Shiny, Happy People

I know, two posts in one day. But there are so many things wrong with this ad I came across on CNN today, I just had to share.



1. "It's So Easy"
Honey, ain't nothin' easy except for Sunday morning.

2. "Become an optimist"
Why, is my unobstructed view of our stark reality offensive to you?

3. "Follow these steps to be happier, healthier and more attractive"
Sounds great! Wait, is this woman in the picture a clear representation of where these steps will lead me? All this time trying to find the right skinny jeans, when what I really needed was a bow tie the size of my head. And nothing screams health and happiness better than a severe, unyielding grin of magnificent proportions. "DON'T WORRY! EVERYTHING IS GREAT!!! MOMMY'S GOING TO TAKE CARE OF EVERYTHING, DARLING! Now, where is Mommy's gun?"

Don't Hit Me No More

~Mabel John

*******

Yesterday, as I was coming to life over a cup of coffee and the morning news, an "etiquette expert" was discussing the appropriateness of pantyhose. It appears to be gradually disappearing from the work place, thanks to a younger generation of women who have succumbed to the comfort and, let's face it, less-than-professional look of bare legs.

Oh, the vulgarity. The lewdness of foregoing this sheer, nude netting and leaving the bare, unchaste stems of your feminine flower exposed for all to see.

With a knowing shake of her head, she urges women everywhere to at least have the good sense to wear hose if you're going to be in front of a podium.

Ladies, be warned. Between the line of propriety and obscenity lies a sheer pair of nylons.

****

Do you hear that? It's the sound of the blood, sweat and tears of our fore-mothers being flushed down the toilet.

I Can't Get Started

Ira Gershwin / Vernon Duke

I've been at work for about 2 hours and just noticed my jean skirt has a large dark stain down the front of it. Probably coffee. I seem to remember thinking to myself that I'd have to launder it ahead of schedule. Which is to say, somewhere between the 10th and 12th time wearing it.

I should probably care more, but the truth is, I was lounging around in my underwear with my husband, drinking coffee and watching bad television till the last possible minute this morning. And that was way more fun than sorting through my closet for clothes that:

a) are clean
b) fit right
c) aren't falling apart

And

my work

has

been

soooo

slooooooooooooow.

Seriously. It's maddening. I can feel my ass getting flatter and my eyes glazing over every minute I sit in front of this soul-sucking machine. Must. get. sunshine. and. fresh. air.

*********

My Zo dog had surgery to remove her tumor yesterday. We'll pick her up tonight. I cringe to think about her hobbling around, all dopey-eyed with her belly in stitches and her head in a E-collar.

This morning Gina sighed and rested her big fuzzy head heavily in my hand, looking up at me with those doe eyes. I couldn't have said it better myself. We don't like when our meatball of a dog is away from the family den.

**********

B & I drove and walked around a few neighborhoods where we may potentially move this past weekend. It was interesting. And encouraging. That's all I'll say for now. It's a busy week, so I have to focus on the here and now and let the rest simmer in my subconscious for a bit.

**********

I'm trying to read The Red Tent right now. So far, I'm about 3 pages in, and it's boring the fuck out of me. I'm sure having 8 years of Catholic Schools under my belt didn't exactly fuel my enthusiasm for a spin-off of a Bible story either. I'm going to finish it though, because I'm determined to see what the fuss is all about.

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da

This morning we were halfway to work before B & I realized we were dressed almost identically. I wish I could say this was a rare occasion, but unfortunately, it happens with alarming regularity.

We'll have been married four years on Thursday. We've been dating for the last nine. I'm not making excuses, just sharing facts. It's disgusting, really. I keep waiting to be miserable like everyone suggests one becomes in marriage, but it just hasn't happened yet. It's probably just as well. It's much easier to live in a small house with five animals when everyone gets along.

********

We officially have a loan approval to buy a house. Just knowing I was going to send over our personal information to the lender today made my sleep fitful. I woke up anxious till my much calmer, more reasonable half pointed out we don't HAVE to do anything. That's good, because as anyone who knows me knows, I just hate being told my business.

********

Now that we're talking about moving, everything that I found insufficient or displeasing about our current home has been romanticized. For one thing, I never thought we had a very big yard till I started shopping for homes in the city. Turns out we've got a rather big lot. I've also been thinking about the pets, especially my elderly dogs. How will they adapt to a new home? How can I uproot them from the comfort and security of our cozy little den to the strangeness of a new neighborhood? And then I smack my forehead and remind myself that they're dogs. The only thing they care about is what time they're going to get dinner and how many treats they can scam out of me in the meantime.

But still, I know I will miss living here. I moved around a lot growing up, and this has been one of the most consistent places in my life. I have so many fond memories; climbing the sweet gum tree that used to be in the front yard, playing jacks on the front porch, my grandmother frying chicken, running around outside with my cousins, pulling grapes off the vines she used to grow, my brother telling ghost stories at bedtime, and sitting around the tiny kitchen with my family, the table set with iced tea and fresh sliced onions and tomatoes from her garden. There are even scents that occasionally still permeate the house and yard as they did decades earlier, and when they hit me, send me reeling into a dreamy state of nostalgia, for the family lost to age, illness and divorce and the time we spent together that seems altogether infinite and brief.

It's strange to think how seven years ago at 24, with the man I would eventually come to marry, I came abruptly and unexpectedly to live in this house as an adult; my grandmother buried only the year before. I remember turning onto the street in the middle of the night, utterly exhausted from hours of driving cross-country, wondering how the fuck I'd gotten myself into this mess. B was fresh out of college, and I wasn't much farther ahead. We were unemployed, broke and most likely clinically depressed. It took a few years before things really started to come together. We gradually cleaned up and redecorated the home, which had sat vacant for a year, my grandmother's furniture just as she'd left it, jackets and scarves still hung in closets, apples she'd canned herself still lining the pantry shelves. I can't quite express the mixture of joy and sadness I felt whenever I would open one of the jars to fry the apples, just as she had done for us so many times before. She was such a frugal woman, and it pleases me to think how delighted she would be that they didn't go to waste.

I have the sense that some of my cousins find it morbid or unsettling to be in her house since she passed, but I couldn't feel more different. She had nothing but love for her family, and I sense nothing but good vibrations in this little home that unbelievably housed two adults and four children for so many years, and somehow managed to accommodate all of us during so many Thanksgivings and Christmas' and Mother's Days. More than half a century ago, my grandfather, who died when my mother was just 17, arrived unannounced on the doorstep of this same house after being discharged at the end of World War II. He traveled by train from California and walked the few miles home, his Navy-issued metal suitcase in hand. Knocking on the front door so early in the morning, I can only imagine the shock and surprise when my grandmother opened the door and saw him standing there. And here I am, decades later, sitting on the same porch with my own husband.


This is me carrying my grandfather's suitcase.

I'm not sure what's going to become of it when we move. I don't think my mother, who is now the deed holder, has any intention of selling it. So it isn't like I won't be able to come back. And even if that day arrives, nothing can detract from the history of our experiences, which I find more valuable than anything tangible.

Almost Paradise

Yes, I just quoted the Love Theme from Footloose. Had the soundtrack on vinyl as a kid, because that's the kind of Footloose fan I am. I can't help that it's relevant, people.

*******

We spent the weekend around Indy, having a marathon visit with as many friends and family as we could possibly squeeze into a 48-hour period. We stayed with my in-laws, who live on 13 beautiful acres in a small town just outside the city. When we arrived late Friday evening, my mother-in-law, who is a fabulous cook, had hot homemade chicken and noodles waiting for us. Noodles that were made from scratch and chicken slow-cooked all day. It was amazing. Each morning we took a leisurely stroll around their property, coffee in hand, kids and dogs in tow. My father-in-law is a phenomenal gardener, and their property is something to behold. Gravel and stone walkways flow around tall pine trees and blooming flower beds. Honeysuckle and clematis cover the wood and copper trellis he constructed himself, under which B & I were married. Farther down the path is his workshop, filled with wood-working equipment, a handsome work bench he recently finished, made from wood found on their property, and a wood-burning stove. Two paned-glass windows overlook acres of green grass and a few fruit trees. Next to the workshop is the chicken coop. But this isn't any old coop with any old chickens. There are 4 or 5 breeds, and they are actually quite pretty. He built them their very own mini-house, green with white trim, with a side door leading to a small fenced yard, which our nephew kept climbing in and out of on his hands and knees (gross). Our niece made a game of trying to catch the chickens, and whichever one was unlucky enough to be caught was paraded around under her arm till we could coax her to put it back. Beside the chicken coop is the vegetable garden and a cold box for growing fresh greens year-round. Several acres beyond their house is where the former owner had planted Christmas trees for sale. Most of them have been cleared, but what's left is much too large to fit in anyone's living room. Between the aisles of trees the ground is blanketed with pine needles. I once had the rare pleasure of walking through there alone except for their little Shelty, when a grey-horned owl gracefully took flight from the top of a tree, startling both me and the dog. There's an acre or so of prairie and wild flowers and a path has been mowed between the prairie and trees for walking. Various bird houses are scattered around the property. Back toward the house, a labyrinth design, not unlike what you might find on the back of a cereal box, was carved out in an area of grass, and the kids jog the winding path covered in small white pebbles.

It's not a bad way to live. B & I are considering becoming home-owners ourselves, and after spending time in their little paradise, it's hard to decide between the peace of country living with a commute or the convenience of city living with smaller quarters. I expect I'll be debating more about this in blogs to come.

I'll leave you with a quote from Ben's mom, talking to her grandkids this weekend. If we ever have children, I should just accept that we're already doomed:

"Hurry up and finish your ice cream, kids, so we can go to the cupcake store!"

Let's Go Get Stoned

Let's Go Get Stoned, Ray Charles

Can someone please explain to me why it's perfectly legal to operate 1000lbs of machinery at 70 miles per hour down the expressway, high off cold medicine that makes you feel like adrenaline is coursing through your veins at lightning speed while simultaneously having an out-of-body experience, but I can't buy a bag of marijuana without being arrested?

Shit's fucked. But then, we already knew that.

Dialing For Dollars Is Trying to Find Me

Mercedes Benz, Janis Joplin

Before I get into whatever this blog is really about...

Q. Why would you buy a Lexus, (a.k.a. a pricey Toyota), when you could buy a Mercedes Benz (a.k.a. a perfectly awesome piece of German machinery)?

A. Because you're a schmuck.

Now that we have that out of the way, let's move on to something relatable, because I sure as shit can't afford either of those vehicles and neither can you.

Our economic stimulus checks arrived just in time to pay for an unexpected, astronomical vet bill. (Just doin' ma part to keep 'Merica goin'!) Zoe went downhill over the weekend. She had a reaction to what was probably "degranulation of the tumor" and swelled up like a balloon. The vet informed us the situation was life-threatening and she needed to be hospitalized. It was quite upsetting. She has since been released. The swelling is slowly going down and more meds are being given. We're in wait-and-see mode, though so far the prognosis seems manageable.

I realize my pets are elderly and will die soon. I accept this, because this is what is. Life and death go hand-in-hand. And aside from the fact I don't believe death is the end but merely a change, and that everything is everything, I think to resist acceptance of this reality is not only a disservice to yourself, it's a renunciation of all the other wonderful things we take from living.

I know, one minute I'm dropping the F-bomb and the next I'm spouting off Eastern philosophies. But this is my reality, and I'm not tailoring it so it fits more comfortably for you. And I should hope you do the same.

What I worry about more is being put in a position where the choices I have to make with my pets are less clear. Either let the dog suffer miserably, or put the dog to sleep. Either spend your life savings or let your dog die. These are tough problems but with relatively clear answers. But what do you do when the choice is to spend a chunk of money that you can afford and the prognosis is undetermined, not necessarily life-threatening?

I don't have an answer. I just try to make choices that allow me to sleep at night.

******

On a much happier note, we've been invited to a soiree this evening that includes free food and free beer from my second favorite brewing company. Since B's hours have increased at work, I've been spending many an afternoon here, waiting for my carpool. It's like I'm becoming a regular, which I haven't been anywhere since college, because I haven't lived close enough for any one place to be my regular watering hole. It's oddly comforting.

Insert Dead Flowers Quote Here

An update on The Red Devil: We met with the specialty vet, who was very encouraging, and Zoe is now scheduled for surgery next week. In the meantime, my dog and I are on the same acid reflux medication, and she's also taking enough benedryl that I feel sleepy just giving it to her. While we were waiting for the vet, I suddenly became acutely aware of how badly in need of a bath she is. Luckily for us, Red loves baths. Anything that involves touching and attention makes her uberly happy. How can you not love this creature? Quit fighting it. You won't win.

Seems like everyone around me, myself included, is still recovering from Derby weekend. We played a show Thursday night and didn't get home until after 3 a.m. Friday was a half-day at work, because in these parts, Derby is a holiday. Though not such a big holiday that they'd actually give us the entire day off, even though half the staff didn't even come in and the rest of us sat around for 3 hours doing absolutely nothing. Once again, I'd like to thank the company for allowing me to waste time and gas so as to keep the holiday pay quota to a min. Because I'm here for YOU. Friday my little girl cousin and her fiance (christ, I can't believe she's even old enough to get married legally) drove up from Indianapolis to visit and go to the infield for Derby. "Do you want to go to the infield?" No. No, I don't. We had a delicious dinner of pizza and beer at my favorite place and headed out for an evening of rock and roll. The youngins skee-daddled home before the end of the show, and us old fogies stayed out till nearly the break of dawn. I realized why it was that I never went out for Derby Eve in years past; all the shit-faced assholes. I nearly got into fisticuffs with a drunkard at the show who couldn't keep his hands off my lady friends. The ogling and the rude comments I can handle. The touching? Not so much. I confess I get a tad cranky in these kinds of situations. There's a lot of neck thrusting and dropping of the F-bomb. But the guy did leave us alone afterwards.

We stayed out so late, I was almost too tired to get in the car and drive home. One of my friends waited outside for a cab for 30 minutes, and when it finally showed up, this girl opens the door. My friend says, "Um, excuse me, but I think that's my cab." The girl retorts, "No, this is my cab," and climbs in the backseat, cigarette and beer in hand. Being the stand-up gal that I am, I couldn't very well make my friend wait for another one on a night as crazy as this, so I gave her a lift. It was in the opposite direction from where B & I were headed, and coupled with the torrential downpour, it made for a lengthy drive. We slept for a few hours, then I got up to help my cousin gather supplies for her day in the fiery pit of hell (otherwise known as the infield of the Kentucky Derby), then it was off to bed till about 4pm. We forced ourselves awake to watch some of the races, including THE race, made a valiant effort to get dressed and ready to go out again, then promptly changed our minds, got back in bed and rented movies off the tv. Home in bed, my favorite place.

In other news, some friends are getting married this weekend and I'm very much looking forward to their wedding. I love weddings. In large part, this is a projection of my own feelings about being in love and happy and wanting everyone I know to find someone who makes them feel all the good things I feel. What's more wonderful than watching two people who truly care for each other pledge their undying love and commitment? Plus, there's the added bonus of getting to wear a super cute dress that I've only been able to wear once and for which I have the perfect shoes to match. However, if for some reason, (say, all the junk food I ate on tour and the complete lack of exercise I've had) I can't fit into the dress, I will likely have a very different take on the day. Maybe I shouldn't have drank 3 pints of beer and had that 300-calorie, 20-grams-of-fat nutty bar from the vending machine yesterday. Mmmm...beer and nutty bars.

Your Name Is Big Brother

More trials and tribulations of pet ownership. Off and on over the last year, we occasionally have to take our red dog to the vet to have some lumps inspected. She has been cancer-free for about two years or so, but she's a lumpy girl, and I don't have the qualifications to determine fatty cysts vs. mast cell tumors. Shortly after we got home from tour, I noticed a new lump on her side. Over the past two weeks, we've been to the vet's office three times; once to inspect the lump, once for testing and finally, for surgery. Hours after I jogged along side Zoe as she sprinted gleefully into the vets office, we get a call saying surgery must be postponed, because of some swelling and bruising they discovered after they shaved the area in preparation. Monday morning she must go back for more tests and then Wednesday we'll go to the specialty vet to consult with her on the next step.

It's a lot of running around during work hours, and even more so because of how far we live from...well, everything. Luckily, B's work is very easy going, as they have to be, considering how frequently they hire and lay off people. I mean, there's gotta be some perk for working in an environment void of stability. Last week 21 people were laid off. Same time of year I was laid off from the same company four years ago. (There have been plenty more hirings and firings in between as well.) The Fridays that were cut from B's schedule have now been returned. Seems they're short on help.

My work is trickier. They like to think they're understanding, but in reality, it's much more complex. Or perhaps a better term would be "passive aggressive." Even though I spent three-quarters of last week with NOTHING to do, it was necessary to stop me on my way out to pick up my dog so that I could send an email to both my boss (who knew I was leaving and why) and HR to let them know I was leaving work two hours early. Even though those people sit ten feet apart and could practically whisper to each other, and even though work was extremely slow, we mustn't miss an opportunity to document how we did you this favor in case we need to hold it against you later.

Where My Thoughts Escape

Home, sweet home! Sleeping in my bed and using my own shower never felt so good. It was a fantastic ten-day break from reality, long enough to surrender myself completely to life on the road, but not so long that I forgot how wonderful it feels to be back in familiar surroundings. Our last show was a doozie. We played with 3 awesome acts to the largest crowd we'd had all week, won over some people and even sold several copies of our new record. Giddy from the successful night, we stayed up with our new friends and hosts till about 4:30 am, when it finally dawned on me that we had to leave by 8am in order to make the 14 hour drive home by a reasonable hour. I quickly corralled us into bed, set my cell phone alarm for 7:45am and slept in the clothes I played in.

Our hosts were three gay men. I heard someone joke that staying with a gay couple is definitely the way to go on tour, because they're house will be clean and they'll have cable. Joking aside, after having spent the majority of last nine days sleeping on the floors of friends and strangers, I have to say these men were by far some of the better hosts. In addition to offering us 2 extra beds to stay in and cooking up a couple pizzas for all of us after the show, they insisted on programming their coffee maker for our early departure, offered us clean towels and washcloths (you have no idea how much this is appreciated) and even put together a care package of fruit, scones and bagels for us to take. We barely know these people, and this is the kindness they offered us. Ironically, this is exactly the sort of kindness a certain prophet, whose name millions of followers use for the denunciation of homosexuality, would have done for strangers himself. Good thing we're excluding the gays from equal rights; I'd really hate for that kind of icky good will to seep its way in and poison our ever-altruistic society. But I digress.

Our 14-hour drive turned into a 16-hour drive with all the stops for food, gas and bathrooms, and we arrived back in the Bluegrass around midnight. After unloading and dropping off the mates, B & I walked through the door of our little house around 1 am. I dropped to the floor and all the pets surrounded us in greeting. Gina went straight for her favorite toy, a once-squeaky barbell, and began pushing it against me repeatedly, while Zoe jumped on me and began half licking, half nibbling my face. Once we got in bed, Lewis, one of our three cats, decided he needed to re-establish his position as "Top Cat" by chasing this brothers away and returning to nestle between us with a smug look on his face. Oh, it's good to be loved. And so good to be home.

Living Just Enough For The City

Day five: a night off.

Crashing at the Ho Jo's tonight. A pricier choice than some, but considering the size of these boys, they're more liable to spoon themselves to sleep in a double, and this place offers two queens. The Lancaster Brewery is just next door, beckoning us from the moment we arrived. After showers, a nap and a little email, we dined on decent Italian food at La Piazza. The servings were so huge, 3 out of 4 of us had leftovers to go. There's a fridge and a microwave in the hotel room, but the restaurant offered foil pans and styrafoam, neither of which are microwaveable, so I had to, um, borrow a couple appetizer plates from them. But I fully intend to bring them back, I swear, I just don't want to burn down our room at the Ho Jo's while we're visiting the state capital of Pennsylvania. (Seems like Philly may have gotten the short end of the stick here, as it is Harrisburg, not the former capital of the new nation, that is the state's capital. WTF?)

Last night we played Pittsburgh with another band from our town and a local, both good, though unfortunately, we were practically our only audience. Still, we had a great time and a lot to drink, and managed to deliver an enthusiastic performance, albeit a sloppy one at times. Afterwards, we crashed with a friend of a friend whom we'd never met but was generous enough to offer two rooms with a bed and a futon. We've had to rely on the hospitality of others often this trip, and it's doing quite a bit to improve faith in my fellow man and woman. We've seen many good friends the past few days, made some new ones, and even got to see a some of my family.

Tonight is busy at the Ho Jo's, and the highway sounds outside the glass door to our balcony. The fellas have gone to the brewery, while I have elected not to spend yet another night hanging out in a bar. The restaurant was BYOB, and since I chose to stay in, I've co-opted the two beers we didn't drink with dinner. I sorted and repacked my suitcase while I watched the History channel in my jammies. I'm not that prissy, but I'm also not ashamed to tell you how good it feels to sleep in a clean, quiet place and have a bit of time to yourself. In another city...in another state..away from the dull reality of the day-to-day. We have five days left of the trip and already I'm feeling nostalgic to tour again. The thought of going back to work is so far from my mind. I could get used to this life on the road. As much as I love being home and having my own space, there's something very primal about the urge to keep moving. And that boy I love is here. What's better than that?

Tomorrow it's off to the Jersey beach for a show and then to NYC for a couple days. Looking forward to hanging in the city and seeing old friends.

Then As It Was, Then Again It Will Be

"...An' though the course may change sometimes/Rivers always reach the sea"
Ten Years Gone, Led Zeppelin


It must be the time of year, but lately my head is flooded with memories of days passed. The newness of spring inspires me to take inventory and make changes. I've been thinking a lot about the things I complain about, wondering what's at the root of my dissatisfaction. It's a restlessness probably typical of the change in seasons, but no less valid. I'm experiencing nostalgia for old friends, places I used to live – but at the same time, having no desire to go back. The future holds too much allure for me, and the present demands my attention. I've been thinking a lot about the people I'm surrounded by and how naturally their energy affects my state of mind. I wonder what message my own energy sends. Yesterday a guy in a giant Hummer (boy, isn't that redundant) jumped lanes and nearly side-swiped my little VW. Without thinking twice, I simultaneously laid into the horn and gave the Italian salute, while offering him a few choice expletives. Not that it wasn't a dickhead move, and clearly it takes a certain type of personality to drive such a monstrosity with flagrant disregard for it's environmental and economic consequences, but I'm thinking this is not what Krishna had in mind when he was guiding Arjuna into battle.

And then, if I broaden the scope, I think about how across the ocean, on an entirely separate continent, there are millions of people coping with rampant infections of the AIDS virus and mass genocide, while I'm driving around in my $20k import on the way home from my job to a house with a yard and clean water, angrily flipping the bird to my fellow man. It's ridiculous. And it's a conundrum, really, because we can't change our American reality. Well, we can, but not all at once, and only with some cooperation. My dad is famous in our family for his deadpan response to hearing the craziest of situations and responding with a shake of his head and the reminder, "Everybody's got problems."

I can't fix everything I'd like to, but I can control the role I play and the energy I give off and the people who surround me. So that's what I'm thinking about.

In a few hours I'll be staring at miles of highway, searching the grey concrete for incite. I'll let you know if I come up with any.

Hit the Road, Jack

Ohmygodi'mleavingfortourin7days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Commence freakout.

Funny, I started writing this blog 2 days ago, and I just can't seem to finish. Anyway.

Let's not even discuss the amount of time I don't have to get everything done. Or the money I don't have to pay for the things I need to get. Instead, let's discuss some of my favorite essentials to bring on a road trip:

• Aveda chapstick - At $8 a pop, this is some pricey stuff. But it works better than any other lip balm I've tried, including it's $15 counterpart, the Aveda Lip Replinisher.

• Thayers Slippery Elm Lozenges - I'm digging the tangerine flavor. Keeps the throat lubricated and has vitamin C.

• Traditional Medicines Throat Coat Tea - So far, the best thing I've found for a sore or dry throat. Yogi's Throat Comfort is a close second.

• Pen and paper - There's nothing like a road trip to inspire some creative writing. I also like to make a lot of lists. Things I see that interest me, words I want to study, things I want to do when I get home, etc.

• Hoodie - Because it can get cold out there. And because sometimes you just want to burrow and hide when you're trapped in close quarters with others for too long.

• Water - And lots of it. Funny how sitting in a car doing nothing can still dehydrate you.

• Kashi granola bars - They're delicious, filling and free of high fructose corn syrup.

• Eye drops - Staring at the road too long turns my contacts crispy.

• Kleenex - Without a doubt, I always need them.

• Petroniekins Hangover Remedy - Because inevitably, there will booze and rough mornings to follow:
* B Vitamins - this is what most of those hangover remedies on the market have in them anyway, but personally, I'm a little freaked out by the amount of caffeine and sugar accompanied by them. Take it before bed & again the next day for best results.
* 7-up - Because Sprite sucks. Sorry, it just does.
* Ranitidine - I have acid reflux problems anyway, but this is just the ticket when our tummies are feeling a little queasy. Generic ranitidine works for me, but you might find the other generic antacid drug, famotidine, (see active ingredients on things like Pepcid Complete) works better for you. Again, for best results take before bedtime. It takes a little time to kick in.
* Gatorade - Make a pitstop at the Hydration Station. You'll feel better.
* Ibuprofen - Last, but not least. Again, if you can remember it, before bedtime is best.

******

I'm a creature of comfort. The way I see it, if you're comfortable, you'll deal better. And ain't there always something to deal with.

Girls' Room

Dear Whoever Keeps Peeing On the God Damn Seat In The Girls Bathroom,

Seriously? You couldn't have just wiped that up? Or sat on the toilet that's probably cleaned more than your own bathroom?

It's Raining, It's Pouring

It's raining to beat the band out there, as my mother would say. Or is it "ban?" I don't know. The woman has more expressions than I can count. Really. I've been writing them down for the last 15 years or so, because they're hilarious and odd and I rarely hear anyone but her use most of them. One of my favorites is, "from hell to breakfast." As in, "If I'd have said that, my daddy would've kicked my ass from hell to breakfast." Seriously, this is just how she talks. I love it.

Anyway, I know you're just dying to hear more about my animals defecation habits, so let's get that out of the way. We spoke with our vet, and evidently, some dogs just "can't handle the fiber" in this new dog food. There's an understatement if I ever heard one. The solution? Keep Zoe on the new food and put Gina back on the old. As if we didn't have enough daily pet processes to work through. Some day, in my dreams, I will have a home with *decent* (I'm not even asking for nice here) furniture and floors that have not been destroyed by four-legged creatures.

Oh, who am I kidding? Once these critters are gone, I'll probably get suckered into more.

******

Is it just me, or is St. Patrick's Day one of the dumbest holidays ever? Who'd have thought so many people would take pride in a celebration of one's heritage that often seems only to amount to a glorified abuse of alcohol and the color green? I'm not knocking anybody here. I'm sure I've got some Irish blood, just like half of America. I just wonder why more people don't find it mildly offensive that centuries worth of an entire culture have been boiled down into leprechauns and green beer. It's kind of like how Italians are always represented as one giant crime family of gun-toting, drug-dealing henchmen. Maybe it'd be easier to take if we made a hallmark holiday out of it, with lots of red wine (you know, red for all the blood we shed) and cutesy little organza bags with grams of cocaine in them. Just a minute while I get the Vatican on the phone...

******

So yeah, you won't find me throwing down on St. Patty's Day, but I'll recount a tale a friend of mine told me from the weekend's celebrations. She was walking down a heavily-populated bar area Saturday night, when she saw a young girl with a bachelorette sash across her chest run drunkenly out into the middle of the street and get struck by a Lexus. She heard a scream and then a loud thud, and the girl was almost struck a second time by a car going in the opposite direction. The girl got up and walked away. Everyone clapped. The man in the Lexus asked who was gonna pay for the dent in his car.

The girl was seen again later in the night at a nearby bar. While I'm sure your inebriated stamina is applaudable, that had to be one hell of a hangover the next day.

You're In the Jungle, Baby!

Yesterday, I was looking at this website and a co-worker saw what I was looking at and exclaimed, "That's dumb!"

Silly, yes. Over the top? Maybe. But dumb?

What's dumb about website dedicated to posting hilarious and adorable photos and video of animals? Have you been on the internet lately? Do we really need to talk about the myriad of sites available and the ridiculous topics to which they are devoted? I think you're dumb.

I've given it some thought, and I think at the ripe age of 31, I've made an important self-discovery: If you do not like animals, we can not be friends. Something is fundamentally wrong (dare I say evil?) with harboring a general disdain for other living things. Perhaps you prefer not to have pets or spend time with animals. Fine. I think you're a little nutty, but hey, I respect your personal preference. The keyword is "respect." Lest we forget we're merely animals ourselves.

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Now that I've made my epiphanic declaration, let's discuss the downsides of pet ownership.

No sooner had we finished cleaning up bloody pee for a week straight, then my other dog began pooping ALL OVER THE HOUSE on a near daily basis. The reason I know it is my beloved German shepherd, Gina, is because she has the unique habit of walking while she poops, as though she's leaving a trail of breadcrumbs through the forest, only the forest is my yard and driveway (our mailman undoubtedly hates us), and now my home. Unlike Zoe, who squats still, like a normal dog. I come home each night to find a trail of turds leading from the couch in the living room through the kitchen and into our bedroom. Recently, she's begun urinating in the house as well. I don't know if this is because their food was switched during the whole UTI fiasco, if it's simply old age or if this is an effect from the prednisone, but I intend to call our vet and ask what the fuck.

Meanwhile, as we're cleaning up feces and opening windows (hey, wanna come over?), the felines are stepping gingerly around turds the size of their heads, seating themselves on a nearby perch so they can stare and occasionally blink disgustedly at us, as if they've never seen such filth.

As if to ask, "Surely you don't expect us to cover this up?"

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What Do I Care If Icicles Fall?

I finally had my review last week. I received excellent marks – as if I expected anything else, right? This is the first time I've had a review that involved meeting with four people, and it was a little nerve racking. What's worse is, after we went over my "scores," my direct supervisor had to leave the room so the other 3 people could interrogate me on her performance as a manager. What am I going to say here, folks? The only response was the one in keeping with my new "No Drama" work policy. "She's doing an excellent job!"

I've experienced my fair share of office drama, and frankly, I'm over it. It can be hard to rise above it, because you spend a good chunk of your life at work. Even the most skillfully detached may find it hard not to take a sense of pride or responsibility in what they do, and therefore may find the blatant disregard for their hard work and sacrifice frustrating. You may even feel justified in speaking out against injustices perpetrated. I support you; leaders of the movement, advocates of change, proponents of equality. I just don't have the energy for it these days. The cons have drastically outweighed the pros of speaking out in my last few work places. My chances of winning the battle within the corporate environment are slim, and at best, my candor only serves as a temporary release of my frustration. Sure, there have been a few time where I spoke my mind, and regardless of the outcome, I felt pride in not being a doormat or standing up to a bully. But in my experience, the conflict and/or the job just hasn't been worth the trouble.

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State of Emergency!

It snowed about a foot this past weekend. We were officially under a state of emergency, which in our family means a "State of Emergency Party." I love nothing more than being trapped in my house with my loved one and litter of fuzzy creatures, complete with a bottle of bourbon, good food and movies, during inclement weather. Seriously, it's like one of my favorite things on earth. Something about having a legitimate excuse to hole up and not go anywhere. "Sorry. Trapped. Can't leave." If I come into a lot of money someday, I'll be spending my winters in a cabin in Maine, so that I may experience a 3-month long State of Emergency Party. I'm telling you, it does wonders for one's creativity.

Following a brief shot of Princes William and Harry on the news the other morning:

Me: Prince William is hot.

B: You think he's hot?

Me: Uh, yeah.

B: Well, I'm sorry I'm not a prince, who's all rich and debonair, who showers every day!

Easy Like Sunday Morning (except it's Saturday)

Playing a rock show is not a bad way to end a very stressful week. All of us had a rough week one way or another. (Our bassist found out all their pets have worms! Yuck.) It felt like we combusted under the pressure with sweet release. We had a special guest play with us last night, my cousin C., who sings like an angel and plays violin to match. She brings a new energy and makes everything sound much fuller. If only we could have her all the time.

Today is a well-deserved lazy day, with our greatest accomplishment so far being the shower I took and the clean sheets we put on our bed. The sun's shining, and I considered opening the windows, but I think it may be a little premature. Winter is not done with us yet, though it is nice to see the sun again. The dogs have spent most of the day outside, lying in the grass like cows in a field...except for when the neighborhood kids come by on their skateboards and they take off sprinting to follow them the length of the fence, barking like crazy. The cats are taking turns lying in the sunlight coming through the living room windows and sleeping their cat bed in our darkened studio. They may even inspire me to nap.

Let It Bleed And Bleed (Pt. II)

How much red can a red dog red if a red dog keeps peeing red?

Zoe is showing signs of improvement, but not as much as I would like. Fortunately, she doesn't seem to be in much pain. It's getting a bit tiresome cleaning up bloody urine and washing dog towels all the time. Even when we're home, she doesn't always let us know she needs to go outside. I think she just can't control herself. And meanwhile Gina looks scared every time we come home and there is pee on the floor. The cats seem to have picked up on her illness because they stand very close to her, sniffing and looking concerned. It's a bit stressful at our home. B has the day off, so I'm taking comfort in the knowledge that everyone is getting a lot of love and attention today.