".

3) Bad - The day after the last of the TV shows we work on closed down, my car had to go into the shop. And again the day after that... and again two days after that. And again yesterday. All for different things. The best part is, the one this week is from a sensor that one of the mechanics or tow truck drivers broke off and GLUED back together. We're on our third mechanic in a month, so there's no way of knowing which one did it, so we can't present them with the bill for that last piece of nonsense. The universe has a crappy sense of humor. And if you've got an address, I'm planning on sticking it with the combined invoices. $2,200, all told.

4) Good - We finally - after 7 months of construction, and 5 YEARS of treating the largest room in our house as a giant hamper and cat sanctuary - moved into our master bedroom. Pics to follow, as soon as I can track down batteries or my USB card reader.

5) Bad - I've spent the last month sick, having been knocked out with a kidney infection, followed two weeks later by a cold/cough/sore throat for Christmas. Which I passed on to LB, of course. Sorry, honey!

6) Good - As of today, we both seem to be finally over it.

The rest of it's pretty boring. I managed to finish all my Christmas present knitting projects (all sixteen of them). We've cleaned up most of the debris from the 9 months of construction displacement. We had the excuse of being out of work, so we were able to spend Christmas under the radar, thereby avoiding all of the usual pitfalls. And Banana Dog didn't get bitten by the Opossum she tried to befriend in the backyard last night. So we're hanging on.

And now that we can both sit up and breathe at the same time, I like to think 2008 will go better.

Hey Universe, don't disillusion me yet.

The Slaughter of Helpless Trees

2007-12-01T08:08:00.000-08:00

Banana Dog's attack on the plant life in our yard not withstanding, we at Chez Panda consider ourselves fairly ecologically minded. And if I'd known that ordering a measly three things out of catalogs over the past decade would lead to the recent deluge we've been drowning under, I would have dragged my lazy ass to the mall.

Now, salvation is at hand!

catalogchoice.org allows you - for free, no charge - to remove anyone at your house from the catalog lists. So if your pet is getting catalogs (I know, but all I can figure is that filling my previous labrador's prescription at a people pharmacy dropped her onto some senior citizen mailing list), or you really would like to give F!ngerhut a finger of your own (leave me ALONE already! I don't want whatever that is... I don't know anyone who wants whatever that is... and if I did, I'd lose their number before I'd order them one), then register and scroll through their extensive list of catalogs to choose which ones you no longer want to receive.

According to their info, it takes about 10 weeks for the requests to take effect. And if you change your mind later, and really have to see what The Sharp3r !mage is charging for laser nose hair trimmers, you can get yourself un-removed (shut up, it might be a word) later on.

My mail person will thank me. Trees everywhere can breathe a sigh of relief. And I no longer have to skim through T0uch 0f Cl@ss catalogs to figure out where the p0st 0ffice hid my paych3ck.

Revenge of the Pot Roast, Pt IV?

2007-10-17T23:31:00.000-07:00

If you're dating a man whose childhood coincided with the 70's, you will probably not have much luck broaching the topic of the crock pot. The only kitchen gadget likely to produce more revulsion in a man of a certain age is the pressure cooker.

We both work insane hours. Which means that if we do manage to get to the grocery store and purchase all the items that add up to a complete meal, we are pretty much guaranteed that the meat or produce or dairy products - or all three - will have changed color and/or texture at least once before we have time to cook them. But we don't have the budget for constantly eating out, or the constitutions for incessant fast food.

My mother, whose current kitchen is smaller than one of my bathrooms, gifted me with her original avocado green crockpot. A lovely thought, but considering how rickety I've become over the decades under far lower temperatures, I can't bring myself to plug it in and leave the room.

So recently I asked Laughing Boy if he thought we should buy a crock pot. Wow. I hope I never see that particular expression on his face again. I should hastily point out that his Mom is a wonderful cook, and makes at least a half dozen recipes he vows he has never tasted better versions of than hers. But even he's got a couple of crock pot memories that turn him green just thinking of them.

I plowed ahead despite the obvious lack of enthusiasm and, after I found three crock pot cookbooks, I bought a nice big crimson crock pot. And promised Laughing Boy that, if anything I made in it was less than appetizing, we could throw the mess out and order pizza. No questions asked.

Not being stupid (no, you may not produce evidence to the contrary), I started with a recipe likely to be a winner. Wild mushroom soup. I ran the recipe by LB and he nodded reluctantly. Then said, almost nonchalantly. But not. "You know what that needs. Some meat."

Even without a crock pot, I make a pretty mean pot roast, followed closely by my beef stew. But hey, if he wasn't running from the room warding off the evil eye, I was willing to make Variations on a Pot Roast. And Pot Roast Redux, Pt III.

So far, the crock pot has turned out: four Pot Roast variations that, no matter what the recipe calls for - red wine and pearl onions or dry sherry and wild mushrooms - taste exactly like every other Pot Roast ever made; Two chicken dishes I don't think can ever be buried deep enough for his comfort; And one sausage dish saved by the last minute addition of madeira and the substitution of the turkey sausage with a kick a$$ gourmet smoked "real" sausage.

I'll keep trying, but I'm not sure how much more Pot Roast the world - or I - can take.

Ruined flooring RX

2007-09-27T01:38:00.000-07:00

Diet root beer + light Dulce de leche ice cream = the best ever root beer float. You're welcome. I would fill you in on the construction fiascoes, but don't want to get sucked back into the wallowing. Someday soon, when we're on to the next crisis.

So, belatedly, eight things you don't know about me (a month too late...)

1) I've fallen on my head and ended up with a concussion twice

2) I'm scared of heights.

3) Cooked seafood tastes like I have a mouth full of dirty small change to me, but I love sushi.

4) My eyes are two different colors.

5) I'd rather have a plate of fries than a bowl of ice cream.

6) I wrote a letter to the then-President of the United States when I was in elementary school, and still have his reply around. Somewhere. (Hey, he was a Republican... it's not like I can hang it in the living room and still have any cred with my liberal friends).

7) When I was little, I used to sleep with my feet on my pillow and my head at the foot of the bed. So when the burglars broke in and attacked me with a baseball bat, they wouldn't be hitting me in the head and I could hobble away. Yes, that was the sort of thing I worried about. And no, I have no idea why.

8) Clowns are creepy, but those white faced clowns from Italian Commedia dell'Arte still give me nightmares. (I hate going into a bistro and seeing that psychotic Evil-Dancing-Clown-With-The-Plate-of-Pasta poster that seems to be in every third restaurant here in L.A. )

Come on! I may be a bit cynical, but...

2007-08-11T23:17:00.001-07:00

You Are Somewhat Machiavellian

You're not going to mow over everyone to get ahead...
But you're also powerful enough to make things happen for yourself.
You understand how the world works, even when it's an ugly place.
You just don't get ugly yourself - unless you have to!

How Machiavellian Are You?

Down the Rabbit Hole

2007-08-02T12:57:00.000-07:00

No work to speak of for 3 months, and then... WHAM! Down the rabbit hole. Working on two tv shows, both in their second seasons. One of which is very popular with fans and critics, so that's great.

But it makes doing any computer work over and above the regularly scheduled mayhem a bit iffy. For one thing, the computer is often tied up rendering, even if I had any brain cells left.

Anyway, hi! Missed you!

Things around here are about the same.

I found some cute beaded flip flops (yeah, it's California) to wear with skirts. Love them.
So does Banana Dog. (Yum! Beads!)

She also ate six pairs of my underwear (I'll spare you the pictures), and the fringe off an area rug.

The porch roof came out great.

The bedroom remodeling... hasn't.

The contractor, bless his flaky little soul, swore he'd come by/have a crew out four different days in one week. Never showed. Never called. Finally showed up randomly on a day the week after he was supposed to. He didn't call ahead, just came by at the crack of dawn (without his work crew, mind you). We were both home (asleep, duh, because it was EARLY), but he didn't ring the bell. Just wandered around our backyard, peering in the windows. And then called later to say he came by, but couldn't get in. Um, yeah. We've got this new technology, called a front door. You could try knocking on it. We've even got one of those new fangled things called a "door bell".

And our floor manufacturer had a problem with the color on our order, so it shipped a month late. Allegedly will be arriving next week... maybe. At least we got the windows.

Too bad the contractor hasn't felt the urge to actually put them in yet.

Still, the painting is in progress (thanks, LB!).

I helped a bit, with rolling on the first layer, and sponging the unobtrusive bits. It's going to be gorgeous, but Instant Gratification Woman is taking a beating.

Doodles has demanded that we let her hang out in the front half of the house, but I can't imagine why. Banana Dog frolics all over her the minute she moves 1/2 an inch. Or stands right on top of her and pokes her with her nose, trying to make her do something interesting (ie stompable).

Still, they both seem happy enough. Even though Doodles spends a lot of her time here...

The Princess and Handsome Boy are both well. Handsome Boy has taken to hanging out by the hallway door, waiting to touch noses with Banana Dog as long as someone has a firm grasp on Banana's collar.

The Princess just stands back and yowls.
I found The Princess, one day, hanging by one claw. That claw was stuck in Banana Dog's neck. They were both standing perfectly still, looking more than a little sheepish. I detangled them, and neither seemed too upset. The Princess can corner the Banana and drive her out of a room in under ten seconds, so if you're taking bets, I wouldn't put my money on the 75 pound Labrador.

Banana is too rambunctious for unmonitored contact, but once the construction is done, they'll all be allowed free range and I think they'll work it out.

The knitting is... going. I knitted a shrug, but the sleeves are so long I could use them for stockings for a giraffe.

I realized the first arm was way too long when I was halfway through the second arm, but either I had to make arm 2 the same length as arm 1, or end up with one arm the correct length and one arm 5 inches too long. And because a shrug is knit from one cuff, up the sleeve, across the back, and down the other side, redoing it would make me cry. Still, it is actually shrug shaped, and not too lumpy, so it's really only half a failure.

Then I knitted a boat neck sweater, but because of my uncertain grasp of the stretchy properties of open weave patterns plus a very stretchy yarn, it turned into something a sumo wrestler could wear.

It was knit to gauge before I assembled it. But a soon as I stitched up all the seams and put it on, it began to stretch. And stretch. I haven't put it on again, for fear it would turn into a refrigerator cozy. Or eat the house.

So for now, I'm setting my sights a little lower. I'm knitting a basketweave scarf. And a sock.

The sock should actually fit.

That's all for now, but I've been tagged for a meme by BWB, so I'll be back soon.

Answer to a Question Nobody's Asked

2007-07-03T23:33:00.000-07:00

Is it against the blogging rules to do a meme if you haven't been tagged?

Scofflaw that I am, here's a list of the top 100 books, according to somebody. The ones I've read are in bold, ones I've never heard of are italicized.

1. The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown)
2. Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)
3. To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee)
4. Gone With The Wind (Margaret Mitchell)
5. The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (Tolkien)
6. The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (Tolkien) (read the first half of this when I was nine years old. Never did go back and finish it.)
7. The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (Tolkien)
8. Anne of Green Gables (L.M. Montgomery)
9. Outlander (Diana Gabaldon)
10. A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry)
11. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Rowling)
12. Angels and Demons (Dan Brown)
13. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Rowling)
14. A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving)
15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
16. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Rowling)
17. Fall on Your Knees(Ann-Marie MacDonald)
18. The Stand (Stephen King)
19. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Rowling)
20. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte)
21. The Hobbit (Tolkien)
22. The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)
23. Little Women (Louisa May Alcott)
24. The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
25. Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
26. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)
27. Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)
28. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (C. S. Lewis)
29. East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
30. Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom)
31. Dune (Frank Herbert)
32. The Notebook (Nicholas Sparks)
33. Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand)
34. 1984 (Orwell)
35. The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)
36. The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett)
37. The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay)
38. I Know This Much is True (Wally Lamb)
39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
40. The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
41. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)
42. Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)
43. Confessions of a Shopaholic (Sophie Kinsella)
44. The Five People You Meet In Heaven (Mitch Albom)
45. The Bible [I have read the entire Old Testament, but only the first few books of the New)
46. Anna Karenina (Tolstoy)
47. The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)
48. Angela's Ashes (Frank McCourt)
49. The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
50. She's Come Undone (Wally Lamb)
51. The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver
52. A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens)
53. Ender's Game (Orson Scott Card)
54. Great Expectations (Dickens)
55. The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald)
56. The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence)
57. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Rowling)
58. The Thorn Birds (Colleen McCullough)
59. The Handmaid's Tale (Margaret Atwood)
60. The Time Traveller's Wife (Audrew Niffenegger)
61. Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
62. The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand)
63. War and Peace (Tolsoy)
64. Interview With The Vampire (Anne Rice)
65. Fifth Business (Robertson Davies)
66. One Hundred Years Of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
67. The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants (Ann Brashares)
68. Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
69. Les Miserables (Hugo)
70. The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)
71. Bridget Jones' Diary (Fielding)
72. Love in the Time of Cholera (Marquez)
73. Shogun (James Clavell)
74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje)
75. The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
76. Tigana (Guy Gavriel Kay)
77. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith)
78. The World According To Garp (John Irving)
79. The Diviners (Margaret Laurence)
80. Charlotte's Web (E.B. White)
81. Not Wanted On The Voyage (Timothy Findley)
82. Of Mice And Men (Steinbeck)
83. Rebecca (Daphne DuMaurier)
84. Wizard's First Rule (Terry Goodkind)
85. Emma (Jane Austen)
86. Watership Down (Richard Adams)
87. Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)
88. The Stone Diaries (Carol Shields)
89. Blindness (Jose Saramago)
90. Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer)
91. In The Skin Of A Lion (Ondaatje)
92. Lord of the Flies (Golding)
93. The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck)
94. The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)
95. The Bourne Identity (Robert Ludlum)
96. The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton)
97. White Oleander (Janet Fitch)
98. A Woman of Substance (Barbara Taylor Bradford)
99. The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield)
100. Ulysses (James Joyce)

Looks like I've read just over half of them. And yes, you may have noticed my "have read" side includes a lot of sci fi/fantasy, and not many of the more literary tomes.

Consider yourself tagged if you like memes.

Okay, He Wins...

2007-06-21T23:54:00.000-07:00

While I've been sitting around, being sore and proudly showing off misshapen yarn-cidents a twelve year old would be ashamed of, Laughing Boy has been truly busy. Besides the porch roof I posted photos of weeks ago, he has more recently been tearing out carpet, scraping and filling a 16x16 foot popcorn ceiling (no asbestos, so bash away!), and test painting a sample piece of wood for the 18th time to find just the right color and paint technique.

Why, you might ask? We've lived here for over six years now, and for five of those we've used the master bedroom as the world's largest hamper-and-cat-sanctuary. We weren't driven out by the sheer hideousness of the dingy dog-pee soaked carpet, or the gnarly popcorn ceiling. No, we we forced out by the noise.

We work nights at least once or twice a week, so one or the other of us can often be found crawling into bed after the sun has come up. Wouldn't be a problem for me, once I get to sleep I can pretty much sleep through anything. But LB has some fierce insomnia when it hits.

The real culprit, though, is that our So Cal ranch style house has the worlds most useless aluminum slider windows. They don't even pretend to keep out the noise of our neighbors' phone, glass bottles crashing into their recycling bin, gardeners' leaf blowers, or bi-weekly parties. I should point out that we've actually got the best neighbors ever, and it's not like they're making an egregious amount of noise. Actually, the neighbors are very very quiet compared to any neighbor either of us have ever had ever. Our windows are just the underachievers of the known world. And if we accidentally get a lull in the ruckus, the windows will start to rattle from low-flying planes passing by headed for the airport. We might as well run a jack hammer in the corner. It's not like we could sleep anyway.

So we've finally got a contractor coming by in a couple of weeks to install the extra sexy double glazed, low-E, sound-reducing windows we've ordered. I'm going to have to keep an extra bottle of Wind3x around, just to clean off the kissy marks I'm going to be planting on the glass once they're here and in the walls. And underfoot, will be a cork floor looking a lot like this:
I'd take a picture of our actual floor, rather than borrow this corner of the photo from the cork flooring manufacturer's site, but they make the floors to order and ours won't be here for another three weeks. Reminds me of the "Made To Order" daybed mattress debacle of Aught 6, but for once LB couldn't get around this one. Waiting for the floor and windows to be delivered is like krypt0n1te to Instant Gratification Woman, but I must be strong.

Maybe I'll knit the windows a scarf or something.

In the meantime, LB was apparently a little bored the other night. While I was re-knitting the same 25 rows on the left arm of my "sweater", again... and again (don't ask... bad words were used), he wandered by a couple dozen times. After about 2 hours of this (you'll notice my secret superhero identity isn't Highly Observant Woman), I absently asked him what he was doing. He looked at me funny, paused, and gave me a strange smile. "Laundry". Oh. Okay. I went back to my knit-n-swear fest. Did I mention the swearing?

He wasn't just doing the laundry. He had cleaned out the entire two car garage, which had been evenly filled to a height of four feet from wall to wall. All that's left is a thin edging of stuff, here and there. Our garage? Parkable? Oooooooooooooo.

Let's see. The score is:
LB - One porch roof, one popcorn ceiling, one wall to wall carpet, and one garage.
Panda - Um. Another scarf. A hat. And half a sleeve. And... the same half a sleeve. Again.

I think I'll practice being a graceful looser.

Monkey Do

2007-06-18T23:05:00.000-07:00

When I was young, one of my favorite toys was my Magic 8 Ball.

Which is one reason I had to buy the following for LB last week. Presenting what I call, with childish delight, the Magic8Buddha.

Flip him ass over tea kettle, and he's just butt-full of wisdom.

But I didn't buy him because of his sage advice...
... or because he seems to be channeling my Mother.

No, the reason Mr. Magic8Buddha had to come home with me was because when I asked him a question in the store, he posed a question of his own. A question that I can pretty much guarantee has been on Laughing Boy's lips at least once a year since his third birthday.

Where indeed, oh Magic8Buddha. Where indeed.

OCD Much?

2007-06-07T22:39:00.000-07:00

I like to call this little display "Ten reasons I should not be left to my own devices for 21 days in a row".

And if this isn't enough proof I've gone over the edge, #11 is already on the kneedles. Yes, I've been knitting for a whole three weeks now, and I am delusional enough to believe that somehow the current mishapen mess of black yarn will someday turn into something I will insist on calling a "sweater", no matter how much it looks like the world's biggest hairball.

LB is breathing a very big sigh of relief at the rumor that I start back to work next week.

* in my defense, #s 3, 6, 7 and 8 will probably end up as Christmas presents. And you will be relieved to know that there's nobody I dislike enough to inflict #s 1-2, 4-5 and 9 on.

Idle Hands

2007-05-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

I'm not good at having nothing to do. Add to that, it hasn't exactly been an fun filled hiatus from work. Sick for 10 days, then injured back for two weeks. Once some sadistic public servant crammed some jury duty in the middle of it all, I started to worry that if someone suggested driving to Bakersfield, I might mistake it for a tropical vacation. (Don't worry, I'm not trolling for sympathy there is a point to this.)

And now, my Uncle seems to be in the early stages of Alzheimers, which culminated recently in his insisting that he does not live in his house, and his wandering the neighborhood at night looking for his "real" house.

So when I got called to go over there and hang out all night until they could find a 24 hour caregiver, making sure he didn't wander off, I knew I had already slid past "stir crazy" and would need something to do with myself in order to stay awake all night.

Which is why Crazy Aunt Purl had just the right blog post to solve my problem. She'd mentioned getting audio books from the library. Just the thing! But what to do with my hands... hmm.

When I was young, everyone around me knitted, and beautifully too. My one attempt ended in a potholder that looked like it had been mauled by dingos. But I'm not nine anymore, and I'd started to believe that maybe even I could make Crazy Aunt Purl's "Magic Scarf".

Not exactly. It looks surprisingly average in the picture, but in real life it has got to be the lumpiest scarf in recorded history. Which is why I'm glad I started with the cheapest, homeliest yarn I could find. But what I also found is that I couldn't stop. It's been eleven days, and I seem to have developed a fuzzy new compulsion.

By yesterday, I had three things that could be mistaken for scarves, if one defined that word very loosely (the beige one is a vast improvement, so at least I'm getting better at the scarf thing), and had inadvertently invented what is possibly the first knitted pork pie hat.

By this evening, I'd finished hat #2. Which is luckily an improvement over hat #1.

But I've already got three skeins of Patons Rumor yarn in Hibiscus Heather just begging to jump on my new bamboo needles.

Help.

Oh, This Old Thing?

2007-05-07T21:50:00.000-07:00

While I was skulking around my house, cranky from the pain and boredom, we received an invitation to a party at our neighbors' house. While the party-time is a biweekly occurrence over there, the details made Laughing Boy's ears perk up. The neighbors had discovered that May 6th was National Cocktail Day. I found that more than a bit amusing, since May 6th follows the Southern California drink-a-thon more commonly known as Cinco de Mayo, so it seems like National Hangover Day would be more fitting.

However, the neighbors decided it would be more fun to celebrate National Cocktail Day, so the invite referenced what is pretty much agreed to be the Penultimate Cocktail Era, the 1950's, and hats.

Most of the guests donned baseball caps, fedoras, cowboy hats, whatever they had lying around. And LB and I ended up at the neighbors looking like this.

LB went on quite the shopping spree to assemble his Shriner tribute. It pretty much explains the state of my brain - and closet - when I am forced to admit that all I had to buy was my hat.

ow.

2007-05-03T22:51:00.000-07:00

So I finally made it to my first real training session at the gym, and even though he made me do upper body exercises until my arms wouldn't move, it wasn't so bad. Except. Except, the Arctic Winds blowing through the gym from the freakin' air conditioner exacerbated an old dance injury that hasn't bothered me for a decade, and my lower back went into spasms.

Yeah. Fun.

The good news, I was down three pounds after only one week on Le Diet of Disrepute. The bad news, I've put it back on over the last three days of lying on my right side (ow, need to shift, nononononono! whimper), back (carry on like someone has run me through with a two by four, pleeease don't make me move), and left side (is this pain killer doing NOTHING??? Where are the real drugs!).

LB lured me off to his genius acupuncturist yesterday afternoon and by the end of a very pointy hour of Fun With Needles, my spasms had turned into a very sore but not spasming back ache. Yay. Sort of.

Can't wait to do some lower body work next Monday.

yup.

He is Hawt!

2007-04-27T18:47:00.000-07:00

While I have been obsessively checking calorie count lists (an apple is either 70, 74, 92 or 95 calories... make up your minds people! I'm trying to do math here!), LB has been truly productive.

First, he agreed to go shopping with me to re-select our 2007 Valentines present for each other. The one we originally chose and purchased was back-ordered several times. And when it was pushed back again, this time until the end of May, even the unflappable Laughing Boy was driven to crankity-tude.

But the Valentines Gift behind door number 2 outclassed the first one the way P!nk's abs drop kick mine to the kurb and back. Behold the dingy emptiness of this sad little hovel of an entryway...

... transforming into the lickable smoochiness of this...

(Banana Dog says "hi", BTW.) And if my craptacular lighting and complete lack of photography skills fail to impress you, here's a closeup detail shot for your perusal.

The chest was glory enough, but when the lovely lady at the shop - everything 40% off!!! sorry folks, but that calls for excessive punctuation - mentioned she had a mirror to match, I insisted that I really hadn't meant it when I picked out my birthday present and what I really wanted was to come home to this every day. Drawers! Storage! Pretty red paint! Matching mirror!

And then fairy dust and moonbeams rained down, and I even thought about vacuuming the floor! And if that wasn't enough magic and miracle MOW-land for me, while I have been whining my way through my 30 minutes on the treadmill every day compulsively checking my heart rate and wondering where my freakin' medal is, LB has been turning this:

Into this...

He is so getting lucky... as soon as either of us can move again!

F is for...

2007-04-27T01:44:00.000-07:00

Well, I have lost my skillz at test taking in the eons since I last matriculated. I actually went up a pound with all my fancy working out and dieting. Score! And once the blood dried and the dust settled, I had a blinding headache and irrefutable proof that I truly do prefer blissful ignorance. I am officially overweight.

I am, however, just shy of the dreaded "obese" label, so I am hanging on to what little delusion I can. Even so, I've been forced to buckle under to their wretched "diet plan" to go with my side of muscle soreness.

But I am no mindless program drone. I wince tall. I hunch proud. I hobble defiant. For what it's worth, I will never refer to two ounces of chicken, a small tortilla and a tablespoon of ranch dressing as a "Meal".

And they can't make me.

...can they?

Does Cramming include All Nighters and Snacks?

2007-04-22T14:31:00.000-07:00

LB and I have joined a gym. I let my "lifetime" membership lapse a few years ago at the other gym when we were both out of work, and have been too lazy/cheap/overworked to rejoin since. But along with the free personal trainer sessions, to "get the most out of the experience" - we like to have "experiences" here in california - we get a free fat/fitness evaluation test. Yes, they said test. And since I am a freak of epic proportions, I have spent the ensuing days between signing up (Wednesday) and the "test" (Monday) cramming, aka working out and dieting.

So I won't be so fat and weak when I REALLY start going to the gym.

May the mocking commence.

Now if only there was a crib sheet big enough to hide my ass.

A Little Butter and Jam, and You'll Hardly Notice...

2007-04-10T16:49:00.000-07:00

I've resorted to "Is THAT the time? Where's the takeout menu?" a few times too often in the last fortnight. When you have to move the Styrofoam container holding the tad-too-congealed last teaspoon of tarama to get to the plastic tub with the scant quarter cup of tikka masala that's hiding behind the limp pile of bean sprouts you both picked out of the Pad Thai, and then rummage through the meat drawer looking for the sorry packet holding the tissue paper thin half slice of ham you inexplicably decided wouldn't fit on your sandwich the day before, and without any irony whatsoever call that breakfast? Time to hit the grocery store.

So imagine my simultaneously overworked and lazy behind slinking through the grocery store in the wee hours of the morning. Tired, hungry, in no mood to cook but we haven't won the lottery yet, so it's cook or not eat. And there, on the shelf...

Now THAT's what I'm talkin' about!

When I was young, I didn't really put any thought into food, except for the sheer disgustingness of all the things I wouldn't eat. Even now, just the smell of a can of tuna freshly opened makes me want to scrub my brain free of the memory of the horror that was weekly tuna casserole.

The few things I did enjoy usually had one or two things in common. Either they were so salty your cardiologist would need to lie down, or so sweet your folks would need a sedative to deal with the aftermath. Top of my all time favortie list, though, were Cap'n Crunch, corn bread, and caramel corn. Can't handle the Cap'n for breakfast these days, unless I want to try to apply a band aid to the roof of my mouth... again. (pepperoni pizza accident... don't ask). But for me the corn bread is still right up there with any activity that can be preceded by the phrase, "I probably shouldn't, but..."

Best of all, three boxes for 99 cents! Now, I have been known to make three different corn breads in a day, trying to find one that's moist inside and crispy outside, so I don't usually resort to mixes. But at 2am, ending up with the box of mix AND eggs that aren't expired AND milk that hasn't solidified is a certified miracle in our house these days. So I limited myself to only three boxes, with admirable restraint for someone who has to be up and at work again in four hours, and went home.

The first box was everything I remembered. Almost nothing is better than hot cornbread, spread with a tiny bit of butter and a slice of good ham. Salt and sugar, in a handy bite sized snack? Follow that with a custard eclair and a side of Laughing Boy, and we're talking died and gone to heaven.

Today, I decided to make up the second box, to go with the Lentils with Rosemary and Ham I've got simmering in the kitchen. And, considering the medical tenor of March, I virtuously decided to toss in a heaping spoonful of Flaxseed Meal. 'Cause it's so good for me and all. And if I'm shoveling down an entire pan of cornbread for lunch, my health is obviously my first priority.

Word of caution, bloggers. Don't. I don't know what happens when flax meal usually hits the side of a hot pan, but it smells like I decided to saute a peck of plastic bags with a couple of pounds of rubber bands. My second favorite thing about corn bread - after the taste, of course - is the way the whole house smells like caramel corn after you open the oven. My house smells like the inside of an ace bandage your teenage son left on his ankle - without bathing - the entire time he was away at summer camp.

And the usually golden yellow bread has developed a strange greyish tan tinge, more at home in a soup pot than a baked good. At least not in one that hasn't been at the bottom of a dumpster for a week.

Which makes the fact that I just finished off the last piece a little hard to explain, even to myself.

April! Come On In, Have a Seat!

2007-04-04T08:48:00.000-07:00

March is gone, and - at least by me - completely unlamented.

Not to jinx it all, but to recap:

Sister called last weekend, to tell me (for the first weekend in a month) that she was NOT in the ER/ICU/Surgery/having a heart attack.

Banana Dog is back in rare form, although obscenely hyper because Laughing Boy and I have been on set all week, on different shows. Thank god we've got a dog walker to come in and spoil her during the week when it's like this! Expensive, but worth every penny.

Refi went through, and the only paperwork blizzard I still have to look forward to is taxes. I know, I know. I'll probably get a chance to do them sometime during the week next week, if pilot season calms down.

LB has drastically changed his diet, for preemptive medical reasons. He's not sick, but his body wanted him to eat healthier. He's down 5 lbs already, and I'm down 3.

Cats and Doodles are fine, although one of the three totally shredded an 8-inch square of our hall carpet yesterday. It was so old and ratty, though, LB and I didn't have the energy to get into it at the time. We've got some leftover carpet in the garage, so we'll patch it when we get a chance.

Please, April. Be gentle with me. I'm really not into the pain, honest.

Cheaper Than Therapy

2007-03-25T20:03:00.000-07:00

... and a whole lot prettier!

And now for something completely different

2007-03-24T23:47:00.000-07:00

My sister had another heart attack, it looks like (we'll know for sure tomorrow). There was a clot from the last surgery, and one of her stents slipped. So they rushed her back to the emergency room (where there was no nonsense from her Group Health plan, at least), and went back in. From what I understand (which isn't much), they adjusted or replaced the second stent, added a third one, and took care of the clot. This time there wasn't any bleeding from the procedure, so that's a good thing.

In the mean time, I'd like to spend a couple of seconds not contemplating major medical emergencies...

What Tarot Card Are You?

You are The Moon

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Moon is a card of magic and mystery - when prominent you know that nothing is as it seems, particularly when it concerns relationships. All logic is thrown out the window.

The Moon is all about visions and illusions, madness, genius and poetry. This is a card that has to do with sleep, and so with both dreams and nightmares. It is a scary card in that it warns that there might be hidden enemies, tricks and falsehoods. But it should also be remembered that this is a card of great creativity, of powerful magic, primal feelings and intuition. You may be going through a time of emotional and mental trial; if you have any past mental problems, you must be vigilant in taking your medication but avoid drugs or alcohol, as abuse of either will cause them irreparable damage. This time however, can also result in great creativity, psychic powers, visions and insight. You can and should trust your intuition.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled March.

I Think March Can Outwait Me

2007-03-22T01:21:00.000-07:00

I thought I could beat this month, but it is a sneaky little bugger. Is it over yet?

Although Banana Dog has recovered from her life threatening bout of internal hemorrhaging, my sister had a freakily similar post surgery crisis (at least the hospital allowed the EMT's to bring her in without making them pick her up...).

She had to go via ambulance back into the hospital this past weekend, where they finally figured out she had a 90% blockage and an 85% blockage that they somehow missed the first time, but now that they'd noticed it, they had to fix it. So, they went right in and did the stent thing. Which went fine until they were taking out the gear. Somehow, they caused a "retroperitoneal bleed", which meant she lost about 4 pints of blood (40% or more of the blood in her system) from the back side of the femoral artery into the back of her abdominal cavity... her BP dropped to very bad levels, heart rate plummeted too. They rushed her up to the ICU, where they gave her several units of blood and managed to bring her back, but it sounds like it was a close one.

The scary thing is, because of the last bout of bleeding after sticking the camera in the same way, they were prepared for problems and it still went all haywire.

The good news is, she's home and feeling better. And her chest feels good, finally, because of the increased blood flow. Bad news is, her BP is way up because she can't take her BP meds. But she should be back on them soon.

Fingers crossed!

Hey, March, if I promise to sit in the corner and not make any trouble, will you lighten up?

March Can Kiss My...

2007-03-05T17:43:00.000-08:00

flabby a$$*!

I just got a summons for jury duty.

March is a Lying Troll...

2007-03-04T15:26:00.000-08:00

... a skank, a harlot, a slut.

Banana Dog went in to be spayed on Friday. A simple procedure. So I'm not sure how we ended up at the emergency vet last night, our 70 lb one year old lab cradled in Laughing Boy's arms, gushing blood all over him and the floor. For now, she's stable. LB is still furious that it could have come to this, although we're not sure who to be furious with. The universe, I guess. They gave her plasma, the pressure bandages staunched the bleeding, internal and external, and she's finally eating something. Because she wasn't clotting as she should have been, they didn't want to do more surgery if they could help it, as she was already down quite a bit of blood and giving her more places to bleed from didn't seem to be a good idea.

What I'm most upset about is she was "only" bleeding internally when we got to the vet. The open wound happened when they refused to let us bring her in unless we carried her (not allowed to walk her across the lobby floor). I explained that she was a 70 pound dog with a fresh abdominal incision, and the receptionist's response was "Well, then you'd better bring some help". I swear, I could hear her smirking over the phone. This place has stretchers, gurneys and rolling metal dollies to ferry the wounded dogs from the parking lot into the office, so there was no reason to make us lift her, tearing her fresh abdominal incision open in the process. The look on LB's face was almost as awful as watching her bleed all over him and the sidewalk.

Add to that, my sister is back in the hospital today, for observation. She's still having chest pains, which based on all their lovely tests shouldn't be happening. This time, they checked her into the correct hospital, so all her treatments and doctors are plan-approved and instantly available.

Good news, I know. For now, everybody is safe. I keep telling myself that. But my brain is seriously hamster-wheeling.

If March wants to get back into my good graces, it has some serious sucking up to do.

*UPDATE: Her (the dog, I mean) blood protein levels went up to 30 (from a low crash of 23), and the swelling went down, and she ate. So she's home, wearing the largest, most garishly fetching plastic e-collar I've ever seen. Sticks out a good 4 or 5 inches past her very long nose. As for her health, she's inclined to bounce around like nothing ever happened (a quick doctor safe and doctor-advised sedative cut that short... Hey, Doc... Where's my seadative?). LB and I, however, are slumped on the floor, thoroughly exhausted. And very, very relieved.

My sister's stress test and cardiologist-fest is tomorrow, and should go well too.

Thanks to all for the kinds words and support!

Note to Self:

2007-03-01T21:39:00.000-08:00

Self, if you ever get the chance to do-over some period in your life, February 2007 is NOT the month to choose.

My previously endearing credit union just started, after three uneventful years, putting a week-long hold on payroll checks. Just because they can, apparently. So, in a fit of righteous indignation, I went to open an account at a bank affiliated with a company where Laughing Boy and I have our home loan.

While I was there, they casually asked if I would be interested in re-financing our mortgage. With visions of money saved dancing in front of me, I believed them when they said I was "pre-approved for a paperless refi". And blithely repeated that assurance to Laughing Boy. Who has been gracious enough not to remind me of that during the ensuing tax-return and W2 blizzard.

I have seen less paper in the gigantic metal dumpsters at the recycling center. My favorite part, though, was when they sheepishly informed me that they couldn't find any proof that I had paid the mortgage in October. Even though they and I both know that if I had missed a single payment, they would have sent large bands of thugs to my house before now.

Luckily I had traipsed into that very branch to pay that month, so in addition to my November statement from them confirming that they had indeed received my October payment, and on time too, and my evil credit union's statement showing that a check for that very amount had cleared my account that same day, I had a signed receipt from their branch manager confirming that I had handed her the check on the day in question. But I would like to ask them one teeny tiny question... do they really expect me to trust them with my money if they can't keep track of it?

In other news, my way-too-young-for-this-to-be-happening sister just had a heart attack last weekend. She didn't go to the doctor until Monday, so it took until today for them to run enough tests for us to be sure that there was no permanent damage, and that she's got enough medication to be safe and sound until her plan-approved cardiologist can clear his busy schedule enough to fit her in.

So you can imagine my relief when I raised my head and saw March smiling at me.

2007? Already? Oops.

2007-02-10T02:29:00.000-08:00

I could point to my regular crazy schedule to explain my absence, and add defensively that I've spent the entire last work week in bed with the flu. And all that is very true. But really, I can explain it best by posting these pictures.

With much help from Laughing Boy, and by the grace of a couple of Christmas bonuses, presents and post-Christmas coupons and clearance sales, I have been busy turning this:

(note, if you will, the two very old tube monitors and small TV with broken rabbit ears overrunning my desk, the two foot plus of wasted floorspace between the "L" leg and the window behind it, and the mountains of junk peeking from every nook and cranny...)

Into this:

The computers I have hooked up to my luscious new LCD screen are both over six years old, but they sure look pretty all gussied up in their new 24" finery!

And for those of you who have noticed that I didn't clean up before I took the pictures, I am going to rest the back of my trembling hand against my forehead, mutter something about "the flu...", and pretend I only now noticed the debris littering the floor.

I will spare you the pictures of the bags and bags of flotsam and jetsam I tossed ruthlessly from the space, but I've still got a ways to go. Note the overflowing baskets of papers, etc. shoved into the corner between the window and the bookcase, if you want a giggle...

Banana the Destroyer

2006-12-30T00:21:00.000-08:00

Don't be misled by the lack of carnage reportage. Banana Dog has not let up on her campaign of terror in the back yard.

We have the world's strangest back yard. Pictures will have to do...

And what, pray tell, is around the corner of that fence?

We live at the end of a cul de sac, and our house was added as an afterthought, from bits and pieces of property that were left over when all the other houses were already in place. Laugh if you like, but it's why we were able to afford to buy anywhere around here at all.

Those pictures were back right before we moved in, so I've done a bit around the porch since then, all of it in pots.

Most recently, Banana has put herself in charge of landscaping around our bizarre L-shaped "yard".

(And for those of you who think she looks contrite, that's a no. She just doesn't like the flash.) We now have one potentially working sprinkler, and four that look something like this...

Meteors leave smaller craters.

She's also dragged a large cinderblock out of the way on the other side of the house, and ripped out all the sprinkler wires running under the concrete porch. You'd think she hated the sprinklers, but she loves running through them more than snacks. And if you want to know how much she loves snacks, just look at this picture.

"give me the snack. give me the snack. give. give me the snack. the snack. the snack. give. me. the. snack. give it to meeeee."

I think, with the sprinklers, she realizes she has finally found herself a worthy opponent. The game is afoot.

Moving and Shaping the World

2006-12-13T17:43:00.000-08:00

I know the time for this post is more around Mothers' Day, but it seems that all around me, my friends and loved ones are taking on the next generation.

My own Mom had not an easy time of it with us. She was in bed for months with at least two of us. The story is they had to button my sister back in when my mom tried to go into labor early. I was born more than a couple of months early, and that was back in the early days of locally-available incubators, although the nearest hospital for all such at the time, here in L.A., was 40 minutes from their house. I weighed three pounds and change, but have put on quite a bit more since then.

My sister wanted kids, but it didn't happen through "regular channels". So she became a foster mom, to kids that other foster homes had turned away. 19 children, all arriving pre-potty training stage. Children with fetal alcohol syndrome. Children with developmental issues, with emotional problems. She let the powers that be know she was willing to adopt, but she lives in another state and they consider foster parents paid caregivers. Seventeen of those children went back to birth parents, back into the system, off into the world.

After years and years, she was able to adopt two of her kids, a boy and a girl. They're great kids, and we adore them although I haven't had the money to travel that far in forever, and the little kids I remember are now high school students!

Other friends have just this fall gone the adoption route, and have hacked and kicked their way through the bureaucrat morass that is the U.S. adoption process. Finally, after much slogging and hoop jumping and playing well with others, they have the most adorable two month old I've ever seen. (If you think I'm slighting your two month old, rest assured it's only because I haven't seen him/her at exactly 8 weeks of age. If I had, it would surely be a tie).

LB's step sisters and cousins have been having babies right and left, it seems.

Last but not least, some of my favorite bloggers near and far, including many out here on the West Coast, are experiencing their own hard won baby booms.

To all of them I'd like to say, "Happy Belated Mothers' Day! You ROCK!" Now have an egg nog and let him get the diaper for a change!

I Meant To Call You....

2006-12-12T11:19:00.000-08:00

Don't hate me, don't hate me! It wasn't like that, honest. I meant to call. I lost your number. I've been sick. Yeah, that's it. Sick. But I'm better now, promise!

No, not really.

I actually went out a bought a new bookcase, so my new office daybed wouldn't be lonely. And then a new desk, to go with the new bookcase. Which I have justified by noticing suddenly that my home office is trapezoidal. I've got one crooked wall that, for no apparent reason, follows the property line rather than common sense or the laws of physics, hence my old 90 degree L-shaped desk never fit my 120 degree office corner. I've lived with it for 5+ years, but I really want to reclaim that wasted space. So in my search for more space, I got and assembled my new desk before getting rid of my old desk. Which means I can't really get into my office right now.

Yeah. I know. You don't need to tell me.

If that wasn't Panda-brained enough for me, the new bookcase thing has devolved rapidly into a new obsess... I mean hobby. Now that at least half my books are consolidated into in one bookshelf, I have started "organizing" them. And for those of you who are huge fans of the Dewey decimal system, I'm not quite that organized.

I've got the "foreigner in another country with a big honkin' house who can afford to have charming adventures in remodeling while wandering the countryside eating exotic meals and I have to sit here drooling because I can't afford new vacuum bags for my L.A. rat trap much less to travel outside of this country since 1991" books at the end of one shelf. Those are snuggling up to the "non-fiction with a disclaimer added post-publication so legal can stop their brains melting out their ears" memoirs... and you know who you are! Next come all the anthologies of women who travel/women's spiritual journeys/women and men who travel and get paid to write about it books. And just before I ran out of room, I squeezed in my favorites of the Literature/Memoirs (to be continued on the next shelf), those whose prose has been widely praised and is deemed deserving of the Bestowing of the Capital Letters.

I'm not going to bore you by walking you through the rest of my shelves, but Isabel Allende's memoir-ish book really should be next to the rest of her books. That's not going to work, however, because fiction is the next shelf down. So do I split up Isabel's works into solitary orphans scattered here and there, or do I keep them huddled together and leave a lonely fiction stranded in the non-fiction?

What? No, this couldn't possibly be more procrastination. Don't be silly!

Like Cinderella...

2006-11-30T23:48:00.000-08:00

Except I think I still have both my shoes.

Practically at the stroke of midnight, the world has one more crappy first draft!

TaDa!

My Lap or Yours

2006-11-30T15:33:00.000-08:00

Our two cats have never been lap cats. They're five and a half now, and between the two of them, have sat still on exactly one lap one time for less than one minute. They will crawl up onto Laughing Boy when he is sleeping, sometimes.

The Princess we can pick up, if we keep moving. If we stop, she wants down. Handsome Boy, the gray cat, crawled up me every day at the exact same time for the first week we had him, and fell asleep for forty five minutes purring with his head on my shoulder. Since then, nada. We cannot pick him up at all. He needs two of his own feet on the ground at all times, if hands are on him. He will jump onto LB's back sometimes, when LB leans over to pick something up. And then the cat sits down. LB, being the patient sort, stays like that for two or three minutes until the cat gets bored and jumps back down.

Hey, whatever makes them happy.

All of that to say, it must be that the cats know it is the last day of NaNoWriMo and I have to cram in 6,700 words to finish on time. Because the Princess just curled up on my lap purring for 35 minutes straight. Head in my hand. And then allowed me to stick a camera phone in her face and take a picture of it.

Fiendish conspiracists, those kitties!

Okay, Guilty as Charged

2006-11-30T15:16:00.000-08:00

Mark Twain said:
“I’ve lived through many terrible things in my life, some of which have actually happened.”

Hey Mark, get out of my head!

Procrastination, Part Deux

2006-11-25T18:55:00.000-08:00

Okay, whose brilliant idea was it to have NaBloPoMo the same month as NaNoWriMo, thereby guaranteeing that when I finally have time to write something, I will instead be procrastinating and checking all my favorite bloggers, who have been faithfully posting every day.

Which would normally make me thrilled.

Three days into Thanksgiving weekend, I'm feeling a little ambivalent. For all of you posting every day, go! go! go!

But I'm really gonna have to type much faster to finish NaNoWriMo on time.

Sigh.

That's Better

2006-11-09T15:08:00.000-08:00

After a slow start, I'm over 7,000 words for NaNoWriMo. Which isn't grand and glorious, but does mean I'm in line to finish right on time, if my 2,500 word count per day average the last two years is any indication. And if that completely inelegant last sentence is any indication, I've got the "just write anything, who cares how bad it is" down pat, too.

Go me!

You Win Some...

2006-11-08T15:02:00.000-08:00

Being an unrepentant bleeding-heart liberal, I am tickled pink about the whole Democrats winning a majority in Congress, and cautiously optimistic that the tied-for-control Senate may mean some good news, or at least less bad news. But I have to confess to a sinking feeling about another 4 years of our current governor, he of the alleged sexual harassment and racist comments.

But I never expected that I would wake up to the Republicans giving me a big fat early Christmas present in the form of Rumsfeld's resignation.

It's almost a fair trade, less Rumsfeld for everyone, but a few more years of "Ah-nold" jokes for us.

You owe us, other 49 states!

Sit Up Straight!

2006-11-06T10:36:00.000-08:00

I didn't want to be one of those Rachel R-a-y bashers, and I certainly didn't want to turn into somebody's cranky Grandmother... But I just saw her new talk show for the first time, and Oh My. She was sitting slumped so far forward, she looked like her shoulders were higher than her ears. No neck at all. I know she doesn't usually look like that, so somebody needs to tell her not to slouch.

Before today, I only had one problem with Rachel R-a-y. It was the whole "EVOO" thing. When she uses her very own extra special shorthand for Olive Oil, "EVOO", she says, "EVOO," and then she has to explain it. "EVOO, you know Extra Virgin Olive Oil, E.V.O.O." An abbreviation, Rachel, is supposed to abbreviate things. Make them shorter, take less time. You could have pressed a vat of the stuff in the time it takes you to explain what you meant.

I hadn't seen her show since we cancelled my HG TV / Learn1ng Chann3l lifeline, so I had no idea how incredibly manic she's become. She used to be chipper, but nothing I couldn't handle after 11 am and two cups of espresso. But now, she's bouncing around like an 8 year old with ADD who finished off the box of Cap'n Crunch before moving on to a bottle of his mother's "diet pills".

I need a nap.

Mmmm... Strawberries

2006-11-02T19:39:00.000-08:00

Which chocolate treat are you?

Chocolate covered strawberry

You are the perfect mix of sweet and luscious. Certainly very tasty, you can give off a very sensual vibe.

Click Here to Take This Quiz
Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

I is a Writer

2006-11-02T14:40:00.000-08:00

I got home from a looooong day on set at 11:52 pm, and rushed to the computer. My grand total for the first day of NaNoWriMo? 87 words. Woo hoo. Very impressive.

Still, I managed to type something.

I will do more today.

Sitting Pretty

2006-10-30T14:08:00.000-08:00

I am hopeless. I know, I know. I just redid the room. But I couldn't resist the fall jewel tones.

And Banana Dog looks fetching, doesn't she?

As if I don't have enough to do, I'm planning on doing NaNoWriMo again this year. I didn't finish last year, as November brought emergency re-plumbing of the whole house, my Shi Tzu's emergency eye surgery, and my lab's cancer diagnosis. A week later she suffered convulsions, on Thanksgiving, and ended up paralyzed and blind in one eye and had to be put to sleep the next day. So I wasn't in any shape to be creative.

I'm hoping this year goes better.

So I hope you don't all feel neglected, but I'm taking on yet another project for November. At least I have a pretty place to collapse from exhaustion!

Par-tay!

2006-10-22T00:45:00.000-07:00

We moved in here about 5 years ago. I wanted to have a house warming, but with one thing or another we haven't. Mostly because I wanted to wait until it looked good enough to let people in the door. To a guy, that means someplace to put down your beer. To a woman, that means things that match and are clean. At the same time.

The other revelation vis-a-vis party-ability has been that if you buy a fixer-upper, you seem to spend all your potential party money on fixer-uppering. Who knew.

In the mean time: Laughing Boy has had two sushi-making parties; our backyard neighbor has asked us last minute to have a dinner party for his girlfriend's return with a whopping forty five minutes notice; one of Laughing Boy's coworkers has hosted a party at our house; and LB's Mom has held a holiday party for their whole family here at the House of Panda. And to all of these requests, Laughing Boy has said "Yes." Which brings us to tonight, when LB's having another sushi party.

In the middle of planning this last minute shindig, cleaning the house, finally buying our first set of all matching non-chipped dishes and generally sprucing up the place, I suggested we have a little late brunch here in a couple of weeks. For the good friends of ours who can't make this weekend's festivities. I mean, why waste the clean. LB begged off. We have so little free time, we're having a party now. No need to have another one so soon.

I'm not the one to look a sushi horse in the mouth. But there's something wrong with this picture.

Let's see, I'm sure someone hasn't had a party at our house... Someone who lives here, even. Let me think... Oh yeah. That would be me.

So, with my usual subtlety and tact, I pointed out the gross disparity in the hosting department. And then, we practiced.

"LB. You know the lady who hit my beloved car last week and pretended she couldn't see the dent she made in my car door, and then when that didn't go over so well, pretended she couldn't speak English all of a sudden? Let's say she calls up and asks if she can have a party here at our house, you say... what?"

"No. It's Panda's turn to have a party."

"And when I say, 'Hey, honey. Why don't we have a little party here next week...' You say...?"

"Yes, sweetypoops. That would be great. We can have a party whenever you want."

Good boy.

I Want My HGTV!

2006-10-16T12:12:00.000-07:00

We don't have cable. No cable, no satellite tv. And when we originally got cable (long since cancelled), the installer clipped off our antenna line from the roof and pushed it back through the floor, lost now somewhere under the house with all the black widow spiders. So we've got no reception of anything.

It isn't some "moral high road" choice, don't get me wrong. We don't think we're superior to TV. After all, working on TV shows covers our mortgage most months. We'd originally just cancelled the cable when we had some down time in hiatus, and wanted to save some money. Not coincidentally, the decision was made right after an evening of 3 and a half hours of channel surfing and only finding one show we actually ended up watching all the way through. When we cancelled it, we figured we'd hook it back up in a few months, and in the mean time maybe we'd get some stuff done.

Oh, we're not totally back in the dark ages. We have a DVD player so we've got all the HBO TV shows from Netflix, albeit a year late. And my tiny 13" TV in my office has half broken rabbit ears, so I get four fuzzy channels, if I'm really bored or I need to see an episode of some show I did some work for.

You'd think we'd have cable and a huge plasma TV, living in LA, and working on TV shows and movies, and having a guy in the house. There's sports! And Xbox! But I lucked out and, in our nearing-extinction free time, Laughing Boy would rather do stuff than watch stuff. (Score!) We do miss "The Da1ly Show" and a few of the other shows from Com3dy C3ntral. But I know why, really, Laughing Boy isn't in a hurry to replace our connection to the outside world.

Saturday mornings. And HGTV. Followed close behind by The L3arn1ng Chann3l. I think it was the day where there were two different mini-marathons, one of Hous3 Hunt3rs and one of Trad1ng Spac3s, that he snapped.

I loved Hous3 Hunt3rs. I'd probably still love it, if we had us some cable. But back when I got addicted, we'd just bought our house and the first few shows seemed to be in neighborhoods just like were looking through in LA. Laughing Boy didn't say anything, but the look on his face said enough.

Someday, I will once again be able to waste an entire day drooling over other people's countertops, or cringing at Doug's designs on Trad1ng Spac3s. Until then, I'll be haunting the news stands, peeling back the covers on all those decorating magazines, hiding them under my bed, and tearing out pages of insanely expensive glass bathroom tile, bamboo flooring and tansu chest cabinets.

Until then, you might not want to mention The F00d Chann3l around a certain Panda. Me sad.

Maybe Compared to the 2 am Drunk at the Bar

2006-10-15T17:14:00.000-07:00

Hey, I like a compliment as much as the next person...

Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence

You are excellent with words and language. You explain yourself well.
An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly.
You are also good at remembering information and convincing someone of your point of view.
A master of creative phrasing and unique words, you enjoy expanding your vocabulary.

You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator.

What Kind of Intelligence Do You Have?

But even when a totally frivolous internet quiz says "An elegant speaker, you can converse well with anyone on the fly", I have to protest. Silly quiz!

Oh, THOSE Tassels...

2006-10-10T18:45:00.000-07:00

I think I just hit a world record for work-to-payday-to-spent. Which is the best part of those kinds of horrendous deadlines.

Besides the whole roof overhead and food on table issue, I sometimes need incentive to keep me going when I'm working my third all-nighter of the week. So when I finish a project, I've been known to splurge a bit on one item I've had my eye on for a few months.

This time, it was this daybed for my home office.

And the mattress, the quilt, the duvet cover, the white embroidered curtains to hide my hideous 60's cardboard closet doors, the etc. etc. etc. Laughing Boy was particularly gallant, driving me to four different stores all over Los Angeles on Saturday, trying to find a place that would sell us a futon or mattress at a reasonable price and let us have it the same day. Because I am, in my secret superhero identity, Instant Gratification Woman. And waiting 9 months from the day I spotted that daybed in the magazine to buying it and taking it home, is also a world record for me. I was not about to wait another week for a mattress.

I could have bought a mattress from the store that sold me the daybed, but I found out at the cash register that they didn't even display their own mattress on this daybed at the store. They used a ringer mattress, as theirs is so soft and squishy, you'd roll right off the edge if you sat too close.

We ran out of time on Saturday, and the final mattress store had just closed before we pulled up. All the department stores and futon places had bragged about "we build our mattress just for you, when you order it". Like they'd go bad in the warehouse if they didn't. All it really means is they don't have to carry inventory, and I can't get a mattress for five to seven business days. At least they didn't say "for your convenience". Smart move, salesman.

I finally resigned myself to waiting until Monday to sit on my new daybed. With an astonishing amount of grace. For Instant Gratification Woman, that is. The next day, Sunday, I trudged off to Nameless Studios at 7:45 am, to work for the 18th day in a row. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, Laughing Boy snuck off to find me an affordable and instantly available mattress. And then went to another store to buy me a mattress pad, sheets, a down comforter, moss green curtains... And three fancy brocade pillows. With fringe, and tassels.

Marking another unique moment in history. The first time a man has willingly put out money for tassels that weren't attached to someone's chest.

Oh, Nothing

2006-10-04T11:41:00.000-07:00

This could be one of those posts that reveals the horror of working all but 5 hours of a 48 hour period, and hitting three deadlines spot on with only 3 hours sleep in all that time. Of working 127 hours for two clients/one boss over an 8 day period, only to have my boss pitch a fit because I couldn't manage to be in two places at once, after the fact.

Did that last sentence make any sense to you? Me either. But he's truly pissed.

As am I, since I covered 3 full shifts while only being paid for two of them... and am getting blamed for not being able to cover a 4th shift that noone asked me to cover until I got crap for not having done it. I know I give off the vibe that the space time continuum applies to everyone but me, but even I am not that good.

But that sort of a post would bore even me, and after 8 solid hours of - blissfully - uninterrupted sleep, I've lost interest in the righteous indignation. And truly, at this point I would only be trolling for a couple of "poor yous" from my trusty commenters. And how pathetic is that, really.

So I will just collect the pay and spend the money. And the next time they hit the triple shift mark, I'm cutting them off. Cold turkey. I may even stick my tongue out while doing it.

So in honor of my not jumping through their invisible hoops, here is a list of things I may be doing today. And for those of you who wonder why "working my butt off just so I can get yelled at" is not on the list, you've obviously been skimming. That's the spirit! Good for you!

Things I Will Be Doing Today

- eating leftover chinese food
- watering the plants
- avoiding the sinkful of dirty dishes
- indulging my home-improvement (aka home-decorating-porn) magazine fetish
- getting stomped on by a seven month old lab
- not vacuuming
- ignoring the cell phone
- not getting yelled at
- nothing
- getting purred at by a cat or two
- petting the Shi Tzu, who is back in happy-dancing form (hooray!)

and

- consuming at least one eclaire, creme brulee, or piece of key lime pie, while ignoring the correct accent marks required in typing the first two. I scoff at your punctuation, foreign languages! And I consume your desserts anyway! I'm a rebel that way.

I'm Simply Dazzling!

2006-10-04T11:12:00.000-07:00

No way this is real, of course, but it is hilarious... if you're a geek like me.

http://blog.outer-court.com/pageboost/

The verdict on my site here?

Extreme Cat Sniffing Is Too a Sport

2006-09-28T11:40:00.000-07:00

For extreme sports enthusiasts, if you've got bad allergies try a little cat sniffing.

Laughing Boy is allergic to cats. You'd think that wouldn't be a problem, since I didn't have any cats when we got together. My ex had kept the cats, and I'd kept the dogs. Not by choice, but because one of the dogs needed daily meds and attention and I knew the ex wouldn't take the time. So every time I saw a cat, or heard one purr, I'd miss my cats and usually, I'm ashamed to admit, cry a little.

We had just made an offer on this house, and it was accepted so we were impatiently slogging through the house paperwork, and packing. In a spirit of "we're all in this together", during our own packing we went to help a friend's mom move. When her mom bought the place, it had come with a yard full of cats the previous owner had fed, and the cat rescue had just come by and scooped them up. But the neighbor's cat had become used to hanging out on her front porch instead of its own, and came over to me and started purring. I tried not to cry, hoping nobody would notice.

Laughing Boy leaned down and whispered, "When we get the house, we can have a cat."

"But you're allergic!"

"Not to all cats." He leaned down to pet the cat rubbing against my legs. And then he wheezed and stepped back, just out of dander range. "I'll just sniff them until we find one I'm not allergic to."

So the Saturday after we'd moved into our new place, we went out cat sniffing. I had researched the pet chain stores around us, finding out which ones had Cat Rescue Adoptions on Saturdays, and had mapped them out by which one was closest, and the most practical (quickest) way to get from store to store. Because I did not want someone wandering off with OUR cat.

The first store we walked into (two minutes after they opened - we were LATE!) had two teeny tiny five week old kittens, one black girl kitten and her brother, a gray tabby. I picked up the black one, and LB picked up the gray tabby. Who promptly rolled over on his back in LB's hands, and started to purr. The little black kitten, not to be outdone, reached up and licked my chin.

The rescue folks wouldn't let the two be adopted separately, and how could we choose just one anyway. But LB wanted one cat, so maybe he could still breathe on alternate Thursdays. He sniffed the gray kitten quite thoroughly. No allergic reaction. I could tell the tabby was working the room, but I'd fallen for the little black purring one in my hands. So we switched cats, and the black kitten, with impeccable timing, immediately curled up in LB's hand and fell asleep, her chin hanging over his palm, her tongue peeking out between her teeth.

That did it. I didn't even need to beg. LB and the two cats are now inseparable. I have to remind them all now and then that if it weren't for ME, we wouldn't even have cats. They are not impressed.

Now THAT'S love.

Happy Love Thursday!

She's Home But Not Pleased

2006-09-26T19:21:00.000-07:00

Doodle's eye is still there for now, but she won't ever see out of that side again. There was too much damage from the pressure. The great news is, taking out the abscessed tooth and cleaning out the pus (sorry) has left her alive and actually trotting around almost like she was never sick. Mere hours after surgery. This morning, as I took her in for her third doctor's visit in as many days, shaking from fever and moaning in pain, I wasn't sure I'd be saying that.

However, her eyeball looks like we superglued hamburger to the cornea, and then hit her a few dozen times. It's swollen, lumpy where it should be clear, and demon blood red to boot. And then, you look over at the right side and there's the same old sweet dopey brown eye as ususal, looking out at us with utter confusion and irritation. "Can we cool it with the vet visits, people? I'm trying to take a nap!"

The vet assured me if all goes well, she'll be over the tooth thing completely by tomorrow morning. If she's still in any pain, it will be from the eye and if we notice her rubbing it over the next couple of weeks, then it should come out. But at least when he says "pain" he means slight discomfort/irritation, and not lying on the floor moaning and shaking.

Hooray!

Not a Good Week

2006-09-24T15:43:00.000-07:00

Another insane week. This included 50+ hours at job #1, 20 hours at job #2, 16 hours of commuting, and a cough that kept me up most of the night all week.

And now this weekend, Doodles, the Shi Tzu has developed a bad abscess behind her left eye. This eye had the same sort of abscess two years ago, and they warned us it could recur. To top it off, almost exactly one year ago she poked a hole in that same eye and had to have surgery to save it.

So last night we ended up making an emergency room vet trip at 2 am. They said that if we can't get this abscess under control, she could lose the eye this time. She's not eating, not drinking, and doesn't really want to take her meds. I'm spending a lot of time putting syringes full of food and/or water and/or meds in her mouth. She is one very unhappy cone-headed dog. I'm just lucky she's got such useless teeth, or I'd be looking at a few stitches myself by now.

I'd post pictures, but you really, really don't want to see them.

Wish us luck!

Deal Breakers

2006-09-17T00:43:00.000-07:00

I'm stealing an idea from Dooce's site. Well, okay, not really stealing. Because she got the idea from Maggie aka Mighty Girl's new book, "No One Cares What You Had for Lunch:100 Ideas For Your Blog". (Not to imply I'm on a blog-name basis with either of these bright and witty women). Back to the point, Dooce asked on her site what the deal breakers were when it comes to dating men.

I'll have to add the caveat that I ended up, many moons ago, married to my "high school sweetheart". And I met my current boyfriend, whom I've been with for seven years now, just a few months after that first relationship crashed and burned in a surreal, Jerry Springer fashion. So the number of men I've slept with, if counted on one hand, would leave me with fingers - plural - left over. But after I left my hard core, absolutely-serious I-really-mean it deal breakers over at Dooce's site (no abusers, no felons, no animal-haters, etc), I realized that there are probably a few dozen more personal "oh no he didn't" deal breakers. Obviously I haven't had the opportunity to test market every single item on my list, so some of them were market tested and passed on to me by friends and relatives.

I would like to point out that this list is made with the full knowledge that all of the not-counted-on-one-hand men of the world out there could quite honestly point out, "we weren't asking you out!" Duly noted.

Since someone did recently die and make me Queen, I feel free to compile my list anyway. Note: none of these items below have ever applied to the current boyfriend. Laughing Boy is actually freak-of-nature perfect, in each and every way. And he doesn't read this blog, so I don't even have to say that.

Anyway, without any further codacils and subsections...

I won't go out with you if you:

- are more than or equal to two decades older or younger than I am

- expect your wife to get up before you at 3:30 am just to iron your underwear so it's warm when you put it on. One of the ex-husband's coworker's wives did this. No lie. This ain't Alaska, buddy. Cold boxers aren't gonna kill you. And if you want toasty privates, you know where the dryer is.

- wear birkenstocks with any socks.

- wear any sandals with black socks.

- wear any clogs with white socks in public.

- wear a toupee. Bald, yes of course. Toupeed up? Nope, never.

- feel you have a right to dictate when, how and where I depilate. You take care of your hair, I'll take care of mine. And no, now that you mention it, your toupee is so very obviously NOT your hair. No matter how much you paid for it.

- do not have a mouth full of teeth or teeth-like-substitutes. They don't have to all be yours. But they do have to be present and accounted for.

- have breath worse than my Shi Tzu.

- dislike dogs

- dislike cats

- dislike me, but pretend you're just "correcting me" for my own good.

- somehow manage to loudly crunch breakfast cereal while simultaneously suctioning the milk through your molars at high speed, creating a sloshing slurping sucking noise that can be heard two rooms away. Come on buddy, mornings are bad enough!

- work 60+ hours a week at your job, but pitch an actual bona fide hissy fit because I'm still at work when you want to go out some night. And then proceed to lecture me on what's wrong with my work schedule, job, career, and financial situation. Um, not that that's ever happened to me or anyone I know. Just in case you were wondering. You know.

- expect me to "manage" your card sending and gift giving obligations. They're your family. And you've had forty plus years to notice your Mom's birthday is in August. The correct answer is "August". You know them, you can pick out a sweater/scarf/tie/wallet/watch they'd actually like in two minutes. I'll spend two hours agonizing, and I guarantee you they'll still stare at it with something akin to horror. At which point you'll loudly insist that you wanted to get them the sweater/scarf/tie/wallet/watch they would have preferred, but I had insisted on "this... what exactly is it, honey?" instead. And then you spend the hour and a half drive home telling me exactly why that one gift, right there, was exactly the wrong thing to get Aunt Adelaide because of her freakish intaglio phobia. Unless I accidentally manage to pick out, purchase and painstakingly gift wrap something they love, at which point you march out this song and dance about how you spent all weekend looking and finally found it in that perfect little shop outside blah blah blah. Only I put the gift receipt in the box, the gift receipt that clearly does NOT say cute little shop outside blah blah blah. Um, not that that's ever happened to me or anyone I know. Just in case you were wondering. You know.

- play with your "junk" - over or under your pants - in public. I used to work with a guy who did this both ways CONSTANTLY. And not hand-in-his-pocket a little adjustment subtly. Hand down the front of his shorts, moving so much you'd have thought he was making a french braid. During lunch. I'm still shuddering. Thank god I'm nearsighted. And never had to shake his hand.

- make racist jokes, and then when I'm offended explain that you didn't MEAN it, so they weren't really racist jokes and I can't be offended because I'm not (insert ethnic group here). I'm pretty sure that the only qualification you'd need to be offended by that joke is "ears".

- consider each and every conversation a debate that MUST BE WON. By you. Especially, and most gleefully, when you're wrong.

- treat waitstaff like servants.

- are cheap. I can understand not having much money, honestly. That describes my bank balance perfectly, so I understand it all too well. And in my brief dating experience, I still always offered to pay half, or picked up the check every other time. But if you don't even have enough money to cover the valet parking, the time to mention it is before we finish dessert at the restaurant that you picked, invited me to, and drove to. The restaurant where you proceeded to order appetizers, salad, the lobster special, two bottles of wine, dessert and a glass of port. And only then announced that you forgot your wallet. Oh, and would I take a check. A postdated check, because you don't get paid until next week. Not that this has ever... oh, never mind. And yes, the postdated check bounced. Twice.

- own a hand gun.

- giggle like a 14 year old girl, with your curled fists pressed up against your face. Seriously. Also still shuddering.

- use chewing tobacco.

- wake me up by slapping me on the butt and hollering, "Come on hunny, it's 6:30! Get that FATTTTT ass outta bed already! I'm starving!" Now that little paragraph, right there, is wrong on so many levels, I'm just going to put it down and back away.

Green With Envy

2006-09-16T20:44:00.000-07:00

I love Ice dot com.

Don't get me wrong, I really don't wear a lot of jewelry. Couldn't afford it for one thing. Don't get that dressed up very often for another.

However, I do like peridots and garnets, even though my birthstone is diamond. But diamonds are insanely expensive, and the politics of their mining is atrocious, so along with the stone comes all my liberal guilt baggage.

Add to that, I'm a hard one to buy gifts for as I don't have "normal" taste in things. If it's pink and pastel and girly, or heart shaped, I'm not gonna swoon when the lid comes off the box. Oh, I'll make all the right noises. But you won't ever see me wearing it. If you want to know the sorts of things I fall for, I watched the first Matrix, entranced. Why? Trinity's boots.

So a couple of weeks ago, I got a promotional e-mail from Ice dot com, and this was front and center:

I shrieked, and then shrieked again when I saw that it was under $75, For A Limited Time Only after the Promotional Extra 20% Off. Black granite. White gold. Peridot. Black silk cord, but I bet it would be easy to replace it with a leather one... "Mine! Mine! Mine!" like the seagulls in "Finding Nemo".

Only I click on the necklace, and the page won't load. Won't! Load! I grumble and go to bed. The next day, still won't load. Try my other computer, and finally get the page to load, only they're OUT OF STOCK!

Okay, I tell myself. Don't panic. The fine print in the e-mail says the offer is good until the end of September. I check back the next day, page won't load. The day after that, loads but out of stock. The day after that, page won't load. The day after...

After about nine days (eight and a half days longer than Instant-Gratification Woman (TM) usually lasts), I get fed up and call Ice dot com. Explain that the page won't load. He can't even find it in their computer, so he has me send him the promotional e-mail.

"Oh. Yeah. There it is. We're out of those right now, unfortunately. Sorry." He really is being very kind and helpful, yet somehow inexplicably is not Telling Me What I Want To Hear. I hate it when that happens.

"Okay." I do some deep breathing. "Fine. Thank you for checking. Do you know when you're getting more?"

He comes back and says six to eight weeks.

"Ah." I bite back my first, second and third response. Because this is, of course, Not His Fault. "After your sale is over."

"Yes. Sorry."

That word again!

But I still checked back. Every day. Because I am stubborn and I like to pretend the universe would not taunt me like that. Page won't load, out of stock, page won't load...

And then Saturday, 1 am! The page loads and...

In five to seven business days, it will be mine. All mine! And at the sale price, no less. I envy me, being me, just for today.

Now if I can just find a pair of these...

She Walks in Beauty Like The Night

2006-09-16T00:03:00.000-07:00

You'll note that good old George Gordon, Lord Byron did not say "She walks in nasty old chinos half an inch too short with the ugliest front pleats to ever appear outside the mall food court like the night".

So why, exactly, are those hateful atrocities still hanging in my closet?

I have three kinds of clothes in my forlorn little closet:

1) cool vintage outfits I had from when I was dancing and/or younger. No one who has ever had to attend a formal Christmas party last minute could throw out that 1950's black velvet quilted circle skirt with the original sparse scattering of tiny rhinestones, pearls and metal studs. I feel pretty just standing next to it. But no, it doesn't zip shut with me in it. At the moment.

2) Nasty "office appropriate clothes" from when I stopped dancing and had to find a new way to support myself. The temp office jobs thankfully didn't last long, and I hated with a displaced passion everything I bought in that one surly Ross-Dress-For-Hell shopping spree that spawned the aforementioned chinos of ugliness. But the clothes were all still "wearable", so I couldn't just throw them all away. They did, however, make me look so ugly I would wear my childhood 1970's Holly Hobby yellow and orange polyester bedspread to work before I would resort to those pants. I still have all the clothes. Still hate all the clothes.

3) Things that I bought in the last five years that actually fit.

Item 3 accounts for, at best guess, 1/5 of my total wardrobe. Somehow, I reached adulthood with the warped idea that I can't throw out anything until I have something to replace it with. Today I woke up and, in a grand fit of clarity, realized if I'm never going to wear it ever again, then I don't have to keep it. And "they" can't make me.

Don't panic. The vintage clothes are staying, until I find them a good home. Or lose twenty pounds. Yeah, I lied and said twenty. Yet another stellar reason I don't have a web cam.

Songs of Life, Songs of Joy

2006-09-15T13:58:00.000-07:00

No, I don't have any songs for you. Sorry. But the antibiotics have swooped in and allowed me to take a full breath for the first time in weeks. My coughing up a lung is down to a few times a day, and I actually slept through the night last night for the first time in who knows how long.

And, joy of joys, Laughing Boy is feeling better too. It's amazing how responsible I feel for his every ache and pain when he catches whatever I have. Luckily, he had a couple of days warning that it was coming, so he loaded up on vitamins and zinc. So he hasn't been as sick.

Work is still trickling in, which is also good. Just enough to keep solvent, and yet a light enough workload to get through while sick. Hmmmm. It's just all going toooo smoothly. My paranoia meter is ticking ever upwards.

But while we were laid low, we had Terry Pratchett books to keep us amused, and "A Bit of Fry and Laurie" along with the latest season of "Arrested Development" DVDs to watch. So, when you toss in the convenient hot Thai chicken soup delivered, in spite of the occasional 11 hour work days it was more like being home from school sick. You're really glad you're not at school, but you're pissed off you're too sick to truly enjoy lying on the couch watching cartoons all afternoon. I feel a bit sorry for sick kids home from school without cable today. Instead of hours of Brady Bunch reruns and Loony Tunes anvils, they've got Jerry Springer and Maury to while away the tedious afternoon hours.

Obviously, I'm not quite well enough to be let loose on an unsuspecting internet, what with the half coherent babbling and all. But it's nice to be back anyway!

Sorry I Haven't Gotten Back To You

2006-09-13T23:11:00.000-07:00

... It's not that I suddenly became bored with the sound of my own voice, believe me. It's just that I've run out of new ways to say mucus bites.

Off to the doctor's tomorrow for some antibiotics or something. Less fluid in my lungs would be good.

Whine for everyone!

Love That Man

2006-09-07T00:18:00.000-07:00

As if the sushi-making wasn't enough love and devotion, it is midnight and my man is out buying me new cough and cold supplies. Cheerfully, with a smile and a kiss on his way out the door. Even though he has the same cold/cough and was running his behind off at work all day after a long long night of very little sleep. Not for any fun reasons, the sleeplessness; rather, he was jolted out of an almost-sleep every five minutes because my cough sounds like a kennel full of dogs at feeding time. No one could sleep through a cough like that, cough-er or cough-ee.

In desperation, hoping that someone somewhere would be able to sleep even a little bit, I staggered into my home office to sleep on the floor. And after half an hour, he came in and curled up next to me. That's why I love him.

No word at all on why he loves me, since I rewarded him by barking in his ear all night long. And not in a good way. If there even is a good way to bark in someone's ear. Just thought I'd clarify that, just in case.

Ye gods, what is in this cold medicine, anyway?

Happy Love Thursday!

Hack Hack Cough

2006-09-06T13:53:00.000-07:00

Not to be indelicate but this cough is so "productive", shall we say, I feel like a Pez dispenser.

Secrets

2006-09-05T12:21:00.000-07:00

Laughing Boy and I had been going out for six months when he dropped the bombshell.

I was going through a rough patch, working three jobs and trying to pick up the pieces of my life after a messy divorce the year before. I was so tired, my body was craving strange foods. And what it wanted most of the time, for every lunch and every dinner, was sushi. Spicy tuna rolls, fresh water eel, salmon sashimi. Mercury be d*@%mned, my body wanted protein and not the kind with legs.

One evening, I got out of work too late and my favorite sushi place was closed. It was then that LB said it. "I could make you some."

Excuse me?

"They sell sushi grade ahi and salmon at Hole Foods. I could make you some spicy tuna rolls. I took a class."

He took a class. And he kept this from me for how long?

He doesn't just make sushi. He approaches making sushi with the same attention to detail as the rest of his life. That weekend, he went to three Asian food stores to find Japanese mayonnaise and fresh wasabi. He tracked down the freshest avacado and pickled ginger. He bought sushi grade ahi and salmon from four different sources, to make sure what he ended up using was absolutely fresh. And then he made spicy tuna rolls, california rolls, rainbow rolls. He made some rolls with the rice on the outside, sprinkled with roe. Salmon sashimi. Ahi, thinly sliced and buttery soft.

Wow!

And after I'd eaten everything in sight, I asked him. Why did you keep this from me? All those sushi lunches and sashimi dinners, and not a word.

"It never came up."

It's official. He's a guy.

The Blighted Landscape of My Life

2006-09-01T18:35:00.000-07:00

I find myself mourning the loss of my tiny, stunted ficus. It's not that it was a happy, robust plant. It's just that it had, against all odds, managed to survive life with me for eight long years. Sometimes with only one lonely leaf clinging stubbornly to a brittle branch, yet it lingered. It deserved better thanks for its dogged determination. I can at least be comforted that it was happy in its final weeks. It had put out almost thirty five vivid green and white leaves in the last two months. Yes, I counted them. I felt the need to salute the loss of the sole survivor of my black thumb.

Laughing Boy, on the other hand, can just look at a plant and it grows extra branches. He is surprised, for good reason, when one of his plants doesn't make it. The first time I went to plunk down $10 on a "Color Bowl" of annuals at the garden center, he stopped me.

"But that's only going to last a few weeks."

I blinked at him in confusion. "And?"

"Well, don't you want to buy something that will last longer?"

He has come to understand, with bitter resignation, my slightly guilty/hysterical giggling at that question.

Banana Dog, selecting a victim

The plants in this picture are not the ones that Banana has slaughtered (yet), but you can tell that these have not had an easy time of it either. Laughing Boy constantly nurses them back from the brink in between my random acts of kindness (aka erratic overwatering and/or neglect).

And now, in spite of all Laughing Boy's hard work, Banana Dog is carrying on my legacy. I'm not sure how I will break the news.

I'm A Survivor

2006-09-01T13:13:00.000-07:00

So, the cold's still here, but we've reached an agreement. I sit still as much as possible and, in exchange, it lets me get my work done. The annoying double cough every two seconds is my house arrest ankle bracelet, reminding me not to stroll too far from the bed and fluids.

Not to turn this blog into "What Did Banana Destroy Today?", but... Oh, come on, you knew there was a "but"! While I was out cold yesterday, Banana Dog slaughtered my little ficus that was in a pot on the back porch. She danced me out there so proudly, I could see she had no idea that this was not something that I would look on with the joy and contentment of a job well done. The "bad dog!" took her completely by surprise. She ended up putting herself into a time out in her pen, with the door open, and wouldn't come out until I sat on the floor with her. Which doesn't mean she won't continue her reign of terror in the backyard. Total herbological annihilation is her ultimate goal, and she's getting there remarkably quickly.

In other news:
Douglas Adams said, "I love deadlines! I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."

The good part of freelancing is where I get to sit here, coughing on my keyboard, taking naps whenever I must. As long as the work gets done, they're pleased. The bad part is, while I strictly adhere to their firm deadline for getting the work done, they never seem to pay any attention to my firm deadline for getting paid. For that matter, they never pay attention to any sentence that contains the word "pay", for fear the word "check" would follow close behind.

Perhaps if I go in and cough on them until they find their pen.

Give Her Enough Rope...

2006-08-30T22:16:00.000-07:00

We got one of those longer retractable leashes, a 16 foot length. And after just one walk with the Banana Dog, I'm feeling really sad we didn't have one of these when my other Labs were around.

The leash gives her room to roam in a circle around us, able to sniff at will without dragging us along after her. With the new leash she makes the exact size circles my other Labs liked to make when they were off leash. I never got those two to behave on a leash with me. They pulled so hard, all the time, no matter how, or how often, I corrected them. But off leash, they were perfect. They'd stay within 20 feet ninety percent of the time. Unfortunately, off leash in Los Angeles isn't an option.

The longer-leash walk with Banana was effortless. We were able to reel her in quickly when there was traffic, or someone came by with another dog. And otherwise, she didn't pull at all. Unlike the 4-6 foot leash, which is a constant drag-along.

I'm so pleased!

Achoo!

2006-08-28T16:25:00.000-07:00

Don't mean to neglect you, but I have a cold. And two lovely deadlines, even after working through the weekend. So to avoid any unnecessary pity parties (although I usually love a good party), I am going to lie down and come babble at you when I'm feeling better.

Is it the cold medicine, or just me? I'm inordinately amused that blogger's spell check keeps suggesting I replace "blogging" with "flogging".

I now return you to your regularly scheduled b(f)logging.

Good News Bad News

2006-08-25T18:23:00.000-07:00

I knew she didn't like the noise, but I didn't know she'd take matters into her own paws.

Banana Dog murdered the vacuum cleaner.

The good news? I don't have to vacuum. The bad news? Laughing Boy's going to fix it.

I'm just glad I unplugged it before I left the little monster on her own for ten minutes.

16 Times a Day?

2006-08-23T02:01:00.000-07:00

Okay, maybe thank you cards on this stuff would be, um, less than polite.

But come on! Elpahant Poo Stationery!

Laughing Boy, whom I love sometimes in spite of the fact that his sense of humor is stuck at 12 years of age, and sometimes because of it, would adore this stuff.

Childish Things

2006-08-21T16:16:00.000-07:00

Kids today have it rough. Except for video games, so many toys have had the fun safety-ed and marketed right out of them. And snacks and cereals have followed close behind.

Cracker Jack Prizes
Stickers? Fake cheesy tattoos? Completely non funny jokes? This ain't Bazooka bubble gum, folks. Any old junk will not do. Choking hazard or not, you still can't beat plastic tops that actually spin, garish adjustable size rings that pinch your fingers, and small plastic magnifying glasses. These are the prizes that are worthy of the great Cracker Jack name.

Easy-Bake Ovens
My sister had the Easy-Bake Oven, and she was not interested in wasting her precious mixes on a little sister. So Easy-Bake and I have some history. But please, an Easy-Bake Microwave? Are you serious? Regular microwaves make nasty cakes, and even a 5 year old knows it. On the other hand, the Easy-Bake Gourmet Cookbook leaves me a bit torn. But after looking over the recipes, I think it's overkill. Anything that is baked with a lightbulb doesn't need to be gourmet. And do 5 year olds really want to make Chilaquiles with Roasted Tomato Salsa?

Creepy Crawlers
The whole point of Creepy Crawlers was the jiggly bugs you could make. It's about the bugs, man! And the reptiles. The new Creepy Crawlers Thing Maker? Girlie purple and blue plastic, and safety-revised to cook out of reach with a 60 watt light bulb. And the bugs mold doesn't come with the kit! You have to buy the cool molds separately. Gyp. And don't even get me started on the gooey glory that was Incredible Edibles!

Click Clacks
Click Clacks were fun, until our schools banned them. These were the only "co-ordination necessary" type toys I could ever use well. I know, we could conk ourselves pretty hard. But they were still cool.

Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch
While I always preferred plain Cap'n Crunch to all the other flavors (except in summer, which was Crunchberry time) Laughing Boy insists that Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch used to have a lot more peanut butter flavor. As he is a very honest person, I have to assume he is right and say "WTF?" on his behalf.

New Cereals
As long as I'm on the subject, we had Freakies. We had Quisp. We had Quake. Kids today have Ice Age 2: The Meltdown, coming soon to a cereal bowl near you! Freakies win this contest, tentacles down!

To Whom It May Concern:

2006-08-21T03:12:00.000-07:00

To: Everyone
From: Me
Re: Who Died and Made You Queen

I am sorry you did not get the memo, but yes, someone did die and make me Queen. I'm sure your copy just got lost in the mail, or deleted by your overzealous spam filter. Sorry if you thought you were next in line for the job, but what can I say. The decision of the judges is final.

To give you all time to straighten up your files, erase all "joke" e-mails from your hard drives, and clear out your desks for the turnover, I will only be making a few minor changes to start with.

1) Spelling: All "cute" spelling will be corrected. There will be no more Kozy Korners, I am not interested in your Krafty Kapers, and Ye Olde Ice Creame Shoppes will be renamed with fewer "e's" forthwith.

2) Work Hours: The work day will now run from 1 pm to 8 pm. Single digit hours occurring during the first half of the day, formerly referred to as "morning", will be banned effective immediately. Anyone bubbling enthusiastically about their 5 am workout, and how peaceful it is to be up at 4:30 am will be forced to clean the bathroom at Kchuckie Kcheese. In a mouse costume.

3) Restaurant hours: Restaurants will remain open until at least 11 pm, unless it's Kchuckie Kcheese. Kchuckie Kcheese will only be allowed to open from 11 am until 12 noon, on alternate Wednesdays.

3) Traffic:
a) All drivers will exit the freeway one half hour before I leave for work, and again one half hour before I attempt the return trip home.
b) All left turn arrows will be long enough to allow no fewer than seven cars through on a single cycle.
c) There will be no more double parking, but jay walking will be required if, and only if, streets are clear of vehicular traffic.

4) Neither the Post Office, nor any other "service" business, will be allowed to post signs announcing their drastically reduced service hours if said signs include the words "for your convenience".

5) Fluorescent lighting will be banned in all offices, dressing rooms, and bathrooms.

6) Neither this dress, nor anything else I own, makes me look fat. I do not look tired. I do not need a haircut. I am not required to smile, and am not likely to just because you say so. And I have not put on some weight. Evidence to the contrary will not be admitted in a court of law, or anywhere else.

7) No comment on the state of my house, height of my dirty laundry pile, or appearance of pet fur drifts piling up against the baseboards will be permitted at any time for any reason. Unless you feel like lying and telling me how wonderful it looks. If you choose to pursue this latter course of action, be convincing.

8) No insults will be allowed if disguised, however well or badly, as a compliment. (See #7)

9) "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" will be legally enforced, unless one is speaking about anyone who considers appearing in the tabloids to be a good thing. *

10) The proper use of "I" and "Me" will be memorized and adhered to. Especially by any and all guests appearing on Dr. Phil. Sorry, I know you're all under a lot of stress already, as Dr. Phil doesn't take any crap. It's hard to keep track of grammar when you're getting your behind handed to you on a plate. But. "He told Jason and I that we had to leave," is WRONG. Would you say, "They told I that I had to leave?" I can only hope, by all that you may or may not hold dear, that you would not. Less frequently, and usually heard from Maury's or Jerry Springer's guests, note that it is "Jason and I went to the store", and NOT "Jason and me went to the store".

11) "Nuclear" is not to be pronounced "Nucular". If it is, the hearer is required to say, "What? I don't understand you," while wincing in pain. The alternate response, "Is that even a word?", may be used if repeated loudly and incessantly to anyone else within earshot. This is to be continued until the speaker corrects his tired-ass, allegedly-Presidential self.

Until the changeover is complete, these details should be enough to keep most of you busy for the foreseeable future. Here's to a long and happy reign. All hail etc etc!

As you were.

* UPDATE: It has been brought to my attention that steps 6-9 (especially #8) will render Laughing Boy's sister-in-law effectively mute for life. Um... would you buy an "ooops"? Didn't think so.

Seemed Like A Good Idea at the Time

2006-08-20T15:53:00.000-07:00

So the trainer suggested putting a bit of peanut butter or cream cheese in a Kong(tm) toy for the dog, to keep her from being bored. Seemed like a good idea.

Except.

I have just found, to my chagrin, that Banana Dog likes to toss her Kong(tm) around. And as it bounced on the hard tile entryway, small globules of greasy peanut butter were flung from the ends all over the floor, walls, and nearby carpet. Apparently, the easy to reach mess isn't nearly as tasty as the stuff still clinging to the insides of the Kong(tm), because I'm on my way to get a sponge to clean it up while Banana concentrates on getting the last few pieces of peanut butter that weren't forcibly ejected from the Kong(tm). I am concentrating on being grateful she didn't think of taking it up onto the light green couch.

Easy like Sunday morning? Not at my house!

See Me

2006-08-19T13:22:00.000-07:00

When I was little, I would hear people talk about clouds and stars. My mom would say, "Look, Panda! That cloud looks like a bunny!" And I would nod hesitantly. But my eyesight was so bad, when I looked up all I saw was a soft wash of blue and white, like a watercolor left out in the rain. I never knew what a star was, exactly, but I dutifully sang "twinkle, twinkle" with the rest of them. I knew they were all seeing something, but obviously I was doing it wrong, because I didn't.

After I got my glasses, I could see the leaves on the trees and the clouds in the sky. The stars were just as bright for me as for everyone else. I could see what they could see.

But as I grew older, really seeing became more difficult. I'm not really seeing those stars, but the light from gases long burned away. And back here on earth, I don't have to just see something. I have to see both sides of an issue. See their side of it. See my way clear to helping them out. See what is really going on. See behind the mask. It isn't enough to just look at things and see them as they appear. Now I have to see past the way they look and through to how they really are.

Just for today, I'm going to stop trying so hard to see and just look at some stars. Maybe even a cloud that looks like a bunny.

I'm In The Book

2006-08-17T16:18:00.000-07:00

I'm official! My blog has finally showed up in the Blogher Blogrolls. I blog, therefore I am!

I mean, I know it's not a popularity contest. If you register, you eventually get added. But I'd applied a few weeks ago, and was wondering when I would show up.

It's the little things.

Just As Soon As I Get Around To It

2006-08-16T23:22:00.000-07:00

I've been a procrastinator since... well, since the first day I had something to do and a deadline for doing it. Mostly, as the middle child of a minister and a teacher, there was no assignment, schedule, scouting badge or art project that was not paraded in front of my parents' microscope practically before the finger paints dried. So the pressure was pretty intense. When I took IQ tests for elementary school placement, the tester noted in my report that I would have scored higher, but I was terrified of making a mistake so wouldn't even try if I didn't already know the answer.

My sister cut class in high school, and the lady who took care of the attendance called my Dad directly. It's not that 35 other students hadn't ditched school that same day. It was just that my Dad was on the review board for school attendance, and she knew him personally. It was like living in an aquarium, glass 360 degrees around our lives. What they didn't hear through the parent and administrator grapevine, my Mom found out through reading my sister's diary, or my journal.

Hence the procrastination. If you had barely enough time to finish, then it didn't have to be perfect. Done would do. You didn't have time for paralysis when you had a 16 page report on Renaissance cartography due in the morning, and you still had to track down the only book extant in the local public library. (Pre-internet, my friends. Truly medieval.)

In later years, my house would never be cleaner than when I had a deadline waiting to feast on my entrails. Vacuuming never looks as good as it does when I should be doing my taxes.

I've gotten over most of this, but not for any noble reasons. These days my schedule is so full, I don't have time for pushing things back. A job comes in today, and is due tomorrow morning. My procrastination is already done for me before I even get hired.

This could be the perfect job for me. Or a special circle of hell just for procrastinators. I'll figure out which. Just as soon as I finish this game of solitaire. And that load of laundry. And have you seen the vacuum?

Howdy Folks!

2006-08-15T22:20:00.000-07:00

Hi! Did you miss me?

I sure did.

I'm fine with five hours sleep, most nights, if I have to. But less than 4, and I'm in real pain.

Too many of those this week.

Banana Dog has been bored, bored, bored. So we've got to spoil her a bit tomorrow. I know she won't behave worth a darn in class tomorrow night.
Note, if you will, the wild gleam in her eyes. We have. I think it's time to give the park another try.

Veeerrrryyyy Tired

2006-08-14T03:21:00.000-07:00

You know that work I don't mention? Well, I started at 8:00 am yesterday (Sunday), and I just finished now. 3:20 am Monday.

That's three different clients, 4 different projects.

Must sleep.

Harumph.

Ready For Her Close Up

2006-08-11T16:44:00.000-07:00

In case you think we don't take pictures of our other pets, you're only half right. We try. The cats, however, consider the flash an instrument of the devil. So they run every time they see the camera.

Doodles has a different problem. I think she avoids looking at the camera because she's embarrassed.

She has this recurring fungus, kind of like athlete's foot is in people. But for her, it's whole body. It makes her reek and itch. It used to be so bad, she licked her fur into huge mats. In some places, she licked her fur right off. We've got medicine for when it gets bad (hard on her liver, so we can't use it often), and shampoo for in between times.

She gets the buzz cut treatment at the groomers. It looks so funky, the groomers will only do it if we agree not to tell anyone where we get her clipped.

They obviously didn't think to ask me not to post it on the internet.

We love her. We just try not to stand down wind.

It's Not Too Late For Your Daughters

2006-08-10T12:25:00.000-07:00

Mothers, I have an urgent request to make.

Every male roommate I have had over the years, platonic or intimate, has turned this:

Into this:

within 20 minutes of getting home.

I could take a picture of the trail of socks and underwear too, but if you've got a man in your house, you could turn your head and see them yourself. Unless you've already picked them up.

How does this happen?

I have done an extensive, albeit informal, study of this phenomenon in the past.

First up: my Ex's Mom.

"Ex's Mom, why does he leave every single box of cereal, package of cookies, carton of milk and baggie of lunch meat out on the counter? He took them out, he can't put them back? And he never throws the empty ones away. Why?"

Ex's Mom sighed. "That's my fault. With three boys, they went through a full pantry of groceries in minutes. The only way I knew when they'd finished something off was if they left the empty boxes out. And if they left the mostly empty ones out, I could get some milk for my cereal before they finished that too."

Oh.

I've asked other roommates' moms the same thing over the years. Same general answer. I have not posed the Great Question to Laughing Boy's Mom, since it's too late to change this in our house.

The daughters, interestingly enough, do not have this particular quirk. Oh, we have others, but not the half-empty boxes, bags and cartons of groceries loitering on the counters. Probably because all that tangible evidence that we girls ever ate anything as teenagers would have led directly to an ice cream binge. Or another diet. But that's a topic for another post.

Back to the point. I can understand the groceries, I really can. Actually, never having had to provision a kitchen for a battalion of teenage boys, I'm sure I can't. But here's the thing. Men don't seem to get that there's a disconnect between "helpful" mess and general mess. If a guy leaves almost empty cartons of milk out on the counter, you can guarantee he will leave spilled sugar on the floor, spattered spaghetti sauce in the microwave, used cereal bowls half full of the aforementioned milk on the coffee table, and a trail of socks and underwear down the hall, up the stairs and even out onto the back porch in the right weather.

So Mothers, here's my plea. Nip this in the bud. It's time. It's too late for me, for us. But do it for your daughters, for your someday daughters-in-law, for significant others everywhere. Future generations will thank you.

Saving the planet one empty carton of milk at a time.

Now THIS is Shopping!

2006-08-09T14:15:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Chookooloonks for this link: Environmentally friendly, Fair Trade goodies for gifts, kids, toys, food and drink, cosmetics, and (yippee!) THE HOUSE! My lazy little heart is goin' pitter-pat-pitter-pitter-hop-hop-hop as we speak!

Emerald Market

I'm in luuuuuuv!