It's a catchy song, though.

So I was at the library the other day and a gentleman came up to me in my particular aisle asking for a bit of help finding the book he was looking for. His authors last name started with an “F” so I directed him ever so slightly down the way since I was planted squarely in the “C” section. As he walked off, he started singing the alphabet to himself, and stopped once he reached “F”, presumably so he would know to slow down once he started seeing “E's” as he’d almost have reached his destination. I felt like I should have sent him off with a flashlight and snacks in case he got lost along the way.

Now, who doesn’t know that "E" precedes "F"? I mean, if you need the song, aren’t you generally in more dire circumstances, you know, in a “P” or “Q” type situation? I occasionally throw down an "LMNOP," since I sometimes forget if "M" comes before "N". But anything before "G", I'm thinking you ought to have down.

I presume he found his book as I saw him downstairs later and he waved happily at me as I exited the library. "Keep the power, baby!" I wanted to yell. But you get shushed at places like that, and I wasn't in the mood.

"I fear the man who drinks water and remembers what the rest of us said last night." - Unknown

So there was not much rejoicing when my alarm went off this morning. I was in complete denial about it being Monday. The weekend had been that lovely, rainy sort wherein it was perfectly acceptable to sit on the couch all day and hurl insults at the TV while sipping tea – what? The Oscars were on and Beyoncé was wearing a leotard with some business near her lady parts that looked as though her intestines were making their way down her legs after having been bedazzled. You cannot tell me you watched that spectacle without going, “Sweet tap-dancing Baby Moses! Do these people not have full-length mirrors?” I required a damp cloth on my forehead to get through her number. It was just such an assault on my retinas that I was afraid they would shoot out of my skull in a desperate attempt to save themselves. Thank the sweet Lord in heaven that Hugh was there to soften the blow of the Leotard From Somewhere Across the River Styx…

Anyhoo, it was difficult to get up this morning, if only because I felt like I needed just one more day to loiter around the house before returning to work. Plus, I have another deadline looming and WAAAAHHHHH!!!!!! Poor me.

Actually, get THIS. I’ve been struggling with some health problems for the past few years, the details of which I will spare you, and a diagnoses was just made that is probably more definitive and certain than anything else I’ve been told as I’ve made my way in and out of doctors offices for the past decade. And if there is one thing I can say with great conviction, YOU ARE IN CHARGE OF YOUR OWN HEALTH. Our medical industry has been completely fucked by the insurance industry, and I’ve come to realize that I cannot depend on a doctor to give me all of the answers. You have to research your issues and come armed to your appointments with questions and not let your doctor out of your sight until you get what you need. I’ve literally said to physicians, “No, you need to sit down. I’m not done yet.” I don’t blame them, even if I’m sure they get all feral when they see my name on their appointment list. They are in the impossible position of being overworked and having to bill so many hours that their heads must be in much worse shape then mine when they have to get up in the morning.

My point is, though, that I’ve been put on a strict eating/sleeping/vitamin/living regime that denies me several things that include (but are not limited to): 1) any and all alcohol, 2) sugar, 3) coffee, 4) chocolate, 5) bananas. Seriously - WHY GO ON LIVING? I mean, #1 is enough to make me homicidal put me in a foul mood permanently. You should see the List of Things I Cannot Eat; besides feeling very sorry for me indeed, you’d also understand why I might feel stabby for the time being, if not forever.

Of course, if all of this gets me to a place where I feel less like crawling back into bed as soon as I get out of it, then Hurrah! I will acquiesce and give up All Holy Foods! All I can say is that there had best be a GREAT pair of shoes (size 8.5), or a new pony or a shiny, SHINY object at the end of all of this. Or someone will die. I’m giving up tequila, after all, which is my great equalizer. You’ve all been warned.

The passing of a friend

This morning I got some sad news that one of my favorite dogs had passed on to the great fire hydrant in the sky. Bodhi belonged to our dear friends and was really the only dog that Kylie had any patience for. They were like siblings and we never laughed more than watching the two of them play together, especially given Kylie's tendency to bitch slap Bodhi into complete submission despite his larger size and greater age.

Bodhi was a dear, a dog who would cuddle, who was just happy and content being around those that he loved. He was, in fact, the reason that we sought out and adopted Kylie, our friends success in rehabilitating Bodhi giving us the bravery to do the same. He was saved from being euthanized at a shelter and so was one of those pups that was given a second chance at life. Given his loyalty towards his people, I think he was always aware of how lucky he was. He had his quirks, as do many rescue dogs who have been abandoned and abused, but overall he was an amazing beast and brought years of joy to those of us who loved him.

Here's one of my favorite pictures of Bodhi and Kylie. You can be sure that two seconds after the shutter went off, the two of them went tearing after whatever they are so focused on. Kylie would be out in front, focused on whatever it was she was chasing, and Bodhi, loping behind with his perky gait, would be happy to back her up. May you have endless fields to run across and squirrels to chase, buddy. You are missed.

Can't we just stick a finger in it?

So I’ve sprung a leak, internet. The incessant rain finally got to my house and I’m now falling asleep to the gentle slip-slop of rain falling INTO A BOWL IN MY HALLWAY. Let’s not go into the myriad of reasons as to why someone would build a house with a flat roof with no drainage at the top, (because then we would have to question one’s sanity in buying such a structure…what? I was high on the thought of being able to paint the walls any color I wanted!) and no easy way to get TO said roof without risking life and limb. Seriously. Two years ago Marc had to get up there to clear off pine needles and even he wet his pants a teeny tiny bit.

I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen and each winter have looked up at the high, high ceilings (the house is only two stories with a TALL ceiling upstairs…don’t get me started on how all of the heat gets trapped up in that vacuous, unused space overhead) wondering if I was going to wake up to a water stain after a rainstorm, the moisture bleeding across the once pristine surface. That day arrived and now I find myself dashing out into the hallway every few moments to see if I’m going to have drywall hanging down around my ears, although in this new Depression and with the arrival of the Gulag times, it would at least be era appropriate.

So far, the ceiling is staying put and I’m just hoping that the bulge that has increased over the past few days will stay as is. I am one of those people who holds onto an insane hope that things will rectify themselves if I just give them time. Car making funny noises? Perhaps it just needs a few days off. Toilet flushing weird? Speak nicely to it when you press down the handle. Fridge on the fritz? It’s just upset that we’re not stocking it with organic produce. As though somewhere there exist Gods of Household Electronics and Machinery that will reward my good behavior and kindness by magically fixing appliances that often need mechanical intervention. So today, when I was explaining my problem to a client, she said “Oh, I have a roofing guy if you need a referral,” my response was “Meh, don’t you think it will be fine if I just let it dry out and see if it sort of, I don’t know, disappears?” I couldn’t understand why she raised one eyebrow at me and rewarded her impertinence with extra arm work. Regardless, something needs to be done, otherwise when the next rainstorm hits, I’m going to be asking you, internet, if you know of a Dutch Boy for hire. He’d probably be cheaper than a new roof…unless there’s a Union involved.

Too soon! Too soon!

As has been documented, I have mad love for Tina Fey. If ever she has a job opening for someone to fetch her coffee and administer back rubs, I will be first in line in the hopes that some of her wit and talent will rub off on me. So, as one might assume, I never miss an episode of 30 Rock (I also have an odd crush on Alec Baldwin). It has filled a deep, deep void in my life left by Arrested Development, a show whose end had me weeping, rending my garments and questioning my will to live. If you haven’t seen last weeks episode of 30 Rock, I highly recommend that you download it as there are about 15 seconds of some of the funniest TV I have ever seen wherein Liz Lemon’s love interest finds her on the toilet. And it’s their first date. I have saved the show on my Tivo and shall watch that scene daily until the appeal wears off, which I assume will be right around the turn of the century.

But it got me thinking about my first dates and how none of them have been so hilariously catastrophic. I went to a highly religious and conservative college, so if you danced with a boy at a frat party, it was assumed that you were going to be picking out your wedding china posthaste. Additionally, you spent so much time asking for forgiveness of the Baby Jesus for any over-the-sweater action that you might have taken a part in, that between seeking redemption for hooking up and covertly making out in the arboretum, there wasn’t much time to go to dinner and movie. I had my share of boyfriends, three who stand out in any detail, one who I fell deeply in love with (and for those of you who went to college with me, it’s not who you think), but most of the time, you were surrounded by other people, and when you WERE finally, blissfully alone, well, I won’t kiss and tell. (I did get busted by the police once for “heavy petting” by the lake with one of the guys – at least that’s how the officer described it when he called us in. Let’s just say I didn’t get into a back seat again for years for fear of a flashlight shining in on me during a delicate moment.)

I did have a first date my freshman year with a guy who decided, during a lull in the conversation to share that he had webbed feet. I think my reaction was “Oh, does that make you swim faster?” which was not the right thing to say as he wasn't fluent in sarcasm. Instead, he took it as an invitation to show me his toes. At the restaurant. While we were eating. I think it was at a Pizza Hut, so really, it wasn't as though there were white tablecloths involved, but STILL. Ew. And then there was the guy who invited me out to what I hadn’t known was going to be a fancy dinner party in San Francisco. When I started to engage his friends in conversation, he told me, “I just brought you here to be quiet and look pretty.” Needless to say, I told him exactly where he could go, gathered up my things and found a cab back home. Mercifully, these are the worst I can think of, for which I should thank the good Lord in heaven. No, I tend to make an ass out of myself either in front of complete strangers – which is comforting because I will likely never see them again - or people who love me who go, “Meh…that’s just Jen. She falls down a lot. Have you seen her underwear yet? No? Give it time.”

But if any of you have good first date stories, I’d love to hear them. Come on! I’m on a deadline and need distraction! Plus, it’s really a holiday of sorts, so you poor sods who are stuck in the office need something fun to do. I’ll do a tequila shot with whoever submits the story that makes me laugh the hardest. Either that or I'm going to have to watch 30 Rock over and over and over...you don't want that on your conscience, do you?

Love the one you're with...

Happy Valentines Day internet! May your day be filled with love, chocolate and/or nakedness! Lingerie! No pants! You know, however it is that you roll.

We're experiencing a brief reprieve from the rain, here. I know, BOOHOO!, you poor Californian who gets cold at 60 degrees. YES I DO. But you all can just suck it because along with plentiful sun we also get high property taxes and Hollywood. Our burdens to bear. Regardless, the break in weather means that Kylie will be demanding a walk of uncommon length since she was denied one yesterday. Call me a bad dog owner, but when the rain is coming down sideways, it seems imprudent to venture out. I might catch my death. Or my hair might curl.

So for those of you who are attached, cuddle up with the object of your affection, and for those of you who are not, c'mon over...we'll give you a pat on the fanny and a glass of wine, two things that seem to solve a myriad of wrongs. And then you can go throw water balloons at the lovey couples downtown Mountain View. Fifteen points for each direct hit to the head! Kylie will keep score.

Eat, drink and be merry! I'm one!

So, my niece Holly is here, which is all sorts of lovely. She moved down to San Diego last year, a fact that I will most likely never forgive her for, so it’s good that she’s trying to make reparations by visiting often. I’m trying to figure out a way to keep her here permanently…Hi Holly! If you find yourself trapped in the guest bedroom, don’t worry! I’ll slide food under the door at regular intervals!

So guess what? The Lucky Paw is one year old today. Can you believe it? I expect gifts, drinks and many shiny things from all twelve of you who read this regularly. Despite the fact that this particular post wasn’t the first one that I put up, here is a link to the story that started it all. For now, I’m off to drink Scotch with my niece, which is really the right thing to do when you’re celebrating a year of documenting the many ways in which you tend to make an ass out of yourself.

So what have we learned? That I’m a thinly veiled exhibitionist. That I hate pants. That I love my dog more than I care for most people. That I adore travel. That I still don’t know what monks wear under their robes. And that as long as my mother is with us, I’ll always get enough fiber. Important things, people. I’d like to think that my blog is something of a cautionary tale, full of wisdom and pertinent advice…ahahhahahaha…sorry, I couldn’t even get through that sentence. Really, all that I can hope for is that you laugh here and there…and if it keeps you from clawing your face off or distracts you at work, even better! Just do me a favor and don’t tell your boss who I am. I don’t need that kind of stress.

You can't just turn them in for a new model when you're tired of the old one?

A few days ago, I was listening to a client list all of the things that she required out of a man. The outline was downright specific, with such startling detail as height requirements and type of hair-do. I gently commented that her obsessive stipulations might have something to do with why she was still single, but she assured me that is was merely because Mr. Right had not, in fact, walked through her door. A door that, I suspect, is outfitted with a bear trap to ensnare the man should he be brave enough to ask her out in the first place.

"So what do happens when this 6'3, dark haired Adonis gets a stoop, starts balding and dares fart in front of you?" I asked. Because these things happen, people. The adorable man that you cannot live without and enjoy seeing first thing in the morning will, at some point, make you want to stab your eyes out with a blunt object. It's called love.

Without batting an eye and in complete seriousness she said, "Well, that's why you have a solid pre-nup and a divorce lawyer you trust on hand. If he doesn't keep up with what I need, I'll dump his ass and get a new one."

And we're not letting the gays marry...why? Remind me. The heteros seem to have it all figured out.

Hashbrowns? I'm in!

So, I believe I happened upon the most disgusting of flavor combinations today, completely by accident, mind you. I'm going to blame it on my client, Chris, who was supposed to come back to the gym and run with me...since she didn't, I ended up running for about four miles and finally decided, after my left ass cheek went into a spasm so cruel and so vicious, that it was time to stop and go home.

But first! Lunch! And there is a reason that you are told not to shop when you are hungry. And might I add that you should always, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD ALWAYS, skip the chip aisle!

There are several ways to my heart...sing to me, give me good tequila, a great pair of heels, tell me that I don't have to wear pants. But what you might not know about is my devotion to the potato and every iteration you will find of that beloved starch. Sweet Moses, if ever you are out to dinner with me and I order fries YOU MAY NOT HAVE ANY. They are mine. You will lose fingers if you dare reach over. I especially love Kettle Chips. Their BBQ flavor is to die for, and they! were! on! sale! Two bags for $5!! Which is really like giving away manna, so I bought some. After checking out, I passed by the Starbucks kiosk and thought, "A cappy sounds good!" So I walked out happy with chips and coffee soon to settle in my stomach.

Let it be known that you should never, EVER combine these two items of food. You will have the unsettling feeling that someone has wiped out your mouth with used gym socks. I was at a traffic light, sipping my coffee with the chips staring at me, lovingly, just WISHING to be in my mouth, and I thought, "Oh why not?" and opened the bag to dig in. I nearly retched all over my steering wheel as the flavor of milk collided with BBQ. I quickly washed down the mouthful with MORE coffee - you know, one of those reactions that you have quickly without thinking? - and the coffee almost came out of my nose this time as I choked.

After the initial shock had worn off and I was on the freeway, I decided that if I interspersed sips of coffee with mouthfuls of chips, I would be ok. Because why wait the whole 15 minutes until I got home? Who has the patience for THAT? So I timed it...mouthful by mouthful. And it was a disgustingly exquisite commute. And Supertramps "Give a Little Bit" was playing on the radio, which is one of my favorite songs of all time! The Baby Jesus was clearly smiling down on me!

So consider this a field test by yours truly. I also bought a bag of Salt & Vinegar...I'll even share with you if you bring the beers.

VRA™

Whew, people. I'm sleeping like someone who is still on vacation. I've been without Rest for so long that I forgot what a great friend it was! I've been smiling and chipper and AWARE. If I burst spontaneously into song, just wave a glass of wine in front of me as a distraction. Your ears will thank you. I really think spending the weekend with people whose DNA denotes that they will share my exact sense of humor has tipped me over back to the other side - I've started 2009 afresh!

I even smiled at the Very Strange Man who was loitering outside of Starbucks this evening. I had just had dinner with my parents and was walking back to my car when I heard "Well don't YOU look nice today?" shouted from somewhere behind me. I looked, as there was no one around, and there sat an older man wearing what appeared to be every conceivable piece of clothing he owned. I nodded and kept walking, but he continued. "YOU HAVE A NICE ASS!" And then he added, "And I think we should get married!" Since it's been established that I have a Very Round Ass or, VRA™, I wasn't shocked that it had received its first marriage proposal. I turned and said over my shoulder, "Show me the ring and I'll see what my ass thinks!" I don't think he had expected a response and just grinned from beneath the depths of what appeared to be at least three hats and definitely four scarves. There might have even been a chicken or two in there, for all I could tell.

But I'm now home, ensconced in the depths of my couch, ass contained in my Stretchy Pants, happy to be tired and on my way to bed. It's been a good week, people. I'm heading into a social weekend, and you all know what that means! Tequila! Ergo, Content for YOU! I'll go forth ready to document and will gift you with a plentitude of anecdotes come Monday. Pray for general misbehavior...that always helps.

Bon voyage

In a few hours I'll be heading to that behemoth of airports, LAX, and finally flying home after what has been a rather nomadic two weeks. I noted today that I could teach a class on surviving on ten pieces of clothing for extended periods of time...not to mention a dwindling supply of beauty products and clean underwear. In typical me fashion I forgot both pajamas and toothpaste, so I've been thankful that my travels have taken me to places that have drugstores and Victoria's Secret. I'd hate to think what I'd have to fashion out of say, a bearskin, otherwise. Though I would be warm, so there is that.

Posting will begin afresh after tomorrow. For now, I have to stuff my belongings into my beleaguered suitcase and hope to God that I don't have an liquids rolling around that a TSA agent will spot on the security cameras, therefore forcing me to unpack everything to find the offending object and then say, "Sir, would you please sit on my suitcase so that I can close it?" while panties and bras fly about in indignation.

While I love travel and being away from home, there is nothing quite like coming back to it. Though life will begin again tomorrow with all of its usual tedium and trials, it's a nice life, and I'm happy to call it my own. Have a wonderful Monday, everyone. And keep your fingers crossed that I get an aisle seat!