2009

Hey, Happy New Year.

Projections

One theory I heard recently, was that my friend didn't care if her bamboo plants croaked. She figured that they were doing their job of drawing out all the negativity from the air and when the plant died, it's work was finished and it was prepared to be replaced.

The next plantropomorphisim was a giant leaf that formed a tear drop on its end and another friend figured the tear appeared because she herself was internally despondent and when the moisture went away, she realized that her mood had lightened as well.

I bought two droopy cyclamen last February right after Valentines Day. They were on the clearance table in the Jewel's floral department and I was thinking of that movie 28 Days-where newly graduated former junkies were advised to see if they could keep a plant alive for a certain period of time and then try and take on a pet before they attempted a relationship with another person.

A few days ago I caught a peek at this.

Hope springs eternal.

This Old Coat

Have you ever heard yourself blah blah blahing along and then you say something and then you go all out of body on yourself and ya think: Okay, who made that ridiculous statement? And the only one talkin' was you?

So we're all yakking and I make some kind of statement about my winter coat. Something about how many years I've had it, and as I'm saying that, I'm thinkin', huh. that's like bragging about how much money you've saved by not getting your teeth cleaned, ya know? It isn't vintage, it's old.

My Mah would interject (and I bet she's doing it as we speak-Hi Mah!): That was a very fine coat(and when she says 'fine' she actually means 'expensive') and she is oh so totally correct. They bought it for me upon my reentry into the Midwestern region which I think makes it nine years old. (I'm not good at dates. Maybe it was eight. What year is it anyway?) It's an Anne Klein from Fields and that coat has been everywhere. Betcha the cost per wear is like negative $8000.

Just as I realized that there's no more fabric to repair within the lining of the pockets because it's been sewn together so many times, The Shish and I found ourselves at The Carousel thrift store in LaGrange where I think I spied Judy Barr Topinka. I heard her voice and I saw the color orange out of the corner of my eye but I didn't turn my head quick enough to introduce myself or even get a really good look, which annoys me to no end because I think she's kinda cool and I would have liked to have introduced myself but just as some woman was chatting her up about some sort of tax on her great uncle or words to that effect-I was less than half listening-my eyes had fallen upon my new coat.

Oh Joy. Rapture. It was $20 bucks and it was hanging on the 'This Just In' rack nearly waving at me. It's Columbia, black and grey with zippers and pockets and best of all, it's got a drawstring waist. I haven't had a waist in the winter in forever. So exciting. Ooh and it qualifies for our family's age old winter coat family crest/quest in that yes, it covers my butt.

So now my old coat. It's got to go to someone else. Move it along the textile food chain. When I get new gym shoes, I usually dump my old ones at the store because I have a crazy bad habit of wanting to wear the comfortable old ones and putting off breaking in the nice new ones.

My old coat-I'm torn. Some chilly person could be wearing it as we speak, but I need to experience one cycle of occasions with the new coat to make sure it's going to completely work for me. I suspect it will do fine.

Con te partirò old coat.

Ice Baking

I think this idea came from Phil Vettel who writes for the pamphlet formerly known as the Chicago Tribune but now, since I have an ice wreath setting up in my freezer, it's time to share it with the rest of humanity. What cha do is, you go to the Goodwill and if I haven't been there before you*, try and find yourself a metal jello mold. Then, you bring it home and freeze up some water and wah-lah. You've experienced ice baking.

Where it gets interesting is when you start sticking things into the water. Like pieces of ribbon or submerged yarn or tiny pine cones or frozen broccoli or pieces of your wreath or frozen blueberries (I'm trying that right now) or old sequins or food coloring or sliced orange peel cut into shapes or I was even thinking bird seed would be cool, but I don't know if that would work.

If you make a batch of ice cupcakes, you can stick ornament hangers into each tin but if you make a ring, you can tie on some twine at the end. And then if you're like me? Sneak into your neighbors yards and hang them in their trees. Yeah they melt but they're spectacular on the way out and that's the closest thing to free winter entertainment I can imagine.

*I have cornered the market on fish shaped jello molds. I have seven. Someday I'm going to hang them all up in a school on my kitchen wall but until then, they sleep in the pantry, dreaming of their day in the sun.

The Wind

There's a big wind tonight. (I was going to say a bad wind, but who's to say it's bad, right? Maybe it's releasing some sorta cosmic global toxins or something) Anyway, the power went out for a few minutes while I was watching Mama Mia! the movie and the fun-usual dog thing about wind is how you think you might be getting a dog for some sorta personal protection? But when there's a big wind? All bets are off and they're looking to you as a sort of like, "Hey Auntie Em, do you think it's time we went down to the storm cellar now?" sort of a way.
There was a famous artist who was trying to capture his dogs likeness on paper and he had to leave pads of paper and pencils all around his house to try and get them when they weren't paying attention. At the dog wedding, The Shish(aka Grantley's Mother in Law) noticed that Grantley is a complete and total poser. She stands for the camera, tilts her head and smiles. Oh yes. She does. But when there's a big wind, she has a hard time settling. Thus the do-overs which I'd normally crop out but I think they're kinda interesting.

It's either that or she was agreeing with me that the movie wasn't very good.

HMO

What kind of doctor do you go to to get Good King Wenceslas removed from inside of your head?

Expressway

I am at the age where I have certain panting women approach me with moistened brows and eyes pitched toward the ceiling while they yank off layers of clothing and loudly confide about having 'personal summers' in this knowing sort of way and for myself, I'm not evolved enough to feel the need to openly discuss matters of internal human plumbing-look-I'm not that far away from being able to say 'testicle' without dissolving into a puddle of laughter. (I also clearly recall thinking 'girdle' was the funniest word ever.) And my most horrendous thought about the matter is maybe just maybe that 'the change' brings about a compulsion to actually share it verbally with every stranger that passes your way. 

Perish the thought. 

Someone asked me what it's like to drive a pick-up in the winter and to tell you the truth, winter's the worst. There's not a whole lot of traction in the back because there's not a whole lot of weight and so, I have to slow down before I slow down so I can slow down, but there is a bright spot and that's when I get on the Expressway. 

The Eisenhower Expressway is not the best place for a 4-cylinder vehicle. We just don't have the power that everyone else does, except when the truck bed is full of fluffy snow and then I and my little truck get to experience a personal blizzard. 

Fwoosh!

Eve

People started giving me gifts which started freaking me out just a little because generally speaking, I've opted out of the gift-giving part of tomorrow. I feel entirely disconnected from it and not in a bad way. I get stuff all the time and some day I intend to thank the strangers who have awarded me the coolest finds via Thrift stores like my trusty boots that I wear for almost all state occasions. Whomever cast them aside with 10,ooo miles left to go on them? I think of you often.

Anyway, I started feeling like at least a couple of reciprocal gift purchases were in order and so I called my Mah because she is the goddess of amaryllis bulbs and I think those are some kick-ass gifts because not only is it a box to open, it's a science project and then it gives you a green plant and then it even awards you with flowers, yes? My Mah said Dominick's was having a sale and that I should call them and see if there were any left.

I did and I got this lovely woman who set the last two aside for me and when I motored over there in the blizzard to pick them up she said she could get more tomorrow(today) and so I was extremely happy about that and MK and I went over there willing to take the last 12 between us and long story short, despite her best efforts, we waited one hour and a half and left with nothing.

It was just that kind of day.

We watched 4 different cars get stuck in the slots where I park my truck. I mean like call the tow truck stuck. We discovered that our Christmas card required 17 cents additional postage. When I called my Mah to sing Happy Birthday? My phone flashed: CALL REJECTED. You seeing a theme here?

Finally made it through to the ice cold freezing evening dog waltz and guess what? We timed it exactly perfectly to be the only ones strolling through the blazing luminaries that lined Scoville. Peace on Earth.

My pocket

Don't let this happen to you.

Okay. I'm standing in the kitchen and the phone starts ringing and I say to Grantley,"Okay where's the phone?" because I can hear it ringing and I start slowly twirling around to my left and now I've made a complete circle and it's still ringing and I can't see it anywhere. I start going around a second time when I realize it's been in my left rear pocket the entire time.

I figure one of these days, Grantley's gonna write one of those exposé-type books and it's better you hear these things from me.

The Weather

The temperature has now surpassed the Governor in terms of newsworthiness which is, I suppose, good for him (for the moment anyway)and not so good for the chilly among us. We've had minor changes here. I'm wearing two pairs of pants. Our evening walk was about 20 minutes shorter than usual-but that was for us-not the dogs. They seemed happy to be out.

I put the green comforter on the bed and suddenly Grantley has taken an interest in sleeping right next to me. I think, generally speaking, she wanders at night. Sometimes I get up for water and she acts all guilty about sleeping on the couch instead of by my side but it's a free country, in my opinion and who's to say if I'm a nocturnal tap dancer and not safe to be around.

Today, I went out with coocoo for cocoa puffs hair which was 100% intentional. I knew I looked like I did my hair with an egg beater, but I figured on this day of all days, who was gonna confuse bed-head with hat-head? It's just not possible.

Scoville

Here is Marilyn. We met her on Scoville early this morning, right after we listened to a news bulletin about how we should Stay Inside because it was Too Cold.

Marilyn was returning from the dog park and in this picture, she's saying,"Hmhmhm hmhmhmhm hmhmhmhmhhmhmhmh." which, filtered through several layers of hand-knitted wool translates into:"I love this weather."

Last week, we met a doorman downtown who had a theory that Chicago is such a great city that the tough weather is an asset that keeps it properly populated yet not overcrowded. Hmm, we thought, doormen as philosophers. Makes perfect sense to us.

WLL

Oh, you better use Shout!®

You better tumble dry

You better not doubt

I'm tellin' you why...

Everybody goes to the...

Ho ho ho! 

Ascension Church

Tonight we went to a special church service called An Evening of Prayer and Song for Peace which was, I guess you could say dedicated toward this mission of non-violence in neighborhoods that have gangs and the church was empty. I mean, maybe there were, I'm gonna say 18 people tops. And this is a giant cross-shaped church so the composer of most of the music asked everyone to move together and our little group of Ed and Fran and MK and me ended up next to the piano, behind the soloist and oh mah gawd if I had ever wanted to have a pencil with me to draw this woman-it was tonight and of course I didn't and I'm not going to even try to replicate her after the fact because I won't get it right. 

She was a big woman with a bigger voice. One of those people who tips back their head and this red velvet carpet of sound rolls out and you just stand back and be glad you got to hear it. After the service was over, I approached her as I have become brave enough to do and I told her I was willing to sing backup for her any day of the week if she would have me and she smiled. 

Running Around

Today I spent running around getting all the things done that I haven't had time to do in the past three weeks. 

I need a day off from my day off. 

The Street

Bryan was out scraping his car. That's something you lose when you have a garage. The chance to yak with your neighbors in the winter as you scrape the snow off your windshields. Otherwise you might not see them again until March. He said, "Girl. When you puttin' up your Christmas tree?"

"Heh." I replied but I'm sure he didn't hear me because of my red hat which while I do appreciate and everything because some people don't even have hats, but it still makes me miss my bunny rabbit/ear flap hat which was warmer with 100% more visibility and 0% political correctness. Bryan's perfect, systematically placed, color coordinated, Christmas array of decorations have been up for weeks now. One year it was all pink. 

"I don't do a tree." I said. 

"Well, when are you putting up your lights?" he asked. 

"I got a wreath." I volunteered. "I just don't feel like putting it up." As I was saying that, I was channeling Ebeneezer Scrooge. Something about keeping Christmas in your own way. Blah humbug. 

"Whaaaaa?" said Bryan. "You only have a week!"

I love Christmas lights. Especially those really awesome primary color strands? Or those houses with the electric candles in each window? You should see my neighborhood if you want to see some awesome displays but I just don't feel like doing it. That's not what I'm good at. Thumb tacking lights around my windows like little blinky soldiers. Uggh. I can't even think about it.

I went to a party last week and not only did the (lives with herself and her dog/single/full-time job/2 major hobbies)woman have her own fully decorated tree? It was stuffed underneath with wrapped gifts. Like enough for the Brady Bunch including Sam and Alice. Damn. 

I know a family with a highly landscaped, beautiful yard which is right across the street from something that loosely resembles Sanford and Son. The Sanford's get to look out and see great beauty and the gardeners? Well, they're okay if the trees fill out the way they're supposed to. 

I was thinking I could line my windows in that mirror stuff that people put on their car windows. Or maybe I'll go to the mall and have my attitude adjusted by Santa. More likely I'll follow up on something I tore out of the newspaper about a coat drive from some non-profit called One Warm Coat.

Then maybe I'll get to light up someones eyes. In my own way. 

Lifelong Learning Center

Speaking of potlucks, today was the first luncheon I ever hosted and it was a (surprise!) pot luck. After weekending near the bathroom, I wasn't really (gulp) looking forward to it but I changed my strategy. I noticed that the most important thing as a host of a potluck is to A) Taste everything(as opposed to eat everything) and B) Be ready to immediately comment favorably because A) Everyone was watching and B) Everyone was watching.

Luckily, members of a senior center don't mess around when it comes to potlucks. We only had 13 people but our table runneth over with really good stuff. There was a fruit tart, baked beans, brownies, yellow cake with chocolate frosting, almond crescents, zucchini bread, fried chicken, cole slaw, fried rice, meatballs, pretzel surprise and yes, I made that corn stuff again.  It was all very good but my very favorite dish was brought in by Phyllis and it was rice pudding and I don't even like rice pudding. I appreciate it (from afar)but.

Phyllis won for presentation points. Here's an overhead view of the rice pudding. 

Have you not always wanted to take a little bite of something you cooked before you delivered it? Yeah, me too. 

Guts

Dear Stomach,

The past few hours I've done a lot of hard thinking about what happened this weekend. I want you to know that everything that I'm about to say is coming from the bottom of my heart and you probably already know that because you're not so very far away, are you? I know that it will be very difficult for you to accept my apology, but I want you to think about our friendship as well.

The main reason I decided to write you this letter is because our friendship and that the proper functioning of my digestive system, is far too valuable to lose over a silly neighborhood potluck. I feel that I could have handled the choices at the buffet in a much better way, but my brain never gave me a chance to think about the consequences of my choices. I hope this letter will give us both a chance to understand one another better.

I admit that I was wrong for filling you with such mysterious gastronomic creations, but the reason for that is I did not agree with what you were saying when you were telling me to stop tasting unrecognizable foodstuffs. I want you to know that I am very sorry and this is a special letter from me to you, saying that I Love You! I think that I have made the right decision. Please write me back.



Love,

Ann

The Island of Misfit Ornaments

This is how "the plan" started.

In the basement of The Economy Shop, there are baskets filled with ornaments priced at either ten cents or two for a quarter. Some of them are priced at one dollar but all the Christmas stuff is half-off, so fifty cents would be extravagant. Just for fun, I poked through one of the baskets and I started pulling out all these handmade, abandoned creations. A grey felt elephant with white felt tusks. Little teeny, red, hand-knitted mittens. A snowman made out of a white tube sock. A white, fluffy, teddy bear wearing angel wings holding a rose. Several hand-sewn candy canes. A wooden skier with a teeny, white, pipe cleaner beard. What was I up to here? Seventy five cents?

A tin horse. A plastic bag filled with 18 plastic red, purple, green or blue icicles. (That was $1.50 but half-off and there were 18 of them. Do the math. No really, do it. I'm not going to.) A hand- crocheted angel. An armed wooden soldier. 

The initial moral to the story, is that if you ever found yourself lacking in a Christmas(because it happens. Fires, floods, divorces, amnesia, whatnot.) it would be your own fault because entire yule-like legacies are at your disposal, if you'd simply take a few moments and poke through the basket, agreed?

But!

I didn't buy these for myself, as much as I bought them-the same way that, for instance, if I ever win the lottery which I won't-because I don't play-but if I ever do play-because you never know-and I do win because I've won lots of things, I'm gonna go to one of those puppy stores and set them all free. Oh yes I am. Who's gonna stop a winner?; I spent this particular five-ish dollars to release these ornaments into the world because, as the cliche goes, if you love somebody set them free (Free, free, set them free.)and somebody made these things, ya know? 

So "the plan", and once again why I adore my friends de jour because when I shared "the plan" I said something like, okay, here's what we're gonna do and two seconds later "the plan" was in motion, is, to allow the ornaments one last public hurrah and so, we shall be decorating our paths (trees, bushes, fences, what have you.)as we walk our dogs throughout the 'hood and then we'll see what happens. 

If someone sees them? Good. And if someone takes them? Good. And if a bird uses the angel's wing yarn to build a nest? Good. And, we're just going to see how it goes. 

I've got four icicles out there already, because, besides my issues of not being able to abandon handmade Christmas ornaments, I also have issues about not being able to wait. 

Happy Holidays. Who knew it was a choice? 

Economy Shop

I worked at the Economy Shop today. It gives you a whole different flavor of exhaustion. 

More on the morrow. 

The Forest

We were out walking one Saturday afternoon and we found a tiny dog crossing an empty street alone and after knocking on someone's door and having them call police (non-emergency) and then waiting around holding the dog while it shivered(and no, we weren't trying to be heroic, we just wanted to see what was going to happen. You know, we don't have the cable teevee like everyone else does so we have to entertain ourselves, generally speaking.) the owner strolled up and admitted he'd adopted the dog the day before and he guessed it was probably too soon to let it off leash.

Grantley and I met on the internet in December of 2001 and this is December 2008 (wow. how did THAT happen?) and so, we'll take seven years times 365 days and that comes out to exactly two thousand, five hundred, fifty-five days and I only let her off-leash this very morning when we were in the exact middle of the forest and only for about 11 minutes.

Next she's gonna want her own phone. 

Long day

I have been out doing work stuff all the livelong day and I get back and whisk Grantley out for a quick walk (We met Tim from downstairs and he was trying to get Rerun the beagle to woo woo woo like a siren that passed by on a police car)and we get back up here, after all that, and still she sits and waits for me to pet her on the head right before I hang up the leash. That's the weirdest thing because I remember the one particular day I just happened to turn and pat her one extra time and now, all this time later, it's turned into a thing.

A ritual. 

And it's not like she's even anticipating a paycheck or a steak bone or a crumb. Just a touch on her head. 

Humans will never really be worthy of dogs, will they? 

Speaking of Cake...

Is it ever appropriate to serve blue cake to the Governor of one's own state or municipality?

Only when he appears unwise enough to blue-cake himself.

Blue Cake

I'm not even sure I'm remembering this properly, but when I got to work at this one particular long-term temp gig in which there were days we laughed so hard we actually Got In Trouble as in, our immediate supervisor coming into our giant 5 person cube plantation and saying something like: if you people can't control yourselves...because we were literally wiping tears out of our eyes howling. At what I could not tell you except that everyone trapped in that giant cube was of exceptional intelligence(except for one and she was just flat out ka(f-ing)ray+zee) and so, it was the flavor of humor that actually got you in trouble. How cool is that? I had a mentor once who told me to seek out activities that made my heart sing. It's rare but it happens.

Anyway, there was a double-cube dwelling man who, for a while, seemed to be our bosses boss and he was nice enough and someone you smiled at and quietly said 'Good Morning' to and then, one day, there was a flurry of mysterious closed door meetings and the next thing you knew, there was a giant blue frosted cake in the cafeteria in his honor and then? We never saw him again.

(Thus the phrase 'blue-caked' as in, I got blue-caked today or so and so got blue-caked or whatever happened to the crazy woman in the cube across the aisle? Was she blue-caked or did she quit?)

And so, last week brought word of two different friends being served their slices of hey guess what, you know that single serve soup you bought last week for lunch? You don't work here anymore and it's probably more economical to make it from scratch with a lotta nutritious celery from now on destiny. Different people, different places, different jobs-absolutely unrelated except in terms of timing.

It doesn't make it better to tell them that long term, it'll be okay or that they deserved a little bit more respect than to have found themselves ejected out into the snow like Fräulein Rottenmeier or to make random suggestions about alternative career paths or offer to sew Human Resources what goes around comes around voodoo dolls or to do anything else than remind them to keep breathing and if ya put 'James Taylor' into pandora.com, there's a lot of nice (and free)songs to sing along with and you have to admit, you can't do your very best heart-singing trapped in a cube that no longer fits.

(Baby it's cold) Outside

Has it not been, an unwritten rule of places that are significantly chilly, that people refrain from commenting on the outerwear of others? (Unless it's something like, hey cute boots! Which will never be socially incorrect.) I always felt that when it fell below oh let's say 21 degrees, all bets were officially off in terms of style points. 

Sure, you have Le Shish with her extraordinary outfits. She's always gonna have it goin' on because that's who she is, but for mere mortals and everyone else, at a certain point, nobody cares if you have eleven hats and twelve scarves and nine pairs of mittens because conceivably, if they have their eleven hats and twelve scarves and eighteen mittens, they're probably unable to even see what you have on, right? 

Eyes on your own paper, people. 

That's the way I see it or actually don't see it because this year I've replaced my signature bunny rabbit hat with a red tube of a fleece type thing. It reminds me of that part of a submarine that pokes out of the water and spies on the Nazis in old movies, only with a whole lot less visibility but that doesn't matter because I'm sporting it during the six o'clock/crack of dawn hour of the day where nobody is supposed to care.

Ha!

Remember Fred? Of Fred and Ginger the man plus dog combo? Our up-the-street neighbor who eschews a leash? (Yeah there's a few of them around these parts and someone tell me why the leashless are always men.)  I bet you were unaware that Fred also does winter fashion commentary. 

I know. You wish you lived here, don't you?

The two I can recall right at the moment were, "What are you supposed to be? Nanook of the North?"

And the next time it was,"What are you, dressing for the iditarod?"

It's like having your very own Mr. Blackwell.  Who could ask for anything more? 

Not sure where

One of the extremely coolest things about my existence right at the moment is, not only do I have several amigos in my cell phone address book(because there was a time. not too long ago when I didn't even have a cell phone and I don't point that out to invite some sorta manufactured sympathy but just to point out that my cup has not always overfloweth in the friends department. (I love when people tell the truth about the way their lives go, don't you? Truth sets everybody free in my opinion.)) but, they're the sort of friends where, when you call them and say, 'Hey you know Marilyn's friend Janet from the dog park's son?' (And no they don't know him and neither do I but I know Janet and that's good enough for them.) 'He's in that Dudes Making a Difference* group from the high school? Yeah and they're having a poinsettia sale and I'm gettin' a wreath, ya want one?'

And instantly they say yes.

I just love that. 

Now. Where'm I gonna hang it? 

*Dudes Makin' A Difference is a group of Oak Park River Forest high school boys who are supporting the education of a buncha kids in Nepal. Win win win win win. 

Naptime

I had two potential opportunities to go see live reindeer this afternoon but instead, I gave myself a stern talking to about staying home and behaving oneself and that's why I'm struggling to get something written at 12:08 AM because when your brain insists on looking at live reindeer? Make no substitutions. Especially not a nap. 

Fooey. 

Guest Artist

So, I'm sitting here. 

I am tired. I've taken part in all my forms of meditation except the sweeping of the floor and I'm thinking that I can't even think really and up strolls Grantley and hands me this knot of rawhide. She saves them. My Mah used to do that with Charleston Chews. Everyone else would gobble up their candy bar properly and hers would be sitting in the cupboard by the glasses taunting me-eventho, okay, Charleston Chews were never in my Top 85. 

I gave the rawhide back to Grantley. She took it. Walked away and returned a few minutes later and handed it to me again. 

I say it's the gift of an early bedtime and for that I am eternally grateful.

Still outside

One of my very most not favorite things about winter.

Too much salt.

Outside

One of my very favorite things about winter.
Grantley's nose.

Where do dogs live?

Okay. You know the guy with the house that used to be pink until he re-did it and they found that they couldn't get the hideous, yet distinctive, pink paint off the brick and so they actually turned the individual bricks around one by one? You know, way up the street.

That guy.

So, we were walking this morning. Ever so darned proud of myself to be walking in the morning hour beginning with the numeral '6', especially on ice, thank you very much. I stay to the left edge-in case I fall, I plan to heave myself towards the snow and oh yeah, I almost did fall four different times and I'm designating those slips as 'Astaires' as in Fred, because for some reason, I don't go all the way down. As my hands fly into the air, my toe saves the day(as well as my ass, thank you very much).

So it was a 'four Astaire' walk. VSB. Very serious business.

And we get near the pink house guy and I notice that he's outside with only one dog and that's not right. He has two dogs. A scruffy black one and a boxer. And I think, uh-oh.

Do I say something? Because as we've established, I am a designated street yakker but, if his dog has recently 'met it's maker'- so to speak, I don't want his tears to freeze out here in this weather, right?

It's too late as I find myself blurting out: Hey. Aren't you missing a dog?

His eyes actually widen-just like they say in romance novels, and I think, oh crrrrrrap. I shouldn't have mentioned it.

He looks at me and looks toward the formerly pink house and he says, Why? What do you know? As. If. I. Am. A. Dog. Hostage. Taker. And his hand reaches for his chest in the patented Oh. My. Stars. position.

Myself-my own hand has gone toward my chest and I say, No. I mean, is your boxer an angel? (So much kinder than using the phrase 'croaked', no? Especially when performed on ice?)

This entire conversation without benefit of caffeine-the wonder drug. And it goes on like: Wait, what? What? What? what? What?

Followed by, Oh no no no no no no no no no.

She's still in bed, he explained.

What? asks I.

Boxers are not very motivated. She won't get up.

heh.

Made me think later about the hand movement associated with the loss of a dog. It flutters right up to your chest, because, in my opinion, that must be where they actually dwell, in the longer term.

Amen.



*Laugh, but there really are people that steal dogs and then try and collect rewards which is seriously the height of jerkiness when you think about it. Dogs have teeth, ya morons.

Phone a Friend

I can't get mad at this phone for it's advanced misbehavior, because it's the exact same phone that invites me on all kinds of glorious dog walks but for some reason, today it jumped out of its resting place in its handbag and burrowed into an overstuffed chair and hid for some part of the afternoon resulting in three fully-functional humans having to double back to come to its aid, but this is not the first time this phone has gotten me in trouble. 

Once, I was attending a very deep and spiritual event in which the phone's owner was a participant in the rituals.  I being that all-around nice person slash president of my local chapter of the chump of the month club offered to hang on to her purse and at a particularly deep and meaningful moment in the proceedings, yeah, you guessed it. 

Rrrrrring. Rrrring. Rrrrrrring.

And the room turned to sneer at the offender, which appeared to be me, which even then I thought was kinda a little bit funny and luckily I still do.