Oreo kitty

Oh, my poor heart.

We're just back from setting my kitty free from the body that had started to fail him, and I'm utterly heartbroken.

But I want to make sure that I make note of some of the things that made me love him so very, VERY much.
I had him since he was an itty-bitty kitty -- which didn't last long. We realized fairly early on that he was going to be a big cat. Like, 15 or 16 pounds big. I forget that most cats aren't that big. There are so many little things about him that I'm going to miss, so allow me to just ramble on about them, as they pop into my head.

Almost every morning (since moving into Casa Dejo with my hubby, about 7 years ago), when I get up in the morning and hit the loo, he comes in to say Hello. Could be a ruse to make sure I topped up his dry food, but I like to think that he just loves me.

That cat is quite the conversationalist. You say "mrah", and he's likely to say it back. Not "mew" or "meow". "Mrah." Lately (like, within the past year or so), as I'm cooking dinner, he'll come into the kitchen and just start talking. And it doesn't seem like a request for food (his dinnertime is a bit later than ours). No, this is just "let me tell you about everything I've thought about today." It's not one-sided, either.
   Him:  Mrah.
   Me: Mrah?
   Him: Mrah.
   Me: Why do you say that?
   Him: Mrah-eow-ah.
   Me: Really. Tell me more.
   Him: MraaAAAah.
   Me: If I scratch your sides, would that make it better?
   Him: Gyanh.
   Me: Gyanh?
   Him: Gyanh.

And so on. He had quite a range of words that I can't quite decide how to write, but we could have a good 5 minute conversation.

The kitty likes him some ice cream. You'd walk in with an ice cream cone, and he'd just *know*. You'd sit on the couch to eat it, and he's suddenly on the coffee table in front of you, waiting somewhat impatiently for his bite. After giving you at least 3 or 4 seconds to come forth with his portion, he'd just reach out a paw and pull your hand over to him. After all, if you can't be bothered, then he'll just have to take matters into his own paws.

When he was still a pretty small kitty, he would sometimes hop up on the coffee table and drink water from  one of the highball glasses we had for ourselves. When his head got too big to fit into the glass, he started dipping his paw in, which is where we had to draw the line. We got him his own cup. I don't remember where it came from, but we had a little "Marvin the Martian" cup that became his to dip his paw in, all he wanted. The funny thing was, apparently a paw needs to be primed. He'd dip it in, then shake it off, then from the 2nd dip onward, it was just paw to mouth.

We'd come in from the garage, and most of the time, he'd stumble out from wherever he'd been napping, to greet you. Usually with a "mrah." Sometimes, he didn't come to you, which is a teeny bit worrying, so you'd go seek him out. On his bed (the guest bed)? No. On his chair (a rocker I got from my Nana, which I gave over to him)? No. Most likely in our closet, then, lying behind the laundry hamper (and once we saw that he liked that spot, we made sure to always leave room there). Or maybe lying on our bed, looking at us, as if to say, "Oh. Hey. 'sup?"

In his healthier days, before he started to lose his balance, he'd sometimes come up once I was in bed, and lie on my chest. Which is fine, as long as his weight is spread out across a broad surface. But when he's just standing there, deciding whether to stay or go? Oof. I did mention that was 15 pounds, yes?

How many times did I leave a box or random piece of cardboard lying around my house for weeks, simply because the kitty liked it? Plenty. Whatever my Oreo Mister wants, he gets.

On the other hand, trying to offer him something he might like, which was purchased *for* him? He'll have none of it. At the Ren Faire once, I talked the somewhat confused merchant into selling me the little leather pricetag for $20, and throwing in the goatskin for free. See, that way, I wasn't buying Oreo a goatskin to scratch on, it was a freebie.
Didn't work.

Every so often, I'd step out from my shower, and he'd be waiting there. I'd dry my ears with a Q-tip, then clean his ears with a Q-tip (a clean one one). For some reason, his left ear always seemed diriter than his right. Dunno why. But he'd lean into it, and when we were done, he'd head back to wherever he had been napping before.

At night, very often, he'd hop up on our bed (done with a stepstool, since it's a very tall bed), and lie down with us briefly while we went to sleep. Before I met Dejo, Oreo would often lay right next to my head, sortof leaning against the edge of my pillow, sometimes resting his head on my cheek. Oh, how I loved those moments. It occurred to me that he hadn't really done that since we moved in with Dejo. When I went to buy a new pillow, I tried a little something. My old bed had been a queen, and our current one is a king. I bought a standard-sized pillow instead of King, and sure enough, within a couple of nights, I had a kitty face on my cheek again. The King pillow just took up too much of his space.

The way he'd curl up, and sometimes end up kindof wrapping his front paws around his back leg, so his back foot stuck out.
Cutest. Kitty. Ever.

In his younger days, he loved it when I changed the sheets on the bed. I don't know why, but having a clean new fitted sheet on the bed was the greatest thing ever. He'd dart from one side of the bed to the other, crouched down as if he were a great jungle hunter. Which of course, he was.

At Casa Dejo, we'd sometimes hear this cry (not a "mrah" -- something longer and slightly whinier), and would find him at the bottom of the stairs. We soon discovered that he just wanted to go "exploring" in the basement sometimes. I think he was putting in a perfunctory mouse watch.

Oh, those green eyes. A green similar to Pantone 366 C or 367 C. Just gorgeous. Against the black fur of his face and the white on his nose, it was just beautiful.

I'm really going to miss him. Painfully.

Every 2 years, whether I need it or not.

Wow. Really? 2 years? Huh.

So, I'm about to resuscitate the blog, for the purpose of mumbling about our adventures in following the inaugural USA Pro Cycling Challenge (which really needs a new name, but that's another topic). And in looking at my last post, it occurs to me that there are a couple of updates to be made, for those that only know me through this blog (both of you).

A few months after that post, I jumped in and officially started a travel agency. Extremely part-time, mind you, but still. My company is called "Let's Go That Way", because it fits my overall travel style.

About 6 months after that post (January 2010), I got laid off from the full-time ad trafficking job that had been paying the bills. I was pretty gutted, but had the presence of mind to say "Wow, I understand, but that still really sucks. By the way, can I have your travel business?"
And he said Yes.

Most days, I'm very grateful for that, as it's launched me into being a bona-fide (though still very part-time) travel agent. I even have my IATA card and everything. Now, if we can just afford to save on travel, we can make use of a few discounts.

I've since accepted another full-time trafficker position -- in fact, have been here over a year -- to help pay the bills. But I've kept my original corporate client, who has pointed several others my way. And I've had the good fortune to have several friends, family & neighbors trust me with their travel plans, and have picked up a few random clients who found me on Google.

I still hope to do this full-time, in the not-so-distant future. But it won't pay the bills (unless I actively seek out luxury clients, who frankly, don't see travel the same way that I do).

So there you go. Quick update on the career path of someone you may or may not know.

Up next: How the Cute Blonde Boy and I fare, when spending the better part of a week together in a Dodge Durango.

Long time, no mumble.

I blame Facebook.

I get all the updates I need from people I know (and many I hardly know) in nice little snippets.

I'm convinced I have some sort of ADD, and that's not helped by getting away with not reading more than 2 sentences (max) about anyone else's life.

Still, I find myself this morning feeling like I need to mutter on a bit more than a FB-sized statement, so here we go.

I'm at a crossroads. Or maybe not. Maybe I'm on the (career) highway I've been on for about 9 years now, and starting to look longingly at the side roads. They'd let me go a little slower (which means not as good a salary), but they'd almost certainly be more interesting.

I like ad trafficking -- the instant gratification (could that be related to the suspected ADD?) is something I thrive on. I like that things are always changing. But I'm pretty uncertain of my future in this company (since my friend/coworker got sacked unexpectedly, and for reasons that I think were made up), and I'm not sure how much I can trust my superiors. And that's not a happy work environment.

But the prospect of my stock options panning out (which could easily mean 2+ years' salary equivalent) is a pretty strong draw. That's probably at least a couple of years away, though -- and I don't know if I can be that patient.

I do the Passion Parties, which I love. But I've been a bit of a slug recently, and haven't done more than 2 parties in the past 8-10 months.. That's about to change, as I have 3 scheduled in the next month, and 2 more potentials 8 weeks from now.

What I'm looking into right now is being a home-based travel agent.

I don't have any delusions of getting free travel and jetting all over the world, or of making millions at this -- I know better than that. But if I can supplement our income a little bit, and get the joy of helping people plan their vacations (probably focusing on Europe), and maybe get a little discount or upgrade here and there, that would be grand.

Does this classify as a mid-life crisis? Or does that need to involve a sports car of some sort?

Is it so much to ask?

When did it become illegal to have sleeves on a wedding dress?

REAL sleeves, mind you, not the crappy little cap sleeves that merely magnify the upper arm of any woman who does not focus 2 hours a day on tricep presses.

A sleeve that maybe covers the widest part of the arm, yet doesn't encase the entire arm in a suffocating, that-summer-heat-is-gonna-git-ya layer of organza.

Seriously. Do this, next time you're in the grocery store or bookstore:
Pick up a bridal magazine -- I don't care which one.
Open it up to a random page, and if that page has a picture of a dress -- bride's or bridesmaid's either one -- make a mental note as to whether or not it has sleeves.

Repeat 9 more times.

If you get ONE picture of a dress with sleeves, then you managed to hit the one page in that magazine that had the Freak of Design.

The size 4 brides from Chicago look lovely in their strapless dresses, I'll grant you that.
But I can guarantee that you don't want my curves exposed thusly.
And I can further guaran-damn-tee you that I don't wany my curves thusly exposed and then captured by a camera for all of eternity.

I want sleeves. Not a cute bolero jacket that goes on top of a strapless dress to ADD sleeves. Not some sheer fabric that was added as an afterthought. Sleeves. Designed with granny arms in mind.

Is that so much to ask?

IQ - What's important?

So, I heard a bit on the radio coming in to work this morning, and it made me wonder what my readers would answer.

Men's Health magazine asked men & women to rank 6 qualities in order of importance, in a life partner.

In no particular order, the qualities to be ranked are:

Honesty Good Looks Humor
Kindness Intelligence Ambition

So, I ask you to tell us how you would rank them. When considering a partner, how important are each of these qualites? And no wussing out by saying "They're all equally important". Pfff....

Talk about planning ahead!

The other day (July 30, to be precise), I was in the grocery store, getting a couple of things for breakfast. As I rounded the corner, I caught sight of something orange.

Now, seeing as Broncos training camp has just started, and I live in "Broncos Country", that color isn't enough to raise my eyebrows.

No, what had me literally saying "Oh, hell, no" out loud while stopped in my tracks at the end of aisle 12 were the shelves full of Hallowe'en candy.

In July.

Let me repeat: "Oh, hell, no."
Add a little Maury-Povich-style ghetto neck (pretend that I'm not the translucent white girl that I am):

"Oh, HEYYYELL no."

Thass' all I got to say 'bout that.

My souvenir from France

So, just got back from a 12-day trip to France, Bruxelles and London. Lovely trip. Saw the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Tour de France, got engaged........

Exactly 2 years after our first date, the Cute Blonde Boy asked me to marry him. Without a moment's hesitation, I said "Yes!". We were on the barge, moored temporarily at Lagny-sur-Marne for lunch. The group had gone into town to get lunch makings, and I stayed with the boat. Dejo came back early, with his birthday cake (a tasty strawberry mousse concoction, we later discovered), under the guise of needing to let it air, before putting it in the fridge. As we stood there in the galley, he said he was glad to have had the past 2 years together, and he couldn't imagine life apart, and could he ask me a question........then he dropped to one knee and asked me to marry him.

I'd had thoughts of "Wouldn't France be a lovely place to get engaged?", but tried very hard not to think about it too much, because if he had other plans and it didn't happen there, then I'd have been disappointed, and to no fault of his. But he asked, and so that question which we have been asked a gajillion times over the past 22 months finally has a definite answer.

When my last relationship ended, I tried to tell myself that there was a reason for all that. And this is it. My CBB. My beau. My sunshine. We just fit. Heck, we made it through a 2-week vacation together -- including lost luggage, traffic jams, driving in major cities and other hiccups that would have had other couples at each other's throats.

And it seems that most of you have thought for a while now, that we should be together permanently, so here we go! No details yet on date, location, any of that.....We'll just enjoy being engaged for a little while.

And the next one to ask about kids gets a stomp on the toes. :)

Girl talk.

I never thought I'd actually say this, but I miss having friends in the office.

Not best friends, mind you -- I know you don't go to work to meet best friends, and I already have the best friends I could ask for, thank-you-very-much -- but friends.

Girls.

People that you can actually mention your weekend plans to, and they're interested in hearing. And you hear about theirs.

People who occasionally come over and say "Hey, I'm in the mood for a cup of coffee -- wanna run to Peaberry with me?"

I work in a warehouse full of guys. Nice enough guys, but they're guys. And they certainly aren't much interested in hearing whether I'm going to the Harry Connick concert (which was fabulous, by the way), or how my plans for the upcoming vacation are coming (fabulously, thank you).

The monthly get-togethers with the book club are great -- nearly life-sustaining for me -- but boy, I miss a little more frequent girl-time.

The girls that do work here are in a whole different social class than me. That's not to say that they're the upper eschelon of society, or white trash, or whatever. They're just single girls, more along the lines of fashionista than passionista. They could probably wear a different outfit every day for 3 weeks without ever donning a t-shirt, jeans or sneakers. They go out for drinks several times a week (with other work folks, of course), stay up far too late, stroll in 2 hours after I do, and stay late, too.

I used to get really annoyed with my co-workers who couldn't hold a conversation without inserting something about "my kids", but now I'm missing those conversations -- which were based in a reality closer to mine than the girls' here.

I wouldn't go back to the single days for all the gold in the world -- the CBB is all I could ask for, and I adore him -- but during the day, I really wouldn't mind having those type of office conversations that used to annoy me. I used to get a little tired of hearing about one particular co-worker's family (as she had rather a large brood with so many experiences each week), but when she called me this week for some work-related questions, I really found myself missing her. And -- dare I say it - her stories.

Maybe I wouldn't miss it quite as much, if the conversations around me
a) involved me occasionally

and

b) didn't always involve discussion of some deviant (and here I mean REALLY deviant) sexual act, or this hot babe or that one, or comic books.

I really never thought I'd miss those girly conversations, but then, I never thought I'd work here.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now that I have cleared the tears from my eyes, I can type.

I have just reserved a smart.

After 8+ years of wishing, wanting, dreaming and e-mailing the company to say "Can I have one now?" I FINALLY received the e-mail I'd been waiting for.

I went through a very short registration process, gave them my credit card to put $99 on (to hold my place in line, to order one when they're ready for me), and then got this page:





I wasn't able to state a preference for my ABSOLUTE favorite color of smart (lime green), but if I had to go with the red, I'd be just fine with that.

I'll be looking to get a cabrio (ever-so-cute!), so I'll hafta stock up on sunscreen. :)

Keep an eye on this space for more updates.

'Scuse me while I step outside to let out another squeal of absolute joy.

Huh.

So, in chatting online with a friend -- actually, the former co-worker who is responsible for me meeting the Cute Blonde Boy -- I learned a tidbit of info that has me a little baffled.

My Ex -- the ex-husband, He Who Has Until Recently Only Been Referred To As Ratbastard -- is engaged.

Huh.

I think conventional wisdom would predict that I'd be upset. I'm not. I'm just puzzled.

Huh.

You see, when the Ex left our relationship, he did so with relatively little warning, and little to no good reason. It was several months, I think, before I finally stopped trying to figure out what it was that I'd done wrong. It was a definite breakthrough when I finally realized "It's not me." And still, I wanted a reason of some sort, so that when people asked (and they have) why it ended, I could tell them. But I have no reason. It just sortof left me saying

Huh.

Now I learn that he's not only living with someone, but has (presumably) asked her to marry him. I say "presumably", because there was never a Question when we became engaged. It was sortof assumed. So I hope he gave her at least a definite question. And then I learn that they've only been dating 8 or 9 months. Which is remarkably simliar to the timeline that we followed, Back Then.

Huh.

And I didn't learn this from him, but from a friend. I somehow doubt that he'll ever tell me himself. He'll presume that someone else will do it. He's sortof a pussy, in that regard. But still....

Huh.

Now, the timing of all of this is interesting, because I was just discussing this kind of stuff last night with the CBB. We were watching the episode of "Frasier" where Niles is faced with the end of his marriage. CBB asked if any of that resonated with me. It took me a few seconds to reply, since I had to push down the little tear that was trying to make it's way to my cheek.

"Yeah, some of it", I said. And I mentioned that whole not-having-a-reason bit. And I said that even though I didn't understand the universe's reason for that heartbreak, at the time, I see now that I had to go through that hurt to

a) meet the CBB,
b) appreciate the CBB, and
c) learn some lessons about communication, and my own psychological quirks that perhaps didn't help in the first marriage.

And he didn't judge, didn't argue, didn't seem uncomfortable, just sat there, understanding and listening.

Gads, I love that boy.

And as a result of having such a Marvelous Thing in my life now, I think I'm much better equipped to handle the news of The Ex being engaged. Instead of being all wiggy, or upset, or wanting to call him and give him what-for, or wanting to contact her and warn her of the perils that I believe may lie ahead, I just sit back and think....

Huh.

Band or bogus?

I know, I know....it's been too long.

I'll write more substantial stuff eventually, but in the meantime.....

Every so often, something comes up in coversation that makes me think, "Boy, if I ever had a rock band, that's be a great name." Lately, some spam e-mails have subject lines that are clearly just a couple of random words put together, but they make a pretty good band name. Here are a few that come to mind (some from spam, some from conversations, some I just don't remember). And while I don't have a rock band, these make pretty awesome trivia team names, too.

• Impotent Dodo
• Bag O' Porn
• Digital Potato
• Respiratory Heretic
• Disaster Breakfast
• Ostracized Imp
• Waste of Furniture
• Special Guest
• Can't Tell Ya (actually a band -- Dejo's brother's -- what a GREAT band name! "What's the band called?" "Can't Tell Ya")

I'll add more as I think of, or remember them. I know you've got some tucked away, too --


Update, Jan 10 2007:

• Retarded Marshmallow (or "TardMarsh, for short)
  

Whassup?

Having been inspired by 'Chelle's most recent post, I've decided I should give folks the lowdown on what I've been up to.

Had a lovely long weekend a couple of weeks ago in the Calgary area, with the CBB. The catalyst for getting us up there was his aunt & uncle's (who also happen to be his godparents) 50th wedding anniversary. WOW, does he come from a big extended family! There must've been 80 relatives there, most of whom seem to have heard that I existed, and were all anxious to meet me. They couldn't have been nicer or more welcoming.

I finally got to meet the CBB's other 2 brothers, both of whom I adored (as I was sure I would), and I met some of the aunts/uncles and cousins that I've heard stories of. It was a lovely evening, and makes me ever more certain that I'm making the right choice by keeping this Cute Blonde Boy in my life.

We stayed in Canmore, which I though was closer to banff than it is, but I imagine it was very nice anyway. The weather didn't cooperate, and the presumably gorgeous mountains were shrouded in fog and clouds most of the time. I'll upload some pictures at some point, and put those up. It's a matter of when.

The one downer to the weekend was -- oddly enough -- the B&B lady. You can see my opinion, posted for any other traveler who cares to look, on TripAdvisor.

The CBB has offered to host Thanksgiving at his place (which actually has room for more than 3 people to mingle without being elbow-to-elbow), which tickles me pink. My family will be there, and perhaps some of his, too -- we'll see. Either way, its sure to be a good day.

And finally, the rest of my time is taken up with either work, or getting ready for the Open House On Steroids (otherwise known as the Holiday Shopping Boutique) -- which I think will be a whole lot of fun, and hopefully profitable as well. If you're in the Denver area on Nov. 18, come by!!

Back to work, you!!

Wa-hoo!!! I forgot!!!

So, it occurred to me yesterday that this was October twenty-somethingth. And then it hit me -- I missed it!!

On Sunday October 20, 2002, at roughly 3:15 pm, my then-husband walked out the door, never to return. It devastated me. At the time, I really thought that being married to him was the only thing defining me as a person, and I honestly couldn't see how I was going to survive without him. I held it together long enough for him to get his Beetle packed with "enough stuff to get him through the next couple of weeks" down the road, then I. Lost. It.

I really did freak out the dog (who had only been with us for about 8 months at that time), and the cat, with my crying. Not crying. Bawling. Wailing. Howling. I really don't think there were more than 15 waking minutes the rest of that day where I wasn't actively sobbing. It were awful.

But I made it through that day. And the next. And the next. And next thing I knew, it was a year gone by. People would ask me how long we'd been separated, and my reply was inevitably -- with not a moment's hesitation -- "Five months, two weeks, four days, 6 hours and....about 8 minutes."

On October 20, 2003, at 3:15 pm, I took a little break from work, went out to the picnic tables, and had a single-glass size bottle of champagne to celebrate that I'd made it through.

On October 20, 2004, I probably remembered at some point during the day that thats was the anniversary of That Day, but didn't mark it.

I have since gone from being able to quote the time since he left down to the minute, to answering "About 2 years", to "Huh. Let me think about that."

It is no longer the defining moment of my recent life. It no longer tortures me that I wasn't able to figure out what I did wrong. I no longer care whether he's dating a girl in the office, in his apartment building, or the entire hookers lineup of south side Chicago. It is simply part of my past, and I have learned many lessons from it.

There are a few lessons that I have to consciously think about applying, as I grow my relationship with the Cute Blonde Boy. But I'm hoping I've at least been able to take the positive parts of the relationship with RatBastard (though I hardly ever call him that any more) and turn them into stepping stones to a healthy, long-lasting realtionship with the AMAZING guy that I'd never have met, if it wasn't for whats-his-toes walking out on me. I don't think I'd give up the CBB now for anything, even a time machine to make changes in the first marriage.

And today, I realized that I'd let the 20th of October come and go without the history of the day even surfacing to memory. I think that's a marvelous thing.

Why, people, WHY?

Quick rant:

On my way up from Castle Rock this morning (the CBB lives down that way, dontcha know), the traffic was at a crawl. Sigh. I figured it was due to the weather -- foggy, drizzly, generally icky.

We get about a mile away from where we entered the highway, and saw a pickup off on the side of the road, in a veeeery wide breakdown lane. Nobody working on it, nobody standing around, it wasn't on fire, nothing...... The only thing remarkable about it (and we did remark on it), was that there was a bit of snow on it.

Now, I expect the first snow of the year to wreak havoc on traffic, but I generally expect it to be on the ground to do so.

Not on a car, off the road.

Ugh. People, PLEASE! Just flippin' drive!

Rant done. Thanks for listening.

What a change.

"Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, I'm free at last."

Some of you know, some of you don't, that I have recently broken out of the Cendant chains. I hadn't been happy at my job for well over a year, and was looking for the right opportunity to make a move. Trouble is, my skillset is specialized enough that darned few companies in Denver can use me, let alone pay me what I need in order to make ends meet.

I'd had Monster, Yahoo HotJobs and Indeed.com looking for jobs and sending me alerts for quite some time now, and nothing ever was quite right. Indeed.com, by the way, is my new favorite job search tool. Check it out when you need this type of service. Anyway. I opened an e-mail from Indeed one day, and it listed a job title that looked pretty interesting. As I looked through the description, I found myself thinking, "That's what I do!" I e-mailed the company, and said "I think I may be just the person you're looking for." 2 hours later, he called to ask me to come in for an interview, and 4 days later, I was offered the job.

As much as I wanted out of the over-structured, under-communicated, Chicago-centric world I'd been in, it was a tough thing to agree to break out of my comfort zone and move on. But I did. And I'm glad I did.

I'm no longer dealing with the travel industry, which is certainly what I'll miss most about my old job (I was there for 6½ years -- yikes!!). Instead, the ads I am responsible for serving will be concerned with getting butts into seats of the newest Jet Li film, or selling more video games to 20-year olds who've already mastered the one that came out last week. But it's still ads, and it's back to the Ad serving system that I know and love. How much of a geek am I?!? :)

The environment couldn't be more different. There are no cubicles in sight. I'm in a warehouse, where the chief marketing guy has his office in a short schoolbus that's parked in here. There are flourescent lights hung, but they're never on. I have a lamp on my desk that I bought (resisting the urge to buy the purple furry lamp), because the only lights in my part of the warehouse are covered with blue or green gels. The half-wall next to me allows me to peek over and watch the CJs (Cyber-Jockeys) while they're broadcasting, live. I hear "And five....four...three..." several times an hour, and if I look over, I see the "two...one" being signaled by the producer. It always makes me think of "Wayne's World."

Everyone here sortof wanders in somewhere between 9 and 10 in the morning, and whether I leave at 5 or 7, I'm never the last one out. I can wear my FCUK shirt and not only be tolerated, but fit in.

I'm close to the oldest one here, but I love it. I have a blank slate as far as process and structure, so my knowledge and experience are actually useful.

My commute is considerably longer (I went from a 7-minute commute with traffic to a 22-minute commute with no traffic), but I get to listen to more of the morning show, or learn some more Dutch or French with a CD.

It's the same salary, no 401(k), but I get stock options and the potential for an increase if I do well, and definitely better schwag.

What a change. I love it.

Speak for me

So, I've had a cold for about the past week. Which is SO unlike me. Normally, I get an inkling of something coming on, and tell it that I'm terribly sorry, I don't have time to be sick right now, you'll have to come back later.

Which usually works (and it's usually true, that I don't have time to be sick).

But this time, there were no looming holidays, or projects, or performances, or anything else, so I let it come. And boy, did it. I'm feeling mostly human now, but you wouldn't know it by my voice. Saturday, it was about 2 octaves lower than normal (and I don't have the girliest of voices to begin with, not since the Rail Europe retiling incident that changed my voice and my brain, and I just didn't have the money to go to the doctor, or I'd have long since received a hefty chunk from OSHA, I'm sure. But I digress......).

Sunday, I got about 2 words out first thing in the morning, and then it was done. ME, with no voice. Can you imagine the torture?!? And I was sure it would be better today, but no dice. So instead, I'll let some random quotes speak for me. This comes from my friend Psycho Kitty's blog, and it seemed interesting. Here ya go.

------------------------------------------------
Vacation used to be a luxury, however, in today's world, it has become a necessity.
Unknown

Refuse to be ill. Never tell people you are ill; never own it to yourself. Illness is one of those things which a man should resist on principle.
Edward Bulwer-Lytton (1803 - 1873)

We have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love, one another.
Jonathan Swift (1667 - 1745)

If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.
Henry David Thoreau (1817 - 1862), Walden, Conclusion, 1854

If the only prayer you ever say in your whole life is "thank you," that would suffice.
Meister Eckhart

Wanna go for a walk?!?

So, if you're a dog, those words should have you wagging your tail furiously and looking at the door, at the leash, door, leash, door, leash, door, leash.

If you're a human, it means I'm asking for one of 2 things:

1) Join us at the Wag 'N Trail fundraiser for the Denver Dumb Friends League, Saturday September 16. It's at the park at Surrey Ridge (between Highlands Ranch and Castle Rock, on I-25). Walk with the dogs, have a burger, enjoy a nice late summer day outside. Free to register!

and/or

2) Sponsor Sya and me as we participate, to add funds to the Dumb Friends League's coffers, as they do marvelous work in the community, saving stray anmals, spaying & neutering pets, offering pets for adoption, and educating the community about the need for these services.

My goal is to raise $200, which is enough to keep 4 dogs fed and safe in the shelter for 10 days -- hopefully enough time for them to either be reunited with their owners, or be adopted out to new families.

Thanks for your support!!!

Pam (and Sya) (and Oreo, because these things mean that the dog is out of the house for a while, and too tired to bother him when we return)

"Your opinion is needed for a new survey"

No, really.

We (the CBB and I have created a quick little survey about camping. Just out of curiosity, mind you. We're thinking of going camping with Patrick and Princess Katy, and were wondering to ourselves if our styles would be compatible.

I think they will be, but just for grins, take this little survey and let us know how you feel about camping.


But HURRY!! The survey is only valid through August 17, so pretty please make your opinion known before then.

We'll let you know the outcome on one of our blogs.......

One less place to travel.

Well, I don't post for ages, and then I go on a little tear.....

WARNING: Animal lovers may be upset by the links that follow.

So, I've never been someone who's jsut dying to travel to Asia, but now I can confidently remove China from the bottom of my List Of Places To Visit.

It seems that a particular county in China has a rabies problem, and has decided to kill the dogs in an effort to help stop it. I don't agree, but okay, if you feel that's your solution, so be it.

The trouble is, when the owners of the dogs didn't take care of the euthanasia on their own, the county enforced this policy in a hideous, inhumane, wickedly brutal way (for both dog and owner).

Rabies = bad. I get it. But bludgeoning someone's pet in front of their eyes is also bad. And having no laws governing cruelty to pets is bad, too.

Sorry, China, I'll be taking my tourism dollars somewhere else. And leaving my pets inthe care of someone I can count on to treat them with the love and respect they deserve.

Flashback...

So, I think that was probably the closest I've come to bad teenage poetry in about 25 years. Sorry about that. I'm on my way back up now.

It still sucks to have lost our drum corps (that's essentially what it boils down to), it still sucks to have lost a fantastic pipe major, but the pipers seem chipper enough, so we'll see if any drummers stick around.

Sometimes I just need a little time to indulge myself in a mood, ya know? It's rarely pleasant, but it rarely lasts, so....

That other Fame post will be coming soon enough, I promise.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

I have to write something, or I just keep it inside, This isn't going to make any sense or lead anywhere so feel free to move right on to the joke of the day or the next blog or whatever. And forgiv ethe typing, I'm a little teary right now, so I can't see the keyboard so well.

My pipe band, which I love and adore and put a lot of effort and time and money into , is dying.

Not confirmed dead, maybe not even in I.C.U., but it's certainly not looking promising.

I'm a shitty drummer, both in technique and in how mjuch I practice, but I enjoy it. I like doing the twirly-twirly thing and being the decoration for people to watch while they listen to the pipes and snares. I like helping little kids figure out how to twirl the mallets, when they ask after a performance "How do you do that?". I like inviting people to rehearsal, or talking to them about how a mini-band could be hired to plauy at their wedding reception or school function or whatever. I like traveling with the band. I like getting up too early for a road trip, I sortof like being too fucking hot in a wool kilt and black shoes on a 103° field.

I like being part of one of the best bands inthe state. I like kicking ass and taking names. I like the laughter than drew me into this corps in the first place.

So what's the problem?

I hate that my 2 leaders are taking a leave of absence, no-we-don't-know-for-how-long. I hate that I know I can't pressure them into returning, because that sortof is the reason they're leaving in the first place. I hate that the rest of us can't put together nearly as winning a drum corps without them. I hate that I can't fucking write (or read, sometimes) the sheet music for the tenor drum, let alone the snare. I hate that I couldn't be Condo-fucking-leeza Rice and negotiate a nice tidy peace settlement. Okay, she can't do that, either. What chance would I have? I hate that I've carved out al these weekends for competitions and declined other plans and now we may not even be going. I hate that this is precisely the feeling that our 2 leaders are probably feeling so why the fuck should my piddly-ass opinion matter. I hate that I don't have a fucking solution to this, and that I'm sitting here at work typing this out because talking about it isn't going to do any good, no matter who I talk to or what I say. I hate thatthe one person from the band who will probably read this is probably also on hisway out because of all this, because he's one of my favorite people.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.


P.S. I also hate that I'm such a hideous typist.
P.P. S. I also really hate that I'm feeling this rotten, because really, I've been a generally happy person lately, aside from work, and this really is a setback.
P.P.P.S. The relatively tolerable Pam will return shortly; this is a temporary setback in my mood.

"...I wanna live forever..."

FAME!

Friend Nichelle has a blog posting about brushes with fame, and asks for her reader's stories. I happen to have 2 of them, and lucky you, I'll share them.

Chapter One, In Which A Newbie Proves Us Wrong
Sometime after my senior year in high school, my friends Cheryl, Todd & I learned that "Me and My Girl" was coming to town, starring that Rocky Horror tranny, Tim Curry. There was no question, we HAD to spend some of our Taco Bell earnings to go see him! And we took along -- for reasons that have long since escaped my memory -- one of our co-workers, a younger kid whose name also escapes me. We'll call him Ed, since that's easy to type.

Ed had never seen any stage show aside from the ones that the school put on, so we edumacated him on how one really should dress up and act for these things, and we headed down to Denver for The Show. Our balcony seats afforded us a nice view of the whole stage (and the whole audience, as I recall), and the rented binoculars gave us a glimpse as to what Mr. Curry probably looked like in his costume.

After the show, Ed suggested we go meet Mr. Curry backstage. With a patronizing laugh that would indicate we'd been to such performances just dozens of times, we explained that sweetie darling, stars like Mr. Curry don't just simply hang around the stage door waiting for the likes of us. He persisted, and we agreed to indulge his childish fantasy for a few minutes (It was at least fall, since it was more than a bit nippy outside).

We made our way to the stage door to linger with the few other people who had the same idea and very shortly, someone popped his head out of the door and said he was very sorry, but Mr. Curry was in post-show meetings and wouldn't be out for hours, so just run along now, please. We gave Ed the obligatory "See, we told you so" comment, and stood there a moment, debating where we could go grab a cup of cocoa or something. Just then, the door opened again, and there was Tim Curry, still in costume and makeup. "But, but, but....." one of us stammered. To which he elegantly replied (in his lovely English accent) "Well, I couldn't have you just standing out here freezing, could I?" No, now you mention it, you couldn't. Huh.

So, we had him autograph our programs, and stood there dumbstruck. Except for me. I asked him "Do you regret doing 'Rocky Horror'?",which I immediately regretted asking. He looked at me and said "If you never take any risks, you don't have any fun, do you?" Wise words, which I try to keep in mind every so often.


Keep a watch here for Chapter Two: In Which Garth Brooks Astounds Us With His Niceness

Well, it's new to ME

So, a month or so after the little old lady knocked my glasse sinto the back seat and my life into a bit of a state of disarray. I have a new car.

Not new, per se, but new to me.

A 1993 Subaru Legacy LS. Silver. A little under 150,000 miles. AWD. Sunroof (doesn't always work, but it's there).

Once I finally got the check from the other insurance company, I could do some serious looking. Not much sense in looking, if you can't buy.

I looked and looked and looked, and researched and thought and watched other cars on the road, and decided that a Subaru station wagon *slight shudder* would probably be a pretty logical choice. After all, I have not only my dog, but occasionally a guest dog to tote around, and there have been more than a few occasions where I wished I could get the bass drum into my car. So, it's not a sportscar, it's not a Mini (sigh) , but hey, at least it's not a minivan.

And the CBB was good enough to go with me all the way to Fort Collins (about 2 hours away, for those who might not know), test-drive, cogitate, think, cogitate some more, look at other cars, and finally help me drive the "new" car and the rental home. Boy, if I wasn't consciously aware of it recently, this reminded me what a lucky princess I am. We were all set to go camping that weekend, and instead, he schlepped around Ft. Fun with me, used-car shopping. That must be love.

So, yes, I still have the "TINYCAR" plates, already installed on the Suby. I'm already thinking toward how I might be able to fit in a car payment by the time the smart cars come out in a year-and-a-half. This still isn't a tiny car. But at least it's one that I chose.

And at least it's not a minivan.

WHAM!

(No, former A.C.T.S. members, this one really wasn't my fault.)

So, I had this whole rant worked up -- a fairly snarly one -- and it all vanished in a wisp of empathy this afternoon.

This morning, I was on my way to work on an Essential Monday. The Actual Monday was part of a long weekend with the CBB in Telluride (and the quaint suburb of Rico), visiting my Best Friend Sara, and taking in the Barenaked Ladies latest Colorado appearance, at the Telluride Bluegrass Festival.

So anyway.

It's Essential Monday, I've just (reluctantly) left the CBB at my place, snoozing away. I came to a stop behind 8 or 10 cars who were also stopped for the stoplight ahead. Was thinking about the day to come, and debating if I wanted to have office coffee or water with my granola-bars-masquerading-as-breakfast, when

WHAM!!!!!!

I got rear-ended.

The world was all blurry and whirling for a moment, and then I took a moment trying to figure out what had just happened. Crap. Somebody just fucking rear-ended me! Shit! Wait a minute....I can't see anything.

Where are my glasses? Where the fuck are my fucking glasses? Oh crap oh crap oh crap what just happened and where are my glasses? I had hung my clear pair in the cell phone holder when I put my sunglasses on, where are they? Crap. Okay, the car in front of me is moving; put on the hazards so people know I'm not moving. Where the fuck are my glasses?!?

Now here's where it takes a twist. As I'm giving one last look for my glasses (incidentally, my vision is roughly 20/5,130 without them), I see the car that hit me pull out from behind me. I can tell it's a silver small SUV of some sort, but nothing more. I'm giving them some sort of motion with my hands that was supposed to mean "I can't find my glasses because you hit me so FUCKING hard, please don't go anywhere, no don't you DARE run away". And they pull away.

Hit. And. Run.

So, I use my worthless eyes to make sure no other car-shaped blobs were in the right lane and pulled into the nearest parking lot -- my optician's building, as irony would have it. Called the cops, and explained that someone just fucking hit-and-ran me. While waiting for the officer on the scene, I looked more for my glasses. The ones that were in the cell phone holder were on the floor of the passenger's side. The ones that had been on my face were now in the back seat.

The tiniest little police lady showed up a bit later to take care of the details. Very nice tiny police lady. Very understanding, with a sense of humor -- something that helps a never-been-in-an-accident-like-this, nerves-shot-to-hell person like me deal just a little better with the situation.

A guy who was on his way to work in the other direction stopped to offer his assistance/eyewitness account (a volunteer firefighter, so he asked about 3 times if my neck and back felt okay, and pointed out that my airbag could be in a less stable state, so be careful). And another lady who was behind me saw this driver take off and tried to follow, and was able to get a partial license plate.

So now I'm late for work, my mood is wrecked (not to mention the trunk of the car), and suddenly I'm stuck paying for all this. Thank God I have a pretty reasonable deductible, and rental car coverage, so at least my cost for paying for a rental isn't too bad, comparatively. Mind you, it's still more than I had planned on shelling out for this type of thing. And with recent other events, my huh-that's-not-an-expense-I'd-planned-on fund is beyond tapped.

So I had this whole rant worked up, and was going to blog that when I got home (with a MUCH-appreciated ride from Princess Katy), but then a phone call from Tiny Police Lady changed it all.

She managed to try the right combination of elements from the various license plate/vehicle descriptions we got, and found the driver.

An 80-year-old lady named Mary.

Now, how do you direct a snarly rant towards an 80-year-old lady? Especially when my family has had the unpleasant task of dealing with a driver who's just gotten too old to drive safely? My own late Grandad had his last stint on the road when he changed lanes into a lane that was still being used. I've had my license for 22 years now, and can't imagine losing that independence now, let alone when I've been self-mobile for several decades.

So I'll bet Mary's family has some words with her as to whether she's really still equipped to be driving herself. I hope they do, anyway. I was wearing my seatbelt, had my foot on my brake, and was a safe distance from the car in front of me. What if I hadn't? What if I'd had my dog in the car, with her nose sticking out the window? What if the car she hit had a tiny teething person in a car seat but gnawing on a rattle? What if......?

So, I'm hoping that she'll take this 2nd opportunity to do the right thing, and take ownership of the mistake, so that her insurance pays for things, and I can be relieved of the deductible and the rental car cost. Does this still affect my premium? Dunno. It'd better not, though I know statistically, the insurance company has to consider whether I've been involved, not necessarily whether I'm at fault.

All I can say is, Mary is DAMN lucky the drum is unharmed. Heaven help her if the Drum Sergeant had to get involved.

Stop the world!

If you felt a big jolt last night, don't worry. It was just the earth screeching to a halt on its axis.

Why?

I bought a skirt.

Not because I had to (you know, like for a wedding or special church service), but because I wanted to.

It's cute, and airy, and summery.

For those who don't know me better, this is an occurance that hasn't happened since about 1987, when I bought a really cute mustard yellow skirt mostly because it said it was a size 5, and I was not, but it fit anyway. I wore that skirt with a sleeveless mock turtleneck leotard that made my chest look bigger than it was (I had the non-flabby arms of a 19-year old then......ah, those were the days), and black ballerina flats, imagining myself very artsy as I floated from the dance building to the theatre building to the dorm, before coming back to the theatre building for rehearsal of whatever play I was in that week.

You see, the trouble with my figure is that it's a little short. Not short enough to qualify as "petite" in the eyes of most clothing manufacturers, but short enough to look really stubby when wearing what would be mid-calf on normal women. No capri pants for me. And, as I've been given hips designed for child bearing (regardless of the fact that I'm not certain I'll use them for that purpose), things like mini skirts are right out, as well.

Add in to this the fact that my ancestors didn't know what the sun was, so my alabaster skin (okay, mottled alabaster....stupid freckles) hasn't lent itself to being displayed in public until very recently. Thank goodness for society coming to the realization that deep tans = leather skin later in life. So, after getting ridiculed by a complete stranger for my white legs sometime in college, I have put away shorts and skirts for the most part.

But now, I have a skirt. A cute one. One that can be worn with a simple white t-shirt (hooray!). And one that can be worn with the cute espadrille scuffs I bought the other day (which is another fashion stretch for me, but that's another Mini Mumbling).

I have a skirt.

And I plan to wear it.

In public.

Hold on to something, the earth is fixin' to stop spinning again.

Passionate about getting out of here.... (Vent-i grande, please)

******RANT ALERT******

Pardon me while I vent.

I got a request from a coworker in another state to get a screen capture of something that was only available to people living in Colorado. Since my work machine IP doesn't show me as being in Colorado (though I am, really I am), this meant that I needed to get the screen capture from home. Sure, no problem, I log on at home occasionally.

I did so the other night, did a WHOLE lotta searching around to get the stupid thing to show, got a screen capture and sent it off to her. Since I didn't have my work machine, I sent it from my home e-mail. Then, it was off to bed for me.

As some of you may know, my Yahoo e-mail has an auto-signature that promotes my other business, Passion Parties. Nothing too risque, I don't think. It mentions "passion" and "toys", but doesn't go into detail or anything.

2 days later, I come back from lunch to an e-mail from my boss, with HR cc'd, berating me for "Honestly, what were you thinking?" (that's a quote). Apparently, said coworker took offense to not only the tag line, but the website that you land on when you click on the link. If she was offended at the idea of "passion" or "toys", why on earth did she click to the page where it goes into more detail?? And, as I'm on eggshells right now anyway, this put me over the edge, emotionally. Officially, the call with HR was just to remind me that some things are inappropriate at work.

But wasn't it just as inappropriate for her to open my site, call others to her desk to gawk, then go to my boss, without so much as letting me know that her values were somehow compromised my my effort to make a little more income?
Ugh.

If I thought I could make the mortgage payment by working at Taco Bell or Barnes & Noble, I'd be filling out that generic application form right now. I just can't respect this team as much as I need to, to keep my values and emotions intact.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled Mini Mumblings. Please allow a bit of time for the sense of humour and wit to return. Thank you for your patience.

smart Girl

Last week, the CBB and I went to his hometown of Edmonton, AB, to visit family (and torture them with my lack of left-hand bling), and just relax/hang out. Pretty nice way to spend a week not working, I'd say.

His brother, Jerome was kind enough to schlep us around to various and sundry functions, but -- as happens to the best of us -- he had to go back to work during our last few days there. Oh, I'll bet the Edmonton public transit system would've been just fine, but I jumped at the possibility of driving one of my dream cars.

Called the rental place, confirmed the availability of a single smart car (that's the brand, not just a description), and they sent over their finest (okay, only) shuttle driver to fetch us back to the rental counter.

As we pulled into the lot, I spied the teeny car waiting there for me.

It's lime green! {squeal of joy}

It's a cabriolet!!!!!
{louder squeal of joy, accompanied by a little happy chair dancing}


Yes, friends, I not only got to drive a smart, but got to drive one that was very nearly exactly as I would order it, if a windfall the size of a car payment dropped itself into my lap.

Oh, it's cute, alright. And fun to drive, as well. This was one of the sportier models, and had tiptronic shifting, with the option of using the wheel-mounted paddles to not have to move your hands from 10 and 2.

Ya know, it doesn't feel nearly as small inside as it looks from the outside. We even managed to get all our luggage and shopping inside, to get ourselves to the airport. Okay, it took the type of spatial arranging skills that led me to conquer Tetris, but we did it!

So, now I have more reasons to love these little guys. Cute, fuel-efficient, and FUN! And yes, they're safe. And yes, they can go highway speeds. Sheesh. These things are all over the place in Europe, where they are also known to care about safety and speed.

But with my limit of 2 carry-ons already in-hand, I had to give up the keys to the smart to the nice lady at the Budget counter. If I got creative, though, I might be able to fit it in the overhead bin.....

"Thou shalt worship no false idols..."

Oh, for the love of Pete!

Am I the only person on this continent who doesn't give a rat's ass about who is left on American Idol?

It's bad enough that I hear about it on the entertainment shows (ET, Insider, etc), and the late-night talk shows. And every morning radio show seems to have some schmuck who is an A.I. "expert" that does me the favor of giving a 4-minute wrap-up of last night's show, as well as their well-informed opinion of who should win vs. who will win. And of course, the DJs have to chime in, too.

But for this to be the 2nd story on the Today show?!? Seriously! Are there really no more globally important things to discuss than how tragic it was that Chris got sent packing? Genocide in Darfur, perhaps? Yanno, the UK Prime Minister's on the verge of leaving office. Hey, I hear that some mountain in the South Pacific......

Surely, reporting on these types of topics -- however skimmingly -- would do more to better my outlook on the world than knowing that Katie Couric's daughter was crushed by America's decision on who should replace Kelly Clarkson to fill the radio waves, at least 4 times per hour.

Are we almost done? I can't help but be aware of the fact that we're down to 3 people. Thank God. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to hearing more substantial news.

And so help me, if Britney Spears' latest baby gaffe is the 2nd story on Today, I may put a heavy book through the screen.

Wake up, wake up!

Proven ways to wake up in the morning:

Coffee.

Red Bull.

Mountain Dew.

Spider in the shower.

One morning last week, groggy from staying up too late to watch the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, I stumble into the shower as usual. Start the water, throw the towel over the shower rod (I have this thing about having water on my face and not being able to dry it off), hop in, wet the hair.....

What's that? Something dark at the top of the wall in front of me. I don't have my contacts in or my glasses on, so I can't quite tell. I squint, and decide it's a moth. I go to reach for the shampoo bottle and it drops down on an invisible string. Moths don't spin webs, so logically, it's not a moth.

GAAACK! There's a spider in my shower!!!! One big enough for my Mr. Magoo eyes to see on their own. And thus starts the heart racing, the trying-not-to-hyperventilate breathing. The muffled screaming (as if a spider will hear me scream and decide he'd better leave because he's scaring me? Shyeah.).

He hangs out, on a line about 15 inches long -- which puts him just above eye level. I ponder the options.

I could grab a shampoo bottle and smush him. Eeew. Then -- presuming I have decent aim and he doesn't scurry -- I have spider guts on my wall, as well as on the bottle. Eeew.

I could splash some water on him and try to wash him down the drain. But -- presuming I have decent aim and he doesn't scurry -- I may have a spider with a good grip at any point in the tub, near my feet (which might look like good climbing walls from that vantage point). And, given the amount of hair of mine that's accumulated on the drain, he might not actually go down. Eeew. Besides, how would I get that much water on him? Well, there's that drain lever cover.

Aha!

The drain lever cover. A marvelous little invention that covers the overflow drain so that you can get another 2 or 3 inches of water in the tub -- which is a HUGE difference. Anyway -- it has suction cups to keep it on the wall, is clear so I can keep an eye on my shower buddy, and aside from the hole on one side (so that you don't really overfill the tub), seems like a perfect Temporary Shower Spider Container.

I retrieve the cover from the opposite corner, keeping an eye on the blur that I know to be the spider for as long as I can. A little water on the tiny suction cups to make sure they stick, a careful aim, aaaand.....WHAM! I've contained me a spider.

He tried to climb the rounded walls, but slid down a few times. It kept him occupied long enough for me to finish my shower, which was all I could ask. I snuck past him when I was done, and went on with my day.

That night, I went to see if -- as I was expecting -- the nimble bugger had escaped and scurried off to some other hiding place in my house. Instead, I found him nestled in the bottom curve of the cover.

Tap.

Nothing.

Tap tap.

Nothing.

Must be dead. I feel kinda bad for him. Regardless, I need to remove him from my shower, ya know. I pull the cover off the wall, and then I could have sworn he raised his weary little head from the slump of despair that he'd fallen into.

GAAACK! Still alive. Slight increase in heart rate again.

But I think -- with a nod to Miracle Max -- he's mostly dead. Still, let's get him outside. He was too exhausted from his little vertical climbing expedition to put up much of a fight, though he did muster the energy to start crawling around the disc, exploring what he was only able to look at all day. I rotated the plastic thingy to keep him on the opposite side, and finally got him outside, where I dropped him off in a lovely woodpile -- just the sort of place a spider might like.

I'm guessing he didn't appreciate all I did for him. But I sure do appreciate my cup of coffee a little more now.

Mushy Mumbling.

So, I got back tonight from a very funny comic hypnosis show, to which the Cute Blonde Boy did not accompany me. And that's quite alright. I was talking with a couple of the girls before the show, and someone asked if he would be joining me. I was able to say "No, he wasn't interested", without feeling wierd about it. Mind you, this is a new thing for me.

And blame it on the solar eclipse or some planet being in retrograde, but I'm feeling a bit mushy tonight. Normally I'd apologize for that, but I don't think I will. So here you go...

Top 9 Things I Dig About the CBB (many of which are amplified by my previous lack of experience with)

1. He calls me nicknames (no, I'm not listing them here)
2. He's willing to say when he doesn't want to do something (and as such, I don't have to worry if he's really interested, when we do go)
3. He likes to take walks. And hike. And camp. Hooray!!
4. He likes his family, and enjoys spending time with them
5. He likes my family, and doesn't seem to mind spending time with them.
6. He's a bit of a geek. And he calls me a Girl Geek, which I never thought would be a compliment, but.....it is. Especially from a geek.
7. He calls me on my shit. Which I need, more often than I'm really ready to admit.
8. He snuggles. Which makes all Cosmo readers jealous, and Maxim readers shake their heads. I laugh at them. HA!
9. He digs me. And all my little quirks.

And if this were to be a Top 10 (which it isn't, because I'm not David Letterman), I'd probably list this Thing-That-Wouldn't-Necessarily-Be-A-Dealbreaker-But-I'm-SO-Glad-I-Don't-Have-To-Worry-About-It thing:

My friends and family like him. And tell me so. Frequently.

Alright, sap session over. I'll be back later with something witty, if I can break away from the jobs long enough to blog it.

Beagles and Goldens and Mutts, oh my!

I had this all written up here, but then thought, "This is something the parents could read."

So I've posted another Mumbling, and invite you to take a peek.

And maybe register to walk with us? Huh? Huh? Huh?