Happy Valentine's Day, TV

If my television set had feelings, it would probably be upset that I wasn't buying it anything for Valentine's Day. After all, we do spend an awful lot of time together. Even when I'm cleaning or making dinner or writing, my Samsung is usually on in the background, keeping me company.

No, it will not receive any See's Candies or romantic candlelight dinner, but it will get something special. It's the least I can do.

Here, I will honor the many television shows that make my life whole -- and also the ones that make me question my viewing habits. Oh, TV, how to do I love thee? Let me count the ways ... in lines of five, seven and five syllables.

Short and sweet, these haiku pay tribute to some of the best (and worst) programs on the tube.


THE BACHELOR
Amazing journey
forges bonds. But Twinkies have
a longer shelf life.

DANCING WITH THE STARS
They could dance with dolls
for all we care. We just watch
for the rad outfits.

HOARDERS
Mounds of stuff and filth.
Sometimes, dead, skeletal cats.
"I'm a collector!"

CHEATERS
Blurry body parts
Caught in compromising acts
Punches will be thrown

THE TYRA BANKS SHOW
Thank you, Tyra,
for showing us women born
with two vaginas.

THE BAD GIRLS CLUB
Each season's cast could
be plucked straight from the stages
of Jerry Springer.

JERSEY SHORE
Orange skin and hair gel
Bad clothes, fist pumps and Snickers!
Gym, tanning, laundry.

CHELSEA LATELY
A witty talk show
for a generation of
total smart-asses.

TODDLERS & TIARAS
Overweight stage moms
Dress their daughters like hookers
Next stop is Teen Mom

TEEN MOM
That's all these teens need:
Cameras rolling while they
make bad decisions.

WEEDS
Nancy Botwin makes
Teen Moms look like June Cleaver.
Plus, Andy is hot.

FAMILY FEUD
"Name a famous town."
"Europe!" (Pause) "Good, answer, Bob!"
They are bad liars.

DEXTER
Severed body parts
dropped in Atlantic Ocean
Dexter's sea graveyard

THE YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS
For God's sake, Sharon!
Is there anyone in town
You haven't slept with?

CALIFORNICATION
Hank Moody should meet
Sharon from Y&R, then
stock up on condoms.

24
Saving the free world
Without food or bathroom breaks
I am Jack Bauer

I DIDN'T KNOW I WAS PREGNANT
Pregnancy is like
Getting your ass kicked from within.
You had NO idea?

SURVIVOR
To me, camping is
Staying at a nice hotel.
'Survivors' are NUTS!

TRUE BLOOD
Forget the vampires.
We most enjoy the parts with
Lafayette. He rules.

MAN VS. FOOD
Host Adam Richman
went to Yale, now power eats
16-egg omelettes.

VAMPIRE DIARIES
If you can't stomach
the gore on True Blood, this
is like vampire-lite.

BIG LOVE
These Polygamists
Have more buried skeletons
Than wives and children

NURSE JACKIE
I'd also need pills,
If I had to hump Eddie.
It's catch 22.

JUDGE MATHIS
Today on Judge Mathis:
Exotic stripper showdown!
"She had no pole skills!"

MODERN FAMILY
I'm not sure who is
funnier: Clueless dad Phil,
or Lily's two dads.

COUGAR TOWN
If all cougars looked
like Courteney Cox, more dudes would
be dating elders.

YO GABBA GABBA!
My favorite songs:
'There's a party in my tummy'
Also, 'I like bugs'

REAL HOUSEWIVES OF ORANGE COUNTY
Rhinestone halter tops
are the chosen attire
for cooking dinner.

WHAT NOT TO WEAR
Stacy and Clinton
are sometimes cruel but they are
usually right.

I Need A Wheelchair: A Series of Haiku About Being Stupid

This is a follow-up to yesterday's post.

I should have known, when
Idris Elba tweeted re:
his music at six.

Nobody at the
racetrack during Derby
would do that. Red flag.

Still, I believed he
would show up at Grand Gala,
honor commitments.

I went. I milled around.
But mostly, sat and waited.
And waited. Waited.

Of course, he did not
come. We left early. We parked
close, one block away.

But it already
had been too much for my bod.
I'm freakin' totaled.

My feet, still throbbing,
are swollen. They tingle up
to my calves. It sucks.

Baby Nick, your mom
is not a trooper. She's dumb.
Over an actor.

I should send him a
bill for my dress, shoes. Along
with middle finger.

But I will settle
for the moment when I see
Idris on Lifetime.

"Obsessed" is surely
bound for that channel sometime
in the next two years.

Normally, this would
not bug me. But it was too
much effort, no reward.

Rainy Saturday

Summary haiku:

Watching "Snapped." Drinking
coffee. Listening to dogs
snore. This is the life.

Halloween-y movies

Why did they remake
Salem's Lot? Original
is a true classic.

Freddy Krueger may
have an ugly sweater,
but it looks quite warm.

Michael Myers can
always catch people with his
lumbering gait. How?

Saw 5? Amazing.
Jigsaw is older than John
McCain. Not dead yet?

Hannibal Lecter
has never been as hungry
as I am right now.

Leatherface's skin
mask: New 'it' accessory?
I'll take a scarf, thanks.

Judging Miss Maisy

Today, I had the pleasure of judging a pet costume contest at the Three Dog Bakery in Louisville. It was hilarious, and I wish there were enough prizes for all 35-40 dogs that participated. (But they did all get a free bag of treats.)

Now, I admit: Lucy and Archie do get Halloween costumes, but they only wear them long enough to get their photos made ... probably about 3 minutes. These pooches today were already dressed when they showed up at the spot -- and then they waited in line wearing outfits for at least an hour because the other judge was 30 minutes late.

So, kudos to all of those little (and big) guys because my dogs would have torn off their suits before we got out of the driveway.



And guess what? There was a little dragon named Maisy (above)! I couldn't really see what kind of dog it was, but she licked my hand from under her green suit. In fact, it's hard to get dogs to hold still long enough for a picture, so none of these pics are that great.

Anyhoo, I can imagine what some of these dogs were thinking (in haiku, of course).





Elvis (above):
I know you hand-glued
sequins to my cape. Sorry
I shook them off.

The Cat in the Hat, Thing 1 and Thing 2:
"I'm no fucking cat!"
"And we weren't twins -- until
you sprayed our hair blue."




Desperate Housewives (above):
The women on the
show don't wear housecoats. Where
is our damn glamour?



Rock star (above):
Oh yeah, bitches. I
know you want me. I'm yours -- for
a treat and butt sniff.



A bunch of grapes (above):
Squeaky scarecrow toy
and fifty dollar prize was
SO worth the effort.



Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's (above, the picture kept loading sideways, and I can't fix it. But it was too cute not to post.):
I am too fancy
to be in here with
pirates and pumpkins.

Weekend in haiku

Weeding is a chore
from hell. Hamstrings on fire
from four-hour day.

No dent in yard work.
Sunday, more of the same. I
want an apartment.

Archie graduates
from dog school. The star pupil
in his class. Hooray!

Tomorrow, back to
work. Sigh. Ready for vacay.
Only five more weeks.

Ben Gay is my friend

Summary haiku:

No intense work outs
for weeks... until today. Now,
crying self to sleep.

Breakfast haiku

Out of cereal,
fruit. Cheese pizza and coffee
it is. And some Tums.

Lucy the fashionista

Summary haiku:

Pink skull and crossbones
collar is perfect for my
gladiator dog.



So, a couple of months ago, I wrote a story about a pet psychic who would be doing local readings on various dates during summer, with partial proceeds going to Kentucky Humane Society.

Just for fun (and because I was invited), I decided to take Lucy and Archie to see her. My appointment was at 9:30 a.m. Saturday, the morning after the White Party at Hotel, which was a bit of a disaster, but that's a blog for another day.

She told me what supposedly happened to the dogs before we adopted them, how they felt about the cat, how they felt about each other, etc.

But the funniest thing was this: Lucy allegedly told the psychic to tell me that she was upset that her collar and leash weren't the same color -- that she wanted a matching set, like Archie. Also, she doesn't like that her collar has a design on it. She wants a plain one.

First of all, Lucy can't even see her collar. Second, I just bought that collar three weeks ago and it was $20, so she's going to keep wearing it for a while.

Still, I bought her a matching leash on Sunday. It's the same exact color as the collar, but without a design. If, for some reason, she felt less loved because her walking outfit didn't match, what the hell? Six bucks is a small price to pay for her happiness. Sadly, it came after I'd already spent $40 learning this information.

Say it together now: "Maisy, you're a dumb ass."

Invisible cricket

Summary haikus:

Every morning, you're loud
as hell, outside the front door.
Yet, I can't find you.

During the storm, you
must have been freaked. I could hear
you over the monsoon.

I like your noises,
but it's weird we haven't met.
Please show yourself now.

Dog school

Summary haikus:

Today, Archie and
I started obedience
classes at PetSmart.

He was silent, and
the best-behaved dog there. Yes,
I'm being serious.

There were only three
dogs, but still. New rope toy: his
reward for greatness.

Mistaken for a teenager!

Summary haikus:
A woman thought I was
18. So far, the raddest
event of my year.

It happened to my
friend, too, because we are hot
babealiciouses.

(Or else the woman had poor
poor eyesight. Or, she was drunk.
Who cares? Big ego boost.)

The Drapers vs. the shed

Summary haiku:

I curse the day that

Archie found a way to get

under the shed.

Whenever you move into a new place, you usually continue to discover new things about it for several months. Like the crazy nooks and crannies your cat adopts as hiding places. Or how dangerously slippery the kitchen floor gets every time it's freshly mopped. Or that it's impossible to hang the bathroom towel racks exactly where you want them because there's something behind that part of the wall -- steel? -- that you can't drill through.

But the latest finding has been made by our dog, Archie. Apparently, The Most Fascinating Thing Ever Known To Dog lives underneath our shed. Sure, Archie will mosey about the back yard and run around with Lucy. But he spends an awful lot of time circling the shed and sniffing underneath its edges.

So Friday evening, just as a crack of thunder literally shook my house, and as the TV channels all started flashing the severe thunderstorm warnings, the Doppler radar showed some big, red patches of scary stuff coming our way.

I went to call the dogs inside before it started to rain. Lucy came, but Archie was nowhere to be found. I searched the yard, called his name and for a moment, panicked that he'd somehow gotten out of the fence.

I'm not sure what finally made me look under the shed with a flashlight, but when I did, I saw Archie's body, flattened out, like someone doing a boot camp drill -- the one where you scoot yourself along the ground using your elbows.

Circling the shed, I could not figure out where he'd gotten in. The clearance was pretty miniscule, and he's a rather stout 17 pounds. But he's a Jack Russell Terrier, and they're bred to burrow, so he figured something out.

I called him for 10 minutes; he wouldn't (or couldn't) come out.

Even before the storm, it was probably a good 90 degrees outside. When I looked under there again, and he was panting and there was a string of drool hanging from his mouth.

Right on cue, the rain started to fall. Hard. Sheets of rain, not drops. That kicked up a bunch of dust under the shed, and Archie started coughing. Oh my God, I thought, my son is going to die under the shed!

I circled the shed again, looking for the biggest possible opening. I called him, and he scooted over to the edge, laying on his side. Still couldn't get out. So I decided I'd have to dig him a bigger hole. Of course, we didn't have any shovels small enough to fit underneath the edge of the shed, so I used the only other thing we had: Two-foot long garden shears, made for trimming hedges.

Archie's smart, so he got out of the way as I started jamming these shears into the ground, loosening dirt (and all the nasty bugs that were living in it), then scooping it out into the yard.

This went on for about 35 minutes, in the pouring rain, and I'm certain I looked like a complete psychopath. I'm out there laying on the ground, muddy as fuck (it rained so hard that the dirt under the grass was soft and muddy), impaling the dirt and excavating it from the growing hole. My hair was soaked and parted down the middle from the back of my head, so I looked like Cousin Itt from "The Addams Family." Mascara was smeared all over my face and cheeks.

(When I told my friend about it, she was laughing her ass off, and compared it to the scene from "Mommie Dearest" where Faye Dunaway took the shears and madly hacked away at her prized rose garden. Nice.)

After the hole was big enough, I had to bribe a panting and worn out Archie out with a giant piece of ham. Despite his travails, he still hated the rain more than he hated suffocating under a giant, wooden shed.

I was so proud of myself afterward. I thought he would think me a hero. The mother who saved his life!

Au contrare. Archie was filthy from head to tail, and happily prancing around like a renewed man after his big adventure. Like a teenager who had just been laid for the first time, or a woman who'd just bought 10 pairs of beautiful shoes at once. He even tried to crawl back under after he gobbled up the ham.

He was fucking smiling. (See above picture for an example.)

It's innate for Jack Russells to dig and burrow, I know this. But man, I kind of wanted to strangle him for a minute, or shove him back under the shed.

So yeah. We went to Home Depot and Kyle spent several hours boarding up the entire perimeter of the shed. Hopefully, this will be the end of it.

Meantime, Archie and I are taking to some additional obedience classes, because he needs another outlet for his energy and intelligence. We start on Sunday.

Congratulations, you're not blind!

Summary haiku:
My sunburn may as
well be a celebrity.
Quit staring at it!


Yesterday, I went to lunch with a friend. We ate outside. I ended up with a raging sunburn on one of my shoulders, where my scoop neck shirt didn't quite cover.

It hurts. Really, really bad (especially when my seatbelt rubs against it). But not as bad as people who think they're so clever as to comment on the obvious. "Hey! Do you know you've got a sunburn?"

Hey! Fuck you!

People lecture you on the obvious. "The sun's not good for your skin." "Wow, that's gonna be painful for a couple of days." "Geez, one shoulder? You look all lopsided."

Like I meant for it to happen. Now everyone is pointing and staring as though I have a fucking lilac bush growing out of my shoulder.

Even a little old man at the gym! He said, "Is that a sunburn? I almost didn't want to ask you because it's such an intense red, I thought it might be a birthmark." Sheesh!

Gotta go get some aloe.

This is why I don't go camping

Summary haiku:

Ticks: evil little
beasts reside in nature. I
don't need hangers-on.


Anyone who knows me is aware that I'm not an outdoorsy person. Sure, I enjoy mountain biking and hiking and boating and whitewater rafting. But when the activity is done, I want to be back in my house, showering and sleeping in my bed like a civilized person.

I've been camping twice, and they both rank as two of my five most miserable experiences in life. (Others include waiting for my mom to wake up from a coma, getting my wisdom teeth pulled and something else of a more personal nature.)

So imagine my horror when I discovered a tick implanted in my scalp last night. What the hell? I haven't even been outside like that -- where did I pick up this blood-sucking passenger?

Then I realized: It was at the dog park, where there are tons of trees and tall, bushy grasses. The dogs are protected with their Frontline, but me? I was a sitting target, especially when I decided to go frolic with them instead of sitting on the bench, on the big cement patch.

I was totally grossed out and panicking inside, but I think I seemed quite calm. Anyway, we removed the tick, and I'm sure all will be fine. But the top of my head is sore and I'm still totally creeped out by that little motherfucker. *Shudder*

So, here's hoping I don't have Lyme disease or Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever! And guess what I bought today? A new ballcap, which I will wear every time I go to the dog park... along with a body condom and 10 layers of Off!

Sorry Mother Nature, but all creatures are not created equal.

(P.S. I don't have a will yet, so if I die, Wendy and Elana can split my shoe collection. Joli, Michelle and Javacia can divvy up my jewelry. I want "Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta" by the Geto Boys played at my funeral, and to be buried with my Tim Gunn bobblehead.)

Goodbye, brain cells

Summary haiku:
I are a third grade
grajooit. Now Flavor Flav
wants to conversate.




Yes, I'm watching "Flavor of Love." I don't know why I do this to myself.

It's always gutwrenching on a variety of levels, but tonight, it's an especially vast grammatical wasteland.

I've grown accustomed to them butchering spelling. Flav gives his suitors nicknames, such as Myammee (Miami); Grayvee (Gravy); DYMZ (Dimes); Sinceer (Sincere). You get the point.

But during the first 20 minutes of the show, four different women used the word "dramatical." As in, "You should get as dramatical as you want."

One woman told Flav he was her love, her best friend, her "confident."

Someone else said, "It's everyone for theyself." And finally, someone was glad that Flav "standed his ground."

Thank God the Kansas/Memphis game started at 9:30, because now Kyle is watching that and I'm too lazy to move to one of the other TVs.

On another note, I hate that "I'll Melt With You" Taco Bell commercial. They ruined the song, and seeing people with melted cheese suspended in midair between their lips and a giant burrito is just ... fucking gross.

Bargains make me quiver with joy

Summary haiku:
Saving money when
your tax refund just arrived
doubles the delight.



So, the house. Still working on it. We've gotten the Things We Couldn't Live Without (lamps, shower curtains, wooden blinds in a couple of rooms, etc.), and we're now working the list of Things That Would Make Life More Convenient. Which brings me to one of the most joyous shopping trips I've had in a while.

I went into Target looking for wall shelves where I could display a couple of plants and a totally cute Vietnamese art sculpture I got at Pier 1. (The latter was on my list of Things I Don't Fucking Need, But They're Really Cute So I'm Buying Them.)

I saw several shelves, but they weren't quite what I wanted. Then I came to the endcap, and lo and behold, the perfect shelves were on clearance for $4.98 each -- marked down from $24.98! I bought all the ones they had left (5), because I like to keep the surfaces in my house uncluttered and I have tons of unused wall space in various rooms.

Money saved: $100.

Then I was just cruising around, as one tends to do at Target, when I came to the bathroom aisle. We don't have any towel racks in our bathrooms, so we've just been slinging towels over the shower curtain rod to dry. Which hides how cute the shower curtains are. And Target had these really beautiful brushed nickel double towel bars on sale for $12.98, also marked down from $24.98. I got one for each bathroom.

Money saved: $24.

Next up: A giant mirror to hang on one of our ginormous dining room walls. I had been eyeballing it on my last couple of Target jaunts. It's lovely, with a carved frame that's a muted, distressed gold color. $19.98, marked down from $90. Are you kidding me? Is today fucking Christmas?

Money saved: $70.

Can you believe there's more? The last thing is from the Things I Don't Fucking Need, But They're Really Cute So I'm Buying Them category. I got a fabulous, huge wall hanging for the bedroom. It's electric green silk with an olive green tree painted on it. It's simple and beautiful, but most important, it makes me feel really happy when I look at it. $14.99, marked down from $29.99.

Money saved: $15.

For those of you who can't do math -- which includes me, I had to use a calculator to do this -- I got $285 worth of items for $85. Which left me plenty of dough to pick up a green patent clutch and some canary yellow tights to wear under a couple of my spring dresses.

I am bursting with happiness. I'm off to hang one of my shelves!

I'm going crazy -- want a lift?

Summary haiku:
Time flies when life is
busy. Wine helps, but Vegas
trip is what I need.

Happy Valentine's Day!

After a delicious, candlelit Italian meal (sorry, diet!) at our new dining room table, Kyle and I are having the most romantic evening. He is watching a basketball game with Miles (the cat) curled in the nook of his leg. I'm messing around on the computer, Lucy's head resting on my thigh and Archie's head nuzzled against my neck (he's on the back of the couch cushion).

But after our tummies retract a little bit, me and the hubbster will actually probably snuggle each other and watch a movie or something. Because honestly, red wine makes me want to cuddle someone without fur. (Side note: Covey Run wine from Washington state... try it.)

Anyway. It's been a really hellish three weeks (with the exception of last weekend, which included a visit from Danielle and Javacia's birthday). You don't care about the details. Hell, I'd just as soon forget them myself. But suffice it to say that I've felt like a monkey with its hair on fire for weeks.

But here's the good news: Out of nowhere, I get this email from one of my favorite girlfriends of all time, Beth. I can't say enough about how much I love this woman. Anyway, the email said she was going to Las Vegas for a work trip, the hotel room is already paid for, and did I want to meet her there and play for a few days?


Hellz to the yeah.

This is exactly what I needed, and it could not have come with better timing. The trip isn't for another month, but that's perfect because it gives me some time to reclaim my sanity and, perhaps, lose some more poundage before I go someplace warm, where I will not be wearing 50 layers of clothing.

(Fattie update: I've lost 11 pounds now. Probably could have lost more if it were not for aforementioned fun weekend filled with girlfriends, non-Weight Watchers dinners and lots of alcohol. What can I say? Stress made me relapse for a few days. Still, all of my pants are too big, which is fun, but also annoying.)

Only been to Las Vegas once, for my bachelorette party in 2005, which is also the last time I've seen Beth. See how fun (and sober) she is?



So I'm looking forward to exploring a little more and doing some shopping. According to our tax guy, our income tax refunds should drop into the account tomorrow. Maybe things are finally turning around. I'm ready for the crazy train to pull into the station, man.

Oh, and my Chia Pet? It's going apeshit!

Night, lovebirds...

Patience is a virtue

Summary haiku:

I guess my Chia
is a slow bloomer. But she's
alive, green and well!




I kept watering her, and about two days ago, a lone sprout was poking out of her back. Every couple of hours, I'd go back and there were more. Now, she's going wild! I guess I better give her a name now.... any ideas?

Ch-ch-ch-chintzy!

Summary haiku:
Chia Pet is full
of seeds, but won't grow trademark
lush clover coat.



As a gag gift, Kyle got me a Chia Pet for Christmas. His job got a big shipment of them in a press release, so he thought it would be funny to wrap one up and stick it under the tree.

Shaped like a kitten, this prize came with a bonus alarm clock, also a kitten.

Once we got to the new house, I was like, what the hell. Might as well grow her for novelty's sake. So, I followed the directions to a T. I kept her filled with water. The package said she'd start to show plant buds in 3-5 days. It has now been 8 days, and this is my Chia Pet:



Covered in seeds. Just like it was on days 1 through 7. So, not only are Chia Pets ugly, they don't grow for shit.

Like the plant version of Sea Monkeys. Sigh.