It's Her Party and She'll Cry If She Wants To

Lily has spoken:

And her will? It has been made KNOWN.

Here's the thing, apparently Lily is punishing me for what? I'm not sure. But I have my sneaking suspicion it has a little to do with the fact that I'm not right by her side 24 hours of the day.

Ever since Romeo left with Charlie so they could "follow their dreams" - whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean - Lily has been getting more and more anxious when I leave to go to work. It reached a boiling point when she returned from being kennelled at the vet over the holidays. She refused to go in her crate when it was time for me to go, and I had to pick her up and force her in there. (Which NO, BAAAAD TWEETS. And yes, I know that now, thank you very much Mr. McSmartypants Dog Owner at the dog park.) Last week, I put her in her crate she started to shake violently. And the barking, oh the barking. Loud and horrific pleas for her Mama TO NOT LEAVE HER. My heart broke into about a thousand pieces because I? Was clearly the worst pet owner ever and if I could this to a dog how could I ever handle children. WAH WAH WAH.

Not only was Lily's anxiety affecting me, but it was taking it's toll on her as well. She woke up one morning and puked on the bedroom floor. (I was like HA you're not the first one!) Another morning she had explosive diarrhea that shot out of her ass twenty feet across the courtyard. Plus the barking was starting to annoy The Neighbor. And the last thing I wanted, and what I feared the most, was that the apartment people would make me choose my dog or risk eviction.

So both of us decided to come up with a plan. I worked to reassure her that I wasn't going to abandon her. This mostly involved me leaving for random amounts of time in order to fool her into never knowing when I'd return. It takes me 45 minutes to leave the house now, but BY GOD Lily doesn't know if I will return in 5 minutes or 5 hours. MUWHAHA HA! I also decided to put Lily in my bedroom during the day because her crate is like one big Vietnam flashback for her right now. Then I promised her that I would get up a little earlier so we could take a short walk together while she finds the Ultimate Place to Poop. She promised me that she wouldn't get me evicted.

(The first time I left her in my room I tried to hide everything that I thought she would get into. Unfortunately, I forgot the roses that were on my nightstand. I came home to find that Lily had shredded 18 red roses across my room. Had she lit candles too it would have been the perfect romantic evening.)

But now it appears as if she's growing bored with the bedroom. Wednesday I came home to the picture above. It's what is left of a TV antenna box. She completely devoured it into a million little pieces. I think it's because she secretly hates that I make her listen to NPR all day, but Mommy secretly hates dumb dogs. I'm waiting for her to come up to me and say, "You know what? They should just confirm this old Alito coot, I'm sick of listening to the hearings. They're BOOOOOOORING."

Sometimes I feel like she is an overbearing girlfriend, the kind that has to know where you are and what you're doing every minute of every day. If she had opposable thumbs and could dial the phone, I know she would be calling me every ten minutes and saying "What do you mean you HAVE to work? Who is this Kat person you're always talking about? Do you think she's prettier than me? YOU THINK SHE'S PRETTIER THAN ME DON'T YOU!"

But no one is prettier than Miss Pixie Lily Pooter-Bauer, that's just craziness.

Don't be surprised if I start calling y'all the wrong names.

I am becoming my mother. I think it's something every woman dreads because didn't we all swear somewhere around the age of 15 that we would never be like our mothers. OH. MA. GAH.

Case in point, my mom has what I lovingly refer to as Sudden Screaming Syndrome, or SSS. You won't find it in any medical books, but know it could send you to the emergency room just as easy as a compound facture could. Sudden Screaming Syndrome produces blood curdling screams in situation where an, "Oh my, that slightly startled me" would have sufficed. You'll even see, or more appropriately hear the affects of SSS when my mom sneezes. Most every other human being's sneeze is a simple version AA-choo. But not my mom's sneeze. Her sneeze goes a little like this AHH- OH MY GOD I AM BEING STABBED WITH HOT POKERS IN MY KIDNEYS – choo. And the beauty of her sneeze is that it lacks any warning signs that would prepare you for The Sneeze. One minute you're deep in concentration chopping vegetables for the evening's DELICIOUS! salad, and then WHAM! BAM! My mom slaps you up-side the head with The Sneeze, and then you can only hope everyone enjoys salads with julienne carrots with a side of finger tip.

Once SSS stuck our family when we were driving home from the mall or somewhere as equally suburban, and we passed the local Chinese Buffet. At this point in Oklahoma Chiii-naise Boo-fays were somewhat of a novelty, and they were constantly packed with Rednecks getting their fill of "culture" and "gourmet cuisine." Then out of NO. WHERE. My mom screams/screeches/belts out, "OH MY GOODNESS!" at a pitch that presumably tortured every dog within a five mile radius of her. It's helpful to mention that at the time we were stopped in a bit of traffic jam because ahead of us was a car wreck with two fire trucks and an ambulance responding to it. So when everyone in car heard my mom shriek we perked up, expecting a carnage of the likes we had never seen. Was something exploding? Were there heads rolling around on the asphalt? WHATCOULD IT BE?! And then in a calm as ever voice she states, "Look at all those people waiting in line to eat at the Chinese buffet." We had all crapped our pants in anticipation of the unholy wreckage in front of us only to be disappointed by the (at max) 8 people waiting to indulge in all you eat chicken lo mein. Sudden Screaming Syndrome has impeccable timing like that.

In yet another incidence, we were in the car returning from a grueling shopping trip (SSS is 7 times more likely to occur inside a moving vehicle), and my step-dad, Marvin, in no uncertain terms had informed us that we were NOT stopping the car until we arrived home. Now in Oklahoma during the spring and summer, you'll see the occasional fruit stand along the side of the road. I never thought my mom was a particularly huge fruit fan, but when she saw this fruit stand she desperately wanted to stop. Marvin, being ever so understanding, said NO. I'm not quite sure how the events exactly unfolded in my mom's head, but I guess she believed if she couldn't stop at the fruit stand the she would just roll down the window and SCA.REAM. at the adorable old man running the stand, "GOT ANY WAAAATER-MELOOOON?!?" The poor guy dropped what he had in his hands and hit the deck because I can only imagine my mother screaming at him sounded like verbal machine gun fire from a Ford Taurus station wagon flying down the street at 70 miles per hour.

And sadly, I learned over the holiday Sudden Screaming Syndrome is hereditary. I have begun to display the telltale warning signs of the disease. It happened when my mother and I decided to go shopping the day after Christmas because we are such a sucker for all those SALES! At our last stop I was attempting to park the behemoth of a vehicle known as Marvin's truck, when its rear view mirror got caught on the car next to me and folded backwards. Now, folks this is what these mirrors are designed to do, but it made a loud CR-ACKing sound. It was such a loud crack that it angered my mom's SSS intensely, and she let out the most blood curdling scream you have ever heard. To which I responded with my own Sudden Screaming Syndrome, "SHUUUUT UP MOTHER!" And look, I know I said shut up to my mom - tar and feather me later – but seriously people, the windows were down, and we were in a parking garage. In such a confined space that scream had the enough magnitude that shoppers were ducking for cover and I know all the mall security guards were thinking, this is it – THIS IS IT! - the day that I get to finally save someone.

And then I shot my mom a look that said, don't you dare say another word. And she knew what the look meant because she is the inventor of said look. And I knew just how to wield it because I have been on the receiving end of this look many a time in my life.

So after my blood pressure returned to normal and I stopped shaking violently (that's how loud and piercing this scream was) I parked the truck successfully. As we entered the mall a woman ran up to us to make sure everyone was okay. I kid you not.

If I have a daughter, I'm positive that I will pass my SSS on to her as my mom passed it on to me. And to her I apologize profusely in advance. Charlie already can't stand driving with me in the passenger seat. He's had to yell at me to STOP SCREAMING LIKE THAT, you're gonna give me a heart attack! I always retort, you have no idea what it looks like from over here – which is verbatim what my mom says. Again, I apologize because I know, oh how I KNOW what it feels to be in the driver seat with someone who has SSS in the passenger seat. All that gasping, the flailing arms and pounding of the imaginary brake pedal. I can only hope that Charlie will be as forgiving with me as Marvin is with my momma.

Even though my mom has put me through plenty of SSS episodes you better believe I still love her and couldn't ask for a better mom. I wouldn't trade her or any of her crazy sneezes for anything in the world. My mom is the strongest and most beautiful woman I know. She taught me everything I know, like never trust a man who has more hair products than you. She taught me to fear not the colon (as in the body organ not the punctuation mark), and that corn gives you good poopers. And with her infinite wisdom gained from her registered nurse days she taught me that Advil will cure ANYTHING. Cramps, headaches, broken bones, and possibly the ebola virus if given in large enough doses. To this day if you haven't tried to cure your ills with Advil, my mom will not believe you are truly sick. She was also wise enough to shove me in the largest burlap sack she could find when my chest, ahem, blossomed in 8th grade. But most importantly she taught me to always do things for myself, to be independent and to never try to fit into someone else's mold. Oh, and FINISH school before you get married.

So mom if you're reading, I just want you to know that no matter how old I get or how much those sneezes scare the ever loving crap out of me, I will never be too big for you to rock me to sleep in your arms.


Love,

Your baby girl, Poop

Brrrr. It's Cold in Here.

I'm assuming Satan is enjoying his new ice skates since Hell has clearly frozen over - the University of texas has won a national championship in football. That's not nearly as suprising as the fact that Mack Brown has won a national championship in FOOTBALL. Whuuuuuuuut?!

I have to give up to texas though, after they beat Ohio State I told many of my texas friends that they were going to win it all. That just had that certain luck that accompanies national championship teams. Plus, it is my firm belief that it all starts with the quarterback. A good quarterback can carry a team through tough games, but a great quarterback can move USC sized mountains. OUr year we had Heupel, and this year they had Young.

I am the biggest University of Oklahoma football fan ever, and by mandate I am supposed to detest all things burnt orange and given what USuCk did to us last year in the Orange Bowl I don't think I need to remind anyone of the Hot Hate I reserve for those tools. So you could say watching last night's game was a little like sitting in the dentist's chair, mouth agape and stuffed full of cotton, waiting to get the bad news about your cavities. You know you have them, and you know there's going to be novacaine shots followed that incessant drilling and drooling. But you have no choice but to sit there and watch and wallow in the unpleasantness. (And maybe hope that you're abducted by aliens)

All in all, I'm happy for texas (oh, I just threw up a little in my mouth) and texas fans (oh, I just threw up a lot in my mouth). I hope y'all enjoy it. I know I did in 2000. (Remind me to tell you the trip to the 2000 Orange Bowl sometime) And don't get too cocky about it because it hurts when you fall from grace. Real bad.

Okay enough football.

------------------------------------------------


So seriously, you would not believe what happened to me last night. As I was lying in bed thinking how thrilled the folks in Hell must be with their new ice water (get it? GET IT? Hell froze over! Okay, enough sorry), I hear a bunch of sirens headed my way. I'm not a stranger to hearing sirens after living in urban areas for the last couple of years. And since my apartment is situated in between a stretch of road with a lot of bars and some shady shady neighborhoods, I thought nothing of it. Until the sirens kept coming and coming. I hear rubber squealing, revving engines, and not to mention a couple of impacts. It sounds like they are filming Dukes of Hazzard right outside my apartment. I leap from my bed, and exclaim HIGH SPEED PO-LICE (pronounced pooo-leeeese because I'm southern) CHASE.

I run over to my bedroom window, pull down the blinds in time to see a cop car catching air through the intersection and landing with burst of sparks from underneath his cruiser. Holy SHIT, that was AWE. SOME. I thinking to myself, man I wonder where the chase is going to end as I slowly panned my head to the left and? HOLY GUACOMOLE! Not two hundred yards from my apartment building is where!

So I grabbed my pajamas and coat and ran out of my apartment to do what any red blooded American would do - GAWK. There was a little Honda Civic (who out runs the cops in a Civic?!) that appeared to try take the corner too fast and ended up in the median, mowing down two street signs in the process. I counted at least 13 cars.

Then the neighbors came out, and since I hate socializing with neighbors I went back inside. But as I tried to go back to sleep I kept wondering what was that guy (or girl in all fairness) running from?

So, I invite of you to tell what you think it was.

I'll start. I think they were running from clowns trying to force feed him laxatives, that and the meth.

The Obligatory (and much belated) Year in Review

I know we are four days deep into the New Year but I'm still feeling nostalgic about last year - the ole Aught Five.

So without further ado: The Best and Worst of 2005.

Best Moment– Watching the sunset atop the Hancock Tower in Chicago with my Dad. It was early April around the time that Chicago begins to awaken from the deep slumber of winter. I had been laid off from my first job about a month earlier. I was really starting to get depressed – it was hard to get off the couch, I didn't want to talk to anyone lest they find out I was a failure at my job (your usual pity party). And then my Dad showed and forced me to clean the apartment and get out and enjoy Chicago. And never once did he get all Dad on me and pressure me about when I was going to find gainful employment and such. He just took me around the town and I finally got to sightsee in the town I had called home for seven months. The trip ended with us high above downtown Chicago watching the sun go down and city come alive under the night sky. It was absolutely breathtaking. After that weekend things started looking up. I got my book together, found a job, and moved to Dallas all within the month.


Worst Moment– Clearly without a doubt March 9th, 4:43 p.m. I was called into a room with five other coworkers and told that I should no longer expect a "paycheck" from them. I was in shock because NOT TWO WEEKS prior I asked my boss if I was on the chopping block and he told me, NO WORRIES. I remember how awkward it felt to pack up my desk and walk out of there. I was 26, this was my first job out of school and I had only been there 6 months! There's no way I could be getting laid off, right? And when I left the building, some bum asked me for some spare change I retorted with, "I'm sorry sir I just lost my job, and my student loan grace period ends in two days and I don't have a steady paycheck which means I fear ending up on this corner with you. So no, I'm keeping all my spare change for myself." Afterwards, I did what any self respecting recently laid-off girl would do – I got drunk and experimented with crazy illicit drugs. By getting drunk I mean 3 beers, and by crazy illicit drugs I mean Tylenol PM because I had a wicked upper respiratory infection. Parrrr-tay! Looking back now I can say it was probably for the best. They were paying me chicken scratch and the people were just not my kind of peeps.

Most Ill-Timed Ironic Comment – After the axe had fallen on my old job the CFO says, "I know this is probably bad timing but this is the first time I've ever had to lay anyone off, how do you think I did?" Do you really want me to answer that one right now?

Most Debaucherous Moment – this one is tough. But I'm going to have to go with Laurel's wedding. Tying the knot with endless amounts of alcohol and friends equals a fucking fabulous time. I broke my thumb and several sangria glasses, read a speech during the ceremony and never vomited once.


Best Purchase – Lily. (I woulda said Romeo, but technically I didn't purchase him) She's made Charlie's leaving me (AGAIN) a little less heartbreaking. She loves to get her belly scratched and I love her cold nose kisses. I have the best conversations with her, and she agrees that Hilary Duff needs to repay me for buying her insipid song.

Best Album– Tough one because there wasn't a lot to love this year, but I think I will go with Guero from Beck. Gone are his wah wah wah days of Sea Change and back is pure Beck. Great spring into summer album.

What I Really Want to Say the Best Song is – Kelly Clarkson's Since U Been Gone. Because um yeah, when I hear this song (even now) I kick up the volume and rock the fuck out. Seriously, someone hurt Kelly real bad and she was all like oh no you di'int. The whole album is like my freshmen through sophomore years in college all wrapped up in 12 perfectly produced pop songs. But since the album technically cam out in 2004, she can't win best album.

Don’t you dare judge me.

PS I totally took what I said about Guero from Amazon.com and my friend Ted because I wanted to sound all smart and stuff, but in reality I have no clue about music. And I just couldn't come right out with Kelly Clarkson I would have totally lost my street cred.

Oh, and I really did love Guero.

Best Movie – I'm going to cop out like the Golden globes break this one down into categories.

- Best Movie Overall – March of the Penguins. I am literally livid I didn't insist on seeing this is in IMAX. There's hardship, there's an unconquerable love, there's adorable little fluffy baby penguins and don't forget Morgan Freeman. And to top it off it is so beautifully shot. Rent it, buy it, see it because this movie is so worth it.

- Best Movie That Made Me Nearly Piddle In My Chair from Laughing So Hard – The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Very funny, well-written dialogue, and a story that was at least plausible. And anyway, you know how I know you're gay? You listen to Coldplay.

- Best Tug At Your Heartstrings and Punch You in Your Throat Overly Sappy Movie – Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants. I bawled. Snot running, red puffy eye and hiccup inducing kind of bawling.

Best TV – Without a shadow of a doubt Grey's Anatomy. The boys are yummy and the girls are fabulous.

Best DVD Find – it's a tie between Space Camp (must send Max to outer space) and Watcher in the Woods (why in the world were we allowed to watch this in fourth grade?) Ain't nostalgia grand?

In Memoriam – H&M, Michigan Ave, culture, Michigan Lake, dependable public transportation, other people who don't own cars.

Christmas Break: The Picture Book

So I had this whole retrospective entry about 2005 ready to go, but unfortunately my brain was (is) not functioning properly at 7 a.m. today and I forgot all my notes about it. So instead I will commence with a photo essay detailing my holiday break. Photos will work much better than words, trust me.

(There are going to be a lot of pictures – more than 30 – let's see if this crashes Blogger. If you're on dial up you may want to turn back now.)


For the Christmas holiday I flew home to Tulsa for a couple of days, and unfortunately this meant I was going to have to kennel Lily for five whole days. So I bought her a bunch of toys before I left so she would continue to love me after I abandoned her (and mostly to appease my guilty guilty soul).



Here's Lily with her new and eventually doomed stuffed kitten. (and the fridge and the trash that Mom keeps forgetting to throw out.)




Lily wants you to know it was quick and nearly painless death and dismemberment.



She's all like, what kitten?



Anyway let's bring on the other cutie patootie babies in my life – my nephews.




This is Trey. He got a new tricycle and helmet for Christmas. He instantly fell in love with the helmet and wouldn't take it off. Ever.



Told you.



There is just too much scrumptious-ness in this picture for me to for me to describe.



You know what this entry needs? More helmet.



This is Joshua. It was his first Christmas. You know how I know?



Because the ornament says so.




We got him drunk and stoned and put him behind the wheel of a plastic Jeep. Aren't family traditions the best!




He is going to be the cutest gap-toothed hillbilly Kansas has ever seen. And if you've ever been to Kansas you know that's saying a lot.



Here we are gathered around the Christmas tree enjoying everyone's favorite Christmas movie – Independence Day.



And since I am a creative, here's my arty shot of the Christmas tree. (I am a walking cliché)


After the holiday I returned to Dallas, and guess who showed up too?




Hello, Lov-ah.



While Charlie was in Dallas we decided we would move the rest of my furniture/crap out of storage. Which turned my empty and depressing apartment into a disaster area.

I also made Charlie hang blinds and shelves. Which meant that I got to buy power tools and a laser level, and Charlie got to invent new cuss words. (And how cute was Handy Chuck? OH. MY. GOD. )

I have power tools, but no iron. Feminism rocks!



Lily enjoyed the new furniture, but secretly I think she questions my decorating tastes.



Seriously, this entry is turning into the Lifetime channel.



While Charlie lugged all my furniture up to my second floor apartment on one unseasonably 70 degree December day, I took pictures of the flowers I bought to make the Lov-ah's visit more romantic. (Charlie didn't notice the roses until I pointed them out to him) Here are some of the more impressive shots I took of them.







That last photo is begging to have "Footprints" embossed across it. Am I right or am I right?




This is after the last item has been moved. Got take a second here to drool over this man with his bulging muscles and his infinite patience and love for me. What a fox.



Here I am after the move. I look like I am fresh off the crack pipe. And I didn't lift a single thing.




People it doesn't get any better than this. We're laying on The Couch. Charlie has moved this couch going on five times now. Each time he says it's the last. This time after a long stretch of curse words he threatened to chainsaw it in half.

Not only did we move all my stuff, hang blinds, and hang shelves, but we also managed to watch the entire 4th Season of "24" on DVD. That's 24 hours of television folks – and a whole lot of not moving off The MOTHERFUCKING! STUPID PIECE OF SHIT! COCKHOLE! Couch.




And before you knew it, it was time to ring in the New Year.



He's so pretty.



Even the dudes want him.



Aren't sorority girls the hap-happiest group of bitches you know? Y'all it takes years of practice to be able to line up your hats, heads, and smiles on cue like that. We are professionals.



Sometime during the evening Elizabeth and I were abducted by aliens and they turned my face to a radioactive glowing shade of PALE. And gave me the ability to shoot laser beams from my face.



I know I have said this before, but the sign you're having a good time at a party? If something is spilled down the front of your shirt. Elizabeth seems to be caught in the tractor beam that my boobs give off. Usually it affects only creepy men at bars, but everyone has an off day.




And then Charlie had to leave and the break was over. And I'm officially the owner of a lonely heart again. AND a power drill.

Oh blessed Internet

Ah, I have returned to the world wide web! I have been sans internet access for way too long, but I'm back. And y'all, it feels good.

I will update as the day progress.

Stay tuned.

Hilary Duff? You owe me 99 cents.

As a refund for the purchase of the song "Come Clean." Repayment is expected in full. You can make the check out to Tweets.

I am here to report the song as completely devoid of any musical talent, and thereby defective.

Specifically, at the 1:35 minute mark where you, Ms. Duff, proceed to do a Mexican hat dance on every musical note on the scale (inventing new ones along the way) causing me, who was once labeled lovingly as tone deaf, to scrunch my face in a way once reserved only for people who insist on still quoting Napoleon Dynamite. Then there's the 3:35 minute mark in which your song becomes the most overproduced piece of music EV. ER. And I know a thing about overproduction, I owned a NKOTB album.

Fret not Hilary, I'm not just pointing the finger at you I'm also blaming MTV. Because on every Monday at 10/9 CST they allowed this song to play as the theme of Laguna Beach, which led me to connect it with the beautiful beach vistas of coastal Orange County and being perpetually tan, rich, and taut in places where my body has long since been un-taut. (This made me keep it in my iTunes for far longer than I should have.)

Oh, I'm also blaming your mom, your sister, your boyfriend (do you guys share the same eyeliner? I've always wanted to ask you two that), your dentist who put those giant horse teeth in your mouth or anyone else that told EVER you that you could sing. Although, I'm not seeking monetary damages from them because they already have a special place in hell reserved for them.

So basically Hilary, you're really very lucky that I'm only asking you for 99 cents.

If I'm going to live like a Rock Star I would at least like the Rock Star Salary

I have a mounting suspicion that doing four Irish Car Bombs in a row was not a good idea. That suspicion being the vomit on my bedroom floor.

Thank god for Febreeze and candles.

Just know this is the kind of thing that happens when Tweets works every weekend (yes, including Thanksgiving) since September. She gets out of practice. And she talks in third person.

A sneak peek

Listening:

Heartbeats - Jose Gonzalez (who, believe or not, is Swedish)

It's the song from the Sony Bravia commercial, because yes, I am that lame that I discover music from commercials. That aside this song so beautiful, and yet I have no idea what it's talking about:

"One night to be confused

One night to speed up truth

We had a promise made

Four hands and then away "


And apparently it's a remake. Make sure you check out the orignal to hear the difference.

(I'm not as fancy as Crazy Virgo, so I don't know how to post it to the blog for your listening pleasure. Although, I'm pretty sure that iTunes wouldn't allow it anyway. Meanies.)


Reading:

Lunar Park - Brian Ellis Easton

From the guy who wrote American Psycho and Rules of Attraction. This book has me seriously creeped out. Right now, the last 60 pages or so are just taunting me.

The Gina Blog

"Being the kind and gentle mom that I am, I thought to myself, "well, how long can this thing live?" Apparently - FOREVER!!!"

Bacon Grease

"After being alienated from someone you love because of a mental illness, probably doing everything you could to see and help that person only to be denied but then discovering they were thinking of you all along, every single day, every single week, year after year. I can’t think of a more amazing yet torturous gift."

Watching:

I want to have his babies

"Just to reiterate: America is now less progressive than South Africa."

You're only 16, you don't have a rep yet.

This morning, I've been putting together a CD for my nephews – a.ka. the most adorable nephews on the planet. (Say differently, and I will cut you) I've been trying to find all sorts of fun songs that would pique a 2 year old as well a 7-month-old baby's interests, which is a difficult task under normal circumstances but seeing as I'm not shy about vying (desperately)for the Aunt of the Year spot I was not going to stop until this CD was awesome. I learned from The Bro that Trey loves to boogie, and although Josh isn't very mobile right now it's only matter of time when he will join his brother in keepin' it real. So I went about trying to find them songs to ensure motion in their adorable diapered backsides.

And that's exactly how I ended up perusing the musical library of DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. Y'all I cannot even describe how much "Parents Just Don't Understand" took me back – to 1988. (Yes. 1988. We are that old.) Instantly, as the first notes of Will Smith's nasally rap played I was taken back to my 1988-90ish years.

A simple time - free of zits and Cranky Meth Head neighbors.

Back when it didn't get ANY cooler than New Kids on the Block, and if you even try to tell me that you were not hangin' tough with your right stuff I will NOT believe you. It's back then that if you were asked out by a boy you would only agree if he would go out with all of your other friends. I remember a particularly serious 3 week relationship with another boy in which we walk around for hours just holding hands. Two tiny, sweaty palms pressed together for what seemed like FOR. EVER. because that's what grown ups did in their relationships, right? And I most definitely remember being completely heartbroken when he left me for some other girl, that skank. Every Rose Has Its Thorn, indeed.

Back when I wanted to grow up and be a nurse, just like my mom. And I spent hours wondering when I would "blossom" because Are You There God? It's Me, Tweets. Life revolved around lunch times and who was sitting at your table. How high and ratted you could torture your bangs was directly proportional to your social life. Braces. Head gear. The running man. It all came flooding back to me.

Hangovers, real heartbreaks, credit card debt, bewbies, layoffs – these we're all yet to come. It was then that I became a little pissed off that I was a grown up. Things were supposed to be different when you were finally a grown up, right? Because to be perfectly honest at age 12 I saw my 26th year going a little different. I figured I would be married (Mrs. McIntyre, if you will), with 2.5 kids, a dog, a white picket fence and large perpetually manicured lawn. And my 26-year-old self would be there watching over it all on a porch swing, in my french cuffed jeans and sipping a strawberry daiquiri. I was from the South, and these were the dreams you had. (Oh, the horrors of being 26 and unmarried.)

And then I thought about my two gorgeous nephews, whose CD started me down this trip of memory lane. I thought about how their little lives are going to play out – and I immediately wanted to call The Bro and tell him did you know that they were going to GROW. UP! Those two are going to be grown ups. Hurry, quick push a Pause button or something because they just can't grow up. It's not all it's cracked up to be.

Oh, and don't let them have credit cards until they're 26. Or 27. Okay, 35.

The Move and the Meth Head

So, I have a new apartment. That makes three apartments in 10 months. A grand total of 9 different addresses in 3 years in a total of five different cities. In a sense, you could say I'm used to moving.

But the thing is I'm not. I should be a moving pro, but alas no. Everytime is a freakin' hassle. Because you know what, there's always a junk/mystery drawer to empty out no matter how temporary your address.

So here's the problem - I need to move again.

I've resisted mentioning my recent move here because I wanted to be completely moved before I talked about it. That way, we could all have one big ol' celebratory cheer and perhaps a celebratory glass of wine (or two or three) as well. But the Moving Gods? Well they had other plans.

First off, I might be mildly retarded because I thought I could get this entire move done in one day. ONE. Oh, and without a truck. Eleventy billion car trips later, and I still don't have furniture in my apartment.

Secondly my neighbor hates me. She hates me so much that it qualifies as The Hot Hate. And why does she hate the lovely Tweets? Because I am so loud. SO VERY, VERY LOUD. You see, she's on disability and she needs so a certain number hours of sleep. Not to mention she has a nurse who comes to her house on every other day. And if I could just keep it down, what with all the walking and such. Sure thing Lady, just as soon as you put your teeth in to talk to me.

(GRRRRRRR. I got home this evening and lo and behold what did I find? A noise complaint. The official complaint is that every evening I let my dogs run around constantly. A) first off it's a dog, I only have one. And B) These indoor dog racing tracks are just too profitable to give up. GIVE. ME. A. BREAK.)

I'll mention (although I don't think I need to) I'm no louder than your average gal. I like to think of myself as very light on my feet, somewhat graceful if you will. And Lily is a sprightly 23 pound pup. And aside from when I return from a long day at the office, she doesn't jump or run anymore than your average 6 month old puppy. And Lily and I are both usually in bed by 11:00.

Oh, and I almost forgot, you live in an APART. MENT! Which by definition means you'll need a little give and take with your neighbors. I extend you a little courtesy even though you feed the stray cats around the neighborhood. In fact I'll let it slide that you would rather just watch me struggle with my keys and the outside gate while my arms are being torn off by eighteen grocery sacks instead of reaching the four feet it would take you to open the gate for me. And I'll even cut you some slack for your friends that you let into the complex that could easily double for street transients. And you know why I do this? Because we're neighbors.


So, I've put in a request for a new unit far, far away from her. Because I'm pretty sure that I can't be still and silent for the next 12 months.

Unfortunately, it means I have to pack up my boxes. Again.

If She Doesn't Find Someone Soon She's Going to Take Out a Personal Ad

You know what? I'm not the only who misses their bestest pal, and the warm snuggles in the morning. Lily does too.

Course her hunk-o-burning love probably never farted on her hand.

Lily's all like Gurrrl, you don't even know. You heard?

Everybody Loves a Happy Ending

***

Just a little update from Sleet Watch '05: The Sleet? It came. It saw. It conquered - the roadways. I am literally dumbfounded by the fact that The Entire City of Dallas has never heard of sand or salt. These two things are mandatory weapons in the crusade against freezing water, yet as I was walking to work I saw only one instance of salt on the sidewalks. I'm SO going to fall outside of the Adam's Mark hotel and sue their ever-loving butts off. (Seeing as how I wrote about it here, I probably won't get a dime. Eh, c'est la vie!)

Also our main offices are closed. (But fret not clients for I am here all day today) Yep, even adults get the occasional snow day. I just hope we don't have to make it up in the summer.

***

Last night I watched The March of the Penguins (I begged and begged for Charlie to see this with me whilst it was playing in IMAX theaters, but as we've seen he can be a meanie.). Y'all, it was the sweetest movie I have ever seen. Morgan Freeman is there to do what he does best - narrate. It tracks the Emperor penguins as they head inland for the winter to get a little freaky-deaky with the opposite sex. They usually have to walk more than 70 miles to get to the exact spot where they mate every year, and by walk I mean that irresistibly cute penguin waddle. After the make the 70 mile journey, they have a little meet and greet, pair off, do the nasty, and hopefully produce a wee tot. And get this, penguins are monogamous – at least for the breeding season – so when they find the one they stick with that penguin. The movie then follows as the adults make trips get food and battle -60 degrees below zero weather (with NO Snow Day). Then the chicks are born. I aaaaaaaawwwwwww'd so many times and at such high pitched frequencies that Lily had to sit on my head to make me stop.

(I should mention here that I have always wanted a penguin for a pet. Along with a pony, dolphin, the monkey from Friends, and a llama.)

There is this one scene in the movie towards the end that made me bawl like a baby. Wha? It's a very emotional time for me, and well penguins are cute. So shut up you emotionally dead robot. So anyway, I cried because here are these little penguins that waddle and waddle back forth day and night for 70 miles all for the love of each other. So who says two advertising love birds can't travel 1000 miles or so to be close to one another?

Just don't think regurgitating meals into my mouth will be considered an acceptable response to a long absence.

Well hello, Jack Frost - nipper of the nose.

Folks, it's getting cold outside which that can mean only one thing: Chuck and I are more than 800 miles apart. If I've said it once, I've said a million times… Good Fucking Times, man. We’re rounding out three years together and this will be our third winter apart. The official start of our relationship is March 10th, and with the exception of that initial March 10th we've always been on opposite ends of the country on the anniversary of that fateful day (and on one occasion a full ocean apart). You read that right folks, we have not been together on our anniversary. EVER.

But I am not bitter. Oh, and just ignore the tears.

If EVER get married you will all be invited to a January wedding.

Audience (and anyone I manage to talk with for more than 15 minutes): OKAY. Enough. We get it. QUIT bringing us down.


Why I love living in Texas during the winter: Sleet Watch '05. There's a small winter storm headed our way. Winter weather means only one thing in Dallas (or the south for that matter) – NATURAL. DISASTER. This natural disaster will be in the form of one POSSIBLY! one and a half inches of snow. People at my work honest to god called in sick to work today for fear of Nature's Wintery Mix. The workplace is all a buzz about how dangerous the bridges are going to be – should they find another way home, oh the humanity of it all. Someone even informed me today that it was BELOW. FREEZING! And they were dead serious with their fear. Our management company closed its doors at three!

Y'all I have spent the past three winter in Minneapolis and Chicago. And?

YOU.

AIN'T.

SEEN.

NOTHING.

The average temperature in Chicago in December was 12 degrees last year. The weather dudes predicted a storm would pass through the city and dump 8 inches of snow, and we were told that it was going to be no big deal the trains just tack snow plows to the front. That storm ended up dumping 12 inches of snow, and I ended up white knuckled in the back of a cab doing 60 miles an hour through snow banks on Lake Shore Drive.

In Minneapolis, I once had to walk to a class mile and a half in -18 degrees.
NEG. A. TIVE. EIGHTEEN.

(And yes it was uphill both ways. Why do you ask?)

So spare me with your stories of Omigod, it got so cold here one time that the water got real hard and stuff.


Am I a hypochrondriac? Because I think I may have this: S.A.D. They detailed the disorder on the Today Show this morning and thought yeah, yeah, that’s totally me. And then I just realized I was just really bored.

Another thing – I am the perfect audience for those segments that start with Not Feeling Well? You could totally have streptamiliocouclincus, which you can only get when the clock strikes 1 am and you're facing north standing in only your underwear. Or maybe it's just your blinds were made in the seventies and therefore could cause your feet to swell to the size of a small country.

I see those segments and think OH. MY. GOD. How did they know?!?

And then I call my mom immediately. Because she was a nurse and knows all about those scary things.

Mark Wahlberg, and other things that go bump in the night.

While watching a particularly gruesome episode of Nip/Tuck this weekend, I was reminded of my friend Oliver's freakish fear of blood. I know a lot people are a little timid when it comes to blood, but Oliver couldn't stand even hearing the word blood. And for that matter, he couldn't stand hearing the descriptive words of what blood does, like spurt, gush, and the worst being ooze. This was a fear I, of course, completely exploited. (Poor Ollie, if he's reading this he's already fainted by now.)

But this got me to thinking. We all have those same generic fears of dying in a horrible way, or what Crazy Larry in front of the 7-11 is looking at with his one wonky eye. But what are the rest of us freakishly afraid of? I asked around the office got some pretty good answers. Everything from bugs that don't die when squashed to lint screens on dryers to Mark Wahlberg in that one movie where he carves his chest.

I heard it and thought wow that would make a fetching entry. (mainly because I couldn't think of anything else to write about – I mean how many dog pics can we look at.) (This is otherwise known as my freakish fear that my creativity will run out)

So, I'm about let in on what scares Tweets to her inner most core.

1.
Lightning – um yeah, don't laugh. Lightning is some freaky shit. It all started when the local electric company came to my elementary for a demonstration on electricity and safety. Because apparently there are a lot of kids running around Oklahoma frolicking with downed power lines while in a torrential downpour in an open field. They brought in giant transformers and mammoth crackling Jacob's ladders to demonstrate the crazy power of electricity.

For the kicker, they took a hot dog – meant to represent a wee tot's innocent finger – and ran umpteen hundreds watts of electricity through it. And you know what that hot dog did? It blew'd up. Into a billion tiny pieces. And the Electricity Company Guy, with a creepy smile on his face, says something like, "Jeepers kids! That's only a tenth of what lightning is packing." Oh yeah? Yeah. While all the other kids were say something to the effect of COOOOOOOL, I sat frozen in place. Wide eyed, mouth agape, shaking in my koolats.

I vowed right then and there to never fuck with electricity for as long as I lived. Which is a fine goal for something like avoiding downed power lines, but lightning? You can't control that beast. (And yes I realize it's very unlikely to be struck by lightning, but if I happened to be lucky at being unlucky in one aspect of my life I'm sure lightning strikes would be it.) So, to this day if I happen to be in an open field and feel a drop of rain on my skin I FA-REAK the fuck out. I run around asking people – hey are my hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

So yeah, if it's raining I'm the one you'll find running around screaming how we should Get inside the car because the tires will protect you! or Get off the phone! or Get away from that tree! and for God's sakes Don't take a shower!

Then there's that whole bloody murder sceaming thing that happens when lightning strikes within a five mile radius of me.

2.
Alligators/Crocodiles – Doesn't matter which one because frankly? I don't know the difference between them. And I don't care. They are both equally terrifying.

I know it's not rare to be afraid of giant prehistoric animals whose sole purpose it is to devour other animals with their lethal fangs, but hear me out. First, it really creeps me out that these things can just appear in people's pools or worse their toilets. Not to mention they can take down a deer in a single gulp. Plus I have a natural distrust for animals that are sneaky. For example, you could just be gallivanting away in some swamp in southern Florida (could happen!) and turn your head and see some giant gator eyeball staring right back at you. Goodbye arms and legs, hello crap in pants.

And even though being completely aware of this fear, I was handed a book (by a family member no less) that was essentially When Animals Attack! in paperback form. For one afternoon I sat transfixed reading the alligator and crocodile chapter – including every gory detail – about how much gators enjoy munching on their prey, that prey being people. Good times, really.

See, I discovered all sorts of fun facts like even though gators bite down on you real hard, that's not really what kills you – oh no! – instead you die because the grab a hold of you and take you underwater and twirl you around a bit until you drowned. And don't think climbing a tree is going to save you because crocs can jump something like eighty feet, give or take. Sounds fabulous, no?

Plus the book was filled with such glorious testimonials of the fact that YES! gators are dangerous, avoid them at all costs. People that told stories of how they were having a gay ol' time swimming somewhere of the coast of someplace when all of the sudden a gator came and snatched up their friend, and how after hours of searching, they found nothing but her mangled body. Oh but the horror doesn't end there, because once they get her body in a body bag to take somewhere not infested by gators, the gators follow her "scent" the whole way home. Jumping up and nipping at the body bag. Apparently they were hungry for a little midnight snack.

Did I mention I was reading this book in FLOR. IDA! A place where there are actual gators or crocodiles OR WHATEVER.

You know what else Florida is known for? Most Lightning Strikes in America. Talk about a stress free vacation.

H.W.J.V.?

How do you know when you're living in a red state? The teaser for your local news opens up this way:

"The Gay Rights and Marriage Bill and how would Jesus vote."

Unbearable Cuteness Ahead

I know, Two Posts, One Day. It's like the feeling you get when you win the lottery. Not the Powerball of course, more like when you win 25 bucks on the scratch-offs.

Trust me, I have a lot to talk about, and work is finally back to Mildly Hectic so there's actually time for my brain to decompress and not have think about web banners 99% of the day.

So where to begin – the trip to the fair, Halloween's shenanigans, Laguna Beach, cool autumn nights, Grey's Anatomy? Oh, I know! Lily.

Well, here she is.


Meet Lily. It only took us five days of different names to name her. So in addition to Lily she will answer to Maggie and Pixie. Hear that Romeo? She answers to three names, you think you could answer to yours? Ever?

This past weekend Charlie and I awoke on a beautiful Saturday morning, wiped the sleep out of our eyes, made the bed. Smiled at Romeo, our precious little pup, and then skipped into the kitchen to grab a glass of orange juice. Returned to the bed to find that Romeo? Had pissed on it. Again. And we looked at one another and said, "Let's get another one because this, this is so much fun!"

No lie. We went to the Shelter right then. Unlike last time, there weren't any tears and only a mild instance of hysterics when someone tried to snatch the dog I was going for. Oh no you di-int!

And by god I was going to look at every damn dog that Shelter had. I was determined to make a well thought out and planned decision, no matter how long it took or how many times Chuck whined, "Juuuust pick one, I want some luuuuuunch, wah wah wah." Haste never pays off at the Shelter (see above Piss/Bed incident for proof) (Just kidding, I love you Romeo!)

And it wasn't going too well. Charlie nixed the three legged dog because is A MEANIE. And I nixed the dog who came into the "Get to Know You Room" and promptly pissed on everything that wasn't ten feet off the ground because? AAAH, flashbacks to my first dog Ozzie and pee covered Christmas presents. The seven hundred other dogs we brought in were terrified of Romeo. (And the thing that's worse than going to the Shelter and not getting a dog, is actually taking the dogs out of their kennels and playing with them only to decide that the dog won't work for you. So you have to return its kennel, all the while the dog is looking at you like "hey give me one more chance, and look I can do tricks just please don't put me back in that kennel confirming once again for my fragile psyche that no one loves me." Yeah that sucked.)

So there I was cooing at a litter of Labradoodles, (knowing Charlie would nix them because TOO MUCH HAIR! but OH MY GOD they were cute) trying to ignore the yippy dog next to me, and secretly eyeing the lady holding the adorable Chihuahua with an underbite, and it was then that Lily caught my eye. She just sat there and stared me big ol' puppy dog eyes and would you just look at those YOO-GE ears. It sounds really stupid and trite now, but at the time it felt like she was calling me. And lucky for her, she could handle Romeo and all his Romeo-ness.

So we took her home. The whole time we were in the car Romeo was like whuuuuuuut? This thing isn't leaving?

Oh boy more puppy pics!


Meet the kids. (When I say that Charlie's whole body tenses up and I just know his brain is screaming NOOOOOOOOOO) Oh and by the way, I have to mention that we were doing laundry (see above Piss/Bed incident) I would hate you to think that we live the kind of life where we don't put bed sheets on our bed.



Romeo is all like, you can keep trying but it's not going to work, I know because I tried it like hundreds times at the dog park. Seriously, it will never fit.




Oh. My. God. Call the Lifetime Channel right now because that is the sappiest pile of sappy cuteness.


Romeo would like everyone to know that even though there's a new pup in town – he still owns this bitch.

Exodus and Irony

Ha ha, I was only kidding when I said it wouldn't be another month before I updated.

Okay here's the deal. See I had big plans to organize my side of the closet for I am an unorganized mess of a girl – I bought drawers and shelves to boot – and I had planned to update when that was done. That way I could post some pictures of The Great Closet Organization Celebration '05 and I could be all Look! at what I did, for I am a person with organizational skills. And all of us would oooh and aaaah, and then you guys would shower me with all sorts of organizational praise. And life would be Good. But alas it didn't work out that way. As of right now, the closet is only moderately organized, but no fear today is the day that I will have plenty of extra time to get to it. Right. Today.

Oh, but I have a nice big excuse for being unorganized. Charlie decided to quit his job. I know that's what I said too. And two weeks after I officially moved all my stuff down to Dallas no less. And for a week I thought he going to move all the way out to North Carolina, which is? Like all the way across the country. Clearly an unorganized closet was the last thing on my mind. I was more occupied with keeping potential flying projectiles out of my hands, lest Charlie "accidentally" walk in front of a flying flat iron. Because in case y'all didn't know, everything is about ME.

And Charlie is the only person in the world who can quit his job (with no job to take its place) and have two jobs lined up for him to consider within a week. TWO! Most of us are lucky to be offered A Job, let alone two jobs that would necessitate A Decision. But that's Charlie for ya, one lucky son of a bi-atch.

So after much Quality Decision Making and Thinking, in which he listened to none of my sage advice (and still ended up doing what I told him to do, but gave me none of the credit) he choose to take a freelance gig where he gets to design video game characters. For a living! How freaking cool is that? And the best part is that this job not in North Carolina, it's in – wait for it - Chicago. Oh. The. Irony. But now I can say yeah, that's my boyfriend he designs twelve headed fire snot spewing dragons for a living. Jealous much? (See, all about ME)

And with this job he won't be stuck in some cube. And he never has to listen to another stupid account executive. Plus he will be able to travel when he wants, and he can work from Dallas, Minneapolis, Tennessee, the moon, wherever there's an internet connection. HUGE plus for him because he apparently cannot adopt the sedentary lifestyle. I mean for goodness sakes dude, just sit still for a second. And we all know that I, personally, have not one problem with that lifestyle.

And the proof is in the pudding or in my case the closet.

The Post With All the Updates

If there's anything that could drag me from a blogging slump it would be this. Tom and Kat(i)e have spawned. Good lawd, the Apocalypse is upon us.

If you were wondering what I have been up to – and I know you all care - you came back at the right time because folks? I am gonna go all month-long-update on that ass, right about now.

First off, work? Has me by my proverbial balls. We have been so busy around here lately. My typical day looks like: get up, work for ten hours, go home, take the dog to the dog park, return home, cook dinner, pass out on couch after attempting to watch 2.2 minutes of a movie. Repeat ad nauseum.

But I'm not going to let that get me down. Oh no.

Now then, we can get to the excitement. The first weekend of September, Charlie and I went to the first game of the OU football season. Known now as the first and LAST football game Charlie will be attending, for he is clearly bad luck. We lost the game in smashing fashion to a team that wears purple. PURPLE. (And you think it's just a coincidence that Tom and Katie are having a baby? No, God is seriously pissed at the world) That Saturday, Charlie was invited into my family's inner circle and summarily banned from it in the span of four hours. Tough break, but you gotta cut the weak ones loose.

Also Romeo made his first trip to Tulsa. Romeo loves to ride in the car. There's an endless supply of things to look at, and usually the ride ends some place where Romeo has never peed before which to him equals a huge bonus. Lately when Charlie and I ride in the car with Romeo we roll down one window in the back and he hangs his head out of it and there is much joy in the world. Eventually he becomes bored with the one side and we have to roll down the other window so he can see a Whole New World. He goes back and forth and back and forth, loving it all the while. Except when I played our new game on this particular car ride I had a wee lapse of concentration (because you know there's a road and I have to pay attention to it and stuff) and OH! NO! I rolled up the wrong window, and Romeo's head paid the price. Had we been on a playground at the time, all the other dogs would have totally been making fun of him. Because he screams like a little girl. After I released him from the crazy window of death he shot me with hot laser beams from his eyes. His payback was his favorite game where he lets the car get very, very quiet allowing me to drift off in thought and wait for it, wait for it – now unleash The Bark With All The Barking Loudness Of A Bark That Was Not Expected. And then I scream like a little girl.

When Romeo arrived in Tulsa, he was greeted warmly by my mom's dog P.B. And by warmly I mean, with lots of growling and chomping. P.B. pulled me aside later and lamented that he couldn't handle it if I started bringing "babies" home with me too. The two nephews/grandchildren who visited were almost too much for him to handle. As for the Mom and Marv's other dog, Ricki, she would have been less scared if I had dropped an F-4 tornado on her. She spent most of the weekend being spooked out of her gourd (because she can't hear worth a lick) when Romeo would come up behind her to play. Their cat? Well he just flipped me off and went about his weekend. Romeo didn't mind the cold reception from everyone because every time he turned the corner there was a new treat to eat. Within ten minutes of being there he had found every one of P.B's "hidden" bones, plus all the secret stockpiles of Milkbones®. And Sweet Jesus! all those Beggin' Strips. He ate everything he could find. And Grandma spoiled him just like he was P.B., everytime I saw Romeo and my mom in the same room he was getting another treating from her. (For three days after we got back from Tulsa he laid down the largest poops I have ever seen.) And then there this wonder that apparently called The Backyard. When Romeo discovered The Backyard there was a lot of leaping and bounding followed by more leaping and more bounding. My dog has never had so much fun.


Then came the weekend that will be known as weekend of The Most Anticipated Contract Termination of 2005. I flew to Chicago to pack up and leave the Money Draining Apartment behind. Just in case you didn't know this is what is like to have movers move your stuffit goes something a little like this:

Pack
Re-pack only with more bubble wrap
Ask for Saturday pick up
Be told to expect Friday morning
Request Saturday instead
Be laughed at
Watch movers re-pack everything
Watch movers charge for moving supplies needed to re-pack
Be convinced that movers are making fun of you in Spanish
Hurry back to Dallas, delusional that stuff will arrive in two or three days
Wait for five days, with no stuff
Learn move is 500 bucks over estimate
Cry because you barely had enough to cover the estimate
Tell movers they need to drop off stuff before 6:30 pm
Be told to expect my stuff sometime around 6:45 pm
Request earlier time
Be laughed at
Cry some more
Lift and haul my own stuff that I am paying 500 bucks over the estimate to have movers lift and haul for me
Note the sound of broken glass in every box
Pay for move by handing over first born child in the form of 2200 cash


So needless to say, moving was a joy. But hey, I'm officially in Dallas. Yeah! I guess.

The next Saturday I returned to Norman (sans Charlie) to try this whole football thing over again. This time I figured the best way thing I could do was to get drunk. Plenty drunk. Not surprisingly, I wasn't worried about the outcome of the game by about beer three. I was dancing in the aisle by beer four. With the drinking, the dancing and the actual winning of a football game I eventually did a bad thing. That bad thing being elbowing (accidentally!) Meanie McMeanerson in the back of the head. She was very pissed because she had hoped to attend the football game without all the football-gamey stuff. So receiving an Excited! elbow to the head literally sent over the edge. She spent the rest of game hating me with Hot Hate.




But you guys, look at what she wore to a football game. I should have taken her down with a pile driver for those paisleys ALONE.

Which brings us to now. Whew. We're all updated. And don't worry it won't be another month before I update again.

To Quote Seinfeld - Why is it...

Why is it when I take my dog outside to poop and someone comes up to make small talk I feel as weird and icky as if a perfect stranger walked in on me pooping in my own bathroom?