Tuesday, December 28, 2010

I haven't seen that guy whisper ONE time...

I have a new obsession...Cesar Millan. For those of you who don't know, he is the DOG WHISPERER. His show is on the National Geographic Channel which I just got through one of those cable deals that reels you in and rips you off in the long run...

Every time Matt comes home, I am parked on the couch watching the show. I pause and rewind to show Matt Cesar's techniques and I like watching the dogs' tails to see if they're up or down. Unfortunately, now I relate everything (even human affairs) to dog behavior and psychology. And guess what? *This* week is DOG WHISPERER WEEK which is tantamount to Shark Week for nerdy girls like me.

When I get obsessed with something, Matt is automatically affected since our apartment is so small and it's pretty much guaranteed I am monopolizing either the TV or the computer.

I haven't hit my bottom on this obsession so it's not tapped out but this phone/texting convo between Matt and I last night is definitely getting me there:

On phone:

Me: Yeah, we...um...I'm watching TV...
Matt: Did you say we?
Me: Uh, I don't know, probably. I mean...I don't know what I said. I probably did because I am distracted.
Matt: So, there's no one over there?
Me: No one that will be here when you get home anyway, he he he.
Matt: Awesome. See you soon.

Via text:

Me: Btw, by "we" I meant me and Cesar....Cesar Millan.
Matt: Tsssssttt!
Me: You "tsssstttt"!
Matt: Don't make me roll you on your side.

And then I submitted.

Cesar, Junior and Daddy.

Monday, December 27, 2010

Merry Meatmas to all and to all a good night!

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Being a butcher's wife is the coolest...

It's totally okay to sculpt animals out of other animals...

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Sad Charlie Brown walking.

On Thanksgiving, Matt and I tried to go to the Bass Pro Shops Outdoor World super-mega crazy store, but they were closed. Sad.

We were returning from visiting his family and were enticed from the freeway by a giant, glowing sign … enticed by the promise of ammo, fishing poles and the beautiful art we call taxidermy.

But again, we were denied entrance.

Instead of walking through the 25-foot door adorned with about 1,000 antlers and two bucks fighting (no, I am not shitting you), we turned around and did the sad Charlie Brown walk all the way to the movie theater to see Harry Plopper 7 v1.

I was pretty excited to see HP, but less so when about six teenage girls and a mother who looked like a *really old* teenage girl sat in front of us.

Something you should know: Matt and I are strict movie non-talkers. You can whisper, fine. Just stop talking. Now.

I don’t know if it’s because of or in spite of this trait that we almost always end up seated near people who narrate the entire film. Or they say what’s going to happen before it does. Or laugh really loudly at parts that aren’t funny.

Anyway, after I heard them wantonly jabbering for about two minutes, I told them to “sssssshhhhhhh.” And if you’re thinking I am uptight, I have to say that I was thanked for doing so by other patrons during the credits.

At other points, Matt asked them politely to shut it and I *may* have cursed. I don’t remember. I was trying to watch a movie.

As we were walking out to the car, discussing how obnoxious they were Matt stopped in his tracks and then asked me: “Hey, were those chicks all wearing bumpits?”

I paused for a moment to ask myself, “Did my husband just inquire about bumpits?” and then I said, “Oh, you mean those hair-volumizing inserts? Why yes, I think they were.”

I’m f*cking with you. I didn’t say that. I burst out laughing at him. The end.

You broke my heart.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Super-awesome Christmas gifts for your kids (if you want to damage them).

1. Tauntaun Sleeping Bag

Looks cozy enough, but then I thought: "Tauntauns are NOT for sleeping in! They are for riding in extreme weather conditions on Hoth. Han Solo had to make an executive decision under extreme pressure in a life-or-death situation and THAT’S HOW Luke Skywalker got inside that tauntaun. I just really think this kind of thing sends the wrong message…sleeping in guts…gross.

2. “First Act Discovery” Recorder

As if the availability of thongs for your 12-year old daughter isn’t horrifying enough this was the packaging choice they went with? Someone get me my pitchfork.

3. Sperm Shoes

Okay, they’re not really sperm shoes but evidently that is their shoe’s logo. I guess it makes sense because sperm like to race one another and ultimately speed is rewarded. Stop imagining!

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Read this book. No really, read this book.

I just finished "The Story of Edgar Sawtelle" and despite having "Oprah's Book Club" stamped on the front, it has actually now become my third favorite book of all-time. In future blogs, I will be posting passages from my favorite novels. But below is why you should definitely read this book by David Wroblewski:


     Red light, morning light. High ceiling canted overhead. Lazy click of toenails on wood. Between the honey-colored slats of the crib a whiskery muzzle slides forward until its cheeks pull back and a row of dainty front teeth bare themselves in a ridiculous grin.
     The nose quivers. The velvet snout dimples.
     All the house is quiet. Be still. Stay still.
     Fine, dark muzzle fur. Black nose, leather of lacework creases, comma of nostrils flexing with each breath. A breeze shushes up the field and pillows the curtains inward. The apple tree near the kitchen window caresses the house with a tick-tickety-tick-tick. As slowly as he can, he exhales, feigning sleep, but despite himself his breath hitches. At once, the muzzle knows he is awake. It snorts. Angles right and left. With-draws. Outside the crib, Almondine's forequarters appear. Her head is reared back, her ears cocked froward.
     A cherry-brindled eye peers back at him.
     Whoosh of her tail.
     Be still. Stay still.
     The muzzle comes hunting again, tunnels beneath his blanket, below the farmers and pigs and chicks and cows dyed into that cotton world. His hand rises on fingers and spider-walks across the surprised farmyard resident to challenge the intruder. It becomes a bird, hovering before their eyes. Thumb and index finger squeeze the crinkled black nose. The pink of her tongue darts out but the bird flies away before Almondine can lick it. Her tail is switching harder now. Her body sways, her breath envelops him. He tugs the blackest whisker on her chin and this time her tongue catches the palm of his hand ever so slightly. He pitches to his side, rubs his hand across the blanket, blows a breath in her face. Her ears flick back. She stomps a foot. He blows again and she withdraws and bows and woofs, low in her chest, quiet and deep, the boom of an uncontainable heartbeat. Hearing it, he forgets and presses his face against the rails to see her, all of her, take her inside him with his eyes and before he can move, she smears her tongue across his nose and forehead! He claps his hand to his face but it's too late - she's away, spinning, biting her tail, dancing in the moted sunlight that spills through the window glass.

Friday, November 19, 2010

National Geographic will accept anyone into their society. Even me.

The Officers and Board of Trustees have enrolled ME as a member of the National Geographic Society and I've got proof...


Okay, so that's not my real name...just a "pet" name from my loving husband. He's such a sweetie.

I love National Geographic. So much. It's the only magazine I read cover-to-cover.

But, I gave up my subscription due to the recession. I  mean $15 a year here and there really adds up. So for me, it was back to stealing old copies from the doctors' offices.

Here is a picture of my loyalty...my goldenrod, heavy, dusty loyalty... which wasn't as strong as it looks:

What? You don't like my foot high stack of NG's dating back to 2005? I don't like you then.

In July, I decided I had suffered long enough and asked Matt for a new subscription for my birthday.

It was a glorious day when the first edition arrived, all wrapped in recyclable plastic. I put the first book aside for the honeymoon but couldn't help it and ripped open the next one I saw. King Tut was totally inbred and crippled...read all about it!

Anyway, I started reading and a flood of emotion came over me. I was feeling guilt and then anxiety...what had I been missing? I frantically flipped to the back and saw a crossword...I LOVE crosswords. I was pretty much melting at that point. "How long has NatGeo had a crossword?" I asked myself. "Whhhhyyyyyy did I cancel my original subscription???"

The worst thing of all: It's been a purely love relationship. Who leaves a good thing like that? Again: What was I thinking??? All this was pouring through my mind as I opened the folded Gulf Oil Spill insert and in my focused thinking, while my brain was trying to puzzle out my quandry, I was distracted...

I should have been paying attention, though...I should have thought about what might BE on that insert.

Touche National Geographic. I will never leave you again.

P.S. Who KNEW there were effing sperm whales in the Gulf of Mexico?...AND Giant Squid??? That is now the scariest place on Earth nearest to me.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Come on guys, really...ewoks?

I can't stress enough...STOP PUTTING WEIRD SHIT ON YOUR VEHICLE. It's like a bad tattoo and you will just regret it later. Below you will see case in point:

Your creepy dog paintings look like ewoks with cat ears...

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Slot #12

I got home at midnight on Friday and just after turning into my parking lot, I saw this:

At first I panicked, then I was all, “oh wait, I park over here” and turned left. Then I thought, “holy crap, is that whipped cream?” craning my neck to see the words. And then “Wonder what they did to get that?”

Okay that last thought wasn’t very kind but it was late and I had been kind all day long.

I searched my mind, “Slot #12, Slot #12…I have no idea who parks in Slot # 12.” I just couldn’t remember.

Regardless, I considered getting out of my car to clean it off (somehow) but then my instinct for self-preservation kicked in and stopped me, “hold it one minute...there’s either a pack of crazy bitches around here or a jealous dude who would consider my disembodied head to be the perfect addition to his street art” so I jammed out of my car and ran for the front door.

The next morning my friend came to pick me up for brunch. It was around 11 am, so I assumed the writing would be gone but I was wrong. Apparently, Slot #12 didn’t even come home last night…not good for your case Slot #12.

The words were still in tact, glistening in the sunlight. If there was a chance to do anything at all to help, it would have surely been then. But instead, I took a picture (see above) and pointed it out to my friend.

Friend: Wait, what am I looking at?
Me: Wait for it…a little closer…there, see it!
Friend: Oh, my.
Me: Yeah, right? I haven’t seen anything like that in a long time.
Friend: I am just really impressed with how neat the writing is.
Me: I know, it doesn’t seem hurried or angry. Just kind of: “Dirty. Whore. Slut. No Big Deal.”
Friend: Well, that would upset me.
Me: I know I do feel bad for her. What if we put some glitter on it? Glitter makes everything look happy! It might lessen the blow.
Friend: Let’s go to brunch.

Two days later, Matt and I were putting some summer stuff away into our storage unit near Slot #12 when we saw the *actual* Slot #12 arrive home.

Now, I hate to be judgmental but she did look a little, well, “hard”. She was wearing a black corset top, light-colored bell-bottom jeans and those really high platforms often referred to as “stripper shoes”. Her eyes were black with liner and mascara, so overall she more or less resembled a Bratz doll. Matt was silently encouraging me to talk to her by mouthing “Go on, that’s her, that’s her”, bobbing his head in her direction. I was mortified. After she went into our building I said, “What the hell are you doing? She’s probably totally embarrassed. I’m not going to talk to her about it!”

In retrospect, she might not have been embarrassed at all. God bless her, she held her head high as she got her mail and she should.

Here’s why: I am pretty sure most, if not all of us, have done something to warrant being called those names or have aroused that kind of anger in another with our actions. I could be wrong, she might be innocent of such but I don’t think Slot #12 will ever tell.

Since I couldn't add glitter in real life, I made this picture to make me feel better.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

You're not getting my wedding memories yet....

Getting married was fabulous and I feel I should write a lot about that but I really don't want to. They're my memories and I shall release them to you once I've used them all up...I hope you like wedding scraps! Yum yum.

There were several funny moments over the past three weeks but the best/worst examples have been these really awe-inspiring moments from the elderly:

The night of my rehearsal dinner, we met my family at the fabulous hotel where we all stayed. I would mention the name, but they don't pay me. If you're curious, it rhymes with Cherry-Ott. I was hugging my brother at the reception desk to say goodnight and he's 16 so he was all awkward and not really wanting to hug me, but I enjoy forced, uncomfortable affection so we were hugging and I heard him say, "Oh hey, we gotta move". I let go and turned to face the way he had been facing.

An old man, and I mean really ancient, was being pushed in a wheelchair by the bellboy straight at us. He had a shiny wooden cane across his lap and he was wearing khaki pants, a blue blazer and an ascot. If I'm not mistaken, you shouldn't wear ascots after Labor Day but I'm no fashionista. Anyway, he yells out (quite aggressively) "Too bad you're not French!"

We were stunned and then we all did what we do when we feel awkward and my whole family started laughing hysterically. That guy is like my blue caterpillar because he was really rude I still don't know what the fuck he was talking about. I keep thinking, "Too bad you're not French!" which isn't a good comeback but how can I reply when I don't even know what you mean?

To the sky....

Airplane rides sure are fun, right? We were on the last leg of our trip and I let my new husband choose his seat by the window which left me in the aisle next to a slight older woman in a dark teal velour tracksuit. I thought, "This shouldn't be that bad" but boy was I wrong. And then I realized something...

Sometimes I assign old people manners they don't have because I was always taught to "respect and be polite to your elders". I've since learned that some old people are assholes, some are idiots and others are perverts. Long gone are the days when I've looked up to ALL older folks as wise, living peacefully in their waning golden years, moving back and forth in their rocking chairs in happy reflection. It's like when you realize as a kid that some adults aren't right all the time...

Anyhow, velour tracksuit with her crime novel and damp tissue was taking up BOTH armrests, forcing me to lean on my husband to my right. Not only was she on my armrest, she was leaning over it, into my seat space. I was like, "are you serious...look at her, Matt!" He just laughed and asked if I wanted him to say something. "NO, I don't want you to say anything; she's an old woman. What kind of a monster are you?" I am not sure how much of our whispering she heard but that plane ride (only 50 minutes) was really uncomfortable.

I tried everything to get her pointy elbow away from me. I kept glancing down in rage and wondering why the hell she wasn't leaning over into the aisle...that's the good thing about an aisle seat!!!! I held my National Geographic close to my face (elbows up) and waited for her to get lazy. I hoped she would fall asleep or reach for something under the seat in front of her. Finally, she did shift and I put my elbow where hers had been and you know what she did??? She put her elbow ON mine. In the end she won because I wasn't going to cause a scene with the old blue hair and she ruined my flight...damn teal velour tracksuit.

I plan on being my idealized version of an old person when I get to that age. I will force my body to shrink and wear my housecoat and slippers out. I am going to give gross, wet kisses to little kids and carry around hard candy in my pockets, wrapped in old Kleenex. I will say things that don't make sense, but not mean things and definitely not as I am cruising by in my wheelchair. Everyone will get between two and five crisp dollar bills for their birthday in a card with a happy puppy on it. I am going to slather my body up with Ponds Cold Cream and use Vaseline as Chapstick and I will be a SWEET AND THOUGHTFUL OLD PERSON! Damn it.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Best Wedding Ever.

I am getting married in only four days and despite the three or four "almost-panic-attacks" I've had, I think I am doing pretty effing good. The minutia of wedding planning is never ending though and I want to stab each little task in the face with a sharp - but not too sharp - stick, but again...I am holding it together.

I am also trying not to worry about the actual wedding day and my subconscious was there to help me out a bit by giving me one of the most awesome dreams I've had in a long time. Mostly, I dream about nonsensical bulless and mundane crap like reading, running from assy things, or trying over and effing over again to dial a phone number and failing until I wake up. But this time I dreamt about the BEST WEDDING EVER and guess what folks, it was MINE!

Recipe for best wedding ever:

Me + Matt + All My Family and Friends + Daniel Tosh +....wait for it...Macho Man Randy Savage!!!

Not only was I getting married in my dream, but my two great friends Tosh and Macho Man were there. What? You didn't KNOW that we were such good friends? Oh, this was a surprise to you? Well, yeah I mean I am that important and awesome. So are they. And, we're friends.

A lot of shenanigans took place with hilarious speeches and hot pink, shredded Lycra.

But even though this won't happen in real life I know that I am going to have the best wedding ever because it's ours! But this would have been cool too...

Pretty much would have been our picture together,
except my gloves are wrist-length and he has a collar and bow tie  ONLY shirt.

I took this picture because we're such good friends.


Monday, September 27, 2010

All Roads Lead to Jimmy Choo...

All roads lead to Jimmy Choo...and that's why I get out of the car early. That shit is expensive and I am just a lowly blogger. However, a lack of money to burn doesn't negate my need for simple, cute "bridal-ish" wedding flats.

Some backstory: these are my wedding heels:

Nine West Janika in turquoise - Getbyshoes.com - $76

They're hot, right? Too bad I can't wear them when I get married. I am TOO TALL JONES! Matt is about 1/2" shorter than I am which leaves me no room for lift, and even though I consider myself a modern woman, I refuse to tower over my groom. Here's my backup:

Havaianas Slim Peacock - $24 - Havaianas.com - I got mine on eBay ;)

Cute, right?? I have peacock feathers in my bouquet so these are a nod to my style, which my florist described as "really natural with a little funk". We'll see if that's a good thing or a bad thing...

Here's my problem: flip flops are okay for dancing and running around during the reception, but what am I to get married in? My officiant pointed out that I don't want to "flip-flop, flip-flop" down the aisle and he shot down my brilliant idea to get married barefoot by simply saying, "Oh yes, there's nothing hotter than a bride with dirty feet."

With two weeks to go, I was determined to find something...

Yet, another shoe-block - I am a size 10.5 to 11. Yep, sucks for me! Most brands don't make half-sizes above 10, and good luck finding 11's that are cute. But I was DETERMINED! And I think I've succeeded. Here's what I found out:


Jellies were around when I was 6-8, 13-15 and again, now. In all honesty, I don't have my finger on the pulse of the fashion industry because -  a) I don't have money for that, and b) I don't have time for that - but in my quest for cute flats I was forced to browse online for at least three torture-filled hours.

Matt helped me pick out these jelly flats:

Chinese Laundry Sweet Revenge Jelly Flats - $44.06 - Amazon.com

I had to get a size 10 and by all reviews online they run big, so I might be safe. They shipped the day after I purchased them so we shall see soon enough! I was upset at having to pay nearly $50 for plastic shoes though....

BUT, I also found these designers doing studded/rhinestone jelly flats and was even more shocked by the prices:

Michael Kors Studded jelly flats - $50 - eBay

Stuart Weitzman - reg. $158/sale $95 - Bluefly.com

I wondered where this all started and I found out soon enough...

Jimmy Choo, you bastard. These retail at $235 (or used to, I couldn't find them for sale any longer). I found these on a blog called In Their Closet.com.

For $235, those better be gold-plated studs with flecks of gold in the plastic.

I think my shoe shopping is complete. All-in-all I spent about $150 bones on wedding shoes which I think is pretty good. Though, I went a little crazy on the wedding rehearsal dress...I love Free People.

Free People - Nordstrom.com

Friday, September 24, 2010

You think you have HR problems?

Try being a butcher...

“I just asked a customer to leave and she was not too pleased about it. She had shopped here earlier and bought a chicken from the meat department, where she was assured that all our chickens are hens, not roosters. She came back around 9 pm because she was certain she had been sold a rooster. She was arguing with the meat managers and generally pitching a fit to the extent that they called me in.

She said she could tell it was a rooster by putting her hand inside the chicken’s cavity and was convinced that she had felt (in a hushed tone) testicles. Now, I do not know how to sex a chicken, but I have been told by our team members that we only carry hens. I offered her a refund, but she did not want this.

Instead, she wanted to stick her hand in all of our chickens to feel if they were hens or roosters. I told her I couldn't let her do that.

She called her daughter who pretty much repeated exactly what she had already said. This whole thing went on for about 5 minutes going round and round. I told her that she was going to have to take a refund or leave. As she continued to argue with me I walked her up to the customer service booth. As we gave her a refund she kept at me. I told her that she could go buy another chicken and leave, but she kept arguing with me. So then I told her she had to leave. She yelled and screamed as we slowly ushered her out the door. She continued to argue with James until I asked him to please walk away from her so she would stop yelling.”

Good times!

By the way, the Internet (are we still capitalizing that?) Anyway, it's not helpful if you want to learn "how to sex" a chicken...just how to have sex with a chicken, which is foul. (I was sooo tempted to put "fowl")

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Not your typical burger and fries.

On Sundays we are usually able to cook together, often with yummy results. Tonight was one of those nights.

It all started with the two sweet potatoes we had sitting in our fruit basket. Typically they would be sliced, tossed in olive oil, s&p and then baked for about ten minutes. However, I was feeling adventurous and tonight my adventure was called "South African sweet potato fritters". I usually have an idea of the flavors I want and Matt will then tell me which foods will supply those flavors...

This led to....lamburgers...2/3 ground beef to 1/3 lamb. SP Fritters. Green beans. Go!

First, some spices...and yes, we do own *a* spice and many spices that necessitate an entire rack...

Here it is. The rack I purchased online and the little bottles I got at IKEA for about $1.50 each. Love it when ess comes together...And those little birdy s&p shakers are from Target. They're cute and functional.

The burgers got a heaping helping of chopped onions, garlic powder, paprika, red chili flakes, s&p and cumin.

I incorporated s&p, chili powder, cayenne pepper and garlic salt into the fritter batter (along with one egg and 1/2 c. flour per 1lb. of potatoes).

 Now let's fry some fritters....

Okay, so the fritter batter was not appetizing but that ugly duckling turned into a crispy, fried swan....they were sweet with a nice, smoky and spicy finish...but all together....



And if you don't partake of alcoholic beverages, here' is a "culinary" beverage to try:


 It's basically a kitchen sink drink made with black tea, white tea, green tea, fruit juices and more than 50 herbs and spices...? Matt and I picked up on the ginger, lemongrass and tannins from the tea. Very refreshing. And "culinary" just means that it's expensive. But that's okay, we're sick of cider.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Uncovering a dark part of my past I forgot existed...

My cat Stud is very needy. He's like a jittery, neurotic 60-year old man with abandonment issues. This isn't a recent development, he's always been that way. He just needs to be touched by a human at all times and not just ME, any human...even you would do.

Stud turned 10 this year and has lived in 10 different places with me; so despite his need for human contact, he's resiliant, strong and adaptable.

As I said earlier, I have been looking through old photos my wedding slideshow, and I stubmbled across this:

And no, this wasn't in Stud's gangster phase. As you can tell by his face he's thinking, "oh my effiing god, how much more of this ess do I have to put up with?"

But he would never bite or scratch; it's just not in his nature. He didn't bite or scratch when I dressed him up as a pumpkin for Halloween to match my costume, or even when my roomie clipped away parts of his fur to give him polka dots...

He didn't even bite or scratch when we did this...

I know it just looks like he's playing in this photo but notice that he has an orange-ish streak running down his head. How did it get there? I think we bleached it!!!

I had "Rogue" (from X-men) streaks in my hair in college (I know I am totally awesome) but I completely forgot that we - and yes I am totally implicating my roommates here - bleached Stud!

I am seriously shocked. I would NEVER EVER do this now and would give a verbal lashing to whomever would do something like this....I am still coming to grips with it.

I did a lot of things in college I regret, but at least they weren't all caught on film. Bleaching Stud's fur didn't cause him any visible discomfort but he had to walk around outside like that! Can you imagine the insults the other cats threw his way...I just hope he wasn't chased relentlessly by a horny skunk.

Upon surfacing this photo I cuddled Stud and said I was sorry for being such an immature moron. I gave him a can of wet food - which is a big treat around here - and promised to never humiliate him again.

Don't bleach your pets. It's mean. Lesson learned.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

The Ugly Bug Ball (I am totally burying the lead on this one)

Thanks so much for the help on my mystery bug. I never got a response from a website that I USED TO list on the blog but I did get a response, and it was very friendly, from BugGuide.net which is now a reliable source for all of my bug identification needs...

Anyway, that critter is (actually was) a SNAKEFLY larva as represented below...

It was a baby one of these.

Okay, it wasn't really like that but it was going to grow up to be one of those in my imagination and that was enough for me to banish it. It's really going to look like this when it grows up:

I think this bug is actually very cute. It's like a little dinosaur...rar!

Matt says it's an "effing god-awful ugly bug" so obviously he didn't watch enough of Burl Ives singing in "Summer Magic" growing up. I loved that one.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Save the Whales…Just Keep Them Away From Me!

I have a fear of whales.

“Fear of” as in it’s hard for me to look at pictures of them. Especially those cetacean charts where they’re all lined up by size.

Obviously this shouldn’t affect my daily life, and it hadn’t until now. I opened up to a couple people about my “cetaphobia” and the reactions varied from “You? You love all animals…why whales?” which I categorized as shock laced with sadness, to sheer glee at the prospect of exploiting a perceived weakness.

Either way, I took it upon myself to eradicate this phobia a) because it’s really pathetic and b) people kept sending me pictures of open-mouthed orcas. My friend Jaimie helped me figure out WHICH whales I am most afraid of.

Me: I am okay with humpbacks, um bowheads, and blue whales but I am terrified of orcas and minke whales…oh and some porpoises and pilot whales…and sperm whales!

Jaimie: I didn’t even know there were that many kinds of whales. What the heck is a minke whale?

Me: It’s a smaller kind of whale, like 30 feet or so I think. They’re really fast, one of the fastest. I think that’s why they’re scary. Dart-shaped…

Jaimie: But you aren’t afraid of humpback whales?

Me: No, because they’re so big; if I were in the water with them I would be petrified but I can watch those on television but not the others – they’re shiny and really fast.

Jaimie: How do you feel at Sea World?

Me: I can totally do that, it’s mostly pictures where they’re coming at you with their mouths open and the thought of being near them in the wild that’s so scary.

Since I narrowed it down, I decided to confront my fear. How did I do this? I decided to visit SeaShepherd.org and there I figured I could see whales in a way that was helpful since Sea Shepherd’s are dedicated to saving them. I did and I do not recommend going on YouTube after that for “more research” then watching whales in Denmark, or dolphins in Japan being slaughtered…can’t believe that shit still happens. If you care, visit SaveJapanDolphins.org – and I hope you care.

However, I did see some whales and desensitized myself. Then a coworker sent me the story of the orca that killed a woman at Sea World back in February. I started looking at pictures of her with the whale “Tilikum” and I was like, “Okay, she’s standing on his nose. There she is kissing his tongue (dis-gusting). Okay, she’s lying on top of him. This is getting weirder.”

I wanted to look more into this Tilikum whale to find out how he got mixed up in people-killing. Although, standing on my nose six times a day for years on end would piss me off too. On CBS News I came across THIS:

Tilikum was known to be a difficult animal. Only about a dozen of the SeaWorld's 29 trainers worked with him. [He] was involved in two previous deaths and was one of three animals involved in the 1991 death of a trainer. And in 1999, a homeless man's body was found draped over Tilikum. That man died of hypothermia. It's not clear if Tilikum contributed to his demise.

Despite obvious jokes about this being a “Killer Whale” I thought the language of the article was odd. It was like reading a rap sheet as if the whale were a person. He’s “difficult” and was “involved in two previous deaths” and we’re not sure if he “contributed to [homeless dude’s] demise”. Now, it’s crazy odd that a man was sprawled naked over the whale; I am imaginative but am at a loss to figure that out…I think the bottom line is “IT’S A WHALE”. Do you see what these things do to seals in the wild??? And even if they’re primarily the fish-eating kind, they are still capable – take Tilikum who can now tattoo three teardrops on his face. The answer about the motivations of this animal are that it’s an ANIMAL.

This has been an interesting journey for me. What started as confronting a fear turned into research and a newly developed belief that boycotting Sea World and other dolphin-ariums is the only fair and safe way we should be spending time with these creatures – in the wild and FAR AWAY from me and you.

Monday, September 6, 2010

Seriously WTF is that?

I found this on my carpet a while back and I have been researching endlessly since then to find out just what kind of long-bodied freakish bug was brave enough to drag its bloated (but nicely decorated) abdomen across my floor (a.k.a. trespass). I only found it thanks to Beans who I am sure would have swallowed it had I not noticed her batting at the carpet like a moron.

I have emailed WhatsThatBug.com but probably won't hear back; Bugman is very busy id-ing more exotic species, I am sure. Nevertheless, I implore my blog readers to ask anyone they know to help me find out what this is!!! I suspect termite or ant, but haven't found any proof. Btw, this thing was about 1" long.

And yeah, I know it's gross. That's why it's dead.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

This Just Isn't Safe OR Shit That Just Doesn't Happen After 1991

I am putting together photos to make a slideshow for my wedding/rehearsal dinner (coming up in October y'all) and my mom sent me this:

I have yet to find out where and why this was taken, but it can't be safe. My sister there on the left is so close to that bear's paw and I am wearing my distraught face. I know the bear is muzzled but last time I checked, these superpreadators don't kill with sole use of their mouth....

Another disturbing find is that my mom dressed us in matching Osh Kosh B'gosh overalls with no shirts underneath. I tried rocking that look recently and it didn't go over well...

I am going to file this under "S" for "Shit That Just Doesn't Happen After 1991"

P.S. If you have any photos like this, feel free to pass them along to me. I won't publish them without permission, I just want to see other childhoods like mine.

P.P.S. If you use this photo without my permission at any time, I will hunt you down and kill you like a bear. Also, it's copyrighted...

Monday, August 30, 2010

I Can't Figure Out if You're a Huge Tool or Douche...Wait, You're Both...

I have been putting off my post about douchey license plates but driving to work today galvanized my conviction. I can no longer keep quiet about drivers who think they’re awesome, cute or funny but are really douche-shaped tools.


Your Mercedes is kind of awesome (although it’s over a decade old and white) but I am more confused by what you’re trying to convey here with your personalized plate. The word “deceive” isn’t good, no not at all. Not when taking someone out on a first date, not on a job interview at the bank you just applied to, and definitely not when you are picking up your elementary-school-age kids.

To your credit though, you show the world the “i before e except after c” rule.


I had to look up yaio and when I did, I was quite shocked…

Wikipedia says: Yaoi also known as "Boys' Love", is a popular Japanese term for female-oriented fictional media that focus on homoerotic or homoromantic male relationships. It often has scenes of rape and "older" yaoi frequently is described as misogynistic. Super! (that's my commentary, not Wikipedia's).

WHY WOULD YOU PUT THAT ON YOUR CAR? Why would you put that on your car and then drive it to work everyday? All I can imagine is you taking your coworkers out to lunch and then describing Yaoi to them. Yikes-oi! And to answer your question, I don't have any yaoi.


You have nice rides, good for you. I am assuming RNMKER that you are a lawyer or some sort of “Boiler Room” stockbroker but either way, could you be any more douchey? I picture a coked-out Ben Affleck driving this car whenever I see it. Why do you feel the need to advertise that you bring in/close deals ON YOUR CAR? Life isn’t actually “Glengary Glen Ross” though I am sure you’ve memorized Baldwin’s opening monologue…Which brings me to you, ESQUIRE. All I can do is shake my head. If you put “Esq.” after your name, you’re a tool. And trust me I know plenty of successful attorneys who feel the same way. Try HMBLE or HELPFL if you’re trying to make an impression that doesn’t make people want to punch you right in your balls (or ovaries). I don’t discriminate.

Another idea: Instead of paying the extra money per year to self-aggrandize on your vehicle, why don’t you donate to charity? After all, it’s just a car and you’re just a douche. Find another measure of success.

Friday, August 27, 2010

My Shower Should Have Been Great...

You know when you go to get in the shower in the morning and you look down to step in but you’re sleepy so it takes you a while to realize that the dark thing in there is a spider and you’re all “Aaaaah, a spider” but then you realize you have the advantage so you’re like “ha ha, I got you now spider” and you reach for the nozzle and then you start spraying at it but you can’t quite hit it directly then little waves of water start lapping over to its body and every time it stumbles you’re like “come on, spider, don’t fight it-I don't have all day” and then it falls and you’re so happy but then it starts scrambling, and balling up in a defensive pose and you’re like “oh my god, I am so mean for doing this” and you can tell the spider is looking up at you and you have a moment where the spider’s all “what the hell lady, you can’t just go get a cup and get me out of here?” and you’re like “I guess you shouldn’t trespass” and he’s like “yeah but now I am going to die so that’s not helpful” and you are thinking “what am I doing? hurry up!” so you spray the nozzle directly at him in a last act of mercy and he finally gives up and goes down the drain… so you step in and think about how things could have gone differently for you and the spider so you don’t really enjoy your guilt shower and then you go to dry off and think “what if there is a spider on my towel?” but then you're all “that’s really unlikely” and put the towel to your face and then look over at the toilet and see toilet paper in it and think your fiance’s disgusting for not flushing so you flush it and see a small dark thing in there and realize that’s the spider he killed last night. That was my morning.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Not the money-making scheme my fiance had in mind...

But your sig other might want to - I won't judge.

Your friendships might be based on open honesty, mine are based on dirty, rotten lies

Earlier today, a great friend of five years texted me to ask if I have a gmail account; a mutual connection had been using it.

GF: Do you have a gmail acct? I just was cc’d on an email sent to (my email).

Me: Yep! That's my email address - I just got the email about 10 mins ago.

GF: I feel like I don’t know you…why didn’t I know about this email address? Why are you keeping secrets from me?

Me: Ha ha, I use it for biz purposes; for web company, resume, LinkedIn, etc.

GF: Okay I just want to be honest with each other.

Me: That is important.

GF: Well, I should tell you that I have another email too…it’s beurhoe@gmail...I use it for porn, eHarmony and also some new business ventures…I am glad it’s out in the open.

Me: Awesome. I am blogging that.

GF: Yessssss….

Monday, August 23, 2010

Stud, Roxie and Beans (a.k.a. Garfield, Odie and Nermal)

Recently I got to dog sit for a friend of mine. Although dogs are not allowed in my building, I snuck her in and out and kept her there for three and a half days of doggy-fun-time. Despite my best efforts, I am sure management was on to me but turned the other cheek; they just might be tired of dealing with me…

Bringing the dog in was fun but I was a little worried about my cats at first (for the dog). The dog only weighed 12 pounds and Stud could easily trounce her with his whopping 17 lb. body; even the little girl cat weighs 11 lbs. I was really afraid of an unfortunate situation occuring...

Matt, however, was very calm.

Me: Are you sure we should leave them all alone together?
Matt: Yeah, why not?
Me: What if Stud tries to kill her?
Matt: Um, they’re on the couch together, honey. I think it’ll be okay.
Me: What if Stud is waiting until we leave and then he slices her belly open and eats her intestines?
Matt: What is wrong with you?
Me: Paranoid and imaginative?
Matt: Yeah, I think so.

On the whole, Stud is a very smart cat. My other cat, Beans…well, I tell her all the time it’s a good thing she’s pretty. Shih tzus are not known for their brains or trainability (sorry shih tzus...you're not), but whatever this little one might be lacking in that area she makes up by being incredibly sweet and fun. So basically what we had going all weekend was a Garfield-Odie-Nermal dynamic. Except Beans is actually a girl cat, not an incredibly effeminate male kitten.

For instance, I was sitting on the floor trying to put the dog to bed in her crate. Matt was watching me trying to coax Roxie, and Stud (I didn’t know this) was on the table above where her crate sat, watching....waiting.

Me: Come on, Roxie. Come on, Roxie. (I am kneeling on the floor like an idiot waving her in. She is sitting staring at me, blankly.)
Matt: Honey, Roxie really doesn’t want to go in there for some reason...
Me: Yes she does, you're just scaring her by standing behind her...BOOM!

Stud flung himself off the table onto the crate, which turned into crate carnage as it is collapsible. He obliterated that thing; like dropping a bowling ball on it, obliterated.

Me: He just tried to kill her!!! Can you imagine if she had gone in there?
Matt: : He didn't know it would collapse. Look at him!
Me: I think I know my cat better than you do, Matt. (To Stud): I'm watching you, buddy!

Stud slinked away as if he hadn't meant to do that.

By the close of the weekend, dog and cat alike were living in harmony. I would describe it as: “Similar to when the lion lay down with the lamb…but way better.”

Friday, August 20, 2010

Let's Crack Open a Secret of the Universe: Birthday + Retrievers = ???

I have been putting off blogging because I haven’t felt creative, but sometimes you just gotta sit down and do your shit! Final product be damned!

When I was 8, my mom took me to Marine World for my birthday. We were going to see Yaka and Vigga and the sea lions – I was so excited. I wore a side pony and aqua sweater, white shorts and Keds and I had a button with a rainbow and smiling sun on it that read, “It’s my birthday”. This was it.

I had one of the best days of my short life. People looked at me adoringly and said, “Happy birthday” everywhere I went. And later, it was either the side pony or my button that afforded me the opportunity to pet a sea lion during the pinniped show (it was rubbery with fine, sparse hair and very wet). Being chosen from the sea of screaming children for this ultimate prize was fantastic. I was a true winner that day.

When we returned to my cousin’s house to drop her off after my birthday fun-day, I saw a golden retriever attempting to jump into a woman’s car. The problem was, she was clearly not the dog’s owner, and she was at a stop sign. The dog was practically crawling up the side of her brown Datsun, probably just to lick her face. She was terrified which baffled me. I was only 8 but remember thinking “Why is that lady so afraid of a golden retriever?”

My mom got out of our 1984 Chevy Blazer to assist the dog. After a while, we learned from a neighbor that he had spent the night in a swimming pool with his paws up on the edge, hanging there for dear life. We took him home that day, named him Jake, and he was the best dog (my forever dog) for 11 long years.

On my 18th birthday, I was driving around late at night like a kook and I saw a black shape running up the street. I pulled up to it and yelled “Hey!” out the window. The black lab just looked at me, wagging his tail. I reached over and opened up the back door and said, “Come on, get in here”. He jumped right into the back seat as if we were supposed to meet right there. I had Jett for only a couple of days then surrendered him to the pound; his owner came to get him (I checked) and I think I saw him again in my neighborhood one year later. His real name was Jake.

This year on my birthday, I was resting outside of the mud baths and a yellow lab went trotting by. I looked around for an owner, but no one showed so I said, “Hey, you!” The dog turned to me, dropped his head, wagged his tail and came over to say hello. I checked his collar, and he was from the next town over, almost 10 miles away. My fiancĂ© and I tied him up with a belt and called the number on his collar. Bodie was returned home safely after his adventure.

So I ask you: what the hell is up with me rescuing dogs on my birthday? I am not complaining, I just want some sort of explanation (metaphysical or otherwise). And they’re not just dogs, they’re all retrievers. In all fairness, I have a habit of rescuing lost dogs, but not like this.

Here are some explanations that have been proposed to me, take a vote or add your own!

1. The Universe is telling you to start a Retriever/Lab Rescue
2. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just coincidence
3. Leave other people’s pets alone
4. Other (Requires you to come up with a proposal)

P.S. I think it's pretty easy to comment and I haven't figured out the poll feature yet so let's do this the old-fashioned way: comment with the number of your choice.

Friday, August 13, 2010

Match.com Translation

Honestly, who doesn’t love Match.com? It’s especially fun if you’re a young and attractive lady. Here’s a message sent to a person I know:

“Greetings…ok so first off im not from Boring, OR. i just thought it was funny that its an actual city and since its so hard to be different on here i thought maybe that would catch someones eye lol poor attempt at humor I guess. so anyway unlike most guys i actually read your profile shocking i know. And not only are you absolutly stunning, which im sure you get 50 times a day but one of your interests is cooking which is huge since cooking is one of my new addictions even though i think my friends lie when i ask if they like my dinners :) btw your hair is amazing, please don't think I'm a weirdo hair is the first thing I notice on a girl. Not boobs or butt, I like hair lol well have a great Monday and hope to hear back from you. Btw are you ever in the San Jose area? Your not very far from me ;)”


Hi, I am kind of awkward and so I am going to make an ironic attempt at humor to introduce myself. Also, I don’t use any capitals when I type or proper punctuation. And, I have bad syntax. i hope that’s ok. I am a little boring (which is why I subconsciously chose “Boring, OR” even though I live in Northern California) so forgive me for that but I obviously like what you like…like cooking! Although, I am not good at it so maybe I don’t like it that much. Oh crap, you can probably tell I am just saying that; um maybe you can cook for me some time? But I must say cooking is a “new” addiction, unlike that hair-doll-making addiction that I am trying to kick. I don’t want you to think this is weird, even though it is but I like your hair A LOT…in a creepy fetish kind-of way. Not weird, right? Okay, fine but at least I won’t objectify you by commenting on boobs or breasts...just your hair. Are you buying it? I hope to hear back from you semicolon parenthesis.

Here’s a little “wink” to all my blog fans ;)

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

On my bday, I got mud butt!

If you know me personally, you will probably know that I went to the mineral water mud baths in Calistoga for my b-day. If you don’t know me personally, you wouldn’t know that unless you’re a really good stalker.

The mud bath surprise was borne of my reply to FiancĂ© about what I wanted for my b-day. I am aloof and really un-helpful when it comes to answering such questions. If I do know what I want, it’s usually jeans or bras and underwear (things I don’t like buying for myself) which has put him in the awkward situation of rummaging through my clothing drawers for sizes and then having to explain himself to salespeople. And then I usually take the stuff back.

In an attempt to break this chain this year I said I wanted a “day trip or something surprising like that” because I am way more into experiences than “things and stuff”. He did well, very well indeed.

He’s so tricksy, that man. He took me to Calistoga (like the water) and I didn’t know what we were in for until we pulled into the mud spa place.

We entered the steamy, sulfurous building and a man with a finely-trimmed moustache asked for our names. I let fiance answer and began my recon. I always check out what is on counters because you can learn a lot about places and people by looking around on desks and things. It went something like this:

Brochure, more brochures, business cards, sticky pad, filthy dirty pen, weird lotion, more brochures, muffins… Whaaaat? Muffins! Muffins for Sale! Muffins for sale for $1.50?!?!

Now, with the smell of minerals, peat moss and stranger sweat, the plastic-wrapped muffins didn’t sound so great, but I guess they gave a homey feel, kind of comforting I suppose. I sweetly smiled at moustache guy and asked, “So what’s the mud like?" He had a soft, feathery voice, “Oh our mud is wonderful. The consistency is beautiful; it’s soft and delicate...it’s really just like floating in the womb.”

I said, “Wow, you have a really good memory.” He stared. I blushed, then turned to the muffins. They were comforting. “Um, how much are these muffins?”

“They’re $1.50” Great, now I was having a Clerks moment.

We left Moustache and headed to the mud room. Tell yah what – mud is gross. I like the idea of mud and in fact I have idealized mud to some extent throughout my life. “Oh, remember the days when I used to play in the mud, make mud pies, mud between your toes?” Well, that was then and mud is GR-OSS.

But, I gotta give it to him. It was like a womb. A hot, mushy, dirty womb.

I drew you a cartoon mashup of my birthday. You're welcome.

Monday, August 9, 2010

Every Day I Walk Into....

Every day I walk up to this door on my way into work and marvel at the time someone took to make this look its best:

It's kind of like the time I took to make sure my hand/Blackberry weren't in the photo...

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Music and Leer Icks

I wasn’t perpetually unpopular, but I did have this pathetic infatuation with the super-popular girls at my middle school. I went to a private school in an affluent area so there were some baseball player’s kids, some Euro-trash kids, etc. To compensate for my simple life, I would make up stories to impress them which never ever worked. I even went so far as to read poems I stole from a book and claimed they were mine. It was a Little Golden Book simply titled “Dogs” and contained short poems describing breed-specific characteristics with accompanying illustrations. The Great Dane is a gentle giant, Collies are protective, Labradors are fun, etc.

The night before Show and Tell, I copied the poems down furiously onto ruled paper. I was mad with excitement over my plan and thought, “These are so good and they’re going to think I wrote them!” I scribbled faster and faster, stopping only to brush my hair out of my face and turn the page. I went to bed that night fantasizing about how much praise I would receive.

It wasn’t until half-way through my recitation I had the suspicion that someone might realize that these poems were above my skill level, although my kind-hearted teacher didn’t call me out. In hindsight, it wasn’t a very crafty sham. After all, what 3nd-grader uses the word “keen”?

One boy said matter-of-factly, “I know you didn’t write those.” Without faltering I replied, “Oh, yes, I did,” looking him straight in the eyes. I was confident, but oddly offended. How dare he think I didn’t write those! What kind of loser did he think I was?

Fortunately, this behavior stopped and I didn’t turn into that kid who lies about everything (come on, you knew one or two), but I didn’t let go of my need to impress.

Do you remember this album?

Of course you do, it was super-hot in 1986. In that year, I was still in the single digits but I heard “How Will I Know” over and over again. I used to sing it to myself, to my mom and to my dogs. I loved this tune; it was my jam. It was the perfect song in my mind until one thing happened… When Whitney sings, “How will I know if he really loves me? / I say a prayer with every heartbeat,” for some reason I thought she said “…with every pu-ppy. Yeah, puppy…I say a prayer with every puppy. I used to sing to my dogs; is it so weird that I thought Whitney might be praying for love with puppies?

It was a tragic day when I joined into a crowd of the more popular girls rehearsing for the talent show. I was thinking, “Oh my God, I LOVE this song” and then belted out puppy instead of heartbeat. Stunned silence.

“Oh my God, did you just say puppy?”

I believe my response at that time was to run away crying.

I still have that book and will post poems from it in later blogs. But, I will have you know that the puppy Whitney said her prayers with over that boy was a dachshund puppy, a very keen breed indeed.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Cheeseburger cookies?

I surf the web a lot...it's just something I do. Anyway, on three or four totally unrelated sites I have seen this ad:

Obviously, it's from Groupon which I have no interest in at the moment except for that these look like Cheeseburger Cookies and I want one! Let me specify, I don't want to eat an actual Cheeseburger-flavored cookie, but I would like to partake of these seemingly cheeseburger-shaped cookies.

They look so light and fluffy! It's driving me insane because I can't tell if that's frosting or fake lettuce...

Wait, are they just pastel-colored cheeseburgers? Why would anyone do that?

Irregardless (yes, I mean "irregardless" because I want to emphasize just how little regard I have), I want to eat these things! What are they?

I can't think of anything else that makes me want cheeseburgers and cookies as much as the other all at the same time!

Friday, July 30, 2010

Bras and Red Lipstick

When I was a tween, I had a very brief modeling career. Despite what many think, being 5’7” at 12 years old was not an asset in the children’s modeling industry. I was not very successful.

I was fully in my tween-hood: Too tall for kids, too young-looking for teens. I also had very large feet so often times they would have to create interesting ways for me to “model” shoes like carrying them while on the beach or slipping them on in photographs. If all else failed and shoes were absolutely essential, I crammed my feet into them. Smile through the pain.
I was sent to many “Go-Sees” by my agent which are exactly what they sound like: You go, they see you and they’ll call if they want you. Most of the time I would walk in and they would say “too tall” and I would leave.

But this one time, my height wasn’t going to affect my chances of getting the job because it was going to be an ad for LIPS! I thought, “I have pretty nice lips, I can do this!” The shot was going to be of a mouth, slightly smiling, and the ad was for a phone company.

My mom asked why they were using such young girls for the ad and the photographer replied: “We use young girls because they don’t have any lines and wrinkles around their mouths yet.”


I didn’t get that gig, but looking back as an adult, it’s pretty disturbing. I remember them putting a ton of red lipstick on me and sticking a camera really close to my chin. They may have even mentioned the word “sexy”.

Another time, I was called to a bra shoot. I had a modest bosom back then and I was terrified. As I put on the sports/training bra in the changing room, I knew that this was soon-to-be one of the worst experiences of my life. I took a deep breath, stuck out my chest and pulled back the curtain, ready for perusal. But to my relief, another young girl had beaten me out there.

She was slightly taller than me, blonde and at least three years older. She had a full, round bosom and clearly this was a very proud moment for her. She no less than pranced around the studio with a smile plastered on her face. She could have done that lip ad if she weren’t so old. She laughed and jiggled and I looked down at my barely-theres in comparison; I was like Jan Brady coming out of that dressing room.

I felt like crying when they took the Polaroids and it wasn’t long after that I said "FT" to my modeling career. I just have to hope that there are no longer photos of me floating around out there: Almost crying, in my bra and my mouth covered in red lipstick.
I am sure there are photos like that, just not when I am 12.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

The Street Where I Live

The street that I live on is an interesting place. Driving on this road is an adventure in and of itself; sort of a cross between Mario Kart and Frogger.

This ½ mile is home to what I can only guess is a population of 5,000 people and nearly 30 apartment complexes – definitely not your suburban sprawl.

There are 35 driveways, poorly marked, and it seems to me that those who enter this street have no idea where they are going as they brake sporadically or travel at 10-16 mph, driving me insane.

I have prepared a map of my street (with a key) to illustrate a typical day.

1. Kamikaze squirrel crossing – drive with anticipation of smashing one of these greedy, ungrateful creatures.

2. Tweekers, from the tweeker apartments. They’re kind of twitchy.
3. “Massage parlor” – not sure WHY they need that red light in the entrance, but…
4. Creepy bridge, overgrown with foliage and I am pretty sure people are living down there. Also, someone spray painted “Watch Out for Ghostie” on the entrance to it so not going down there.
5. Possibly the worst positioned crosswalk on Earth. It’s right around a blind turn AND it is how schoolchildren get to and fro.
6. Russians in tracksuits doing what Russians in tracksuits do: Hanging out, smoking.
7. Moving truck parking spot. This apartment complex has high turnover.
8. The Party Apartments let out a steady stream of inappropriately-dressed chicks. I’m talkin’, 4” heels at 8 am. PS Your mascara is running.
9. Elks Lodge – I have seen limousines, rusty pickup trucks and everything in between pull out of here. Also a great source of traffic as it serves as the host to Election Voting, Toy Shows and Christmas kitsch sales.
10. UPS mailbox. People SLAM on the brakes when it finally comes into view over the bend in the road.
11. Another poorly-placed crosswalk. Seriously, I am surprised no one has been killed.

Welcome to my street! Want to come over for a visit?

P.S. Yes, I used Google Maps to draw this. You're welcome.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Craigs List Ad of the Day

I almost clicked "miscategorized" because I thought it should go in the "exotic encounters" section.
Hopefully the dog is smarter than its master...and more discriminating.
Should there be a law against pimping your dog out on Craig's List?
Definitely not a reputable breeder.
The world definitely needs more pit bull mixes!
Is this guy a friend of Michael Vick's?

That was a good warm up. Post your comments below!

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Too Cute to Die

Have you ever seen one of these?

It’s a silky anteater and it lives in Central and South American rainforests. Kind of looks like it came from the Jim Henson Creature Shop, right?

Not surprisingly, I have an indescribable urge to pick it up. It looks like it wants to be picked up, right?

Look at it! Like a baby – arms extended upward, stretching up to your outreached hands…go on, you can pick it up!

WAIT! That stance is actually its defensive pose. Baffled? Me too. How can a defensive pose be effective when it is that cute?

I guess I don’t want to kill it, but I imagine a predator wouldn’t think twice about its dinner’s cuteness…It’s like he’s saying, “Don’t bite, scratch or maim me. I am too cute for violence!”

I guess silky anteaters just hope for the best because the adorably veiled threat of it slashing those tiny claws at me is in no way a deterrent.

So silky anteater, besides being a jaguar’s amuse-bouche, this last-ditch plea to live is not menacing or evasive and does not help you to blend in with your environment; it’s just mind-bogglingly cute. That’s why you’re my favorite animal.

Photo 1 Credit: I “borrowed” this photo from: http://www.ezzal.com/4004/blog/pictures/10-most-beautiful-creatures-ever.html but I don’t know where they go it.

Photo 2 Credit: http://imagecache6.allposters.com/LRG/21/2143/JDBCD00Z.jpg