Pointed in the right direction...

Summary haiku:
I'm kinda hungry.
But when my jeans fit better
it will be worth it.


I'm a total cliche right now. It's early January and I'm hopping back on the health train after a dwindling commitment. It's not like this is a bad thing, but I just wish it were still a constant part of my life.

For a while, I transformed into a total gym person. I went five times a week for about 90 minutes a day, did cardio and weight training and my pants started getting bigger. Then we got the dogs, and I started walking them more (three miles a day every day, on average) and going to the gym less. What can I say? I like being outside and spending time with my furry pals.



Then fall happened, and it started getting dark earlier. And then it got colder. So, while Lucy and Archie still ripped around the yard together, our walks became shorter and more infrequent. You can probably connect the dots from here.

After a decidedly awful first week of January, I decided I needed some positive things to focus on to help counter the personal problems going on my life. The house, of course, is one of those happy things. (We close on Friday!) And my hubby is a constant source of happiness and support. Love him!

But I've also joined the Weight Watchers cult and now my entire life revolves around Points.



Not because I'm constantly eating. But because it makes you think about your entire day at once. If you don't prepare carefully, you could be fucked and Pointless by dinner time. It's a total reality check.

Things that seem pretty innocuous -- a handful of Goldfish crackers, an occasional Halloween sized candy bar from my boss' abundant dish or two packets of instant oatmeal instead of one -- add up quickly.



So basically, you have two choices: You either commit to this kind of thing whole-heartedly, or you don't. There's no in between.

Shit. This means no more drinking an entire bottle of red wine after a rough day. No more delicious raspberry mochas from Starbucks. Ah well. It'll be worth it in the long run.



Luckily, moving is gonna help on the exercise front. I spent an hour today carrying boxes up and down stairs into our POD, and in the coming weeks will spend countless hours painting the ceilings, walls, doors and baseboards in our new house (burns 241 calories an hour, based on my particulars).

Anyway, not that anyone really needs all this detail. But I figure making this relatively public will help keep me honest and motivated.

Just try to forgive me for any future angry rants. A girl without her wine and Starbucks isn't always pretty.

Yo ho ho and a bottle of WTF?

Summary haiku:

Pirates 3: A
long wait for very little
reward. Arrrgh! It's bad.


I admit it: I love, love loved "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl." Johnny Depp was weird and charming and kind of sexy in a sexually ambiguous way. It had a decent story, cool special effects and all kinds of swashbuckling shenanigans. It wasn't going to change the world, but I was thoroughly entertained.

So when the second movie, "Dead Man's Chest" came out, I dragged Kyle there on opening night, which we never do. Because of our opposite schedules, we go to the movies about twice a year. The rest of the time, we rent them on DVD. DMC didn't get the greatest reviews, but I was a big defender. Yes, it was really fucking long, but it had awesome special effects -- Davy Jones and his crew, hello! -- the story line progressed to an interesting place, and Depp was
fantastic again.

This year, "At World's End" was released and we didn't make it to the theater. We meant to, but we got busy or had more important things to do. So knowing what a pirate-lovin' wench I was, Kyle got me the AWE DVD for Christmas.

Never in my life have I been so underwhelmed by something I was looking so forward to seeing. We had no idea what was going on, but kept watching because we thought we'd eventually figure it out. Something about nine pirate lords and finding places that aren't on maps, releasing some crazy, unintelligible lady from her body and an epic battle. But everything was so convoluted and poorly put together, it was like trying to glue together a shattered plate.

All throughout this 2 hour and 48 minute spectacle, Kyle and I kept looking at each other going, "What the hell is happening? Who is that? Why are they doing that?"

I was just begging for crapfest to end, but I'd invested so much time, I wanted to see it through to the end. And the result was like having movie blue balls.

Sigh.

Squirrel popsicle

Summary haiku:

A gift from my son:
Dead squirrel traumatized me
on frigid morning.


Every morning around 6 a.m., I let the pets out to tinkle and whatnot. Unfortunately, I have to physically take them because the side door in our rental house doesn't connect to the fenced back yard.

This morning, Archie was taking his sweet time, preoccupied with something near the back fence. He wouldn't do what he was there to do, and it was cold as shit outside, so I finally called him over. He proudly scurried over carrying something in his mouth. It was dark, so I couldn't really see what it was, but I assumed it was a tennis ball or one of the other dogs toys in the yard.

Before we went inside, I told him to spit it out. It fell to the concrete porch with a dull thud. To my horror, the porch light illuminated what he had: a frozen, partially dismantled squirrel carcass. I looked away as quickly as possible, but it was hard not to notice that the thing was practically inside out.

And Archie just looked up at me and wagged his little stump of a tail, smiling with his eyes.

Happy new year!

<


For the first time in years, I woke up this morning sans hangover. Already, the new year is off to a great start!

Last night for New Year's Eve, I went to dinner at Proof, which I really couldn't afford. But I figured I'd have one last, big splurge for 2007. Kyle was working (he had to cover a college bowl game in Nashville), so I went with a girlfriend and we had a fabulous meal and a great time.

It was one of the few times I have done something "adult" and civilized for New Year's (read: I wasn't surrounded by a bunch of unruly drunk folks or totally drunk myself). And being 35, I guess I was about due for a night like that.

And today, it's snowing outside! Not real snow, mind you... it's not sticking and they're not big, fluffy flakes. But there are white things coming from the sky and that makes me feel joyous. Plus, the hubby is coming home this afternoon and I've missed him.

Everyone keeps asking if I've made any resolutions. I hate calling them that, because nobody ever keeps their new yer's resolutions! So here are some, um, goals for 2008:

1. To read more. Normally, I read a book or two a week. But I've gotten busy lately and I haven't made the time for it. I did read this on Sunday, though, It was a cute, quick read:



2. To regularly back up the files on my laptop. Our computer crashed on Christmas and we had to pay someone to retrieve our stuff, which for me, included tons of music, a year's worth of digital pics and the beginning of what could become my novel. (If you ever have this problem and live in Louisville, call Louisville Geek. They did this for $65, compared to the $300+ that the Geek Squad at Best Buy wanted!)

3. To get back on the exercise wagon. Yeah, yeah. Such a cliche, I know.

4. To check my voice mail more regularly. Unless it's a call from my boss or a source for work, I tend to let my messages sit for a while and then they pile up and I don't want to face them. Must get better about this.




5. To keep my new house totally clean and organized at all times. Easier said than done (especially with pets who have figured out how to open their toy box and pull out a new one about every five minutes). But now that we will have adequate square footage, everything should have its place.

6. To send out Christmas cards in 2008. For the past two years, this task has gotten away from me... mostly because I really like writing personal, hand-written notes in each card. It's a time commitment, man. Granted, there were special circumstances last year (my brother-in-law's passing) and this year (buying a house, packing, moving). But next year, I'm gonna do it. Even if I have to start in September.



Happy January, everybody!

I have no words...

Summary haiku:
When I die, I want
all my pets to die with me.
Judge Judy outs me.



So, I was sitting here eating my dinner and reading a book, only halfway listening to the TV. But when I heard the madness going down on Judge Judy, I had to shift my focus.

This old man was suing an animal rescue owner because she wouldn't give him back a dog that he'd given up for adoption. Judge Judy put the kibash on that and here's why:

The man in question had been living with an old lady, his companion. When she died, her last wishes were to have her 17 Chihuahuas euthenized and cremated and buried with her in a pet cemetary. (Yes, she herself wanted to be buried in the pet cemetary as well.)
So, this guy did that with 9 of her dogs!

I don't know who's crazier, the dead dog lady or this moron who killed 9 pooches. Anyway, Judge Judy let him have it and I laughed.

Santa pictures? Nevermind.

Summary haiku:

My pets can't take the
input at Feeders Supply.
Chaos. Kill me now.


Holy shit. I thought that the Santa pics would be a pain (see below post), but I was totally unprepared for the scene that awaited me at the pet store. It was the last day of Santa pics, so Feeders was a freakin' madhouse.

As I was walking out the door, Archie looked so sad. He LOVES riding in the car and wanted to come along. You can guess what happened.

Taking them both -- even while wearing their Gentle Leader collars -- was too horrifying to describe. Upon being in the store for 30 seconds, I decided against the photos. I cruised about 1 1/2 aisles before we got in the car and came back home.

I dropped off Archie and took Lucy back to the store. She picked out some toys and a new jacket (for walks on freezing days, see above), as her old one is too small. It matches her paws perfectly!

On a partially related note, Archie actually loves to wear his coat, collars or any manner of adornments. He also loves to get a bath. Javacia calls him metrosexual. He probably is. I mean, look at him. This looks like a school picture pose in his favorite first-day-of-school outfit.



Happy end of the weekend to you!

Just snow already!

Summary haiku:
Brain overflowing
with sweaters, paint colors and
fresh blankets of snow.





In addition to our internet router being on the fritz, I've also been missing in action because we bought a house (above)! It's really exciting and kind of scary. We love our place, which has an upstairs and a finished basement, too. Loads of space. More that I know what to do with.
Which is probably why I've become obsessed with HGTV. In a nutshell, our house is in great shape, but every room (except the ones in the basement) are in immediate need of a non-revolting paint color. For ideas, I have been watching HGTV non-stop as I arranged our lives carefully into Office Depot boxes I liberated from work.
I guess I never cared much about that channel before, when we were renting. But I have discovered so many awesome shows, that I actually forgot to flip back over and watch "Nip/Tuck" this week and "Project Runway" last week, which is unheard of. I'm always on top of my TV schedule.

Anyway...




The new house has kept me cheery, because the winters here are so depressing! If it's going to be cold and wet out, I'd rather just see it snow. The snow is pretty, and the weather is usually warmer when there are fresh flakes. Last week, it snowed 4 or 5 in one day in my hometown of Spokane, Wash. (above). Sigh. I miss waking up to a fresh blanket of snow. It makes the world seem so clean and full of ... inspiration.






I am fascinated by the idea of having an Ugly Christmas Sweater Party. This is my goal for the 2008 holiday season.





I'm getting ready to take Lucy to Feeders Supply to pick out her Christmas toys and birthday present, which is Dec. 27. She loves choosing her own toys ... And don't tell my hubby, but they're still doing pet pictures with Santa there from noon-4 p.m. today. The money goes to the Humane Society, and Lucy loves people, so it'll be a win-win. Archie would probably eat Santa's face (he doesn't like men with beards), so he's staying home with Dad, which will also stave off any suspicion that I might be doing Santa pics in the first place. Bwahahaha!
Oh God, am I a crazy dog mom? Oh well.

Old bag

Summary haiku:

Thirty-fifth birthday.
My youth is up in smoke, like
Snoop Dogg's Philly blunt.

Advice from an image consultant

Yesterday, I interviewed a woman who works as an image consultant and got a bit of a reality check. Most of the time, I feel as though I'm fairly put together, but learned that I probably am not. Ah well, live and learn.

Anyway, here's some of the advice she gave, which actually makes a lot of sense and isn't really that difficult to achieve.

1. Every, single item in your closet should be a 'wow' piece. Meaning, it should either make a strong statement, or you should love it so much that merely laying eyes upon it gives you heart palpatations.

My source -- a wealthy woman who could probably afford to fill all the closets in her large home -- said she doesn't have many clothes at all. But she's chosen wisely, and wears them in different ways.

So in a perfect world, she said, nobody would go to their closet and groan, "What should I wear today?" They would instead approach their closet, and, overwhelmed by their exciting, tasteful choices, exclaim with joy: "Wow! What should I WEAR today?"

(That's a fine theory. And sometimes, I do exactly that. But more often, I'm afraid I'm 'wow'ing for the wrong reasons.

As in:

"Wow! I wonder how long it will take for the wrinkles to fall out of that shirt, which I refuse to iron because ironing is a tedious, soul-sucking activity!"

"Wow! I used to fit into these jeans. What the hell happened?"

I need to work on this.)

2. Don't save it for a special occasion. Wear it whenever you want.

What are you waiting for? You only live once and you might as well go about your days wearing something that makes you feel awesome and pretty.



Finally! Validation for wearing my electric purple or gold shimmer eyeshadow during the day!

3. First impressions do count.

According to her, a person makes a judgment about another person in 1/48 of a second and it's based on their clothes, because that's usually the first thing you notice when someone is headed in your direction. In that split second, they can decide what your personality is like, whether they'd want to be friends with you, your intelligence, your social and economic status, etc.

It may not be the right thing to do, she said, but that's what happens. I guess I we all know this on some level, but it's nice to be reminded.

Anyhoo, just food for thought.

I might actually iron something tonight just for kicks. And while I should probably kick my smorgasbord of awesome Smashbox and MAC eyeshadows to the curb, well, that's just not gonna happen quite yet.

Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Thank God for TV news

Summary haiku:
Thank you, TV news.
For without you, I'd never
be so well informed.




All day today, a local TV news station has been airing teasers for one of its big stories for the day: "Do you know where your clothes go once you dump them into the donation box? We investigate!"

So I'm thinking, Oh my God! Are my too-small tops from Express funding terrorists? Are my faded INC jeans being used to strangle puppies? Is someone using my out-of-date Nine West heels to bludgeon grannies as they tend to their shrubbery?

You know what I found out? The company, U'SAgain, which claims on its boxes in bold print to recycle textiles for various uses actually -- drum roll, please -- recycles the textiles for various uses!!!!! Can you fucking believe it?

This enlightening revelation required a two-minute story (an eternity in TV time) and even warranted a live shot conducted from the deserted parking lot in which one of the boxes is located.

The intrepid reporter spoke to a guy from the Salvation Army to find out if these boxes were lessening the amount of donations they were receiving. His answer: No, not at all.

So to recap: The company does exactly what it claims to, and local non-profits aren't losing donations because of it.

Never in a million years did I expect to think, "I'm missing 'The Real World' for this?" while watching the news.

But I stand corrected. And that's what I get for being too lazy to retrieve the remote from the chair across the room.

Shit!

Summary haiku:

Car wash demolished
by unsavvy parking spot
and accurate birds.

A place to call home

Summary haiku:
Is it possible
to find the perfect house on
the first weekend? (Shrug)



The hubby and I have resigned ourselves to the fact that we're going to be in Louisville for a while. (Don't get me wrong -- we like it here. But we hoped we'd be moving back to the West Coast after putting in a few years in the Ville. I just feel a desperate need to be near oceans and mountains. I don't enjoy the middle.)

So, anyway, we're buying a house. We took our first jaunt with our buying agent today and saw 4 different places. It's our first time buying a home, so I was really surprised at how things went down. We'd looked at them all online, and were pleasantly (and not so pleasantly) surprised.

In person, we really liked one that we only felt so-so about prior to our visit. It was really open and clean, had tons of space and updated in every way. Brand new windows, awesome kitchen and bathrooms, large 2 1/2 car garage and a fantastic back yard. Even a basketball hoop for Kyle. It was the very first one we looked at and we were both like, "I could totally see us living here."

And then the house we thought we'd love, we didn't. The inside was really awesome and current and cute. But the yard was jacked up and small, and the house smelled musty. (And a bit like cats and baby diapers -- yum!) I could smell it on myself for a long time after leaving and it was gross.

Even worse, while we were there, Kyle saw somebody he knows from his job who lives in the 'hood. She told us all these great things about it -- it's quiet and clean, she'd lived there for years and loves it. But then she slipped in that within the past year, a woman had been beaten and raped on that very street at 6:30 a.m.

Now, that could happen in any neighborhood, I suppose, but it just turned both of us off. I actually felt like I was going to throw up on the spot.

So, the search continues. But we found one today that will definitely be in the running, and that's a pretty cool feeling.

Hooray!

Your breath smells delicious!

Summary haiku:
Clean teeth are even
more important on dogs, even
though they don't smile.






When we first got Archie in June, he wasn't in the greatest of shape.

He'd been dumped out of a car, was missing all the fur on his tail, wasn't neutered, showed signs of possible abuse and had the most disgusting brown, tartar-caked teeth I'd ever seen on a dog -- and he was only 4, which seemed too young for such dental peril.

We hooked him up with love, health care and toys and most of his issues have been fixed. And after a few months of chewing rawhides and Nylabones, his teeth have gotten so much better.



Even so, his breath could still peel the paint from the side of a school bus.

But in order not to give him a complex(and to try and trick myself into thinking it wasn't so offensive), I'd compliment him daily, comparing his stench to things that made me happy. I made sure to use different comparisons each time.

"Oh Archie, your breath smells delicious. It smells like pumpkin pie and fresh spring showers!"

"It smells like banana bread and barbecue!"

"It smells like tandoori chicken and buttermilk pancakes!"

"It smells like freshly brewed coffee and peppermint sticks!"

But then one day, I had to face the facts: His breath smelled like a sack of wet, dirty socks and cooking broccoli.

So today, he had his teeth cleaned. They are sparkling white, and guess what? His breath -- it smells like Thankgiving dinner and Nag Champa incense.

For real, this time.















(Disclaimer: The first picture is not Archie's mouth -- he's too grouchy from his vet visit to be doing all that to his face right now -- but it that fresh and clean.)

America's Next Top Dildos

Summary haiku:
New York is "famous"
for dating Flava Flav. And
that is your prize. Ew.




Chaos broke out at the "I Love New York 2" house tonight. Oh, what a delightful evening of trashy television!

There was grabbing, pushing and one contestant even hucked a giant loogie at another guy. As usual, nothing but class. Although I am torn as to what is more disgusting: the loogie, or watching New York allow random losers to suck her nasty-ass feet and groaning with pleasure as she makes out them each week.

Seriously. Who are these losers that want to date her?

Then again, even though she's a hooch and possibly a he-she, why would she want to date any of these ridiculous asshats that have been cast? And therein, lies the entertainment value.

Anyway, I know lose IQ points every time I tune in, but I can't help it. I will redeem myself at 10 p.m., when I watch the bright, intelligent "Weeds" on Showtime.

To close, a quote from New York, who was mortified that one of her dates included a mud bath: "It's not a place where a woman who wears a weave and fine jewelry should go."

John Deere, the babysitter

Summary haiku:
Sometimes, I wish I'd
used a rubber. So I use
lawnmower nanny.








Far be it from me to judge someone's parenting skills, especially when I have no children of my own. However, today I saw a scene that struck me as, well, pretty fucking ridiculous. And dangerous.

I was out walking the dogs, working on the stuff we learned at dog class this morning. We rounded the corner to a loud motor, a yapping canine and squeals of delight.

I look down the street and see this: A little girl, who couldn't have been older than 9 years old, driving a John Deere riding lawnmower at a speed that I didn't even know lawnmowers would reach. She was weaving in and out of her yard, going down the middle of the street, then pulling a quick u-turn and going back the other direction and over the humps of her yard.

Three smaller kids -- maybe ranging in age from 3 to 5 -- were in a red wagon which was tied with a rope to the back of the lawnmower and careening around behind it. The younger tots were laughing and giggling as the wagon bucked and swayed during its travels over cement surfaces and grassy declines.

As if this isn't disturbing enough a scene, there was a Jack Russell terrier (no leash, of course) rabidly circling the mower, barking its head off. The erratic child driver almost hit the pooch numerous times in the process. She was so close to running him over, I fully expected to see a Jack Russell pancake by the time we reached the end of the block.

And all I could think was WHERE IN THE HELL ARE YOUR PARENTS?

"If it has shoes the cover, I know you'll read it."

Summary haiku:
Am I really that
shallow, or does my husband
just pay attention?





Yesterday, Kyle was on his way out the door, on his way to a library clearance sale where they were getting rid of extra books: Everything you can fit in one (giant) box for $10.

He said he'd try and find some stuff for me, too, but he wasn't entirely sure what I'd like to read. Then, after a pause, he said, "I'll just look for anything with a shoe on the cover. If it's got that, I know you'll read it."

I laughed really hard at his joke -- but mostly because it's true. I guess that's what happens when you're with someone for more that 7 years. Two of my favorite reads are "In Her Shoes" by Jennifer Weiner and the (somewhat horrifying) fairy tale, "The Red Shoes" by Hans Christian Andersen.

So Kyle called me after he was done and said he'd scored about 15 books.

"Did you get any that weren't about sports or being a black man in America?," I asked. And he starting cracking up. Because you know what? I know his reading habits, too.

In the end, he also knows my passion for fiction and true crime novels, so he did pick me up a few offerings -- none with footwear on the front. But if they're no good, well, they were only $1.25 a piece.

My closet runneth over

Summary haiku:
Accessories have
the power to raise me from
coma. Hellz to the yeah.



I was super tired earlier -- too tired to write -- but I just got this spurt of energy, to which I credit two recent purchases.

I just got two really awesome things. Things that have improved my life times one million.


These boots were only $36, and I love, love, love them! They're from a great local store, General Eccentric. They're man-made leather, but seriously... why pay $200 for leather pewter boots that are more novelty than everyday shoe? And in person, they look really expensive. Our fashion director at work thought they came from some chi-chi boutique. Score! Can't you see Prince romping around stage in these?



My other purchase was this gorgeous Michael Kors mega-bag, which I won last week on eBay. It retails for around $370, and I got it for less than $100. Brand new, still had tags on it and it smells delightfully of fresh leather.
I sold a bunch of stuff on eBay (a pair of shoes, a Puma jacket, a Wilson's Leather organizer/briefcase) in order to buy it, and it was so worth it! I got rid of stuff I probably would have just given to Goodwill, and got a gorgeous bag in return. Every time I look at it, my heart skips a beat. It goes with everything and it's so well made.

Oh happy day!

Happy Halloween weekend!

Summary haiku:
What happened to smart
costumes? Anyone can
do the sexy nurse.





Archie and Lucy wish you a very spooky day!









Halloween is my second favorite holiday, so it is with great sadness that I'm sitting it out this year. I had every intention of dressing up. I'd even talked Kyle into doing a couples costume -- we were to go as Dog the Bounty Hunter, and his wife, Beth.



But we procrastinated getting costumes together, and then The Dog Incident (Dog, as in Archie, our Jack Russell Terrier, not Chapman, the bounty hunter) happened. (More on that later.) That made it virtually impossible to get it together in time.

Instead I reflected on some of the fine (and not so fine) Halloween costumes I've had over the years. I wish I had pictures of them all, but memories are powerful enough to get me by.





Wonder Woman. Not the Lynda Carter bustier-plus-panties outfit, but the appropriate-for-a-six-year-old version that my grandmother made by hand. It was a fabulous white top with red trim, worn with a blue skirt covered in white stars. Of course, she also handmade awesome bullet deflecting bracelets and a headband. Grammy was an amazing seamstress.




Raspberry Tart. Another masterpiece by Grammy, except this one was an exact replica of the real thing. It was fantastic!











A school of sperm. This was an ill-fated idea we had in college. Four of us dressed up in white tights, white shoes and white garbage bags. We used another white garbage bag to cover our heads (except for the face, obviously) and we shredded more bags to create flagella, which trailed from all of our butts. We all wore a sign that said "Seminal Swim Team." But it didn't really work once we all got seperated at the party. People would see one of us and go, "What the fuck was that about?"




A Smurf. One year, my friend Michelle and I rented costumes. She was Smurfette and I was a Smurf. The costumes were head-to-toe and hot as hell. The heads were enormous and made it impossible to drink any beer, which is the point of dressing up as an adult, isn't it?

We were out with a group, and of course, ended up at different parties. Drunken chaos ensued. At Michelle's party, a crowd on the dance floor played volleyball with the Smurfette head. The next day, with a hangover, we spent some time trying to unravel her blonde dreadlocks before returning her to the costume shop. The blue tights had runs in them. Ergh.

But more importantly, that was the year we learned that heads and masks were a terrible idea.

A cavewoman. This costume was actually pretty awesome. Comfy, tough, functional. I wore camel colored, knee-length dress with a jagged bottom and animal print trim. I ratted up my hair like crazy and put white plastic bones all inside the 'do. Also, I grunted a lot and carried a plastic club. Having a prop is fun, as long as it does not impede your ability to drink, which this did not. (Somwhere, I have a picture of myself clubbing a 6'5" man dressed as a nun, but I can't find it.)



Powerpuff Girls. This is probably my favorite costume I've done as an adult. It wasn't my idea, but I went along with it when it was suggested by Danielle. We made the outfits ourselves and they turned out pretty freakin' great, I think!

I'm baaack

When I promised myself I'd be religious about flexing my writerly muscle on this blog, I fully expected to follow through. However, weird and long hours at work, playing tug-of-war with the pets and watching crap like "I Love New York 2" and "America's Next Top Model" easily distracted me.

Besides, only a few people know about this blog, so there aren't many people to hold me accountable.

Anyway, I'm trying it again. And hopefully, it goes better than my repeated attempts at establishing a regular workout routine, which also seem to ebb and flow despite the daily glimpses of flab I see each time I pass by the mirror.

Unfortunately, I'm too fried to post anything of substance at the moment. A 6 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. shift will do that to a girl. But tomorrow is a brand new day... and I have plenty of random thoughts about house hunting, The Dog Incident and what I will wear with my new pewter boots.

For now, off to bed to dream about giant goblets of expensive red wine and when we will finally get a king sized bed that comfortably accomodates me, Kyle and the pets.

I beg you, think before you send

Summary haiku:
If your email
is longer than this, please
don't send me that shit.


So, I just had a lovely week. I was off work for a 7 days, my mom was in town and we ate, drank and shopped. It was relaxing and fantastic and great to see mi madre.

But how quickly the serenity wears off. I only worked Wednesday-Friday, but it felt like a week. Probably because it took me that long to filter through all the email. Not just the spam. But the email from people I know. Friends, family members, even.

PEOPLE WHO FORWARD TONS OF ASININE EMAILS ARE ASSHOLES. I mean, who really does that, right? A lot of motherfuckers, as it turns out. Forward or not, I am constantly surprised at the things people send out to multiple recipients. When I open my email, I should not have 23 messages from the same person, sent on the same day.

But can you really block these people from your email if you're related to them, or they're your friends?

Here is a list of things I'm interested in having forwarded to me: Pictures of cute shoes. Mullet haikus. Links to your online vaction photos (I like to live vicariously). And the periodic dirty, grimy joke. BUT -- and this is of the upmost importance -- these emails must be short. If they can't be read without scrolling down, please keep that shit to yourself.

I never want to see any of this again: Forwards about Jesus, abortion, the $25 that Bill Gates is supposedly giving away (it's a hoax, people!!!!). Ghetto prom pictures, terrorists, rednecks (except, again, the mullet haikus... send those), etc.; inspirational quotes and long-ass narrative stories that end up being about God. (I don't have anything against religion, but I'm just sayin': I don't need 35 messages a day about it.)

Also, please do not send messages that include any of the following: "It's girlfriends week! Thank you for being a wonderful girlfriend," "Please forward this to the person who sent it to you and ten other people," "I'm a walnut tree, what are you?"

Sure, pressing the delete button is easy. But I sure wish I didn't have to. If I'm really a wonderful girlfriend, send me a card in the mail. I'll put it on my mantle and cherish it.