My in-laws rule

I've heard the horrifying tales of crazed, obsessive, impossible-to-please, nightmare in-laws.

Thank God I got so lucky. Kyle's parents visited from Philly last week and we had the best time. It was like having friends in town -- totally cool, low-maintenance friends. I had to work during the day, but at night, it was so fun to come home and chill out with some wine.

Kyle's dad made us breakfast almost every day. Real breakfast -- eggs, kielbasa, toast -- not just cereal.

We all donated some money to Indiana's economy late Wednesday night when we visited the casino. (Except for Kyle, who came back to win $35 after being down about $75 at one point.) I was especially proud to have made my $10 last in the slot machine for an hour and 15 minutes.

Kyle's mom knows how to shop -- a woman after my own heart. On Friday, we checked out the Macy's sale. Then I dragged her to Off Broadway Shoe Warehouse, and then we hit the Summit. (She also loves the Lifetime Movie Network, so imagine all the atrocious acting we watched together as a family!)

That night, we grilled out, listened to old school R&B tunes and chatted up a storm over wine and cocktails.

And, Aaron and Brenda got to meet their grand-dogs for the first time, which went splendidly. Lucy and Archie were perfectly civilized pets. Saturday night, after we took Aaron and Brenda to the airport, Lucy wouldn't come to bed. She laid down on the couch for a couple of hours, probably waiting for her new friends to come home.

It was a really fabulous time. I wish they were still here. Because I'd probably be doing something else besides watching the season finale of "The Bachelorette" right now. (I never watched any other episodes this season, but isn't this really the only one you need to see? She just picked the Colorado pro snowboarder over the super nice financial guy from Seattle.)

"Weeds" is on!

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.

Random music thoughts for Thursday

I've been thinking a lot about music during the past week.

First, my new friend JacQue and I have been talking about RZA's new single (and can I just add that she's the only woman I've ever met who loves Wu-Tang Clan as much as me? It's awesome!). Second, Javacia wrote a blog about Soulja Boy/Ice-T/hip-hop that made me think a little bit too.

So I've been listening a lot more carefully the past couple of days, really absorbing it instead of having it on as a backdrop while I drive around and talk to people on my cell phone. Here are some random words/phrases you never hear in music and make me smile when they pop up: Buffoonery (Jay-Z); Tally ho (Method Man); cerebral cortex (RZA); humdinger (Saigon); scallywag (J-Ro); jingle-jangle (Tash).

Also, in hip-hop, people are always debating their top five (or top 10) artists of all time. I've always found that impossible to do; my top lists have always been separated into categories because I like different artists for different reasons. As of today, my lists are as follows and are in no particular order.


Favorite lyricists:
Nas
Slick Rick
Jay-Z
Boots Riley (The Coup)
Biggie
Inspectah Deck
Redman
Tash
Method Man
Talib Kweli
Mad Skillz
Andre 3000
Lupe Fiasco


My favorite voices:
Method Man
RZA
Snoop Dogg
Lyrics Born
Chali 2na
Snaggapuss
Slick Rick
Andre 3000
Q-Tip
U-God
Ghostface Killah


Dopest flow:
Slick Rick
Mr. Cheeks
Method Man
Busta Rhymes
Ghostface Killah
Mos Def
Chali 2na
Del
Bahamadia
Freddie Foxxx
Ludacris

Celebrity Circus

Today, I have nothing to say, unless you'd like to know that I'm watching "Celebrity Circus." Christopher Knight is doing aerial flips while attached to some kind of bungee cord thingie that's hanging from the ceiling. The Black Eyed Peas' "Let's Get It Started" is the soundtrack for this daring feat.

Can you believe after flipping through hundreds of TV stations that this is what I chose to watch? I need to join Netflix ASAP. Or read a book. Summer television is the worst.

Joey Fatone is the host for this craptacular festival of bizarre stunts performed by semi-celebs.

Stacey Dash is up next on the Spanish web -- where a person does tricks using a giant rope. Holy shit! She just said she was 41 years old. She looks about 25. Her musical backdrop is "Bad to the Bone."

There's a crazy, flaming gay judge with a lisp who loves her. He just got up and did a back handspring and a couple of pelvic thrusts to show his appreciation after the other judges seemed indifferent to her performance. "You done gone worked my nerves, guys," he said, before giving her a perfect 10.

My best friend just called from home, so I may not get to watch the rest of this spectacle in detail.

Wee Man just dangled from the ceiling and gyrated with a couple of chicks in tune to "Everybody Wants You."

Rachel Hunter is doing the highwire act. She looks scared shitless and she's shaking. Can't blame her.

OK, Wendy is much more interesting than this show. I'm signing off.

Dear Insight: Please get an editor.

Love,

Maisy

New camera

This is Tamara's cat, Crimson. Or, "orange kitty."

I have nothing else to photograph except animals, and I'm trying to get to know my new camera. So here are my canines having fun on the porch (above), and in the yard (below).

Celebrity Family Feud

I know, I know. If I'm going to watch "Celebrity Family Feud," I totally deserve everything I get. It's only five minutes in and already pretty bad.

Ice-T and his family are on. Per usual, Ice-T's wife, Coco -- whose boobs are the size of human heads -- has her two flesh globes on display.

Roker says something like, "So, Ice, your wife Coco is known for her skimpy clothes. Do you like that? Do you ever get jealous?"

Ice goes, "Nah, I don't get mad. It's kind of like buying a Ferrari and then keeping the cover on it all the time."

Nice.

Joan Rivers' family (Melissa, too) are up against Ice-T's kin. The Rivers clan is smoking them.

For the record, Al Roker is no Richard Dawson.

Next up: Wayne Newton vs. Raven-Symone's family. Newton's eyeballs are freakishly close together. I've never noticed that before, but it's kind of hard to look at.

Raven-Symone is cute as a button. But based on this display, I can tell you she's not real bright, seems to be a little bit nuts and she screeches a lot.

...

...

...

Oops. I spaced out on the internet for a while and didn't really see the end.

Somehow, I will find a way to carry on.

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.)

How dare you expect napkins with your meal?

Today, while running around frantically for work, I found myself with an unexpected 30 minutes before an interview. So I pulled into a locally-owned health food store, which was near my source's house, to grab some freshly made sushi for lunch.

The store has a little seating area where you can eat, where there are also a bunch of condiments, reading materials, etc. In this same little U-shaped area, there's also a counter that is staffed by an employee. I think he was there to make smoothies or something, but at the time, he wasn't doing shit besides chatting up some crazy lady who was going on and on about her feral cats.

I surveyed the area for chopsticks and there weren't any. Here's how things transpired from there:

Me (to employee): Excuse me, do you have any chopsticks?

Employee (who was clearly annoyed at the interruption): "Um, yeah. They're over by the sushi." Then he rolled his eyes like I was the biggest dumbass in town.

I went back over to the sushi and saw an empty canister but no chopsticks. He was so rude to me that I didn't bother telling him they were out. I just decided to grab the rolls with my fingers because the fork always makes them fall apart. So, I started looking for the napkins. There were FIVE dispensers in the immediate area, all of which were empty.

Me (still being totally polite): Um, is there somewhere to get napkins? All of these dispensers are empty.

Employee: Loud sigh. "Yeah, they're over above the soups," he said, pointing back toward the grocery store part. Again, he delivered this information in a tone like I was Corky from "Life Goes On."

Oh, excuse me, asshole! My x-ray vision didn't zero in on those conveniently located napkins hidden behind three aisles of food. God forbid I actually want to wipe my hands after eating with my fingers.

Then, this jerk called over another employee and asked him if they had any chopsticks. The other guy was like, "No, we've been out of them for a couple of days."

"Well," he said, gesturing to me, "she wants some." Like I was a pariah for even asking! Disposible chopsticks are not an unreasonable thing to expect when ordering sushi... and it wouldn't even have bothered me that much if they were out, but he was just such a dick about the whole thing.

Finally, after I ate, I went to throw away my trash and they had three different garbage cans for various types of recycling and one for garbage. Every single one of them was overflowing -- like, stuff was stacked on top of the garbage can lids because there was no room inside them. I actually had to pick up someone else's trash and set mine underneath it, or the entire stack of crap would have toppled over.

I like to support local places, but I will never set foot in that dump again. I don't understand why they even have employees there. Mind you, this wasn't even after the lunch rush. It was at 12:10 p.m., and the joint was empty. The missing customers were probably all at Whole Foods, where I should have gone in the first place.

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.

Unleash the word police

So, today I pulled up behind a truck bearing the following bumper sticker: "If you can read this, your TOO DAMN CLOSE."

I know grammar and spelling aren't everyone's bag, and that's fine. (See my previous post on this topic.) I'm not a real big fan of math, for that matter.

But don't we learn the difference between your/you're; their/there/they're; and to/too/two in, oh, I don't know, third to fifth grade? I mean, it's not like someone misspelled "antidisestablishmentarism" on the bumper decal -- a faux pas that would be perfectly reasonable. Expected, even.

It's amazing to me that a company spent the time and money to create a fucked up sticker, presumably to be sold to many people. Clearly, though, some people don't notice the error and stick it to the tailgate of their Dodge Ram anyway. But still, don't companies have proof readers?

I'm not saying I'm perfect. All people make mistakes, typos, etc. It just seems like businesses would make the effort to double check stuff that's on display to the public.

I'll close my rant with my favorite example, which was written in enormous capital letters on a dry erase board at Dooley's Bagels. "TRUKEY SANDWICHES: SPECIAL OF THE MONTH." And it read like that for the entire month -- again, on a dry erase board, which could be fixed in about two seconds. I went in there for coffee and bagels about 8 times that month, and I cringed every time.

Oh well. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'm currently watching "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?" for the first time and it's really sad. I'm beginning to realize that tons and tons and tons of people are dumber than rocks.

Oh well. One more day until the weekend! Yippee!

Comatose

People think shopping for work is all glitz and glamour. It is fun, and I enjoy what I do. But after you've spent two solid days schlepping stuff around in 93+ degree heat, you just feel like a nasty, sweaty, beat-up puddle of sloth. I've been to at least 35 stores -- probably more -- in two days.

To top it all off, I went to do an interview and help with a photo shoot tonight (both of which went really, really well, thank you for asking), but it sucked up the last bits of my energy and personality.

Arriving home at 8 p.m., there was no chance of a normal dinner happening. I had four pieces of pepperjack cheese on wheat crackers and a raw turkey dog, straight from the fridge.

That's officially the worst meal in the world, for the record, and if you're vomiting at the thought of it, I'm sorry. But washing the blueberries and steaming asparagus (my original plan for dinner) seemed like too much of a chore.

Only five situations exist that would make me more exhausted than I am right now.

1. Being Jack Bauer on the season finale of "24" (any season).

2. Being a surgical resident working in the ER.

3. Being Lucy and Archie after 9 hours at doggy day care.

4. If I had just finished playing in the SuperBowl.

5. Trying to find a swimsuit that doesn't make me want to kill myself (which I did last week and weekend, and trust me, it's exhausting).

Off to bed and it's still light outside. Oh my God, I'm OLD. If I start eating dinner at Denny's at 4 p.m., someone please kill me.

Thanks, DHL, for your prompt delivery

There are four things that happen with my cell phone, the most infrequent of which is that it actually works properly.

1. Missed calls, voice mail and text messages sometimes don't register for a couple of days.

2. No matter when I program it to do, it either rings on the loudest setting possible or does not ring at all.

3. About one out of every four calls end suddenly with a loud buzzing sound, then the phone turns itself off.

4. Most phone calls sound like they are being conducted under water.

These issues have gotten a million times worse in the last week, so I ordered a new phone from AT&T.



It was shipped on Friday and they promise to send it on a two (business) day delivery through DHL.

I've been tracking my order online and my shipment arrived in Louisville at 6:48 a.m., so I was expecting that my new phone would be delivered today. But it wasn't. Now, it's not like one more day of this crappy phone is going to ruin my life, but I'm just saying... the package is already in the city. Would it really kill them to just bring it by? I saw the DHL truck in my 'hood while I was walking the dogs.

Yes, I'm impatient. Yes, I should have just gone to the phone store and bought it in person. But whatever. Hindsight, 20/20, all that.

On another note, I love, love, love Peter MacNichol. He's the president's chief aide on season 6 of "24," which I've been watching on DVD for the past week. I've seen him on tons of shows and he's such a good, versatile actor.



Although no matter how hard I try, I can't get the image of him whistling through his nose on "Ally McBeal" out of my head.

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.)

People who paint over wallpaper are fucking assholes.

So yesterday, we embarked on what should be a fairly simple task: We finally got around to repainting our bathroom on the main floor -- a task that should have taken roughly five hours, with primering and the actual painting. I got three walls done and felt pretty proud.

But when went to remove the toilet, it wouldn't come unscrewed from the floor. So we had to use a hack saw to screw through the bolts, which took ... a while. Then we discovered that some fucking assclown had painted over wallpaper -- a discovery we made because the wallpaper was all bubbled and peeling behind the toilet. So we started pulling it up.

Which is like pulling an errant thread on a sweater.

And after the paper is pulled up, all the glue underneath must be scraped off.

This is what our bathroom looks like now:







The Pepto Bismol pink is the old color. The sage green is the new color. And anything that isn't one of those two hues needs to be scraped, spackled and/or sanded before we primer and paint it. We spent most of today doing the part behind the toilet so we could reattach it. (We've had the water in our house turned off all day so that agua wouldn't leak from the detached hose.)

But that doesn't take the sting out of the fact that it's going to be a couple of weeks before this mess finished.

Kyle's expression said it best.




P.S. I've been getting drunk, so I'll be sad tomorrow when I have to go to work.

I am Selma and Patty Bouvier

Three days and eight Derby parties later, my tonsils feel as big as kiwi fruits. My voice, scratchy and raw, and I can't breathe because I've got some sinus thing going on too. The verdict: A real bad case of tonsillitis, which I haven't had since I was, like, 12 maybe?

I probably caught the germs from some drunken, non-handwashing ass at one of those parties. Woe is me. Luckily, I've discovered how morbidly fascinating Showtime series, "Dexter" to help pass the time.

I'm watching it On Demand on a loop. I wish Dexter would come kill me right now.

Lifetime rules on dreary days

Not feeling so great today. And it sucks outside, so why bother leaving? You couldn't pay me to go down to Thunder.

Besides, there's a fabulous (read: awful) movie marathon on the Lifetime Movie Network called "Drama Teens." I'm all over it.

So far, I've watched a flick starring Elisha Cuthbert about a teen girl addicted to gambling.

Just finished another about a college freshman and the lessons she learned after her roomie died from binge drinking.

Now, I'm watching "Dying to Belong," starring a pre-Oscar Hillary Swank. I think it has something to do with a tragic sorority prank.

OMG, Sarah Chalke is in this too! Oh look, and some dude from "Saved by the Bell" too: Mark-Paul something or other. Well, there goes another two hours of my life.

I haven't been this badly entertained since I discovered the stinker of all Lifetime movies, "CoEd Call Girl," starring Tori Spelling. If I'm lucky, maybe that will be in the line up today! One can only hope.