October is Adopt-aShelter Dog Month

This is a re-edited, updated version of the post I wrote when I first got Marley, my shelter dog, back in Dec 2006. I just wanted to remind everyone that sometimes the best, most grateful, loving creatures are just waiting for you to find them...

I had lost my AKC Rottweiler, Brita, last October and was finally ready to get another dog. My daughter, Nikki, was home from college for the Christmas break so we had decided to see a breeder about getting a rott pup. I had the names and addresses of 3 breeders in my pocket, as a matter of fact, when I picked Nik up from an appointment near the Peninsula SPCA. We had some time before we had to be anywhere so we decided to stop and get some dog treats to feed the pound pups. Armed with cookies and chewies, we went from cage to cage, ignored signs (surely they weren't directed at US?) and stuck our hands through the bars and petted and fed the pups. We talked about how much fun it was going to be to pick out our own pup the next day.

..And then we saw HIM. He was laying with his back to the front of the cage & didn't look up to see us. I poked him. He was a beautiful colour. He didn't care that I poked him, so, of course, I poked him again. My daughter pointed out that his papers said he was a rott mix. Mixed with what? Something brown?

Nik said something to him and he turned his head to look at her. "Oh mom! Look how handsome he is!" Apparently he thought she was pretty too because he finally got up and paid attention to us. He was skinny and his ribs showed. His coat was dull but his eyes were full of hope and trust. He licked Nik's hand and then looked at me. I melted. Surely someone could not have dropped him off at a grocery store like his paperwork said? And certainly someone would be along soon to adopt him. I was just there to spread a little holiday cheer and doggie treats. I was getting a new puppy...not a used puppy. But he just kept looking at me...and somehow I knew that if I rescued this dog...he would rescue me right back.

I never did make it to see any of the breeders. On his adoption day, I was the only name on the list. I have no idea how that was even possible unless he wore his invisibility cloak when I wasn't there. I had the wrong paperwork that day, of course, and so the process took HOURS! Patience is a virtue...just not one of mine. All of this...for a dog no one wanted? I bit my tongue. I filled out new forms. I waited quasi-patiently.

Marley (named after Jacob not Bob) has been home now for 10 months. He weighed 35lbs when we got him -- he weighs about 75lbs now. He will sit. He will stay. He is fearless. He still will not come when he is called though he loves to hear his name. He is the fastest dog I have ever seen and cannot be caught with out a decent bribe. He is an explorer. This summer he discovered the ocean and defended the planet from dry seaweed. A few months ago he ate a book on the coffee table and the day before that he unwrapped a paint roller that I had on the counter and got white paint all over his paws and all over my hardwood floors. His latest reign of terror is to de-stuff throw pillows which he does when ever he sees me leave with my suitcase. He is a handful...and a heartful.

I should remind you that I am single, work 2 jobs to make ends meet and live in a small apartment. Marley doesn't seem to mind. It is larger than the cage I found him in. I have to get up a little earlier everyday for a long walk before work, and I try to take him for car rides when I can squeeze them in during the day. When I have to work longer days, I have friends drop by to let him out and toss him a treat. I'm tired when I finally get home but its now HIS/OUR time and we take a walk again. It is more than my RESPONSIBILITY, it is my PRIVILEGE.

In the grand scheme of things, not much beats that dog asleep on my feet at the end of the day. Adopt a shelter dog... it doesn't just change THEIR lives...it will change YOUR life...

More shameless self promotion....

Its just a start but here is the official, much-anticipated In Pieces Mosaic website! (OK so maybe I was the only one who was "much anticipating"....)

Take a look and let me know what you think (remembering of course that I have the fragile ego like most sensitive artists). I am still adding more photos and trying to track people down for testimonials (treading on dangerous ground there.) Before you Hamptonians ask... yes, the pictures of "the Duck" will be up soon!


Update 9/14: The Duck pics, as well as others, are up!

9 things you can do with a metal hanger

OK. I've been busy. I know I have not been here for y'all and I apologize. I understand my role is to entertain you. I have been remiss.
Now... having said that.... I got an email from Diane (aka the Kamikaze Killer) saying "I'd like to hear about wire hangers. I hate those things! They are the worst possible invention, don't you think?"

Well, heck no, D! They are a marvel of modern industry! Perhaps you are unaware of athe many uses of the wire hanger...


ONE: Of course, everyone knows that the most common use of the wire hanger is breaking into old cars. Not new cars mind you, just old cars... with mushroom shaped old door locks... and crank handle windows. The pre-slim jim answer to difficult auto entry.
Pure genius!

TWO: And speaking of old cars...what if you don't have a matchbook to jimmy under the 8-track tape in the player.. why sit in silence when you can use a good old-fashioned wire coat hanger as an antenna and at least get shitty am stations?
Brillant!

THREE: De-gunking the lint trap in your dryer. Apparently if you don't empty that often, it could start a fire and burn down your house while you are out! (Sorry, Jules... but it's a bizarre little phobia to have... which FYI, I couldn't find on the Phobia List anywhere... tho I DID find "Dipsophobia" which is a fear of drinking from which, luckily, none of us suffer.... but I digress...)
Safety!

FOUR: You can organize all your silk ties and scarves and... um... no... I am not gonna explain why I have a collection of silk ties to you people... you don't really want me to say it out loud anyway.
Kinky!

FIVE: Three little words: no cable channels.
Cheap!

SIX: Unless you have very skinny, long arms, you need a wire hanger for getting the dog bone that's somehow way under the couch... AGAIN... and is apparently SOOO much better than any of the other 9 dog bones which are located in the middle of the living room.
Convenient!

SEVEN: It will surprise no one that my favourite use for the wire hanger is the ever popular bubble wand! Step 1: Bend hanger into a heart-shape. (Don't ask me why... just follow directions!) Step 2: I have a heart-shaped cake pan (no... I don't bake... I bought to make a romantic meatloaf dinner in another life-time). Fill pan with water and dish detergent. Step 3: Release your inner child!
Fun!

EIGHT: You know that spot... yep... that one... right there between my shoulder blades... that itchy little spot where a lonely single girl (who no longer has a Hockey Boy around all the time) can't reach? Where's that danged wire hanger/back scratcher? OOOOOh yeah... that's better!
Satisfying!

NINE: Drying octopus in Indonesia. Yeah, okay, Sherlock... I had to cheat to come up with the last one.... like I have ever dried an octopus.... sheesh!
Um... ooky!

So you see, Diane, if it is mindless entertainment you seek... and I continue to let you down, you can always Google "coat hanger uses" and be amazed at the sheer ingenuity of the wire hanger!

Now the plastic spork.. that's my vote for worst possible invention...

A joke from Rach

A Man goes to dentist to have his tooth pulled.
The dentist takes out a needle to give the man a shot of Novocain.

"No way, no needles, I can't stand needles."

The dentist starts to hook up the laughing gas but the man again objects.

"No gas, please the mask on my face is
suffocating to me."

The dentist then asks if the man has any objection to taking a pill.

"No" said the patient "I'm fine with pills."

The dentist then returns and says "Here's a Viagra tablet."

The patient says "Wow, I didn't know Viagra worked as a pain pill."

"It doesn't" said the dentist "but it will give you something to hold on to when I pull out your tooth."

Thanks, Rach! LOL...and yes I realize that the only other joke I have passed on in my blog was also penis-related... I'm sure that says something about me or my sense of humour....

I've Got Mail

Okay... so here's the bad news....there seems to be a problem with my Pay Pal account and I need to spend some time sending out personal bank info to get it all straightened out. Of course, I am shocked by this turn of events as I gave up my Pay Pal account when I completed the 12 step program to beat my eBay addiction. The email goes on to say: "If you choose to ignore our request, you leave us no choice but to temporaly suspend your account." Can they do that?! Temporaly? I had no idea!

But, hey, it wasn't all bad....The good news is that apparently I have won some international lottery and will soon be rolling in 1 million euros! Thanks to the whole Pay Pal debacle, I will have already come up with the personal bank info that they need in order to put that moolah in my account. And.... then I can use all my new money on that good deal I just got offered on Viagra to make my penis hard all night...

9 possible blog themes

As I pointed out in an earlier post, I am a theme-less blogger....and, trust me, I am okay with that (underachiever that I am) but it has been brought to my attention that blogging can be a JOB! One can make money BLOGGING..... if... one has... oh, perhaps....a marketable THEME....that attracts readers.... and thus sponsors. I have to say that I like the flexi-blogger schedule and so I am gonna look into this...
Here is a list of things I'm tossing about...

1. Stuff my Dog Ate Blog: This would have to be interactive with people sending stories and pics of stuff their dogs ate since I am quickly running outta stuff for my dog to eat and he will, finally, have to resort to that stuff I keep in his bowl... you know...the DOG FOOD and that doesn't make for an interesting blog after the first couple of days.
Possible sponsors: Dr. Scholl's and Purina

2. Dead Roadside Animals I have Known Blog: This could also be interactive with people sending stories and pics of stuff they found on the side of the road. It might be more popular with people who live in areas where one can actually hit stuff other than people. NYCers will not get this. Everyone in Upstate NY will start digging through boxes of photos.
Possible sponsors: AAA and any restaurant in West Virginia.

3. Blogging for Beer: I could write reviews of a different beer everyday. Oh wait... I don't really drink beer. Hm... perhaps Cosmo reviews. Oh wait... what would I write on the second day? And would I even remember to blog on the third day? So..um...maybe no....
Possible sponsors: AA and any Karaoke bar.

4. Things I Overheard in a Bar Blog: Actually Rach and I could co-blog this one. She has ears like a dog (in ability not in shape). We could start with the one where the guy tells Rach (aka Officer L.) about his brother sending a $400 bong from Amsterdam through the mail or the guy who admitted to defecating in his pants on occasion. Upside is that all research would be in a BAR. Downside is that research could lead to a pricey BAR TAB.
Possible sponsors: Goodfellas or The TapHouse.

5. Drunk Food Blog: OK, that's as close to a cooking blog as I could come... unfortunately, I'm pretty sure that the people who are logging onto the web at 3:00 am are hardly ever looking for a good drunk food recipe...
Possible sponsors: Jack Daniels and Trojan

6. Bad Internet Dating Dates Blog: Heck I have enough stories to tell without making this one interactive for awhile... I could start with the guy who hacked my computer... the guy who took the plate of sample shrimp from the grocery store.... the guy who....guess I should save something for the blog. Hockey Boy could guest blog with his own stories.
Possible sponsors: Think I could get Match.com to be a sponsor? Ahem.

7. On-hold Muzak Review Blog: Can I just say that a utility that makes you wait 10-20 minutes before talking to a human (who inevitably will have an Indian accent) should be held to a higher standard of muzak? Who are the people who write this bland, quasi- jazzish "music"? I think people wanna know this kind of stuff.
Possible sponsors: Time Life Hits of Boxcar Willie or Sprint.

8. A Day in the Life of... Blog: Each day I pick a different celebrity and tell the readers what I think it would be like to be them. If I can't find interesting people, I'll make them up. Might be easier to do that anyway since the rehab centers probably wont give me visitation privileges.
Possible sponsors: See #5

9. Dumb Stuff I Did Today Blog: Oh wait... that's kinda what I do now....

What did he say?

You know that Daughtry song "Home"? Of course you do... it has been played every half hour on every radio station on the planet for ages now... and it was the kiss off song on American Idol which you know you watched even after our local boy Chris Whatshisname was kicked off.

Well last week one of my precious little summer art campers was singing along:

"Be careful what you wish for
cause you just might get IT ALL
you just might get IT ALL..."

Except she actually sang:
"Be careful what you wish for
cause you just might get A DOG
you just might get A DOG..."

As the owner of a outofcontrol, areyoutalkingtome used pup, I have to say, singing the new version in my head has made it easier for me to listen to it play 20 times a day...

9 things that make me smile...

1. Little girls in supermarkets wearing tutus: Extra smiles if cowboy boots are an accessory to the tutu. You almost have to laugh out loud when you realize that her mom is saving up for a bigger, more important fight sometime in the future (like a tramp stamp tattoo or dating the guy with the bone through his nose) than what to wear to the grocery store. Smart lady. (And when/why did I stop feeling like wearing a tutu to the store?)

2. Sidewalk chalk art: I love any type of creative drawing and even when you see abandoned sidewalk drawings...if you are very quite...you can hear the giggling. Shh. Listen....

3. Lemonade stands on the corner: Just have to love when capitalism meets Skippy, the neighbor's kid. Buy a glass. Ask for a refill. Someday all of this will be his. Best to suck up now.

4. Bikers who strap stuffed animals to their Harleys: Its always the biggest, baddest, long-haired, tattooed biker too. And a it's fuzzy teddy bear... sometimes in a matching Harley jacket. I'm not sure what the deal is but I will say that it never fails to make me smile. Ever.

5. Bubbles: I love to blow bubbles. Marley, my used pup, loves to chase bubbles. We are both, obviously, easily amused. You see bubbles at weddings now instead of rice (is that exploding bird thing even real or just a myth created by the people who have to sweep up after?). Point being...I think bubbles are good, clean (haha) fun.

6. Moms wearing macaroni necklaces: Usually seen for a few days after Mother's Day. The more glitter on the macaroni... the bigger the smile from me.

7. Baby anythings: puppies, ducklings, even humans...as long as they are someone else's...and sleeping...awwwww

8. Big guys with little dogs: Somewhere on a couch, amid the bonbons, sits a princess who has that guy so whipped that he is willing to "walk" her precious pooch in public. Hey, musclehead... a chiwawa or a min pin can NOT be macho even if she name him "Brutus"... which she didn't... so you have to call him "Boopsie"...even in public.. hehehe

9. Well thought out vanity plates: I"m not talking RED CAR or BOBS VW here... personally I think you should be able to shoot those guys with BB GUNS. I'm talking something that makes me think... challenges me while I'm stuck in traffic in a car with no A/C and no radio... My personal best was WUDA BCH (which the DMV girl thought was "wooooo da beach" which is NOT what anyone who knows me thought). Hockey Boy once had PINOT NV (remember he used to be Wine Guy). How about this one...GR82SH? OK, you 8 faithful readers... whatcha got?... go ahead, make me smile....

Shameless self promotion

I have a new page just for my art at myartspace.com

(okay... so the url is actually http://www.myartspace.com/artistInfo.do?populatinglist=home&subscriberid=20gewebl49skcwk1 but who can remember that? Just click the link up there or search for me by artist name: Brassard)

Don't judge... I'm still working on it!

Thanks!

Ah... the pressures of having a blog...

It was brought to my attention by my newest reader and former BFF that I don't blog everyday and therefore leave her with a hole in her day. Apparently, I am single-handedly responsible for taking up a few minutes of her time at work and without my witty musings she is forced to...well...work I guess. My apologies, Michele and I suggest you check out YouTube for cute videos about chiwawas on those days I don't blog. Try this one.
.
During the same conversation, someone asked me what the "theme" of my blog was. Hmm... theme? Am I suppose to have a theme? Really? I'm gonna have to think about that one and get back to you on it.

Of course the hardest part of blogging isn't that I really have nothing interesting to say.. you all know that already. I should end all my stories with "...and then I found 5 bucks" to make it seem at least slightly interesting but not many of you would be fooled. No, the hardest part is remembering who reads this stuff and making sure that I don't say something wrong. Hockey Boy reads it so I try not to ramble on about.. well, stuff that might make him blush. And if I said anything that might make HIM blush, imagine what it would do to my daughter (who probably reads my blog in a quiet dark corner with lots of denial about her heritage) and my mom (who thankfully hasn't taught my father how to access my blog). I don't think I could say anything to embarrass the rest of you though you can rest assured that I will continue to try to think of something.

So... I continue to babble on about my life and thoughts in a somewhat watered-down version of reality... or maybe it's my life that is really watered-down... hey, wait.... is that a theme?

Somethings are too important...

Just passing information about how insurance companies are treating mastectomy patients (its appalling) that I read on LV's blog ...which I assume you are all as addicted to as I am... what? I put a link up for you guys a couple of weeks ago... see?... its right over there...to the right.... your other right, doofus.... go there when you finish reading here... everyday, not just now... you never know when she might actually find time amid running the world and being SuperMom to finding time to wittily blog again....but I digress....as usual....

If you don't have time to read LV's blog, just go straight to this petition.
Sign it. Pass it on. What are you waiting for?

Thanks.

Relationship Revelation

It was a bit windy as Hockey Boy and I sat waiting for Tanya Tucker to finish singing so that the fireworks could start at Fort Monroe. There were small children running amok with blinkie, battery-operated dolphin & starfish necklaces and people chatting all around us so it made having a conversation a bit hard at times.

Me: I wish I had a blinkie thing.
HB: I was gonna bring one.
Me: Really? You have a blinkie thing?
HB: Oh. No, I thought you said "blanket".

And while the fireworks exploded overhead, ladies and gentlemen, I realized that I finally had a summary of my relationship with this boy.... I am a blinkie thing and he is a blanket.

I am frivolous and scattered. He is focused and organized.

I am a Type Q to his Type A personality.

I can name all the members of the Rolling Stones. He has actually met them and can still only remember Mick What's-his-name.

He knows the five mother sauces and I don't even know what a mother sauce is, let alone possess the ability to name all five (and are there father sauces, I wonder?)

He folds clothes as they come out of the warm dryer. I wear the wrinkled clothes thinking it will be dark where I'm going...who will notice? And even if they do, who would be rude enough to tell me i looked like I slept in my outfit?

He washes his/my/my friend's car... regularly. I have empty McD bags stuffed in between my back seats that are older than my dog.

He is Abercrombie & Fitch. I am Allcrumbly & Bitch.

He watches sports on a wide screen TV with 3 different remotes and a strict sequence of button pushing that makes sense only to someone who understands how to launch the space shuttle. I have been known to start a good book while I waited for reinforcements when I couldn't figure out how to get the blue screen that says LINE 1 to turn into a TV show. I am not sure what LINE 1 is (besides blue) or if I have (or need) more LINES.

He is single-handedly keeping alive the posies that my dad planted for me. I forget to dust the plastic decorative tree in the living room.

Sure... we have a lot in common as well...like...for example...don’t rush me....ah, he likes to cook FOOD and I like to eat FOOD...so we have going for us. And the dog likes us both though he has been known to play favorite depending on which of us has the treats. And, of course, there are a few things that we both enjoy that I would mention if I didn't know that my daughter AND my mother read my blog.

So how have we ended up together? Easy... as he reached for my hand during the fireworks finale... I realized that even a blanket kinda boy needs a little blinkie thing once in awhile.

Happy 4th!

Toe-say can you see.....

Giving credit/blame where it's due: The patriotic toenail painting was Hockey Boy's idea. The bad intro into my version of the National Anthem was all me, of course.

Special note to Hockey Boy and Rach: You guys were right. Now that I have seen them in a photo, I have to agree that its time to let the sandals go. This weekend I will search for a new pair in earnest (note that that is a lowercase "e"... not an uppercase "E"... I will not be shoe shopping in an actual person....unless, of course, they are cheaper and/or cuter that way).

Men in Trees

"Here the odds are good but the goods are odd."

Theresa to Marin about the 10 to 1 ratio of men to women in Elmo, Alaska

Afraid

I am not afraid of anything...except really, really big bugs, falling off a bridge, sharp knives and, now apparently, young thugs with guns. The fact that I was able to add this last fear to my list means that my weekend went oddly awry on Saturday. It means that instead of posting a blog about how amazing my dad is for Father's Day, I got to spend time at the police station trying to find the face of the nervous punk who challenged my faith in the goodness of all people.

I should have...I could have...what? Walked home a different way? Left earlier? Later? Been more aware? Yeah sure...any of those would have put us in a different space at a different time... but so what? Everyone assures me that it could have happened anywhere...at anytime... and I think that is what scares me most.

My personal motto is that it is not the situations that you face that define you. It is how you deal with the situations that define who you are. Hockey Boy was brave at the time and has handled everything since with equal bravery. I tried to be brave as well but was not successful. I apparently am not built that way. So now I am trying to not let it define me. I do not want to be afraid to walk in my neighborhood. I do not want to be afraid of every young black kid I see on the sidewalk. I do not want to believe that there is no goodness in people.

I was shaken up but I was not hurt. This is my focus. It could have been a whole lot worse. The officer who accidentally drove up in the middle of this drama and chased the kid...was that just us being lucky... or someone up there still believing in me even though I stopped believing years ago? How many signs do I need?

I will endeavor to be more aware...looking out for thugs with guns...and for really, really big bugs with knives trying to force me off a bridge.

A joke from Jules...

What did we ever do before the technology to get jokes daily from our friends in Georgia was available? This joke arrived in my inbox today and made me laugh, and while I have already forwarded it to most of you who read this, I didn't want anyone to feel left out. Besides I am suffering a severe case of Blog Clog caused mainly by trying to remember who reads this and deciding what I can say with out giving away secrets causing parental embarrassment, relationship failures or breaches of national security.

A male patient is lying in bed in the hospital, wearing an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, still heavily sedated from a difficult four hour, surgical procedure.

A young, student nurse appears to give him a partial sponge bath. Nurse", he mumbles, from behind the mask. "Are my testicles black?" Embarrassed, the young nurse replies, "I don't know, Sir. I'm only here to wash your upper body and feet."

He struggles to ask again, "Nurse, are my testicles black?" Concerned that he may elevate his vitals from worry about his testicles, she overcomes her embarrassment and sheepishly pulls back the covers. She raises his gown, holds his penis in one hand and his testicles in the other, lifting and moving them around.

Then, she takes a close look and says, "There's nothing wrong with them, Sir!!"

The man pulls off his oxygen mask, smiles at her and says very slowly, "Thank you very much. That was wonderful, but, listen very, very closely...

A r e - m y - t e s t - r e s u l t s - b a c k?"


Thanks for the giggle, Jules!

Arrgghhh!

In my eternal search for the real me, I have stumbled on a few interesting alter egos. The latest was a pirate wench, which, if you know me at all, is not that far a stretch. This picture is of me (with fake hair, of course, but authentic wench cleavage) and the other two Lushkateers: Jules (surprisingly not in costume) and Rach (who was a hoochie pirate). It was taken at the annual Blackbeard Festival in Downtown Hampton which is not as much to celebrate the history of pirates but more of an excuse for otherwise normal adults to dress up and drink copious amounts of grog.

My pirate crew (which included a piratized Hockey Boy even though it was Game 3 of the Stanley Cup) decided to skip the Grand Pirates Ball which is both hoyty and toyty. We opted to do the two things pirates do best: hang around the docks and drink rum. Apparently it is also appropriate for pirates to do jello shooters though I don't recall reading that in the history books. There was lots of "arrrgghh"-ing but minimal pillaging and almost no plundering.

As the evening wore on and the rum bottles emptied ("Why is the rum always gone?"), the dock party moved inland for our own safety. Saturdays Downtown the main street is cordoned off for the block party and there are at least 4 bands. Little known fact: Pirates LOVE live music and drunk pirates LOVE dancing to live music. I have pictures to prove this but they are not pretty and are currently locked in a vault in case Rach ever decides to run for public office. Hockey Boy found a TV showing the game and I found a bartender who believed my theory that pirates love Cosmos. Jules remembered why she doesn't come home from Georgia as often as we'd like.

Alas, even a pirate has to call it a day at some point and, in the misty early morning hours, a certain pirate wench and her Hockey Pirate could be seen following their own verson of a treasure map back home. It was time to de-pirate and pack it all away until next year. As far as my alter-egos go, Pirate Wench may well be one of my favourites. Afterall, I'm a girl who likes a little booty.

BONUS: Go to www.piratequiz.com to find out your pirate name!

Stopping to smell the flowers...

I am a big fan of the stopping to smell the flowers theory. Always have been. I use it to disguise the fact that I am not punctual... "Sorry I'm late...stopped to smell the flowers...". People seem okay with that -- although most people don't believe it and just start lying to me about start times which is probably easier in most situations. Today, however, there was stopping involved, and flowers but sniffing was not really an option....

I was walking my used pup, Marley (who is bigger and dumber than in earlier posts) when we stopped to see a whole field of flowers drawn on the sidewalk with chalk. They were quite lovely and made me smile! Made me want to go get out my set of sidewalk chalks myself (oh, you know I have 'em!). I'm no florist or horticulturist or whatever you call people who know about flowers but being able to identify the various species was unimportant. It was about the stopping so stop we did. I tiptoed through the tulips and daisies or whatever they were, careful not to smudge the petunias. It was delightful.

In all fairness, Marley did do a lot of sniffing on that walk so it was not entirely sniff-free but the point is there was stopping...and there were flowers....and I was late for work.

The Five

Relationship Girl is all about finding The One. Single Chick gets better numbers --she is allowed The Five. Everyone is familiar with this game -- five people that you would get a pass to sleep with should the opportunity ever present itself. The Five usually consist of unattainable celebrities and so a certain comfort level is afforded even if you end up playing this game with The One. (Note: The Five should NEVER include anyone he knows personally. Bad form.)

SC started out picking the usual:
1. Brad Pitt
2. George Clooney
3. Johnny Depp
4. Matthew McConaughey
5. Bob Dylan

OK, so Bob Dylan probably is not on the standard list but sleeping with a legend is sleeping with a legend and, quite frankly, I think he's brilliant and worth my last slot. Hockey Boy started his list with the gorgeous Halle Berry and added Keira Knightley when I added Johnny Depp (it was the end of a 3 day Pirates2 viewing -- there were... ahem...distractions along the way) and I almost thought about giving Keira a spot on my 5 as well... (Brad Pitt ? I could bump him off I suppose)...and she does have that fantastic accent... but instead I decided to revise my list a little....stray from the norm. Seriously, how can I have a 5 List with no artists or musicians? And so here is my revised updated list (with a lot of help from Relationship Girl):

1. Albert Einstein - yes, I know he is dead but my chances in reality are every bit as good with him as with George Clooney. I just think Al might be a bit of fun to hang out with. "Imagination is more important than knowledge... " I think he might have had a fun wild streak... besides smart is sexy.

2. Leonardo - not DiCaprio -- da Vinci - Sure, he didn't star in Titanic but he DID invent the helicopter in the 1500s! (Did I say smart is sexy?). Normally, I'm not attracted to a guy with that much facial hair. Of course, I would love to spend the early morning hours under the sheets talking about light and art and painting and sculpting and find out if he really liked Dan Brown's book.

3.Bob Dylan - Yeah, he's staying on the list. I don't have to explain it again. It's my list.

4. Frank Sinatra - I have a thing for blue eyes... and men who look good in expensive suits... and drink martinis...

5. David Beckham - Hey, I AM a girl. Gotta have one athletic hottie with a nice butt.

Okay...so the revised SC list is every bit as fantastical as the original list and I'm not sure if three dead guys and one 66 year old rocker makes Hockey Boy feel any better.... but he still has Keira and Halle and they should be able to get him through... besides, he stands a pretty decent chance of being on RG's shorter list...

Favorite lines from Pirates 2

"Why is the rum always gone?" Capt. Jack Sparrow


"Is this a dream?"
"No."
"I thought not. If it were a dream, there would be rum."
Capt Jack Sparrow and Bootstrap Turner

Hockey Boy

What does it say about a middle-aged girl (I just assume I will die when I am 88 so I am middle-aged now at 44) who agrees to go ROLLERBLADING on a date to impress a wine guy who turns out to really be a hockey guy?

His wine guy profile includes a picture of him in Rollerblades on the boardwalk. (Yes, ladies, that's him there.) I recall that I OWN Rollerblades. I may have, in an attempt to impress him, mentioned that to him at some point. He remembers and asks me to skate on my newly paved street with him. Now, I know what you girls who read my blog are thinking and yes...I certainly tried to use new relationship sex as a diversion and convince him that we could skate another day. It didn't work! So there I was...sitting on the front steps... lacing up my skates... trying to figure out how the buckles work...wondering if my decision to skip wearing pads in favour of looking cute was a good idea after all....and still trying to talk my way out of it.

Here's my background: I ice skated on a pond in my backyard until I moved south at age 11. I roller skated when I was a teen at the local roller rink. I am a former ballerina AND a Libra -- balance should not be an issue , dammit!

Here's his background: He came out of the womb with hockey skates on (OK...maybe not...that sounds painful for his poor mom!), he was a hockey star in high school and in college (some little school in Columbus, Ohio) and, apparently has skated EVERY DAY OF HIS LIFE!

He will not let me fall, he says. In fact, I think that's what he was saying as I slide off the end of my driveway, flailing my arms, completely airborne and landed on my ass. It was a beautifully executed tumble and even the Russian judges would have given me a 9.85 for it. I bruised my butt, pulled something in my shoulder and damaged my ego. He did not laugh at me. He skated over, looked at me with those amazing blue eyes, smiled at me and pulled me to my feet even though I was pretty sure that that was not where I wanted to be. It was that smile that made me try again. He jumped over sticks and stones and I tripped on pollen particles and flattened pine needles. I grabbed at cars parked on the street to keep from crashing. I skated like a toddler learning to walk and he circled me in figure 8s and other higher numbers. And the whole time he just smiled at me. The neighbors came out on their porches for the evening's entertainment and while I was certain I would embarrass myself, I was grateful that someone watching might dial 911 for me.

The second fall was less spectacular. The bruise, however, was larger and today is blacker, bluer and sorer. I just laid in the street looking at the sky and wondering if I could make gravel angels if I fanned my arms and legs out. Again, he didn't laugh. Again he helped me up (and again, I wasn't so convinced that I wanted to be up.) He held my hand. He skated backwards and pulled me along. He was a patient and gentle teacher and when I declared myself done with my first lesson, he didn't call me a pussy. He made me cosmos to dull the pain and let me snuggle up with him later even though I smelled like IcyHot (which smells oddly like those little pink Brach candies).

So...will I do it again? Absofreekinlutly! I have something to prove to my middle-aged self (and my neighbors)... besides, ladies... how could I resist that smile?

Dualing Me

I have been kinda sorta dating again for a few years now. I am exhausted. I have cyber-dated, been hooked up by well-meaning friends and picked guys up in bars. I am torn, like most women dating in their 40s, by the fact that Relationship Girl and Single Chick (my two innner/alter egos) cannot agree on what I want in a man. You would think it would be the same thing....and yet....it doesn't seem to work that way....for example:

Relationship Girl want someone who will take her hand in public, hold her chair and open her doors. Single Chick is hoping someone will grab her ass and whisper lewd suggestions for later fun and games.

RG wants to share a glass of wine with a nice guy on the porch during a rainstorm. SC wants to drink Ghetto cosmos and shoot whiskey with beer chasers with a guy who can remember the punch line to a dirty joke.

RG wants to wake up and find a love note from her man on the nightstand. SC wants to wake up and follow the trail of her clothes back out into the living room...kitchen....um... front door.

RG wants to meet all his friends and bond with them as The One He Adores. SC wonders how many of his friends will actually hit on her while he's in the bathroom.

RG is looking for a guy with great eyes, a soft voice who tells her that he can see being The One in her life. SC is wants a guy with a nice butt, a flirty, wicked attitude who tells her that he can't wait to see her naked.

Relationship girl has been looking for awhile for The One (though she continues to tell everyone that she isn't). Single Chick hopes that The One can keep up with her (knowing that he can't be The One if he can't).

My eternal optimism keeps me believing that The One is out there somewhere (perhaps in a condo by the beach)... and he is looking for The One He Adores (instead of The One Who Stalks)... that he has his own Relationship Guy and Single Dude battles to deal with... I think it might be nice to double date with them.

9 Essential travel supplies

My beautiful daughter drove home from Columbia, MO last week for a brief break before summer classes start. And since I taught her everything she knows about road trips, I got to thinking about travel necessities. Since most of you, six dear readers, have never had the privilege of being on a road trip with me, you may be lacking in the travel readiness department and I cannot, in any good consciousness, let that happen....so may I present...P's 9 travel essentials:

1. Chocolate donuts - aka "little plastic donuts". These are the perfect start to a road trip. The car isn't warm enough for them to get melty yet and there are exactly the perfect number in the package. Don't go for the boxed size unless you have a car full of people. Trust me you will eat as many of them as you have. Note: these little plastic tasting donuts are also good for hangover food but otherwise skip them or at least save time by rubbing them directly on your thighs.

2. A HUGE pizza - This is great travel food because you can enjoy it warm and then cold all day long. When you stop for the night you can eat it and then it makes a delightful breakfast on Day 2. Pizza, once again, proving that it is the perfect food.

3. Dog treats and a leash - This is essential even if you are not traveling with a dog. You never know when the universe will notice that you are traveling without a dog and present you with one on the side of the highway.

4. Six pack cooler - Obvious, of course, but here is what should be IN the cooler. Two bottles of water (one for me and one for my '97 Jetta), one beer (that's for when you stop for the day and are going to unwind in your hotel before you go in search of the closest liquor store ---the same theory as eating before grocery shopping), 3 cans of Sugar-free Red Bull (makes up for the chocolate donuts - your thighs will thank you)

5. A towel - NEVER travel without a towel...even short distances. If you have no idea why its important, you obviously are remiss in your literary journey and missed the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe (http://www.towelday.kojv.net/)

6. Little Black Book - I know you have all your numbers stored in your phone. I also know that you left your phone charger plugged in the wall at home. You will need to be able to call people along the journey for a variety of things: to pick you up when you break a doohicky belt and the garage cant order Jetta parts until Monday, to borrow bail money for excessive public /insert your specific vice here/, or to have someone fed ex you the freekin' phone charger.

7. Map - (and, apparently, this really should be a map of the place where you actually are or are going). Those of you with fancy schmancy GPS systems, can afford to be on a plane. Get off the road.

8. Coins for tolls - unlike McDonald's they wont usually take your debit card for $0.35

9. Lots of music - in the format of your choice (FM radio on the road is incredibly iffy -- unless you adore 80's music - which I do). I don't recommend books on tape (hard to look at the pictures while driving).

I will remind you, my 6 loyal readers, to take the road less travelled... though often it's less travelled for a good reason. Also that it is the journey that is important, not the destination...which is a good attitude to have if you forget #7.

Mother's Day

It figures that my blog entry about Mothers Day would be two days late. I have been so busy BEING a mom, that I haven't had time to WRITE about BEING one. So like any good mom...here I am 2 days later, up past my bedtime, snoring child upstairs safely tucked in her bed (home from college but I'd recognize that snore anywhere), dog asleep on my feet and a dish drainer of clean dishes in the sink (ok! I confess! The clean dishes are actually from yesterday...I ordered in pizza tonight and the paperplates are still on the table)...finally getting some ME time to blog:

I have been a mom now for 21 years. I have a confession to make to my child...I NEVER knew what I was doing. I had an excellent role model...my mom is the best, so at least I had that going for me.... but I was ALWAYS just kinda hoping for the best and doing what I could do without throwing up. Momming is hard work. Kids -- even smart kids -- shove raisins up their noses...they eat sand...they stick pads of butter on their heads in public places. The handbooks don't cover any of that. Its a wonder that any of us moms make it out alive. Our kids scream and stomp and yell and hit and cry and vomit and we try to not reciprocate though we feel the same -- THEY are only TWO and WE are the GROWN-UPS... it would be poor form.

We do ponytails and we make mudpies with ever changing recipes. We try to remember to say no when its right and not just when its popular. We show up at sports events and recitals and school productions and smile and clap wildly, eyes heavy from midnight mending sessions to make last minute uniform/costume alterations. We kiss boo-boos and mend hurt feelings. We struggle to let you learn from your own mistakes while hoping that we are learning from ours.

We see the sun rise while finishing science projects involving spewing volcanoes or making snacks for the party that children who forget nothing, forgot. We carpool, we volunteer, we fund-raise...all the while hoping that we are doing enough but not too much. We hold our children's hands and our own breath as they make life transitions and head for adulthood. We attempt to maintain control, if not over them, then over ourselves. We wince our way through driver's ed, dating and broken hearts wishing we could still heal everything with a band-aid and a kiss...

...and then...one day...they are gone. We look around our nest at the team photos on the mantle and the medals hanging in what will soon be the "guest room". We dig through shoe boxes full of memories that we thought we might someday organize into a scrapbook. Our work isn't finished, but the requirements of the job have changed and there is still no manual...no how-to...only more breath-holding and finger-crossing.

So on this (two days after) Mothers Day...I want to say:
to my mother -- I love you. Thank you for being the best mom a girl could ever want. You made it look easy.
And to my daughter: I love you. Someday you will celebrate Mother's Day from this side too and realize that everything you have read about raising children only works for other peoples children. Yours will be special...just like mine was...and just like Grandma's was. Hide the raisins, call for advice and remember, if you smile a lot, no one seems to notice that you have no clue what you are doing.

Stoplight Boy

I knew it...my friend Rach knew it...and the relationship girl in me knew it... and the single chick in me wasn't paying attention because the new relationship sex was pretty good. He seemed so perfect for me but, somehow (and I dont know how I continue to pick 'em) it turns out that he is emotionally unavailable ...."still not over HER".... and he tells me this.....(wait for it)....by text message! Red light. All stop.

Two or three days go by. He is history and I am up at bat again on Match.com. Hey batter, batter, swing! And its a pop-fly right to an interesting and cute wine guy. There it is again...my eternal optimism. And then there it is again...his number on my caller ID.... "Its definitely over with HER".... green light. Go! I hear a voice inside my head (which was actually Rach who is a cop, btw, and so she knows these things) and she calls the light a flashing yellow at best...proceed with caution. Relationship girl reminds him that he is an idiot but she forgives him. Single chick gets excited about the possibility of make-up sex. Green. Green. Go!

UNTIL... uh-huh... I kid you not.... THE NEXT DAY....another text message..."not fair to you if I'm thinking of HER, blah blah blah". Red light. Red light and cross bars at an endless railroad crossing. ALL FREEKIN' STOP! Relationship girl declares herself an idiot, single girl is still enjoying the last puff on a post-coital cigarette (she knows they are bad for her but so was this boy and that didn't stop her) and Rachael is on her way over to take me out for cocktails.

So now I sit...idling at the light...looking both ways...wondering which direction that nice wine guy went....

Jim White

This morning I received a phone call that my good friend Jim White had committed suicide last week. I am in shock. I wish I could go back to hug him and tell him that the rough patch of life he was dealing with would get better. I want to yell at him and slap him for giving up...for not believing in himself and those of us around him. I should have tried harder to go visit when he called last month. I should have reached out more to let him know he wasnt alone.

I want to cry.

I met Jim through our shared occupations as pottery studio owners. We even served on a board together but Jim wasnt willing to pound his head against the brick walls that the position required so he respectfully abdicated his throne. We stayed friends...there was no way NOT to be Jim's friend. I wrote a blog once about amazing men in my life and Jim White was truly one of the best. I was lucky to be his friend...my life is richer for knowing him and now poorer for the loss....

He was a truly unique soul...full of life and more than once my Guide off the beaten path. When my daughter got a scholarship to Mizzou, Jim was my connection in MO. He'd pick me up from the airport in St. Louis and we'd start what should have been an hour long trip to Columbia. We never made it in less than 5. Jim showed me parts of Missouri that not even most residents of the Show Me State ever saw. He had a map in his car that he highlighted with all of the streets he had traveled. He wanted to get to them all eventually.

He insisted on stopping at stores that advertised MO. products. He lived locally and bought locally -- that was a personal motto.

When Jim talked to you, he said your name alot. And when he said my name he usually did it with a sort of giggle like I amused him. He certainly amused me.

When we were in SF at a convention, I learned that he collected vintage postcards and had a national park passport which he got stamped when he traveled. I teased him for being a geek. He got even by dragging us all to the park.

He loved a girl... with his whole heart and soul. It made him immensely happy and ultimately too sad. She called him stupid at a phone booth the day they met and he was a goner. He always smiled when he said her name.

There are one-on-one Jim White moments that I will carry with me from here. Jim's own personal stamp on my life's passport: the squirrel that scared me in the Jesus tomb.... jumping on his bed in a SF hotel like unruly children... free church postcards... girl boots... Nelly on 11... golfballing the dog... laundry smell advice... messages in bottles... long talks about life's journey...driving thru SL when the Cards qualified for the Series... that train track bar I cant remember the name of... a cutting board (made in MO of course) that is in the SHAPE of MO (of course)...

And... now... i cry... I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Jim... I will always miss you, my friend...

9 things that smell like summer to me...

1. Mojitos - I'm from the South...i dunno if you other people (phrase meaning ALL non-Southerners) even drink Mojitos but there something about the smell of the crushed mint (which I am told is done quite humanely) that makes me wish I had a veranda and a BFF named Scarlett.

2. Cut grass - I probably don't need to point out that this is the smell of the neighbour's cut grass...not mine...since my grass is part of an agricultural experiment gone horribly awry.

3. Coconuts - as in tanning oils AND umbrella drinks. No real difference there except too many umbrella drinks may cause you to forget the tanning oil and then the only thing you can smell is your own burning flesh (but I digress).

4. Sweat - which I wish was eminating from a sexy shirtless cabana boy named Raoul but instead is coming from a fat salesman from Minnesota named Ned who is two towels away from me on the beach but sadly upwind.

5. Seagull poop - yeah yeah... you other people may not know the smell but other similar version can be found in NYC (pigeon poop) and Capistrano (What? You thought swallows didn't poop?)

6. Carny food - This envelopes all the fried food that you get at outdoor events in the summer and includes (but is not limited to) corn dogs, funnel cake and fried twinkies. Its the same grease, regardless of selection, and its the same smell and I want one of each, thankyouverymuch!

7. Testosterone - A smell for all season actually though the summer version (when mixed with #4) is perhaps the most potent. Usually found at popular athletic events such as beach volleyball, baseball, and keg throwing.

8. Jetta engine - This would be the smell of my sporty little 10 yr old import overheating. Where does the water go anyway?

9. Vinyl - As in beach balls, floaties, pool chairs, fake palm trees and anything else which requires Herculean lung-power to huff and/or puff to inflate. May also include the blow-up mattress in the guest room of my apartment which is a popular resort destination only because i live 10 minutes from sand and water and I make a fabulous #1.

Match Point

I am definitely a relationship girl cruelly trapped in the body of an eternally single chick. I have been sans serious boy in my life now for...um...(trying to remember just who might read this and have their feelings hurt)...well over a year. I have lovingly referred to this as a "dry spell" which is merely code for "why is everyone I meet a freak?"

Ever the optimist, I popped back onto Match.com recently for another 3-day free trial. (I said I was an optimist not a moron - I dont wanna have to pay for anything unless I see something worth paying for....im more just a browser at this point...a window shopper if you will). The thing about going through this process (again) is the vunerability of putting yourself out there. Waiting to be judged. Making sure that your pictures make you look like you have friends, a winning smile, and a cute wardrobe. Making sure not all of them were taken in a bar or at a party. Finding one with a picture of your dog...or a friends dog...or just a dog you downloaded a picture of from the internet. You create witty things to say about yourself and try to avoid any sort of real commitmment to walking on beaches or thunderstorms. (Note: most people are for them...hardly anyone is against them.)And then you wait for the emails from the guys who dont read a word of what you have written but merely think your pictures are exactly what they are looking for in a "soulmate": a girl...female...chick....being with bosoms.

If you have ever dabbled on Match.com, you know that you can also see who looked at your profile...and then didnt send you a wink, or an email or any sort of response at all. They didnt quite like what they saw. Sometimes I'm grateful. The NASCAR-loving fisherman who loves camping is probably not a good match anyway. And the Biblethumping non drinkers are gonna have a hard time fitting into my social circles so I get it. I try not to take it personally but sometimes I cant help myself. This time I noticed a cute boy that had not sent me so much as a wink. I read his profile. He's PERFECT for me! So it must be me...there is something wrong with me...Im fat or old or a paranoid schizo (hey I have proof!). ....so....that relationship girl inside me slips the single chick in me a $20 (she's single AND cheap apparently) and they send him an email behind my back! The three of us wait for a response...ball in his court. And it was a volley...back to me (us?). We email, we phone, we meet. Hes funny, sarcastic and actually looks better in real life than in his pictures. He seems honest and sincere and both the single chick and the relationship girl have their fingers crossed for me with this one. I just keep hoping that the fantastic "new relationship sex" that the single chick is getting doesnt run out before the relationship girl finds out he's a freak.

Today is a special day...

I have nothing fun or witty to say. I cant get past the tears that I keep running into whenever we get another update or tribute to those people killed at Virginia Tech on Monday. I am from Virginia and had my daughter not earned a scholarship to Missouri for gymnastics, her school of choice would have been VT. She'd have been a Hokie. (I should probably be thankful the Hokies dont have a gymnastics team though 3 years ago, I wished with all my heart that they did so she wouldnt be moving sooo far away.) Nik has friends at Tech..lots of them..thats a great in-state school...full of Hokie pride. All of her friends were safe and accounted for pretty early in the day on Monday. For that I was grateful...but not enough to make the tears go away. I knew none of the victims but as a mother, I have cried for everyone of them.

I remember 8 years ago...Columbine..I saw the news and then, along with many other scared, irrational parents, I went straight to my daughter's school and picked her up. She was safe, of course, but I was not. I could not stop thinking about how I had been able to protect her from harm as a little girl by putting her in her car seat or holding her hand when we crossed the street. I made her wear her bike helmet and taught her not to talk to strangers. That day however, while the parents of a dozen kids in Colorado faced an unthinkable situation, parents everywhere felt an unfathomable fear. We realized that we cannot protect our children from all the bad things. I am her mother but I cannot keep Nikki safe. The world is full of evil forces and the most I can do is make her aware, teach her caution and hope for the best.

After 9-11, Nik, more of a grown up by then, felt some of her own fear and mortality. She stopped saying goodbye to me on the phone. She never ended our conversations with anything other than "I love you Mom" in case that was the LAST thing we got to say to each other. She still does that and I am going to take her lead in this...I am gonna eat my dessert first sometimes, and I'm gonna call my best friend from elementary school who left me a message last month that I have yet to return. I'm gonna haul my "good" Noritake dishes out of the closet and use them for spaghetti tonight. That bottle of wine that I have been saving for a special time? Im gonna open it, curl up on the couch with the dog and call my daughter in Missouri... again.... and tell her I love her... again. It won't ever get more special than that.

It's not lost really....

I have been very fortunate to have loved and been loved by some pretty amazing men in my life. From my first "real" boyfriend, Steve, in high school (though I could go all the way back to the first boy who was smart enough to buy me jewelry - Scott Berry, 5th grade) to my first and last husband, Michael, to the most recent of my beaus (he knows who he is). They are all men that I still love -- I dont still SPEAK to all of them, but for me, I guess once I love you -- you are stuck with me.

I am, however, currently in between amazing men. (Not as in a fun sandwich kind of way...just currently unattached... it's just a dry spell!) I have been divorced for over 4 years now (M has a great girlfriend now and may end up moving to PARIS!) and split from my last "serious" boyfriend, D, almost 2 years ago (he is getting married soon -- third times a charm, my friend! I wish you the best). I have fallen in love since then but had the misfortune of picking a soul more restless than myself who can not give me his heart - no matter how often I ask him and no matter what lingerie I am wearing at the time.

In my current solitude, I find myself reflecting on lost loves - and the same face keeps coming back to me. More than a lost love. A lost life full of coulda shoulda wouldas. A series of bad timing wrapped in difficult choices. We have never fully disconnected. That was never an option. The timing is still bad. The yearning was/is physical...emotional...spiritual...and, in the end, still swirling in inaccessability. We have become good at being tragic but I would hate to think we are defined by that. I once held out my hand and he gave me his heart. I should have held on to it better. My carelessness was unforgivable and yet he forgave me. I cannot think of him as a "lost love"....he has simply been misplaced for such a very long time.

Romance on Valentines Day

So I "met" a guy on MySpace named Johnny (at what age do grown men drop the "eee"?) who said he hoped mail from strangers didn't creep me out (which it kinda does) and he wanted to take me to dinner. Well, I do eat and he didn't look too much like an axe murder in his picture but you never know about these things so I visited his MySpace page...looking for some sort of flashing "I'M AN AXE MURDERER" sign there. I read his bio and his blog and came across a rant he had about Valentine's Day. I ranted back (of course).

So..without further ado...my seasonally well-timed Valentine's Day rant...

**************
Valentines Day has as much to do with romance as Sunday services have to do with religion & faith. Absolutely nothing!

Romance is kissing your partner on the top of her little head when she is in flannel Winnie the Pooh pajamas and her nose is all red from blowing it and telling her that you think she is beautiful (...and her believing you mean it).

Romance is remembering that her favourite poet is Brian Andreas and picking up one of his books in the store for her even if you don't remember that you bought the same thing for her the year before (...and then her saying that's sweet and not pointing out that she owns it already).

Flowers are romantic if they arrive simply because its Tuesday... candy if it's that time of the month and it comes with a sympathetic back rub... and a random mid-day email that says "Whatcha doing gorgeous?" is better than donating $3.50 to the Church of Hallmark any day.

Romance is a state of mind...a two way street...full of pedestrians with umbrellas and street maps they drew on cocktail napkins (okay that last part was mostly nonsensical but I thought this rant was getting a bit heavy.)

(Note: The preceding opinion is worth what you paid for it...)

************************

I should note that I haven't heard from him since....

My Space for the hip & trendy

My friend (and I may be using that term loosely here) Krista made me get a MySpace page. I had no choice she explained to me. You wanna be hip and trendy, you do MySpace. So, of course, I have a MySpace page. Im hip. Im trendy. Relatively speaking.

So now people I can't remember from high school send me messages to "reconnect". Did I mention that I can't remember them? And guys who I have never met (who are obviously trolling MySpace looking for hip and trendy chicks) drop me a line asking to be my "friend". My first instinct here is: uh-oh... a guy who cant afford Match.com's monthly fees? Though, in all fairness, I merely took my Match.com profile (excuse me...they are now called "portraits") and cut and pasted it into MySpace. Lets face it. I can't keep up with all those lies (um...embellishments) if I have to make up new ones each time I have to describe myself to people. Blah blah blah long walks on the beach blah blah candlelight dinners blah blah blahbittyblah ....but I digress (as usual)....

So... back to MySpace (which, btw, is www.myspace.com/arty_pb)... I can "pimp" my MySpace page but I cant seem to find a background that says who I am -- you know -- hip and trendy and I think that if I create my own that I have crossed some sort of MySpace addiction line -- giving this whole thing waaay more time than is really healthy. So my page is non-pimped. Un-pimped. Pimp-free.

It is also music free because I havent figured out how to add music yet. I did, however, figure out how to add pictures so there's a boatload of pictures (yes....many are from my match.com profile/portrait thing) for people to look at. I have pictures of my pottery, my dog, my friends, my dog's friends and my dog's pottery. Ok, I made that last one up. My dog's pottery pictures are on HIS myspace page...which is pimped...he's hipper and trendier than me.

Used Puppies

My "sucess letter" to the SPCA:

I had lost my Rottweiler, Brita, last October and was finally ready to get another dog. My daughter Nikki was home from college for the Christmas break so we had decided to see a breeder about getting a rott pup. I had the names and addresses of 3 breeders in my pocket, as a matter of fact, when I picked Nik up from an appointment near the Peninsula SPCA. We had some time to kill so we decided to stop and get some dog treats to feed the pound pups. Armed with cookies and chewies, we went from cage to cage, ignored signs (surely they weren't directed at US?) and stuck our hands through the bars and petted and fed the pups. We talked about how much fun it was going to be to pick out our own pup the next day.

..And then we saw HIM. He was laying with his back to the front of the cage & didnt look up to see us. I poked him. He was a beautiful colour. He didnt care that I poked him, so, of course, I poked him again. My daughter pointed out that his papers said he was a rott mix. Mixed with what? Something brown?

Nik said something to him and he turned his head to look at her. "Oh mom! Look how handsome he is!" Apparently he thought she was pretty too because he finally got up and paid attention to us. He was skinny and his ribs showed. His coat was dull but his eyes were full of hope and trust. He licked Nik's hand and then looked at me. I melted. Surely someone could not have dropped him off at a grocery store like his paperwork said? And certainly someone would be along soon to adopt him. I was just there to spread a little holiday cheer and doggie treats. I was getting a new puppy...not a used puppy. But he just kept looking at me...and somehow I knew that if I rescued this dog...he would rescue me right back.

I never did make it to the breeder's. On his adoption day, I was the only name on the list. I have no idea how that was even possible unless he wore his invisibility cloak when I wasnt there. I had the wrong paperwork that day, of course, and so the process took HOURS! Patience is a virtue...just not one of mine. All of this...for a dog no one wanted? I bit my tongue. I filled out new forms. I waited quasi-patiently.

Marley (named after Jacob not Bob) has been home now for 3 months. He weighed 35lbs when we got him -- he weighs about 60lbs now. He will sit. He will stay. He is fearless. He will not come when he is called though he loves to hear his name. He is the fastest dog I have ever seen and cannot be caught with out a decent bribe. He is an explorer. Last week he discovered the ocean and defended the planet from dry seaweed. Yesterday he ate a book on the coffee table (wasnt a fan of the Sweet Potato Queens apparently) and the day before he unwrapped a paint roller that I had on the counter and got white paint all over his paws and all over my hardwood floors. He is a handful...and a heartful. I love him and Im so grateful that we had time to kill that day.

Sincerely,
Marley's new mom,
Patti Brassard

Note to my dear reader(s): Used puppies are the bomb (does anyone still say that?). They are grateful for a new start and are absolutely, unconditionally loveable. New puppies are adorable and fluffy and cute. Used puppies are a harder sell but once there is one living on your couch, you'll see that I was right...they will save you right back...

The wheels on the bus go round and round...

Due to some really stupid choices made a few weeks ago, I am now a public transportation user. Yep...I ride the bus. And I have decided to regal you with stories of some of the people I have met on the bus but before I can do that, I HAVE to tell you my all-time favorite bus story...

Background: I have a potter friend from Japan -- Akiko -- who visits me every year for a few months. She works in my studio creating to coolest stuff and stays either with me or at least near me as she doesnt know how to drive. We have alot of time to spend together in the car to and from the studio and home. I swear this is a true conversation that we had one night... it will no doubt lose a bit being typed out but still.....

Me: So what do you do for fun in Japan?
Akiko: Lots of things....sometimes the public bus.
Me: Bus? What do you mean?
Akiko: Well its something that the older people like...the younger people dont like it as much.
Me: They dont like the public bus? Why?
Akiko: They don't like the naked people.
Me: What? There are naked people? Naked OLD people?
Akiko: Yes.
Me: Where does the bus go?
Akiko: It doesnt go anywhere. (She is looking at me now like I have 2 heads)
Me: Ooookayyy.... There are old naked Japanese people on a public bus and it doesnt go anywhere?
Akiko: Right. It doesnt go. People are there for a holiday.
(At this point I am thinking that the Japanese are waaayyy easily entertained. I, of course, cant get the image out of my head...erase ERASE!)
Me: But not the young people?
Akiko: No. Only the old people. I enjoy very much the public bus.
Me: With the old naked people?
Akiko: Yes. Do you have public bus here?
Me: Yes we do but you have to wear your clothes on the bus!
Akiko: Clothes? Why?
Me: You'll be arrested if you are naked on a bus! (Now who has 2 heads?)
She shakes her head as though this is the stupidest American custom that she has come across to date. At this point, a public bus actually passes me on the road.
Me: See? I cant imagine THAT guy naked on the bus! I say as I point to one of the guys we can see through the window.
Akiko: Is he going to the bus?
Me: That IS a bus.
Akiko: What?
Me: THAT IS a public bus.
At this point a lightbulb (or Japanes lantern) goes off -- she gets it and busts out laughing. She gets her handheld electronic dictionary out and types something and shows me the screen. Public Bath. I laughed so hard I almost wrecked my car....

Things that challenge me:

I am not afraid to admit that, despite what you may think, I am challeneged in alot of areas. Oh yes...it's true. These are just a few (and not in any sort of order except as they seep out of my head...). I'm sure there will be more.

1. I am directionally-challenged. I dont know if its because I am visually-oriented or what, but telling me to go west or east or any other way is futile. "Drive for 3 miles to exit 64 and follow rte 92 west"? What? Huh? Give me some decent GIRL directions: "Go left out of your driveway. Follow the road until you get to that cute blue house that used to have the tire swing in the front yard. Turn right. Drive til you think you've gone too far and its right after that."

2. I am geographically-challenged. I get confused about ALL the states and where they are with a few exceptions: VA 'cuz i LIVE here, NY 'cuz LV lives there and FL 'cuz it still makes me laugh that its penis-shaped. Oh I know which one CA is and TX too but still thats only 5 out of...um...how many states ARE there?

3. I am MindMyOwnBusiness-challenged. I know that I am suppose to but, really...? Last Friday I got in trouble for telling a man he couldn't bring a chi-wawa (apparently I am littledognamespelling-challenged as well) into a bar. My friend owns the bar. Another friend owns the dog (loosely-used term here). Apparently 2 degrees of "IShouldBeInvolved" isnt enough. It was pointed out that since neither the bar nor the pooch were mine, I should have not stood there shouting at this drunk guy "Its a BAR!! Thats a DOG! You are an IDIOT!"

ihaveablog?

Ok..ok...so I was tricked into starting a blog...my friend LV (who might actually get some sort of a kickback for this...i dunno) asked me to be a guest blogger for HER blog...the ever popular "Our Blog is Mud" which may very well be coming to a theatre near you given how damned witty it is (especially with the occasionoal guest blogger)....but I digress....

So...i was sucked into reading her archived blogs...and wanted to comment (no surprise there) on one (lets say it was only one). However...and here is the underhanded sneaky trick of it all....I had to sign up for my OWN blog so I could make comments on HER blog! Is that even legal? Forcing someone to blog or to keep their comments to themselves? Like Ron White says... "I had the RIGHT to remain silent...I just didnt have the ABILITY."

And so now here I sit... proud new owner of this handsome blog (yeah ok...so I have some redcorating to do)...wishing I had something to say that was SOO witty that others would want to comment and then they'd have to sign up for their OWN blog and I could finally find out if kickbacks were involved!

Note to blog administrators....I like shiny things