Tuesday, May 31, 2011

I recall promising a picture...

After I got my Mega Desk. I believe it was something about finding an Evil Genius in her Secret Lair Hat.

Or something to that effect.

Well, after months and months of searching (Actually, I have no idea how long it's been. I only know that it's been a while since I talked about it and it might as well have been months and months ago) I have finally found it.

The perfect hat for my Evil Genius ways.

Here it is.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.


Here we go!!

Ta-da! Now, nothing says evil genius plotting world domination quite like a fuzzy red hat with kitty ears on top and long ear flaps on the side. And I have my trusty sidekick, Choo Choo, to help me plot. Ignore what appears to be my own blog on the screen. It's a trick picture because I actually had my evil plans on the screen and photoshopped my own blog picture in there. Yeah, think about that. And ignore those papers to the right of my screen. Those are not evil plans.

They are nothing.


Monday, May 30, 2011

Apparently they've changed the definition of "Comedy"

Last night Padawan and I decided to watch a movie to wind down after a long weekend of Pandy/Master Plo Koone sitting. (What he had to wind down for when I watched both of them ninety nine percent of the time by myself, I have no idea.) We decided to search through the Zune rentals on the X-Box to see if there was anything interesting that we hadn't seen.

Since I was in one of those moods, I decided I wanted to watch a comedy.

And I found one (after stopping at Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part One and commenting that if ever there was a movie that didn't belong in the Comedy section, it was THAT movie...in hindsight this really should have clued me in)called "Marley and Me" and it seemed like good choice. I wanted the trailer for it and it seemed down right hilarious. It seemed to be about a man who didn't want to have children with his wife yet so he buys her a dog to reset her biological clock.

This is where I lodge my formal complaint against whoever decides what movies fall into what genre at Zune: Marley and Me was not a funny movie. Oh, yeah, there were plenty of funny moments in there. But when you stop and get right down to it, it's an emotional drama.

Or just a straight up tragedy.

In what kind of comedy, for instance, does a seventeen year old girl get robbed and stabbed in her own driveway?

I figured out about halfway through that there was only one way this movie could possibly end: with the sad, heart wrenching death of Marley. It was clearly the direction we were headed, and by that point I was already in love. I could not just turn away and shut off the movie. I had to see it through to the end.

So we sat there and watched it.

Watched as it all slowly built up with love and friendship right to the sure to be tragic ending.

And it was.

Oh, I was crying. I was bawling my eyes out, snuggling into Padawan with Choo Choo wedged between us because I didn't want to let her go. 

What the hell kind of sick bastard sticks a movie like that in the Comedy section and then doesn't warn you that the fucking dog dies in the end????  Seriously. What the fuck is wrong with the people at Zune? Harry Potter sure as hell doesn't belong in Comedy, and neither does Marley and Me. I say again, what the hell kind of sick bastard was responsible for this?

A really sick, twisted individual, that's who. 

This was just as bad as the time I told Padawan I wanted to watch a happy movie and he suggested we watch Hachi because it was about a dog who loves his master. And then the master died and the dog waited for him at the train station every day, like always, for ten more years before he finally dies! But even that movie had a happier ending, because when Hachi died he joined his master in Heaven and they went running together by the creek.

What happened to happy ending pet movies like Homeward Bound and Lassie and Beethoven? 

They've been replaced by things like Marley and Me and Hachi and Where the Red Fern Grows, which I know was a book, and I read it way before I even knew it was a movie but that doesn't make it any less sad because both dogs die in that one, so it's like twice the heartbreak for the little boy who worked so hard to get those dogs that he loved and cared for all by himself.

Sometimes, I just want a watch a god damn happy movie with animals in it. Is that too much to ask for these days?

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Was there maybe a better way to plan this?

My Uncle C called me early Friday afternoon and asked me for "a huge favor." 

He was going out of town first thing Saturday morning, and his dog sitter had canceled at the last minute. He had, of course, asked my grandparents first. My grandmother loves to have Pandy (that's his dog) over for the weekend. Probably because Pandy is nothing but a big teddy bear and loves nothing more than to lounge about in whatever lap is available.

This just happens to be the weekend that the whole family, excepting Uncle C and myself, have gone to Dallas to see my cousin Brick graduate from high school. (If you consider this side of the family, graduating high school is a really big deal. Especially when you graduate in the top ten percent.)

So he called me. And he felt bad because he knows I live in an apartment with brand new, white carpets and he really didn't want to bother me, but he was desperate. 

Well, I immediately said that I had absolutely no problem taking Pandy for a couple of days, but I had to check with Padawan and the apartments because it wasn't just my decisions. A quick call to the Office and an IM to Padawan and I got an easy "yes" on both counts. I agreed to take Pandy for what amounts to a total of thirty six hours. (Assuming she leaves at nine tonight.) 

As luck would have it, I was already off on Saturday so I could stay with Pandy and Choo Choo all day. A call from Mother and I also had charge of Master Plo Koone for Saturday as well. A full day of doggy and child day care.

Oh boy.

The thing is, I adore Pandy. She's adorable and sweet.

Of course, there was a minor tiff between her and Choo Choo when she first arrived over who is and who isn't allowed to occupy my lap when it's available for occupation. (Choo Choo won that round.) And then another minor tiff when Choo Choo ate from Pandy's bowl, so Pandy ate from Choo Choo's bowl and my dog, trying to prove just who the Alpha Dog is in this apartment, tried to put her in her place. However, Pandy won that round (before I could even intervene) and delivered a well placed bite to Choo Choo's ear that left red teeth impressions on the inside. Needless to say, there were no more fights over the dog bowls.

They even became friends.

Master Plo Koone arrived around the same time Pandy did, and despite Choo Choo's angry glares, they became good friends.

I had been awake for all of thirty minutes at this point. I hadn't made the bed yet, so don't judge.

I know, of course, that you can't just agree to take a dog for a few days and expect her to run on your dog's walk schedule automatically, especially since the only kind of schedule she has is going to bed at ten thirty every night. So I decided to take her out for walkies, which Choo Choo of course, every two hours to prevent any kind of accident.

Uncle C mentioned she's "good at not going inside, but she's still a puppy and has occasional accidents." I was doubly determined to take her out every two hours.

Twenty minutes after her first walk with Choo Choo, Master Plo Koone, and myself, Pandy made a number two on my carpet. She had walked around outside for half an hour, and had decided when she was ready to come up. She literally pulled at the leash until we let her go back upstairs. I was a little upset, but more with myself for not waiting longer than with her for an accident.

Two hours later I took her for another walk. Choo Choo went immediately, as she always does when she goes outside no matter if it's on her usual schedule or not, but Pandy dilly dallied before finally relieving herself. When she finished she headed right up the stairs and inside the apartment.

Where she proceed to piss in three different spots not even fifteen minutes after I brought her back up. 

I steam vac-ed the spots and shot an enzyme treatment over the carpet, just in case, and didn't say anything.

Two hours later, we all went out again for a walk. Thirty minutes of the blazing Texas heat and she did nothing. Then Master Plo Koone decided he wanted to go swimming so I pinned Pandy up in the kitchen, left Choo Choo running free, and we went to the pool for an hour. We got back at three o'clock and Pandy had peed on my braided run by the kitchen sink. At least it was something I could just pick up and toss in the washer.

An hour after that I took her out again, and she peed. But she fucking pissed again within minutes of getting back upstairs. It was at this point that I decided she was doing it on purpose. She clearly knew she was supposed to go outside, but she held it and let it go inside in small little spots all over the place intentionally. This was premeditated spot marking, and I'm convinced she was doing it to show Choo Choo who really owns this apartment.

I was at a loss for a moment when trying to think of how to punish her. Pandy is not my dog. I do not know how she generally is punished for going potty inside. A spray of water to the face? A spanking? I didn't know. So I gave her a vicious, very angry, verbal scolding in my best "I am the Queen and you have displeased me" voice. I thought she got the message because she put her head down and covered her face with her paws in what was obvious shame and contrition. She didn't have another "accident" for the remainder of the day.

She and Choo Choo both just followed me around for the rest of the day, occasionally stopping together to watch me when I paused to do something.

I thought, all in all, we'd made a lot of progress by the time Mother came for Master Plo Koone. The two had learned to share the bed with each other. I laid down for a nap after the pool and they had a tiff when Pandy tried to curl up by my side where Choo Choo generally sleeps under the covers with me. 

Padawan came home and Pandy alternated between sitting in his lap and mine while Choo Choo growled from whoever's lap she was occupying at the time. 

I took them out for their last walks at ten thirty, and Pandy did everything all in one go outside. She immediately hopped into bed (as I said, her only real scheduled habit is bedtime at ten thirty) and slept quietly on my feet the whole night, only waking me up once when she was digging at the covers, trying to get to Choo Choo.

Everything was find and dandy when Padawan woke me at eight fifteen saying, "I think the dogs need to go out." In the time it took me to throw the covers off of myself and sit up, I had time to watch Pandy acknowledge that I was awake, jump off of the bed, and take a dump right there next to my desk.

I scolded, cleaned it up, sprayed it with the enzyme cleaner, and took them both out. And then two hours later, I took them out again. And then Pandy pissed in three different places. And I cleaned it and steam vac-ed again. And took them out again. And again, she peed. And I scolded and scolded and threatened her with a trip straight into her kennel. 

She's curled up on the couch, now, dejected and laying under a cloud of shame. Choo Choo won't go anywhere near her right now. I think she's maybe gloating a little that Pandy is in trouble for behavior that is easily controlled. (Though my dog did get in trouble when Pandy first arrived because, in a fit of bitchyness, Choo Choo squatted right in front of Padawan after her walk and left a little pee spot, followed a small little pebble of a poop. She did it right in the middle of the room, watching us. Clearly, it was a statement against Pandy's presence, but Padawan punished her to let her know that her opinion was not acceptably expressed.)

I'm debating on whether or not to mention these "accidents" to my Uncle. But I'm pretty sure I'm going to suggest that next time he bring puppy pads for her. Because, frankly, Pandy has the most acrid, concentrated urine I've ever smelled and just one tiny little spot no bigger than a water bottle cap makes the entire living room smell.

Friday, May 27, 2011

The Classic Post Blogger Pays it Forward

I know you guys have been waiting with baited breath the winners of the Classic Post Award that Bryan created and then passed to me.

Here they are: (Yes, they are all linked. Just hover over them and you can see the links. Sorry, I'm going to change the link color after I post this.)

A new blog I've started reading recently, The Frisky Virgin of The Frisky Virgin for Share Mail: Prom Pressure
Bryan of Nuclear Headache (I don't care if he invented the award: he earned it!) for his Time Travel Month

These Awardees are among my favorite bloggers in the blogosphere, and these posts are among my favorites.

I've also received and award from the Frisky Virgin...

And there are rules/guidelines.

But I'm not posting them.

I'm just going to pass this award on to:

And...leave it at that. For the rules/guidelines you can check out Frisky's page, because I...am just dog tired and don't feel like stipulating anything other than you should pass it on to at least one other blogger. You know, because it's call pay it forward. 

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Eating Fleshy Slugs

You guys get to know who got the Classic Post Award on Friday. I've got something to tell you today.

I...don't like Sushi.

There. I said it. 

It's not that I haven't tried. I've tried so many times to like it, and it just never seems to work out. 

I think my biggest issue is that I really don't enjoy any kind of seafood. I mean, I think lobster is okay and I'll eat fried catfish as long as you tell me it's chicken, and I'll even eat calamari so long as it's chopped up and not fried whole body together so that when I pick it up there's a little body that looks like it should be in the ocean playing with Nemo and not sitting on my plate, but I really can't stand eating things that look like they could just jump off of my plate and swim away. Like shrimp, and lobster, and crab.

And my OTHER biggest issue with Sushi (aside from the raw fish factor) is that they combine everything together, but separately, so that each distinct flavor hits you separately. I am a stubborn believer in separate foods staying separate. If they aren't blended together in a homogeneous way, I don't want it touching. My macaroni does not touch my mashed potatoes and gravy, which does not touch my chicken, which does not touch my dinner roll, which doesn't touch my salad. A lot of times this requires separate dishes, but that's fine with me. I don't want it touching. 

Sushi is all one piece of avocado with one piece of crab and wrap that in rice and then wrap that in seaweed. I seriously can't stand that because, when it comes down to it, chewing all of those flavors together so that I get hit with the raw taste of crab by itself is revolting. In fact, when I tried that California Roll with my lunch yesterday I gagged and spit it back out onto my soup spoon. 

I tried. These things are just...not for me.

The combination of everything wrong with Sushi plus my own thought that ew, it's raw fish makes it pretty difficult to enjoy it. In fact, even the dessert course was difficult for me because on the one hand I loved the three different sauces the dessert was covered in, and I loved the breading and the cream cheese...but when I bit into the crab I had to fight the urge to gag. I seriously sat there, chewing, alternating between oh my god, this is so delicious and ew, I'm going to be sick. I'm going to gag! 

Dizzy found it extremely entertaining, but even just looking at what he was eating made me want to gag.

This is what he ate, and it looks like fleshy slugs. Yuck!

Yesterday I came home and told Padawan, "I think today was my last ditch attempt to open myself up to the idea of Sushi. I'm seriously done trying it this time. I will never like it."

"That's too bad. I love Sushi."

"Yes, I know. But we can still go to Sushi restaurants. I'll just order something with chicken. All Sushi restaurants serve cooked things for us picky eaters."

Padawan has opened me up to a lot of things I didn't eat before. I like lobster (cut up so I don't have to feel bad) and I like calamari because of him. But my ability to eat seafood has a definite stopping point: I want my seafood cooked, thank you.

Which is interesting considering that I will not eat steak if it is cooked above medium rare, and the truth is I like it just browned on the inside and just warm enough in the center that it doesn't bleed all over my plate in a way that will make me nauseous. My steaks are pretty much raw but I won't even entertain the notion of eating tuna that raw.

At least I can say I tried, and on more than one occasion. I'm just one of those people for whom Sushi is not a good idea. But I'll keep trying with carrots. Maybe one day I'll like them.

Monday, May 23, 2011

It's, like, so awesome!

Asha, bless her heart, gave me an STD.

Get your minds out of the gutter, people. It's not a Sexually Transmitted Disease. Goodness, what kind of ladies do you think we are, anyway?

1. Make up ONE totally ridiculous story about yourself that is a complete rip-off from a movie. It can be as long or short as you want; clean or crass as you want.

2. Pass it on to whomever you feel is deserving of this STD – or accept it and keep it for yourself; it’s your blog – it’s your choice.

3. If you choose to accept this STD, please link your acceptance post back to the person who gave you your STD.

Well, far be it from me to break the rules....

So I was this totally fabulous, wealthy college grad who had everything: perfect grades, huge mansion, a Mercedes Benz, cute little Chihuahua, and a gorgeous (but kind of gay looking, if I'm being honest with myself here) boyfriend who also had everything. I totally thought he was going to propose, and went through all of this trouble with my two best gal pals (neither of whom are the sharpest tools in the shed) to find the perfect dress to wear when he popped the question. And he was totally going to pop the question. All the signs indicated that was where we were headed!

I was so excited when I was finally read and we went to this great restaurant...

Only to have him dump me like a cheap bastard in the middle of the restaurant where Madonna went into labor. And that jerk had the audacity to blame my tears on a bad salad. A salad! 

On top of that, his excuse was that I was too blonde to marry, and he needed someone serious! Someone less fun! Someone smarter!

You can imagine that I didn't just take that lying down. I decided, after like a week of moping and being depressed, that I was going to change myself to be what he needed: a law student. 

And I did. I aced the LSATs and enrolled in Harvard Law where I proceeded to make a lot of enemies because, let's face it, I was a lot prettier and more fun than most of those Ivy League girls, and anyway what's the point of going to law school if you're not going to have any fun while you're there?

I nearly left, though, when I found out that the super studly love of my life had not only moved on, but was engaged to this horrible preppy girl with a bad attitude who made me look pretty stupid on my first day because...well, obviously because she was jealous that she could never live up to the memory of moi! 

Then I remembered, oh yeah, I'm not some sad, pathetic woman to sit around waiting for a man! I'd steal the bastard back, after I was done teaching a roomful of absolute strangers how to do the bend and snap, of course. My manicurist really needed that lesson. (Nevermind that she blew it later...)

I met this really cool guy along the way to stealing back Stud, but I didn't really pay much attention to him in the beginning because I, like, was totally focused on doing well to get that stupid boyfriend back from the clutches of that bony, unpolished little East Coast Prepster!  He helped me out sometimes, and then before I knew it I was an intern on a major murder trial!

She totally didn't do it. You know, because exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. And happy people just don't shoot their husbands. They just don't! And she was my Delta Nu sister! I couldn't just leave her to rot in prison when it was, like, so obvious she didn't do it! I worked really hard to help her, and I even managed to make friends with Preppy Girl, who actually was pretty nice, it turns out. Who would have guessed?

I even got to go to a spa to interview a so-called character witness, but she was lying! And I totally knew she was lying because hello!!! Could you see the icky brown color of her hair? No honest woman had hair that dull!

I didn't take a word she said seriously.

But then things got, like, uber awful when my so-called trustworthy law professor/boss tried to seduce me in his office after hours! He only gave me the job because he wanted to fuck me! What a creep! 

Obviously, I couldn't stick around that office and keep working for a man who not only wanted to get in my pants, but he didn't even take me seriously as a student or a lawyer or even as a person! And yes, you bastard, for the record I DID wake up one morning and decided that I wanted to go to law school! SUCK IT!

But then Preppy Girl, Friend Boy, and Uber Nerd Student helped me conquer the evil sexist pig, and my idol fired him as her lawyer and hired me! ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

I may have been a little nervous, but then I solved the case and freed her and everybody was happy!

And in the middle of all of that trial bull, I realized that I didn't want my old boyfriend back because he was kind of a Jerkface, so when he had the nerve to ask me to take him back (and he didn't even ask! He was totally assuming I was going to say yes, the creep!) I told him he was, like, a total bonehead and I needed someone better.

That's where I got Padawan from: he was right there the whole time. Hmm...go figure.

In the end I wound up with everything that I started out with, plus a job offer, and a great Padawan, and the three of us and our little Chihuahua dog lived happily ever after.

Until I went to Washington...but that's another story.

So...that's my story, and I'm stickin' to it!

I pass this award on to...

Hannah (if she ever comes back)

That is all.

But...you know it's never all with me, is it?
Of course not. I also got this lovely award...

From Bryan, who invented this award all by himself. And it is, to be perfectly honest, probably my favorite award ever. Or at the very least it's tied with the Overlord Award because I'm power hungry and that one was fun. 

Now, there are no rules for this award.

But I'm going to pass it on. But to honor the award I've got to do it right. Since I don't feel like hunting up all of my favorite entries from the bloggers I intend to share this award with, I'm just not going to pass it on today. You have to tune in on Wednesday, or possibly Friday, for that.

I just felt like making a brag that I got the award today. :P

By the way...you guys should totally go check out the results of the Death Match...

Saturday, May 21, 2011






Apparently on the "True Christians" are being taken away for the Rapture thing today, and all of the Infidels, non-believers, and generally sinful people are staying behind for six months. I suppose that's to give us a chance to think about what we've done and try to change.

So I'll just carry on not worrying about dropping dead suddenly.

Although I did make a point of saying that dying so young wouldn't be very sad if I knew the rest of the world was dying right there with me. My coworker Wood Winded said that was mildly selfish. But really it's not. Nobody left to morn me, and nobody left to morn them, and so on and so forth.

And I have my very own Uber Christian to watch for signs of the Rapture. He's so Christian he doesn't even believe in dinosaurs. If he drops dead suddenly, I'll know it's all true. If not...

I guess I won't get to loot the Dr. Pepper Factory and Museum tomorrow.

What a shame....


Speaking of awesome things happening...

Fabulous Atypical Headaches of Third Shift Cheese is, apparently, no longer in the realm of ideas and has taken on an actual physical form in the realm of Blogging. Be warned...clicking on the names might scar you for life as far as certain team members are concerned. And when I say "names" I mean one specific name that will burn an image so wonderfully horrifying into your retinas that you will never be able to recover.


I gave you guys a post from the past on Wednesday, but when I logged onto Blogger it was just...gone. Where? I don't know. Will it come back? Possibly. I've been getting old comments back recently. Maybe I'll be getting this post back. But why did it go? Did this happen to anybody else?

Has the world gone mad? 

Oh, did anybody else watch the Big Bang Theory season finale? If you did...thoughts?

As for the Bones finale...Pshaw. I told you so. 

Sunday, May 15, 2011

I don't like it.

My friend J-Lynn has recently become a fan of Atypical Read on Facebook.

I have mixed feelings about this development. (No offense, Scott. It's not that I don't like sharing your brilliance with the world.) 

On the one hand, I love that through my Facebook she found the blog that she now, apparently, adores. Every blogger wants more readers. She reads. Maybe she'll start leaving comments. Eventually reading comments. 

And that leads to my dislike of it.

I dot not like the idea of people I know reading my blog. Except Padawan and my sisters. My blog is an expression of myself outside of the realm of social standards. I can say and do whatever I want and nobody says anything about it. Nobody on here reads something and then says, "Chanel, have you considered that you're obsessive compulsive?" or "Chanel, do you maybe think you're a little cynical?" or "Chanel, you do realize that you're completely insane and flamingos and crickets are actually NOT trying to kill you, don't you?" I am not judged here. And while J-Lynn and I have grown up together and we know everything about each other, I like having one space of my life to myself. I share my sisters with her, my friends, even my coworkers know and occasionally hang out with her! And I don't mind that. Really, I don't. 

But my blogging community is something that is mine. (Sorry, you guys. I kind of forgot to tell you that you all belong to me.)

By her reading Atypical Read, she may eventually read a comment I left, follow the link to my profile, and thereby discover my blog. Granted, she knows this blog exists, but I never told her the title and to the best of my knowledge she's never found it. This is MY realm. My one bit of personal space that doesn't touch my work life (unless I complain about it) or my friends. (Except Patrick, but I never really knew him in person so I don't really think that counts, and anyway he rarely comments so it doesn't matter.)

Some of you are actually friends on my Facebook (and that all started because I liked a page and then BAM! I was found), and you've probably noticed that I never post links to Fabulously Neurotic. Not once.

I like having most every reader being someone I met through the Blogosphere. There's a feeling of community and acceptance and damn it, none of you call my dog a rat and I love that! Also, none of you have insulting nicknames for Padawan. J-Lynn and Padawan, unfortunately, had a massive falling out over an asshole who ended his friendship with Padawan because I wouldn't end my friendship with J-Lynn. Apparently he just couldn't be friends with someone who could love someone who is friends with someone like J-Lynn. No, even if you follow the convolutions that still doesn't make sense. 

Am I the only one out there that feels this way? I keep my life pretty compartmentalized because...well, I don't know why. I just keep everything separated certain ways. So this could just me being neurotic. Or maybe I'm not alone in this?

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Why Nigel? WHY?

I've already told you guys that I am a big fan of Bones. HUGE fan. 

Love, love, love the show for everything that it is.

Do you guys mind if I just rant a little bit? 


If you haven't seen The Hole in the Heart and you watch Bones, skip until you see "END BONES TALK!"

Why the hell did you kill Mr. Nigel Murray??????

Of all the interns to kill off, it should have been Clark. He's too uptight and closed up for the group. He kind of drags down everything when he insists everybody just keep the conversations to polite professionalism. I mean, as far as character growth he might as well have a big target on his back screaming, "TAKE ME! I DON'T BELONG HERE ANYWAY BECAUSE I AM INCAPABLE OF GROWING AS A PERSON!"

But no. They kill off Mr. Vincent Nigel Murray, the British intern/fountain of knowledge in the way of useless factoids. The one who won a whole lot of money on Jeopardy, became addicted to drugs and alcohol while spending all of it, and wound up confessing things for his twelve steps of recovery. Such as telling people he slept with Angela, Cam, and Bones. (You do dumb things when you're drunk out of your mind! And if those are the worst things he'd ever done...he was a really good person.)  And right after the whole T-Rex thing???

My very first GIF posting!

Talk about cruel and unusual! He was in his prime! He didn't even get to do his presentation at the conference! It was just...wrong.
So wrong. 

And what happened with Bones and Booth?

Recap: she crawled into bed with him in the middle of the night, crying because Vincent died and she thought he thought she hated him! 

And then when she's describing to Angela what she did...she gives this smile. 

Every woman knows this smile. This is the smile of someone who is about to share the facts about sleeping with the man she's been in love with for six years when he tried to comfort her!


Alright, so Jack interrupts first and Angela screams at him to get the hell out, and THEN it cuts off to another scene! And it NEVER GOES BACK TO THEIR DISCUSSION! 

Now, my Bones buddy at work insists that the smile, the way they looked at each other afterwards, and their interactions through the rest of the episode clearly indicate that something definitely happened in that bed. I didn't see it. I admit, I was extremely distracted because I was still upset over the cold, calculated, and yet accidental murder of my favorite intern, so I wasn't really picking up on cues like subtle looks and what not. 

I'm not one hundred percent certain that something happened.

But I'm pretty sure that her smile indicated something way more than just sleeping took place in that bed.

The only way to be certain is to watch again, but to keep myself from becoming emotionally detached from the rest of the characters, I'll have to skip until after the jerkface sniper man murders Vincent Nigel Murray. Otherwise I'm going to be exactly where I was before, stewing over his murder and not concentrating on other important aspects of the episode.


Yesterday I wound up with a strong craving for fried chicken, so for dinner Padawan and I had fried chicken. And you know what? It was delicious!

Even more delicious because I wanted it all day, but I had to wait. Absence makes the heart grow fonder applies to far more than just human relationships.

That...pretty much concludes this post. 

Friday, May 13, 2011

Morgan Freeman likes fried chicken...and so do I.

Does anybody else think that Blogger selling to Google was a big mistake?

Think about it. As soon as Google took over, things got buggy. And the next thing I know, Blogger is shutting down "for an hour" to do maintenance, and thirty six hours later I'm finally able to get back to my dashboard, but my comments have been cleared.

Yeah. I think the new Google owned Blogger is going to be far less enjoyable than Blogger was previously.

Where are the comments that were left, Blogger? Huh?

Oh, more importantly, why are some of my old posts gone

Yeah. Didn't think I'd notice, did you? Oh, but I do. Some of my favorite all time entries have been deleted...removed. Completely gone from the face of my blog! How do you think that makes me feel? 

Never mind. I'm angry with you. I don't want to talk to you. You're not my favorite internet tool right now. Understand?

Good. I'm moving on now.

I stumbled upon this amusing GIF of Morgan Freeman staring at a KFC menu. I thought it was pretty funny because it's Morgan Freeman...staring at a KFC menu. Apparently there is some stereotype out there that black people like fried chicken.

That's just stupid.

I love fried chicken. My whole family loves fried chicken. People in general freaking love fried chicken. So when I saw the Morgan Freeman GIF, I just thought it was a funny "people in general love fried chicken" thing.

And then I read the comments underneath the GIF and there were all of these people screaming, "RACIST!" Which is how I found out about this stereotype of black people and fried chicken.

Which is stupid.

I thought it was funny. I still think it's funny. Because who doesn't like fried chicken?

There are few things in this world that I enjoy far less than fried chicken. Here are some things that I love much less than a good piece of fried chicken.

Strawberry Cheesecake
Blackened Steak
Chai Tea Latte

Notice how I just listed a bunch of my favorite things to have. But I still love fried chicken more than them. And I don't look anything like Morgan Freeman.

It doesn't make me racist because I find it funny.

And anyway, I'm pretty sure this falls under "stereotype" and not "racism". And yes, there's a difference in stereotyping someone or something and being racist.  If a black man makes a blonde joke is he being racist?


But seriously, people. It's only funny when a blonde calls another blonde a blonde. 

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

It was half my fault Choo Choo was sick.

My dog is allergic to flea saliva. 

It doesn't mean she's GOT fleas. The vet confirms she is one hundred percent flea free. Just that if a flea lands on her for even just a moment and bites her she has a reaction.

But that's not the end of it.

When I found the flea on Choo Choo, I assumed it meant that the Revolution prevention wasn't working for some reason, and out of desperation I went and purchased an over the counter flea and tick killer that I could apply topically to her back.

Turns out, Choo Choo is also allergic to that.

The combination of the flea saliva AND the stupid five dollar treatment resulted in Choo Choo's rash. And because she scratched so desperately she wound up with some open sores and a weakened immune system which led to, you guessed it, and infection.


Full Exam (including tests)- $55.10
Special Shampoo for rash- $20.07
Twenty 100 MG tab pills - $21.99

The grand total on that part ALONE was $97.16. 

But that wasn't all.

Because my dog has to be shampooed with this stuff twice a week for the next month, topically applied Revolution will not be effective in guarding against ticks, fleas, and heart worms. Which meant that her prescription was no longer any good and I had to change it.

Added to my bill:

6 Trifexis K9 Chewable Tablets- $107.04

Whopping total for completely fucking up my dog's skin?


AND she has to go back in seven to ten days so they can make sure it's clearing up.

Lesson learned. I will never do that again. 

On the bright side, the tech who returned Choo Choo to me said she was a very friendly dog, and once again I was informed how very unusual a chihuahua my little Choo Choo is. Apparently she made friends with every single person who she ran into today and awarded all of her personal attendants with kisses.

But there was no doubt about it. She was most excited to see me. Choo Choo started whining and wagging her tail as soon as she saw me and tried to jump out of the Tech's arms. She's now sleeping contentedly on Padawan's pillow. I've given her a bath, one pill, and her heart worm chewable.

And she doesn't know it yet, but she'll be getting fixed on June 16th. (Hopefully.)

Monday, May 9, 2011

Sausage and Choo Choo and a Mouse

Yesterday Padawan and I took a trip out to his Mother's house to leave her flowers for Mother's Day. (I have a key to the house, so it's not like we broke in or anything.) Since we were there, I thought it would be a good thing just to check in on Sausage, just to see how he's doing.

The last time I saw him was March, and he's fatter now than he was then. I took him outside to the yard to play, and I tried to engage him. He got excited and chased me for a few seconds. No, I'm not exaggerating. I mean to say he played for seconds before he stopped and had to lay down because he couldn't breath. Too fat to play, poor thing. So I took him back inside and we played tug of war for a few minutes, but he got tired really fast with that, too. Then he just threw himself into my lap as if to say, "Please stop making me do these things. They make me tired. Can't we just lay here together so you can pet me?"

I obliged him. Sausage has this one spot on his belly that is either really ticklish, or it feels good to have it scratched. His foot goes crazy when you scratch it. Cutest little thing. Choo Choo, unfortunately, doesn't have a foot thumping spot. She just enjoys a good scratching all over. 

Before we left I went to check out the special Diet foot Clueless bought for Sausage.

Good. Grief. 

I never look at brands when purchasing dog food because the brand is irrelevant to me. I always look at the ingredients. The brand she was using was something called Beneful (Beniful?) and the first two ingredients were yellow corn and "chicken by-product meat", followed by "cornmeal gluten." 

The first two ingredients say it all: this is not a good food for any dog, especially one that's on a diet. I don't buy Choo Choo any food that lists those ingredients. Her food may cost me an arm and a leg every couple of months, but at least I know exactly what's going into her stomach. What exactly is "chicken by-product meat" anyway?  A quick Google search tells me that "chicken by-product meat" means clean parts of the chicken that aren't actually meat. Lungs, brain, bone, liver...those kinds of parts. Why on earth would you want your dog to eat that when he's already got health problems?

I pointed it out to Padawan, who promised he would, once again, say something to Clueless. Who, by the way, has her court date set for the end of this month. I would say something to her myself, but we're at that same impasse we've been at since the day after she got out of jail after her second drinking and driving adventure. You know, the one where she's so embarrassed she won't look me in the eye or talk to me because her mother told her all about why I take drunk driving so personally and she knows, or she thinks she knows, what I'm thinking when I look at her.

Stupid and selfish is what I'm thinking, for the record. I make no allowances for youth because plenty of young people her age don't drink and drive. I make no allowances for her being the middle child because I myself am a middle child, and you don't see me doing stupid things like that. 

In the middle of all of this selfishness and stupidity sits Sausage, depressed and lonely and incapable of even playing outside because it's physically strenuous. Poor thing. I am determined that he will come stay with us, if not immediately then when she gets sentenced off to do her time. 

And for the love of sanity, I hope she doesn't make more friends while she's in there. Jail isn't a damned party. It's a punishment. There's something really wrong with our system if people actually come out of jail with friends and claiming they had a good, relaxing time. Is this what my tax dollars are paying for? Criminals enjoying themselves? 

Meanwhile, I gave Choo Choo a thorough examination yesterday, shifting through her fur to find out exactly how bad this skin rash thing is. And I thought it was just the few small spots where I could actually see the skin coming up and making the fur stand out. I thought it just wasn't so very bad. But what I discovered is that this rash/skin irritation covers most of her back and sides. It's just that she can't reach all of those places to scratch. The skin is only coming up in the places she can reach to scratch incessantly. And scratch she does. She rubs on furniture, backwards across the carpets, against the wall while standing on her back legs (and I wish I'd had a camera because, disturbing thoughts aside, it was a pretty cute thing to see her do), and then scratching the regular way with her paws. I brush her three times a day to help drag way the dry skin, but it's not enough. She just scratches up more. 

But there are patches of red, dry, flaky skin everywhere. And I can't figure out how she's not losing fur with her skin this irritated. I'd be ripping my hair out if I itched that badly.

I made an appointment with the Vet this morning. She'll go in Wednesday at seven, and we'll drop her off. Then Dr. Spacey can run tests on her. (They said testing skin samples, which I guess means they'll be pulling off layers of her skin and examining them under a microscope or something.) When they're finished with the tests, they'll call me and tell me what's going on with her. Then they'll say, "You can come pick her up at such and such time." And then they'll give me whatever medicine she needs, instructions, and I'll take her home.

It's unfortunate that Choo Choo came down with this in May, but it's not her fault that May is such an inconvenient time for her to get sick. May is just an inconvenient month. First, there's Mother's Day, which means gifts for Mom and Memaw. Then it's Choo Choo's birthday (which was on Mother's Day). Then Mouse's birthday. Then Relly on the 11th. Papaw on the 18th. Breezy and Lydia on the 27th. And then somebody is always graduating in May. This years it's my cousin, we'll call her Brick, so I'm taking the long, boring drive up to Dallas to be there for that. (Though why I should have to when she didn't even come to MY graduation, I don't know.)

Speaking of commencement, Mouse is coming home in June because he's served his four years of active duty to the Marine Corps. It's about time he comes home. Four years is a long time, and he's missed all of my birthdays for the last four years, and I haven't been able to visit because he's been either in Haiti, where I can't go even if I wanted to cross a shark infested body of water to get there, or in North Carolina when it's iced over in an unpleasant way and I can't deal with painfully cold temperatures. 

It will be nice to have him close enough to see regularly for the summer. You know, before he and his girlfriend/fiancĂ©e pick up and move to the outskirts of Dallas at the end of the summer. But Dallas is a lot closer than Haiti and North Carolina.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

This, that, and the other thing.

Padawan had a job interview something like ten days ago. Same job, bigger building, bigger paycheck. He felt the interview went well and they said they'd "get in touch" in five to seven days. I'm not really sure how this works, but I always thought that meant you'd get a phone call.

I mean, I've never really had a real kind of interview. When I applied at Wal-Mart I had three interviews in the span of an hour, and at the end they told me what they'd pay me and that I could start after my drug test. When I applied at the restaurant I worked at I went in and said I wanted to apply, he gave me the application and asked me some questions, gave me a soda, and told me I could start the next day. When I applied to my current job I came in and filled out the application, got the tour of the store and was told I start Saturday. I didn't even have to answer any questions except, "Do you play an instrument?"

But I've seen lots of movies, and there's always a phone call.

Apparently that's not the way it works anymore.

Padawan got an e-mail congratulating him on being hired by Nerd Gamers-R-Us, and some forms he had to fill out and fax back to headquarters in Seattle were attachments. An e-mail. He got hired by e-mail. 

That's absolutely ridiculous.

Speaking of absolutely ridiculous...

Yesterday I was sitting at work when Padawan called. I wasn't off for another hour and a half, so I was worried something was wrong.

"Chanel, you remember that Survival Guide you read a couple of years ago?"


"Well, I gave it to Master Plo Koon. Do you mind?"

"No. I didn't really like it that much."

"Okay...well, he found a picture of Coffin in it. You drew a mustache on him and wrote dork brain next to his face. Do you remember that picture?"

"Oh yeah..." Coffin is a coworker and friend. We used to live across a courtyard from each other when I was eighteen and in my first apartment.

"Well...when he found the picture he..." But he couldn't finish because he was laughing.

"He what?"

More laughter. "He asked, 'Why does Chanel have a picture of that man that was shot in the news?'"

I didn't know WHAT to expect from this conversation, but that certainly wasn't it. I couldn't help myself. I just started laughing. And laughing. And laughing. I couldn't breathe. Everybody thought I'd lost my mind. 

THAT is the picture he found.

Now, I'm not really sure how he saw Osama bin Laden when he looked at this picture, but I love that he did. Master Plo Koon has an interesting way of seeing the world.

This is the same kid who declared, "I think we lost the Alamo because there were a lot of Mexicans," when we took him to the Alamo in San Antonio.


I'm worried about Choo Choo. She's got patches of skin peeling off and clumping up in her fur. I thought it was Mange, but by all accounts she wouldn't just suddenly come down with it at three years old. She would have been born with it. Skin irritation? Allergic reaction? 

If it doesn't get better I'll have to take her to the vet. 

Friday, May 6, 2011

Yoga and Dogs

Yoga is an interesting experience. 

I have never been a very "Zen" person. In fact, I am a very high strung, irritable, constantly worried individual who can't even walk down the street without freaking out when I see a cricket ten feet ahead of me. Yoga is all about relaxing, man and just being one with the Earth. It's barefoot. It's hippy. It's emptying your mind of all of your worries and just breathing deep and being chill.

It's also contorting your body into positions you didn't think you'd ever be able to manage. 

I enjoy Yoga, but some of it's finer points are lost on me.

First of all, I hate that stupid mother-fucking mirror that lines the wall in front of me. I don't know what it is about that mirror, but for some reason my hips and thighs look twice as wide as anybody else's. It's really hard to make myself look into that fucking mirror to correct myself when I don't like the reflection. And I know it's physically impossible that I really look like that compared to everyone else because I am far away from being the biggest person in that class. But it stresses me to look at that mirror. I suppose she turns the lights off to make the mirror less obvious, but it doesn't help with my neurosis. Once the thought is in there, it doesn't go away.

There's also the minor problem with the partners thing. Instructor likes to pair us up in partners for certain exercises, but she doesn't partner us up with friends in the class. She partners us up with people we don't know. This is a little difficult for me. You guys already know I'm some version of not all there. I don't like working with people I don't know. Especially when you've got to trust said stranger to not drop you on your ass or squish you flat or something. That being said, Instructor originally partnered me with the one Dude in the class.

If I've got issues with strangers, it's like ten times worse when said stranger is male. 

I really tried to hide my horror, but she must have seen my face because a minute later she changed her mind and paired me with another girl. A girl who was heavier than me by about twenty pounds, but she was way preferable to the potentially dangerous and untrustworthy guy who uses a red mat with orange butterflies on it.

Instructor also has to continually correct me. No matter how many times she fixes them, my shoulders will not stay relaxed. I don't know if it's because I've got almost ten years of flute training ingrained into my shoulders, and four years of marching ingrained in my feet, or if it's because I'm just always tense about something. Instructor corrects, and corrects, and corrects, and within seconds my shoulders are hiked back up and tense. Even when I think I've kept them relaxed, I haven't. 

And this whole "tree" position. You know what? I've never in my life had balance problems. I can hop on one foot in high heels and never once wobble or nearly topple over, but the second I try hiking my foot up to my thigh it's like I've got no sense of balance at all and I'm wobbling all over the place.

I do not look like a graceful tree. Even when I try my foot at calf or ankle level, I'm still wobbling. 

I think Yoga is one of those things that I'm going to have to practice at home, so I  have made plans with Jazz to come over tonight and work on it. The weird thing, though, is despite the problems that have presented themselves, I love Yoga. It's fun and I look forward to going back. And I feel really calm after class lets out.

Outside of the realm of Yoga, yesterday when I got home Padawan mentioned that he'd gone to his Mother's to send some information off to his new employer (five hundred dollars more a month after taxes is nothing to scoff at!) and he saw Sausage there.

I've mentioned Sausage before. He's Clueless's dog, a sweet little Corgi who is sadly overweight.

I didn't even have time to ask. Padawan had a reason to bring this up. "He's getting pretty bad."

When Clueless finally took him to the vet a couple of months ago (and it had been well over a year since his last visit), the Vet told her that he was overweight and depressed and he needed more exercise, more play time, and a stricter diet. Corgis are notorious for their tendency to be overweight. Sausage exceeds the typical level of overweight for his breed. When Padawan said, "He's getting pretty bad," he meant that he's getting worse. That Clueless is not making an effort to get him happy and healthy.

"How bad?'

"He's really lethargic. He didn't want to play or anything. He just kind of laid there."

Sausage is three years old, the same age as my loving, scatter brained Choo Choo (who's third birthday is Sunday!), and he doesn't want to play. He's a playful breed. He's supposed to run around and be silly. My dog is still like that. But he doesn't have the will? It's awful.

When we went to bed last night, I couldn't sleep. I kept tossing and turning thinking about Sausage and his health and how it's just wrong to have a pet that you don't play with and don't walk and don't feed properly. And I'd mentioned before that I wanted to take Sausage if and when Clueless gets sent back to jail.

Well, I woke Padawan up at about 1 a.m. and I told him I still wanted to take Sausage. That it would be good for him to live with us, that with Choo Choo to play with all day, and then the two of us in the evenings and on our days off he wouldn't want for any love or attention. We could put him on a healthy diet, take care of his sadly neglected teeth, give him regular baths and heart-worm prevention, and just love and care for him the way he needs to be loved and cared for.

It's not that I think Clueless doesn't love Sausage. I think she must love him very much because he's a very sweet little dog, but she doesn't have the time or inclination to properly take care of him and he's suffering for it. He needs walks and baths and proper food and less treats and for the love of god, he needs a greenie for his teeth before the plaque takes over. Padawan and I can give him a good home.

He said he'll talk to her. I hope she either gets her butt in gear and starts taking care of him, or she sees reason.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Attention Doug

I wasn't going to...


I couldn't help myself.

My Shelfari Bookshelf

Shelfari: Book reviews on your book blog