Bunch 'O Nothin'

I'm not a doggy blogger, I swear, but these furry ponies are just taking up more and more of my time! I came home Friday to see that 3 leash-law tickets had been tucked in my back door (not that back door) by the dog catcher. Dammit, they're not my dogs! As I walk upstairs I then noticed a note taped to the front door, which was from my neighbor across the street who is complaining that they have been tearing up her newspapers. "Yeah lady, I know they have been b/c I have to pick up your shredded newspaper off my lawn every day, oh and did I mention that THEY'RE NOT MY DOGS!" The next morning I went to her house to explain this to her, but she wouldn't open the door (I heard her in there!), so I too had to tape a note to her door. (As an aside, I hate passive aggressive note writing.) Anyway, I left her my number and she called to tell me that she was calling the pound. Whew! Good thing too, I just ran out of dog food (for those dogs, which are NOT MINE!) I'm hoping that aiding and abetting are not a form of ownership, but intuition tells me I should just keep that information on the d.l. when I attempt dispel my culpability for the tickets.

I feel kind of bad about this change of heart but apparently they are retrievers (the dog catcher so named them, and I figure he'd know), so I'm hoping they'll get adopted. Plus, they woke me up at 4am on Saturday, along w/the rest of the neighborhood. When I finally gave up and went outside to quiet them, they actually freakin' listened to me and stopped barking. Hmmm, wonder why the neighbors think that theyre mine.. Geez, I'm already the only Hispanic on the block, now I have to be the obnoxiously insensitive dog lady?! AND I don't hand out candy on Halloween?! I'm sure the neighborhood association meetings (which I don't attend) are now all about me. But my own dog is really suffering because of these interlopers. She can't use the bathroom in her own yard. This weekend I had to stop by my grandma's house just so she could do her business. And they've now taken to leaving me gifts on the side of the yard. I've found one cow hoof, an animal head, and some sort of joint bone so far. Each day I go outside to find what new sweet nothing my psycho canine "boyfriends" have brought me.

Onto the weekend: Friday was very low key. I cleaned up my house that evening in anticipation of sleeping in very late Saturday; I had been wanting to shake off this hazy under-the-weather feeling that has been following me around during late registration. That didn't happen thanks to my furry friends, so I was up and about by 6am, had already done my shopping by 9am, and was on my way to decorating my first bulletin board for the Sunday school kick-off. By the time I got home around 1:30 I decided that I wanted to do something, so I enlisted the help of one cousin, and by 5:45 I was on my way to SA to see Beerfest at the Alamo Drafthouse. Although I do believe the fact that I was drinking beer enhanced the experience, I give the movie a solid A rating.

The next day I went to my first ever dim sum restaurant. Little tip: if you are trying foods you have never tried before, and these new textures and tastes will serve as an epicurean adventure, do NOT drink copious amounts of alcohol the night before. This will make everything look like dog barf wrapped in terry cloth. I cannot even remember the last time I threw up, but I can tell you the last time I really really wanted to yak, and that was on Sunday. Of course, 4 hours later I was really craving some of that spongy dog barf stuff. I'm hoping my cousin's boyfriend, who is Chinese, will give me another shot and take us to a dim sum place soon.

Lastly, I spent a lazy Sunday afternoon with the folks. The paper was read, mom relayed her adventures in Harlingen, Dad and I made some green goddess dressing from scratch, and we all had a nice salad for dinner. Just like the Cosbys. Awwww.... Oh, and I got called out on my sprained ankle, which is doing well (not that anyone asked!), because the swelling went down and my Dad noticed that the "cankle" went away and my ankle is back to normal, so I should be able to resume my Stairmaster duties shortly. Pttthhhh.

PotLUCK?! I Should Say NOT!

I signed up to make my signature baked potato soup, which is an awesome way to ingest ten thousand calories in one sitting (one spoonful at a time), but since I commute to work and I want it to be nice and fresh, I've got to wake up at 5:30am to start cooking. Waking up that early isn't too bad, but your body will not be fooled by your minds logic. Your legs KNOW they shouldn't be upright at that hour (secretly I feel that this is also why mysterious whiskey dents often appear on my person after a particularly late and raucous night o' fun), and so they rebel in ways you cannot predict. More on that later.

At 6:57am, the soup is ready and has been transferred to the massive crock pot with little-to-no mess involved. As they say "this ain't my first rodeo", so I have taken extra care to do all the cooking in my pjs, and not even getting dressed until all foodstuffs had been contained in their proper traveling receptacles. Ahhh, but the stairs. My house has two floors, and one of the interesting things about my house is that the kitchen is upstairs. I like this because I usually feel like a princess in a tower, safely perched atop my castle and court. Oh yeah, and when I'm relaxing on the upstairs balcony, I don't have to pack a picnic or dig out a cooler, for the fridge is but feet away from the chillspot. That's definitely a plus. The downfalls had been twofold: lugging up groceries, lugging down laundry. I have just discovered the newest danger I have chosen to inflict on myself: transporting scalding hot soup downstairs at 7am in heels. (I believe we all know where this is going, but you can humor me.)

Dog, lunch, and coffee are all in my car. I can't chance juggling too many things down the stairs because baked potato soup, as the name would imply, is a heavy dish, and since its an office favorite I've made a boatload of it. As I go upstairs to get the soup I instinctively scan for any obstructions. Pile of mail on left side of bottom stair. Boot on right side of 3rd stair from the bottom. My mind quickly assesses that I should probably move the boot, however the snarky, self depreciative voice that lives in my head says the following as I launch up the stairs "DOOD, you just saw the stupid boot, just don't freakin' step on it. DUH!" This voice was nowhere to be heard from as my brain says step in the middle of the stair, my leg says, "F-YOU!", and I am tripping on the aforementioned boot, spraining my ankle, dumping piping hot soup all over the carpet, floor, my arm, my work clothes, the molding, AND trying to salvage one and half hours of early morning cooking.

Rootie is usually the only living thing to witness 98% of my utter incompetence and boobery as I try to make my way through the world, but I'm glad she missed this one. Having a baked potato soup-drenched poodle would have been the most unwelcome icing on the crap-cake I had baked that morning. And for the lesson: gotta be thankful when you can, folks.

(And as an aside, big dogs rock when you have a massive food mess on the floor and you're too busy trying to change clothes to mess with it. I'd put them against Swiffer anyday! [And so now you know the true reason I am championing for these strays.])

And So It Has Begun....

...my metamorphosis into the crazy dog lady. I still bathe regularly, and I have yet to invest in knee high panty hose and $4 tennis shoes from Dollar General, but I can feel that along with my current surge of dog pathos, shambling around town while speaking softly to myself is immanent.

The animal control flunkies left a card on my door yesterday because my gentle giants are freakin' TERRORIZING THE NEIGHBORHOOD. I know this to be true because during the short hours when I am home I see them chasing the cats up trees (this usually makes me laugh), loudly barking at nothing in particular, chasing each other through various front yards around the suburb, knocking down outdoor grills as they wrestle and lumber around. Of course they're into the trash; I've had to clean my yard 4 times, and the scary part is that the trash they bring into my yard is not mine. I need only to peer down the street to see the path of destruction left in their wake. It's actually a beautiful sight to see because they are having the time of their lives, but so not cool if youve got to clean up after them.

But they really are good dogs! When I make a kissy noise in the air, they all come to me, and when I tell them no, they stop doing whatever is they were doing and look at me dolefully. They would make awesome pets and if I had a big yard, I'd keep them in a second. This brings me to today. My hometown dogcatchers are notorious for being pricks. I know that if I call them and claim the dogs, I'll get a ticket because theyre roaming free, and if I say they arent mine then theyll be caught, locked up, and I'd be expected to pay for them if I wanted them back.

I've gone to some no-kill shelter websites, but so far its only yielded wild thoughts of adopting the dogs that they already have there, or becoming a foster home for a dog, which is the WORST idea ever. I've got a dog, (marginally- she weighs 5 and a half pounds), and I'm lucky enough to have a set-up that allows me to leave her with someone all day, and take care of her when I work late and/or go out of town. I doubt that offer would be extended if I doubled the recipe.

Hmmm, if they're smart enough to evade capture, I wonder if I could harbor them? Y'know like Anne Frank or Harriet Tubman? I just cannot bring myself to turn them in to the canine five-oh. I'm hoping my inaction will buy them a few more days of freedom, a few more belly rubs from someone who cares about them, and just one more opportunity to petrify those cats. "Get em!" Heh heh heh.

MEIN Kampf!

My Dad was right: big dogs = big messes. Yes, the dogs are cute, yes, I love having them to run/play with, yes it's cool to feel like I have a real dog, and yet the destruction they have wrought on my deck/swimming pool is of insurance-worthy proportions. The fact that my own dog cannot go outside to use the bathroom because the big dogs bound forward in curiosity, making Rootie clench up and head for the hills, a.k.a. my arms so that I can clutch her to my bosom in protection against the giants. (I dont usually refer to them as "the hills" but that was a nice, though unintentional pun). And when I pet the male, his red rocket launches and it just makes me feel all uneasy in general. Theres a huge difference between a small dog showing his lipstick, and a large dog unsheathing his er...um... popsicle. Blechhh!

So now what!? I would feel awful calling the pound, and I already tried the no-kill shelter and they're all full. I'm trying to see this in a positive way, but the only thing I've come up with is that at least they've chased off all of the stray cats I had been feeding before they came along. I don't like cats, and they kept pooping under my deck, making hot, sunny, perfect tanning days too aromatic to enjoy, but yes I fed them too! It's like cute n' fuzzy is my kryptonite! (Does not typically apply to the human species).

In non-canine news, the trip to N. Padre w/my cousin is set. The fact that were going back to Padre at all is a small miracle, especially since we got into so much trouble the last time we visited the beach. But we're confident that this time we can handle it! Staying someplace that is right by the water, thereby negating the need to get into a car in order to enjoy the sunshine, is definitely a plus. Also, we've gotten the spring break partying out of our system so this will be a great opportunity to just relax and enjoy the solitude of the waterfront. Well, and to break that solitude with mindless chick babble. RAWK!

Lastly, in accordance with my usual Monday fare, a short recap of my dinky weekend. Friday was da bomb. After a hard, late day of work, my new drinking buddy Katie and I went out to scope some watering holes, share some pizza, and talk about conservatives, the magic of trees, and memorable concert experiences. It was tre' fun, and in the words of Ice Cube:

Drunk as hell, but no throwin' up
Halfway home and my pager (phone*) still blowin' up
Today I didn't even have to use my A.K.
I got to say it was a good day

Saturday was busy; I cleaned most of my house, saving my room ("clothes- laid-on-the-bed central") for last. I had pleasant company over to watch some TV, and went to be shortly thereafter. Sunday I took my first step into volunteering for the church, got bullied into a project by Sister Pat (she's a wonderful, giving woman, but she don't mess around.), washed mi coche, cleaned my room, and had my widdle sleepy head atop my pillow by 11:00. The only problem was trying to get comfy; its tough trying to sleep with your halo. :-)

*Thanks Katie, I didn't die on the way home and I had a great time too!

'Cause I'm Smart Like That

I was on my computer yesterday after work (b/c I only spent 8 hrs in front of a computer at work, so I had some catching up to do), and I heard leaves rustling in my front yard. As I look out the window I see a dog. Hummm. Not a dog I've seen before, but OK. Then I see another dog. I get a better view and there are THREE dogs, sniffing around in my front yard, and these are not small dogs, I'm talking 20 pounders! (Ive got a small poodle, so this is relative). I go outside to shoo them off (b/c no one drops biggies on my lawn 'cept MY dog!), when I notice that they all run off into a corner by the fence, behind my car. Uh, guys, there's just a fence there, so where are you going? I walk around and notice that they are all less than a year old (just went through their first puppy-sprout), and I can see their rib cages. !!!!! So I coax one over and he lets me pet him. Very sweet dog. Then I....I....YES! I FED THEM! ALL OF THEM! And gave them water, and love, and pats, and scratches on their ears (well, the one that was most friendly). And since no good deed goes unpunished, its about 1am and I'm still listening to them bark in my driveway. Sighhhh...

Shomer Shabbos

I'm thinking about teaching CYM again (Catholic Youth Ministry). I used to go to church every Sunday, before I met my ex, and it's nice to get back into the life I had. I like the peace of mind that attending mass affords me during the week. I liken it to exercising each day, because when you've been "good" for a while and a coworker brings in treats, you feel that you can partake of at least half a serving, b/c you've being good. Saving up that church karma to spend at a later date just makes me feel better about my world in general. Yes, I realize that trying to make an analogy using a "karma bank" to explain any portion of Catholicism is breaking the commandment of worshiping no gods before Him, thereby committing a sin. Good think I went to church this Sunday; I'm all in the clear!! (See how well that works for me?)

Sometimes the whole ex thing seems like a shady dream-Dip Van Winkle here- and it's exciting to get my life back. Very scary that I got so far off the beaten path, but nice to find myself again. The past weekend is a perfect example. I helped my dad clear a fallen tree off his property on Saturday during the day, my uncle came over and I heard lots of boyhood stories, which I thoroughly enjoy. Later that evening I had a nice dinner with my parents, my brother, his wife, and my nephews (rotini w/Bolognese sauce, and a robust but mellow cabernet). On Sunday I went to church, went back to my folks' house to play w/my nephews (I am Aunt Ami-dala, though I usually turn into a warrior princess who defeats Darth Jacob, amidst shouts of protest, of course), helped my mom make breakfast, and later on I took my 16-yr-old cousin out for dinner b/c she's currently dealing with normal teenage/mom problems, so we got to hang out and talk a bit. Nice. I mean, really really nice. The kind of nice I've been missing for the past 5 years, and feel very foolish for doing so. 'Tis but a blip, one I cannot strip, as my past is in it's grip, so this sorrow I shall nip.

On the job news, I did get the job I interviewed for but my letter of resignation was met with an offer of time to go back to school, and a possible opportunity for promotion within the next year. I'd have to earn it, but I like to learn new things, and lately I have felt very stagnant within my profession. (Ha ha! What an arrogant ass! "..within my profession" But you know what I mean) I really enjoy the people that I work with, and I've probably been blaming the comfort of my job with my lack of ambition to get off my duff and enroll in courses. Working full time and going to school is never going to be easy, but it's certainly within my range of ability. I'm just too spoiled, and I had this fantasy of going back to school full-time; a bit of Peter Pan Syndrome on my part. I've realized the house, most notably the mortgage, makes the notion an impossibility, so it's time to grow up and git 'er done. Uh, starting next spring. For real, though, school starts next Wednesday, and all of the admissions deadlines are long gone. Sigh... But in the meantime, CYM will help me better structure my time. Definitely a step in the right direction.

Arby's and Cloning

Eating lunch upstairs at the 5th floor snackbar is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re going to get, but rest assured you will feel like shit after consumption. It’s a bit like high school except you’re more socially responsible and aware, which makes for some painful moments and awkward conversations. Not only due to the crappy yet pricey food offered, but also who you sit with. Sometimes it's who catches you up there which makes you feel like you HAVE to sit w/them. Eeeeesh...

So today I found myself at the Arby’s. Oh yes, I did. I turned up my nose at the Subway across the street, and trucked into the Arby’s drive-thru. In my defense I will say that they make very good turkey & swiss sandwiches on honey wheat bread. No really, the truly do. And I would like to say that I partook of one…ha ha! Of course I did, and it was a mighty tasty sandwich too! The part that threw me off was that you can’t order chips! It’s curly fries or nuthin! That packs a WHOLE mess of fat and caloried onto your conscience decision NOT to eat crappy for lunch and have a somewhat healthy sandwhich. What are those corporate bozos thinking? Cater to "meat and potatoes" kind of folks or don't, but don't get me there for your sandwich only to leave me hanging with my options of curly fries or a fried cherry turnover (sensing a theme here?)

As my mind wanders from the fact that my lunch so so incongruent, I began to think: Would you clone your most beloved pet? For me there would be no other reason than I cannot imagine my life without her. That may sound really little-girl-stoopid, but she developed Addison’s Disease about 10 months ago, and though the research I’ve done states they can live a relatively normal life with therapy, it just makes me wonder. I feel guilty for thinking this, but I’m hoping that by the time she’s ready to pass I’ll have either an S.O. or a kid (she’s only 4, so I’ve got about 7 years on it), so it won’t hurt so much. Awful, I know…. But that dog is just so freakin’ important to me! Last night I woke up (I wake up a lot at night, but then I usually just fall back asleep), and instinctively started to pet my dog and rub her little tummy. I LOVE THAT! What if I couldn’t do that anymore?

When she was sick, and before she was diagnosed, I was a basket case. She wouldn’t eat or drink, her little nose was so dry, and I was hand feeding her little ice chips and water bottle caps full of water. Just one little teaspoon of water at a time, and I would feel so grateful when she’d drink it. I felt like a mom b/c I just kept starling myself awake and watching her little chest rise and fall, just to make sure she was still with me. After she got her first treatment, and she went to her little food bowl and started munching away on her food, I started to cry. (Uh, nobody actually knows about that, so please do not remind me if you see me) It took like a week for me to stop getting all wet –eyed when she’d eat or drink anything. Even now when her little nose is dry I’ll get a bit neurotic and give her some people food, just to make sure that she’s willing to eat it. But could I clone her, or is that disrespectful of the sanctity of life? I don’t think I’d want to be cloned...

Now I'm back at work and I've made up my mind on the matter: I need to stick to more time w/Rootie and less time at Arby's.

Putting the "Wheeeee!" In Weekend!

Wherein our heroine gets "Tore up from the floor up". Family Values Tour was an experience, to say the least. From what I remember of the show, Korn was a great. Oh, and you should never step to some 300 lb. meskin who looks like hitting a chick would be a novelty and not a verboten edict, even if he is being an unreasonable prick.

Saturday, when I was licking my wounds and ruing the day wine was ever invented, I was invited to a wedding in Seguin. I almost didn't go, but not to be outdone by my cousin, who had also drained the wine skin with me on Friday (though maybe not as thoroughly as I had), I decided I'd give it a shot. SHOTS! Did we ever! I had never had Jaeger Bomb shots, and since my cousin and I were splitting them, they didn't turn into a problem for me. I will say that the shots of Patron my cousin drank took her night in a whole new direction. When you're dancing to Y.M.C.A. in front of your family and putting your salsa hips in that jam, you know you've had too much to drink, yes? HA HA! But I can't crow too loudly because she has seen some of my finer Patron-induced calamitous moments, which were not going into now (or ever).

I have definitely hit my quota for calories sipped this month. It's always about that love-hate relationship I think all women (who like beer) have to deal with. Enjoying each golden, fizzy, ice-cold swallow, and damn those barley calories all to hell. Sigh... But I would like to trek to either Austin or SA to the Drafthouse to watch "Beerfest" when it comes out. Yeah, I could probably just watch it at a regular theatre, but I know me and as soon as I see those frothy, sweaty steins, I know I'm going to start to feel absolutely parched. And since it doesn't come out for another 3 weeks or so, I won't have to feel like some drunk-ass loser who parties too much. It's weird though...when I don't go out and do something fun for a while I end up feeling old, but when I do go out I feel kinda bad, like I should have outgrown this or something. I dunno why... I will say that you have not LIVED until youre watching Slingblade at 3:30 in the morning while waiting for water to boil so that you can cook some Kraft pasta primavera from a box, which you don't recall purchasing in the first place. Thank God I didn't go for that grilled cheese, as I found out the morning after that the bread was moldy. Whew! Some fermented products are OK, but you get too much of that working against your system, and I suspect there would be trouble.

Lastly, I shall run down this weekend's flicks in the order watched: "Evil Dead", "Sky High", "Lost in La Mancha", and "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle". Hey, there's not much else to do when you're all beery and lethargic from the night before! I was pleasantly surprised to find that I rather enjoyed "Harold and Kumar", although I couldn't watch the whole battleshits scene; that was just too much for me to handle, but there were quite a few scenes that had me laughing out loud. I had an eventful weekend but not so eventful that I feel as though I didn't rest up for the week ahead of me. Mmmmm, perfect weekend

Entertain ME!

All my favorite blogs are stale, as in they have not been updated, and I'm bored off my gourd at work, which can be a very dangerous situation. Last time this happened I ended up creating a program that still haunts me to this day. Stupid staff development projects... Yeah, I've got tons of real work to get through, but today I am the 'C' student who is doing just enough to get by. Allright, that'll probably be me tomorrow too. YES, I am a perennial 'C' student, but I can turn into an "honors nerd" at the drop of a hat, so reck-a-nize fools!

-Lamenting about boredom-check
-Egocentric self assessment-check
-Trash talking-check
-No discernable point or reason for writing this crap down-check

This blog entry is coming along swimmingly! OK, I do have something to bitch about, but its bathroom talk. I'll preface this rant with the following information: I lived in a dorm for 4 years, and my bathroom consisted of 4 stalls that was shared by no fewer than 30 other women, and I have spent three summers in the woods where there were no flushing toilets, so I am not a crapper prima donna in the least, however.

What is up w/these crazy bitches?!

I work in an office on a floor with 3 other offices. We all share one ladies room, which has about 9 stalls. I do not understand how, when entering a bathroom and seeing one occupied stall, and 8 other unoccupied stalls, you would zero in on a stall RIGHT NEXT to the stall with someone already in there! Do you need someone to hold your hand through this? Geez! I realize that as an American I am used to a certain amount of buffering space. I'm not used to being pressed up against strangers, like in Japan or India, or bustling through busy, narrow streets like in England or New York, but my credo is: If there is extra space available, get offa my cloud, man! Or in this case, WOman!
Should I kick out my feet from under the stall to give some menacing presence, like some kind of blowfish trying to ward off predators/competitors? That may not work, these nutty ladies might thing its some kind of welcoming flag or an opportunity to play "Rockettes". And it really sucks when someone plops down right next to you- literally. That has actually happened to me! I mean, it's bothersome when someone sits right next to you in spite of the fact that many other stalls are open, but when they start pinching a loaf or passing gas, its just like WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?! This isn't The Waltons! Were not some snuggly family where we can just share those kind of moments!

I know, "$hit" happens, and I'm sure youre asking what I do when such needs arise. To that I shall remind: