Check out our happy babies!
Man, I don't know what my deal is, but I love these dogs. Even though--even THOUGH--they make me want to kill them when they get sick and shit all over the house, and they tear apart their rope toys and we need to chase them down and pry the threads out of their mouths before they swallow (especially Hailie--she loves eating string and anything she finds on the floor), and they wrestle and bark at each other when we are trying to sleep, and they run in the only patch of mud in the backyard, and they complicate matters when we want to go out of town. They're pretty good dogs and they are freaking adorable.

Anyway, no more dog talk! The thing to talk about is I just got Season 3 of Arrested Development. It makes me sad all over again that someone had the audacity to cancel such a brilliant show. Still, it's so fun to watch it again and have "For British Eyes Only!" in my head. Ahhh, sweet Bluths.

I've got a sore throat and now, a headache. I hate it. I need a new robotic head. One that will not get achy or sick and will always say "please" and "thank you" and won't bite the nice people who come to see me. Me and my stupid human head.

I can't believe tomorrow is September 1 already. I love the fall. It's the best time of the year, I think. It's not about all the good stuff winding down and getting ready to end; to me, it signals beginnings and fresh starts. Maybe that's why I am getting my ass married in the fall! Ah ha. See how it all works? But truthfully, I know my happy fall attitude has to do with my schoolin' days. I really loved the beginning of a new school year. All those new school supplies! Crap, school supplies make me nutty. I love fresh notebooks and new pens and pencils. I loved getting new school clothes and shoes, and the new backpack and/or lunchbox. I never had a problem getting up for school in the fall. Once winter set in, and the boredom of the monotony of school set in, THEN I began to fake the stomachaches and whine like a little jerk as I dragged my tired self around the house getting ready for school. But in the fall? In the beginning of the year? I loved it.

I really need to get back to work. I'm in shock regarding my shoddy blogging. I'm not updating like I would like to. I admit I use this as my lazy way of "writing everyday" that we writers are supposed to do. So it's more than just some crap for you, the reader, to read when you are bored. It's for me to write (and read) when I am bored. I have not been a good writer this week. Bummer.

So tonight, me and Trish are going to try to see "Wicked." There's not a chance in hell we will actually get in. This will be my third attempt at getting tickets. On Sunday, Greg and I went and waited around on the waiting list for any available tickets...in vain. On Tuesday, I went down and put my name in for the lottery and dealt with ridiculous theater dorks who were singing songs from "Chorus Line" as they hopped around in anticipation of maybe seeing the show. (I was horrified when a particularly doofy guy waiting near me won a ticket; he was singing WAY too much and babbling about his favroite shows to anyone who would listen, and he cheered like a little girl when he won-- "Oh my GOD, WOOOOOO!"-- and I so wanted to stab a shiv between his ribs, kinda like White Power Bill, but without the White Power or the Bill part, just the shiv part, really) I waited around, re-reading Catcher in the Rye and trying to block out the annoying crowd, and did not win a ticket. Tonight has to be the night we get in, because I am not doing this again. I really would LOVE to see this show, since I really enjoyed reading the book and I have heard excellent things about it, but I cannot hang around for hours in the desperate hope of getting a ticket through a lottery. I have other things to do, like have a life! Oh yeah! Suck on that, Wicked nerds!

Well, good bye for now. Maybe I will have a Wicked good time tonight, eh? Eh? Eh? See what I did there? Oh my God, that is FUNNY! How witty and intelligent of me. Oh, my. Hoooo.

We saw "Beerfest" yesterday and I have to say, it cracked my shit up. Of course, I really loved SuperTroopers, so going in, I knew I was game for this kind of movie. If you don't like stupid humor, don't see it. However, if you are the sort of person who laughs at Cloris Leachman, jokes about drinking ram's urine, male prostitutes and Germans, you'll appreciate it.

I also really liked "Talladega Nights: the Ballad of Ricky Bobby." Unlike a lot of movies, they didn't blow their funny wad in the trailers. In fact, some stuff in the trailer wasn't even in the movie. Which was a bummer in one regard; in the movie, I didn't get to hear my favorite line from the trailer, which is: "I can't control my heart rate, I've got a cougar on me!" It's still quite funny, though. I heard it was dumb, but I've never been one to shy away from dumb. And John C. Reilly was comic gold in it, especially with his Jesus prayers.

So what else have I been up to besides seeing movies and laughing way too hard at jokes regarding crepes and drinking beer out of a boot? Well, I'll tell ya: not a whole lot. Work has had me over the proverbial barrel these days; they've got me writing crap every single day. Doesn't seem right. I should have a little more screw-around time.

I think I missed a doctor appointment today. It popped up in my Outlook this morning and I was definitely surprised to see that I was "50 minutes over" at the time. Well, chalk that up to yet another bill I need to pay for not showing for an appointment. This is the second time this summer I have had to do that. I'm one of those people that NEEDS that reminder phone call the day before. Wish they'd called me on Friday. Sheesh. Asshole receptionists at the lazy cocksmoker doctor's office. Makin' me angry.

Did I ever mention how awesome the band The Black Angels is? Well, they are. Trust me on this one. They don't sound like anything else out there right now. Some of their stuff reminds me of the Doors, but not really... they're way better and there are no talks of Lizard Kings. I kind of always hated that Lizard King crap, really. Oooh, you are SO trippy, Jim, you and your dead Indians on the side of the road and your peyote and arrests for public indency. I have no patience for thee, and do not want to go on Mr. Morrison's Wild Ride. ("I am an Indian, but I also represent death.")

Regarding The Black Angels-- they put on a very entertaining live show, so if they are stopping by your city I highly recommend checking them out. Greg and I saw them a couple of months ago, and we were appropriately wowed. They've also got a great lady drummer. I like when there are seriously-talented women in bands that sound like this. Plus, the girls in the band look like real people; they aren't tarted up or anything. I appreciate that. Their album Passover is awesome to listen to at work when you are not totally enraptured with being there-- these are war songs. I always feel like starting a fight with a pool cue and a broken beer bottle when I listen to it at work. Too bad they frown on that sort of thing in the office. Ah, well. Check this band out because I predict they'll get bigger someday, and you'll want to say you heard them way back when the only press they got was on some girl's lame blog about arm sweat or something.

Greg and I went to the Grand Canyon two weeks ago, and it was so nice to get out of the city and surround ourselves with asshole tourists. Seriously though, it was a good time. We hiked along the rim for a few miles or so, and it was way better than the other times I have been to the Grand Canyon. In the past, all I ever did was drive up there with some family members and park by the main lodge (the one the Griswalds stop at in the movie), look in the hole, and then proceed to walk through all the gift shops in the vicinity. It's basically the parking lot tour of the Grand Canyon. After everyone has looked at the big pretty hole long enough (usually about 45 minutes is the absolute limit), we get back in the car and drive back out of Canyonville. The thing is, you can really only LOOK at the Grand Canyon for so long. It's impressive, and awe-inspiring, for sure. But, in this age of cynicism and all that flashy entertainment malarkey, we just don't have the attention span to keep it up. We have to go get some Pizza Hut and maybe stop at a souvenir shop on the reservation on the way home for some "authentic" Indian turquoise.

This last time, we hiked, and that has made all the difference. It really was the paved trail less traveled. We did encounter other tourists along the trail, but it was so much more tolerable than that parking lot. It was a million times quieter and prettier. Because we walked so far, we saw more of the Canyon. Not much more, really... exponentially, we still only saw a mere fraction of the entire thing since it's so freakin' huge and what-not... but we did get to appreciate it more and get closer to the edge.

Plus, the air felt SO clean there. It's a higher altitude, so we definitely felt winded by the end of our hike. We both brought our MP3 players and listened to music for awhile (I have to give proper respect to Beethoven, Bizet and Saint-Saens-- these dudes definitely sound AWESOME when you're looking at the Grand Canyon). Such a great day.

Of course, we did have a few little snags. For one, we both left cameras at home. Who goes to the Grand Canyon without taking a camera? Um, we do. So we had to buy an overly-expensive disposable camera (I really wanted to document Greg's first trip to Da Canyon), and it did feel a wee bit silly winding that little wheel to advance the film when everyone around us had telescopic lenses and fancy widgets and things. At least we were not pretentious. Ha!

The cost to get into the park is $25 a car. I still get a little ticked off at that price. But then we used the free buses and shuttles within the park (I never had a reason to use them before because I never left the parking lot), and I could kind of understand the fee. Someone's got to pay these poor bus drivers, forced to shuttle around stinky tourists all day long and listen to loud Japanese and German and smell ungodly amounts of cheap cologne (you have to wonder why people feel the need to douse themselves in Jean Nate and Axe when visiting a wonder of the natural world) while trying not to drive off the road and kill everyone. I'm not sure I could do it, even when factoring in my secret desire to be a bus driver someday.

We stayed in an inexpensive hotel in Flagstaff, which is such a cool little town in the summer. It's literally cool, since it's pretty high up there and mountainous. Plus, it has old buildings and a mellow, comfortable atmosphere. We had some drinks and walked around the town for a little while-- which is great to do on a Monday night, since there are no crowds to contend with. You do still have to deal with the trains. Those trains are SO loud. I don't get why the conductor has to lean on the horn the whole time he drives through the town. Sure, sure, it's probably got something to do with "safety", but cripes, that shit is loud as hell. It makes me cup my hands over my ears and yell "AHHHHHHH" in a gutteral, strained bellow.

On the way home from Flagstaff the next day, we drove through Oak Creek Canyon. This is my all-time favorite place in all of Arizona, and one of the redeeming things about the state. It's just so gorgeous there! Mountains, windy roads, millions of trees, red clay, mountain streams with big smooth rocks and the smell of pine, cedar and campfires. I love it. A few months ago, the whole area was hit with terrible forest fires, and I was seriously worried. On the news, they'd show the mountains lit up with orange snaking fires at night, and footage of the residents of Oak Creek evacuated to the local high school gym. I was so sad to think this beautiful place could be ruined for decades. It was scary, to be honest.

A lot of damage did happen, but I was so relieved to see that the majority of the canyon seemed intact and still-green. They had set up blockades along the road so you couldn't go into the woods or down near the creek because it was still considered a fire hazard, but I was happy as hell to see it was still the same Oak Creek Canyon. Once we got closer to Sedona, there were whole mountainsides that were scorched, but it appeared that the damage was contained to certain areas and the whole place wasn't destroyed.

We pulled along the road at one point and took a bunch of twisty dead branches from a tree in Oak Creek Canyon. Why? We want to have branches as our table centerpieces at the wedding, and we just don't have enough green trees down in Phoenix to do it. Since we both love the fall, and Halloween, we are adding these elements to the wedding, and we needed branches. It was great to finally find some, and to have them be from the most amazing spot in the state.

That's all I can write for now. So, in closing, things are good, wedding planning is still chugging along, and I recommend listening to the Black Angels and seeing Beerfest. Also: if you want to get rid of armpit sweat stains on your white T shirt, soak the shirt in a bowl of warm water with an aspirin dissolved in it. Then wash the shirt--the yellow should be less noticeable! That's a little tip to help you out.

And don't do drugs!

Hey, who's that black dog with the cookies-and-cream feet with her back to the camera like she's snubbing us? Katie! She was adopted into her new home last night! I am really just so happy about this. Her new owner is the blonde woman (Anne) and the big blue shirt is her fiance Scott. Scott has a lab mix that Katie apparently took to like they were long-lost twins or something. No fights at all.
Wow. I feel so grateful for rescue groups, and that they work to find dogs like her a second-third-fourth chance at a good life.
I just had to share the good news. :) And now we close the chapter on Katie. She'll be fine without us.

Rub a Dub Dub, Get Your Ass Out the Tub

So I was just thinking about the act of taking a bath. Like most people, I am more of a shower person-- it's all about necessity and convenience. But I do like taking a bath once in awhile. I guess there is just something a little strange about an adult taking a bath.

What do I mean? Well, first of all, you really need to have a proper tub for taking a bath in. I'm talking a Roman tub, or a garden tub--heck, any relatively deep tub. But I am not a rich lady, like Ruth Buzzi or something. We have a standard tub in our house. And it's just like the tub I've had in every house/ condo/ apartment I have ever lived in-- small, narrow and utilitarian. So the option of taking a bath in a big ol' luxury tub is not something I happen to have at the moment.

When you take a bath in a normal tub, and you are an adult, you end up sitting naked in water that comes up to your belly button at most. Unless you're of the heavy persuasion, in which case your body mass might push the water up a few more inches on your belly.

You can slide down and rest your head on the back of the tub, but you're just slouching, and in most tubs, you won't be able to stetch out your legs all the way so you are now slumped down in the tub, your knees, head, and if you have abdominal fat like I do, a few fat-rolls sticking out of the water.

I don't find it that relaxing when I am in this pose. I make sure the door is shut so no one can walk in and see me in this very-unflattering position, and I end up kind of sitting there, bored. I splash a little water around, maybe wash up a little, and then I sit there some more. I usually end up fixating on the aforementioned fat-rolls, and feeling crappy about how I look and all that stuff we liberated ladies are not supposed to think about. Worrying about fat stomach = the opposite of relaxation.

I will do the thing with the dimmed lights and/or candles. I've even played music that is soothing and relaxing (oh yeah, I've got me some Pure Moods CDs, those incredible compilations of calm...!). Yet... it only works for the first few minutes or so and then I am uncomfortable in some way like I mentioned above, and I realize again that I am sitting in water up to my bellyfat in my bathtub.

Then there's the question of cleanliness. How clean can you get? I have bubble bath. In fact, I have a few bottles of bubble bath(s). Including a much-adored bottle of Mr. Bubble Original scent that Greg bought. So there are bubbles. And I use warm water, and bring the bar of soap down into the depths of the tub with me. Yet... I don't know... it feels a little icky sitting in water that contains a slick of your own filth. Know what I mean? How clean can you really be at the end of the bath? It's just rinsing and soaking in dirty water when you get down to it. Ehh.

AND you have to scrub the tub itself out before you can take a bath. And this is a job that is better left to the house elves; I HATE scrubbing the tub. But I have to do it if I want to take a bath; otherwise all I think about is I'm sitting on soap scum and look at all those hairs floating around.

And last but not least--the water temperature is always a problem. It's either way too hot or it's warm but cools off in about five minutes and then you are stuck wet and naked in cold water. I tend to lean towards the too-hot side of things. I practically boil myself alive when I run the bathwater. I have to run cold water for a minute before I can lower my whole delicate body into the water. I usually burn the shit out of one foot before I figure this out. You'd think I'd learn. Noooo.

So, I usually just grit my teeth and sit my naked ass down in too-hot water. I get accustomed to it after a few minutes and it will actually feel good. Sure, my skin is turning pink in the water, but warmth is good. Yeah, sure. That's the ticket. Soon I am feeling flushed and my face is sweating, and a few minutes later I notice my heart actually seems to be pumping harder, but HEY! This is what a relaxing bath is all about. Just grin and bear it, as the old saying goes. Or, grimace and get cooked alive.

Someday, I would really love to have one of those deluxe bathrooms with the big tub. I will take baths purely for relaxation purposes, and get out and shower off in the adjoining shower-- not stand up in the grayish soapy water and rinse where I stand like I have to do now-- and get out and feel peaceful, calm and totally relaxed. Just the fact that I have such a luxurious tub will make me change my ways regarding keeping the water way too hot, and I will, of course, also have a maid who comes in a couple of times a week to scrub the tub out so it's always ready for my unclothed ass to hit the porcelain.

Ahh, those days of wine and garden tubs will be wonderful. When I finally stop messing around with all this plebian crap and I become rich, at last. Sure it's fun being a common schlub, but I really need to get my ass in gear and get some money. It's time. Enough with this "being poor" already.

I think my cell phone wishes it could run away from me. I know it feels neglected, underappreciated and...I am ashamed to admit it...physically abused. So I think I need to start being nicer to my phone before it disappears one night, with a little red handkerchief tied around a stick and a can of beans.

I don't know how to re-record my voicemail message. It's not a big deal, really, but it would be nice to have a new outgoing message once in awhile. On my last phone, I recorded the voicemail greeting in the store when a frenzied saleslady shoved the phone towards my face and said, "OK, record your greeting!" and I stammered out some hurried, breathy message that I instantly hated, but I had a strong desire to get out of the Verizon store before I turned into a whirling tornado of arms and gnashing teeth to get all the dumb-ass people around me to BACK OFF (it was seriously crowded in there and people were really invading my personal space in a big way), so I just kept the message, figuring I could figure out how to re-record it later in the comfort of my own home.

Nope. I never did change that message for two whole years. Kristen said my message sounded like I was on crack, and would always laugh at the message whenever she called me. I'm sure other people were wondering why I sounded so out of breath, and why I was in such a rush to say "hithisisLisapleaseleaveamessageandI'llcallyouassoon asIcan.Thank you."

Personally, I always liked the "thank you." Thought it was a nice, polite touch.

Well, anycrap, here's the deal today. I have this new phone, and it's been in my possession since November. Most of the time it lives deep in my purse, where it gets bumped around and shifted into the mysterious "Driving Mode" on occassion. The phone has a camera, and I hardly ever use it because I don't feel like downloading low-quality camera photos from some lousy website. I've got a regular camera, thank you very much. Still, if I go into my phone's camera file, I will usually find about 15 all-black pictures in a row. Somehow, I am managing to take photos of nothing, without even touching my phone. It's clearly crying out: "Use me! I take pictures! Don't ignore my skills!"

Recently I have been running the battery down to nothing, with calls just cutting out after I have ignored the warning "beep-beep" for about 20 minutes and kept on talking. I plug it in almost every night to charge it. I should mention my old, basic phone never ONCE ran out of power. It was like an old pre-1980's Chevy: Built to Last. Or was that Ford. Or GM...? Christ, I don't know my car-commercial references well enough. I need to bone up on that.

Sidenote: I am going to bring back "bone up" in a big way. People just need to start saying it, and I will have done my job. I know it doesn't make sense. Shut up. Just start using "bone up" in your conversations and writing, and we'll move on. Thanks.

This new phone also has the dumbest ringtones ever. I hate each and every one of them. I currently have "Hungarian Dance" as my ringtone, and it blows elephant ass. It has this one high-pitched twinkle sound at the very start of the ring that drives me CRAZY. "Blllling!" This sound makes Indy look at my phone like it's an exotic bird that needs to get the hell out of the room or he will eat it, and has spooked me when I was driving along in a quiet car one night and it went off. I jumped. Sure, I have an unnaturally high startle reflex and all, but to jump at your own cell phone ring seems a little stupid.

And I do not want to download any ringtones. I just resist downloading much of anything. I don't know why. I just fear viruses and other crap that can mess everything up. As far as I know, there are no viruses imbedded in ringtones that can possibly affect your phone, but that's just silly, cautious me getting all bunched up in the panties anyway. I think I like believing that the computer is out to get me if I do anything outside of Windows. Right now I am sweating like a muthafuck thinking about what evils Blogger could send down upon me, if it wanted to.

I am also a texting retard. It can take me 5 whole minutes to text a simple 10 character message. I forget how to backspace. Yeah, I know! That is SO easy. I mean, it's right there. A baby orangutaun born without hands could do it. I also fumble with the punctuation more than I should; and I can't figure out how to text someone that is in my contact list. I have to type the number in every time, unless it's a reply. I can reply. That I can do. The old guys down at the barber shop, when they talk shit about me, they say, "Well, at least that crazy old coot can actually reply every now 'n again."

You might be wondering why old guys at the barber shop talk about me. Let's just say it goes back to my more illustrious days in the USO. They called me "The Brunette Pussybomb." Another story, another day...

So that's about it. My cell phone is feeling very underappreciated and unloved right now as it festers in the bottom of my purse, surrounding my lip gloss and crumbled receipts. It's probably nursing its wounds from the little incident today in Borders.

I was in Borders, wasting the last 1/2 hour of my lunch hour, when I thought I should check the time. So I reached into my purse to grab the phone and see. Here's the thing: I did this while walking. I should never dig in the purse while walking. I am a clumsy person and this is a recipe for failure.

My platform sandal slipped or something (the same shoes I fell in when trying to rescue Katie--I really should get rid of these shoes and get some sensible flats), and my ankle and leg buckled underneath me. The cell phone slid from my hand and went plummeting to the ground, where it bounced and skittered under the leg of the table of "New Paperback Releases." I pulled myself back up and quickly dove after my phone. When I grabbed it, I guess I was a little shaky or something because it again fell out of my hand and went flying into the aisle. This time, the back door for the battery came off. I stumbled after the pieces and gathered them up and shoved them into my purse. I hurried off to the sci-fi section, where no one was hanging around, and rebuilt my phone and proceeded to walk calmly to the music section, where I found nothing at all of interest.

The bottom line is: this phone doesn't like me much, and I have to admit I am not that fond of it, either. It's like the crappy adopted kid in a family with a cherished natural baby. In other words, it's like the Zahara Jolie-Pitt of my family of electronic devices. (My favorite child is my Creative Zen MP3 player--such a sweetheart!) I feel bad and all, but I'm not gonna lie and tell it I love it. That would be mean.

All I'm saying, phone, is this: You're a good phone, sure. I need you. After all, you ARE my phone. But here's the thing. I leave the door unlocked, and there are Snack Packs in the fridge if you need something for the road. I understand your wanderlust and won't hold it against you if you leave.

"The dogs now smell of skunk and douche! Talk about a winning combination."

These words are not mine, but the very funny writings of my old pal Rob. I just visited his blog and read this tale regarding his two dogs and a skunk. It had me laughing so hard I almost burst a blood vessel in my head! Yeeeowza!

All I can say is, I am so grateful there aren't many skunks in Arizona. I know our two chuckleheads would be all over a skunk if they saw one. They're just the kind of retards that would chase down a little mammal that is blessed with stink-ass anal gland juice.

"Where's we at?"

Hoo boy. I haven't been able to blog for days and days now. And look at what it's done to me. It's made me begin paragraphs with the phrase "hoo boy."

SO, hi, anyone who reads this thing. How the heck are ya? I'm good. Things have been happening and work has been binding me up like so much constipation. Still, everything's OK for the most part.

I started this post with "Where's we at?" and it's a reference to the time I went on a field trip to the Newark Museum in lovely, scenic Newark NJ. I was in third grade. My mom was a chaperone on the trip...because my mom was cool like that. She liked to hang around and see what kind of crap her daughter was getting into during those times where Tattletale Laura wasn't around, I guess. And she liked the free food on the field trips. I once saw my mother eat her weight in free ham sandwiches at a picnic table in Poricy Park with the other chaperone mothers. She was also wasted on about 27 Capri Suns--I distinctly recall the crumpled silver bags shimmering in the sunlight, all around my mother's sugar-coma. (Well, I am assuming the mothers got free food when on these trips. Come on. School district's gotta throw momma a bone.)

So where was I... oh yeah, "Where's we at?"

Anyway, on the bus up to the museum, this one girl Janine yelled out, "Hey, where's we at?"

And my mom didn't miss a beat. She turned around and yelled back to Janine: "We's almost at Newark!"

This is one of my mom's most-quoted quotes. We still ask her, "where's we at?" and my mom will snap to attention and do her famous reply for her adoring audience. To this day, if I ever saw Janine again I would give her a hug and let her know what joy she has brought my family over the years. And then I'd test her a little to see if her English had ever improved or not.

I had a weird thing happen to me on Friday, and it involved someone not knowing where a certain dog was at. Sit down. Let me tell you all about it:

I was leaving work on Friday, on my way to the theater to help out with the show. I was going to help out with sound cues and I'd never even seen the tech notes, so it was going to be a crash course right before the show started. I wanted to get there on time to learn what I needed to do. As I was driving over there, I got a call from Lisa, the woman who runs RESCUE.

"Hey, Lisa, this is an odd request, but I was wondering if you are in north Scottsdale anywhere?"

I answered her, "Yes, although I'm driving into North Phoenix at the moment, on my way to a show."

She said, "Well, here's the thing...Katie is missing, and we were wondering if you could help us find her."

"WHAT?"

"Well, a potential adopter was going to take her for the weekend--foster her, see how it goes, kind of like what you did-- and Katie just took off when they opened the car door and now she's running around somewhere around the Paradise Valley Mall."

She went on to tell me that they called me because I was her last owner, and there was a chance she might respond to my voice calling to her. And as luck would have it, I was merely one major street away from the PV Mall when I got the call. Any other night I'd be all the way on the other side of town at that time. I could totally go help, I told her. My adrenaline was going, and I was definitely speeding to the area of the mall. (I called the theater and told them the weird story, and that I'd be there as soon as I could, yadda yadda)

I drove over there and rolled down the windows and started calling for Katie. I searched the parking lot, and the grassy areas around the mall. I didn't know exactly where she was last seen, so I was just sort of driving around without a clue. Finally, at one point, I decided to try going through the neighborhood across the (very busy) street-- maybe she managed to cross the street safely and was now trying to hide in a neighborhood. And yes...she was.

The first street I pulled down, I saw my former dog trotting down the sidewalk. It was so weird to see her again! In such strange circumstances! So, I pulled over and got out with the leash I keep in my car and called to her. She looked at me and took off RUNNING.

So began the 40 minute chase. It was very clear she did not remember me at all and was way too freaked out to come to anyone at that point, anyway. I kept pulling my car up, jumping out and chasing her on foot (in my platform sandals and work skirt, nonetheless) and then having to run back to the car, shove it into drive and chase her a little more. Damn fast dog. I was wheezing like Fatty McGee after about 10 minutes of that shit. But I couldn't stop. I mean, this was Katie, my sweet little girl. The dog I have been thinking about every single day since I had to give her up; the dog I check the RESCUE site for on an obsessive basis to see if she has been listed as "adopted" yet. There was no way in HELL I was going to let her run into traffic and get killed. I can't handle seeing that again, and I was ready to give myself a heart attack if it meant I could finally wear her down and tackle her and throw her into my car.

There were some very scary moments. A man in a truck saw me trying to catch her and tried to help. He also started following her and jumping out to try to help me get her. She was too quick, though, and ran right between us at one point. It was really maddening. (It was especially maddening when, at one 'jump'out-of-the-car point, I opened my car door and in my haste fell FACE FIRST out of driver's seat and onto the pavement. My purse fell too, and the contents went everywhere. Lip balm under the car. Cell phone out in the road. My dignity somewhere far, far away as I tried to get up and bring my skirt back down and balance myself in my stupid sandals. Meanwhile, as I was trying to throw my shit back into the car, Katie was still on the run.) Katie also started to bolt top-speed out of the neighborhood towards the fast-moving traffic at the end of the street. I really just booked it after her, praying like mad that she wouldn't get hit by a car...please let her just stay to the sidewalk, please please please...

Amazingly, she did. Smart girl. She turned the corner and kept running down the sidewalk. I caught up with her in my car and put my hazards on as I drove alongside of her as she ran, her mouth foaming and her pace slowing as she was beginning to limp a little. No one honked at me or did anything mean as I did this, which was great. Katie ran into an apartment complex, and I drove in there too. I parked the car and began the footchase through the complex's little paths and walkways as I looked for.

I found her near the pool, kind of exhausted looking. I had learned my lesson and tried to walk all calm and nonchalant towards her. When she looked back and saw me tailing her, I slowed down even more and didn't look at her. She was on the hook. I moved closer.

But, she figured out my clever ruse and began running. I chased her around the pool. (Yes, people were in the pool just sort of staring blankly at us.) Up the sidewalk, between buildings. Keep in mind it was about 102 degrees out that day and I am in stupid work clothes, and by now I am sweating right through my clothes with my bangs completely wet and plastered to my forehead. I am a complete mess. I didn't give up though; I chased her and called Lisa at RESCUE and told her where we were and tried to give her directions to drive there and help me out.

I did lose her, though. It sucked. I had really tried, but she was nowhere to be found. I felt like I was a quitter, and I was so sad as I worried about her safety as I headed back to my car and began to drive over to the theater. I took one more swing out onto the street to see if there was a chance I'd see her. I didn't see her, but I did see Lisa and some other RESCUE volunteers walking down the sidewalk. I pulled over and hollered to Lisa, who came over to my car.

"We GOT her!" she said happily. "She came running out of the apartments, and we were all right there and three of us just cornered her and grabbed her!" Lisa said she was safe in the car pulled up the block a little ways. Her paws were torn and bloody and she was completely overheated, but she was safe.

I had such a rush of emotions. First of all, I couldn't believe that I saw Katie again. And I couldn't believe that when I saw her, it wasn't by chance at the dog park or at a RESCUE event...it was on a very busy city street. I was glad that of all the people out looking for her, I was the one who actually located her. I was kind of happy she didn't remember me, to be honest. I really want her to bond to her next family now, whoever they end up being. I was sort of disappointed, though, that she didn't come to me. I sort of wanted to pet her again and hug her, especially following that chase. I was exhausted and running really late to the show, so I had to say goodbye and wish them good luck as they tried to get Katie adopted. I got to the theater and sweaty, emotional mess, but changed my shirt and learned the tech cues and did the show. Done. I am a superhero. Of sorts.

So that's my big story for the week. I applaud you if you read this all the way to this point. The good news is, the family that is fostering Katie after this ordeal really like her, and Lisa called me the other day to ask even more questions about her behavior so she could tell the potential adopters as much as possible...they are thinking about adopting her. I am pretty excited for this to happen! Keep your fingers crossed. That poor dog deserves a good home, and one she can stay in forever this time.

The show went well. I had other adventures this week, including a long, relaxing hike on the rim at the Grand Canyon and dealing with Malcolm's latest mysterious illness, but these are tales for another blog post. I just hope I can manage to write them out here tomorrow. Sheesh.

We's almost at bedtime. I must retire for the eve. Fare thee well. :)

Q: Who was cleaning the living room today and, while dusting, sprayed some cleaner on the wood furniture and then was frustrated by the lack of cleaning power ("hey, this Pledge is working like shit!")? And it turned out she was trying to dust with Lysol instead of Pledge? Because the two cans are about the same size and the same shade of blue?

A: Me. And it was weird that the smell of Lysol didn't tip me off sooner.

Q: Who used leave-in spray conditioner on her hair today...which is good...but also managed to aim the nozzle directly in front of her eye and spray it right in there?

A: Me.

Q: Who has a huge, purple Mystery Bruise on the back of her arm in almost a perfectly round circle, but has no idea how the hell it could have gotten there?

A: Me. Are you seeing a pattern yet?

Q: Who likes to write annoying blog posts in a lame Q&A format? Even when she hasn't done a decent blog in almost a week and she sort of owes the blog a decent offering...yet she does this junk at 12:30 in the morning after a hearty Applebee's meal and a Bud Light?

A: Your mother.

The show got a second great review. I am very proud! http://www.goldfishpublishers.com/Vamp_ITC.html

Yup, I had to just post the link here in that format. Blogger is not allowing me to post the link properly. Why's Blogger got to be like dat? If you are reading this on August 8, it will look like that until I can get in tomorrow and fix it. And write an actual blog.

:)

(Today this quote from Can't Hardly Wait is in my head: "Oh baby PLEASE! You are far too fine to look SO SAD. You just tell Special K what he can do to make it better.")

Peace out.

Wow, today is a mixed bag of tricks. It’s coming off of a very nice weekend, in which I hung out with Greg out by the pool, went to the movies (Miami Vice!), and got a lot of wedding things taken care of.

Trish got her maid of honor dress yesterday in Windsor! We were so excited about it, because it is a very flattering and pretty dress and it only cost $49. I also got some slip-on shoes that will probably be the ones I’ll wear on the weddin’ day. We also bought an arbor and some jars for the centerpiece decorations, so we definitely got a lot done.

However, today I find out that the photographer we contracted with has been accused of shady dealings. Not cool! The local news channel even did an “investigative report” into her and her business, calling it a “wedding scam.” Oh, great. That’s just so wonderful. And to think: Before we met with her a few months ago, I looked up her company on the BBB and when she wasn’t listed, I took it to mean she was too new or had no complaints or something. So I didn’t worry. I didn’t know the other name she does business under so I had no way of knowing. The other business has a total of 15 complaints logged! Yeesh.

In good news, VAMP, the show I have being doing PR for, opened to a very good review this weekend. I’m happy for them, because they are a brand new company and the show is in a tiny little strip-mall theater and everything, and yet they managed to get very big houses all three days this weekend, and now a decent review. Read the Get Out review here.

In closing, I feel pretty damned good about a lot of things that are coming together, and life in general, and shitty about the photographer thing. I don’t really know what to do yet about it, but I am sure we’ll figure out something.

Make sure you check out “Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace” on the Sci-Fi Channel. It’s hilarious British humor; a spoof TV series about a fictional 1980s supernatural hospital drama. Greg turned me onto it and the man has not done me wrong yet when it comes to new shows and movies. But check it out, if you can. I highly recommend it!

Last night was the 48 Hour Film Challenge screening, and the movie that Kane and Trish made won the award for Best Acting Ensemble! I am very proud of them.

Honestly, I think the movie turned out really great, and it's nice and creepy. Kane created a page for the film at Myspace; you can see it here.

The 48 Hour Film Challenge is a contest run by the people that do the Phoenix Film Festival, and this is what it's about: teams of filmmakers have 48 hours to write, shoot, edit, score and deliver a 3-minute short film. The teams are given a genre, a line of dialogue and a prop they need to follow and work into the film. Last night, they screened all of the entries, and handed out awards afterwards. It was a lot of fun.

Watch that film. It's one of the only places you can see my sister about to get her throat slashed. Which doesn't creep me out at all. Nah.

The Lady or the E-mail

Sometimes, I worry that when I am signing an e-mail at work, I might accidentally sign it "Love, Lisa." I am quite guilty of thinking about my significant other frequently throughout the day, sometimes even as I am typing out a response to an e-mail my boss asked me or someone is asking me to forward over a document. So that's why I worry I might type in the normal closing I use in those love-soaked e-mails without thinking about what I was doing. God, it would be embarrassing to do that.

Also, I worry that I might possibly send an e-mail to the wrong person or someone who should absolutely never see that e-mail. I'm thinking of when I get an e-mail from someone and it's something that makes me mad, or that I think is stupid, and I want to forward it to a friend and share it (along with my snide comments, of course)... I worry that in my forwarding process, it might somehow also reply to the offending party as well. I don't know why I think about that. I even go back and check the send file just in case. This applies not only to work-related e-mails, but personal ones as well.

Two simple solutions to both of these problems: For the first one, write a signature that will just automatically go at the bottom of my work e-mails, so the "love" thing never is an issue. (I think I am more likely to do it if I type my name. If I just end a correspondence without signing, I might be OK) For the second problem, maybe not be such a catty bitch all the time. It's clearly a case of guilty-conscience crap. I need to quit being mean. Or sending negative karma out there into the world through my nasty e-mails.

Ehhh. Sorry. Sometimes people just need to be bitched about. I have a lot in common with the tiger: I cannot change my stripes. And I also like to lick meat off of bones and bat littler, weaker creatures around with my giant paws (hands).

It's a banner day here at the Armsweat Blog! With the help of my tracker, I have found out I am the Number 18th choice when one does the search for "cheesy labia."
Who knew? Wow.

If I did this search, I'd personally get a little more specific in the wording. Bleu Cheese Snatch. Swiss Clit. You get the idea.

The Bad Haircut

There's a lady here that I am kind of fascinated with. She is middle aged and quite strange. She wears weird polyester-blend tops (yes, the word tops applies here--not shirts, these are TOPS) and leggings or pants with a visible elastic waistband. She's very pale, as if she never goes outdoors. She's probably about 50-70 pounds overweight, kind of dumpy and kind of unkempt in general.

Look, I don't mean to be superficial and seem like I am focusing solely on her outer appearance, because I'm not, really. Well, maybe a little I am. But that's because she is so WEIRD when you try to say anything to her. You can't get to know who this lady is because she doesn't exactly let anyone in.

She has the worst hair. It's normally kind of short, a bland dull brown color, and kind of frizzy and all over the place. I want to give her some conditioner and send her into the ladies' room for a little moisturizing and a comb-through. But that might be perceived as mean somehow. I really would like to do it, though.

She also wears bright red lipstick. EVERY DAY. No other discernible makeup; just red lipstick on her thin, unsmiling lips. Like I said, her appearance just fascinates me and I always notice her if she is walking down the hall or something. She stands out.

As for her personality--she is a grunter. Meaning, she doesn't really say anything if you hold a door open for her (which I have done) or pick up her napkin when it blows off the counter in the breakroom (again, I have done this). With the door thing, she just walked through without breaking her lumbering stride and didn't make eye contact with me. With the napkin, she did the grunt of thanks. I think it was thanks. It sounded like this: "Egh."

She sits in the far breakroom and talks on her cell phone to someone almost every day. The conversations sound tense and unhappy. I overheard her saying something about "he needs the injections" one day. I ran away. I don't want to know, really.

TODAY:

I go in the breakroom to fill my water glass, and she is in there like usual, slumped in a chair and eating something that could be rice pudding-or-could-be-cottage-cheese. But something is different. For today, she is displaying a new haircut! And this haircut is really terrible. Like Flo-Bee terrible. Like someone just ran up to her and started cutting sections out of it, Jackass style. I know the phrase "it looks like someone took a weed-whacker to it" is a cliche and all, but that's really what it looked like. A shocking mess.

She looked up and made eye contact with me as I was looking (gawking) at her and her new hairstyle. Caught unawares, I managed a grin, a nod and a "Hello." She says:
"Huuuui."

(It was the word "Hi" but drawn out in a gutteral tone with what really sounded like a "U" in there.)

And here's where it happened.

I couldn't help it and I burst out laughing.

I felt so bad. I filled my water glass and got out of there as fast as I could. I can't believe I laughed like that. Hopefully, she thought I was just a crazily-happy person or something. I hope she didn't realize I laughed at her. Well, nothing I can do now!

By the way, this is what Yahoo Images pulled up when I did a search for "bad haircut":

Damn, bitch!

Want to know why I have no good college stories? Because I was a commuter. That’s why.

I didn’t live on campus. Campus was, in fact, a good 40 minute drive away. Each day I’d get in the car and drive my ass down to school, sometimes for an 8:00 class. And I was hardly ever late. I was a total nerd.

Halfway through college, I decided I was missing out on some stuff so I wanted to transfer to another school where I could afford to live on campus. (My college was a private university with very steep tuition and room and board fees; I only went there because of a scholarship) I almost went through with the transfer when I realized I’d have to spend at least an extra semester in school to make up for the credits that wouldn’t transfer. So I stuck it out and graduated right on time and got out of there.

I bring this up because I often think about how different I might have been, had I had the benefit of a social life in college. I know so many people that have great friends they met in college or were in a sorority or fraternity with, and I admit to being kind of jealous of that. I wish I had drunken college stories. I do. I’d love to have weird things to tell my kids about someday. “One time, your mother stole the windshield right off a garbage truck, true story.”

My reality is this:

My first drunken experience resulting in a hangover? At a bus convention in 2004. Not in college.

My idea of a fun Friday night in college? Working at the video store and having it be a slow night so I could put on a movie I felt like watching and not have to deal with too many customers. I could also play the store’s Star Trek pinball machine. Woo-hooo!

My drink of choice in college? Snapple Iced Tea.

The funniest thing I ever did in college? Hmm. Probably pass a note to this guy Joe that had some Silence of the Lambs quote on it, and making him laugh out loud during a lecture. I am a WILD woman, I tell you.

My first college party? Last semester, senior year, I was finally invited to attend a party. I went, didn’t drink, and went home after a few hours. Probably to go home and watch Mystery Science Theater 3000 or something like that.

Number of people from college that I am still in touch with? Zero. Well, I am on one girl’s mailing list for her business, but that’s the closest I’ve got.

The only time I got close to being arrested? Not in college, I can tell you that. Sadly enough, it was the time me, my boyfriend at the time, Kristen and her now-husband walked into our old high school when I came back to visit NJ after I’d been living here in AZ for a few years. It was a Sunday, and the doors were open, so we walked in and walked up and down the halls and laughed at stuff. Quite harmless. When we walked back out again, two cop cars were at the doors of the school waiting for us. Apparently we tripped silent alarms. Also, apparently, walking into your old high school on a Sunday is trespassing. I got a little mouthy with the cop, who was someone me and Kristen graduated with. I was mad because he didn’t remember me. I had the Arizona driver’s license as my ID and he was acting like I was lying about going to school with him. Yeah, buddy, you don’t remember me because I was quiet and not popular. Way to remind me. Anyway, we didn’t get arrested although the guy threatened to “show up at your mother’s door and arrest you if we find out you planted any sorts of bombs or anything.”

So it boils down to I was only almost-arrested for sneaking back into high school. When I was 25. And they thought it was to plant a bomb.

Yeah. Not so glamorous or interesting. I probably come off as a dangerous psycho to some of these people from my past.

And I think people think that because…

I WAS A COMMUTER IN COLLEGE! I am not a normal person.

But you know what...it's cool. I had an air of mystery. I like to tell myself that I still have that air. What you're smellin' around me is mystery-- not BO.