OLD LANG SIDE
(This is possibly the stangest Merry Christmas greeting I found this year; couldn't resist throwing it up here.)

Happy New Year! I hope that next year will be better than this one, for everyone. Even if 2007 was a good year, my wish is for 2008 to be even greater.

It has been a nice holiday season. I've been off since December 21, and taking the long break around Christmas has been awesome. It feels like being back in school and having that long Christmas break. I love and appreciate my job. They're great people.

I haven't done all that much with my break, other than relax, sleep late, read and watch movies. I bought some post-Christmas sale stuff last week, but nothing amazing. A nice sweater at Old Navy, and lots of Christmas items at Target. We have an all-blue and silver tree motif, so we bought up any coordinating ornaments that went on sale, so now next year we'll have even more. (We lost a few this year to floor-breaks; the dogs' wagging tails tend to knock the lower hanging ornaments onto the floor, and once I accidentally rammed the vacuum hose into the tree while cleaning and shattering one that way, oops.) I'd still love to get a prelit tree to replace the old tree we've got (it's almost 10 Christmases old now, and takes a long time to assemble, and we still need to wrap lights on it like common plebians), but overall we have nice decorations now.

We made a great Christmas dinner! Well, Greg made it, and I helped by washing dishes and pans. We had ham at my Mom's request, and then Greg made some orange tarragon chicken with a wild rice, broccoli and cheese sauce casserole, with green beans almondine and homemade rolls. For dessert, he made an apple upside down cake with pecans and Trish made a chocolate lasagna with buttercream icing and chocolate chunks. Everything came out so delicious. And I'm telling you, orange tarragon chicken is probably my new favorite way to make chicken. I'm proud of Greg and his recipes.

A lot of our magazine subscriptions started this month. I do an online market research thing and through it, I earn free subscriptions, so I get Redbook (yeah, sounds old lady-ish, but I actually enjoy it), Real Simple (this one's yet to begin but I should get my first issue soon) and Greg gets Inc., Dwell, Shape, Maxim and one or two other ones for free, too. One I've liked so far is Dwell... it's great home-daydream fodder, and they have a lot of cool advertisements and mentions of products I never heard of before. Currently, I am coveting the kitHAUS k3 from www.kithaus.com; it would be so sweet to have a little office out in our yard, by the pool... it could double as a guest house/cabana, even... ooh, I want one. I'm also interested in getting an Emancipet 2008 calendar; found out about it through a full page ad in the magazine. Lots of neat stuff. I'm excited for the next one to arrive already.

Well, I'm off to go see No Country for Old Men now. Like I said earlier, have a great New Year! I'll write more next year, har har har har.

DUMMIES AND KINGS

I love saying “you big dummy!” in that Sanford voice to Indy. Or any of our dogs who might do something stupid. But mostly, that’s going to be Indy, because he is just batshit insane on any given day. I can’t bring myself to curse him out, exactly, because he is also cute as hell, and I love him to pieces. So, for now, calling him a big dummy works very well. And a lot of the time, he hasn’t even done anything except look at me while I am washing the dishes or something, and I hear “you big dummy” come out of my mouth. It’s really just another term of endearment, but it’s one that is incredibly fun to say.

We had a company holiday party today. They had a catered lunch brought in, with pretty decent food, too. The only thing was, the whole company formed a long line that went outside the building and led into the break room, where the food was set up buffet-style. I don’t mind waiting in line for free food, hell no. I do mind the Creepers, the people who can’t seem to wait another damn second to get their ass up to that food table, and spend the whole time in line just inching closerandcloser to me, like that’s going to make me magically float along faster or something. Back the hell off, Creepers. Just relax. There is plenty of food for everyone, even greedy retards.

I think I have issues because I had a quick image of concentration camp prisoners straining against the crowd as they clamored to get some mushy food served out of dirty vats. What can I say; the way we all looked so hungry and anxious, with our gleaming teeth gnashing in anticipation of eating the free food, just sort of reminded me of the atrocities of World War II. No one can say I don’t have the Christmas spirit coursing through my brittle body. They can try saying it, but I’d like to see them finish saying it with my boot pressing down on their throats.

I keep hearing the same Christmas songs over and over again, especially that Windham-Hill stuff. It sounds like Kenny G or something. I don’t think we hear enough of “Good King Wenceslas,” personally. It’s because Wenceslas is a cool word to roll around in your mouth for awhile. (Plus, I know how to spell it without looking it up; I didn’t know I could do that!) And since I wanted to know what made this King Wenceslas so good, I did a little poking around on the nets. Here’s some of the traditional lyrics, so maybe I can try to break it down:

Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Gath'ring winter fuel

"Hither, page, and stand by me
If thou know'st it, telling
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain
Right against the forest fence
By Saint Agnes' fountain."

"Bring me flesh and bring me wine
Bring me pine logs hither
Thou and I will see him dine
When we bear him thither."
Page and monarch forth they went
Forth they went together
Through the rude wind's wild lament
And the bitter weather

"Sire, the night is darker now
And the wind blows stronger
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, my good page
Tread thou in them boldly
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly."

In his master's steps he trod
Where the snow lay dinted
Heat was in the very sod
Which the Saint had printed
Therefore, Christian men, be sure
Wealth or rank possessing
Ye who now will bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing

So, basically, he just wanted to help some poor hobo and in my book, that’s cool. It’s a whole song about someone actually doing something nice and even though they have that line about “Christian men” towards the end, it’s a Christmas song without being strictly about the Christian side of it. No mentions of mangers, stars in the night sky, drummer boys or baby Jesus. Just the story of a rich guy who looks out, sees a hobo in distress, and does something about it. And he’s MAGICAL too, because in the act of doing something nice for the hobo, his very footprints in the snow are warm for the cold little servant guy following behind him. Message: giving to hobos warms the heart. And the feet, apparently.

What a good song that is! Who cares if it’s in the type of English that we had to learn in school during Shakespeare Month? It’s still better than the endless covers of “The Christmas Song” and “Silent Night” that play around the clock. Or, god forbid, “Wonderful Christmastime” from Paul McCartney. Holy crap.

I’m bringing Wenceslas back. Them other kings they don’t know how to act. I think it's special... what’s behind his back. For all them hobos, he'll pick up the slack.

One more time:
YOU BIG DUMMY!

FOCUS!

Sometimes, a photo comes out so perfect you just can't wait to share it with the world. The one above is one of those photos. I think we look fantastic, here in this photo taken by a passing resort worker during Greg's holiday work party. What a gorgeous Christmas tree! And I love our beaming, happy smiles... and let's face it, my hair was awesome that night. I'm thinking this is next year's Christmas card photo.

I didn't have jury duty today after all. I was released. I called last night and the recorded message said so. I keep thinking of catch and release programs for fishing, or Jennifer Garner movies. I was caught, but now I am free again. By the grace of God go I into a glorious day without jury duty.

A couple of things of note...

Trish is getting married!! While they are in NJ on a holiday trip, Kane proposed to my precious little sister. He took her to dinner at one of her favorite restaurants, and then to the pier at the Spy House, where he asked her to be his wife. The ring is really gorgeous; I saw it before they left. They have been together for 5 1/2 years now, so it was time. He had better take good care of her, OR ELSE. They don't call me CRUEL shoes for nothing, and the truth is that Malcolm has gone too many years without the taste of human flesh. Anyway, I am very happy for Trish, and wish them the best!

On December 21, both my cool husband Greg and hometown hero Naynay are having birthdays! On a related yet serious note, I am praying for Naynay and her family as her Dad recuperates from heart troubles this week. I hope he gets well soon.

And, finally, this lighted gingerbread house resin sculpture at Target last night is just adorable. It looks like real crackers on that roof, and that frosting seems like it would be wonderfully sugary. I want to eat it. I love cracker-shaped resin.

INK

I faced a fear of mine last Wednesday night: I took part in a voluntary writing critique with my writer’s group, where I shared two pages of my book. It went surprisingly well, and I had a good time reading the other author’s works and commenting on them, too. And I learned a thing or two that I can use to improve my work based on the feedback I got. (For one, I overuse adverbs, but I totally could have told you that. Ha.) When it was over, I felt great. Leading up to it, however, was another story, pardon the pun.

I spent so many hours just going through my manuscript (well, what I have of it so far) trying to find the perfect 2 pages of text to bring. I did quick edits and moved copy around, and printed out about six excerpts that I thought could work. Then I made my husband read them all and tell me which one was the best, because I could not make up my mind to save my life. I felt so scared. I can’t believe I signed up for the critique in the first place, really. I have been keeping the story so private for so long, that I feel almost embarrassed to share it. I feel like people are going to think it’s written in a weird tone. I worry that my character’s voice doesn’t ring true, or that my dialogue is going to suck. Most of all, I worry that it could just be a poor story overall. I don’t want people to read something that’s bad. There’s enough bad fiction in the world as it is, and I don’t want my story thrown into that pile.

But, I had to do this. I had to step up to plate and see what would happen. It’s been too long…I have been working by myself on this thing, alone, and I think the solitude of my mindset when I am writing could be bringing my story down at a time when it should be barreling out of me top-speed. (I have the whole plot mapped out in my head and I can’t wait to read what I write when my characters go through it, so I am anxious to get there right now.) I have been relying on my own feedback, and not letting anyone else in. Frankly, I think I knew it was time to test it out. Otherwise, I might never finish this thing. I’d just keep spinning my mental tires in the mud.

Also, I think the worst thing is when you give a few printed pages to an acquaintance who says they will read it and let you know what they think, and then this person never says another word about it. I’ve had this happen a few times now with this book…I have let a select few read some of it, and the lack of response is just awful. I feel like these people might have tried to read it, but just the beginning alone bored them or turned them off, and maybe they are too shy to admit they didn’t like it. Trust me, I would rather hear “I didn’t like it” than NOTHING.

So, yes, I am really trying to come out of my writing hiding place. But if I can just find a few more places to get the sort of fair reading that I did this past week, I think it could get easier and easier. Criticism can be tough to hear sometimes, but it’s really awesome, too. I can see my book through new eyes and find new paths to take or things to try. I love that.

Do I want to get this published so that a lot of people can read it? Yes, I do. I don’t care if I only sell 100 copies, as long as it is out there and I have that feeling of accomplishment. However, last week I realized that the number one thing pushing me to write this book is I want to read it, myself. I have always been writing this book for me. And what I care about is finishing it now. I want to get it out, purge it from my brain, if you will, so I can move on to my next book. Because I can’t give that story my full attention until THIS one is done. It sounds stupid, but I just keep feeling almost guilty if I work on the new one when this old one has been waiting so long to be finished. So, if I finish this one, I can do other things. Amen.

I got a tattoo nine days ago! I haven’t said anything about it because I thought I’d wait to take a picture of it to go along with the post, but now I’ve sort of changed my mind about the picture. It’s a great tattoo and I am very, very happy with how it turned out. I got it on my left shoulder, and it is a purple star with a “G” wrapped around it; Greg got one on his wrist of an “L” wrapped around a red star. He designed both of them since he’s a really good artist, and we have had the designs for over a year now. It just took awhile to find a tattoo artist we would like. But he found someone, and the very next day we were in the chair, letting her ink us up.

It did hurt, but it wasn’t so bad. The outline barely bothered me, but the shading was tougher to handle. The hardest part of the whole experience has been the healing process. It’s been hard to find clothes that won’t irritate it, and I have to wear strapless bras for awhile until it’s healed. I’ve been going to the gym frequently these days, and this has meant working out in a strapless bra. NOT FUN. I hate it. I can pretty much only ride the stationary bike. And I can’t do any upper body strength training because I could mess up the tattoo by moving the muscles too much. Bah.

The tattoo itself bothered me all of last week, being sore and gross-feeling most of the time and then moving into dry and itchy territory. Today is the best it’s been and I know the hardest part is definitely over now. Soon I can get busy showing it off.

I feel so happy I did this. I’ve always wanted a tattoo, and to finally get one feels like an accomplishment. I like seeing it in the mirror, and I like knowing that if I am murdered and my body dumped somewhere, I might be able to be identified by this tattoo. Seriously, it’s just a nice thing. I might consider getting other tattoos down the road.

Saw two great movies this week, too:

I Am Legend
And
Juno.
Both movies made me cry. If you saw I am Legend, you know what I am talking about. If not, just know that a sweet dog plays a key role in this film, and that’s a recipe for Lisa Crying if there ever is one. I will get teared up in movies with dogs, period; the dogs can be perfectly happy and safe from danger and if they get a cute enough shot of the dog looking at its master BAM I am crying. But aside from the crying, it was an awesome movie and it deserves the big money it’s pulling in. I only wish the ‘infected’ people didn’t look so CGI. I’d prefer they used actors made up to look really, really sick. But yes, it was great overall and I would see it again.

Another movie I’d see again is Juno. Wow! I loved the story so much, and it had Michael Cera in it. It was funny and managed to be touching without getting sappy-sentimental. Since I am thinking of adoption one day in the future, a lot of the movie spoke to me on a level I wasn’t expecting. I thought it would just be quirky, funny and that would be it. Instead, I found a tear escaping my eyes by something Jennifer Garner does. Which shocked the hell out of me, since I never liked her very much. Who knew? Either way, SUCH a good film, with great writing, acting and direction.

Well, that’s all for now. I should get some work done. I can’t believe it is a week until Christmas Eve already. That snuck up on me, even though my shopping is all done and 99% of the cards have gone out. It just seems like we should have a little more time to breathe, somehow. We haven’t even gotten the outdoor lights up yet. Maybe we can skip it this year. We did get the tree up, and a wreath on the door, so that’s great. Maybe it’s all we need.

I better not get stuck having to do jury duty on Wednesday. I got yet another jury duty letter a month ago, and most of the time I am lucky because when I call the night before I am called, I find out my group is not required to be there. I hope that happens this week, too. I can’t imagine getting stuck on a case through the holidays. I’m thinking of being dishonest if it happens; I’ll work to come off as a close-minded radical racist or something. And no one would want THAT on their fancy jury.

Hey, The System, hear that? That’s the sound of me screwing you.

FRIGGY FRIDAY

I did not want to come into work this morning. While I was lying in bed, repeatedly hitting the snooze button and finally, resetting the alarm so I could sleep later (and take a shower when I got home instead of before work...the office can handle skanky unshowered me today, damn it), I had a feeling I should just stay home. I was tired as hell for whatever reason, and I was thinking about how later on today we need to take my car in to get new tires and an oil change, yadda yadda... point is, I didn't want to go. And I didn't have a really great reason. Just wanted to be home.

I got up, though, and got dressed like a good unwashed person, and let the dogs out. When I was getting ready to eat my breakfast, I noticed something awful. Whenever I used the kitchen faucet, a fine spray of water was fanning down from the top of our windowsill over the sink. It was dripping out of the wall, getting my ugly houseplant on the sill all wet and making a general mess. Ohhhhh, great.

Plumbing problems. DAMN IT.

I couldn't bring myself to wake G up just to tell him we had a bit of a water crisis out in the kitchen. I wouldn't want to be woken up from a peaceful sleep with that sort of thing. So I wrote him a long note and told him I can come home later if he needs help fixing it or can get a plumber to come out. I'm just pissed off that this has to happen, right now. It's already "let's pay a lot for new tires" weekend and everything, and his birthday and Christmas are right around the corner. Plus, Malcolm is filthy this morning. Yeah, that seems trivial -- but it annoyed the hell out of me that when I picked him up this morning after he was outside, he had mud all over his belly like he'd laid down in something out in the yard. He needed a bath, but since I really can only wash him in the kitchen sink, an emergency bath wasn't an option. So he got a paper-towel bath and a scowl/ bitch session from me before I had to leave and come in to get a few work things accomplished.

Tonight is G's company holiday party. It's at the same swanky resort it was held last year, and we need to dress up a bit. I don't know what that's going to mean for me, right now. I have some dresses, and nice skirts with cute dressy cardigans and stuff, but I honestly don't know what I will end up wearing to this thing. Last year, there were women there in prom dresses. I swear. Some even had Prom Hair. Prom Hair on adults just makes me sad. It makes me think of pitiful attempts at being cool for a night; women who had crappy proms and because now they were promoted to Office Manager, they are a success in their minds and therefore this new night to dress up and be pretty will kind of make up for their shitty pasts. It never does, nor can it. Prom is Prom. It's a night engineered to spawn unabashed teenaged bullshit. And you are supposed to be awkward and deal with emotional dramas at your real Prom. Corporate holiday parties are for getting drunk and eating a free meal, and leaving as soon as you can afterwards. Simple, down and dirty. These parties do NOT require a hair and nail appointment. Or, god forbid, a corsage. I will openly point and laugh like a mean girl if I see anyone wearing one of those tonight. I will.

So, Prom Hair Ladies...get over it. This ain't prom. It was decades ago. Be a real woman, for Christ's sake, and dress like a normal person and go drink with your cool co-workers, avoid the people you don't like, smile wanly at the boss, sit around bullshitting, and, I don't know, swipe the centerpieces. (I wouldn't know anything about swiping holiday party centerpieces, nope...especially not centerpieces that look like, umm, mardi gras masks and what-not...nooooo.)

Well, here's to Friday. It is still the weekend, and we do still get a free meal tonight. So it's not all bad. I just wish to hell water wasn't dripping out of the windowsill in my kitchen, and my car magically acquired brand new tires. That were free. And that Malcolm lived in a little plastic hamster ball that kept him from being a filthy mofo. That's the Friday I want today.

It's not even 9 yet, and I want a beer. Make it a High Life. The champagne of beers. I want a beer buzz. This can't bode well for the rest of the day. Then again, boozy Lisa could bode very well, and quit bitching to the internets for five freaking minutes. So, bring on the cheap beers! And big carb-heavy sammiches, for that matter. Nomnomnom!

WAFFLE HOUSE!

The gods above have heard my cries. I prayed and begged, and bargained, and for years it seemed my wailings had gone unanswered. But I'm here to tell you never to give up on your dreams, prayers or shrieks. For, lo and behold, the gods DO still bestow miracles upon mankind, and I have proof: they have deemed to bring me a Waffle House!

Yes, it's true. They are building a brand-new Waffle House only about a block away from our home. What was once a bare lot in front of the sports grill is now a red brick structure with a red awning and the bright yellow-and-black sign that says "WAFFLE HOUSE" in proud bold letters. They've been busy well into the night over there, adorning the interior of the restaurant with accoutrements befitting only the best of Waffle Houses. Big, round white globe light fixtures beckon like happy bubbles, and the gleaming white tile on the walls promises deliciousness in the near future as I peer in the glass whenever I drive past the soon-to-open Waffle House.

I believe I love this Waffle House.

I simply can't believe our luck. Waffle Houses don't just pop up in any old place, you know. They are relatively rare around these parts. And to have one come to our sleepy little corner of the world is just short of incredible. Oh, hell... I'm just gonna go ahead and say it! It IS incredible!

This means we can WALK to the WAFFLE HOUSE. WALK. And be there in about five minutes. We don't need to bring the car! We don't even need to put on proper walking shoes... we can just venture out of our front door and walk right on over to the Waffle House for waffles any old time we want. I bet we could even go over sans pants. Not that we would. We aren't those kind of people, despite what you might have heard. But my point is, I bet I could get away with saying my shirt is one of those fancy "tunic dresses." So there I could be, sitting on a stool at the Waffle House counter, ordering myself a big plate of waffles with lots of butter and syrup, with no pants on. And all of this just a block away from home. AMAZING.

My only dilemma is coping until the grand opening of the Waffle House. I could really use some waffles now. I've been working out and eating better, and I can't possibly risk losing any weight. I need to cram my big mouth full of the waffly stuff. Soon. Hurry up, Waffle House builders, and open the doors! I want to spend money on waffles! LOTS of waffles! So many waffles I will need to puke up what I eat, and then go eat some more waffles because they are just so good and I can't stop.

I'll definitely let you know when it opens. I can only imagine how excited you must be for me.

FUN FACTS ABOUT OUR HOME
It's a cold, rainy Monday morning and I only want to curl up with a book, not do any actual work. However, work must be done. I don't know how this works, but a lot of the time if I write a blog, I can then jump into productivity for the day. So, for the sake of shaking off the weekend and getting down to business, I decided to do this meme I saw on Fraulein N's blog last week. Let's hope this does the trick.

What kind of soap is in your bathtub right now? Lever 2000 original and some girly Bath and Body Works stuff I’m sick of and wish it was gone already so I can move on to some new soap

Do you have any watermelon in your refrigerator? No.

What would you change about your living room? It would be nice if it were a wee bit bigger, and perhaps had bamboo flooring.

Are the dishes in your dishwasher clean or dirty? Dirty. It’s funny, though…the dishwasher was out of commission for a week or two, and in that time we were doing the dishes as we used them, and it got to be really nice. I liked that at any given time, all of our dishes/glasses/utensils were clean and either in their places or drying off in the drain board. When we wait for the dishwasher to fill up enough to run it, it usually means we are 95% out of at least two items by the time it runs.

What is in your fridge? Pitcher of water, milk, OJ, Coke Zero and Diet Dr. Thunder (Wal-Mart’s answer to diet Dr. Pepper…schweet!), condiments, various salad elements, eggs and cheeses. There’s more but it seems kind of boring to list them all, so I will spare the blog this list.

White or wheat bread? If it’s just generic old sliced bread, then it must be wheat. Or rye, I guess. But I do like white bread rolls and that rustic Italian bread they sell in Safeway. Mmm.

What is on top of your refrigerator? Booze.

What color or design is on your shower curtain? It’s a plain white waffle-weave.

How many plants are in your home? Umm, one at the moment. However, it is close to death. I kept this one well over a year, too, but it’s just not doing so well now. Plus it got kind of ugly as far as houseplants go (it’s a china doll), and I am ready for something with a broader, darker leaf. I’ll likely kill that, too.

Is your bed made right now? Probably not. Making the bed never becomes a big priority for some reason.

Comet or Soft Scrub? Comet, and steel wool.

Is your closet organized? Sort of. I have all my shirts organized by color, and sleeve length. My skirts are all together by color, as well, and sweaters are all clumped together too. My shoes are an ungodly jumble, though.

Do you drink out of glass or plastic most of the time at home? Glass.

Do you have iced tea made in a pitcher right now? Nope.

If you have a garage, is it cluttered? We don’t have a garage. We have a shed, and it is actually quite organized.

Curtains or blinds? Blinds. But if possible, I like curtains over the blinds in places like the bedroom and living room.

How many pillows do you sleep with? One, most of the time. Sometimes I use the second one between my knees or to rest my arms on.

Do you sleep with any lights on at night? No. I don’t even like the flicker of the TV when I am trying to sleep. I often use a sleepmask.

How often do you vacuum? About twice a week. We have a lot of dogs.

Standard toothbrush or electric? Standard, soft bristles.

Do you have a welcome mat on your front porch? It’s made of heavy iron, and it’s not particularly inviting nor does it do a good job of drying or cleaning off shoes. I might want to look into getting something else; this thing has been around a long time now and it can be retired.

What is in your oven right now? Air.

Is there anything under your bed? White office boxes stuffed with crap (clothes that I like but have no room for; old VHS tapes, a box of random junk; workout clothes I grew out of…).

Chore you hate doing the most? Scrubbing the shower.

What retro items are in your home? I’m not sure we have anything authentic. But we do have a retro-styled tin robot in our glass display case.

Do you have a separate room that you use as an office? Yes, we do.

How many mirrors are in your home? Two at the moment (not counting the little hand mirrors in the bathroom)

What color are your walls? In the living room and hallway, it’s a pretty sand/tan color with one blue wall; the kitchen, lime green with red and gray accents; the bedroom, tan with one blue wall; bathroom, pale orange with a blue ceiling; office, lavender; bathroom-in-progress, deep brown with white tile and brushed aluminum accents.

Do you keep any kind of protection weapons in your home? Pepper spray. And we could use our knives, I suppose. Oh, and the dogs are a great deterrent.

What does your home smell like right now? I guess it smells like “house.” We’re fortunate that our house is relatively neutral-smelling; no soup whiff here!

Favorite candle scent? Anything that’s clean linen, cotton or fresh-air scented.

Ever been on your roof? No.

How many TVs do you have? Two.

How many house phones? Zero.

Do you have a housekeeper? Oh yes, she lives in the west wing with the butler and dog-nanny.

What style do you decorate in? Contemporary…?

Do you like solid colors in furniture or prints? Solid colors, but I do love printed accent pillows and things like that.

Is there a smoke detector in your home? Yes.

In case of fire, what are the items in your house which you’d grab if you only could make one quick trip? Assuming the dogs got out OK already, I’d grab photos, my computer’s CPU, and if I could fit it, the book I wrote in high school.

Wow! So, there ya go. If you want to do this meme too, let me know you're doing it in the comments and we can all just sit around picturing each other's homes for the next day or so. Sounds like a good time, doesn't it? Yeah, you know it does!

THE ILLUSTRIOUS CAPYBARA: A Report

For thousands of years, the human race has peacefully co-existed with the capybara race. The largest rodent in the world, the capybara is related to guinea pigs, agouti, coyphillas and chinchillas. Its common name, derived from Kapiÿva in the Guarani Indian language, means "Master of the Grasses" while its scientific name, hydrochaeris, is Greek for "water hog." In the inner city of Chicago, the capybara is known as “the windy furpig” in honor of the capybara community’s storied history supporting the Chicago Democratic Machine and the Daley family.

Capybaras have heavy, barrel-shaped bodies and short heads with reddish-brown fur on the upper part of their body that turns yellowish-brown underneath. They have eyes that are capable of spinning 360 degrees independent of one another in opposite directions, and they are said to have a singing voice that rivals that of famed singer Charlotte Church. Capybaras are also heavy smokers, preferring pipe tobacco.

Adult Capybaras may grow as long as 4 feet and weigh up to 140 pounds. Baby capybaras come out of their mothers in tiny CapyPods, which hatch after 30 days to reveal a reddish-colored baby the size of a grain of rice. The mother must then place her baby capybara into a rice cooker-like contraption to bring the infant up to “survivable size” and once that happens, she can carry the baby on her back or in her mouth as she goes out searching for food and good conversation. Capybaras have slightly webbed feet and no tail; their back legs are slightly longer than their front legs and their muzzles are blunt with eyes, nostrils, and ears on the top of their head. Capybaras have a total of 20 teeth. Females are slightly heavier than males and they are often sensitive about this issue, so don’t bring it up if you talk to one.

Though now extinct, there once existed even larger capybaras that were eight times the size of modern capybaras (these rodents would have been larger than a grizzly bear). Think about that shit and tell me it doesn’t freak you out a little. One of these ancient capybaras could easily walk right through the front of your house while you’re watching TV. Not through the door. Just through the wall, all Kool-Aid pitcher style. Try explaining that to your insurance company.

Capybara also have what is known as “cheek teeth.” It is a herbivore, so these cheek teeth come in handy when it has to eat some particularly tough vegetation, like concrete. Although we now see capybara in nearly every community around the world, they mostly come from South America, where they once lived spartan lives in the forests, swimming in streams and enjoying polygamy and gaming.

Friend or Food?

Capybaras are gentle animals and will usually allow humans to pet and hand-feed them. Capybara skin is tough, and thus in some areas where capybaras are wild, they are hunted for meat and their skin, which is turned into a high-quality leather, while some ranchers hunt them for fear of the competition for grazing. The meat is said to both look and taste like pork. The Capybara meat is dried and salted, then shredded and seasoned. Considered a delicacy, it is often served with rice and plantains.

During the Catholic celebration of Lent, capybara meat is especially popular as the church, in a special dispensation, classified the animal as a fish in the 16th century. Clearly the Catholics have a thing or two to learn about what a fish is. Fish definitely do not add to our society like the capybara does, and they do not usually have fur and cheek teeth either.

In many countries, including the United States and Ireland, it is illegal to kill and eat a capybara. Popular band U2 recorded a soulful ode to the capybara in 1992 titled “One,” a song that Bono publicly says is about human love, but it is common knowledge that he is singing about the strong bond between a man and a capybara.

Bono’s first marriage, to a capybara named Stella, ended in 1982.

The Presidential Race, 2008

In 2008, the capybara may become the face of the United States should Republican candidate Ron Paul be elected as the next President. This is because Ron Paul is the product of a union between a woman and a capybara.

If elected, Ron Paul pledges to put an end to income tax and bring federal spending levels back to those in 2000, which is a platform the capybaras have been pontificating on since 2001. Like any good capybara, Ron Paul adheres deeply to Austrian school economics and libertarian criticism of fractional-reserve banking, opposing fiat increases to money in circulation.

Although he rarely does it, Ron Paul has been known to peel back his facial skin to reveal his capybara face if asked. This does not hurt Ron Paul, as one of the benefits of being half-man, half-capybara is an ability to bloodlessly peel back skin because the capybara fur underneath acts like Velcro.

This will not be the first time capybaras have had a strong presence in the White House. James S. Sherman, vice president to William H. Taft from 1909-1912 was a full-blooded capybara, with a lot of good ideas. He also provided much-needed warmth to Taft on those cold evenings in the District of Columbia. Polite society frowned on this close relationship between two males, but the press left them alone and let them attend many operas together without reporting it in the news the next morning. Taft and Sherman enjoyed sharing snacks of endives and dry dog food throughout the work day, and Taft affectionately referred to Sherman as “Sweet Skippy.”

The future of the capybara is looking bright, and we have much to learn from these benevolent and wise creatures from the sea.

BIG GIRLS

One of the radio stations here seems to really love that Fergie. It's not my top station choice, but rather a second-tier choice when the other stations are running ads, so I don't listen to it all that much. But every time I do listen, I can be pretty sure that I will hear "Big Girls Don't Cry" in the time I have linger on that station. Last night was no exception-- as I drove over to the gym, it came on, and I admit I left that shit on longer than I should have because ever since then, that song has been stuck in my head like one of the deepest-burrowing earworm ever. I can't stop hearing the chorus over and over... "and I'm gonna miss you, like a child misses their blanket!" (not even proper English, either) and wanting to stick my head in the lit oven with a fistful of lit matches in my hand just to stop it. NO SONG should be THIS stuck.

Probably a little extreme, that measure. But really, even listening to other music today, even EIGHTIES POP, is not doing the trick. I even listened to Falco, here! Amadeus didn't even rock those Big Girls out of the way. And no quantity of Luftballoons was enough, either...and believe me, Nena really tried hard:

This is serious. What the hell am I supposed to do?! I have work to accomplish today! I can't shut her up long enough to hear myself think.

Also, I am still pretty upset that she's not even the real Fergie. I happen to like singing Duchesses, especially singing Duchesses who eat Weight Watchers chocolate snack cakes and talk with a swanky British accent. I refuse to picture that pants-peeing, overly-made-up humps-obsessed singer when I hear that song. Besides, Fergie, the real one, would be the one to sing about Big Girls, wouldn't she? What with her previous Big Girl status and all? Maybe she's overweight again. I don't know, because I can't remember the last time I saw her anywhere. Although I wouldn't mind seeing her singing this song sometime. It would set something at ease within my soul and stop the raging confusion.

Although, now that I think about it, and play that video up there more and more, maybe 99 Luftballoons really ARE going by! Come on, STICK in my head now, damn it! I need you more than ever, Luftballoons!

SPAZZTASTIC

It's time to switch gears and go back to happy postings. I can only keep those Japanese whalers at the top of the page for so long before I get utterly sick of seeing them every time I click on this page. And so, because I want to see something new here, begins another post.

Check out our dogs. Our dogs, in the car. In the car, after a trip to the dog park. Even though this picture's a month old it's still good. I like their smiles. Indy's mouth looks like it's a big hunk of cooked ham if you blur your eyes. That's my dog! The one with the hammy face!

Tonight as we walked into the grocery store to get some ingredients for an impromptu taco night(TM), we saw a family in the parking lot with a dog. The dog was sitting outside of the backdoor of the car, and people were petting it and talking. It looked like a nice dog-- some kind of lab/springer mix from the looks of it. What struck us was how CALM that dog was. There was no crazy pulling or choking breathing, no crazed eyes and skittering claws. Just sitting. Calm, content sitting. I was immediately jealous.

Dogs have personality types, and we have two complete spazzes. We just need to accept the fact that all the corrections in the world won't train the spazz out of them.
(Two bad dogs = one crate. You'd think that would show 'em. NO. Not a chance in hell.)

They're never going to be those laid-back, mellow dogs who just seem to enjoy watching the world go by. They're just very happy dogs, and they get so damn excited about anything we do; they're not going to just sit there and wag their tails when we so much as touch the leashes. Nope. They're going to pant and slide around and do giddy little hops. And making them SIT doesn't help. They'll sit, but they will then start to whine. And jump back up the first chance they get.

Get them in the car, and it's the same thing. We restrain them in the back of Greg's car, but it doesn't make them calm down at all. They will whine and cry the entire car ride. It is annoying as hell, but I admit it also makes me giggle and smile a whole lot. It just sounds so funny-- all this ridiculous whining and panting just filling the car and drowning out the radio. What do they have to whine about? Where is the injustice? They are going FOR A RIDE. The ultimate of ultimates for a dog. They're happy! But why do they have to be SOHAPPYTHEYCAN'TSTANDITOHMYGOD??!!

All this being said, going to the dog park is so good for them. They burn off that nutsy energy and run themselves down to a crawl. They socialize very well, and behave themselves (no fighting or humping). And that lovely moment when we load them back into the car is great. They sit quietly, breathing heavily and NOT whining for the entire ride back home. They become the dogs we always wanted. They look like that picture at the top of that page. Sweetness.
(There they are, being good at the dog park as they run through some tunnels. Lucky for them, too, because if they were behaving badly, I'd punch them good and hard, right in their faces.)

At the other end of the pendulum swings lonely, well-behaved Malcolm.
("I grow weary of life with these bumbling idiots...SIGH...")

He's lonely because he is the only calm, collected dog in the entire family. He has quite a burden to bear, being the only good dog. He needs to deal with these lumbering, whining goons every single day of his liver-spotted life. I swear we can hear his exasperated sighs every so often. It's a miracle he hasn't figured out a way to poison them... just enough to slow them down so he can hear himself think. A dog like him has a lot to think about.

If you don't believe me, you should come to our house and see for yourself how pensive and intelligent those cloudy eyes are. Don't let the elderly, stiff-jointed facade fool you. He's very close to figuring it all out. What is "it", you wonder? Well, I don't know what "it" is either, but I do know it's going to be one hell of an "it." One doesn't outwit death and live longer than most people without having a shitload of tricks up his sleeve.

OK, that does it. I have to go smoosh that dog and give him kisses on his little peach-head. I'll just kick the other two buffoons out of the way (like I always do...kicking dogs is SO MUCH FUN) and go find my little Boo Radley now. Thank God for one quiet, calm, smart dog!. I would be lost without Malcolm...

And so would the rest of the human race. BELIEVE IT.
Sure, they're bigger, but who did you think REALLY runs the house? Yeah, that's right. Front and center, Alpha Dog!