Mini series

We're going to start at the end. This is a picture of me Dick Van Dyking over an ill placed cooler. (It's not the kind of Dick Van Dyking where I actually fall down and Larry Matthews and Mary Tyler Moore run to my aid. This one ended with a big bruise and believe me it was a small price to pay for freedom.)

If you peer into the (imaginary) background, you might be able to see another woman dressed in a black t-shirt with sparkley lettering spelling out her business affiliation and I can't be 9000% sure but I think it referred to smashed up vegetation of some sort. That's right. She was one of those (gulp) juice people.

I have no way of knowing if her expression was one of pure joy (since I have very little doubt that by this time in the days schedule my face was no longer in a upright and locked friendly-type appearing position) or conversely, an expression of sorrow, because if The Shish and I escaped, in my estimation that cut her entire paying audience exactly in half and a girl doesn't like to get her sparkley shirt wrinkley for nothing, true? I know I don't.

Also please note that I am wearing one of MY favorite shirts-that's my Wondergirl 5K red longsleeved t-shirt of luv and I only break it out when I am thinking I am going to be personally worthy of the indication of the great joy that it represents. I love that shirt because A) It's red. B) It supports an excellent cause and C) I did that 5k all by myself in uncharted territory and I got to enter an actual stadium at the very end so the coolness factor comes in at a 99.9 on the fabulocity scale.

And for now? That's the end.
Tomorrow I'll start at the other end.

--------
Wondergirl/Girls on the Run Chicago
http://www.gotrchicago.org/

Oak Park Public Library

Thing One:I was at the library today and I spied my favorite librarian-that's a lie right there, because I heart ALL librarians-especially the mean ones-although you don't see as many mean ones as you used to-I think it's because (generally speaking) people are free from girdles (a word that cracked me up well into the third grade)-speaking of creative non-fiction which is what I am speaking of right here because I had to get a reference book about sorta-like ethical issues in creative non-fiction because I want to tell the story of a scam-o-rama but I no do wanna invite the libel/slander fairies into my nice home just when I'm getting it all properly feng shuied and everything and this favorited librarian said, Hey I haven't seen you in a while and it was then and there that I decided upon the wording of my tombstone(or what am I saying? The plaque under my memorial tree) where it shall read:

Thing Two: Tonight I got to try Tai Chi with Dr. Frank Yurasek who is one of the most fabulous humans I've ever found (except that the truly fabulous seem to keep revealing themselves to me, one after another at an amazing pace and what's THAT about?). Anyway, I bumped into Dr. Frank when our local Chinese Bible Church was having a Chinese New Year Celebration and they were reaching out to the neighborhood and by now you are familiar with my Life Strategy© number 792 which states: If someone invites you, you should probably go.

And so I did and I think I did feel like a big ole dork for about hmm off and on here and there the whole time actually but I recognized that that feeling was the unattractive wrapping paper on the gift of new discovery and I saw Dr. Frank's presentation right after I got to make my own Won Ton (full disclosure-I've worked at several Chinese Food places so it wasn't a mysterious process to me but everyone at the Won Ton table was So Nice! (And I hope said disclosure prevents me from every having to hear the phrase 'flied lice' ever again/Keep hope alive)).

Dr. Frank was upstairs-his lecture already in progress and now I need the ethical book to help me to find the right way to say that I am not Asian and neither is Dr. Frank. (Hey that was easy.) He's got a whole kind of Phil Donahue hot cha cha thing going on which I appreciate in a doctor in the same way if a hairstylist looks like crap or a stylist shows up to an event not wearing make-up? There are credibility issues, no?

I have an actual note from Dr. F. Yurasek where he prescribes me to have fun. No kidding. The idea being building new pathways for the elimination of stress and so, he told me about tonight’s class that he teaches at the YMCA here in lovely OP and of course and naturally? I went.

Why didn't someone tell me there's like this-hmm how do I say it/where's that book? -deflection of attack philosophy within those imaginary ball-holding movements that you see those lovely people doing in the public parks in China? And that there would be giggling at no extra cost? Damn. I woudda been there years ago. When someone's downward facing dog provided the release of a puff of wayward internal fumage, in a yoga class, one of my friends got busted for unsuccessfully suppressing an explosive sound that is a sign of amusement.

Yoga schmoga. Those people need to Lighten Up, no? Oh yeah and I promised I'd build Dr. Frank a clinic in Africa. There's that too. I better go to bed. I have a lot to do, huh?

http://www.eastwellusa.com/frank.html

http://www.opymca.org/

The Middle of the Night

It's ever so glamorous being an artist.

I've had Paula's scanner on tonight for guilt purposes (if the criminals are working than so shall I!) but all the boys in the black hoodies packed it in about 2 hours ago. Yes. Black hoodies. According to Paula's scanner and continual anonymous eyewitness accounts? It's what everyone who is anyone in the suspect division is wearing. It will be interesting to hear what's ahead for resort season, no? (And uhh doesn't the police department have caller ID? Speaking of anonymous callers.)

Yeah so, it's 2:15 and my hands are freezing and shoved into my sleeves and my nose is running but I have the ceiling fan on because my Dad told me that if you get sleepy when you're driving, you should open the window and stick your head out and I'm figuring this is the same thing. Also I can't reach the cord to make it stop. (Ha! Okay it must be late because I think that's extremely amusing.)

My store starts on Saturday (Lawd Willin’) and naturally the best work appears at the very last minutes but I just had The Most Excellent Breakthrough in thinking and I would not have received it had I not appeared here in front of the computer and waited for it to arrive.

Someone just asked me about writing in the How da ya get started? department and it's true what they say, you won't catch the train if you don't show up at the station. (They don't say that. I just made it up. They are too busy caring about American Idol.) It was funny/strange, I was telling Shishi that when I knew I had this hectic week ahead of me my first thought was, well, I just won't write.

After I said it out loud, I felt so sad all of a sudden and as Mary Poppins would say about the state of Jane and Michael Banks nursery, I thought, "This will never do." and so here I am chilly at 2:39 AM in baggy jeans and my own hoodie stealing additional hours from the day.

Flowery Chair

Multitasking is the apparent simultaneous performance of two or more tasks by a worn-out, pencil sketching, dog massaging humorist supreme who thanks you for both your time and your attention so far.

More on the morrow.

Stresstown, USA

So. Okay. I'm sitting here after having been out for the majority of the day. I was either waiting to go someplace important or trying to get to someplace important or at a place of importance all the live long day and now I'm sitting here thinking, okay, what's the picture?

That's the way I approach these stories. If the tale doesn't pop out and smash me in the face and they do (For instance, today, I discovered Belly Flops for sale at the dollar store which for me is terrible news-not because I wouldn't drive to Wisconsin to wear a hairnet and take of tour around a pile of cardboard boxes to be able to score my own annual bag and not because of the irony of a three dollar item on sale at what's commonly known as The Dollar Store, it's because they are now available where Narragansett meets North Avenue and for me that's just Too Close To Home but what's the picture there, right? Mutant Jelly Belly’s? Just seems sort of cruel, no? I mean, cruel to me. Not the conjoined beans. They strike me as extremely content.) I kinda walk back and forth between here and the kitchen sticking things (coffee, water, pretzels, dried cranberries, raw almonds, Belly Flops (and here's a newsflash! Pretzels are Lamabada! The Forbidden Snack. (Carbs, ya know?))) in my mouth until the answer arrives.

Another way is what's known as the Very Long Dog Walk. The maneuver has to be performed alone. Not that I don't love waltzing as a pack because I'm the one who calls everyone up. That's my designation which is also ironic because it wasn't that long ago that I wanted to personally smash individual cell phones-not out of violence, nuh-uh. For the good of creation. Like this lady that was bawling/crying into her phone dead center of the artificial floral department of Michaels Craft store. The call wasn't good for her and how was I supposed to find that natural stuff Martha Stuart uses to ties packages together while I was forced to eavesdrop on Mrs. Watering the Silk Hydrangeas Lady. I'm only one person, ya know? No wonder my gifts are wrapped in Jewel bags.

I could talk about the pledges I've gotten for this anti-breast cancer walk thing. Scored some dough from Aunt Lois and Uncle Joe and some more from my friend Minnie and even some from the delightful Kimberly Stackhouse plus Jane and Georgette who I worked with over a year ago which is so entirely awesome and every time I hear another quarter falling into my cup? I'm so proud of my people, ya know? I don't give a fiddlers about dopey awards for money raised? In my mind that was the award. That these are my people and they really care about reclaiming October as the month we start decorating for Christmas as opposed to the consumption of pink m&m's.

So, I'm sitting here listening to the rain and I look up to find this sign I made for myself at the start of this very day. I know there are more way important people with way more impressive lists of things to do sharing the universe and all but I, like a lotta people I've been talking to, have a really hard time pressing forward when something is on the behalf of mostly me. I mentioned that on a dog walk and we all laughed in a sort of a gritty way. It was funny but not especially funny-ha ha.

This morning, over my watery-by-choice Folgers, instead of grasping onto frantic, which would have made all my movements so delightfully dramatic and painted me into the corner of victim-hood where it's nice and toasty and crowded with tourists wearing tropical shirts, I thought I'd start out with the concept that there was a possibility that everything MIGHT turn out fine. (Not perfectly fine where one would spin on top of a hill with arms outstretched wearing a skirt and breaking into song about hills being alive. I haven't lost my mind competely here.) Just, ya know. Fine.


I adapted the sign after I had a $2.44 business meeting with Shishi and ya know what? At the end of the day-as they say? Seems as if she was right.

'Night John Boy.



http://jellybelly.com/Cultures/en-US/NewsEvents/Stores/Jelly+Belly+Center+-+Pleasant+Prairie.htm
http://www.michaels.com/art/online/home
http://main.y-me.org/site/TR/MothersDayEvents/MothersDayEvents-Chicago?px=2128693&pg=personal&fr_id=1241&s_tafId=63648
http//www.starbucks.com

Petvets Animal Hospital

How much is that doggie on the exam table? (arf! arf!)
I'm afraid I will have to confess.
How much is that doggie on the exam table? (arf! arf!)
I do hope that dog has American Express.

The annual exam is forty-nine fifty.
Heartworm test just o'er thirty-five
The fecal test goes for thirty dollars
Anything to keep my pup alive.

How much is that doggie on the exam table? (arf! arf!)
She's hardly a Saint Bernard
How much is that doggie on the exam table? (arf! arf!)
I do hope that dog has an ATM card

The rabies vaccine was seventy-three dollars
Bortadella-thirty six seventy-five.
Forty-three for the Lepto Vaccination
She'll need one more to help her to thrive

How much is that doggie on the exam table? (arf! arf!)
She's better than kitten or bunny
How much is that doggie on the exam table? (arf! arf!)
I do hope that dog has some money

I don't want my pup to feel guilty
Don't want her to have a second job
I don't want her cupboard to be empty
A bank I don't want her to rob

This doggie in my window she's priceless (arf! arf!)
The best things in life aren't all free
Doctor Frey is an excellent veterinarian
And anal gland expressing was complimentary
Anal gland expressing was complimentary (arf! arf!)


--------

http://petvetsoakpark.com/
PetVets Oak Park
342 West Harrison Street
Oak Park, Illinois 60302
708.445.9988

Shameless Charitable Promotion Plug

Hello my Lovelies,
Won't you help us ensure that pink can return to living a quiet life in a 64-pack Crayola box and not an overused pigment used to draw attention to an evil disease?

On Mother's Day, my Mah said it would be okay if I participated in Y-ME's Race to Empower after I dropped off a gardenia corsage and a raspberry strip. My goal is to either to get you to join us (seriously. That's what I really want. You and me. And 50 frazillion people dressed in pink.) or shake you down for some significant chump change(the twenty IS the new five after all) to help Y-ME continue providing its indispensable programs and services to anyone who has breasts or who has ever known someone who has acted like a boob.

I jest but I'm not kidding.

Your help truly makes a difference in the lives of those touched by too much pink stuff, and I am grateful for your support.

You can sign up. Donate online. Or hand me a five. Whatever works for you. Unless you're stalker-then go with the donate online option s'il vous plait.

Sincerely,
(NAME)

Oh yeah. That would be me.
Thanks and have a nice day! In fact? Have a whole lifetime of them.
Sincerely,
Bib number 21950

Hey you with the giant bags o money!
Click on this, won't you?
http://main.y-me.org/site/TR/MothersDayEvents/MothersDayEvents-Chicago?px=2128693&pg=personal&fr_id=1241&s_tafId=63648

The Nineteenth Century Club

In keeping with the theme of spirituality, one must ask oneself: how did we all get to this place where, on what would have formerly been one bo-ring assed/do-nothing (except look for the remote control) Monday night, we found ourselves in the front row of Unity Temple cracking up laughing at the words of the esteemed author Elizabeth Berg. And not just like a job interview heh heh heh-type laugh. Uh-uh/no way. More like Bwa-ha-ha-ha!!!!!

Over and over and over again.

I sort of thought the larger madness started when MK and I decided to do our own solstice ritual. We brought Grantley and Zack down to the Chicago lakefront-oh yes we did, and yes, we set out before what is commonly known as The Crack Of Dawn which was cool because there was No Traffic To Speak Of. We ate some fruit and nut mixey stuff and drank V8 not because we especially like V8 without 1.5 oz. of Grey Goose and 3 blue cheese stuffed olives (there's always next year); it was because we were making up our own earth chow solstice salute.

I think it was MK's idea to go to the lakefront, and I remember balking for about 2 or 9 hours and then doing some hardcore self-admonishment that went a little something like: when is it that you're planning going to get out of the flowery chair of gloom and re-join the human race, do you think it might possibly be NOW?/Ask not for whom the 60 Minutes Your Life is Passing You By Stopwatch ticks. It ticks for THEE!

MK thinks everything started when we went to see Mother Meera.

We didn't go together which was fortunate because I don't think I would have done it, if MK was not there to pre-talk me through-exact step by exact step. (And here's a little gift MK gave me yesterday. I called her up and I said, hey, did you eat? And she answered," Where we goin'?" You have GOT to love that in a human only as much as one could love that I was in No Mood to go to Portillios for a salad because I've slathered myself with some self-imposed pressure and yesterday I was not making the grade and Shishi said,” Come" and I did and I sat next to Pauli and I was reminded that good friends love you even when you are being a self-deflated, low self esteem-engine gigantic poo head. (Better now/Thanks for asking.))

MK gave me the exact rundown of the entire darshan. Where you were supposed to sit (on the left in the back). Where you were supposed to put your shoes (in the lobby). What you were supposed to say (Nothing. You were to stay completely silent.) What you were supposed to do after you had meditated (Join the line of people slowly shuffling forward toward the stage on their knees).

Listen. Even for a girl that grew up four doors up from someone named Elmer, on Elm Street, in Elmhurst clearly knowing I was one of the chosen people, this entire experience was beyond anything I might have ever coerced my little (Elm) street gang pals into reenacting. I can just see it now. "Okay. I'll be Mother Meera and Cindy? You can be my attendant and Eileen? You can be....." Yeah no. We were better off playing Ghost in the Graveyard.

Now we come to the point in the story where I explain the origin of my roller derby name. All the coolest girls in roller derby have these excellent names like our favorite, Belle Diablo, and our favorite Yvette YourMaker and our favorite-oh that's right, I forgot-they're ALL our favorite. Anyway, for fun we made up our own names-like one of us is Shrieking Violet and then there's June Cleavage and Jane Jettison and it goes on.

So. I'm squinched down in this very long traffic jammy line of people in various forms of prostration (look it up. I had to) to get to the stage to have Mother Meera look deeply into my eyes so that she can try and remove those pesky obstacles to my sadhana of which I am sure I have some that must resemble 1970's macramé and um have I mentioned that I have hamstrings that could buy a chiropractor their own swimming pool? Um yeah. I bet you could play the violin on the back of my legs. If only I would let you. And the line starts to become a little over congested and I sqinch ahead only to find that the seeker behind me has overtaken my position and I and now dragging behind me one of the worlds longest socks.

That my gut did not actually implode in hilarity at that very second. There's your miracle.

And they say, if you look for them? They happen everyday.

Sincerely Yours,
Anya Knees.

PS: Is that Big Red on your head or are you just happy to see me?


http://www.unitytemple.org/
http://www.elizabeth-berg.net/
http://www.19thcenturyclub.com/
http://www.mothermeeradarshanla.com/
http://www.windycityrollers.com/profiles/belle.aspx
http://www.windycityrollers.com/profiles/yvette.aspx
http://www.windycityrollers.com/teams/allstars/default.aspx
http://www.wrigley.com/wrigley/index.asp

My forehead

Debbie Sloan, goddess of therapeutic public relationary chiropractdom told me about this terrible trick. The question becomes, did she think I'd try it or not, or was she wondering how fast I would try it because Debbie doesn't know about my unnatural love of chewing gum-she would never have assumed that I was packing 4 slices of Big Red right in my pocket the afternoon she shared this item fresh from her 5th grade son.

If you throw a blue hat into the red sea, it becomes wet, right? And if you stick a licked piece of Big Red right here?

Why we could revolutionize winter hats in our lifetime.

I'm not going to tell you not to try this at home. If you don't already have a burning desire to test it out for yourself? You disappoint me in ways you will never know.

http://www.wrigley.com/wrigley/index.asp

St Vincent Ferrer Catholic Church

Love, Loss and What I Rode.

As we were coming back from the dog park this morning, I told M. that I handcrafted this serious quandary for myself in that, I had read in the paper that this salon called for Appearances Sake was co-sponsoring a Bike Blessing and I really wanted to go but my bike is what one might refer to as 'kinda crappy'. Eviscerated Liver Maker Supreme Bob's bike is Really Good and Bob allowed me to borrow it a couple of times last summer and that sucka (oops I'm still speaking Mister T) could roll. (Not Bob. The bike.) M. said she never goes to those kinda things. I said, what? A blessing thing? I never miss 'em. If someone wants to delivereth upon me some good thoughts and/or vibrations? I won't be passing up that opportunity any time soon. Thank you very much.

But! I didn't really know what to do because I was rolling on my own today and I thought, hello self? Are you sure you want to be personally responsible for the grand bike-o-Bob? (I can neither afford it nor afford to replace it, ya know?) And then my head was off to the races. Back and forth. My bike? Bob's bike? MK's bike? Maybe I just shouldn't go. I'm not even Catholic. But I wanna go. Wait, I need to do laundry. But I really want to go. But it's getting late. If they didn't want me to go, they wouldn't have advertised, right? But.

You get me, yes?

I took my bike. I was chatting with a kindly gentleman (with a rockin' blue helmet) afterwards who told me that his family wanted him to stop riding his super cool-oid, blue bike and that they told him he was 'one fall out of a nursing home' and I said, "Yeah? Well. Make it a good one, my friend." Then I told him that my bike cost one dollar at one of those police auctions and he was silent for quite a while and he said, I would have paid at least a dollar fifty and we both cracked up laughing. Hallelujah.

The coolest gift from visiting a different church was this brilliant message I caught just as I re-entered for the second time. (Cell phone. Forgot to turn it off. Duh.) The priest was talking about famine in China and Haiti and that if we could all just eat a little less and I thought, dang that's better than any Jenny Craig in thinking, isn't it? Phew-berries. Extreme brilliance. Gotta love that.

Then he was saying that we must rely on our bikes so as to conserve money and fuel. (Too bad it wasn't one of those jump outta your seats, hallelujah shouting churches because I woudda been all over that.)

The entire time, my bike was just sitting in the back of my pickup truck unlocked and unappreciated. I thought, well. If somebody wants you? That's how it's gonna be. You were only a dollar, after all.

It got to the end and out we all went and there was Mister Bikey resting unlocked, unloved, unappreciated and undisturbed. The priest said he was going to give all the bikes 'a good splash' of holy water and he did and then we drove home, my bike and I.

I was pulling it out of the truck to put it back into the basement for another summer's hybernation and a woman passed by and she said she had just brought her bike in to Dan's Bike Shop in Berwyn to get adjusted and I said we had just been to the Bike Blessing and hey do you think I could bring this bike in to Dan's to get the tires filled because (and I'm ashamed I said this but I did) I don't have a boy to do it(because I like boys to do boy jobs because that's the way of the world)? And she thought for a second and said, bring it to my house. I'll do it.

I said, "Are you kidding?"

And that is how I met my newest friend Jennifer. And that is why you might have seen me this fine afternoon swooping around the block on my glorious one-dollar bike.


http://www.forappearancessake.com/
7603 W. North Avenue
River Forest, Il 60305

http://www.svfparish.org/
St Vincent Ferrer Church
1527 Lathrop Ave
River Forest, IL

http://dansbikeshop.us/Dan's Bike Shop
6715 W. Roosevelt, Berwyn, IL 60402
Phone: 708-484-5000

1810 North Fifth Avenue, River Grove

Someone asked me why I seemed so extremely filled with glee and it was because they captured me on my way to one of my favorite places in the world: Bargains in a Box. Bargains in a Box is one of those close-out stores where, I guess, they buy lots of stuff (lots of lots, if you will and you don't have to), price it and your job is to pull a cardboard box around by a string through the aisles and try not to buy everything you see. I never allow myself a cardboard box to pull because my rule (spoken in my native Mister T) is: if you can't carry it in your arms Sucka', you can't carry it up the stairs Foo'.

The good news is I got all this cool stuff. The bad news is you can't go there with an agenda. If you need blue socks, they won't have 'em. But! They might have the fondue set you've been yearning for and like that. Ooh and here's a tip. If you see a golden pillow with dangling jewels and beads for 5 bucks? Jump on it. It will not be there next time.

If I was a fisherman? I'd be holding this haul up on a hook and having my picture taken.

Tommy Hilfiger Navy Blue King Pillow Sham($49.00)$2.00
Ajax with bleach ($1.59)$1.00
Guldens Mustard ($1.69)$1.00
Dove Energy Glow Brightening Eye Cream ($8.24)$1.00
Schick Intuition Plus with bonus Dove deodorant($9.39)$1.00
CLASSICAL BABY MUSIC CD + BOOK($9.95)$2.00
got 2b Gardener's Delights($19.99)$5.00
one silk red tulip($1.00)$ .50
----------------------------------------------------------------
(Value)$100.85
(Final cost)$13.50
Day of 'I can buy anything I want' shopping joy?................................Priceless

Finding Myself

(I think you're going to have to click on these images to read them.)

NTW Week Celebration

I missed a day of writing and that pains me because I had The Best Conversation (in my head) this morning and(cross my heart) it went a little something like this: Hmmm I wonder what I should write about? I guess I shouldn't write so much about bad food. If I die from something funny? I hope people understand that I'd want them to laugh at my funeral.

(These are actual thoughts out of my actual cranium. Wanna rent it for a day?)

Then I started trying to remember what it's called when someone croaks from laughing (fatal hilarity) and then the whole concept got away from me and it's not because I was out all night partying because of NTW Week. Uh-uh. Not me. You know where I had lunch today? The sample carts at Costco. Livin' large, my friends.(And if I should die before I wake-look into the spinach lasagna rollup samples because I don't think they were melted enough.)

I got this info fresh from the NTW Info page:
Of course, you don't need NTW to honor your public safety dispatchers for excellence! You can write them a commendation, mention their "good job" at a shift briefing, or just give them a pat on the back.

A-hem.
Lah la la lah la lah.
Happy National Public Safety Telecommunicators Week
to you.
Pat pat pat.
Happy National Public Safety Telecommunicators Week
to you.
Pat pat pat.
Happy National Public Safety Telecommunicators Week dear Pauli and Joycie and Juan Blanco and Lennie and most of the other ones...
Happy National Public Safety Telecommunicators Week
to you.
Pat pat pat.

Nothing further.
Ten-four.


http://www.911dispatch.com/info/ntw/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatal_hilarity

Sidewalks of Scoville

The Corgi Mix
The Corgi Mix is not as popular as her cousin the Corgi Soufflé, yet she makes an excellent crumb remover who is loyal, affectionate and generally good with money. She is wildly intelligent and finds it easy to train you but needs a firm hand when it comes to long distance testimonial calls to The Home Shopping Network. Wary of lettuce and extremely possessive of (finders/keepers/losers/weepers) discarded Popeye’s chicken bones, if left unattended, she could possibly make a good hours de oeuvres for Zelda the Newfie up the block. The Corgi Mix likes to keep busy. A cheerful smile and willingness to stand by (or behind-see Zelda.) her Ann are some of her best qualities.

The name "Corgi" comes from two words in Welsh; "Cor" for dwarf (or perhaps "cur" for working dog) and "gi" (with a hard "G" sound) for "Gee, you're a swell pup". The Corgi Mix has a newly established heritage as a cartoonist’s companion and doorknob protector. A good semi-retired Corgi Mix is a valuable asset to the humorist. After tending the bedroom floor during the day, the humorist brought her Corgi Mix into the living room at night where she became friend, social critic and crumb eating companion. Today, the Corgi Mix likes going along with her single parent family on their 5ks and is an avid eBay shopper.

Corgi Mix Personality
Corgis are smart, coo coo for cocoa puffs or completely sleepy, and form a close bond with whoever is packing the fresh liver treats (See Lieberman, Bob). This breed has been known to be somewhat reckless with credit cards. Early socialization is necessary in order for it to get along with paparazzi and other adoring fans.


Exercise Needs
The Corgi Mix likes cocktail parties. They do not get enough exercise from ogling Happy in the Jack LaLanne videos. She should be taken for long and varied walks and enjoys sporting activities such as archery and Ultimate Fighting Videos. They also get a lot of exercise dancing about the house, but that is only when they are not resting.

Living Conditions
Corgi Mixes are adaptable, living on your bed or on your sofa. They are ideal roommates and Twister partners, which means they are meant to be with you or right under your feet. Lucky for the Chicago Corgi Mix, they love to romp in the snow. As companion dogs, they love best gazing at you, especially if they can con you into sharing your guacamole and chips.

7513 W Cermack Road

Last night I watched Shishi stand in front of her first Rockwell. (Norman, that is. Swimmin' holes. Puppy dogs.) She said,"Are you sure we can get so close?" and I said, yeah, go ahead. Like I owned the joint.

Since I have that whopping five years of standing around a museum experience behind me, one thing I can tell you for sure is that when packs of arties go through museums on their way to the gift shops as they invariably do? Somebody in the pack, usually a bespectacled male, takes the lead, gets ahead of everyone else and pre-reads the information card on the wall next to the art and then announces, with some sort of authority, details fresh from said card about the hunk of art to the others in the pack thereby heightening his status as the Designated Instant Dr. Vincent van Know It All.

It never fails. What designates that person, as the art expert to the rest of the group is simply that they got to the tag and read it before anyone else. And that is all. (Much like life. One must ask oneself, is that authority actually smarter? Or did they just get to the card first?)

We weren't actually in front of the Rockwell on purpose, we were at the Chicago History Museum for the lecture called: Hot Dog! A History of Chicago Foods but the Rockwell sits at the top of the staircase and I wanted her to see it-not because I'm some sorta Rockwell collectors plate aficionado, no siree Bob, I am not. Just because I think there's something significantly cool about standing exactly where an artist stood and trying to see as they saw. You can't get that offa a Saturday Evening Post Cover. Agreed? Thank you.

Now then, for safety reasons, I must ask those of you that follow a strict Ornishian diet to please avert your eyes as we are now going to embark on a brief card reading-if you will-of low foods. Hey look over there! Isn't that Dr. Weil?

There now. They're gone. We can speak freely.

Aunt Ruth's sainted husband, may he rest in peace, Uncle Jack, once turned a phrase that instantly shot into the family folklore cliché collection and here it is: That food's not fit to walk in. He was referring to; I think , some sorta buffet thing after Aunt Em and Uncle Wally's 50th wedding anniversary party? Something like that.

And now you think I'm going to be talking about things I learned last night like what is commonly known in Chicago's South Side as "The Mother in Law" which is, a tamale on a hot dog bun slathered with chili. (Insert joke here about how both the weenie and the relative cause heartburn-if you must. duh.) But ah-ha! That food? And anything where Le Menu is painted by hand in red paint on a yellow sign? That's not low food. That's honest, affordable, accessible, tasty, bad for you, food of the Gods. At 7513 W. Cermack in Riverside is where you'll find food to place under your boots.

Let's wander though the Olive Garden together, shall we?

I had never been and yeah, I had overheard the cool food kids trash it as the wrecking of America by corporate food mongers and everything but my thing is, I'm not cool trashing something, until I've checked it out for myself. (Like Howard Stern for instance. Yeah he can be extremely icky but if you're listening to him as you toil away at a hate-filled, soul-poisoning job? He gets increasingly humorous as the hourlies turns to salaries and so on.) And so, someone said Olive Garden and I said, cool and now I can tell you about food as mulch.

I got the unlimited soup, salad and breadstick ensemble. It was something like 6 bucks but then you add your liquid and your tip and its $10 and if it had been formed using one of those Play-Doh plastic modeling toys it would have been more appealing. No kidding.

Soup-wise, I got the pasta fagoli which I know the Lord didn't intend to have watery hamburger floating in it, did He? And then this plastic trough of salad rippings that must have come out of a cement truck-it's such tasteless glock and oy the breadsticks. They are of such low quality, I promise I wouldn't even feed 'em the irritating mourning doves that are trying to move in on top of my air conditioner. Uh-uh, no way. They would surely take away my Anti-Cruelty Society Sweatshirt, no?

(I just had a thought. What if Dean Ornish was discovered parked behind Fat Johnnies with a Mother-in-law? Come on, that would be so awesome, no?)

In conclusion, as we used to write in 5th grade when we were stalling for word counts, it's all theory of relativity, my friends. Wherever there's bad, there's gonna be worse.

Go in Peace/Rock On/Amen.




http://chicagohistory.org/

http://www.hasbro.com/playdoh/

Fat Johnnie's Famous Red Hots
7242 S Western Ave
Chicago, IL 60636
Phone: (773) 737-6294

Fullersburg Woods

When Grantley and I went on that interview thing last week and I got asked about how having a dog improved my health and stuff, one of the things they wanted to capture on film was if she did any tricks. And I was all, well, Grantley is my one-two-three -four-fifth dog and by the time you get to your fifth dog? Ya kinda give up on the parlor tricks. (And that's not even an original thought, that's something my Aunt Ruth said to me a long time ago when the dog I had at the time got booted outta puppy kindergarten.) but anyway, this fine weather was an opportunity for an impromptu late afternoon dog hike and picnic with Paula and Copper and Skipper and Pepper as well as Colonel Sanders and apparently Grantley's been holding out on me in terms of magic tricks.
Fig One. 12:37:00 PM


Fig Two. 12:37:01 PM


http://www.dupageforest.com/education/fullersburg.html
(Not yet)
http://powerofpaws.com

Crossing Over to the Other Side

It happened.

I'm nearly afraid to admit it, but I saw it myself last Thursday evening on my way to the most glorious (I laughed and laughed) humor reading night at the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators Meeting which is held once a month at our library and I was on my way there and all of a sudden I thought:

Oh.

Mah.

Gawd.

T'was just myself and I was A) On the phone yakking about something of the highest importance (but only to me) and B) Needing to make a right turn, yet motoring in the left lane and because I was paying attention to my needs and my needs alone, I tangled up the intersection in a sort of an 'excuse me fellas-I gotta go this way-everyone has to wait' way that has formerly brought out my personal best swear-wording vocabulary when someone else dares to do it in my vicinity and here it was again, except this time, the auto was being driven by me.

Gulp.

I'd like to blame it on recently having found a Starbucks concoction I can actually swallow. Lawd Have Mercy on My Soul the only way I could choke that glock down was when it was doctored up to the maximum levels with peppermint fairy dust and nutmeg power and chocolate sprinkles and various goos and squirts of schlog and whatever else they could add to it (plus a valuable coupon!) and I would still feel all shaky an hour later because it was all too brutally strong for me. But now I have my very own concoction, which I like to call 'The $2.44'.

(I have to call Shishi to find out how to say it in Classical Starbuckian. Please hold.)

She's not answering so I'm going to have to approximate it. It's something like, "an iced grande in a venti cup with one glorious Schplenda (okay sugar but I swear I'm going to quit!)and a ton of ice and some decorative fluff on top s'il vous plait". (I'll have to become a regular so I can just nod and smile like the rest of youse.) This just in: Shish says her variation is called 'The Red Eye.' Uh-huh.

But this creeping transformation started before the Starbucks. It may have been the day when I created an 'For Judy' folder in my Inbox for e-mail I felt was being written by authors I suspected were As Crazy Or Crazier Than a bat (NYSE Symbol '=>bat') and were better directed to my bulldog of an assistant. It might have been that day.

Did it start when I started bringing Grantley into the ATM section of my bank after hours, even though there used to be a No Dogs Allowed sign there? Or when I practiced civil disobedience on my condo board by not taking the pinecone decorations off the front bushes because they were natural-ishy and by March I had completely lost the will to care? Ooh I just thought of another one.

I was at the Brookfield Zoo and there was one of those educational safari shirt guys out there with a bunch of examples and he had a rolled up snakeskin and because of Lloyd Collins who brought his snakeskin to both the first grade show and tell AND again in second grade where the extremely mean teacher told him it wasn't necessary to re-bring such an exotic item but I loved Lloyd with all my heart and I would have looked at his dried up snakeskin till I graduated from high school, if he'd have been interested and so I needed to un-roll the entire zoo example and the guy in the tan shirt Was Not Cool With It At All.

Was that the day?

Whoa. This is much worse than I thought and requires deepest pondering, so I'll get right back to you.

Maybe.

----------
5k. Oy.
I think we did about 47-ish? And then because MK is going to do that Breast Cancer 3-day thing and she's on a training schedule? We walked another 3-ish after that and on the way our very favorite chiropractor's pr/office goddess person drove by and yelled out the window: Hey don't you have a home? Which made the day all the more glorious but I'd like to send a shout-out to this stuff that's made right here in OP, IL by a company called Sweet Thyme Soaps and it's called Extra Strength To Stop The Pain-roll on pain relief and it's feeling very happy on my shins right about now.

-------

I got this from a sidebar in Real Simple Magazine and made it my own and you can too!

Cook up some brown rice. Trader Joes has a really good mixed kind.

Saute scallion, jalapeno, carrot, red and green peppers and snow peas in olive oil. Garlic too if you wanna. Onion if you don't have scallions and like that, get it? One bag of fresh spinach, a cup or more of the salsa of your choosing.

Mix it all up and serve with a tiny bit of sprinkley cheddar cheese and sliced avocado.

Yum.
----------
http://www.scbwi.org/
http://www.starbucks.com/
http://www.splenda.com/
http://www.brookfieldzoo.org/
http://08.the3day.org/
http://www.eastlake.meta-ehealth.com
http://www.sweetthymesoaps.com/
http://www.realsimple.com/
http://www.traderjoes.com/

Evening

I'm thinking about taking the weekends off.

I originally wanted to see if I could do this and okay yeah, that's been established. Then I wanted to see if I could do this in every kind of condition, and I believe I've written in each of the shades of the official mood ring color spectrum:

BLACK-TENSE, NERVOUS,HARASSED,OVER WORKED

GRAY-ANXIETIES,NERVOUS, STRAINED,

AMBER-NERVOUS, EMOTIONS MIXED,UNSETTLED, COOL

GREEN-AVERAGE READING, ACTIVE,NOT UNDER GREAT STRESS

BLUE-GREEN-INNER-EMOTIONS CHARGED, SOMEWHAT RELAXED

BLUE-RELAXED,AT EASE, CALM, LOVABLE

DR BLUE-VERY HAPPY,LOVE, PASSION, ROMANCE

(And okay, full disclosure (as they say) I haven't hit DR BLUE yet. More about that in a second.)

You'd think it would make the best blogging to be hovering around somewhere between blue and blue-green but actually my grey/nearly black writing is of the highest quality. Go figya. I think it's the yin~yang between, I yearn to communicate and oh my gawd, I gotta go to bed.

I had a personal ad up. Oh, I've waited and dated and I've looked and I've gone through periods of not looking on purpose and every flavor of personal growth and I've done my kind of activities and men kind of activities and I've asked my friends and I've played inside my comfort zone and outside my comfort zone and I've gone out and not stayed home and so far, nothing. (And by nothing I don't mean nothing. Just not, there....yet, yes?)

Speaking of comfort zone, I GOTTA tell this one. It's so wildly evil.

It was my Mom's idea for me to join this singles dining club a couple of years ago. I think she read about it in the Tribune or something and hey, I eat food and so off I went and the women? It was like walking through a shower of daggers, the reception they gave me because there are apparently, too many Moms telling too many daughters that joining the singles dining club would be a good idea and not enough Dads passing that advice on to their sons. You get me? In the singles competitive dining world? Too many chicks.

I got stuck next to this jackass of a human. Really. I'm sorry to say that. Being judgmental is not my goal. But he was this lawyer doofus and he spewed these platitudes about What Women Want and I remember the other women at the table with me just rolling their eyes because he was so off base but that wasn't even the wicked part and here it is:

He said he joined the dining club because while he had no problem scoring his own dates? They ALL seemed to suffer from a similar very common (in his estimation) malady and that was (take a second to grasp this) all his dates suffered from: nyctalopia.

Night blindness. (Think: Cinderella while I re-alert the Center for Disease Control.)

I was doing a bit of cleaning this evening (no kidding, the magazine piles are beginning to take on landslide proportions here and I can't give my Mah the new Elle until I read about Madonna because that would be wrong.) and I found this scrap of paper that knocks around my house and on it is this nifty recipe and it seems like every time this paper surfaces, it's time to try and make this stuff again but tonight as I was thinking about what to write, I thought, hey. I could just write up that recipe and that way I wouldn't lose it AND I won't have to hurt my head thinking about something to write. Brilliant.

I was just out in the dark with Grantley and I chuckled to myself that right after I became un-wed, I remember realizing that since I had my own cell phone and my own credit card and I knew how to open jars, really, what did I need a man for? (Bitter? Party of one?)and this recipe needs a jar opened and for that I shall share my secret knowledge.

If you're lacking a man to open your jar of salsa? Do not fret. Do not strain. Do not run it under hot water. Do not bang it on the edge of the sink. All you gotta do is take your can opener? Pop the seal on the jar and Voila!

I had a date with a jar opener today and my personal dating affliction as a professional female cartoonist is what I call Gary Larsonosis. In it's more severe form it's called Calvin and Hobbism. And that is the taste I get in the back of my throat when potential dates start quoting their favorites. Oh God helpeth me, they know not how they maketh me coocoo or (gulp) do they?

Well, I'd really like to stay and chat some more but my nyctalopia's starting to kick in and I've gotta go to bed.

Recipe and 5k results tomorrow.


http://www.moodjewelry.com/chart.html

Inbox

Do porn stars have mothers? Or is there some sort of parental removal system like familial waxing or ancestral exfoliation when one begins to drop one's drawers for dough? And what about novelists? I mean, you hear about girls who have posed for Playboy and their Daddy was showin' the pichers off to everybody at the tractor pull, but what about just plain old racy novelists? Do they take an X-acto or a fat black Sharpie to their bestsellers before their family begins to look at them funny from across the Thanksgiving Day table?

There's a house in Oak Park and the story among the long distance dog walkers goes that they've built some sort of a kind of a special bridge/walkway to house the husband's extensive beer stein collection. I think about that when I look at Grantley's toys. She's got-I'm going to say-at least 6 extremely high-quality dog toys and whenever I look at them, I think, are there poor children that should be getting the equivalent of these beauties because I'm going to suggest that if the toys disapeared tonight, she would replace them with a sock and it makes me wonder if the beer stein guy ever worries that there are impoverished gentlemen forced to drink straight from the Bud can.

I have a Mother. And I realize that there are a lot of people who haven't been blessed with such a blissful maternal being and it pains me to point this tiny quibble out-when there are many people walking the planet yearning for what's known as high quality parental "care" of this nature. My Mom happens to be Internet savvy, which is a super cool thing, no? (In fact, when all this Internet stuff was getting started? My sister and I looked ourselves up in a search engine? And who's name popped up in the results? Not Jane, nor I, but yeah my Mah AND my Dad individually had their own internet presence way ahead of both of us and we thought ye gods, this proves we are Serious Loozas For Sure. But time has passed and things have equalized and that is, as they say, no longer an issue.) I'd say my Mom might be my greatest fan next to my Dad except (and there's always an exception, isn't there?) she's begun to object to my written content via the morning e-mail.

This morning brought the 'you should be drinking water' lecture and she can (thankfully) no longer get to me with the anti-smoking lecture (10 more days and it'll be two years-Yay) but what lecture is she going to give after I write up my experiences at the Flirting For Nerds Class being held at a store called Early to Bed?

And the real problem is, I haven't even gotten to the juicy stuff.

I thought about this all day long as I ate my yogurt and frozen blueberries for breakfast and as Grantley and I were getting filmed for a 'how has your pet improved your health' website down at Anti-Cruelty and as we took our two, giant pre-Sunday's 5k practice walks and as I ate my Anti-oxidant flavored salad for dinner and the only answer I could come up with was to direct my Mom to a former cartooning colleague/mentor's blog and grant her permission to criticize HIS choice of illicit beverage and for some reason I just don't think it's going to be pink.


www.playboy.com

http://www.anticruelty.org/

(Not up yet-late April and we might end up on the cutting room floor)
http://powerofpaws.com

If you're over 18 and not related to me
http://www.early2bed.com/

Sunday's 5k
http://race.oprc.net/

First Step

Step 1 - We admitted we were powerless over our addiction - that our lives had become unmanageable.


My name is Ann.
(Hi)
And I am an addict.
And?

It's. Not. My. Fault.

What got me started was someone I thought was a friend of mine. I know. Same old story.

This friend? She was even employed by a major city's police department support unit. Let's call her 'Lola'. (Not her real name.)

One night, 'Lola' was recounting a story about a hostage situation where-what the hostage taker requested was some Strawberry Crush. 'Lola' and her people thought it was odd because of all the items in the universe, why-o-why-o-why Strawberry Crush?

Thinking quickly and that was before I got real bad with my addiction and I was able to think at all, I said, so. You're saying that if I was thirsty, and I'm not saying that I am, and I wanted some pop delivered to my place here on the third floor, all I would have to do...and my eyes glanced toward the butter knife sitting damp in my sink with a slight trace of peanut butter left over from dinner and fell upon Grantley sleeping peacefully on her Target Shabby Chic pillow of luv.

The next thing you knew, liquid poison had arrived at my door. Not even a six-pack of cans, no no, 'Lola' meant business. She started me on the eight pack of those big-ish bottles. After the second bottle served on the rocks in a wine glass? I was hooked on my very own pink champagne journey of no return.

It's been months now. I've done cans and multiple liters all by myself. I didn't get started on my work because in my hurry for a fix, I cracked open a 2-liter bottle and covered my kitchen in that sweet delicious pink foam. I've used my brussel sprout money to score myself a case.

I've tried Propel Fitness Water and Glaceau fruitwater (when it's on sale. Let's don't be crazy here.) and today I found myself pretending to wander the bottled water section when what I really wanted sat menacingly in the carbonated beverage aisle. And that's what brought me to the meeting tonight.

Thanks for listening.

If you don't want to have to quit? Don't even start
http://www.popsoda.com/strawcrus.html

Members seeking freedom from self-injury/carbonation division
http://www.12step.org/

Grantley's bed
www.target.com

67% Naked on Belmont

Speaking of water, I read someplace that if Doris Day came to your house? She would immediately go to your dog's water bowl and see if it was filled, because a dry bowl, in Doris's mind was a sign of animal neglect.

Thing two. Feng Shui tells us that having the seat open on one's toilet allows the literal flushing of one's chi. Ask Eilene's Mah. She's the one that told me.

Thing three. An open toilet lid has been known to actually save the lives of latchkey dogs, like Grantley. The idea being, if I don't make it home in a timely fashion (and believe me I do and she knows it because we even have a song about it called, "I always come back, yes, I always come back". We needed to compose said song because someone landed here with some hard-core separation anxiety issues and required musical reassurance or maybe that was me.)

Thing four. I'm writing this and how does Grantley alert me to the 'If that's Doris at the door, don't let her in yet' situation? She starts lapping the cool refreshment served in it's own ceramic bowl. (Life=art. Never fails.)

Thing five. The deal was, that if the girls and I agreed to work our asses off every morning and all day Tuesday and Thursday, we'd be allowed to have some extra-curricular activity, because once you've tasted the sweet, sweet nectar of fun, there's no way you can return to embracing a remote as a way of life. So, the plan was to set off to the Thousand Waves Spa.

It had been written up over and over as a cure for people who were finding the glorious winter a wee bit too lengthy and it promised for $20 bucks, three hours of free run of the Spa Bath Facilities. Coolness.

We get there, collect our surprisingly comfortable kimonos and towels and instructions and seven stop tour. The lockers. The bathrooms. The dry sauna. The Jacuzzi. The relaxation room. The eucalyptus steam room. And the all-important drinking fountain because all of these activities, ironically, place you into some form of H20, yet they are physically dehydrating. Go figya.

Oh and you have to shut up-which on a normal day would have been perfectly easy to do but because we were told we had to be quiet, we were in 5th grade all over again and were bursting with gossip that just couldn't wait. (Ask me what that gossip was. I have absolutely no idea. It just seemed urgent at the time.)

And you could be naked.

Right. So, off we went into the dry sauna. It made your mouth taste like cedar. Shishi loved it and said it felt like the weather in Las Vegas and I was like a goddamned pot roast. Miserably roasting in my own au jus with not a droopy baby carrot to be found. (Sorry for swearwording. It slipped out. (Not. I wish swearwording was an Olympic event because I know I could kick some significant hindquarters.))

After a time, we went to the Jacuzzi and we both smiled and sunk into the bubble and jets. Ahh. It was really nice. Just us two. All the jets to ourselves-as many bubbles as you could stand and then after a while it was time to head toward the eucalyptus steam bath, but first we popped under the showers and filled two plastic tubs with ice cold water-as we had been instructed-to bring into the steam bath-either to splash on ourselves or to put our feet in-I think just to give your body the maximum 20 dollar shockology effect or what have you.

Shishi hated that one as much as I hated the dry sauna. She bailed immediately and once I knew she was okay, I went back and found a good spot on the lower shelf and I amused myself going back and forth between the offerings. We did stop into the relaxation room but I'm like the boy in the 5 Chinese Brothers story, once I'm splashing in some nice water? I'm not gettin' out until they force me. Also in the relaxation room, you had to completely shut up and I just think if you're with your girls, it's an unnatural state. But that's just me. (Also to be perfectly honest, if I would have reclined on the beds? I don't know if I wouldn't still be on the clock. That's part of the deal. Pass the three hour mark and you're into overtime.)

I think we stayed for about an hour and 40 minutes including blow-drying and all. Myself, I didn't start out naked. Remember those bumpy ladies in the shower room of the growing up YMCA with the swaying ample bosomry and the throbby blue veins and the weird hair formations and the bellies puffed like giant coin purses taking 'Nude Soapy Showers' as was required back in the day? It creeps me out even to type that phrase. Gaaaaah. Gross me out roy-a-lee.

And of course, I have never met Doris Day but my Aunt Mary Ann bears more than a striking resemblance and my Dad looks like my Aunt Mary Ann and people tell me I look like my Dad so anyway, I did get my courage up and I went 67% naked and since that's probably hard to imagine, I made this drawing so you can see. Yeah, that's me on the bottom shelf of the Eucalyptus Steam Bath.

Hot Cha Cha, no?



Thousand Waves Spa for Women
1212 West Belmont,
Chicago, Illinois 60657
773.549.0700
http://thousandwavesspa.com/

The Five Chinese Brothers
http://www.amazon.com/Five-Chinese-Brothers-Paperstar/dp/0698113578/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1207800213&sr=8-1

Raindog

The rain was rolling off my brim
And all over Grantley's face
Didn't bring an umbrella
Not even just in case

My favorite thing about my pup
will come as no surprise
when she gets very happy
her tail whacks her in the eyes

She doesn't get all mad and stuff
she doesn't lose her joy
when her tail gets very waggy
she simply shuts her eyes

The rain fell all around tonight
We didn't stay inside
I wore my pink baseball cap
and Grantley closed her eyes.
-----

Where Grantley appeared (also wet from the rain with another dog that they named Clyde as in 'Bonnie and' until she came into her rightful name and royal existence with me.)
http://www.clayhumane.com/

How I made this internet luv connection
(and u can too!)
petfinder.com

Violence and Rage

I am all set to talk about Saturday night. It was the occasion of my very first viewing of a live boxing match and I have to say, going in, I was kinda scared at what my reaction might be. Was watching boxing going to make me throw up when they sliced Rocky's eye open? How about that spit bucket? Would there be a way of looking without looking at that? Would I have to be the one who spent the entire time hiding in the line at the snack bar the way I was a zillion years ago when my sister and I and some Elm Street pals sat in the front row to see 'Let's Scare Jessica To Death"?

And the ultimate what if? What if I, gulp, liked it? What would that say about me?

Well, I'm not ready with my boxing night drawing but I can still provide some tasty drama. Tonight I went to the Community Meeting for Taylor Park IN glorious Oak Park, Illinois, not because I was in the mood for additional uproar after what I saw on Saturday? But because (and I am looking both ways before I whisper this fact out loud) I am a member of the board of the Friends of Oak Park Dogs/Please don't hurt me.

Good Lawd Have Mercy what a shower of haters there were in attendance. I mean, I am well aware that I had students who actively pointed their disgust toward me and I have some former friends who won't be joining my fan club anytime soon and there's one dentist in Elmhurst who got SO angry with me when I spewed that pink foamy liquid plastic stuff all over the place while he was trying to make a mold of my mouth. (I was picking that junk off my face for days.) I suppose he won't be framing any of my cartoons for HIS reception area like my most favored dentist in Lombard did.


Hmm I wonder if there's anyone else wasting their time making voodoo dolls in my likeness. Nothing local comes to mind right off the bat, uhh until tonight.

Apparently, get this, in Oak Park? Dog owners are The Root of All Evil. See? I'm not totally naive. I knew there were people who considered us a Bad Element and stuff? Apparently it's much worse than I thought.

I'm not gonna repeat everything the haters spewed because Lord Knows they took their opportunity tonight. (And a lot of them mistook their speaking opportunity for an appearance on Oprah. "I hope some day to have a dog myself" or "I'm not against dogs per se-I have one myself!") I guess I'll just repeat what I tried to point out at the meeting.

It's not the dogs at all. Everyone knows, the real trouble lies with those rotten tennis players. Parking their cars, raising a racket (hey THEY started it), leaving their bright green balls where my innocent dog might pick them up. If they can't afford to have a tennis court in their own back yards? Well, maybe they should consider another sport.

Like boxing perhaps.
-------

MARTIN B. SANDERS, DDS, FADSA
"Committed to Quality Family Care for Over 30 Years"
Treatment for: Anxious or Apprehensive Patients,
Unable to Get Numb, Dental Phobics,
Severe Gaggers, Mentally Disabled(You thought I was kidding)
929 S. Main Street, Lombard, IL 60148
630-620-0929
http://www.sedation-dentistry.com/

www.snapfish.com

So, I'm all getting ready to take on this complicated (for me) drawing and I get some calls and I'm gonna call AT&T and see if 663-7262 is available because then I can change my number to 1-800-No-Drama, right after I settle in to read this book I got from the library called How Not to Look Old.

Not that I'm worried (or should I say frown-lining) because I am way more about hitting the snooze alarm and scoring another 7 minutes of dreaming opportunity than I am about spackling these gorgeous crinkles I seem to have recently grown around my eyes. (Really. I think, those are mine? Kewl.) Baseball caps are a great way to make your morning bed head look fabulous or to hide the grey or bald spots-in my opinion. Worried about age spots? Wear sunglasses indoors and you won't be able to see them. Let us collectively rent a clue and grasp that we are aging (right now! Fwoosh!) and move forward, shall we?

Anyway, while I get back to this drawing, I'll take this opportunity to ask y'all to please vote for my photo which I entered into a contest because Julianne from the dog park threw down the gauntlet and naturally I have that whole competitive thing going on and while I am SURE I will get trampled by kittens canoodling with hamsters or whatnot, you are probably by now acquainted with my philosophy which is, I don't have to hit a home run but I do have to swing the bat(skate backwards/stand up etc.) and come on, it's a pretty cool photo, isn't it?



Speaking of Julianne, was it not delightfully ironic that I had one of those 'are we in the same peer group/guess how old I am' conversations with her husband and he inelegantly blurted that he thought he was 5 years younger than I, and he turned out to be 10 years older which is why I never play that game-it's just so stupid either way. The next time someone makes me guess their age, I'm gonna say 92 and leave it at that.

I think you can start voting tomorrow. Tell your friends-I mean the older looking people you hang out with-in order to make yourself appear really young.

Thank you.

Vote here
http://www.snapfish.com/viewsinglevote/contestname=bestfriends/contestentryoid=1258176/a=127201747


The Book
http://www.amazon.com/How-Not-Look-Old-Effortless/dp/0446581143/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1207536783&sr=8-1

Somewhere Near Pleasant and Linden Streets

Why Dogs Don't Bother Talking (A Short Play in One Act)

Tink's Person: You goin'?
Grantley's Person: I'll be there...
(Dramatic Pause)
GP: ...like white on rice.
TP: What?
GP: I'll be there like white on rice. (Pause) Is that racist?
TP: What?
GP: Is it racist to say 'like white on rice'?
Zack's Person catches up to the conversation.
ZP: Like white on rye?

Dog's eyes meet.

GP: What?
ZP: I thought it was 'white on rye'.
GP: You mean like Miracle Whip?

Dogs exchange looks of horror.

ZP: I don't know.
GP: I know but what's it supposed to mean?
TP: It means like rice is internally white and it can't be anything else so it's like something that's supposed to be 100%.
ZP: Oh.

GP: What about brown rice?

Grantley rolls eyes as Zack and Tink look away in disgust.

The End.

In Public

Let's try this again, shall we? Brown is the new black. 50 is the new 40. A twenty is the new $1. Parents are the new children. Museums are the new churches. Pink is the navy blue of India and this is the new phone booth.



--------------
Have I told you lately, thanks for stopping by? No? Oh.
Thank you for your time and attention.
Onward.

My stairs

(NOTE: Everyone can read this except for my Dad because he's too young to know about such things and my nephew who is too old. Seriously. Ick. Come back tomorrow but for now, gentlemen? Avert your eyes. Nothing to see here. Move along. )

Here we go. DEEP CLEANSING inthroughthenoseoutthroughthemouthholymotherofgodforgivemeokay BREATH.

I used to have these friends, not my current friends-ho ho ho no they are all fine upstanding citizens who would never stoop to this level of debauchery. Well okay maybe one of them. Okay no. They. Would. Never.

Serious face. This story actually happened on what ended up to be the worst/best night of my life. You know the ones. They go something like, wow, if I hadn't permitted that fool to trample my heart/soul into bite-sized smithereens, why I wouldn't be sitting here right now enjoying this box of Schoko-Bananen mit Chiquita TM Bananen and not have to share them with anybody! Woo.

Uhhh hoo.

It was an idiot filled night. Two couples snowed in at some pathetic Pocono-type resort-place. Naaah, we weren't staying there. Uh-uh. Jackass Number One's family had a sort of a vacation home nearby and the locals were welcome to swell the crowds at this loser resort place. I am part of the couple who should be voted most likely to end up on the opposite sides of court. The other couple is as amorous as we were chilly. No, not chilly. Icebergian. Penguillian. Suffering from severe Eskimosis.

Four figures stand at the bar. One is Seethingly Pissed. One is Schnockered. One is Extreme Jackass Number One and the other excuses herself to go to the ladies room. (Just to be clear, in this scenario? Altho I did perform a dual role as Extreme Jackass for even sticking around that evening? I was mainly playing the part of Seethingly Pissed.)

Ladies Room returns and shoves something black and lacy into Extreme Jackasses hand. Myself, I am so into my role as Seethingly Pissed that I don't figure it out till way later that Ladies Room has pulled the Patented Underpants Maneuver.

I realize all women might be angry that I reveal said set-up here in such a public forum but according to my recently installed SiteOmeter? There's no one here but me and I'm okay with it. The Patented Underpants Maneuver (only performed by long term married couples with thick gold wedding bands that sleep in separate beds like on Dick Van Dyke) is a complete setup made to suggest extreme feelings of unbridled passion that Just Can't Wait. (Get it? Please don't make me elaborate. I swear I'll barf.)

Here's the two signs to know it's fake. One-if it's February in the upper regions of the country, it's dammed cold outside so she's either A) really stupid or B) taking a lot of vitamin C. Two-you think those are regular underwear? Yeah, right. They're props. If she wore those under her jeans she'd be all lumpy, no? (Yeah I know you don't care, I'm just sayin')

Blah blah blah, of course it worked and I had to listen to the results because it was a vacation home built of the lowest quality walls. How gross is that? Gack and a half o rama.

I had a crapified day today. A huge upsetting misunderstanding, sweeping of smashed floor pretzels, piling up of stuff, little bit of an eyeball headache and like that, but to channel my anxiety, I rewarded myself with a favorite activity, you know it/I love it, it's the World Largest Laundromat!!! Yay!!!

I even popped for some Starburst and shared them with the woman folding next to me because altho we do not share a verbal language, we both thought a certain load in the dryer was our own and after it became clear we cracked up bi-lingually. Yu-mah. The universal language. (Or is it candy...)

So. I am dragging these two giant bags o clothing up my three flights of steps (Don't tell my chiropractor-she will be ever so annoyed) and I swear I see this dude that looks exactly like the most current James Bond. Hot+Cha+Cha. He's got the James Bond profile and he's wearing a really spiffy suit and handsome tie and glamorous shiny shoes and here's me dragging this stuff up the stairs like a retired mule without a pension and our eyes meet and I smile sweetly because everyone knows that's the kind of Ann I truly am and he turns away momentarily and I glance away dramatically and draped (probably by this extremely handsome realtor-type because it's a quiet hallway) on the banister of the second floor steps are my very own black underwear.

Thank Jesus they weren't the ones I threw away at the WWL. I woudda had to move away.


schoko-bananen
http://www.germandeli.com/cakosc.html

Starburst
Starburst.com

Best underwear ever
http://www.jockey.com/en-US/Catalog/Silhouette.aspx?CategoryName=Women&DepartmentName=Underwear&SilhouetteName=French%20Cut&List=118&Ma=115

Nirvana

I achieved one of my life goals today and I nearly didn't even catch it. (Release the gold stars!)

No, it's not my taxes but yeah, I did get through them and everything shoved into my traditional cardboard Nike box and delivered to Jeff at Frank L. Sassetti before 5:00ish and they tell me it's supposed to be a good feeling to have them done but it hasn't hit me yet because I've got some 8000 other items on the proverbial back burner. To get them into the box, I had to go 100% sensory depravation on myself-the only break I took was when Grantley stared at me until I petted her head and I don't really mind stopping for head petting because I know her head won't be around forever. It's the nature of the planet. Things spin away.

(Have you dog people noticed how lovely and soft and mooshy your pup is when they wake up in the morning? It's prime petting I tell you. The softest of the soft. But I digress. Which is totally normal for me, no?)

I wanted to experience the level of laughter I saw once in my friend Eleanor's sister's bedroom in glorious Upstate New York. Here was the scene: It was the year that those jazzy colorful Fashion Bug leggings were in style. (Yeah, like you didn't have a pair or three yourself.) It was El and her sister...give me a second...Diane. We were going to go swimming and El wanted to borrow something to wear and Diane kept pulling out these outrageously goofy flowered leggings and those two got to laughing so hard they both fell on the bed and just laughed and laughed until their heads fell off. It was beyond tears. They were rolling and stomping. It was awesome to witness. Unforgettable, even.

Except that, I wasn't in on the joke-I was laughing, of course, but I was laughing at their laughing and I remember thinking, that's what I want to do. Actually laugh until my head disconnects from my body. Must have item.

It happened today and I was in such a wooze-yeah it's a word-it's like woozy but as experienced from the inside-that until I started my truck and began to back out of the parking space? It nearly escaped me. Imagine missing that.

Today was my Ed day. I promise you, I don't get that quality of laughter anyplace else but when I am face down on Ed's Therapeutic Table of Internal & External Rejuvenation. Ed's a massage therapist to the stars (that's right. me.). I do not know what it is. Fumes from the lotion? Vibrations from the chakra lamp? But Ed and I get like, well, I can't speak for his head disconnecting from his body because when my face is in that cradle thing I can't see anything but me, ye gods I walk out of there with my endorphins twirling and that's before I get adjusted by the Doc's.

I have a theory. When you laugh standing up (and hey if you're able to laugh standing up? completely preferable to bawling, yes?) it kind of falls out of you in a linear fashion like this:


When you laugh horizontally? The ha's build up underneath you until your head actually disconnects from your body like this:



So (Goal #1) Inter-planetary domination is still on the horizon and (#896) my bathtub still has those mysterious floaties in it but ah-HA/Eureka (#2)? Mission accomplished.


Jeff Schroeder
Frank L. Sassetti & Co., CPAs
www.flsassetti.com
6611 W. North Avenue
Oak Park, IL 60302
(708) 386-1433

Ed Sullivan
Massage Therapist
musicandmassage@sbcglobal.net

Countdown

Shhh.

Don't talk to me. Don't tell me about any cool events. Don't give me any really cool magazines and for SURE don't sabotage me with a four-week unsolicited, sample subscription to US magazine because Reese Witherspoon has no awareness of me trying to get my taxes done or else she would cease cavorting on the cover, no?

Don't talk about those two library books I've already started and the fresh ones I'm missing from the new non-fiction shelves. Don't bring me to the Goodwill closest to Oprah's studio for that will surely slow me down. Please don't mention the condition of the mysterious floatations that linger in the bottom of my bathtub or the carpeting of clothes on my bedroom floor.

Don't send emails about the condo board or the Friends of Oak Park Dogs Board and for sure don't send me any funny naked man e-mail photo montage things because I have got to concentrate. Don't reply to my personal ad. Don't talk about Trader Joes. Don't remind me that the first 5k is in two weeks and I have got to get in some sorta walking shape. Don't put anything good in my fridge. Don't show anything good on Teevee (could happen. maybe) and don't recommend the movie that has its poster hanging in the video store outside.

Don't have a garden with snowdrops and if you insist on that, at least don't let the crocuses pop yet and let's not even mention the blue flowers I have to point at to make spring begin. Don't have a robin land in a puddle in front of me. Stop putting the Tribune outside my door.

You'll have to wait for my business plan and that goes double for my list of copyrighted works and please don't send me a newsletter about pizza and skating on Tuesday nights.

Thanks for your cooperation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In other news.
I found the flyer from the woman I met at the French Pastry School. I told Kimberly to ring me up when she opens her bakery because I'm oh so totally sure that she will. Seriously. You had to see her face.

Her business is called Body and Soul (A little taste of heaven) She makes Caramel, Chocolate, Coconut, Carrot, Pound and Red Velvet cakes, Sweet Potato Pie, Cupcakes, Banana Pudding, Rice Pudding and she told me her best thing is her Peach Cobbler and I believe.

Here is the Coconut. Actual size.

Body and Soul
"Homemade with love for every occasion"
Kimberly Stackhouse
areyousaved2@sbcglobal.net