Sunday, May 11, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
On behalf of Bob Barker...
I took my little Ruby Tuesday in to be spayed today. She's 16 months old and I meant to have it done sooner, but I'm a bad mom. She has now been through two heats which makes her untouchable and unlovable to everyone but me and a virtual prisoner in her crate for two weeks plus. It makes her a very sad panda.
I was nervous dropping her off this morning. Yes, it's routine, but it's still surgery. I spared no expense - yes, do the blood work and physical beforehand. Yes, do the catheter. Whatever makes it easier and safer for her. Nothing is too good for my Pretty Pretty Princess Puppy.
The vet called twice. The first time she started off saying how cute little Ruby is, to which I responded with an unapologetic "I know." I mean, Duh. Anyone can see that. Of course now I realize she was just softening the blow of telling me that she needed two teeth pulled, baby teeth that hadn't come out on their own. Yes, yes, whatever my princess needs.
The second call was to tell me that surgery went well, but that her uterus and one of her ovaries was extremely larger than normal, most likely infected. She mentioned something about a pyometra, some condition that could possibly kill her if she was permitted to go into another heat. It's a little unsettling when your vet repeats "I'm so glad you brought her in when you did." I promptly looked up pyometra when I got back to the office (this link describes the condition fairly graphically - click at your own risk.) I cannot describe to you the depths of my mommy guilt now.
Oh, and remember the "no expenses spared"? Oh yes, one tooth pulled, one spay, one x-ray, one microchip, one catheter, one physical exam, one IV, two prescriptions and $476 later..... Pretty Pretty Princess Puppy indeed!
The moral of the story, boys and girls? "Help control the pet population; have your pet spayed or neutered." Good old Bob.
I was nervous dropping her off this morning. Yes, it's routine, but it's still surgery. I spared no expense - yes, do the blood work and physical beforehand. Yes, do the catheter. Whatever makes it easier and safer for her. Nothing is too good for my Pretty Pretty Princess Puppy.
The vet called twice. The first time she started off saying how cute little Ruby is, to which I responded with an unapologetic "I know." I mean, Duh. Anyone can see that. Of course now I realize she was just softening the blow of telling me that she needed two teeth pulled, baby teeth that hadn't come out on their own. Yes, yes, whatever my princess needs.
The second call was to tell me that surgery went well, but that her uterus and one of her ovaries was extremely larger than normal, most likely infected. She mentioned something about a pyometra, some condition that could possibly kill her if she was permitted to go into another heat. It's a little unsettling when your vet repeats "I'm so glad you brought her in when you did." I promptly looked up pyometra when I got back to the office (this link describes the condition fairly graphically - click at your own risk.) I cannot describe to you the depths of my mommy guilt now.
Oh, and remember the "no expenses spared"? Oh yes, one tooth pulled, one spay, one x-ray, one microchip, one catheter, one physical exam, one IV, two prescriptions and $476 later..... Pretty Pretty Princess Puppy indeed!
The moral of the story, boys and girls? "Help control the pet population; have your pet spayed or neutered." Good old Bob.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
¿Dónde está el baño?
As a woman, I spend much of my time in the restroom and always like to know where to find the closest, cleanest toilet. When I was pregnant, I was frequenting the ladies' room so often I could map out every one in town as well as along any route to Portland, including Washington Square.
Now, notice I said I like to find the 'cleanest.' This isn't always easy and there is a wide variety of hygienic standards, ranging across the board from gas station grossness to the posh powder room with rows of perfumes and the lady who sits there all day waiting to turn on the faucet for you. Personally, those are my least favorite. Knowing there's someone out there listening to me pee and then treating me like an invalid when I'm done. I can't look her in the eye, but that somehow makes me feel like an elitist old hag. And do I tip because she did something I'm perfectly capable of doing for myself? It's just uncomfortable all over the place for me.
Now, sometimes the restroom stereotype doesn't always hold true. Take, for example, the gas station we rolled into on our last trip to Victoria, somewhere in Washington. It was around 4 a.m. and the prospect of using a gas station restroom at that time wasn't exactly appealing. However, such a pleasant surprise awaited us. Clean! A lovely, burning scented candle! Pretty pictures! Bible verses on the mirror? On second thought.....
And then there are the places that one would expect much from only to be sorely disappointed. One restaurant in town, which shall remain nameless (just think of the place with notoriously bad service - aka snotty waiters), graced me with one of my worst experiences ever. It was a wine-tasting night out for the girls. Lovely evening - wine, cheese, chocolate. When we were done, of course a trip to the ladies' room was in order. The restroom, unfortunately, was out of order. Really out of order. The floor was flooded, the guilty toilet filled to the rim. We had to skip that one. I walked to my car in the cold, dreaming of my nice, warm, dry bathroom at home.
Finally, there is the Spoon. I am not a fan of the Spoon. Recently my girlfriends and I went to High Tides for lunch. A bottle of wine, some Thai soup, luxury on a Friday! Until I needed to use the restroom. With the key. Hanging on a spoon. Non-gender specific. I somehow don't feel clean carrying around the Spoon. Just because I wash my hands afterward and use a paper towel to open the door doesn't mean everyone else does. And the spoon negates any handwashing because who knows who had it before you? Yeah, not a fan.
Restaurants, please take notice. You are being judged on the quality of your restrooms. Please clean them. Make them smell pretty. And please, I beg of you. Eliminate the Spoon.
Now, notice I said I like to find the 'cleanest.' This isn't always easy and there is a wide variety of hygienic standards, ranging across the board from gas station grossness to the posh powder room with rows of perfumes and the lady who sits there all day waiting to turn on the faucet for you. Personally, those are my least favorite. Knowing there's someone out there listening to me pee and then treating me like an invalid when I'm done. I can't look her in the eye, but that somehow makes me feel like an elitist old hag. And do I tip because she did something I'm perfectly capable of doing for myself? It's just uncomfortable all over the place for me.
Now, sometimes the restroom stereotype doesn't always hold true. Take, for example, the gas station we rolled into on our last trip to Victoria, somewhere in Washington. It was around 4 a.m. and the prospect of using a gas station restroom at that time wasn't exactly appealing. However, such a pleasant surprise awaited us. Clean! A lovely, burning scented candle! Pretty pictures! Bible verses on the mirror? On second thought.....
And then there are the places that one would expect much from only to be sorely disappointed. One restaurant in town, which shall remain nameless (just think of the place with notoriously bad service - aka snotty waiters), graced me with one of my worst experiences ever. It was a wine-tasting night out for the girls. Lovely evening - wine, cheese, chocolate. When we were done, of course a trip to the ladies' room was in order. The restroom, unfortunately, was out of order. Really out of order. The floor was flooded, the guilty toilet filled to the rim. We had to skip that one. I walked to my car in the cold, dreaming of my nice, warm, dry bathroom at home.
Finally, there is the Spoon. I am not a fan of the Spoon. Recently my girlfriends and I went to High Tides for lunch. A bottle of wine, some Thai soup, luxury on a Friday! Until I needed to use the restroom. With the key. Hanging on a spoon. Non-gender specific. I somehow don't feel clean carrying around the Spoon. Just because I wash my hands afterward and use a paper towel to open the door doesn't mean everyone else does. And the spoon negates any handwashing because who knows who had it before you? Yeah, not a fan.
Restaurants, please take notice. You are being judged on the quality of your restrooms. Please clean them. Make them smell pretty. And please, I beg of you. Eliminate the Spoon.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
A Simple Request
I'm not antisocial and I'm not a hermit. I'm just not a fan of the spontaneous drop-by. I don't think it's so much to ask that someone call before they come over. Please, people. I'm giving you fair warning now - I won't answer the door if you just show up unannounced.
It's social etiquette, really. I might not have makeup on or have my hair done or don't feel like putting on my bra. If I'm not getting dressed to see people, I don't want to be seen by you at my front door. I might be in the middle of making dinner, which I don't want to have to let sit and get cold and dry because you have bad timing and don't observe normal dinner hours. I might be having a really bad day and don't feel like having to be unexpectedly cordial. I might be in the middle of a really great movie, or a much needed nap or yelling at my kid or having sex. It is my house, after all. And it's very rude to stand outside my door, ringing my doorbell multiple times because you hear my dogs barking and see my car outside. It's presumptuous to think that I'm going to drop whatever I'm doing because you want to insert yourself into my day.
So please. Heed my simple request. I appreciate the thought, but call first.
It's social etiquette, really. I might not have makeup on or have my hair done or don't feel like putting on my bra. If I'm not getting dressed to see people, I don't want to be seen by you at my front door. I might be in the middle of making dinner, which I don't want to have to let sit and get cold and dry because you have bad timing and don't observe normal dinner hours. I might be having a really bad day and don't feel like having to be unexpectedly cordial. I might be in the middle of a really great movie, or a much needed nap or yelling at my kid or having sex. It is my house, after all. And it's very rude to stand outside my door, ringing my doorbell multiple times because you hear my dogs barking and see my car outside. It's presumptuous to think that I'm going to drop whatever I'm doing because you want to insert yourself into my day.
So please. Heed my simple request. I appreciate the thought, but call first.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
The Tale of the Perfect Meal
Once upon a time there was a beautiful young woman who had her dining experience ruined by the evil waitress serving her. Okay, so I'm the beautiful young woman (because I am. Really!) and the woman wasn't evil so much as extremely inattentive.
You see, it was my friend J's birthday. Now, birthdays aren't as fun for us as they used to be. It's that slow climb towards middle age that sometimes feels like it's happening at the speed of light, mostly when an unwanted gray hair pops up out of seemingly nowhere. She chose Staccato for her birthday dinner, the benefit of being older that you can afford to treat yourself when you want. We'd been there before, both for dinner and just for drinks or happy hour. L happens to think that their chicken pesto pizza is just about the Best Thing In Town while I am particularly fond of the Wiseguy cocktail. I highly recommend it if you are one who can handle your alcohol. It is instant happiness in a glass. On all of these occasions, we had perfectly pleasant experiences. The food is very good with excellent presentation and I'd never had a single complaint. Until the evening in question.
As I said, it was J's birthday. Now, we didn't mention this when making the reservation because we had no reason to expect that we'd enjoy our evening any less than we had on previous visits. How wrong we were. First, we were seated at the very first table behind the hostess station. Not the best place, rather disappointing, but someone has to sit there and it turned out to be us that night. We grumbled a little bit while we waited for our first drink.
Our server, who will be known hereafter as Ms. Ignore-the-Table-in-the-Corner, seemed nice enough at first. She came to take our drink order and took our appetizer order when she brought our drinks. And that was the end of that. She brought our appetizer and proceeded to ignore us for the rest of our meal. She didn't take our dinner order until we had eaten all of our appetizer. This made for a very long wait between courses. She neglected to let us know what the specials were, we had to ask. She was very slow in asking if we'd like a second drink and never asked if we'd like a third. She never came to check on us or ask if we needed anything else. There was a young girl who brought us water and we ended up asking her if she could bring our check and box our leftovers as she was more attentive to us than Ms. Ignore-the-Table-in-the-Corner.
Something you should know about me is that I might complain to my dinner companions about the service we receive but I truly do try to give someone the benefit of the doubt. There is a reason that waiting tables isn't my job. Maybe she was having a bad day/her dog was sick/her boyfriend just left her. But we watched her and every other table got her prompt attention. She walked past us dozens of times while serving them and completely ignored us. Wouldn't even look at us. It was like we were invisible to her. Or else a really dirty pile of laundry in the corner that she'd rather not deal with.
Needless to say, her poor service and inattentiveness ruined our dinner experience. J was especially unhappy since it was her birthday and this was supposed to be a treat to make her feel better. We had planned on splurging on dessert even, but by the time our dinner finally arrived we only wanted to leave and it couldn't happen fast enough.
And here we come to the part of the story where I did something I've never done before. I wrote a complaint to the restaurant. I have friends who have complained very publicly about poor service and rude restaurant staff. Some of you may be familiar with the Kanpai Incident from a couple of years ago. I never felt that any experience warranted that much attention. And I didn't this time either. After thinking about it, the real reason I wrote to Staccato is because I really like it there. I had enjoyed all of my visits up until this one and I thought that if that evening had been my first visit, I would never have gone back. And I didn't want someone else to feel this way about 'my' restaurant. It actually mattered to me, odd as that sounds.
So I sat down with my friend the laptop and sent off a quick email to Staccato Management. I really didn't expect a reply. I suppose I'm used to the attitude that people don't care anymore. "So what." "Who cares about you." "We have a full house tonight so you must be wrong." I certainly didn't expect the response I got. Susan Pasquetti, co-owner of Staccato, wrote me back personally and quickly. She sincerely apologized, and seemed honestly surprised by Ms. Ignore-the-Table-in-the-Corner's service as she was one of the original staff members and apparently had the reputation of being "extremely attentive to every detail." It was a surprisingly heartfelt and much appreciated response.
Fast forward three months to last night. A rare night out with L. An actual Date Night. I decided to give Staccato another try. As much as L loves the pizza, he'd never actually been there for dinner and, although aware of my previous bad experience, had no expectations of his own. It turned out to be one of the Absolute Best Dinners Ever.
We were seated at a cozy table in front of the fireplace. Our server this time was Amy. She introduced herself to us right away and took our drink order. Throughout the entire meal she was prompt, courteous and attentive. She answered questions about the food knowledgeably and complimented my choice of entree. (I don't know why I get such a kick out of it when they do that. I just do.) She brought us more bread to dip in the delicious tomato broth that the clams and mussels came in. She brought L more coffee. She boxed our leftovers neatly. She was absolutely perfect.
The surprise of the evening came when Susan Pasquetti herself brought my entree out personally to meet me. She is a lovely woman. And before you say anything, Amy asked at the end of our meal if I know Susan. I replied that we had just met, having the impression that Amy wasn't aware of my complaint letter. I believe her wonderful service was indicative of how she treats all of her customers.
And now I must take a moment to tell you about our meal because it was that good. I'm not a restaurant critic, I just like good food and this was exceptional. We started with the clams and mussels. I told you that Amy brought extra bread to go with it. This is because the tomato broth is so good I wanted to soak up every last little drop of it. The bread is also worth mentioning. Crispy, crunchy crust with a soft, pillowy inside. I am somewhat of a bread connoisseur and this is really excellent bread. If I had to choose only one type of food to eat for the rest of my life it would probably be bread and cheese. See? I'm really a simple girl.
Next, I knew I wanted the Caesar Roulade salad. Similar to the traditional Caesar, it is served as a heart of romaine with goat cheese stuffed inside the leaves. I happen to have an obsession with goat cheese lately so I really just love this salad. L chose the same and was also pleased.
For my entree I had a bit of a debate with myself. I've had the Mock Beef Tender before and loved it. Bread, cheese, meat - simple girl, remember? No comments from the peanut gallery necessary. But then Amy came to inform us of the evening's specials. Staccato has a risotto special every night. I've seen other people order it before and while the presentation was beautiful, I was only briefly tempted to try it. Last night's risotto consisted of duck, roasted red pepper, a goat cheese mousse and shaved truffles. Then she told us about the mahi mahi with two kinds of sauces and an apple-crab salad on top. Darn. Steak? Duck? Mahi mahi? I normally go with what I know, but threw caution to the wind last night and went with the risotto. When duck is done right, there's not much that beats it. And this was certainly done right. I expected a few pieces of duck with mostly rice. I got a moist, delicious duck morsel in every bite. And the risotto? Just the perfect amount of cheese, not overwhelmingly rich, like the kind of rich where you have two bites and you're done. I wanted to eat all of it but after the clams and mussels, extra bread and salad I just couldn't do it. Which just means I have a delicious little lunch waiting for me today.
L went with the Mock Beef per my recommendation. This comes as beef medallions with the most delicious goat cheese gratin (obsesssion, remember?) and beautiful, flowery stems of broccolini. He loved it. Described the steak as "melt in your mouth." And it did. I stole a couple of bites. Little bites of heaven.
Last night being Date Night, and having such success so far, we went for it and ordered dessert. I was very disappointed to learn that they had run out of the creme brulee trio but L spotted the pumpkin cheesecake right away so I settled for that. Settled does not turn out to be the right description. I'm not even a big pumpkin fan, but this was as close to the perfect cheesecake as I have ever had. Topped with just the right amount of whipped cream, swirls of caramel on the plate and the prettiest and most delicious piece of pumpkin seed brittle on top. More bites of heaven. Four to be exact because I was absolutely stuffed. The cheesecake also ended up in a little box and is in the fridge waiting to be fought over later.
It was, in the end, The Perfect Meal. Impeccable service, exquisite food and the company? A Date Night to beat all date nights. I couldn't have been happier.
The moral of the story dear readers? Not everyone deserves second chances. Not what you thought I'd say? It's true. But anyone who honestly and sincerely tries to do their absolute best for you does deserve another chance. Susan Pasquetti and Staccato fit this category to a T. Thank you Susan, Amy and the Unseen Chef for an incredible meal and a truly remarkable evening! My love affair with Staccato will continue.
You see, it was my friend J's birthday. Now, birthdays aren't as fun for us as they used to be. It's that slow climb towards middle age that sometimes feels like it's happening at the speed of light, mostly when an unwanted gray hair pops up out of seemingly nowhere. She chose Staccato for her birthday dinner, the benefit of being older that you can afford to treat yourself when you want. We'd been there before, both for dinner and just for drinks or happy hour. L happens to think that their chicken pesto pizza is just about the Best Thing In Town while I am particularly fond of the Wiseguy cocktail. I highly recommend it if you are one who can handle your alcohol. It is instant happiness in a glass. On all of these occasions, we had perfectly pleasant experiences. The food is very good with excellent presentation and I'd never had a single complaint. Until the evening in question.
As I said, it was J's birthday. Now, we didn't mention this when making the reservation because we had no reason to expect that we'd enjoy our evening any less than we had on previous visits. How wrong we were. First, we were seated at the very first table behind the hostess station. Not the best place, rather disappointing, but someone has to sit there and it turned out to be us that night. We grumbled a little bit while we waited for our first drink.
Our server, who will be known hereafter as Ms. Ignore-the-Table-in-the-Corner, seemed nice enough at first. She came to take our drink order and took our appetizer order when she brought our drinks. And that was the end of that. She brought our appetizer and proceeded to ignore us for the rest of our meal. She didn't take our dinner order until we had eaten all of our appetizer. This made for a very long wait between courses. She neglected to let us know what the specials were, we had to ask. She was very slow in asking if we'd like a second drink and never asked if we'd like a third. She never came to check on us or ask if we needed anything else. There was a young girl who brought us water and we ended up asking her if she could bring our check and box our leftovers as she was more attentive to us than Ms. Ignore-the-Table-in-the-Corner.
Something you should know about me is that I might complain to my dinner companions about the service we receive but I truly do try to give someone the benefit of the doubt. There is a reason that waiting tables isn't my job. Maybe she was having a bad day/her dog was sick/her boyfriend just left her. But we watched her and every other table got her prompt attention. She walked past us dozens of times while serving them and completely ignored us. Wouldn't even look at us. It was like we were invisible to her. Or else a really dirty pile of laundry in the corner that she'd rather not deal with.
Needless to say, her poor service and inattentiveness ruined our dinner experience. J was especially unhappy since it was her birthday and this was supposed to be a treat to make her feel better. We had planned on splurging on dessert even, but by the time our dinner finally arrived we only wanted to leave and it couldn't happen fast enough.
And here we come to the part of the story where I did something I've never done before. I wrote a complaint to the restaurant. I have friends who have complained very publicly about poor service and rude restaurant staff. Some of you may be familiar with the Kanpai Incident from a couple of years ago. I never felt that any experience warranted that much attention. And I didn't this time either. After thinking about it, the real reason I wrote to Staccato is because I really like it there. I had enjoyed all of my visits up until this one and I thought that if that evening had been my first visit, I would never have gone back. And I didn't want someone else to feel this way about 'my' restaurant. It actually mattered to me, odd as that sounds.
So I sat down with my friend the laptop and sent off a quick email to Staccato Management. I really didn't expect a reply. I suppose I'm used to the attitude that people don't care anymore. "So what." "Who cares about you." "We have a full house tonight so you must be wrong." I certainly didn't expect the response I got. Susan Pasquetti, co-owner of Staccato, wrote me back personally and quickly. She sincerely apologized, and seemed honestly surprised by Ms. Ignore-the-Table-in-the-Corner's service as she was one of the original staff members and apparently had the reputation of being "extremely attentive to every detail." It was a surprisingly heartfelt and much appreciated response.
Fast forward three months to last night. A rare night out with L. An actual Date Night. I decided to give Staccato another try. As much as L loves the pizza, he'd never actually been there for dinner and, although aware of my previous bad experience, had no expectations of his own. It turned out to be one of the Absolute Best Dinners Ever.
We were seated at a cozy table in front of the fireplace. Our server this time was Amy. She introduced herself to us right away and took our drink order. Throughout the entire meal she was prompt, courteous and attentive. She answered questions about the food knowledgeably and complimented my choice of entree. (I don't know why I get such a kick out of it when they do that. I just do.) She brought us more bread to dip in the delicious tomato broth that the clams and mussels came in. She brought L more coffee. She boxed our leftovers neatly. She was absolutely perfect.
The surprise of the evening came when Susan Pasquetti herself brought my entree out personally to meet me. She is a lovely woman. And before you say anything, Amy asked at the end of our meal if I know Susan. I replied that we had just met, having the impression that Amy wasn't aware of my complaint letter. I believe her wonderful service was indicative of how she treats all of her customers.
And now I must take a moment to tell you about our meal because it was that good. I'm not a restaurant critic, I just like good food and this was exceptional. We started with the clams and mussels. I told you that Amy brought extra bread to go with it. This is because the tomato broth is so good I wanted to soak up every last little drop of it. The bread is also worth mentioning. Crispy, crunchy crust with a soft, pillowy inside. I am somewhat of a bread connoisseur and this is really excellent bread. If I had to choose only one type of food to eat for the rest of my life it would probably be bread and cheese. See? I'm really a simple girl.
Next, I knew I wanted the Caesar Roulade salad. Similar to the traditional Caesar, it is served as a heart of romaine with goat cheese stuffed inside the leaves. I happen to have an obsession with goat cheese lately so I really just love this salad. L chose the same and was also pleased.
For my entree I had a bit of a debate with myself. I've had the Mock Beef Tender before and loved it. Bread, cheese, meat - simple girl, remember? No comments from the peanut gallery necessary. But then Amy came to inform us of the evening's specials. Staccato has a risotto special every night. I've seen other people order it before and while the presentation was beautiful, I was only briefly tempted to try it. Last night's risotto consisted of duck, roasted red pepper, a goat cheese mousse and shaved truffles. Then she told us about the mahi mahi with two kinds of sauces and an apple-crab salad on top. Darn. Steak? Duck? Mahi mahi? I normally go with what I know, but threw caution to the wind last night and went with the risotto. When duck is done right, there's not much that beats it. And this was certainly done right. I expected a few pieces of duck with mostly rice. I got a moist, delicious duck morsel in every bite. And the risotto? Just the perfect amount of cheese, not overwhelmingly rich, like the kind of rich where you have two bites and you're done. I wanted to eat all of it but after the clams and mussels, extra bread and salad I just couldn't do it. Which just means I have a delicious little lunch waiting for me today.
L went with the Mock Beef per my recommendation. This comes as beef medallions with the most delicious goat cheese gratin (obsesssion, remember?) and beautiful, flowery stems of broccolini. He loved it. Described the steak as "melt in your mouth." And it did. I stole a couple of bites. Little bites of heaven.
Last night being Date Night, and having such success so far, we went for it and ordered dessert. I was very disappointed to learn that they had run out of the creme brulee trio but L spotted the pumpkin cheesecake right away so I settled for that. Settled does not turn out to be the right description. I'm not even a big pumpkin fan, but this was as close to the perfect cheesecake as I have ever had. Topped with just the right amount of whipped cream, swirls of caramel on the plate and the prettiest and most delicious piece of pumpkin seed brittle on top. More bites of heaven. Four to be exact because I was absolutely stuffed. The cheesecake also ended up in a little box and is in the fridge waiting to be fought over later.
It was, in the end, The Perfect Meal. Impeccable service, exquisite food and the company? A Date Night to beat all date nights. I couldn't have been happier.
The moral of the story dear readers? Not everyone deserves second chances. Not what you thought I'd say? It's true. But anyone who honestly and sincerely tries to do their absolute best for you does deserve another chance. Susan Pasquetti and Staccato fit this category to a T. Thank you Susan, Amy and the Unseen Chef for an incredible meal and a truly remarkable evening! My love affair with Staccato will continue.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Don't pee on your sister!
A few months ago I couldn't imagine why I would say this particular phrase. Now I say it all the time.
I have two dogs, which would normally require two leashes. But I'm a genius and got a double doggie harness, which hooks one leash to both of their harnesses. Now they are the ones fighting if they get tangled up instead of me wrestling with two leashes, switching hands, undoing the mess they get themselves in. Brilliant! Except for one thing.
Remy loves to stop and pee on every bush, tree and rock every 10 feet. Daddy encourages this behavior, probably because peeing outdoors is one of the few ways in which he can actually bond with said dog. Mommy thinks it's gross and says so. And little Ruby? Well, the poor little girl is often in Remy's line of fire even if she's not actually a target. He's somehow managed to miss her so far. Until today.
I decide it's a beautiful day, nice enough to go for a nice, long walk by the river. No stress, right? Wrong. Because here we are, strolling along, until I get stopped short by Remy sniffing a tree, a rock, a bush, a pine needle. And more often than not, Ruby is smack in the middle of Remy and his desired pee target. So I tug on the leash and say "Don't pee on your sister." We go on our merry way.
Until It happens. I don't catch him in time. He stops, sees a tree, doesn't even give the warning sniff. He just lifts his leg and marks his spot. His spot ends up being his sister's neck, because she is standing in the unfortunate location of Between Remy and the Tree. And it's the white part of her neck, so there's a nice yellow pee stain for the remainder of our walk. And I'm yelling at my dog, "I told you not to pee on your sister!!" like some crazy person.
Ruby is recovered now, even if I'm not. I got her all cleaned up and sprayed her with pretty puppy perfume for good measure. I sprayed Remy too, just because it scared him. That'll show him!
I have two dogs, which would normally require two leashes. But I'm a genius and got a double doggie harness, which hooks one leash to both of their harnesses. Now they are the ones fighting if they get tangled up instead of me wrestling with two leashes, switching hands, undoing the mess they get themselves in. Brilliant! Except for one thing.
Remy loves to stop and pee on every bush, tree and rock every 10 feet. Daddy encourages this behavior, probably because peeing outdoors is one of the few ways in which he can actually bond with said dog. Mommy thinks it's gross and says so. And little Ruby? Well, the poor little girl is often in Remy's line of fire even if she's not actually a target. He's somehow managed to miss her so far. Until today.
I decide it's a beautiful day, nice enough to go for a nice, long walk by the river. No stress, right? Wrong. Because here we are, strolling along, until I get stopped short by Remy sniffing a tree, a rock, a bush, a pine needle. And more often than not, Ruby is smack in the middle of Remy and his desired pee target. So I tug on the leash and say "Don't pee on your sister." We go on our merry way.
Until It happens. I don't catch him in time. He stops, sees a tree, doesn't even give the warning sniff. He just lifts his leg and marks his spot. His spot ends up being his sister's neck, because she is standing in the unfortunate location of Between Remy and the Tree. And it's the white part of her neck, so there's a nice yellow pee stain for the remainder of our walk. And I'm yelling at my dog, "I told you not to pee on your sister!!" like some crazy person.
Ruby is recovered now, even if I'm not. I got her all cleaned up and sprayed her with pretty puppy perfume for good measure. I sprayed Remy too, just because it scared him. That'll show him!
Monday, October 29, 2007
If I could spin a cocoon....
I would wrap one tightly, securely, insistently around my daughter. Just like a caterpillar she is undergoing a transformation. Sometimes dramatic, other times more subtle, always mesmerizing, amazing and frightening at the same time. I'm not always sure what my role should be or what to expect at the end, so I'd like to cocoon her and tuck her away in a safe place until she emerges miraculously as the butterfly she is meant to become.
I've said this before to any poor soul who will listen to me, but I really hate that middle school starts at 6th grade here. I don't think she's ready. She's still so small, the 8th grade boys tower over her. She is only just barely beginning to develop but insists on wearing a bra because she has to undress in the locker room and needs that tiny little undergarment for security.
And it's not just the physical differences that I am on the constant lookout for. She's much more focused on her social life this year. She's had a cell phone for the last year, but I've had to take it away twice in the last month for excessive use. If I gave her free reign, she'd rack up more minutes the rest of us combined. She's even more boy-crazy than before and unabashedly so. It's very disconcerting for a parent. I'm choosing my battles, and so far I think I'm winning more than I'm losing, but I just may be losing my sanity in the process.
Her social ambitions are now being reflected in her grades. In elementary school, she was used to being the queen bee. She garnered the attentions of both her classmates and her teachers effortlessly. This affection, and lack of having to work for it, was reflected in her school performance. She was able to focus more on schoolwork and was rewarded handsomely by her teachers. She basically only needed to show up, smile, pay a modicum amount of attention and she coasted her way through the introductory phase of her education.
Now she is realizing the harsh reality of having to work to reach goals. There have been a few disappointing test scores and quiz results. The notion of actually studying in order to do well is a jarring wake up call. To both of us, really. I've always taken for granted the fact that she is intelligent and I didn't expect that would ever change. I guess I hadn't thought to factor in the hormonal impacts of puberty. The fact that, for her, a math quiz just isn't as exciting as the upcoming dance or that being able to spell "occurrence" correctly isn't as satisfying as having That Boy talk to you.
Puberty. What an ugly word. It's turning my child into an almost unrecognizable being. Not to say she's been perfect to this point. This little person has always had her own ideas, her own agenda about her life and is always pushing the boundaries of her small existence. If this translates into her ability to stand up for herself and her beliefs and not take "no" for an answer, then I will be very proud indeed. But when I am the one saying "no", it's a somewhat bitter pill to swallow. Asking her to fold the laundry results in an eye roll, denying her request to spend the night at a friend's house turns into a 10 minute attempt at negotiation to get her way. It's exhausting sometimes.
I have to admit this isn't my favorite part of parenting. I'm not fully prepared for this phase. It's a little like that dream I have where it's finals time and I haven't studied all semester so I have to go in and just wing it. I wing it a lot these days. I guess she is too. She's just trying to find her way in the world and I need to step back and give her some room to grow. She's actually a really cool kid and I have to trust that at least that won't change about her.
It would just be so much easier to wrap her up and hide her away until I'm ready to let her fly out into the world on her own.
I've said this before to any poor soul who will listen to me, but I really hate that middle school starts at 6th grade here. I don't think she's ready. She's still so small, the 8th grade boys tower over her. She is only just barely beginning to develop but insists on wearing a bra because she has to undress in the locker room and needs that tiny little undergarment for security.
And it's not just the physical differences that I am on the constant lookout for. She's much more focused on her social life this year. She's had a cell phone for the last year, but I've had to take it away twice in the last month for excessive use. If I gave her free reign, she'd rack up more minutes the rest of us combined. She's even more boy-crazy than before and unabashedly so. It's very disconcerting for a parent. I'm choosing my battles, and so far I think I'm winning more than I'm losing, but I just may be losing my sanity in the process.
Her social ambitions are now being reflected in her grades. In elementary school, she was used to being the queen bee. She garnered the attentions of both her classmates and her teachers effortlessly. This affection, and lack of having to work for it, was reflected in her school performance. She was able to focus more on schoolwork and was rewarded handsomely by her teachers. She basically only needed to show up, smile, pay a modicum amount of attention and she coasted her way through the introductory phase of her education.
Now she is realizing the harsh reality of having to work to reach goals. There have been a few disappointing test scores and quiz results. The notion of actually studying in order to do well is a jarring wake up call. To both of us, really. I've always taken for granted the fact that she is intelligent and I didn't expect that would ever change. I guess I hadn't thought to factor in the hormonal impacts of puberty. The fact that, for her, a math quiz just isn't as exciting as the upcoming dance or that being able to spell "occurrence" correctly isn't as satisfying as having That Boy talk to you.
Puberty. What an ugly word. It's turning my child into an almost unrecognizable being. Not to say she's been perfect to this point. This little person has always had her own ideas, her own agenda about her life and is always pushing the boundaries of her small existence. If this translates into her ability to stand up for herself and her beliefs and not take "no" for an answer, then I will be very proud indeed. But when I am the one saying "no", it's a somewhat bitter pill to swallow. Asking her to fold the laundry results in an eye roll, denying her request to spend the night at a friend's house turns into a 10 minute attempt at negotiation to get her way. It's exhausting sometimes.
I have to admit this isn't my favorite part of parenting. I'm not fully prepared for this phase. It's a little like that dream I have where it's finals time and I haven't studied all semester so I have to go in and just wing it. I wing it a lot these days. I guess she is too. She's just trying to find her way in the world and I need to step back and give her some room to grow. She's actually a really cool kid and I have to trust that at least that won't change about her.
It would just be so much easier to wrap her up and hide her away until I'm ready to let her fly out into the world on her own.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
The Internet is THIS big....
There are days that I am so in love with the internet I can't tell you! Today is one of those days. Yes, me and WWW are having ourselves an Affair!! I'm pre-planning for Halloween. (And those of you who have been to our parties, THIS year is going to be a doozy!) So I'm looking for a costume and a mask (party-goers, stay tuned. Ya'll will be filled in soon enough). The combinations I am finding are limitless. I can't choose just one! The colors, the textures - I am on sensory overload!! Even if it is only my visual sense. Shush, I'm in some kind of trance right now...
On the other hand, this World Wide Web thing terrifies me. Because I am a parent. Of a girl-child. When I was a child, my parents had to worry only about our neighbors, maybe a teacher once in a while, and a random stranger driving down our street. Today the Radius of Danger is so much larger. My daughter now plays on-line games. Made for kids. Should be safe, right? I'm not so sure. She has admitted to 'pretending' to be 15 to boys she has 'met' online. She is 11. She's not 15. What are the chances that these 'boys' are 15?
I'm torn on this issue. I may be an 'old woman' now, but I remember those days. I remember wearing extra makeup in the hopes I might score a margarita in the local Mexican restaurant. I succeeded, by the way. At 16. I remember the pangs of puberty. I may not have known exactly what I wanted or how to get it, but I knew there was a goal in there somewhere. So I can't completely blame my daughter. She's having the same feelings, the same thoughts, that girls have had forever. Blame it on the hormones. I'm going to.
My dilemma is this -
I don't have to worry only about the next door neighbor, or her math teacher, or her tennis coach. I have to worry about the random 42-year-old man who lives in Poughkeepsie. The one who has an interest in my child that, if I knew what it was and who he was, I would, without a doubt, without hesitation, pull his testicles through his throat. What I'm saying is, our children are exposed to a hundred thousand times the dangers that we were. I'm often accused of exaggerating this point, but I don't think I am. When I was a child, the people that could hurt me were limited to maybe a 10 mile radius. The people that can hurt my daughter are limited by their internet access. This is the entire world. Leaving out the third world countries only. Maybe.
What's the solution? I don't know. Open communication? Web Nanny? I don't know. I don't have all the answers. This is new territory for me. I don't think I'm alone in this. I will be over-vigilant. I will be nosy. I will probably, unfortunately, spy on my child. In the name of safety. I hope it's enough. If anyone has a suggestion, I'm open.
In the meantime, WWW and I have some more dresses to look at. And shoes. Maybe some gloves. The night is young and I'm feeling frisky....
On the other hand, this World Wide Web thing terrifies me. Because I am a parent. Of a girl-child. When I was a child, my parents had to worry only about our neighbors, maybe a teacher once in a while, and a random stranger driving down our street. Today the Radius of Danger is so much larger. My daughter now plays on-line games. Made for kids. Should be safe, right? I'm not so sure. She has admitted to 'pretending' to be 15 to boys she has 'met' online. She is 11. She's not 15. What are the chances that these 'boys' are 15?
I'm torn on this issue. I may be an 'old woman' now, but I remember those days. I remember wearing extra makeup in the hopes I might score a margarita in the local Mexican restaurant. I succeeded, by the way. At 16. I remember the pangs of puberty. I may not have known exactly what I wanted or how to get it, but I knew there was a goal in there somewhere. So I can't completely blame my daughter. She's having the same feelings, the same thoughts, that girls have had forever. Blame it on the hormones. I'm going to.
My dilemma is this -
I don't have to worry only about the next door neighbor, or her math teacher, or her tennis coach. I have to worry about the random 42-year-old man who lives in Poughkeepsie. The one who has an interest in my child that, if I knew what it was and who he was, I would, without a doubt, without hesitation, pull his testicles through his throat. What I'm saying is, our children are exposed to a hundred thousand times the dangers that we were. I'm often accused of exaggerating this point, but I don't think I am. When I was a child, the people that could hurt me were limited to maybe a 10 mile radius. The people that can hurt my daughter are limited by their internet access. This is the entire world. Leaving out the third world countries only. Maybe.
What's the solution? I don't know. Open communication? Web Nanny? I don't know. I don't have all the answers. This is new territory for me. I don't think I'm alone in this. I will be over-vigilant. I will be nosy. I will probably, unfortunately, spy on my child. In the name of safety. I hope it's enough. If anyone has a suggestion, I'm open.
In the meantime, WWW and I have some more dresses to look at. And shoes. Maybe some gloves. The night is young and I'm feeling frisky....
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Crazy Dog Lady
Yes, I am THAT crazy dog lady. Sir Rembrandt owns no less than two sweaters, three collars, sunglasses and a bathrobe. He also recognizes me as That Crazy Dog Lady and refuses to wear the sunglasses and insists on looking humiliated when required to wear his bathrobe. He does, however, absolutely adore his black Rock Star t-shirt. I swear he'd wear it every day if I let him. He knows that it makes him Cool.
After tomorrow I will be even Crazier. I am going to pick up the newest addition to our little fur family. Her name is Ruby and she is 12 weeks old. She is beautiful, she is adorable, she is the Future Diva.
Since I was already at Target buying the obviously-needed supply of carpet cleaner, I checked out their Doggy section. I was quite disappointed, as it seemed bare compared to the usual supply of designer duds, toys and bowls they usually carry. Although they did have the most precious pink velvet collar I've ever seen. I also purchased a rubber chewy shaped like a diamond ring. Pink of course. I was very tempted to buy the eyelet lace dress, but as I don't know her exact size yet, I had to pass it up. Fear not, she will own her first Diva dress in a matter of days.
Next I stopped at Petsmart since Target was so low in their selection of leashes. I selected a pink harness with rhinestones and matching leash. This girl will be in style, let me tell you. I also picked up a cute little stuffed dog for her to cuddle with, perfectly soft and snuggly.
I am a little concerned that Remy will feel Less Than and Forgotten About but I know if he does, it won't last long. He's very intelligent and I think he already understands. He assumes that all stuffed animals belong to him, as they should, but he's really not interested in the one I brought home today. I think he will make the best big brother around and love his little Ruby almost as much as I will.
The thought of the two of them snuggled together in front of the fireplace just warms my Crazy Dog Lady heart.
After tomorrow I will be even Crazier. I am going to pick up the newest addition to our little fur family. Her name is Ruby and she is 12 weeks old. She is beautiful, she is adorable, she is the Future Diva.
Since I was already at Target buying the obviously-needed supply of carpet cleaner, I checked out their Doggy section. I was quite disappointed, as it seemed bare compared to the usual supply of designer duds, toys and bowls they usually carry. Although they did have the most precious pink velvet collar I've ever seen. I also purchased a rubber chewy shaped like a diamond ring. Pink of course. I was very tempted to buy the eyelet lace dress, but as I don't know her exact size yet, I had to pass it up. Fear not, she will own her first Diva dress in a matter of days.
Next I stopped at Petsmart since Target was so low in their selection of leashes. I selected a pink harness with rhinestones and matching leash. This girl will be in style, let me tell you. I also picked up a cute little stuffed dog for her to cuddle with, perfectly soft and snuggly.
I am a little concerned that Remy will feel Less Than and Forgotten About but I know if he does, it won't last long. He's very intelligent and I think he already understands. He assumes that all stuffed animals belong to him, as they should, but he's really not interested in the one I brought home today. I think he will make the best big brother around and love his little Ruby almost as much as I will.
The thought of the two of them snuggled together in front of the fireplace just warms my Crazy Dog Lady heart.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Mood of Melancholy With a Side of Reflection
Yes, I realize that it has been months. I would resolve to write for you more frequently, but I'm a really bad liar. I'm afraid you'll just have to take what you can get at this point, with my sincerest apologies. Thank you for understanding my neuroses.
Why the melancholy you ask? Oh, well, what could it be? Possibly the fact that I probably hate winter more than anyone else I know. After almost 15 years of living here I am still dumbfounded that my windshield can require this 'object' to scrape 'ice' before I can drive away.
But besides that, I've undergone a few changes in the last few months. My mom and dad decided to retire and move to some God-forsaken town in Mississippi. (M-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I-Humpback-Humpback-I) that only has dial-up internet. Horror of all horrors -can you even imagine such a thing?
Now I know that I'm an adult, and have separated psychologically appropriately from my mother's apron strings, but I cried like a baby when she told me she would be moving. And I had over a year to prepare, as they had a business here and my brother was finishing high school. But it wasn't enough. And, oddly, the closer to the day that we got, the farther I pushed away. I couldn't handle it. I could not imagine not being in the same town as my mom. She's the reason I've stayed in the Land of Long Winters for as long as I have. I wanted my daughter to be close to her grandparents, I had a convenient back-up babysitter. True, I rarely saw my mom, but she was here when I needed her. Or just wanted to see her. She was here.
They ended up leaving at the end of October. That made this the first Christmas in my whole life that I have not spent with my family. And it truly is the family as my 18 year old baby brother and 29 year old baby sister moved with the parental units as well. I may have cried like a baby over the move, but that's where my babyness ended. (Apart from the whining that I'm doing now.) It seemed as if all the traditions from all the years just evaporated. Like they too had been packed in a box and put on the moving truck. I believe this holds true for a lot of families, the Mom is the glue. The Mom makes It happen. Without Mom, there would be no Christmas. There have been some adjustments over the years, as I've grown up, divorced, started a new relationship. But the basics were always there. And so was Mom.
This was also the first year that I allowed my daughter to be with her dad on Christmas Eve. Which meant no Kid in additon to no Mom. I almost did not know what to do with myself. So I baked cookies and pretended Santa was still coming. It was nice, just me and L. I made filet mignon for dinner. It just wasn't the same. There were two pieces of me missing. Physical, literal pieces - the part I came from and the part that came from me.
By default, I am now the glue. For my new family and for my old family. My Mom is sort of a weirdo. I can tell you 5 times in my life that I've seen her cry. I have probably cried at least once in the last 5 days. We are opposites. I am sentimental and "dramatic", she is practical and stable, consistent in her inconsistencies. She is the one now breaking away and leaving me behind. I'm not sure, but I think she has it backwards. At any rate, I am the New Glue. I am now responsible for holding my new family together and maintaining the connection between my parents for my daughter. And myself.
So there is sadness. It makes the New Year something else for me. Some relationships mean more to me than others. I want to make the most of what I have, and less of what I don't need. Cleaning out my closet. Dropping dead weight. Glue can only hold so much. I don't feel that I've achieved Super Glue status yet, it's all still so new to me. I'm practicing with paper, I can't do anything fancy like china teacups yet.
There are other changes I've gone through recently. One in particular that I chose. But it will have to wait as there is a bottle of wine and a boyfriend calling my name. So dear reader, to be continued...
Oh, resolutions you ask? I detest them, but if you insist.
I resolve to take better care of my skin.
I resolve to drink more.
I know there is a very real possibility that number one could be negated by number two, but there you go. It is what it is.
Why the melancholy you ask? Oh, well, what could it be? Possibly the fact that I probably hate winter more than anyone else I know. After almost 15 years of living here I am still dumbfounded that my windshield can require this 'object' to scrape 'ice' before I can drive away.
But besides that, I've undergone a few changes in the last few months. My mom and dad decided to retire and move to some God-forsaken town in Mississippi. (M-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I-Humpback-Humpback-I) that only has dial-up internet. Horror of all horrors -can you even imagine such a thing?
Now I know that I'm an adult, and have separated psychologically appropriately from my mother's apron strings, but I cried like a baby when she told me she would be moving. And I had over a year to prepare, as they had a business here and my brother was finishing high school. But it wasn't enough. And, oddly, the closer to the day that we got, the farther I pushed away. I couldn't handle it. I could not imagine not being in the same town as my mom. She's the reason I've stayed in the Land of Long Winters for as long as I have. I wanted my daughter to be close to her grandparents, I had a convenient back-up babysitter. True, I rarely saw my mom, but she was here when I needed her. Or just wanted to see her. She was here.
They ended up leaving at the end of October. That made this the first Christmas in my whole life that I have not spent with my family. And it truly is the family as my 18 year old baby brother and 29 year old baby sister moved with the parental units as well. I may have cried like a baby over the move, but that's where my babyness ended. (Apart from the whining that I'm doing now.) It seemed as if all the traditions from all the years just evaporated. Like they too had been packed in a box and put on the moving truck. I believe this holds true for a lot of families, the Mom is the glue. The Mom makes It happen. Without Mom, there would be no Christmas. There have been some adjustments over the years, as I've grown up, divorced, started a new relationship. But the basics were always there. And so was Mom.
This was also the first year that I allowed my daughter to be with her dad on Christmas Eve. Which meant no Kid in additon to no Mom. I almost did not know what to do with myself. So I baked cookies and pretended Santa was still coming. It was nice, just me and L. I made filet mignon for dinner. It just wasn't the same. There were two pieces of me missing. Physical, literal pieces - the part I came from and the part that came from me.
By default, I am now the glue. For my new family and for my old family. My Mom is sort of a weirdo. I can tell you 5 times in my life that I've seen her cry. I have probably cried at least once in the last 5 days. We are opposites. I am sentimental and "dramatic", she is practical and stable, consistent in her inconsistencies. She is the one now breaking away and leaving me behind. I'm not sure, but I think she has it backwards. At any rate, I am the New Glue. I am now responsible for holding my new family together and maintaining the connection between my parents for my daughter. And myself.
So there is sadness. It makes the New Year something else for me. Some relationships mean more to me than others. I want to make the most of what I have, and less of what I don't need. Cleaning out my closet. Dropping dead weight. Glue can only hold so much. I don't feel that I've achieved Super Glue status yet, it's all still so new to me. I'm practicing with paper, I can't do anything fancy like china teacups yet.
There are other changes I've gone through recently. One in particular that I chose. But it will have to wait as there is a bottle of wine and a boyfriend calling my name. So dear reader, to be continued...
Oh, resolutions you ask? I detest them, but if you insist.
I resolve to take better care of my skin.
I resolve to drink more.
I know there is a very real possibility that number one could be negated by number two, but there you go. It is what it is.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
My Own Private Insanity
I have this recurring dream where it's the end of the term and I haven't been to class, haven't cracked open a book and I have to take the final exam. Most of the time I don't even know where the class is. It's terrifying in the utter feeling of inadequacy it gives me. I'm an idiot and I have no one to blame but myself. I didn't have this dream while in school, only in the years after I graduated. I venture to guess that if I had dreamt this while in school I would have dropped out from sheer paranoia that I would eventually fail.
Last week, as I shared with you, I started taking a class. Being the spinster that I am, I did the preliminary drive-by to make sure I knew where I was going. I don't think now, though, that this can be attributed only to my age, but to this recurring freak nightmare, as I was haunted in my waking state while walking to the first class. I had a sudden sensation of panic that this wasn't the first day of class but the last day and I was not prepared.
Does this constitute a break from reality or is it a sign that I'm not sleeping enough? My concern is that I've been crazy before and once that line is crossed, it's so easy to slip across again. More like a crime-scene tape than a locked gate.
At any rate, maybe I've made you feel better about yourselves today. I would feel slightly more adequate if so.
Last week, as I shared with you, I started taking a class. Being the spinster that I am, I did the preliminary drive-by to make sure I knew where I was going. I don't think now, though, that this can be attributed only to my age, but to this recurring freak nightmare, as I was haunted in my waking state while walking to the first class. I had a sudden sensation of panic that this wasn't the first day of class but the last day and I was not prepared.
Does this constitute a break from reality or is it a sign that I'm not sleeping enough? My concern is that I've been crazy before and once that line is crossed, it's so easy to slip across again. More like a crime-scene tape than a locked gate.
At any rate, maybe I've made you feel better about yourselves today. I would feel slightly more adequate if so.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
The Times They Are a Changin'
Yes I'm Old Part 1 -
I am finally doing something I've wanted to do for the past 14 years. And, yes, having 14 years available to want to do something makes one old. I am finally taking a photography class. Why I waited so long I don't know. No money? No time? -Insert excuse familiar to you here.- But now I'm doing it. It's great. I went to the college bookstore yesterday. It's only been 14 years since I've bought a book for a class. So what? So what that there were little boys there with their mommies to buy books for them? I'm a grown up. I bought my own book. With my debit card, because there's actually money in my account. I stood in line for almost an hour listening to Beavis and Butthead talk about their experiences over the past week. And, yes, I realize that Beavis and Butthead date me as well. I'm old, I'm learning to accept it.
But that's not the thing that really knocked my socks off. I went to class. Being the old woman that I am, I perused the location earlier in the day to make sure I knew where I was going. Pioneer Hall. Check. It's an almost 3 hour lab class. Cool. I remember those. Vaguely. But I don't remember this - a computer at the desk? A computer at every desk? And the prof has put his class syllabus online? What?? I'm online during class?? The young girls in the class are checking their e-mail and looking up their Myspace like they're in their living rooms. The last computer class I took in college had something to do with DOS and a floppy disk! I'm now being instructed by the professor on the finer points of Google. WHAT????
Yes I'm Old Part 2 -
XM Radio. Modern invention, no? NO!! I have spent my evening reminiscing over Van Halen, Pet Shop Boys, Scritti Politti (anyone who remembers them gets bonus points!), and many other 80's unmentionables. It is a very sad statement when I can say "20 years ago". My God, I listened to Jump (by Van Halen for you whipper snappers) in 8th grade!! For pete's sake, that was 24 years ago!! Almost a quarter of a century. And I thought the quarter century birthday was hard!! Oh please!!
This is how f-ing old I am - my parents took me to a taping of Good Times before Janet's Big Boob Exposure. I saw George Michael in concert before his "memorable" arrest. Eddie Van Halen still had all of his teeth. And the theme to Desperate Housewives? Written by the one and only Danny Elfman of Oingo Boingo fame. Listened to them in 5th grade. That was 26 years ago.
Alright, enough of the countdowns. I accept it. I'm an old nerd. Stuck in the 80's, whatever. Thank goodness that modern technology has kept up with us old farts. I can fill my Ipod with Duran Duran, Journey, Sheena Easton and Phil Collins to my heart's content.
P.S.
Anyone remember Bruce Willis' pathetic attempt at recording artist history? What about Eddie Murphy? Yes, it's my party, I party all the time!!! Incredibly, or maybe not so incredibly, you can find that on You Tube. What's that little story about history repeating itself?
Okay, so the benefit of being over 21 is that I can legally drown my sorrows. And I can afford the good booze. Old age has to come with some benefit!
I am finally doing something I've wanted to do for the past 14 years. And, yes, having 14 years available to want to do something makes one old. I am finally taking a photography class. Why I waited so long I don't know. No money? No time? -Insert excuse familiar to you here.- But now I'm doing it. It's great. I went to the college bookstore yesterday. It's only been 14 years since I've bought a book for a class. So what? So what that there were little boys there with their mommies to buy books for them? I'm a grown up. I bought my own book. With my debit card, because there's actually money in my account. I stood in line for almost an hour listening to Beavis and Butthead talk about their experiences over the past week. And, yes, I realize that Beavis and Butthead date me as well. I'm old, I'm learning to accept it.
But that's not the thing that really knocked my socks off. I went to class. Being the old woman that I am, I perused the location earlier in the day to make sure I knew where I was going. Pioneer Hall. Check. It's an almost 3 hour lab class. Cool. I remember those. Vaguely. But I don't remember this - a computer at the desk? A computer at every desk? And the prof has put his class syllabus online? What?? I'm online during class?? The young girls in the class are checking their e-mail and looking up their Myspace like they're in their living rooms. The last computer class I took in college had something to do with DOS and a floppy disk! I'm now being instructed by the professor on the finer points of Google. WHAT????
Yes I'm Old Part 2 -
XM Radio. Modern invention, no? NO!! I have spent my evening reminiscing over Van Halen, Pet Shop Boys, Scritti Politti (anyone who remembers them gets bonus points!), and many other 80's unmentionables. It is a very sad statement when I can say "20 years ago". My God, I listened to Jump (by Van Halen for you whipper snappers) in 8th grade!! For pete's sake, that was 24 years ago!! Almost a quarter of a century. And I thought the quarter century birthday was hard!! Oh please!!
This is how f-ing old I am - my parents took me to a taping of Good Times before Janet's Big Boob Exposure. I saw George Michael in concert before his "memorable" arrest. Eddie Van Halen still had all of his teeth. And the theme to Desperate Housewives? Written by the one and only Danny Elfman of Oingo Boingo fame. Listened to them in 5th grade. That was 26 years ago.
Alright, enough of the countdowns. I accept it. I'm an old nerd. Stuck in the 80's, whatever. Thank goodness that modern technology has kept up with us old farts. I can fill my Ipod with Duran Duran, Journey, Sheena Easton and Phil Collins to my heart's content.
P.S.
Anyone remember Bruce Willis' pathetic attempt at recording artist history? What about Eddie Murphy? Yes, it's my party, I party all the time!!! Incredibly, or maybe not so incredibly, you can find that on You Tube. What's that little story about history repeating itself?
Okay, so the benefit of being over 21 is that I can legally drown my sorrows. And I can afford the good booze. Old age has to come with some benefit!
Monday, September 18, 2006
Popularity Contest
Oh, dear reader, legion of fan! I promised you glamour and excitement and I am failing miserably. If only you could see how glamourous and fabulous I look every day, you would not feel so neglected. Yes, I know. I only amuse myself.
Here is my latest story then, in all of its doggy dishiness. I created a profile for Sir Rembrandt on Dogster.com. If you haven't discovered the insane fun that is Dogster, it's like Myspace for dogs. Only it's better because it's dogs with cute little stories of how they met their families and without the annoying songs that people like to attach to their Myspace so that, when you forget that your speakers are turned up, you have a small heart attack. Really, those of you who do this need to cease and disist immediately. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should.
Anyway, I digress!! Rembrandt. On Dogster. In the first 3 hours he had 4 friends! And we were being selective. After all, we can't lower ourselves to be acquainted with crazy "dogs" such as the Princesses Flu Flu and Shu Shu. I mean, really. By the end of the weekend Remy had 7 friends. And turned down two other requests because we just can't associate with Shitzus. I admit, we were a little over the top with the power. Popularity can do that to you. At least, it works that way for dogs. Remy is really only attracted to bigger dogs anyway. I don't think he realizes that he's not an actual Big Dog.
But then, isn't that typical of the male species? Wanting what they can't have?
Here is my latest story then, in all of its doggy dishiness. I created a profile for Sir Rembrandt on Dogster.com. If you haven't discovered the insane fun that is Dogster, it's like Myspace for dogs. Only it's better because it's dogs with cute little stories of how they met their families and without the annoying songs that people like to attach to their Myspace so that, when you forget that your speakers are turned up, you have a small heart attack. Really, those of you who do this need to cease and disist immediately. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should.
Anyway, I digress!! Rembrandt. On Dogster. In the first 3 hours he had 4 friends! And we were being selective. After all, we can't lower ourselves to be acquainted with crazy "dogs" such as the Princesses Flu Flu and Shu Shu. I mean, really. By the end of the weekend Remy had 7 friends. And turned down two other requests because we just can't associate with Shitzus. I admit, we were a little over the top with the power. Popularity can do that to you. At least, it works that way for dogs. Remy is really only attracted to bigger dogs anyway. I don't think he realizes that he's not an actual Big Dog.
But then, isn't that typical of the male species? Wanting what they can't have?
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Mid-life Drama
This year's birthday was a hard one. I won't tell you why, because that would require me to tell you how old I actually am. Let's just say I'm not checking the 25-34 box on surveys anymore. It does make me stop and think though. And compare the haves with the have-nots.
You know, there are times that there is nothing more I crave than the normalcies of daily life. The routine is somehow safe and comforting. The chores of motherhood give me purpose and definition. I've now seen my daughter in four performances of The Nutcracker. Every year it's the same. It's a children's ballet, there aren't any spectacular leaps or spins, no gravity-defying moves. Yet every year my heart leaps and spins when my precious child appears on that stage. I have to hold my breath lest a tear escape and succumb to gravity. These are the moments I live for. I know this to be my Truth.
And yet, there are days like today, when I want to get in a car alone and drive and drive and drive. When I want to scream at my precious child because she's not listening. She can't do her homework without being reminded six times. When I want to cover my ears and walk away because she's going on incessantly about some story that isn't funny because 'you had to be there'. And you also 10 and find stupid things like that funny to you. When the last thing I want to do is make a dinner that nobody will care to eat. When there's not enough money in my account to pay all the bills. Days like today I want to take a bohemian sabbatical from my life. A vacation from the school schedule, the ballet rehearsals, the dinner-making, toilet-cleaning, grocery-buying, bill-paying monotony that is my Life.
Is this a mid-life crisis?
I think about travelling the world and pretending to be someone else. Someone far more interesting and complex, with actual dimensions. Someone who doesn't know what a Wal-Mart is or who has to decide which is the better price for chicken. Who has all day to explore museums and stroll through gardens pontificating on the beauty of one perfect rose without a second thought to the lunches that need to be made or the laundry that is waiting to be folded. Someone more glamorous and less hurried and on edge.
Then again, there are times when I want nothing more but more of this. As I said, I'm getting older. I always knew I wanted another child. Unfortunately opportunity hasn't been knocking at my door and already I'm beginning to feel the first twinges of regret. When my daughter was a baby I would sit literally for hours holding her, trying to memorize exactly how the weight of her small body felt on my chest. What her soft breath smelled like and how the tiny wrinkles of her hand creased on my arm. I had never been in love like that before nor have I since. Of course I love her endlessly now, but now it is complicated by the seperateness of her being, the fact that she has (God forbid!) her own personality. Back then she was mine, I was hers and in those miraculous moments there was noone else in the world. I want to experience that again. One more time.
I'm not naive enough to think that it would be the same now as it was then. My pace was slower then. I could afford hours to sit and take it all in. Now there is an older child, a job, more people in my house, more bills that need paying. I know that I'm not as patient as I was then because time is now a luxury. I know it would be different the second time around. I know that because I'm different.
In the end I know that I won't drive and drive endlessly to glorious museums and sunsets, tempting as it may be. Because my truth still lives in those first steps, first tastes, the moment that glorious child steps out onto the stage of life and I am there waiting, holding my breath, my heart leaping and spinning.
You know, there are times that there is nothing more I crave than the normalcies of daily life. The routine is somehow safe and comforting. The chores of motherhood give me purpose and definition. I've now seen my daughter in four performances of The Nutcracker. Every year it's the same. It's a children's ballet, there aren't any spectacular leaps or spins, no gravity-defying moves. Yet every year my heart leaps and spins when my precious child appears on that stage. I have to hold my breath lest a tear escape and succumb to gravity. These are the moments I live for. I know this to be my Truth.
And yet, there are days like today, when I want to get in a car alone and drive and drive and drive. When I want to scream at my precious child because she's not listening. She can't do her homework without being reminded six times. When I want to cover my ears and walk away because she's going on incessantly about some story that isn't funny because 'you had to be there'. And you also 10 and find stupid things like that funny to you. When the last thing I want to do is make a dinner that nobody will care to eat. When there's not enough money in my account to pay all the bills. Days like today I want to take a bohemian sabbatical from my life. A vacation from the school schedule, the ballet rehearsals, the dinner-making, toilet-cleaning, grocery-buying, bill-paying monotony that is my Life.
Is this a mid-life crisis?
I think about travelling the world and pretending to be someone else. Someone far more interesting and complex, with actual dimensions. Someone who doesn't know what a Wal-Mart is or who has to decide which is the better price for chicken. Who has all day to explore museums and stroll through gardens pontificating on the beauty of one perfect rose without a second thought to the lunches that need to be made or the laundry that is waiting to be folded. Someone more glamorous and less hurried and on edge.
Then again, there are times when I want nothing more but more of this. As I said, I'm getting older. I always knew I wanted another child. Unfortunately opportunity hasn't been knocking at my door and already I'm beginning to feel the first twinges of regret. When my daughter was a baby I would sit literally for hours holding her, trying to memorize exactly how the weight of her small body felt on my chest. What her soft breath smelled like and how the tiny wrinkles of her hand creased on my arm. I had never been in love like that before nor have I since. Of course I love her endlessly now, but now it is complicated by the seperateness of her being, the fact that she has (God forbid!) her own personality. Back then she was mine, I was hers and in those miraculous moments there was noone else in the world. I want to experience that again. One more time.
I'm not naive enough to think that it would be the same now as it was then. My pace was slower then. I could afford hours to sit and take it all in. Now there is an older child, a job, more people in my house, more bills that need paying. I know that I'm not as patient as I was then because time is now a luxury. I know it would be different the second time around. I know that because I'm different.
In the end I know that I won't drive and drive endlessly to glorious museums and sunsets, tempting as it may be. Because my truth still lives in those first steps, first tastes, the moment that glorious child steps out onto the stage of life and I am there waiting, holding my breath, my heart leaping and spinning.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Ode to Rembrandt Martin's Masterpiece
aka Remy, Rembo, Rembot, Buddy. Otherwise known as my Dog.
Remy is a Boston Terrier and he is now a year and a half young. A pre-teen in dog years. Luckily we have avoided the hormonal fluctuations by having him neutered early. As happens, this also prolongs his "baby" status in my eyes. (Unfortunately, I have been unable to replicate this convenience in my daughter. But that is a story for another day.)
Remy is an Aquarius and, according to the dog zodiac, this means he is vivacious, social and likes to "cuddle" while being somewhat insecure. This is true. Anyone who has met Remy has immediately noticed his friendly demeanor. When walking, he is sure to say "hello" and "how do you do" to everyone who passes. Walkers of the canine variety get a special "HELLO!" and "It's so NICE to sniff you today!!" His insecurity comes out mostly with Daddy. It is extremely important to Remy that he is loved by all. Daddy's gruff greetings often result in droopy ears and sad eyes until Daddy smiles and then Remy jumps up - "Yay! My daddy DOES love me!" (Remy is prone to capitalized and enunciated words in his speech. I'm just translating it here for you.)
Dog zodiac also describes the Aquarius pet as "striking" and "good looking". This fits Rembrandt to a tee! I may be biased as the Mommy, but he is an exceptionally good-looking Boston. His nose isn't overly-smushed and he is very muscular. He is rather on the large end of the scale, at 28 pounds, but he's solid. I would bet that he packs more pound-for-pound than a 110-pound Rottweiler. Just try walking him. Try walking him past another dog. I dare you to not be pulled off balance. I double-dog dare you.
Yes, I am completely in love with him. I think it is a Boston trait that their owners fall so hard for them. I am a member of a Boston Terrier owner message board and I love going there because I don't feel so kooky about my feelings toward Remy. To everyone there, it is completely understandable that I allow the Dog to sleep under the covers and buy him sweaters in the winter. Something that might not translate to the owner of a Lab or Pit Bull.
So now that you have been introduced to Sir Rembrandt, stay tuned. I know that his little doggy pea-brain is coming up with many adventures to keep you entertained. He is an Aquarius Masterpiece, after all.
(And oh yes - anyone who knows me would not miss the Remy Martin alcohol reference. Poor Remy, his mom is a boozer.)
Remy is a Boston Terrier and he is now a year and a half young. A pre-teen in dog years. Luckily we have avoided the hormonal fluctuations by having him neutered early. As happens, this also prolongs his "baby" status in my eyes. (Unfortunately, I have been unable to replicate this convenience in my daughter. But that is a story for another day.)
Remy is an Aquarius and, according to the dog zodiac, this means he is vivacious, social and likes to "cuddle" while being somewhat insecure. This is true. Anyone who has met Remy has immediately noticed his friendly demeanor. When walking, he is sure to say "hello" and "how do you do" to everyone who passes. Walkers of the canine variety get a special "HELLO!" and "It's so NICE to sniff you today!!" His insecurity comes out mostly with Daddy. It is extremely important to Remy that he is loved by all. Daddy's gruff greetings often result in droopy ears and sad eyes until Daddy smiles and then Remy jumps up - "Yay! My daddy DOES love me!" (Remy is prone to capitalized and enunciated words in his speech. I'm just translating it here for you.)
Dog zodiac also describes the Aquarius pet as "striking" and "good looking". This fits Rembrandt to a tee! I may be biased as the Mommy, but he is an exceptionally good-looking Boston. His nose isn't overly-smushed and he is very muscular. He is rather on the large end of the scale, at 28 pounds, but he's solid. I would bet that he packs more pound-for-pound than a 110-pound Rottweiler. Just try walking him. Try walking him past another dog. I dare you to not be pulled off balance. I double-dog dare you.
Yes, I am completely in love with him. I think it is a Boston trait that their owners fall so hard for them. I am a member of a Boston Terrier owner message board and I love going there because I don't feel so kooky about my feelings toward Remy. To everyone there, it is completely understandable that I allow the Dog to sleep under the covers and buy him sweaters in the winter. Something that might not translate to the owner of a Lab or Pit Bull.
So now that you have been introduced to Sir Rembrandt, stay tuned. I know that his little doggy pea-brain is coming up with many adventures to keep you entertained. He is an Aquarius Masterpiece, after all.
(And oh yes - anyone who knows me would not miss the Remy Martin alcohol reference. Poor Remy, his mom is a boozer.)
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Freudian Trip
Last night I dreamed that Bachelor erupted. I saw it from my bedroom window from the first sign of smoke. The sky was dark and the lava was pouring down the side of the mountain, glowing orange and red in the viewfinder of my window. It was magnificent! I made sure that L got pictures of it, because in my dream he was the only person in town that could. Everyone else was frozen in fear. This isn't actually the first time I've dreamed of a volcanic eruption, I wonder if it will come again. Of course it seems so obviously sexual, Mr. Freud would have a field day with it.
When I was pregnant, I dreamed that I gave birth to a tiny alien baby. I went shopping and left it behind in a dressing room. When I finally remembered and went back for it, it had shriveled up from the heat in the room and died - a tiny, fragile paper-mache baby.
When I was three, a wolf stole into my room in a dream and argued that my bed was his bed. I woke up on the floor screaming when he pushed me off. Nothing my parents said could convince me that it didn't really happen. I was on the floor - how else could I have gotten there if the Big Bad Wolf hadn't pushed me?
You know, I believe that Old Siggy would pay me to retell my dreams. But I don't want to know what they mean. My life might start to make sense.
When I was pregnant, I dreamed that I gave birth to a tiny alien baby. I went shopping and left it behind in a dressing room. When I finally remembered and went back for it, it had shriveled up from the heat in the room and died - a tiny, fragile paper-mache baby.
When I was three, a wolf stole into my room in a dream and argued that my bed was his bed. I woke up on the floor screaming when he pushed me off. Nothing my parents said could convince me that it didn't really happen. I was on the floor - how else could I have gotten there if the Big Bad Wolf hadn't pushed me?
You know, I believe that Old Siggy would pay me to retell my dreams. But I don't want to know what they mean. My life might start to make sense.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
The condition my condition is in.
It's not a good one. I have been accused by a family member of being "too heavy". Can you imagine such cruelty from an immediate family member? It explains a lot about me, but we won't go to that awful place today.
In my effort to become less "heavy" I am doing my best to frequent the gym. I have a love/hate relationship with spin class. Mostly hate. Actually I'm not sure when I love it. I'm also walking the butte now that summer has finally arrived in our little corner of the world. Well, Monday I had the worst cramps in my calves!! I felt like a cripple, I was delirious with pain. Okay, not delirious. Just very uncomfortable, surprisingly so.
Well, I showed them! I went up the butte twice yesterday. Yes, I'm amazing. Hold your applause. My calves cooperated but my lungs did not. The only thing that saved me was the 25 times I stopped for Senor Dog. (I don't know how to get that little curvy sign over the n.) My dog, who is normally thrilled at the prospect of walking to the mailbox, turned into the Pokey Little Puppy. He would only walk with the intent of getting to the next shady spot so that he could lie down. And he didn't just lie down, he fell over on his side as if he'd walked for weeks through the hottest desert. It was quite embarrassing actually. And he knew it too. He purposely stopped and had a snort attack as we were passing another hiker. She was kind enough to take pity on my little faker and offer some of her water to him. I threatened to give him no dinner when we got home, but I'm really a softie.
In more ways than one, apparently.
In my effort to become less "heavy" I am doing my best to frequent the gym. I have a love/hate relationship with spin class. Mostly hate. Actually I'm not sure when I love it. I'm also walking the butte now that summer has finally arrived in our little corner of the world. Well, Monday I had the worst cramps in my calves!! I felt like a cripple, I was delirious with pain. Okay, not delirious. Just very uncomfortable, surprisingly so.
Well, I showed them! I went up the butte twice yesterday. Yes, I'm amazing. Hold your applause. My calves cooperated but my lungs did not. The only thing that saved me was the 25 times I stopped for Senor Dog. (I don't know how to get that little curvy sign over the n.) My dog, who is normally thrilled at the prospect of walking to the mailbox, turned into the Pokey Little Puppy. He would only walk with the intent of getting to the next shady spot so that he could lie down. And he didn't just lie down, he fell over on his side as if he'd walked for weeks through the hottest desert. It was quite embarrassing actually. And he knew it too. He purposely stopped and had a snort attack as we were passing another hiker. She was kind enough to take pity on my little faker and offer some of her water to him. I threatened to give him no dinner when we got home, but I'm really a softie.
In more ways than one, apparently.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Say hello to my little blog.
Hello World!
Welcome to the Martini Chronicles!! You lucky readers, you. You have stumbled upon the most Fabulous Blog in the universe. Oh, the adventures that await you. The thrills, the drama! The edge-of-your-seat excitement!!
Okay, so my life is not so thrilling and I don't go on a whole lot of adventures. But I bet I can fabricate some drama for you. Yes sir, I know I can. It's the least I can do for my legions of fans. Okay, the two of you out there in cyber space. It's a money-back guarantee, after all.
Welcome to the Martini Chronicles!! You lucky readers, you. You have stumbled upon the most Fabulous Blog in the universe. Oh, the adventures that await you. The thrills, the drama! The edge-of-your-seat excitement!!
Okay, so my life is not so thrilling and I don't go on a whole lot of adventures. But I bet I can fabricate some drama for you. Yes sir, I know I can. It's the least I can do for my legions of fans. Okay, the two of you out there in cyber space. It's a money-back guarantee, after all.
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