I'm not sure when this happened, but what used to be a once-in-awhile occurrence is now an every night given: Masala sleeps in my bed with me. Then, when my alarm goes off in the morning, he noses his face into mine, wags his tail, then lays his head on arm/stomach/leg to wait for me to hit the snooze button.
Eventually I open my eyes, and he's immediately up in my grill again, as if he's been waiting for this moment ALL. NIGHT. LONG. and he rolls on his back so I can rub his belly and scratch his stomach. It's really very sweet, and the morning snuggles with my pup help get my day off to a good start before I emerge from the covers into the cold, evil reality of a December morning.
Then tonight I noticed another thing that has become our routine. Whenever I eat, he almost never begs anymore. Instead, he lays down next to me, waits for me to finish, and then I hand him my plate so he can lick it clean. Again, this is very sweet, but holy shit, it dawned on me that my dog and I act like an OLD MARRIED COUPLE.
If gay marriage is barely legal in the United States, I'm fairly certain cross-species marriage is way, way down on the list. Damn it. Maybe finding a husband should be on my to-do list after all.
Showing posts with label animal house. Show all posts
Showing posts with label animal house. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Friday, October 02, 2009
Giving This a Shot
I really want to talk about this, but I really don't think this is the time. It's late. I've had a few margaritas. But I have had this post on the backburner of ideas for days now, and I need to give it a go.
Roman Polanski v. Michael Vick
I refuse to watch any Roman Polanski movies. I know he's a great director, yada yada yada, but when The Pianist came out a few years ago with its rave reviews, I refused to watch. Roman Polanski drugged and raped a 13 year old girl. Ok, it was the 70s. Ok it was champagne and quaaludes, par for the 70s Hollywood course. Ok his wife was murdered by Charles Manson. But dude. He was I'm-not-sure-how-old-but-old-enough-to-know-better.
Then he ran.
Yeah, I get that the victim wants charges dropped and it's been a long time and now he's old and he's artistic and all that. In my mind, though, that's not enough. He never took his medicine. He didn't face his punishment and take it like a man. He ran. And until he sucks it up and goes in front of the judge, I refuse to give him any of my money or time by watching his movies.
When I watched Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired, a documentary about the clusterfuck of a situation it was, it did sort of alter my opinion. It really does seem like the judge completely dicked over the prosecutor and the defense attorney and Mr. Polanski. There was an agreement, and it seems the judge did everything in his power to do his own thing, to make a political showcase out of Mr. Polanski and force him to do more jailtime. I mean, I think I remember correctly - Polanski did, in fact, serve some time for this. In fact, I think the judge forced him to do more time than agreed by forbidding the jail to release him, or some such thing, and then was going to give him more time at sentencing before Polanski bolted.
So ok, the judge was an ass. Big fucking deal. I see that shit every damn day. Suck it up Polanski. Just because you're a bigshot Hollywood type (and your wife was killed) doesn't mean you get to peace out without respecting the process. Because that's the thing - there is a process, and you can use the process if you do get fucked to make the situation right. That's why I do what I do. Then again, if you were my client, probably would've turned a blind eye if you mentioned running, too.
Nevertheless, come to court, face the music, maybe then you'll get the outcome you're looking for.
Then there's Michael Vick. His crime, equally heinous. Yeah, it was "just dogs." But he tortured and brutually murdered the hell out of those dogs, displaying an equally, if not more, diabolical mind than Polanski.
Now everyone is up in arms because he's playing pro football again.
Me. . .not so much. I love dogs more than most people. I think what he did was abominable. Yet he cannot be punished forever. Yeah, maybe his punishment should've been worse, but that's not for me to say. It is what it is, and he's doing what they told him to do.
He's also been to therapy, counseling, and classes on humane treatment of animals. He has agreed, as part of his contract, to work with animal shelters in Philadelphia. I mean, the man needs to make a living. His trade is football. It's not his fault he makes an obscene, absurd amount of money doing it. It is what it is.
Why can't he turn this negative into a positive? Why must he be vilified forever? What better way to teach children in poverty, children who will listen to and relate to Vick, than for Vick to tell him how he changed? He could indirectly affect the lives of lots and lots of other animals by becoming an ambassador for how they can be treated.
Whether he will do this or not remains to be seen, but until then, I give him the benefit of the doubt. Polanski, not so much.
Roman Polanski v. Michael Vick
I refuse to watch any Roman Polanski movies. I know he's a great director, yada yada yada, but when The Pianist came out a few years ago with its rave reviews, I refused to watch. Roman Polanski drugged and raped a 13 year old girl. Ok, it was the 70s. Ok it was champagne and quaaludes, par for the 70s Hollywood course. Ok his wife was murdered by Charles Manson. But dude. He was I'm-not-sure-how-old-but-old-enough-to-know-better.
Then he ran.
Yeah, I get that the victim wants charges dropped and it's been a long time and now he's old and he's artistic and all that. In my mind, though, that's not enough. He never took his medicine. He didn't face his punishment and take it like a man. He ran. And until he sucks it up and goes in front of the judge, I refuse to give him any of my money or time by watching his movies.
When I watched Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired, a documentary about the clusterfuck of a situation it was, it did sort of alter my opinion. It really does seem like the judge completely dicked over the prosecutor and the defense attorney and Mr. Polanski. There was an agreement, and it seems the judge did everything in his power to do his own thing, to make a political showcase out of Mr. Polanski and force him to do more jailtime. I mean, I think I remember correctly - Polanski did, in fact, serve some time for this. In fact, I think the judge forced him to do more time than agreed by forbidding the jail to release him, or some such thing, and then was going to give him more time at sentencing before Polanski bolted.
So ok, the judge was an ass. Big fucking deal. I see that shit every damn day. Suck it up Polanski. Just because you're a bigshot Hollywood type (and your wife was killed) doesn't mean you get to peace out without respecting the process. Because that's the thing - there is a process, and you can use the process if you do get fucked to make the situation right. That's why I do what I do. Then again, if you were my client, probably would've turned a blind eye if you mentioned running, too.
Nevertheless, come to court, face the music, maybe then you'll get the outcome you're looking for.
Then there's Michael Vick. His crime, equally heinous. Yeah, it was "just dogs." But he tortured and brutually murdered the hell out of those dogs, displaying an equally, if not more, diabolical mind than Polanski.
Now everyone is up in arms because he's playing pro football again.
Me. . .not so much. I love dogs more than most people. I think what he did was abominable. Yet he cannot be punished forever. Yeah, maybe his punishment should've been worse, but that's not for me to say. It is what it is, and he's doing what they told him to do.
He's also been to therapy, counseling, and classes on humane treatment of animals. He has agreed, as part of his contract, to work with animal shelters in Philadelphia. I mean, the man needs to make a living. His trade is football. It's not his fault he makes an obscene, absurd amount of money doing it. It is what it is.
Why can't he turn this negative into a positive? Why must he be vilified forever? What better way to teach children in poverty, children who will listen to and relate to Vick, than for Vick to tell him how he changed? He could indirectly affect the lives of lots and lots of other animals by becoming an ambassador for how they can be treated.
Whether he will do this or not remains to be seen, but until then, I give him the benefit of the doubt. Polanski, not so much.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Cannot. Handle. The Cute.
The email said that it was, "so hot in Australia for a week that koalas were asking people for water." I have no idea whether that is the truth behind one of the attached photos, but holy fucking hell this picture is A-DOR-ABLE.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Major Dilemma
I think there is a mouse in my house.
I do not want to deal with this. I don't even kill spiders in my house; I scoop them up and take them outside. Now, a real live furry thing may be running around and the only thing I can think of to do about it is buy one of those disgusting killer cheese traps. UGH.
On the other hand, if I got some sort of humane trapper or whatever (do they even exist?), I don't want to pick up a living, breathing rodent. UGH.
If I got poison, it may die, smell, and I'll have no idea where the hell it is. Not to mention, Masala could get his little nose in it. UGH.
DO. NOT. WANT. TO DEAL WITH THIS.
I think this settles it. I need a rent-a-husband, stat.
I do not want to deal with this. I don't even kill spiders in my house; I scoop them up and take them outside. Now, a real live furry thing may be running around and the only thing I can think of to do about it is buy one of those disgusting killer cheese traps. UGH.
On the other hand, if I got some sort of humane trapper or whatever (do they even exist?), I don't want to pick up a living, breathing rodent. UGH.
If I got poison, it may die, smell, and I'll have no idea where the hell it is. Not to mention, Masala could get his little nose in it. UGH.
DO. NOT. WANT. TO DEAL WITH THIS.
I think this settles it. I need a rent-a-husband, stat.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Positivity
Watching The O.C. Season 2 on DVD. It is fantasamagoric. Yes. Fantasmagoric. Right now, it is practically the only thing that is pure, effortless happiness that doesn't give me a hangover. I am not lying to you when I say that I wish Seth Cohen was a real person.
Go out and watch it! Season 1 is ok, but Season 2 is great.
Other happy news - there are bunnies everywhere! Of course, this morning I saw a baby bunny in a neighbor's yard while walking the dog only to see same bunny as roadkill 1 hour later on the way to work. I know. I almost cried right then and there except I had to be in court and mascara running down my face is not cool for clients or judges. Now that I think about it, the very first time I cried myself to sleep was when my mom accidentally hit a rabbit on the way home from my grandparents' house in second grade. I vividly remember her telling me the rabbit *might* be ok because he hopped away, but still wondering if his leg was broken or something equally horrible.
Anyway, there are lots of bunnies, well, I hope there are lots and not just the same one I see everywhere that is now dead. Oh shit. Ok. Will think positive thoughts, positive thoughts about living, breathing baby bunnies!
Go out and watch it! Season 1 is ok, but Season 2 is great.
Other happy news - there are bunnies everywhere! Of course, this morning I saw a baby bunny in a neighbor's yard while walking the dog only to see same bunny as roadkill 1 hour later on the way to work. I know. I almost cried right then and there except I had to be in court and mascara running down my face is not cool for clients or judges. Now that I think about it, the very first time I cried myself to sleep was when my mom accidentally hit a rabbit on the way home from my grandparents' house in second grade. I vividly remember her telling me the rabbit *might* be ok because he hopped away, but still wondering if his leg was broken or something equally horrible.
Anyway, there are lots of bunnies, well, I hope there are lots and not just the same one I see everywhere that is now dead. Oh shit. Ok. Will think positive thoughts, positive thoughts about living, breathing baby bunnies!
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Drunk niki
presented without typeo corrections, just as you love her.
so i'm home early-ish b/c i have yoag in 8 hours nad needed to get some sleep unlike last week when i got opnly 4 hours before yoga.
anyway, i got home and ran straight to twitter because that's how i roll. found some lolcats that cracked my shit up and needed to share.
not funny, but so. FRICKIN. cute. i can hardly stand it.
this is the second runner up. loves it. the caption isn't funny until you focus on the cat...the cat is priceless.
you're welcome.
so i'm home early-ish b/c i have yoag in 8 hours nad needed to get some sleep unlike last week when i got opnly 4 hours before yoga.
anyway, i got home and ran straight to twitter because that's how i roll. found some lolcats that cracked my shit up and needed to share.
not funny, but so. FRICKIN. cute. i can hardly stand it.
this is the second runner up. loves it. the caption isn't funny until you focus on the cat...the cat is priceless.
this is my favorite, had me giggling so lound that masala woke up from a deep, deep slumber to see wtf was oingoing on. i know in th e light of sober mornign it waon't be so funny, but right now...HILARIOUS.
you're welcome.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Battle Scars
I count nine separate points of entry. Nine places the teeth punctured my skin.
I was getting ready to go out, and if you've ever lived with me you know this often includes a fair bit of walking around in my underwear. I was in and out of the bathroom - drinking water, eating a birthday cookie I had just baked for J, complaining that I had no cute clothes. About half an hour earlier there had been a mini-meltdown over what to wear on the birthday/St. Patrick's day bar crawl celebration; my line of work has considerably dulled my wardrobe, and I didn't want to be the "old" lady at the pub.
Masala was roaming around getting into trouble, as he is prone to do. I coralled him into the bathroom with me while I dried my hair to give J a little respite from saying "No!" This was my first bad move. While in the bathroom, Masala discovered the trash can. Remember when this happened a couple of months ago? Yeah. I was trying to prevent that.
I had just finished my makeup and was about to begin putting on actual clothes when J announces, "Nik, he's got something!" We all know what that "something" was.
He runs from me as I yell at him to drop it. He takes cover under the table.
I know it is coming. This is his M.O. He maneuvers so that I can't get above him, and he has the better ground. But I have started this, and so I tell myself that I must finish it. Mistake number two.
He growls and snarls when I try to take it from his mouth. I yell, "NO! NO!" which normally causes him to acquiesce.
Not this time. He knows he has me beat. There are a million chairs, and there's no way I am going to get it from him. I don't want him to "win" this way, though, because it will only encourage the behavior. I endure, not wanting to let go until he has calmed down. The final mistake.
I'm not sure if he got more aggressive, if my position changed, or if maybe even I was hurting him. Whatever happened, my left thumb was caught in the crossfire. I didn't know what it would look like when I ran to the sink to rinse it off. Would it be attached? Did I lose part of it?
Thank God J was there. Once I realized my hand was mostly ok and that all digits were accounted for, the tears came harder, the sobbing nearly uncontrollable. I said we had to go to the hospital. J, being ever practical, brought me a shirt at once. I had completely forgotten my state of undress.
"What am I going to do with him? What am I going to do? I can't keep him." I repeated over and over in my head and more than once out loud.
J told me to sit down while he rushed to the pharmacy for hydrogen peroxide and bandages. I tried. I couldn't sit still. I walked around. I googled "dog bite first aid." I took deep breaths. More and more tears. I tried sitting on the floor. When J returned I was sitting on an ottoman in the bedroom pressed against the wall, silently crying.
My hand will be fine. We fixed it up with Band-Aids and Neosporin and determined a trip to the emergency room was probably unnecessary (a trip to the bar, however, was totally required after I composed myself and re-applied makeup). Today it is swollen and bruised, but it appears that full function will eventually return.
My psyche, on the other hand, is profoundly fucked up by this turn of events. I don't like being afraid, yet I am. In the past when he has growled at me I try to regain control as soon as possible afterward by taking something away, just to let myself (and him) know it's ok. Normally, it is. A hundred times a day I take stuff away from him - sticks, plastic, paper, you name it. He only goes postal when it's an animal product - a stray bone on the sidewalk, a butter wrapper, or yeah, a tampon. It makes sense...but why? I've never heard of anyone else having this problem. What am I doing wrong? What did I do to make him this way? How do I fix it? What if I can't? A million and seventeen questions.
And my heart is broken. That sounds ridiculous. He is my best friend in a town where I relate to almost no one; we cuddle on the couch almost every night. But he hurt me. I know he is an animal, and I have anthropomorphized him, so again, this is my fault. He acted like on animal survival instinct, and if I feel betrayed then that is my problem. But I still don't like being afraid of him. It's weird. It's very, very weird how I feel about him now.
He has been nearly perfect since it happened. Sitting immediately upon being told. Sleeping the entire drive back. Performing unerringly on our walks. Yet, I am hesitant. I don't know where to go from here. Surely because he won he will try it again. He will sense my fear, and I'm terrified this is going to become a common struggle.
I am at a loss. I don't know what to do or how to move forward. That's why I wrote this post. I needed to sort some of this out, and it seemed too important not to talk about. But I can't deal with it fully yet, so that's why I've closed the comments. I'm not strong enough to take advice and criticism or weigh all the options. I need rest and recovery and then I'll assess how to respond. For now, I'm just trying to take it moment-to-moment without another confrontation, to let my heart heal as much as I am letting my hand heal. So thanks for reading, if you made it this far in my melodrama. : )
I was getting ready to go out, and if you've ever lived with me you know this often includes a fair bit of walking around in my underwear. I was in and out of the bathroom - drinking water, eating a birthday cookie I had just baked for J, complaining that I had no cute clothes. About half an hour earlier there had been a mini-meltdown over what to wear on the birthday/St. Patrick's day bar crawl celebration; my line of work has considerably dulled my wardrobe, and I didn't want to be the "old" lady at the pub.
Masala was roaming around getting into trouble, as he is prone to do. I coralled him into the bathroom with me while I dried my hair to give J a little respite from saying "No!" This was my first bad move. While in the bathroom, Masala discovered the trash can. Remember when this happened a couple of months ago? Yeah. I was trying to prevent that.
I had just finished my makeup and was about to begin putting on actual clothes when J announces, "Nik, he's got something!" We all know what that "something" was.
He runs from me as I yell at him to drop it. He takes cover under the table.
I know it is coming. This is his M.O. He maneuvers so that I can't get above him, and he has the better ground. But I have started this, and so I tell myself that I must finish it. Mistake number two.
He growls and snarls when I try to take it from his mouth. I yell, "NO! NO!" which normally causes him to acquiesce.
Not this time. He knows he has me beat. There are a million chairs, and there's no way I am going to get it from him. I don't want him to "win" this way, though, because it will only encourage the behavior. I endure, not wanting to let go until he has calmed down. The final mistake.
I'm not sure if he got more aggressive, if my position changed, or if maybe even I was hurting him. Whatever happened, my left thumb was caught in the crossfire. I didn't know what it would look like when I ran to the sink to rinse it off. Would it be attached? Did I lose part of it?
Thank God J was there. Once I realized my hand was mostly ok and that all digits were accounted for, the tears came harder, the sobbing nearly uncontrollable. I said we had to go to the hospital. J, being ever practical, brought me a shirt at once. I had completely forgotten my state of undress.
"What am I going to do with him? What am I going to do? I can't keep him." I repeated over and over in my head and more than once out loud.
J told me to sit down while he rushed to the pharmacy for hydrogen peroxide and bandages. I tried. I couldn't sit still. I walked around. I googled "dog bite first aid." I took deep breaths. More and more tears. I tried sitting on the floor. When J returned I was sitting on an ottoman in the bedroom pressed against the wall, silently crying.
My hand will be fine. We fixed it up with Band-Aids and Neosporin and determined a trip to the emergency room was probably unnecessary (a trip to the bar, however, was totally required after I composed myself and re-applied makeup). Today it is swollen and bruised, but it appears that full function will eventually return.
My psyche, on the other hand, is profoundly fucked up by this turn of events. I don't like being afraid, yet I am. In the past when he has growled at me I try to regain control as soon as possible afterward by taking something away, just to let myself (and him) know it's ok. Normally, it is. A hundred times a day I take stuff away from him - sticks, plastic, paper, you name it. He only goes postal when it's an animal product - a stray bone on the sidewalk, a butter wrapper, or yeah, a tampon. It makes sense...but why? I've never heard of anyone else having this problem. What am I doing wrong? What did I do to make him this way? How do I fix it? What if I can't? A million and seventeen questions.
And my heart is broken. That sounds ridiculous. He is my best friend in a town where I relate to almost no one; we cuddle on the couch almost every night. But he hurt me. I know he is an animal, and I have anthropomorphized him, so again, this is my fault. He acted like on animal survival instinct, and if I feel betrayed then that is my problem. But I still don't like being afraid of him. It's weird. It's very, very weird how I feel about him now.
He has been nearly perfect since it happened. Sitting immediately upon being told. Sleeping the entire drive back. Performing unerringly on our walks. Yet, I am hesitant. I don't know where to go from here. Surely because he won he will try it again. He will sense my fear, and I'm terrified this is going to become a common struggle.
I am at a loss. I don't know what to do or how to move forward. That's why I wrote this post. I needed to sort some of this out, and it seemed too important not to talk about. But I can't deal with it fully yet, so that's why I've closed the comments. I'm not strong enough to take advice and criticism or weigh all the options. I need rest and recovery and then I'll assess how to respond. For now, I'm just trying to take it moment-to-moment without another confrontation, to let my heart heal as much as I am letting my hand heal. So thanks for reading, if you made it this far in my melodrama. : )
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
All Good Things Come To An End
I knew it was too good to be true. I had been in an uninterrupted good mood for almost five days straight, which must be some sort of record for me, and it was bound to come to an end sooner or later. I'm always skeptical when I wake up in high spirits, and today proved the rule.
Things that suck about today:
* My one case took two hours in court. It should have taken twenty minutes. Thank you client.
* My oil change turned into a $700 repair. Thank you universe. Did you see my post yesterday about how I need to SAVE MY MONEY FOR AWESOME TRAVEL ADVENTURE??!! Argh.
* My parents felt bad about the car, offered to buy this suit I've been eyeing, I go to Ann Taylor Loft website to purchase it, and they don't have my size. Oh, and the suit is now 30% off, so you know, just rub some salt in the wound a little.
* Masala had another accident - this time only after he'd been running amok in the house for 4 hours because I'd been so frazzled about my car I forgot to put the gate up. No accident for those 4 hours. Put the gate up for 15 mins so I can pee and change clothes for our walk. Little bastard decides he can no longer hold it. (He's been on this allergy medicine that makes him pee and not control it, but STILL. I know he did it just to spite me because I quit giving him that medicine yesterday, plus, see aforementioned 4 hours without accident. Little shit.)
* I got my period like 3 days early as far as I can remember. W.T.F.
* Did not get to go to kickboxing, as I had been looking forward to, due to unavailability of car which is still in the f-ing shop. Trust me, I could really pretend to punch a lot of things right now.
* Lost is a rerun. What am I supposed to do for entertainment tonight? Twiddle my thumbs? Read a book? Laundry? Pssh. No.
All I have to say is thank goodness for Netflix and wine (oh, and if this wine turns out to be a lemon, somebody is getting a beat down), because without these things. . .I don't even want to think about it.
Things that suck about today:
* My one case took two hours in court. It should have taken twenty minutes. Thank you client.
* My oil change turned into a $700 repair. Thank you universe. Did you see my post yesterday about how I need to SAVE MY MONEY FOR AWESOME TRAVEL ADVENTURE??!! Argh.
* My parents felt bad about the car, offered to buy this suit I've been eyeing, I go to Ann Taylor Loft website to purchase it, and they don't have my size. Oh, and the suit is now 30% off, so you know, just rub some salt in the wound a little.
* Masala had another accident - this time only after he'd been running amok in the house for 4 hours because I'd been so frazzled about my car I forgot to put the gate up. No accident for those 4 hours. Put the gate up for 15 mins so I can pee and change clothes for our walk. Little bastard decides he can no longer hold it. (He's been on this allergy medicine that makes him pee and not control it, but STILL. I know he did it just to spite me because I quit giving him that medicine yesterday, plus, see aforementioned 4 hours without accident. Little shit.)
* I got my period like 3 days early as far as I can remember. W.T.F.
* Did not get to go to kickboxing, as I had been looking forward to, due to unavailability of car which is still in the f-ing shop. Trust me, I could really pretend to punch a lot of things right now.
* Lost is a rerun. What am I supposed to do for entertainment tonight? Twiddle my thumbs? Read a book? Laundry? Pssh. No.
All I have to say is thank goodness for Netflix and wine (oh, and if this wine turns out to be a lemon, somebody is getting a beat down), because without these things. . .I don't even want to think about it.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Scenes: 2/16/09
* 8am, Sidewalk - three layers, frozen hands, a happy pup, brisk pace, not a bad start to what should be a relaxed day at work, productive evening
* 9am, Walk-in Closet - standing in front of the mirror, repeatedly turning around and bending over, contemplating whether to wear underwear with these pants, realization that even thinking about not wearing underwear is a sign NOT to wear pants altogether, ignore realization and opt for light blue Hanky Pankys because hatred of all other pants and winter weather trumps rational fashion thinking
* 930am, Front Foyer of Office - jumping and pumping fists in jubilation, Girl Scout cookies are here!
* 145pm, Local Fugly Dress Shop - drowning in teal and hot pink polyester/satin blends, bedazzler overload, the ugliest formal dresses you have ever seen, seriously circa 1994 style, cannot suppress laughter with co-worker and run in a fit of giggles out the door before staff offers to help (*may* have gone into shop specifically for this purpose)
* 155pm, Interior of Magic Car Wash - sitting inside car as the machines lather and rinse, surrounding me with whooshes and waterfalls, sometimes dreams do come true
* 523pm, Yoga Mat - legs lifting, heels beating, glutes burning, damn the Pilates side series and this instructor
* 615pm, Stationary Bike - beads of sweat running down face, last two minutes of spinning class, eyes focused on the orange glow of the stereo power button, breathing like I am in labor, glutes still burning, empowerment
* 705pm, Driver's Seat of Car - sitting in driveway, surrounded by darkness and silence, face in hands, sobbing, sometimes one phone call can do that to a girl
* 750pm, Kitchen - wet hair, fugly comfy sweatshirt, forcing the mixer through the batter, friends need to be thanked for kind gestures, no matter what phone calls bring
* 830pm, Stovetop - warm cookies removed from the oven, chocolate melting on the pan, may be emotional basketcase, but still make near-perfect cookies, damn it.
* 915pm, Dining Room - "Walk it Out" blaring from the iPod dock, cookies nestled on the cooling rack, dancing and bootyshaking, Masala jumping up and down bootyshaking, too!, even phone calls can be overcome
* 9am, Walk-in Closet - standing in front of the mirror, repeatedly turning around and bending over, contemplating whether to wear underwear with these pants, realization that even thinking about not wearing underwear is a sign NOT to wear pants altogether, ignore realization and opt for light blue Hanky Pankys because hatred of all other pants and winter weather trumps rational fashion thinking
* 930am, Front Foyer of Office - jumping and pumping fists in jubilation, Girl Scout cookies are here!
* 145pm, Local Fugly Dress Shop - drowning in teal and hot pink polyester/satin blends, bedazzler overload, the ugliest formal dresses you have ever seen, seriously circa 1994 style, cannot suppress laughter with co-worker and run in a fit of giggles out the door before staff offers to help (*may* have gone into shop specifically for this purpose)
* 155pm, Interior of Magic Car Wash - sitting inside car as the machines lather and rinse, surrounding me with whooshes and waterfalls, sometimes dreams do come true
* 523pm, Yoga Mat - legs lifting, heels beating, glutes burning, damn the Pilates side series and this instructor
* 615pm, Stationary Bike - beads of sweat running down face, last two minutes of spinning class, eyes focused on the orange glow of the stereo power button, breathing like I am in labor, glutes still burning, empowerment
* 705pm, Driver's Seat of Car - sitting in driveway, surrounded by darkness and silence, face in hands, sobbing, sometimes one phone call can do that to a girl
* 750pm, Kitchen - wet hair, fugly comfy sweatshirt, forcing the mixer through the batter, friends need to be thanked for kind gestures, no matter what phone calls bring
* 830pm, Stovetop - warm cookies removed from the oven, chocolate melting on the pan, may be emotional basketcase, but still make near-perfect cookies, damn it.
* 915pm, Dining Room - "Walk it Out" blaring from the iPod dock, cookies nestled on the cooling rack, dancing and bootyshaking, Masala jumping up and down bootyshaking, too!, even phone calls can be overcome
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Hurray for Proposition 2!
According to Wikipedia "definition":
Sport is an activity governed by a set of rules or customs that is often engaged in competitively.
Politics, voting, and the like arguably falls under that definition. Voting and campaigning are governed by both rules and customs, and absolutely engaged in competitively.
We all know the major winners and losers from yesterday's Election Madness, but there was one item on the California ballot very near and dear to my heart. No, I'm not talking about Proposition 8, but the lesser known Proposition 2.
Prop 2 was an initiative which set higher standards for California's farm animals, giving them rights such as the ability to stand up, turn around, and stretch out in their confinement areas. It is one of the most progressive animal rights agendas, even though the rights afforded were really very basic.
Now that California has passed this law, it is my sincere hope that others like it will catch on around the country, because I believe one measure of a civilization is how it treats even the lowest members of its "society," and for me, that includes farm animals, too.
Sport is an activity governed by a set of rules or customs that is often engaged in competitively.
Politics, voting, and the like arguably falls under that definition. Voting and campaigning are governed by both rules and customs, and absolutely engaged in competitively.
We all know the major winners and losers from yesterday's Election Madness, but there was one item on the California ballot very near and dear to my heart. No, I'm not talking about Proposition 8, but the lesser known Proposition 2.
Prop 2 was an initiative which set higher standards for California's farm animals, giving them rights such as the ability to stand up, turn around, and stretch out in their confinement areas. It is one of the most progressive animal rights agendas, even though the rights afforded were really very basic.
Now that California has passed this law, it is my sincere hope that others like it will catch on around the country, because I believe one measure of a civilization is how it treats even the lowest members of its "society," and for me, that includes farm animals, too.
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