If there's one thing that can be said about a dame like me, it's that I like to share things that I find funny. I realize that a lot of things from the 1970s have made a profound impression on my sense of humor, and it's awesome to remember them from time to time and find 'em on the wonderful interwebs.

And so, without further ado, here is a special treat for all of us: the actual text of Steve Martin's immortal Cruel Shoes essay, taken from his book of the same name:

Cruel Shoes
Anna knew she had to have some new shoes today, and Carlo had helped her try on every pair in the store. Carlo spoke wearily, "Well, that's every pair of shoes in the place."

"Oh, you must have one more pair..."

"No, not one more pair... Well, we have the cruel shoes, but no one would want..."

Anna interrupted, "Oh yes, let me see the cruel shoes!"

Carlo looked incredulous. "No Anna, you don't understand, you see the cruel shoes are..."

"Get them!"

Carlo disappeared into the back room for a moment, then returned with an ordinary shoe box. He opened the lid and removed a hideous pair of black and white pumps. But these were not an ordinary pair of black and white pumps; both were left feet, one had aright angle turn with separate compartments that pointed the toes in impossible directions. The other shoe was six inches long and was curved inward like a rocking chair with a vise and razor blades to hold the foot in place.

Carlo spoke hesitantly, "... Now you see why... they're not fit for humans..."

"Put them on me."

"But..."

"Put them on me!"

Carlo knew all arguments were useless. He knelt down before her and forced the feet into the shoes.

The screams were incredible.

Anna crawled over to the mirror and held her bloody feet up where she could see.

"I like them."

She paid Carlo and crawled out of the store into the street.

Later that day, Carlo was overheard saying to a new customer, "Well, that's every shoe in the place. Unless, of course, you'd like to try the cruel shoes."

Broiling vs. Grilling: A Comparison
By: Lisa

Since the dawn of time, meat has been cooked in a variety of ways. Before humans even crawled out of the primordial ooze and discarded their flippers in exchange for hands and feet, anything that was made of meat could be cooked. Whether it occurred when a saber toothed tiger fell into an open volcano and was thereby roasted, or when a wooly mammoth was standing around under some trees during a storm and was hit by lightning, when the muscles, bones and tissues of animals were heated up, they were cooked.

Cooking meat has evolved over the eons, which is probably a good thing because if we were to wait around for saber tooth tigers and wooly mammoths to become chance victims of fire-related accidents, we would have a serious problem on our hands. Not only because these are extinct animals, but because it would mean that the human race was so dumb it couldn’t figure out that there were other animals we could eat.

In this report, I will discuss the pros and cons of two of today’s most popular methods for cooking meat: broiling and grilling. While both involve heat that is derived from flames, both require a certain level of technical knowledge in order to successfully cook meat. There are inherent perils in using these cooking methods, and unless proper precautions are taken, one could wind up with severe burns, smoke inhalation issues, scorched hair, or undercooked bacteria-laden meat that would kill even the strongest old man you know.

BROILING

Scientists are not entirely sure where the practice of broiling came from, but most say it probably happened at some point in our history. Broiling happens when the meat is placed under the heat source. This is the primary difference that separates it from grilling: the heat is up in broiling, whereas it is under the meat when grilling.

So one might ask: what is the big deal about where the heat comes from? Logic would dictate, to this author at least, that as long as there is heat coming from somewhere, the meat will find itself cooked eventually. But it is flawed logic like this that has led to the countless deaths of millions of people in meat-cooking blunders over the years. It turns out it matters a lot where the heat is coming from. Even though this annoys this author greatly, let us take a look at what makes broiling so “special.”

Since the meat is cooked using thermal radiation when it is broiled, this means that the meat is cooking very fast. Although many people might be wary of eating anything that is subject to radiation, master cooks and chefs have assured the world that this is a safe form of radiation, much like sunlight and AM/FM stations. This method of cooking is preferred by many because it is a low-fat way to prepare meat, since extra oil is not needed. As meat is broiled, it often develops a “crust” that is both crunchy and delicious. Louis Armstrong, also known as Satchmo, sang a memorable tune called “Biting into That Ol’ Broiled Meat Crust” that was a big hit during Prohibition. Most recordings of this song have been destroyed, so it is mostly pointless to look for them.

GRILLING

Ah, the joy of cooking over an open flame! The image of families huddled around a campfire, roasting a small animal caught in a snare earlier that day… the sight of Dad standing over the backyard grill, turning hamburgers over and drinking a lot of beer…these are all things we Americans see in our Oreo-addled brains when we think of cooking over flames.

Grilling is an American pastime as beloved as baseball, apple pie and putting our elderly into rest homes when they are in need of incontinence undergarments and feeding tubes. Millions of dollars are spent each year on the grilling basics: gas grills, charcoal grills, George Forman grills, and other types of grills. We also buy many large pointed forks and knives so we can stab and grip our meat as it burns over the flames. And finally, we purchase a lot of meats and poultry, as well as marinades, rubs, chips, dips, chains and whips.

In grilling, the meat is placed over the heat source, which is usually described as “very very hot”. The meat is also cooked very fast, and it tastes delicious when it is done because it has that outdoorsy, grilled taste. Meat on a grill should not be left unattended, as it is common that hawks will swoop down and steal the meat. Not only does this mean your meat is now gone, but the high temperature of the meat will burn the tender talons of the birds and you will be left with a guilty feeling, knowing that somewhere out there a hawk is suffering from burned feet all because you were careless with your meat.

When grilling, many people use chemicals like lighter fluid or propane to light their fires. This is a mistake, because lighter fluid is highly flammable when flame is applied to it, and if you get any on your person you too can be burnt up. If you don’t turn off the propane gas valve, you can flood your entire backyard with gas fumes and when a match is struck, your entire block can be wiped out—including the cars! So it’s best to just stick with wood and charcoal, which “stay put” inside the grill and have little chance of covering your body or floating all over your yard.

CONCLUSION

It is a matter of personal taste, when one gets down to the proverbial “it.” Some people like to grill their food because they see the fire and they feel like they have control over the savory meat as it cooks. Others prefer the “see no evil” aspect of broiling, since in most cases today we broil by shoving the meat into a drawer at the bottom of our ovens, and we don’t visually watch it while it’s in there. Both methods have been scientifically proven to cook meat, and both produce a charred crust. Choose your broiler or grill wisely, and always remember to carry a gun and/or knife so you can fend off any potential meat thieves.

I’ve got to get my hair cut. It’s been approximately five months since my last real trim, and my hair is showing it. The last time, I had layers cut into it so I could do that cool thing with the curling iron; you know, the flipped-out and bouncy-ends look. And it did look nice, when I did it. The key word here is when. In the morning, it’s just too damn hard to be all into the beauty routine. If the morning wasn’t so early, maybe there would be more of a chance I’d be willing to spend more time in there working on my look. But, alas, the morning continues to occur in the morning. I can barely manage to put on moisturizer and a couple of concealer dots on my face. Curling my hair? Um, not quite a priority.

So when I go in for this haircut, I think I want them to chop it off just above the shortest layer. This still leaves my hair long, which is nice, because I like having long hair again and I’m not ready to go short just yet. I’ve also got to get my bangs trimmed again, so I’ll have that done, too, when I go.

The problem is, I don’t know where to go to get a haircut. I never stay with one salon or stylist. I breeze in for one cut and leave, never to return again. I have yet to be really impressed with the job anyone’s done on my hair. Most of the time, I stop into a Supercuts or Great Clips when I have a spare minute and just have it cut there. Of course, that’s a major crapshoot. Sometimes it’s pretty good; I got the long layers cut at a Great Clips before the wedding, and they did look nice. Other times, I walk out with crooked bangs and chopped-up ends. Poor Greg is often charged with straightening out the mess some of these places have made of my bangs. In fact, I find it much better if I just have him trim my bangs for me, since he takes his time and cuts them straight every time. But since the long part of my hair needs to be cut, it’s probably in everyone’s best interest if I just have a professional do it.

Why don’t I complain or tell the stylist I am not happy with the way they cut my hair? Simple: I am too shy, and I hate talking to the stylist more than I have to. Isn’t that so stupid? I mean, I am paying this person to cut my hair, and let’s face it — trimming hair and bangs isn’t really all that hard. Logic says that I should get a decent job when I sit in their chair. I don’t understand myself. I don’t know why I just “take it,” as it were, and pay and leave feeling “ehh” about how I look. All because I ‘don’t want to cause a fuss’ or ‘I don’t want to hold anyone up.’ Like I said already: SO STUPID.

I guess it just boils down to this — I have an issue with sitting in a chair in front of a big mirror for a long period of time, with some person I don’t know touching my hair. I look at myself under that salon light and my skin looks all yellowy and sick; and my hair color always looks so washed out and dull. “Yay, I love looking at this sickly-looking person for an extended period of time!” And I am not comfortable having to make small talk while they do it.

Call me anti-social or unfriendly, but I’m just not good at knowing what to talk about with hair stylists, and when they talk too much, I grow weary. I think I might even unintentionally do that rude sigh that means, “Yeah, now shut up already” when they talk to me. See? I’m not good at this.

Anyway, today one of my goals is to locate a middle-of-the-road salon somewhere in this area and make an appointment to go get this taken care of. I’m trying to change my ways. I want to look put-together and nice, and I want to be a more friendly and normal person. So hopefully, when I go for this upcoming haircut, I will be polite yet assertive; if the cut looks bad, I’m going to say something. Well…to be honest…I will TRY to say something. Baby steps.

Later this weekend, I plan to color my hair. By myself. You don’t want to know how I feel about sitting for hours with chemicals on my head and paying the outrageous price of having my hair colored at a salon. (Insert that Sideshow Bob shudder here: ‘Euuuuuuhhhh.”)

Yes, I WOULD Like to Butter Your Bread: A Report on Butter
By: Lisa

Although we often take it for granted, butter is a product we probably could not live without in modern society. It is created when one "churns" fresh or fermented cream or milk. Other aspects of the process of making milk have been lost to us, since a select few were elected into the secretive Butter Guilds of the Middle Ages, and their ancestors are mostly all dead today. The production of butter happens behind closed, locked and rusty doors, and most Americans today are unaware of where their butter comes from. According to a Gallup poll, 97% of Americans believe butter is made by Indian women; these women offer forth the prized butter by nudging it with their breasts towards the receiver.

Mostly, cows produce the milk we make butter from here in the US of A. However, the milk of sheep, goats, buffalo and yaks can be used to produce butter. To derive milk from a yak, one must either collect the sweat from a yak and mix it with artificial butter flavoring, or attempt to squeeze its yak nipples to release sweet yak milk. It's a little-known fact, but yak milk has been used for centuries as a salve for pink-eye. This is not recommended for most individuals, as yak milk is known to carry germs that cause cataracts in about 80% of people, especially those with O-blood types. Science has yet to find an answer to this, but work is being done everyday. Researchers predict that by 2032, we will definitely understand what yak milk does to our bodies, regardless of our DNA makeup, race, blood type or species.

Butter can trace its storied origins back to the days of Mesopotamia, 9000 BC--which is also known as the Paleolithic era. Butter was discovered by accident, when the cavemen of the day accidentally left milk in the sun and it spoiled. One of them probably mixed it up and it got thick, and another one must have eaten it. And then, most likely, they had diarrhea and/or profusive vomiting because the recipe hadn't been perfected yet.

Eventually, butter and its recipe evolved. An interesting fact is that archeologists digging in parts of Ireland and the far Northern parts of Europe have discovered "Bog Butter," which is ancient butter buried in peat bogs. In the days of peat bogs, the people would pack butter into barrels and bury them in the peat bogs, because the peat bogs were cool, awesome places to store food. A bog is sort of like a swamp, but without alligators or scary banjo music.

Legend holds that Marie Curie sustained her energy while creating the X-ray by drinking hot melted butter each morning and giving herself butter enemas every night before bed. Below, Madame Curie works in her lab while a beaker of butter melts in the foreground:

According to several newspapers of the day, she was quoted as saying, "A woman can achieve anything through butter ingestion, whether it is climb a mountain, bring peace to a nation or invent machines that can see inside a person. I feel my invention will one day revolutionize science, and allow doctors to check patients' insides for large butter deposits; which, for the good of mankind, should be harvested and distributed fairly."

Butter suffered its most crippling defeat in 1869, when a French chemist invented margarine. Until this point, butter was eaten at every meal, and schoolchildren were alloted three pats of butter upon entering the schoolroom every morning. A short-lived trend was Sesame Butter Logs, which were simply large squares of sweet cream butter rolled in sesame seeds and eaten with a fork and knife. Tavern on the Green removed its Sesame Butter Logs from its menu after several victorious Union soldiers, who had just returned from winning the Civil War, came in and ordered a baker's dozen of Sesame Butter Logs, and each of them passed out cold from chest pains in Central Park upon leaving the restaurant. All of them later died.

Ever since margarine raised its hydrogenated-oily head, butter has been declining in popularity. By the 1950s, margarine had surpassed butter as the pale yellow, spreadable condiment of choice for most of the world. Since then, butter has staged several attempts at a comeback, the most notable of which was the song "Popcorn" by the popular band Hot Butter. Although "Popcorn" was a hit, and it even appeared in several episodes of The Waltons and was a huge hit with school proms and formals, it failed to have what the French would call "staying power."

Butter became popular again with the advent of microwave popcorn in the 1980s, but it was soon revealed that most of the "butter" in these bags was actually a combination of oil, yellow food dye and leftover scrambled-egg pieces, boiled down into a paste. When disgraced pop duo Milli Vanilli announced their undying allegiance to butter, whether it is spreadable or whipped, that was the final nail in butter's coffin and butter, which had been awarded Best Soft Food in a national award contest, fell from popularity almost overnight.

Today, you can find butter in most refrigerators in North America, where it is usually quarantined from the rest of the food inside a butter-dish. Although margarine and Fabio-Spread(TM) have taken over butter's reign over our hearts, one stone-cold, hard fact remains: the phrase Bread and Margarine will never sound as right as Bread and Butter.

Butter, my friends, will always be our nation's bread and butter, as it were.


For more information on butter, visit the American Butter Institute's website at www.butterinstitute.org.

It’s been a few days since Jen tagged me to list 7 songs that I am currently listening to, so here is my Report on 7 Songs I am Into Right Now:

1)“Down with the Sickness” by Richard Cheese. We played this song at our wedding reception and we think that because of the lounge-y sound, many of our guests didn’t realize just what lyrics were being sung. There we were, all eating a lovely dinner and feeling the fun wedding-buzz, and there’s Richard Cheese singing, “Get ready to die!” as the soundtrack to the scene. I had such a giggle over this. Anyway, I keep having this song stuck in my head—in the car, in the shower, while cleaning, while working—so that’s why it’s numero uno right now for me.

2)“The Fool You’re Looking For” by Shemekia Copeland. This is a great driving-and-singing song. My best friend introduced me to Shemekia Copeland last year when she sent me a CD for my birthday. It’s not the usual type of music I listen to, but Shemekia can sing. Really well. Plus, her songs more or less tell stories, and I love when songs can do that.

3)“A Sailboat in the Moonlight” by Billie Holiday. It’s just so sweet. And of course, it really makes me want to go sailing in the moonlight sometime—preferably on a quiet lake or river somewhere, without huge waves or sea monsters, which would really spoil the mood.

4)“John the Revelator” by Depeche Mode. When I had to commute to my old job, I’d play this really loud in my car on the freeway. I just liked how it sounded at full volume, and it served as a decent soundtrack to my frustration and anger at the other drivers. (How nice. A road rage song!)

5)“Bell, Book and Candle” by Eddie Reader. This is another woman who can sing beautifully. I like her because her voice is crystal-clear, and she doesn’t trill or do anything showy. She just sings. Her songs also have stories, and strong imagery. This one in particular reminds me of “Practical Magic.”

6)“Entropy” by VNV Nation. Yay for VNV Nation! I might be presumptuous here, but I am not sure a lot of people have heard of this band. I’d say they are in my top 5. Anyway, this song is unique, loud and has a great beat. I guess it’s another song I’d throw into the road rage category, if only for the tone of the song. But it has a great build towards the loud, crazy-dancing part of the song. I’ve got a story brewing in my head that has this song as the soundtrack.

7)“Little April Shower” from Bambi. I don’t know how I can go from VNV Nation to Bambi, but there it is. I have this song on my MP3 player and I never seem to skip it when it comes on. I think it’s because I love the way the song is written, and the way the singers use their voices to make the ‘rain.’ It gets kind of violent and loud as the storm picks up, which works great for the movie. I mean, life is lovely and there are flowers and cute little bunnies and skunks, but there’s also hunters who come striding into the forest and kill Bambi’s mother.

My turn to tag! Go for it, Fraulein N, Leezer, Tinabellina, Trish, Paul, Smackadocious and Lengli.

A Report on Owls
By: Lisa

Owls are our nocturnal allies in the war against pests and rodents.
This is my favorite species of owl-- the Barn Owl (above). I like them because they're the one type of owl I have seen close-up on several occasions. I saw them on field trips to Holmdel Park and Poricy Park when I was younger, and I always thought they were amazing-looking. The people who taught us about the many powers of owls made them sound pretty awesome, too, so that helped. I especially appreciate that their faces look like a sliced apple, because I really love apples!

Owls are not messengers of death. Some people think they are. Actually, they can save us from death! How do they do this? Well, they like to eat things like rats, mice and bugs that could be carriers of disease. In Arizona, the Elf Owl can snap off the stingers of scorpions and then eat them; plus, they have an adorable name and I would like to put a little green felt hat on any elf owl I encounter.

Owls have sharp talons that can scratch our delicate human skin; we should also shield our eyes when grappling with an owl, since owls are non-descriminate when it comes to the clawing and scratching. They will claw your fucking eyes out if you aren't careful.

In addition, owls have an ability to push bones, scales and fur through their digestive system in a unique pellet form. Owl pellets are found in most major forests today. Just look for the balls of excrement with little bones sticking out of them the next time you are in the woods. Chances are, it's the fruit of an owl's colon! In fact, owl pellets are so impressive to some people that they will encourage youngsters, such as Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts and 4-H campers to go into the woods and collect said pellets for careful dissection. Apparently, some people think this is a good way to see little mice bones and stuff; other people figure it's just as easy to go to a museum and look at clean bones. Either way, it should be noted that owl pellet lore has a solid place in our human society; for better or for worse.

Owls have been in movies, too, so they are definitely well-known to people who never go to zoos, the forest, or read books or pay attention in science class. Harry Potter has a very gorgeous snow owl that he sends off to do his evil bidding; and it's hard to imagine the Clash of the Titans without Bubo, the mechanical owl. There are other owls, but I am not really interested in looking them up right now.

Did you know the Mongolians protected owls? That's because there was a legend that Ghengis Khan was hiding from his enemies in a hole or something, and a barn owl came and sat on a branch above him. His enemies came past and didn't look near the owl because they figured owls were evil back in those days, and they couldn't imagine that a guy as calm and reasonable as Ghengis would want to be anywhere near an owl. So, they went away and Ghengis lived to be a barbarian another day; and from then on, the owls were respected as protectors.

One thing to be aware of is the fact that the Great Horned Owl can be kind of a dick. Because they are bigger than other owls, they often push the little owls around (sometimes eating them). They'll swoop around with their big wings and sharp beaks and scare the hell out of people and animals. In fact, the Great Horned Owl sometimes attacks and carries off little dogs and cats. This is NOT COOL of the Great Horned Owl. Frankly, I don't see what makes him so "Great." If you see a Great Horned Owl, it's OK to spit on one, provided your eyes are safe behind a protective mask of some sort, and you are wearing chainmail to deflect its claws.

During his presidency, FDR kept a barn owl he affectionately named Frances in his closet, and he would force Eleanor to consult the barn owl for advice. Eleanor was highly allergic to owls, so she hated going to Frances' closet, but she did it anyway because she was a loyal first lady. It is rumored that Frances suggested Eleanor style her hair that way. As for FDR, he would take Frances out to dinner, letting the elegant bird ride on his shoulder. The back of his wicker wheelchair even had a small "pot" on it for Frances to defecate in, should the need arise. During state dinners and events, Frances would wear a festive bonnet decorated with eucalyptus leaves and corn. His high-pitched shrieks were quite familiar to visitors to the White House in those days!

If you are lucky enough to wake up with an owl perched on your bed, this is a sign that you will have great success in business and dealings with foreigners. The priests in the Roman Catholic church often appoint owls as choirboys in the underground churches. You didn't know there were underground churches? Well, there are. And owls are everywhere down in those places. Plus, there is fudge for everyone and the incense smells of apple-cinammon! You have to check one of these places out sometime.

In conclusion, owls are benevolent, watchful friends to most humans. The Great Horned Owl can just kiss my ass, though; also, the information I included above regarding Frances and FDR is nothing but a blatant fallacy. The greatest power owls have at their cunning disposal is their ability to make me lie... a lot.
The End.

Number of meetings I attended today: 2
Number of meetings I attended during which my fly was down: 2

I was in such a hurry to get into those meetings there was no time for zippers. I’m hopeful that my shirt was long enough so that when I was sitting down, no one could tell what the deal was down there on my pants-front. Oh, well.

Well, work is still going well, and I have no complaints. They’re keeping me busy. The people are very cool. I found out the company is about 80% women. One of the large meetings this morning was standing-room only, with only 5 men in attendance. I don’t think I’ve worked anywhere with this type of ratio before, but I can say this: it was also an efficient and productive meeting. I hate to be sexist and make an assumption that it was because women were running the thing, but I have to wonder. There was also freedom to laugh and crack jokes, and I noticed several of the women having short side-conversations with one another as the meeting went on. An hour went by very quickly. In comparison, at my previous job: meetings were almost always run by men because there were very few women in management there, and our meetings went on forever and I would cross out my notes a few times during the course of the meeting because no one could decide on anything. Blah. I’m glad to be gone.

In other news: Indy has Valley Fever. He got it from inhaling the Valley Fever spores in the dry soil at some point. He does like to dig small holes in the corners of the yard, and often came in the house with dirt on his nose, so it’s no surprise to me that he’d catch this disease, really. Luckily, right now he is doing very well on the medication we have to give him, and I think he has a great shot at making a full recovery.

Let me back up a bit. I took Indy to the vet about three weeks ago to finally have his right rear leg checked out. He wasn’t able to put weight on the leg, and would often run on three legs. For awhile, we just wrote it off because he’s such an active dog and he constantly twists and contorts his body into the strangest positions when he sleeps. We figured he would pull a muscle and then, after awhile when his leg would go back down to the ground again, we thought he had worked out the kinks. However, as time went on, he was not using that leg more and more, and finally one night he spun out in the living room and as he fell, he twisted in a bad way and was crying and yelping in pain. Two days later, after his leg had been up for two straight days and he was spending more time on his dog bed than usual, I took him in to see what was going on.

They thought it was a knee injury—something with a ligament. They kept him for the day and did x-rays to see if that was the problem. I hoped not, because I was told surgery to repair that knee ligament could be as high as $5,000. The vet called me and told me something unexpected: Indy had two large growths on the bones in the bad leg. It was one of two things: cancer, or Valley Fever.

We did the Valley Fever test first, rather than a biopsy, and I was pretty relieved to hear he was positive for VF. I was trying not to think of what it would mean if he turned out to have bone cancer. Apparently, in the advanced stages of VF, dogs often develop masses and growths in their bones. With people, it mostly invades your lungs only. I’m so glad we caught the VF now, because it could have led to seizures and death if he didn’t begin treatment. Like I mentioned above, he’s taking medication and so far is not showing any signs of the side effects, other than a slight slowing-down of his activity…which is really NOT a bad thing. He’ll have to stay on the meds for at least 6 months to a year. We’re just happy to have him healthy—the $24 a month for the pills he has to take is just nothing.

What I have noticed since all this happened and he began medication is, he seems to be a lot more obedient and the little pissing-incidents are not nearly as frequent. In fact, he only had one incident and that was on the first day he began the medication. I really have to wonder if he was misbehaving because he didn’t feel well. I feel a little bad about punishing him if that was the case, but yeah…how the hell could we have known? Either way, it’s so much better now around our house. I even attempted the very beginnings of Frisbee training (thanks to the information Jen shared with me!) this past weekend. He doesn’t get it yet, but I think he will.

And that is what is going on.

I think I might begin writing about random things again. My first idea is to write about owls, and what I think of them. So maybe I’ll get on that next.

Thank you to everyone who wished me luck at the new job. I haven’t had time to reply to comments, but it was so cool you all said nice things. Thanks again! It’s day three of my new job, and the good news is I really enjoy it so far!

The people are incredibly down-to-earth and genuinely nice. The overall atmosphere of the office feels very calm and no one seems wigged out or anything; they seem to manage stress differently than they did at my last job.

The work I’ll be doing is challenging but they are giving me ample time to learn the field and familiarize myself with schedules and styles; all of that fun stuff. I appreciate that. It’s always good to have a chance to know what you’ll be talking about when you write and edit articles down the road—in the past, I’ve had to jump right into my first writing assignments without much in the way of training so the fact that this isn’t a trial by fire is damn cool.

The little things are all great, too: the fact that I can wear pretty much anything to work since there is no established dress code (although I would have to get new pasties and g-strings since it’s been ages since I could wear those to work); the location of the office is perfect for walking around outside on your breaks since there are walking paths through the park and by a little lake; they have a cafeteria room where I can actually eat my lunch in the building (the last job, eating in the building was not an option since the two break rooms were tiny and always full, and one thing I don’t like is when people insist on talking to me when I am eating. I like to read while I have my lunch and people in those break rooms never got it. Plus—only one microwave for almost 200 employees? Shyeah, that’s a good idea.). There’s more- they put a welcome banner in my new cube/office—a little but appreciated touch; we all went to lunch on my first day and I feel a real rapport with my immediate co-workers and the signs are there that I can present my real sense of humor with them; and seriously, the benefits and other things they do for the employees is truly impressive. I’d go so far as to say that upon leaving after the first day, I felt almost elated to be working here. That’s a new thing. The best part is, it takes me exactly 10 minutes to get here and get home each way. I could ride my bike to work if I wanted to. The last time I rode my bike to work was about 10 years ago. And god knows my fat ass could use a little bike-action twice a day.

Since I started this off by writing “the good news is…”, you know there was a “bad news”, too. My bad news is that yesterday, on my second day of work at the nicest company ever, I threw up.

Yeah, well…at least I made it to the restroom and didn’t just puke all over my desk or in the long meeting I was sitting in prior to pukeage. The deal was I had a migraine of monstrous proportions and it made me nauseous, and as the morning wore on, it got worse and worse until I couldn’t turn my head without feeling the awful throbbing behind my eyes and temples and every time I shifted in my chair or took a deep breath, my stomach would flip-flop.

You know, this is just my luck. I knew I was in trouble when the migraine woke me up from a deep sleep at 5am. I got up a little while later and got ready for work and even as I was driving in, the sunlight was killing me and I felt like it was hard to focus my eyes on the road. But I was hopeful that the migraine would calm down once I got to work and occupied myself with other things. I planned to drink a crapload of water and take some medicine once I got there.

Instead, I got here and found that the lighting at my desk was making my eyes hurt even more, so I had to turn the lights off. As I was proofing some very small copy the nausea hit. I had my first big editorial meeting that morning and I wanted to stay through the meeting for sure, but by then I was getting the idea that I’d have to go home if this feeling continued. I hated the idea of leaving early on my second day. I was really concerned that they’d think I was a slacker or something, or I was a big baby who would always be a pain in the ass with health problems. I didn’t want to leave.

But we had the meeting, and like I said, I felt worse as I was sitting there. It lasted one and a half hours, so it was not easy to get through it. I tried so hard to pay close attention and I took notes and all that, but I was worried how I looked. Finally, after the meeting ended, I went back to my desk and drank a little water and tried to proofread some more. But only a few minutes in, I got the dreaded cold sweats and was speed-walking down to the ladies’ room to rush my ass over to the empty stall to lean over the toilet and puke my guts out.

Best part? Someone was in the other stall. I don’t know who she was, and I don’t think she knew who I was either. But she heard me all right. She said, “Are you okay over there, honey?” I stammered out something about being ‘just a little sick, I’ll be fine’ and went back to more puking and flushing. Even though she couldn’t see me, and even though I couldn’t help the fact that I was sick, I was blushing. I could feel it. She said something about feeling better and left, thank God. I did my patented Vomit Crying at this point, very quietly. I always cry a little when I throw up; I don’t know why. Either way, after about 15 minutes I felt confident enough to leave the sanctity of the stall and clean up. I had no choice but to go talk to my boss and ask to go home.

So that’s how day 2 of the great new job went. Good lord.

Today, no one seems to be weird about the fact that I went home and/or puked in the company bathroom. They are all asking me if I feel OK and my boss mentioned that if I felt sick again I could go home, but I refuse to do that. I have a lot to learn and read here today. I just don’t WANT to go home. That’s a 180 from my last job, where I would be wishing I was staying home from the moment I turned the alarm off. On my more hormonal days, I would even cry on my drive in to the office or in my car on my lunch hour. Sad? Yes. Pathetic? Definitely. So, as you can see, I am quite relieved to not feel trapped in a place I hate anymore.

I’ve got to go. Blogging on day 3? Not the best idea, probably. But I typed this as a word doc so it looks like work. (It’s my usual MO anyway) Plus, the other Lisa who works here just sent me an e-mail inviting me to lunch with her. You know it’s good when there are TWO Lisas in the same department, and both of them like South Park and Arrested Development. I have a good feeling about this. (And for the record, I think I’m going to use the other bathroom here for awhile so I won’t be reminded of Day 2.)

I'm about to go to bed, and tomorrow I'll start my new job. :)

I'm nervous, but excited, too. It's like starting at a new school. I'm going to have to "apply myself" and "use my brain" more than I did at the last job/school. But for doing that, I get some decent rewards-- like flextime, telecommuting, lots of holiday and vacation time, great paycheck. And my slovenly ass gets to wear casual clothes to work again, yee haw!

It's funny how much my life has changed in the past couple of years or so. Sometimes-- like tonight-- I just find myself thinking about that and I feel so grateful and so amazed by the thing that is aging.

I'm 31 right now. Thirty-one years old. Sheesh. When did that happen? I was finishing up my first book at 13; today I am working hard to finish the two most recent ones. I'm gaining the courage to show my writing to other people, which I didn't have when I was younger. I've been submitting two of my short stories to magazines and journals, and although I have been rejected thus far, I actually feel a calm resolve to not give up. Again... that's new for me. Younger Lisa would have been crushed by the first rejection note and decided to go take a class in fencing or something like that; anything to not think about writing.

I think I actually feel my age. My body and face look and feel like they're 31, which is weird, really. No one ever mistakes me for being younger than I am anymore. That's kind of sad, but for some reason it doesn't weigh me down as much as it would a few years ago. I'm surprised by this. No one tells you that a day will come where you will feel at-ease with aging and getting little wrinkles. Sure, I do use lots of moisturizer to slow the wrinkling process a bit, but the truth is I am sort of intrigued to see what my wrinkles will look like.

Four years ago, I had surgery to remove adhesions on my internal organs. I have stage 4 endometriosis, and today I have only a couple of (admittedly ugly) scars to show that I made it through the scariest time of my life. I used to be terrified of the prospect of having surgery, and the day I had to have it I really freaked out and hoped I wouldn't die. I recovered and now I am not afraid like I once was. And I realized that you don't have to walk through your everyday life in constant pain in your belly. (I'd thought the throbbing pain, intestinal trouble and severely bad periods were just par for the course... I thought my symptoms were typical PMS crap.) I thought this for 17 YEARS. I learned to go to the doctor if I feel like something's not right, and not to be afraid of what they might find. Believe me, this has made my life in the past four years a lot easier. It also gave me the resolve to finally face and treat my depression properly--needless to say, my life definitely improved once I did that.

I've made a whole mess o' friends over the years, and only a few of them do I care enough to spend time with on a regular basis. Where I once beat myself up for being a relatively solitary and quiet personality, today I feel just fine with it. I cut the people who made me feel bad or guilty about my preferences out of my life. I like the people I consider my friends, and the truth is I like them a whole lot. I'm not forcing anything, and I am not putting myself outside of my comfort zone just because it's what I "think" I am supposed to do for some reason. On the same note, I have this blog, and through it I have been introduced to so many cool people I wouldn't have met in my day to day life-- I love that. It's nice, and I no longer feel weird or apologetic for having this blog and enjoying it.

And finally, I figured out a key thing: I deserve a good partner to share my life with. For years upon years, I made mistakes. I believed in men who were never able to be an equal partner and I fell for some blatant lies and promises made with weak intentions. I didn't need to date the losers anymore. One day I just woke up and ended an almost five-year nightmare, and from that point on I slowly morphed into the person that could actually work up the courage to post an honest personal ad on Yahoo that was designed just to see if, once reading about me and all my quirks, some guy would be interested in the person I am. I didn't have any expectations, and I even got close to deleting the ad a day later. Thank God I didn't. Greg saw my ad and he saw something in me. And somehow--without any real warning that it was going to happen--, I let my guard down and dove in all the way and after a series of unbelievably fantastic events, I am married to the one man I love in a way I've never loved anyone before in my life. I love HIM and WHO he is, and cherish every little thing about him, even when we fight. He's the type of guy I never would have believed I could "get" back in my low self-esteem days. I didn't think a guy with talents, brains, great sense of humor, compassion, sense of adventure, and the thousand other things I love about him would EVER be someone who would be interested in a chick like me. I was shooting low back when I was younger. I just can't say it enough how amazing it is that I grew up and learned things through my experiences and it finally led me to a healthy and solid, loving relationship. I'm going to be an old lady someday, and Greg will be my handsome and wonderful husband sitting next to me, watching "Super Troopers" and still laughing at all the jokes. For the first time in my life, I am in love and someone is honestly in love with me. And that is just the most incredible blessing.

So I guess it's what one would call a reflective night here for me. I get that way on the cusp of anything new, I think. But tomorrow I go into a new office, not knowing what the day will bring, and meeting people I will hopefully come to enjoy working with every day. I feel kind of cool about that. I'll be the new person, but not the "new kid." I don't need to feel young and inexperienced anymore-- I left that feeling with my backwards previous job. I can feel 31, and I can feel smart and capable and confident. I'm allowed! I've earned it, motherfuckers!

That does it. I started this blog to be myself, and I used to be "funny." Now I am a thoughtful old lady talking about love and not being afraid to have surgery anymore. What the hell has this blog come to? Someone...quick...give me a topic to discuss. I'll do my best to throw a little of my old Armsweat into there. Oh yeah... I guess it is more like Coolsweat nowadays. My new name rocks.

Have a great day and don't let the man get you down. And always eat oatmeal.

In the spirit of the Lil' Shoplifter post from yesterday, the Lil' Shoplifter herself, Trish, has called the following video to my attention:



Stealing happens. And sometimes... it's adorable. (Sidenote: I had a hamster once and although he was cute, he was not a nice hamster. One of my fingers still bares a scar from his sharp hamstery teeth. I wish our hamster had been this adorable. I might notta squished him*.)

Spoiler alert! (Insert sound of warning sirens and a big ol' computer voice going "ALERT...ALERT...ALERT")
Last night's LOST was pretty good, I think. This one and the episode before it have finally felt like we're back to the show again. Anyway, since last night's episode featured my two favorite characters, Sayid and Locke, I was especially pleased. However, I want to know: what is the deal with Locke always having trouble resisting computers? Why couldn't he have just let it be...why did he have to start playing chess with the mysterious eye-patched Russian hovering in the other room? Couldn't he just not push the buttons? And then... BOOM. The station explodes. Making it the second place on the island Locke has destroyed. And I agree with Sayid-- they could have used all of that communication equipment to get off the island. So here's what I'm thinking: Locke ended up in the wheelchair because he did something foolish on a computer. It seems to be his downfall. That, and a sort of pride and stubborness that makes him believe he is just being led to do the right thing. When he's not. Well, either way: he's such a good character! And it's going to be the March 21st episode where we find out why he is that wheelchair. OK, that's all I will say about this show for now. Except to say that I stand by it, and I love it, even when it sucks.


Here's something funny! Woo hoo! FUNNY! YAY!
Yesterday Greg sent me a simply hilarious site with local TV commercials on it. This is one of our favorites:

That's one cool video store. And that kid... yeah, that's the sort of kid I believe we will raise.

* I did not squish my hamster, nor do I condone the squishing of small animals. If you don't get my sense of humor by now, why the hell are you even reading this blog?

I've been so busy with last-minute projects they're piling on here before my last day (Friday), it's been tough to even get to read my favorite blogs. Yikes. When it comes to that, it's time to just give up and live in the woods somewhere.

Anyway, some random crap:

* I can't wait to see 300! It looks gorgeous. We watched a special on G4 on Sunday night; 'Icons: Frank Miller' and it was amazing to see them matching the cinematography exactly to the drawings and paintings Frank Miller did in the comic. Of course, this has happened already with some of his material-- Sin City. I'm just happy there is another great-looking movie coming out. Too few movies anymore are just fun to look at. I'm interested in seeing things that actually look like art. If all I cared about was a storyline, I could just read a book. I want my movies to have a great story, but they've got to look good. Amen.

* My sister and I were out last night and while we were driving we saw the moon was hanging low and it was still almost-full, and for some reason she called it a "Pork Chop Moon." We were singing little old-timey songs we made up about the Pork Chop Moon. Today, it's still cracking me up. I can't do it justice here. But then again, pretty much anything my sister and I do and/or make up is nonsensical to everyone else but us. For instance, a long-time game we played when we were little was a game called LIL' SHOPLIFTER. Trish was the Lil' Shoplifter, and she would carry a little collapsible toy knife and wear one of my dad's winter hats pulled down over her face like what we envisioned a thug to look like, and she'd 'creep around' the house. Shoplifting. My role was Security Guard. I was trying to apprehend the pesky Lil' Shoplifter but she was constantly eluding me and my invisible partner, Charlie. The big funny catchline that I had to say every time was: "Do ya see 'im, Charlie?" and I would wave a flashlight around as Trish stalked around the outskirts of the room and down the hallway. We'd play this for awhile every time we did it. I don't remember very much else about this game, but today it's hilarious to me that the Lil' Shoplifter carried a KNIFE. How many shoplifters are that aggressive, really? I'm pretty sure the Lil' Shoplifter was going to violently knife Security Guard and Charlie in the ribs if we had gone on with this game as we entered our darker, scarier adolescent years. (And Security Guard would take so long to die as the blood filled his lungs that the invisible Charlie character would be forced to snap Security Guard's neck to put him out of his misery. Meanwhile, LIl' Shoplifter would go down in a hail of bullets outside the backdoor. We'd get our Dad to play the cops.)

That's all.

This picture of John Travolta scares the beejeezus out of me!

I guess he's playing Mrs. Turnblad in the movie-based-on-the-musical-that-was-based-on-the-movie Hairspray. In the past, luminaries like Divine and Harvey Fierstein have played Mrs. EdnaTurnblad, which makes it weird that a supposedly straight guy like Travolta would decide he wants to wear a dress and wig (as well as a god-awful fat suit) and run around singing about hair products. It's not like he makes an attractive woman; he's no John Leguizamo in To Wong Foo. He looks like the home ec teacher who eats all of the stuff the students make and goes home to massage her bunions and watch Wheel of Fortune.

I bring up John Travolta because inexplicably, his new movie Wild Hogs was the top-grossing movie this weekend. It beat Zodiac, for crying out loud. (We saw Zodiac on Friday night, and we both really liked it.) This just gives me further proof that the American public is truly dumbing down and all you need to have a hit movie is a moron on a motorcycle. I hang my head and sob for the future of this once-great nation. (In a related note, I can totally picture George W. Bush getting all excited for the premiere of Wild Hogs. "Laura, come quick! That preview with the bird smackin' John Travolta in the neck is on! Now ain't that SOMETHING! Hoooo boy! And bring me some more beef jerky darlin'.")

There was a LINE of people waiting to get into the theater on Friday to see Wild Hogs. Greg and I are walking up to the theater for Zodiac, and we see a line of people waiting in the hallway for the movie showing in the theater next to ours. As we get closer we read the sign and realize they are waiting for Wild Hogs. It was a strange moment. I was really thinking that movie would be such a bomb. I guess you could say given the choice between a movie about a serial killer who was never apprehended (a downer) and a crazy comedy about four middle-aged buddies who ride around making asses of themselves (a pick-me-up for sure!)... people are going to flock to the lighthearted fare. Oh, well. I shouldn't be so judgmental. Whatever floats their boat, I guess. Still...WILD HOGS?! Aye de mi.

I'll leave you with this question: which beer do you think George W. Bush would want to drink with his beef jerky: Pabst Blue Ribbon or good ole' fashioned Bud? Or would he drink something else? Be prepared to support your answer.

I didn't tell you guys about this cake. I realized it tonight when I was looking at my pictures file, and there it was in all its glory. It's my Martin Luther King, Jr. Cake.

I had been watching something on TV about him and felt a surge of something like a cross between respect and love. Soon afterwards, I got me a hankering for some cake. And when I want cake, I WANT cake, if you know what I mean. People could get hurt. (I get like this: MUST. HAVE.CAAAAAKE!! And I kick things and beat my chest and throw grandma across the room.) So...anyway... I ambled into the kitchen and grabbed the obligatory Yellow Cake Mix and a can of frosting and after a flurry of mixing, baking and decorating, the cake was born.

But it was missing something, sitting there with its creamy chocolate icing. It looked so blank. And it WAS a holiday at the time: Milk Day. I think it was around this time I went into a trance and the next thing I know I was drizzling white chocolate icing on the cake in a very child-like manner to create the culinary homage to Mr. King that you see above.

It was a very good cake, too. I gave my Mom a piece to take home with her when she came over the next day and she said, and I quote: "Mmmmm, that cake was GOOD!" There you have it-- directly from the mouth of my wise and cake-loving mother. She would never lie to me. Except for that one time. I won't get into it. Point: my Equal Rights Cake was a winner.

I don't really have a big point to all of this. I just felt like tonight was the night to say, "Hey, one night I made this cake because I love Martin Luther King Jr. and what he did for our nation." Some people attend parades (Milk Parades) and others write eloquent essays or speak to students about the impact he had.

Others bake a cake from a mix and eat it right out of the pan.

Ask yourself...which type of person are YOU?

I'm on a kick right now for strawberries and blueberries. Can't get enough of 'em. I bring them to work and eat them out of a little ziploc bag like some sort of simpleton. You should see me-- I snarf 'em up with a quickness that is NOT to be believed.

But why do the seeds of strawberries have to suck so much? I have crappy teeth because I have been wearing down the enamel from excessive grinding, even though I use a biteguard and everything. My teeth are just breaking down and there's nothing I can do to stop the cruel march of time on my enamel. Anyway, all this enamel-loss has meant my back teeth are softer and kind of pitted in spots. The strawberry seeds know just how to find my little dental nooks and crannies and they will wedge in there like my fat foot into a too-small shoe.

I guess I can thank the strawberry seeds, because without their ongoing attraction to the pits of my teeth, I wouldn't even know I had so many pits to begin with. The pits aren't cavities; they are invisible for the most part when I look in my mouth. But after eating berries? Wow...my teeth look like someone poured sprinkles all over them. It's gross and the seeds are quite uncomfortable when they're nestled in there.

Yesterday I attempted to pry one seed out from my gumline near the front of my mouth. Sometimes the seeds find other places to hide, of course. So I was absent-mindedly picking at my gums with my fingernail trying to dislodge it, and in the process I screwed up my gums. They were so red they looked bloody. I don't know why I didn't just go for the floss right away, but oh well. Today I still feel that spot with my tongue and swear it feels like the seed is still there. But it's just swollen, fingernail-stabbed gums.

The lesson here is: Don't grind your teeth, otherwise you'll have pits in your teeth as the dentin becomes exposed, and don't stick your fingers in your mouth and poke around. These are unhealthy and idiotic habits. Don't be a moron like me, kids.

Here endeth the "lesson," if you can call what I just typed a lesson.

I just ate today's berry rations and I am already jonesing for some more! If I stumbled upon Strawberry Shortcake today, I would fucking eat her HOUSE.

I realize that when something good happens, the universe has to balance things out in some way and make something crappy happen. That's probably why when I was riding a high of happy, jump-for-joy energy on Friday that I'd come home and the dog would piss on my leg.

Why was I so happy? I got a new job! I'll be starting in mid March. The company seems so nice and down to earth. I'll be very busy there, which is good. Too much free time at this job has made my mind mushy. I was so excited to give my notice. It felt awesome. The funny thing was that it was another co-worker's last day on Friday, so after we gave her a going-away Gathering at the Cubes, I ended up sending my resignation letter to my boss. We're dropping like flies around here. I wonder if management will maybe take it as a hint. One would hope. Well, either way, said co-worker's Gathering at the Cubes involved berry torte. I had a nice slice of berry torte and gave my notice, and after several surprised congratulations, I went home early. SO NICE.

When I got home, Greg had flowers for me. I'm talking a gorgeous bouquet of gerber daisies and other perfect flowers with a sweet congratulatory note. I was just feeling so happy at that point. But nature called, and it was time for me to visit the loo, as it were. Little did I know that when I allowed Indy to trot in behind me as I shut the door, disaster would occur.

Now I know this might seem weird, and I realize that by publishing this on the web I am opening myself up to public ridicule, and you know something... maybe I deserve it. Whatever. The thing is, sometimes when I have to take a pee, Indy or Malcolm both try to come in with me. I don't know what they think they're going to get in there. They think it's a secret room that the other dogs aren't special enough to go into, or something. Most of the time, I deny them access because it IS kind of weird. But other times, especially when I am not thinking about them and just rush in there, one of them gets in. Well, I let them in. Yeah, so? A lot of times it's much easier to just let them in when you really have to just go, rather than struggle to push them back out of the doorway. Moving on...

So I am doing my bidness, ahem. Still happy at this point. Indy is in there, and he walks over to me and leans up against my legs and begins to PEE all over my left leg and shoe!

What the fuck?!

Honestly, I have no words. I was shocked, disgusted and just plain horrified that my seemingly-sweet dog would do this, again. He did this once before on my leg when I was trying to work on some training and he felt like resisting, that little prick. That time, it made some semblance of sense; he was being challenged and he is a dominant personality, so that was his way of 'marking' me and trying to show he was better than me. (This got him flipped on his back right quick.) But on Friday? I didn't do anything. In fact, I was giving off happy and calm vibes. And he just figures, "Well, this is a good time to piss on her." What the hell is THAT?!

And so goes another chapter in my life. I get a new job; I get pissed on. Like sands through the hourglass. I really get that, "this could only happen to ME" feeling over this incident.

In case you're wondering, I got it cleaned up and did an emergency load of laundry after disciplining Indy. Then, Indy peed again moments later when Greg looked at him unapprovingly. He did it one other time this weekend, too. Obviously we have a LOT more work to do, again. He's got a pattern where he will be doing so much better and be obedient and decent and then out of nowhere, another streak of BAD comes on and this is the sort of stuff we have to deal with. It's enough to make us want to take him back to the pound and ask for a refund on some days. Grrrr! I find myself regularly pleading with him. Yes, I plead with my dog, like he understands me and can reason with me. "Please be a good dog! No more peeing! Be good!"

This time, Indy seemed to know he was in trouble, which is new. Usually he acts upset when we are hollering and flipping him, and then he gets up when we release him and his tail wags and he's ready for play. On Friday, he was banished to the backyard for over an hour as we ate dinner, and when he came inside he just went to the bedroom and moped for awhile. When we checked on him, he had gone into his crate and closed the door; like he was locking himself up. It was funny. But I'm glad he did it. I'm hoping he is starting to understand that misbehaving gets him no attention, no love, no inclusion with the rest of the 'pack'. He's so smart. He's got potential, that one. But unfortunately, he often uses his powers for evil. Diabolical little thing.

Off the subject (finally, right?), but we got our new couch on Thursday; huzzah! My sister and I had dinner together that night and we reverted back to high school days when we would pose in weird costumes with little handwritten signs for nonsensical pictures. We haven't done this in years. I wonder why. It's fun. Totally impossible to explain, since there is no reason involved, but fun all the same. Anyway, she posted some of the pictures on her blog. Thanks, Trish. Now that my camera is dead, your photo-taking skillz are much appreciated.

I'm off to live the rest of my Monday and hopefully avoid any futher dog-urination incidences as I do it. Cross your fingers that my pants and shoes stay dry!

Oh, come on. There's no way this is the first time a beaver has been spotted in NYC. Isn't the city loaded with these things? Hairy beavers, bald beavers, artfully waxed beavers...

I don't know what to say about Nicholas Cage's latest cinematic gem earning over $50 million at the box office this past weekend. I don't get it. Then again, I don't "get" a lot of things, like the appeal of things everyone else loves, like American Idol or the taste of coffee. Still, I would think that a movie about a guy who rides around on a motorcycle with his head on fire would be one of those things that would sink fast. Add to it that the best Hollywood could do was Nicholas Cage to play said flaming-head-biker guy, and it really seems to be a no-win situation. I hate to beat this to death here on this blog, but he's just not that good. He's not good looking, his voice is terrible, and he is limited in his acting range. There has to be someone more appealing to play flaming-head-biker guy! Take any of the guys from Arrested Development (well, maybe not Buster. Sorry, but I can't see him as a flaming-head-biker guy)! Try Josh Holloway from Lost! James Marsters! Ryan Gosling! Whoever...just someone who might be able to pull off bad-ass with a little talent on the side. Oh, who am I kidding? It's still a movie about a guy who rides around fighting evil while his skull is on fire. Maybe there's no saving it.

Well, when I am not shaking my head in disbelief at the box office numbers (and I do this frequently, in fact), I am marveling at the beautiful weather we've been having here in Arizona these days. I know how boring it is to write/ read about the weather, but it's really been cool lately, so I want to talk about it. We've had a lot of rain this past week. On Valentine's Day night, we had a thunderstorm. We've had huge clouds rolling along over the entire valley for days now. Yesterday, it was very windy and it rained during the day. It was warm enough that we didn't need jackets, and the sun would break through and shine while the rain was coming down. Palm trees were swaying in the wind, leaves were flying around high and rain was dropping in tiny little needle-drops all over the place. It's cool because when you drive through rain here, you will be hit with a downpour for one minute and then within the next couple of minutes, it will taper off to nothing. Dry roads. Then...you hit a patch of wet pavement and the rain hits you again. I love this so much. I would be quite content if it rained at least once a week here. Rain here is not like rain anywhere else in the country. It's pretty, it's clean, it's appreciated. Now I know why Indians are so into rain dances. I pray for rain on a regular basis now, too. Maybe I don't pray while dancing and chanting and wearing feathers and other finery, but I do a little mental dance, I guess.

The rain smells wonderful. You can smell the desert in it, even if you are right in the middle of the city when it rains. It's a fresh, sweet smell and if you breathe it in, it feels like your lungs are working better than they were before. Rain in Belford, NJ smelled a lot like dead fish and what I'll just refer to as "muck." I didn't care for the rain there. I never knew I'd grow up and live in a place where rainy days were the absolute best days. But I'm glad I do.

Today it's overcast, but the sky is electric blue as the clouds roll past. On my lunch hour, I looked up and saw the sunshine tinting the edges of a huge cloud stark white...the contrast between the bright edges, the sky and the grayness of the cloud almost hurt my eyes. I wanted to look up at it all day, though. Too bad the light changed and I had to drive. Stupid driving.

And last night, when Greg and I were heading into the movie theater to see Smoking Aces, the sky over the mountains was deep grayish-black. The wind was blowing, and even though it wasn't raining at the moment it was about to come back any minute, even though the sun was shining in the rearview mirror. That light made all the pastel-colored buildings and the art deco design of the movie theater look so awesome. They were glowing against that black sky.

Why do I get so crazy about this stuff? I love it, though. I can get lost in the weather sometimes. I revert back to my elementary school days, when I received high grades but always had the little note on my report card from the teacher that said something to the effect of, "Lisa is a daydreamer, and she needs to pay attention more in class." I used to sit and stare out the window at the sky and think of the weirdest stuff. I thought elves sat on the windowsill and watched me during the day, and that I just might see a luck dragon flying through the clouds. Yeah, I was that kid. And I am still that kid, that's the funny part.

I almost forgot: the best part of the weather yesterday was the tumbleweeds in the parking lot at the movies. We don't see that many tumbleweeds here, really... they don't just appear in the city and suburbs. But the movie theater is on the edge of an open, currently-under-development strip of desert, so when the wind kicked up yesterday it blew hundreds of tumbleweeds across the road and right up against the fence surrounding the site of the new Wal-Mart. It looked like the tumbleweeds were trying to get into the Wal-Mart in a desperate mob. "Let us in there, we want jobs!! We want low prices! We want jobs AND low prices!!" The tumbleweeds can get big, too. They were surrounding some of the cars in the parking lot, and one huge tumbleweed was wedged between two cars. I'm sure the owners were going to love coming out and finding that. "Couldn't get in the car because a tumbleweed was blocking the way... and all those thorns scratched the shit out of my paintjob! All this just to see Ghostrider! I should have stayed home and saved myself all this pain."

I've got a second interview for a promising job tomorrow. Only problem-- a friend of mine who is currently out of work is also going in for her second interview for the same job. We both want it. I wonder how this is going to play out? On one level, I hope she gets it since she needs it. On the other hand, I want to work only 10 minutes from my house and get the kick-ass benefits this job would include. May the best writer win, I guess!

I need to go do some work now. I wish I could throw up at will, so I could get out of all this work.

I just switched over to the new Google account for the blog; whatever THAT means. I just do whatever the nice screens tell me to do. As a result, my display name is now Cruel Shoes. This is a nod to a fantastic Steve Martin book. Genius, actually.

I hope everyone had a great Valentine's Day. Even if it's a day you hate, I hope you had a successful hate-filled day. I like to remain positive. I don't really buy into the whole thing, myself. I did when I was little. Wow-- I LOVED Valentine's Day as a kid. All that pink and red stuff; the doilies; the candy; the cupcakes with pink icing...good times. When I was in high school, I think I liked it for the traditional reason of wanting my boyfriend to get me something. It wasn't about expensive gifts for me; it was about writing some meaningful crap in a card. I was way into the written word in those days. And perhaps, a guy could earn points with me by sending me a carnation in class. Our school did a thing where for a dollar, you could select a white, pink or red carnation to be delivered to a schoolmate of your choice with a message from you. I think the student council ran it, or something. I can tell you right now, I don't recall getting a lot of carnations. I believe some girlfriends of mine sent each other white carnations as a token of friendship, and I might have gotten some of that action...but I'm pretty sure it was only senior year boyfriend who might have sent the coveted red carnation. I can't remember now. So you can see getting carnations really didn't mean all that much, in the long run. I just know he was nice to me where other guys were tremendously lame and/or scary.

As I got older, I really lost interest. It's not that I'm not romantic...well...I don't know, maybe I'm not that romantic, come to think about it. I like non-traditional stuff, and I am fortunate enough to have found a guy who gets that about me. We're a perfect fit when it comes to how we express ourselves and what we like in terms of "the romance." We both knew in advance that we weren't going to do anything special on February 14, and I honestly had no hidden wishes or regrets, like some people at work assumed when I answered "nothing" when they asked "what are you guys doing for Valentine's Day?" People just can't seem to believe that me, a technical "woman", would not want flowers, candy, heart-shaped shit and other forced stuff. Ehhh. I keep the romance brewin' all year long, baby. We're good. Trust me, there's no need for us to pull out all the stops just because it's expected on this date. I'm very happy, and just wish I wouldn't get the funny looks from co-workers who apparently believe that something must be wrong if I say I don't want anything. Yeah, we're newlyweds, and yeah, we're doing great. Now leave us alone. It's our business, douchebags.

Here are the things I absolutely do NOT like:

*Stuffed animals, especially ones holding a little stuffed heart. The hate-factor rises if the heart has any writing on it. I don't need some piece of shit made in Korea to deliver a message of affection and to let me know I can have someone's heart. I'm too cool for that...I get guys who TELL me this stuff and do nice things to prove it. Eff you, stuffed animal with the heart in your sad little lap!
* Heart-shaped boxes of candy. Half the time, you open up the box and the chocolate has that white, waxy stuff on it and you know it's old. Plus, who knows what you'll bite into. I hate peanut butter and a wide variety of fillings (I only like chocolate cream, vanilla cream and coconut and THAT'S IT) so there's a chance I could get a mouthful of disgust if I were to eat that candy.
* Roses. They die quickly, and they smell bad as they do it. Nah. Give me some daisies.
* Singing telegrams. I never received one, per se, but they are the reason I carry pepper spray.
* Romantic, candlelit dinner in an expensive restaurant. OK, there's really nothing wrong with candlelight, and nothing wrong with a decent, expensive restaurant. But the variable here that creates a problem is ME. I am a klutz, and I am also gifted at saying awkward things that could potentially ruin a moment. I'd be the lady to knock over her water glass and stick her elbow in the butter pats. Or do one of my patented uncontrollable muscle-jerk things and kick my date, or stick a fork full of costly chicken into my left cheek. Plus, I don't think I clean up all that well. I always feel like a buffoon when I try to wear a nice dress with heels. My hair always feels awful with a million flyaways; and I feel wobbly and like a little kid playing dress-up so I walk stupid as I go through places like a nice restaurant. I try too hard and I think I end up looking like a sideshow attraction, shaved down and let out of the cage for a night on the town with the ringmaster. At any moment, disaster could strike. It's best to just go to Denny's. They expect shit like that at Denny's.

Well, the good news is I did have a lovely Valentine's Day. It was "Lost" night, after all! Plus, he gave me a new mouse for my 'puter (which was the perfect, unexpected gift) and I made him a recipe binder since he's a kick-ass cook. We ordered Pizza Hut and went to town on the breadsticks. Excellent.

I've got some other good news in the hopper. Wait. Did I just say it was "in the hopper"? Why'd I say that? I never say that. The go-to cliche I normally use in this case is "good news brewing." What can I say, I like me the brew. So I don't get it...I don't know why I just said something about a hopper. What's a hopper? Is it like one of those things they put popcorn kernels in and it gets hot and pops them up and makes them "hop" out and into machine at the movies? Is it a rabbit of some sort? Why would you put anything in a rabbit? Maybe it's some ancient traditional thing, wherein rabbits with objects inserted into them were thought to be good luck. I don't like that idea; it's gross, cruel and wildly inefficient. Since I am way, way too lazy to look this up right now, I am just going to let it go. Sound good? I think so.

My good news is career-related. Let's just say I am in high demand these days. We're talking raises, multiple interviews, promotions, decisions...yeah. I don't know what happened, but within the last week or so a lot of good things have been coming my way. I'm giddy about it. But, since I don't want to jinx anything and/or enrage any current or future bosses who might find this here blog, I'll shut up now. More later, maybe.

The bad news? I have adult acne. Mucinex ain't getting the little animated phlegm-guys out of my lungs. And someone ran up to me and hung a sign on me that reads "I HAVE A BLADDER CONTROL PROBLEM" so everyone looks at me when I get off the elevator.

Guess you can't have everything.

Sometimes I lose all control of my muscles. Well, let me clarify that-- I lose control of my major muscles that control physical activity; the bladder and bowel control usually stays under control. Usually.

Anyway, the other night as I was driving I was drinking a soda I'd gotten at dinner. A cup with ice, a straw and a plastic lid. I was going about 70 on a freeway, in the dark, when without warning or reason my hand just opened up and I dropped my soda all over my leg, the floor of my car...everywhere. When I got home, the floor mat was dripping with diet coke and ice, and I managed to drip it through the house from the front door to the back door as I rushed it to the patio so I could hose it out. I guess my brain muscle didn't work well enough to tell me to just toss it over the fence into the backyard, rather than carry it through the house like a jackass.

In another instance, I was about to put back Malcolm's can of dog food when a weird thing happened. I guess I was holding it mostly by the lid, and maybe it slipped because of that. The more likely situation was I just dropped it. The can had maybe another 1/2 of wet dog food in it, so the dog food splattered all over the floor. Two big dogs raced over immediately and helped me clean up the mess. (The little one never saw or heard it, let alone have time to beat the other dogs over to the scene of the mess and get a few licks in) I cleaned the floor, threw away the can, and thought nothing more of it except that I was a spazz and I didn't know why I just let go of the dog food can like that. But that's where the weird part comes in.

A week or so later, Greg asked me what the brown substance on the ceiling in the kitchen was. I had no idea. It looked like a splatter of gravy. And that's when I realized that the dog food I'd dropped had managed to get up on the ceiling. I don't know how it happened; I really don't understand how it COULD have happened. There wasn't any dog food on the wall, and I didn't get any on me...unless I did have dog food in my hair or something and I went to work like nothing was wrong but everyone around me was wondering why I smelled like rotting meat in savory gravy. So how the hell does a splatter of dog food go straight up and stick to the ceiling? I guess I'll never know. I did get up on the stepladder and wash it off, though. So at least I cleaned up my own mess, albeit several days after the fact. NOTE: I really hate wet dog food. I wish Malc still had strong enough teeth to eat the dry stuff like a civilized dog.

I also regularly hit my own skull into my car's door frame when I get in and out of the car. I somehow misjudge the distance I need to get my fat German head into the car, and whack myself upside the head. I'll be so anxious to get out of the car that sometimes my legs will make me stand up before I am ready so I hit the other side of my head as I get out. I'll do this most often in our own carport, which is good because it means fewer people have seen me do it, but I have also done it at the gas station, at work, and other public places. It sucks.

One that cracked me up (yes, I amuse myself from time to time, 'tis true) was when I was brushing my teeth and totally missed my own mouth, and pushed the foamy brush right into my cheek. I did it hard, too! That's what was funny to me. It was like my hand was temporarily possessed of retard strength. I wouldn't need that kind of force to brush my teeth; so I don't get why my hand put that kind of force out there just so I could hit myself in the face like that.

And finally, I am a kicker. I involuntarily kick my poor husband when we are sleeping. He says as I fall asleep, my legs just start getting violent. They jerk out and thrash around like I'm in a sleeping-mosh pit. I wish I could control this, because I really, really, really do not want to kick Greg. I love that guy. He's pretty cool. Kicking him is pretty much nowhere on the list of nice things I would like to do for him.

Once in awhile I do it while I am awake, too. I know one time I was sitting here at work, feeling kind of stressed out, and my foot shot out and I kicked the cubicle wall under my desk hard enough to make my cube-mate on the other side of the wall ask what was going on over there, and was I OK. I lied and said I dropped something because I didn't want to just say "I kicked the wall because I can't control my limbs."

Oh, wait, I just remembered one more dumb lack-of-control thing I did. One time when I was getting ready to dye my hair (I am a do-it-yourselfer when it comes to hair color) and I opened up the little bottle of dye and before I could stop myself, I lifted it up to my nose and took a deep sniff of it. I smelled HAIR DYE. Needless to say, that shit burned. You do NOT want to take a big pull on some strong chemical hair dye fumes, trust me. I started crying and yelling and when I told Trish what I did, she laughed, and then looked at me with a hint of incredulous wonder and asked, "Why would you do THAT?!" And all I could say was, "I don't know! It just happened!" I'm not kidding. It really did just happen. No explanation. To this day, I don't get it. And I pray I don't 'just do that' again.

I feel sad, like George Michael Bluth, when I think of my lack of grace and basic motor control. Cue the Charlie Brown sad music so I can wallow in this "poor me" feeling a little more!

This is old, but a couple of weeks ago Greg and I were walking into Walmart for some late-night shopping, and we saw some shopping carts in the lot. That's not an unusual occurence; shopping carts kind of live in places like Walmart.

I don't remember exactly how it happened, but there was talk about two different kinds of shopping carts. And somehow we were talking about shopping carts mating, or something. I seriously don't recall the details, or how we ended up talking about this, but I do know that as we were nearing the doors and getting ready to go in, I said:

"They like to go with their own shpeeshies." (That's supposed to be 'species.')

Now I have been saying shpeeshies ever since. I wonder why I said that. I do admit I have a lisp, but it's not a big, obvious "shhhh" lisp. I learned how to fake my "s"s a long time ago. I had to come up with something so the people at school would let me stop going to speech class. Speech class made me feel like a retard. I'd have to leave class to go down to the Speech Room. And sit there and practice saying "s" words for a really long time. Lots of talk about Sally, and her shells she sells at the seashore. And snakes. Christ, they loved making me say sentences with "snakes" in it.

Come to think of it, I never did really convince them with my improvised "s" technique. I only stopped going to speech class when I went off to a school that didn't have it anymore. I don't know if that is sad or not. My money is on sad.

In my excitement over the Buffy comic news, I didn't get to mention a couple of other interesting things that have been going on in my life. So, I will take a break from writing about Jambi, Chocodiles, That Baby Smell, and other topics to share some actual news from my actual life:

I joined the National Association of Women Writers last month, and on Wednesday night I went to the local chapter meeting for the first time. I was floored...these women were AMAZING people. We were all sitting around this long table in the private room of a restaurant, and everyone got to stand up and do a "30 second commercial" for whatever it is they are writing, and at least half of the women in there have published books already. On one side of me was a columnist for the major newspaper here in Arizona, and on the other side was an author named Dana Davis.

Dana and I talked at the end of the meeting because when she shared her writing news, she said she writes speculative fiction (that's the official classification of "Zachary", to any of you who've read pieces of it) and sci/fi. Out of all the women there (about 30), I was lucky enough to sit next to the only other one who wrote the sort of stuff I write. I introduced myself to her as soon as we could talk, and she told me SO MUCH great information.

She was incredible to talk to, because this is someone who has done it; she has written a complete book (yup, that's the hard part) and gone through the steps to get it published. She gave me the names of some sites to check out for critiques and readers of manuscripts; she told me what NOT to put on my business cards; she shared her own personal experience with getting an agent... my brain was going NUTS! I felt like sparklers were going off in my head, and I was smiling way more than Antisocial and Malcontented Lisa usually smiles. When I went home, I looked up her website and read her writing--I was totally impressed, too-- and yesterday she wrote me a nice e-mail, offering to help me with any industry or genre questions I had. WHAT a fortuitous thing this is.

There's more writing news, though: I have pinpointed the magazines and literary journals to which I am going to submit the first two of my short stories to be sent out into the world. I've got a plan, and I know what the next steps will be. This feels so freaking good.

I also will begin writing some freelance articles for a new Phoenix online magazine. Once that happens and I have an article published, I'll link it all up here and everything. I just don't want to jinx it because it sounds like so much fun. It's unpaid work right now, but it's a start. I just need that one freelance project to kickstart other ones into being. I don't want to be known solely for the stuff on my work resume. I want a fun, creative portfolio, damn it! So this is the first step towards getting it.

ALSO, there is a documentary project in the works, and Kane and Trish have asked me to be the scriptwriter. That's cool; any writing is a good thing. But the really incredible thing about this project is it will be something to highlight the pet overpopulation and get publicity for no-kill shelters...probably the ONE issue I am the most passionate about! I feel really giddy about this one, too. I plan to contact the woman (who first contacted the Phoenix Film Commission and asked for a filmmaker to work with her on her story; the PFC then contacted Kane, who is getting a ton of notice for his short film "No.12") who runs the shelter very soon, maybe even this weekend, to start to figure out what the angle is and what I'd want to do to get this message across. Their website is www.tarasbabies.org. They took in a bunch of the Hurricane Katrina rescues this past fall, as a matter of fact. They only have 10 left who need homes. So cool.

Well, it's been a nice week, that's for damn sure. Isn't it strange how one week, things can be totally bland and monotonous as always, and then the following week things become more colorful and interesting? I'm grateful it happened. I am going to make the most of it, because I appreciate the universe handing me this. Sure, I did have to get proactive to get most of these things accomplished, but at least I had the universe kicking me in the ass to finally get off the couch and do something. Thanks for the beatings, universe! Kick me anytime.

Kane shared some great news with me this morning; Dark Horse comics is launching a brand-new Buffy comic that picks up where the show left off. It's basically Season 8, and it sounds like it's going to be so much fun to read.

Here's a TV Guide Q&A with Joss Whedon, and the official Dark Horse article from their site.

I have to say, I am pretty excited to read this. I really adore Joss Whedon-- his vivid imagination, the characters, the stories, his writing (not only the word-kind but the music-kind, too)... Finally, I have a reason to geek out again with the Buffy stuff. It's been too long. Commence Snoopy Dance.

"Hey Hey Hey! It's Fat Lisa!" I have Fat Albert's voice in my head today. I wish I could get away with speaking with his soft, gravelly-yet-still-Cosbyesque voice as I go about my day. It would be so fun to say things like, "Hey, I finished that rewrite of Chapter Two like you asked," but in Fat Albert-ese. I'd just say things in that voice and never give anyone an explanation. I'd just do it, all serious.

Speaking of fat, I think I have a problem with Chocodiles. I love them. I wish I could go buy one right now. They are so delicious. I loved them when I was little, and they sold them in a brown wrapper with the little crocodile mascot on it, and I love them now even though they are in boring white wrappers and are not sold on the East Coast for some reason. They make me want to do a jaunty dance; probably one in which I stick my heinie out and jiggle it for the audience.

Hey, that's another new idea: Instead of saying "asshole", I could try starting the trend of saying, "Heiniehole." I know it sounds a lot like Jambi the Genie's "Meka,leka,high, meka,heinieho," but there could be worse things to have people think of. I'm sure a lot of people would actually appreciate being reminded of Pee Wee's glowing, blue/green floating head in a sparkly box.

Didn't Jambi seem gay? He had glittery lipstick. I guess straight genies could wear glittery lipstick, but you know what-- it seems unlikely. It's creepy that Pee Wee would have a gay genie with no body, and he keeps this poor gay genie in a box for his exclusive wish-granting. Who has that? No one. That show was unrealistic. But it was VERY FUNNY when the secret word got screamed...and the King of Cartoons showed up with a trippy old cartoon from the olden days...and Captain (Phil Hartman) Carl came by and taught Pee Wee some lesson about the sea, or about wanting to woo Miss Yvonne... good times.

By the way, if you want to read an excellent write-up about a particulartly disturbing episode of Pee Wee's Playhouse called "The Pajama Party, click here. It's hilarious.

Saturday morning TV. Fat Albert, Pee-Wee's Playhouse, that short-lived "Hey Vern! It's Ernest!" show (I can still sing the theme song, a fact of which I am equally proud and disgusted), The Littles, Land of the Lost... it's nothing like that anymore. If I get up and turn on Saturday morning TV now, it sucks so much. Kids today. How the hell can they like that dumb crap? I'm going to force my children to watch my beat-up and grainy VHS tapes of Pee Wee. Best. Mom. Ever. That's gonna be me, alright. Also: I plan to spank 'em and yell at 'em when they are misbehaving. Go on and take me out back and shoot me now, all you conservative ninneys who believe kids shouldn't even be whacked on the heinie. Because I am DAMNED well gonna do it. I'm bringin' it back, 1970's-parenting style.

I'm going to be all, "HEY HEY HEY I'm gonna whoop your ass!"

And then we will have Chocodiles. All will be well. You'll see.