Tonight: Dancing with the Stars. Am I excited or what? I'm guessing this will be Marie Osmond's last week. How can they kick Jenny Garth off when Richard Simmons came to cheer her on & made her cry? Believe in yourself, Jenny! (Well, you'll be going home, but believe in yourself, anyways....)

Speaking of the Osmonds, did you see them on Oprah last Friday? Loved it! I had a tear. (Don't tell anyone.) The wife is way excited that Marie has made a Christmas Album. If you need an Osmond fix, cut and paste: http://www.osmond.com/



Chocolate-Coated Weekend: The wife and I were tromping through the local mall last Saturday....we hate the mall but had to go there because they moved the Barnes & Noble to the mall (the rat bastards!). Imagine our surprise when we ran right into a little kiosk filled with SEES CANDY--right in our mall! The wife and I looked at each other and then drooled on the boxes and boxes of chocolate. Molasses heaven!

Most of you Midwesterners are thinking, "what the hell is See's Candy?" It's my mother & father's fault that we love See's, as discovered when the lived in California. Ever since tasting the chocolate of the west, I am hard pressed to say Fannie May is better than See's, and for me to say that means something....after all, I am a Chicago-Fannie-May-raised kind of girl. If I had to pick between a Pixie and a Molasses chip.....I'd have to think long and hard about it.

The teeny bopper who was working the booth seemed pleased to finally have someone actually recognize her product. She gave us lots of free samples--yeah!--and we had plenty of time to discuss the merits of the various boxed sets of chocolate wonder. When I mentioned my parents had lived in California, I thought she's burst an ovary--she ran right over to a row of candies, pointing out that "THESE!" are the favorite in California.

We'll see. We'll ask my father.

AND, FINALLY: I'm trying to get on track with the poop talk; thus, it's time to talk about things that probably should not be mentioned....

....parasites!

MJagger, god love her, is convinced she has parasites--you know--worms in her poop. I have NOT been witness to this, but her description left me nauseous. (I'm not sure she wants it announced to the world that she thinks she has worms, but I can't resist. How can I NOT write about this?) For the record, I do NOT think MJagger has any type of worm, but until I can see what shoots out of her butt, I will not be able to confirm or deny this.

You know what it means when someone says something as unusual as "I think I have worms?" GOOGLE IMAGE SEARCH!

The Internet is an amazing thing and Google just makes it that much better. Where else could you type in "intestinal parasites" and instantly see some of the most wonderfully disgusting photos on the planet?

I could provide some photos related to this problem, but I will spare you. Suffice it to say, there are A LOT of gross, disgusting photos out there. I have SOME standards, for pete's sake. I'll just see if MJagger wants to do a colon and parasite cleanse, we'll do it and I'll report the "findings."

Until then, I have to go vote for Jenny.....

MRSA, Poop and Puke

I haven't spoken about bodily functions (mine or others') for some time now, so I have to get back on track. I had a lot of time to think about things such as this while sitting in the ER with a client today, so stand back!

Being in a hospital screams one things these days: MRSA! That's mer-sah to you newbies. Don't be spelling it out--say it, Mer-sah. Unless you've been in a coma or out of the country, I know you've heard all the hoopla about this problem. Why, here's a photo of MRSA (or of a close-up of a Dancing with the Stars dress...it's hard to tell which is which). Thanks to newsday or newsweek or news something for the photo.

Anyhoo, I am standing in the ER thinking "DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING! DON'T PUT YOUR BAG ON THE FLOOR! DON'T TOUCH YOUR FACE! FOR GOD'S SAKE--DON'T BREATHE!" Why? Because of MRSA, that's why. That's all the news on TV babbles about. Hard not to think about it in this MRSA-infested hospital hole.

Many of you may not know that MRSA is NOT a new thing. In fact, we have been yipping about it for years and years where I work. I'd almost find all the ridiculous coverage on the TV funny except that MRSA isn't very funny in itself. If only the wife got a nickel for every time I've said, "Geez, they act like this is something new," she'd be rich.

MRSA isn't something to laugh at, but I laugh anyway.

I spit in the face of MRSA.

Actually, the letters M-R-S-A remind me of my mother, as it technically spells Mrs. A, so that's a nice thing. Maybe I should start calling it Mrs. A instead of Mer-sah. That sounds so much more friendly.

I think I escaped the ER without a Mrs. A attack but only time will tell. I am now in the process of trying to figure out what I should sterilize and what I should just spit on.....

Bad news in the Addiverse: the wife and I think Freckles may be bulimic. Now, I've never heard of a bulimic dog, but Freckles Warrior Princess has produced a "food sausage" every night for the past four nights. We haven't seen her put her paw down her throat or anything, so I guess she's not technically truly bulimic. If you are asking what a food sausage is, let me describe it for you: (1) Freckles snarfs down her leftover dinner at 10 PM (don't ask why she's eating at this time at night); (2) Freckles has a long drink of water; (3) foooooooood fooooooood foooooood sausage blurps out. Here is Freckles ignoring me talking about her food sausages (yes, her eyes are closed, as in all photos of her).

A food sausage is exactly what it sounds like--it's food that comes right back out looking like when it went in, only now it's in a long sausage shape. In fact, it looks so much like the food that just went in that I am tempted to just let her eat it again....but, I pick it up with a napkin and throw it away. The good news is that no carpet cleaner is truly needed, as there is no stain or smell (besides the food smell). She's made many a food sausage before but never four nights in a row.

Don't be getting panicked--she eats her first course at 5 PM without incident. Nothing comes back up so it's not like there is some ridiculous medical problem. For some reason, that second batch doesn't want to stay in there. If I remember, I'll take a photo of her next sausage and post it here so you can see what I'm talking about. Lucky you.

As for the poop part of the story....well, you know how mind over matter can really screw you up? Try going to work and have them tell you, "the water will be off in the building from this time to that time." Then, try not to panic while thinking.... what....if....I..... have....to...... POOP?

Of course, the minute you start thinking this way, your bowels start rumbling and you are so screwed. It could be ten years between bouts of ever pooping at work and then you hear this and you suddenly have an urge to poop. You may never have pooped at work before and you will suddenly need to do so. It's just a fact.

Be still, my cramping bowel!

So, I'm sitting at my desk in the wee hours of the morning because I get to work so early and I'm sitting there reading the email that says the water will be off from 7:30 AM-10 AM and I'm thinking, "Oh god, what if I have to poop?"

You think I'm kidding? I am so not.

I'm sitting at my desk and start to make contingency plans....well, I could try to drive to.....well, nothing else is open close by....well, I'll need a little lead time to get to where I am going....well, I could poop in the parking lot.... you get the idea....maybe I should go somewhere and just be safe. Maybe I should go home for the morning. Maybe.....

You'll be happy to know I didn't have to poop in the parking lot or anywhere else, but I sure did think I felt poop a rumbling down there, not because it needed to but just because it could.

Maybe that's why Freckles makes food sausages--not because she needs to but because she can....

Praise the 8 pound 6 ounce Baby Jesus!

The wife and I noticed that our fingernail clippers were missing a few weeks back. How we lost them is beyond us—we’ve kept them in the same drawer for over twelve years. I loved those clippers, but they were nowhere to be found. So, we secured a new pair (not as lovely as the first but able to do the job), put them in the same drawer….guess what? Now THAT pair is gone, too! The wife and I just stared at each other. It’s not like anyone’s been visiting and the dogs can’t reach the drawer. So, I say to the Fingernail clippers muses of the world: “Okay, okay—joke’s over. Very funny. We would like our clippers back.” For those of you who have been reading the blog for awhile, you know I’ve been told (by Moriah the Medium) I have a spirit guide named Grover. (I don’t make this crap up and don’t be telling me I need more anti- psychotic medication. You’ll piss me and Grover off.) So…. “If it’s you Grover, thanks for the laugh, but my nails are looking gnarly, so bring ‘em back.”

To learn more about Grover, copy and paste: http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2006/01/grover-spirit-guide-moriah-medium-if.html

Speaking of spirit guides….sort of….the wife is on a mission to find a church. (The wife’s family is chanting, “Praise Jesus!” in our honor, I’m sure.) Last weekend, it was “Unity;” yesterday, it was “Heartland.” The wife didn’t care much for Unity, as there was too much hugging and not enough anonymity. I didn’t care much for Heartland because it smacked of TV evangelical-lesbos-burn-in-hell” conviction. In Heartland’s defense, the music was awesome, the 5000 people seemed nice, the parking lot traffic was professionally handled, the technology is so good it has to be seen to believe—they’ve turned an old mall into a techno-genius-theatre—and the production is sleek. Too bad they started talking about wanting my money during the first TWO minutes of the show—at least the Catholics wait until the end of Mass to start asking for money.

I’m hoping we can try the Unitarians next outing, as they believe in almost everything and don’t fry the gay people in Hell.

Xena didn’t have to worry about the Pope or Limbo—all she had to worry about Zeus and Hera and the various Gods on Olympus and since her friend Hercules was half man, half mortal, that helped her cause. Having the God of War in love with you never hurts, either. Xena never burned in Hell, but she visited it many a time during the series and Gabby even went on to give birth to the Devil’s child (how can you not love this show??!!), who of course was named “Hope” and went on to kill Xena’s son. My hero also battled many an arc-angel and made many a shamanic journey (quite to my delight—I am SO about the shamans).

I suppose Xena was one of the first disciples to Jesus: she & Gabby hung out with “Eli,” the guy who believed in one God (read: Jesus) and who had the gift of healing….not to mention how Xena’s daughter went on to be the “Messenger of Eli.” (We won’t mention how Xena & Gabby were crucified by the Romans or how many times they both died during the series.) Maybe I can make a case for Xena being Catholic….

….maybe not.

I’ll keep you up-to-date on the “church search.” Suggestions welcomed, as long as I don’t have to dress up and I don’t have to give money to anyone like the “Mrs. Farting Preacher” http://youtube.com/watch?v=DI-7UMzMc5k (Mrs. Farting Preacher) or Farting Preacher Jingle Bells (just in time for the holidays). http://youtube.com/watch?v=pFvPMqxb_rE

All this church talk makes me think of Will Ferrell-Ricky Bobby loving the baby Jesus, http://youtube.com/watch?v=vuAUI_0knfk (shake n bake, 8 pound 6 ounce baby Jesus!) which makes me think of how I made the wife watch “Blades of Glory” this weekend. Not exactly her kind of movies, but I’ve been waiting to see it for months. If you haven’t seen “Blades,” it’s worth it just for the “North Korean Iron Lotus” scene…..

Frappaccino Crotch on a Thursday

I have Frappaccino Crotch.

Oh, I suppose it could be worse: I could have Crappaccino crotch rot. Coffee Grounds Butt....

I went to Starbucks this morning. For some reason, I made the detour on the way to work—I heard a Frappaccino calling my name. This doesn’t happen often (that the coffee gods), but this morning, my car made turns on its own and I was suddenly barreling down the road toward the land of caffeine and sugar. When I got there, I had trouble spitting out what I wanted to order. Now, it’s easy to say “a tall Java chip frappaccino, please,” but this morning my non-caffeinated tongue spit out: “medium…soy…no, wait—tall, mocha….um…let me start again.” The guy said, “that’s a medium soy pumpkin latte?”

Not even close.

So, I re-ordered, apologized for my inability to speak and indicated that I would be cured once I drank the thing. He laughed and stated that “most people are like that” when they come to the drive through to order, as none of us have yet to be caffeinated.

He filled that puppy to the brim, whipped cream and chocolate sauce spewing over the top. (Yes, I got whipped cream. It’s that kind of day.) He handed it to me and said, “there’s plenty there for you!”

As I’m driving (as I find it appropriate to multi-task when Frappaccino-ing), I’m getting chocolate and whipped cream all over my hands and steering wheel. Despite this, it’s going well. I’m thinking, “whoa, this is not a good idea with these light-colored dress pants,” but I drove and slurped none-the-less.

I get to work, Frappaccino in hand, go in my office and take the plastic lid off so I can stir the whipped cream into the frozen delight. That’s when it happened….

….chocolate syrup and whipped cream FLEW everywhere. On my paperwork, on my computer, on my pant leg, on my shirt….and, of course, on the crotch area of my pants.

Those of you who know of my “Frappaccino Car Disaster of 2005” are probably disappointed in how boring this story is compared to that, but it is really something to have brown-colored stains in the crotch area of my light-colored pants.

And, as fate would have it, my stain stick is at home. In an effort to save myself from a day-long episode of Frappaccino Crotch, I approached my society work sister (thank god someone else is here in the wee hours) and asked if she had a stain stick. She did—but, when I went to use it, the pen part fell off (yes, into my crotch area) and was no longer usable. She had a Shout wipe, so I went with that. I thought it worked pretty fabulously….

….until the spot dried. Now the chocolate blob was a bigger spot that looked like I had peed in my pants. It was bigger than the size of a silver dollar but smaller than a CD. Gives you a visual, eh?

Well, I’ve decided Frap Crotch it is. Don’t have time to go home. I’m going to a visitation (wake) after work and I doubt anyone will be staring at my crotch while I’m there…as long as no one asks for a drink....

Centipede Stampede

The other night, the unimaginable happened....

...there was a giant (well, aren't they all?) centipede on the garage wall, right above the door I had to go through.

Now, most of you are thinking, "so what?" But, those of you who REALLY know me know that I have a ridiculous aversion (phobia, actually) of centipedes. So much so that I have actually gone to therapy for it (which involved me keeping a centipede on my desk in a jar, but that's a story for a different day). Don't ask how this developed....my mother thinks it is from when I was 18 months old and she was beating the tar out of a centipede on the wall next to my play pen (remember play pens? do they still have those?). All I know is that it's been a life long thing and those buggers scare the poo out of me, so much that I literally couldn't function. Well, now that I've had that therapy, I can function--just not very well. It took everything in me to find that photo on the Internet & then post it on this blog. I think I was hyperventilating while trying to do it. (Thanks for nothing to "What's that Bug?" website & to Lisa's photo of the dreaded monster.)

I was stunned, terrified and pissed off all at the same time. See, this is the FIRST and ONLY time I have ever seen a centipede anywhere even near this house. As a matter of fact, one of my favorite things about being in a new home (albeit now 12. 5 years) is that there are very seldom centipedes milling about. How dare the house's centipede virginity be lost after all this time.

This was my sacred centipede-free space, violated!

And, could it be a little centipede? NO. It was a gigantic son-of-a-biscuit, the size of my car. Okay, so maybe it was only about three inches in length, but that is a big bug, don't you think? And, all those long legs and mile-long antenna-thingies. UGH! I'm having a flashback!

Since I have had centipede therapy, I knew that it would be I that had to kill the sucker. Not that I wanted to. Not that I thought I could do it without throwing up and then screaming into the night. But, it had to be done. I had the wife come back and look at it, just to make sure someone knew of my bravery was noted. As I couldn't reach it (thank god!), I decided I would have to first drown it in bug spray, then use paper towels to squish the thing after it fell to the ground.

Sounds so simple, doesn't it?

Well, that damned thing had other ideas. First spray: RUNNING! RUNNING! RUNNING! (The centipede, not me, although I was indeed thinking about running.) Those puppies can run so fast, all those little legs whirling in perfect rhythm. I PELTED that thing with bug spray. I mean, the thing was covered with a white flood of spray and it kept on moving. I sprayed, it ran. I sprayed more, it ran more--across the wall. DIE! DIE! DIE! I started yelling at it as I sprayed. The hair on the back of my neck was standing straight up, but I kept spraying. It was completely white with froth but it wasn't wilting and it wasn't slowing down. I couldn't take my eyes off it (lest it escape & then I not be able to sleep, knowing that ass was in my house somewhere), but I really wanted to look at the can of bug spray to make sure it WAS bug spray. Just as I was ready to give up and go screaming into the night, it fell off the wall and onto the cement floor.

ICK ICK ICK ICK!

But, at least it was now on the floor. I peered over the railing and took a peek.....

...Yup, there it was, squirming in all its glory.

It wasn't running any more and it was starting to curl up. Good and bad news, I suppose. I knew I'd have to take my eyes off it for a second or two to go get the paper towel roll. I'm telling ya, I wasn't gone for more than 2.33 seconds. I took about fifty paper towel squares, piled them up and got ready to make my move. I had to plan because the bug-sprayed centipede was not strategically placed where I could easily squish it--it was kind of near the stair and it was in a position that I might actually miss when I put the paper towels on top of it.

It was time to make my move. I gave out a war cry (you think I'm kidding?), threw myself down the stairs, dropped the 50-squares of paper towels on top of it and STOMPED THE SHIT OUT OF IT.

I kept stomping like there was no tomorrow. I stomped til I could stomp no more.
Once I stopped stomping, I realized I could NOT pick the paper towels up. I really wanted to, but it was too much. I stepped back and felt failure coming. I....could..... not....pick.....it.....up. (Damn all that money in therapy.) I stepped over the thing and went in the house, admitting my defeat to the wife.

I left that thing there all night. The wife picked up the wad of paper towels in the morning. She's my hero.

I've had many centipede encounters. Maybe you don't understand this as you haven't had many centipedes crawl into your life. I've had one fall into the sink while I was washing the dishes, I've had one on my left forearm (UGH!) while moving some boxes in college, I actually had one running up my right leg while I was peeing on the toilet. I've had the pleasure of putting my glasses on after a shower and seeing that I had been "swimming" with one the whole time. I've had one literally fall from the ceiling (at work) and miss falling on my head by millimeters...

Our previous apartment (we lived there for ten terrifying years) was rampant with the things. I'm not kidding--I was always screaming for the wife's help. I mean, I can see those things a mile away. I see them waving at me, sticking their tongues out. There was even one in our bed once at that apartment, but the wife tried desperately not to let me know. There are just things I know, so I knew. The wife was my savior--she was always killing those things for me. She knew when I had found one--I'd be cowering in the corner (the corner furtherest from the dreaded bug), making whimpering sounds. She'd come walking in and say, "Where is it?" My hero, indeed!

Once, there was one so big on the wall I thought I was going to pass out. The wife wasn't home, so I called my mother....who lived in Texas and I was in Illinois. I don't know what I thought she could do to help me, but it seemed the thing to do.

I have had hundreds of dreams involving centipedes. Perhaps I should refer to them as nightmares. Centipedes and tornadoes. Go figure.

Since seeing the one lone centipede in the garage, I am now convinced they are hiding all over our house. This makes me very nervous. Last night, while cleaning the basement, the wife said to me, "I thought you were cured of this."

Obviously, I am not.

However, I can now function and can semi-kill a centipede. I wasn't able to function before--the true meaning of a phobia. (How many people do you know who have had centipede therapy?) But, I still don't like the things (not that anyone does, I suppose). I still worry that there are more in the house. I still worry that one will be crawling up my leg while I'm peeing (let me tell you, you NEVER forget something like that). I put a hat and hood on before going to clean the basement (lest one fall on my head and get stuck in my hair). I still jump when I see something move out of the corner of my eye....

...I'm sure there is some psychological significance to my phobia--probably Freudian--but, I am in no real mood to figure it out. I've had enough education to know it is not exactly a common phobia (besides spiders--oh, dear, a lot of people are terrified of spiders). I just want to keep the things out of my life.

I've decided to adopt the "it-was-a-lone-orphan-centipede-coming-in-from-
the-cold-and-got-lost-on-its-way-home-not-in-my-home" mentality. I'll be fine unless I see one actually IN the house.....

......then, I am going to have to go back to therapy and pay the wife thousands of dollars to keep me safe......

Out with Tinky Winky, In with Dumbledore....

Before I go on with this love fest for my favorite dead wizard, may I just say that I "gleaned" this photo from harrymedia.com and when I did, all sorts of funky things started happening and my computer had a meltdown, so whatever you do, don't click on the photo! And, learn from me--don't glean probably-copy-righted photos, even if you do give them all the credit. (And, I do give proper respect to harrymedia.com, although it was in spanish or some other similar language and led to a sordid pile of trash sites. You have been warned.)

Alas, J.K. Rowling has caused quite the uproar in the Potter World with her recent announcement of said dead wizard. If you are out of the loop (or just not really into gossip), copy & paste one or more of these fine links listed below and find out the latest on Dumbledore. God love ya, JKR.

Who woulda thunk?

P.S. to "Black Toes at the Grand Canyon:" Well, if Troy Aikman ain't gay, at least this guy was.....

http://www.cnn.com/2007/SHOWBIZ/books/10/22/books.potter.dumbledore.ap/index.html

http://www.newsweek.com/id/50787

http://www.usatoday.com/life/books/2007-10-20-potter-dumbledore_N.htm

http://www.thestar.com/entertainment/Books/article/269817

http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1674069,00.html

Living the Love Loft Life

Before I talk about the Love Loft, can I just say, "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MARIE OSMOND on DANCING WITH THE STARS??" One minute she was standing there, listening to Len talk about her dance....the next minute, she was unconscious on the floor and billions of viewers were stuck watching commercial after commercial. I'm just glad she hadn't dropped dead from a heart attack.....now that I know she's relatively okay, I can profess my love for live TV!!! (Don't try to tell me you won't be looking at YouTube to see what happened. All you people without DVR will be searching the net for that clip.)

And, now--back to the original babbling idea about the Love Loft:


(I dedicate this entry to Spotted Owl, as she is a true member of the Addiverse and a reader extraordinaire.)

This weekend was spent consuming massive amounts of food (both home-made and trans-fattingly processed) and hanging out in Galena with our sisters of the Love Loft. There are no better people on the planet than those in the Love Loft group. The photos here give only an inkling of the fun and food that was had by the twelve members of the outing. It was a sort of homecoming for the Love Loft (affectionately known as the LLL or the Triple L and if you don't know what LLL stands for, you have NOT been paying close attention to this blog OR you've only been reading for a short time--for shame!), as we started the "gang" while hanging out in Galena. Due to circumstances beyond our control, the LLL had to move from Galena, so we went to Lake Geneva...and, since they have now knocked down the building we stayed at when in Lake Geneva, we had to go elsewhere.....

......Why not go back to where it all started? Galena!

U Conn Grrrl secured us a lovely farmhouse for the festivities, while the wife lamented over room and meal assignments. Patty Party Pecs watched in horror as her cheesecake had a meltdown (literally--see the photo) but it was for naught, as it tasted just fine. (Patty Party Pecs was on my "shit list" because she brought her new squeeze a bouquet of cookies for Sweetest day--gag!--but since she brought the cheesecake, we decided not to stone & flog her.) We shopped, we ate, we played games, we watched plasma screen TVs, we ate, we debated over future meals....you get the picture.

How much do I like spending time with the LLL? Let me put it into perspective for you: I don't bring my computer with for the weekend.

THAT is saying a lot. I take my computer everywhere--the bathroom, the car....

For the record: there is no way to lose weight (or even want to lose weight) when eating all this great food and hanging out with such great people. Screw the pleurisy pounds! Who can worry about weight when there is homemade cheesecake to be eating at every meal? Why, there have even been meals served in parchment paper--you can't beat that!

Usually, we keep it pretty simple: cooking, watching hockey, getting tattoos, talking about dogs.....and of COURSE I made everyone look at my Xena/Lucy Lawless scrapbook....but this year.....

....We found a new activity to try out in between food frenzies and shopping events--Alpine Sledding!

Now, we are probably too old and injury prone to be throwing ourselves down the real Alps (no offense to you Lofters who think you are spry and sporty) and there certainly wasn't any snow to be found in the area and the real Alps are kinda far away, so we had to settle for sledding down Chestnut Mountain on a man-made track. You hand some guy your money, you pick up a blue sled, you hurl yourself down the mountain on this bobsled kind of course, you hop on the chair lift and you ride back to the top. If you look closely at the top photo collage up above, you can see a bit of the Alpine Track (right underneath the photo of the cheesecake). I must admit that it was very fun and a clever use of a ski slope during non-ski sloping weather. (And, it's not snowing or cold while whizzing down the slope, so I am all over this.)

The trees were in their full glory, fall colors in full regalia. The Mississippi looked mighty and breath-taking. The weather was absolutely perfect. The turkey vultures were hovering....um, I'm not sure circling vultures constitute a good sign, but there they were....and, I didn't seen any carnage on the course....

IF you look closely in the photos, you'll see three sisters of the LLL riding the chair lift--I was taking pictures to keep my mind off how much I hate those stupid chair lifts. I could have just walked back up the mountain, but that seemed like WAY too much work, so I clung to that safety bar with my sweaty palms and made it back up the hill via chair lift. (Again, this goes back to the trauma of a fourth grade incident at Disneyland. Oh, I need some therapy!) The only injury, I am happy to report: Phlange-a-slam had a minor problem when her hat when flying off her head--the lady in the sled behind her managed to run over the hat, leaving it with a serious case of road rash.....better her hat than any of our body parts.

An extraordinary amount of time was spent trying to figure out the food rotation for the next meeting of the LLL. I can't really tell you what happened as I wasn't listening. I just zoned out and smiled and made distracting remarks. I figured it would all end up the way it originally started....and, after an hour, it basically ended up all the same as when it started. See? Sometimes it pays to be attentionally deficit-ed. To be honest, I knew it would be fine in the end and that no one would ever let the LLL experience a food crisis.

The problem with LLL events, as with all wonderful events, is that they always end too quickly. It's like you go to bed Friday night and it's already Sunday afternoon and time to go home. Ya gotta hate it when that happens. Just when the fun begins, we're back at home, bathing the dogs because they stink so badly after their stay at the kennel and I'm cutting poop out of Freckles butt hair and it suddenly matters that the pleurisy pounds have limited my wardrobe to two pair of pants. Well, there's always February, when we'll gather again in Galena.

Until then, I have to get out off this blog and go vote for Dancing with the Stars. After all, Marie needs my vote!

State of the Dogs....and other tidbits on a Tuesday

Oprah's on TV right now talking about menopause. Oh goody! The wife was going to change the channel until I reminded her that this would be a topic of interest...to both of us, like it or not...so, we are spending the afternoon pointing at each other saying, "that's you," followed by the other saying, "that's you." Thanks to the wife for pointing out my worsening acne. Damn that Oprah. As I have a faulty thyroid and am at "that" age, I have so much to think about....and, not just about that acne. I guess I'll be looking up Dr. Northrup's book the next time I drag my sorry ass to Barnes and Noble...

Prior to Oprah's dissertation on our menopausing bodies, I spent a chunk of the day visiting with the vet. Not for me, for the dogs. Time for those annual canine physicals. Here's a photo of Freckles Warrior Princess post-vet-visit. Of course, her eyes are shut because her eyes are ALWAYS shut when I talk a photo. (It's a gift she has.) As I talk about the dogs ad nauseum, I thought a State of the Dogs report appropriate. Good news, sports fans--Freckles' yeasty beasties are dissipating, although she still stinks like the dickens. At least the bacteria is gone. More good news--she is at a perfect weight--no more calling her the "Fatty Patty." All that walking pays off, I guess. The bad news--that deformed dewclaw of hers had literally curled up and grown "into" her skin. Ugh. The groomer missed cutting the nail last visit, despite me giving the lady a written reminder about the dew club. God bless that vet assistant--it was quite the ordeal to get that dew claw clipped. If Freckles could scream, I think she would have squawked. She's a true champion, though, so she took it like a champion. (And, may I add that they didn't charge me for this. You may be thinking that they should not charge me for something that the groomer missed, but the groomer is just some contracted chick, so there was a chance I'd get another charge on the long of bills.) The only question left about FWP is whether or not she has a heart murmur. Well, it certainly isn't hurting her and it hasn't bothered her before and she seems no worse for the wear, so I'm gonna focus on that stench coming from her skin and leave the heart for another day. A really happy moment for the Warrior Princess: no more Bordella in the nose--a disgusting thing to have done, I'm guessing--it was an injection this time. I think Freckles did a dance when she heard it was a shot in the neck, not a drink shot in the schnoz.

Lucy was reported to be a bit "skinnier" than might be expected--that's not to say she is too thin or thin--it just means she has a few ounces to gain, should she choose to do so. (No, Lucy, this does not mean more treats.) I was relieved to hear this, as I was afraid that she might have tipped the scales a bit too high. She's so much bigger than she used to be that I worry. Her bad news--yeasty ears and tartar! As a person of the dental world (having a history of being an orthodontic assistant for five years), I was aghast about the tartar thing. I'm always looking at Lucy and Freckles' teeth....but, I wasn't looking back "far enough," where the really big molars are hiding. Dear god, I almost peed when the vet showed me that back tooth. I wanted to grab a tool and start playing dental hygienist. Did you know they have people who specialize in cleaning dog and cat teeth? Well, they do. The procedure under general anesthesia, which not only sounds kinda scary but also very expensive. I've decided Lucy can live with tartar for the time being. (If I could get her to hold still, I'd get a photo of the tartar. I'm not giving up yet...) The other thing the vet assistant showed me was the yucky crap in Lucy's ears. She then started RIPPING out ear hair, first with her hands, then with this tweezer-like implement. Lucy looked startled. I mean, I'm thinking it would suck to have someone ripping ear hair out of your ear canal. I got to grab the crusty strands of hair as the lady pulled them out. Tasty!

As I remain an embarrassingly shallow person, I am here to tell you I am so excited about "Dancing with the Stars" I could just pee. Last night was the "Paso Doble," my favorite dance. OLE! Jenny Garth and that Cheetah Girl kicked my ass right out of the living room! Oooh! I was cheering out loud. How am I supposed to choose a winner when there are so many fun people on the show? Marie's humor and wit, Mel B's surprising grace, Jane Seymour's flowing movement, Jenny's incredible improvement....get rid of the guys and let the girls keep dancing!

And, thus that's the State of the Dogs and other tidbits this fine Tuesday afternoon. This weekend is the Love Loft, so there will be plenty of fodder to share within a matter of hours...

Play Ball!

It's that time of year again, where alumni gather across the county at their Alma mater to celebrate homecoming. The wife and I are no exception. The only thing we do a little differently is we join the festivities on the softball field. Each year, the softball coach invites all the crusty alumni to battle against the existing college team for shits and giggles.

Now, you all know I am too old and too injury prone to be on the field actually playing, so I go to coach a base and announce the game. The wife decided she was playing this year (quite to my surprise and horror, I might add). I've done the past several years and have thoroughly enjoyed the chance to ham it up with a microphone. This year, I emailed the coach and said if she dug up a pair of the pants we used to wear (um, back in 1980 and 1981--those are some mighty old pants), I would wear them to the alumni game. These throw back pants are purple pinstripes. Sure enough, the coach came through so I honored my part of the bargain; those are indeed the original pants from the inaugural softball team at my Alma mater. The wife said she thought the pants looked much better now that they did when we were in college--I told her that's because I was forty pounds heavier in college.

I'm not kidding: my pants were older than the current students. That gave the crowd a few laughs. I was by far the oldest alumni--being a graduate of 1984 and the "nearest" next alum was 1997 (well besides the wife, but she doesn't count).

A wonderful surprise was that my coach from 1983-84 also joined the fun and came along to coach first base....who is non other than Master Reiki! It was like a bad flashback. Also present for the festivities was Blue Eyes, class of 1987. She wasn't a softball player but who cares? She was a volleyball player and dear friend and graduate of the school, so it was wonderful to have her there, too.

The only problem with the uniform the coach gave me to wear is that it had obviously been rotting in some back gym closet. I am telling you that thing stuck so badly of mold and mildew that I literally almost couldn't wear it. I washed it in special laundry detergent, I Fabreezed myself to oblivion, I kept the car windows open. It gave me a headache from the mildew-y smell. It was so bad I couldn't wear the top of the uniform. I bit the bullet and wore the pin striped purple pants and hoped no one would smell me.

It was a LONG car ride to the game, wearing those pants.

It struck me funny that I was wearing purple pin striped pleurisy pounds. Woof!

At one point, while in the student dug-out, I announced to the batter (and for all the crowd to hear) that if she hit the ball to the wife in right field, I'd give her $5.00.

Damn if she didn't hit it right to that very spot. I had to pay up. After all, I am an alum of my word. That was a highlight of the day for me.

The Alum dug out was stocked with some very interesting items--several different kinds of beer, licorice, water (thank god) and jello shots. Now, we may have done really wild things when I was in college on the softball team, but we never had jello shots. I don't think Jello shots had even been invented back then. I was corrected when I announced to the crowd that the Alums were drinking jello shots--you don't drink them, you slurp them. I guess that would be true, as they aren't exactly liquid. They're jello, for pete's sake. Whatever happened to beer bongs?

I think fun was had by all. No one was hurt, no one got pissy, no one got drunk (well, not that I could tell). I'm happy to report that the Alumni won by slaughter rules, 13-2. I wasn't injured, the wife got on base several times. You go, girl!

Ask me if she can walk tomorrow. Bet you fiv bucks she can't.

Back to reality....

Now that the Chicago Xena Convention has come and gone and now that I've managed to piss off every mullet-wearing lesbian, Ted Raimi-loving fan and/or every Lucy Lawless sing-career-supporter, I'm left with little to write and less readers to read it. I always thought my fan base was like three people, but judging from the outcry over my opinionated dribble, I'm guessing I have at least ten or eleven readers. Go figure! So, I graciously apologize for those I have offended (although I am not so apologetic to go back and edit my postings) and thank those that still find me funny. I think I'm funny. I entertain myself for days. (This may or may not be a sign of good mental health.)

Ah, the holiday. Halloween, that is. Why, here's a leftover from the Star Trek Convention last week....crossed over from the Stars Wars genre. Speaking of this holiday, I'm not sure what to "be" this year. Only a few more planning days and it will be too late to be very creative.....

As for the upcoming week, I'll be on vacation. No reason....just because it seemed the thing to do. Last time I took a vacation with nothing planned--in July--I got pleurisy, so I'm hoping this week in October goes better than that week in July. I plan on completing my Xena Warrior Princess Creative Memories Scrapbook by placing the conference photos in the remaining pages; I plan on thinking about losing these damned pleurisy pounds (which, by the way, have left me with only ONE pair of pants that fit without leaving me in squeezy, screaming pain) and preparing for the Love Loft scheduled for this weekend (which will ruin any plans of losing any pleurisy pounds).

Being the equal opportunity pet person that I am, here is a kitty in halloween garb. As I've pissed off so many people, I find it necessary to appease the cat lovers in the Addiverse..... (I get these photos in those dreaded forwarded emails--you don't think I have a cat, do you? I sneeze just looking at this photo.) I love this photo of the Hogwarts Kitty. I'd dress Freckles and Lucy up in this manner, but they would just stand there and look really irritated.....

Finally, a note to Dave Ramsey, financial guru:

Dear Dave,

I'm super sorry I didn't listen to you about spending money when money is not actually available. I really, really wanted to listen, but Xena was calling and car parts were falling off and the dogs needed their annual physical and shots and the children needed to be saved and my hair really DID need to be dyed (look how good it looked in the Lucy photo! Thanks, Harry!) so please don't be too hard on me when the credit card bills arrive in the mail. Also, could you call the wife so she understands this, too? I still plan on being debt free by January 31, 2008 but it's looking a little harried at the moment and I haven't quite figured out how this is exactly going to happen with these sordid financial detours. Any financial donations or offer of job opportunity will be appreciated. I'd ask for donations from the mullet-wearing lesbians, but I don't think I'm on their "donate to a good cause" list right now. Thanks for your help and understanding.

In your financial prowess we trust,
Addi Warrior Princess