Friday, October 29, 2004

 
I don't like to think of it so much as Halloween, but moreso as payday.

I moved into a new cube today. Things feel very organized. And clean. This is also why I change apartments every year or so. I like change.

So the receptionist brought us a cauldron of chocolate today. She said, "Would you like to have some candy to hand out to the kids who will be here later this afternoon?" Well, what she neglected to realize is (a) we love chocolate, and (b) no one will bring their children near us. I think they fear they'll catch some weird disease from us. So, here we are. Forced to eat these thumb-sized Twix candy bars all day long. Thank God they're not full-sized, because the quantity that I will consume will not decrease depending on size.

Are you doing anything fun for Halloween?


posted at 1:37 PM

Thursday, October 28, 2004

 
Silly Wabbit

I just ate two large, orange, pumpkin-shaped cookies. When I say orange, I don't mean that they had orange icing. I mean that they were orange cookies. And they tasted like Trix. You know, "Trix are for kids!" Trix. I think that's why I went for the second one. Nostalgia got the best of me.

I washed them down with a Welch's grape soda. I couldn't possibly have any more artificial coloring in my body right now.
----------
I haven't commented on here about the excessive Halloween decorating that's going on around here at the office, just like last year. (If I were as clever as my blog friends, I'd link to that post. But we all know I don't know how to do that shit.) Anyway, tomorrow is The Great Chili Cookoff and cube decorating contest, there will also be awards for best dessert. I'm not participating in any of it, but my friend V will more than likely bring cookies that look like small turds. "Cookie Turds", as he calls them. And he'll enter them in the contest. As if he or I need another reason to separate us from the rest of the company. People already think we're freaks.

Also! People are going to be dressed up tomorrow, in their Halloween costumes. Nothing will surprise me, these people are capable of anything. One year, someone came as belly button lint. Isn't that disgusting...? And a little... awesome? I'm just not a dresser-upper. I'm not a decorator. I'm not a talker, I'm not a talker.
----------
Tonight I'm carving a pumpkin. Tomorrow I'll be attending a stage production of "Rocky Horror Picture Show". And then Saturday night is the Old 97's concert. This, my friends, is why I carry around my handy dandy Trivial Pursuit pocket calendar. It's got Trivial Pursuit questions all in it and I love it!
----------
Hotmail sucks today.
----------
That's it for now.



posted at 3:54 PM

 
My, I'm tired.
I can't snap out of it.
I need my couch.


posted at 2:08 PM

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

 
Long Distance

I've been talking with a recruiter today in Washington about a position in Seattle, trying to coordinate schedules for a phone interview. (In case anyone from work is reading this, I wasn't actively looking for this job...They had my resume from months ago. When I was actively looking for another job.) Anyway, he accidentally sent an e-mail to my address that he addressed to his HR person about screening me, which position I'd be best for, yada yada yada. Not that there was anything bad in it, it was just obviously an internal e-mail, not one meant for prospective employees. He was so embarrassed. Now I feel like I have a better chance at getting the job. Because of his guilt.

Then there's Todd. Sweet angel Todd. Todd is interviewing for tons of positions. Most of them here in Dallas, but the best one, the best lead, the best opportunity for him, is in San Antonio. I've been a little upset lately, at the thought of him moving to San Antonio. I'm doing my best to be supportive and tell him what he needs to hear so that I'm sure that he makes the right decision, uninfluenced by me. But I can't help it sometimes. I ask him, "WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO!?" And force him to think about it, when it's not even time to think about it. It's because I'm female and I am retarded.

Then this Seattle thing comes along. Immediately, he said, "Seattle would be great. It's close to Vancouver. I'll move there and do whatever job I'd need to do to live there with you."

I officially do not have The Upper Hand of Goodness in this relationship. He always trumps me with some sweet, perfect thing to say or do. The San Antonio discussions end up coming out like "YOU'RE LEAVING ME???? YOU'RE GOING TO UP AND PURSUE A GOOD CAREER FOR YOURSELF AND LEAVE ME HERE IN DALLAS WITH THIS DOG AND THIS LEASE AND THIS LIFE THAT DOESN'T INCLUDE YOU IN IT EVERY DAY? YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE SOMETHING OF YOURSELF AND LEAVE ME? ME, ME ME MEMEMMEMEMEMEEEE?" And the Seattle discussions go like, "Lauri, just tell me where you want me."
-------
Unrelated: I am obsessing over the search phrases that are bringing people to my Web site. I have no idea why such dirty words and phrases are returning "GolfGirl" at the top of a search engine return. All I know is that I DO search engine marketing for my clients, and I jump through all kinds of hoops and perform outlandish magic tricks to get their sites to return relevant search results. But something about a grandma and her private parts brings the sick-os here? Bottom line, I've got to quit looking at the reports. It's making me crazy.

Also unrelated: Piss. Everywhere.


posted at 3:48 PM

Friday, October 22, 2004

 
Can we talk?

I want to talk about water sprinklers. I have never seen such a waste of water in my entire life...This year, I have seen more sprinklers:

a. sprinkling water from the grass and into the street
b. shooting a geyser of water up into the air, obviously with a broken nozzle of some sort
c. sprinkling lawns in the rain
d. over-sprinkling. I'm talking way too many sprinkler heads for very small lawn areas.

Doesn't anyone care about the water that's being wasted? I mean, I feel guilty as hell when I let the water trickle from the faucet so that Lily can drink out of it, then sit and watch it for a few minutes.

I, too, waste. Paper towels and toilet paper. I have an OCD cleaning process when it comes to my kitchen counters which involves a sponge first, then a paper towel. Have to do it. And, as we know from a previous post, I am an over-wiper. The same way I'm an over-brusher (teeth).


posted at 2:23 PM

Thursday, October 21, 2004

 
Write-In Option

When I was younger, some "Concerned Citizens" in my hometown (that's what they called themselves) took out an entire page ad in our local newspaper to "Write In Johnny Brian for Mayor!" He never campaigned, he never did anything, and he beat the incumbent by a landslide. (Well, maybe it wasn't a landslide, but that's how I want to remember it, so there you go.) This was the beginning of my fascination with politics.

So now, we're faced with the obligation to ourselves and our country to get out there and vote on November 2. (That's a Tuesday. Polls are open from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. The internet is a great tool for finding out WHERE to vote, and even getting a copy of a sample ballot so that you can do some research on your candidates prior to voting...hint, hint.)

Anyway, it's time to vote. And if you're like me, you're looking at the candidates for the presidential race and thinking, "I don't fully support either of these candidates! The horror! The agony!!" (A side note, I've always supported third parties, simply because I think that's what we're missing here in the ole USA, some options. I was reading in Rolling Stone the other day where Eddie Vedder said it's time for a change. And although he supported Ralph Nader passionately four years ago, he wants to get on his knees and beg him not to run this time, so that he doesn't offset those votes for Kerry. Nader must enjoy Rolling Stone magazine like I do.)

I digress, that's not the point of this post. The point of this post is to tell you that you do have options in the presidential election, even if you can't get behind Bush or Kerry. You've got the option of The Write-In Vote. And I'm here to tell you that I'm voting for my boyfriend, Todd Luckey, for president. I think he's terribly qualified. He's smart, charming, persuasive in all the right ways, and well, he's a looker. Not to mention, although he's entertaining a few offers at the moment, he doesn't have a job right now, so he's available.

So, I'm offering Todd up as an option for you, too. If you'd like to write him in this year, be my guest. After all, he's a Luckey. And don't we need some luck in the White House? Karma, anyone?

"My name is Michael Todd Luckey, and I approve this message."
-- Todd Luckey



posted at 1:48 PM

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

 
Twice. Twice I've caught Lily and Jack playing together.

I never thought I could love a cat. When my aunt gave me that little round fluffy fur ball for graduation, I thought to myself, "What do you do with a cat?" But I grew to love her. Very much. I've had Lily for about six years. She's been there with me through the good and the bad, she takes care of me when I'm sick, she sleeps with me, she sits on the edge of the bathtub while I bathe...she's my little girl and I love her very much.

It's so different with dogs. I love that Jack. I certainly don't mean that I love Jack more than I love Lily. I've been thinking about this today, though....How different the love is. It's not my love that's different. It's just different and I can't get my arms around it.

Maybe this is how a parent feels when a second child is born. I've always wondered about that, too. I mean, a parent must ask him or herself, "How can I possibly love another child the way I love this child? Do I have enough love for both of them?" On the way home from getting Jack, in the car, Todd asked me, "Are you okay? You don't seem very excited...Do you like him?" And I looked at him and said, "I'm afraid I won't love him enough, not like I love Lily. And, I'm afraid that she's going to hate me."

But it's so strange...how it all falls into place... There is enough love. For both of them. I'm telling you, this pet ownership thing is certainly like parenting prep school.

I have become That Girl, haven't I?


posted at 3:36 PM

Monday, October 18, 2004

 
Before I forget...

Search phrases that have brought quality visitors to my Web site this week:

"people eating poop for lunch"
"junior high pussy"
"roonie big boobs"
"pooped her panties"

WTF?
1. Why are these people using these search phrases? Why do they need to know about those items???
2. Why do they end up at my site? Jesus.




posted at 4:27 PM

 
Soliciting Advice

If there's one thing I don't have, it's patience. (Well, there's actually a LOT of things I don't have. But this one is the topic of this blog post.) I'm not going to lie, one of the reasons for getting the dog was to prepare me for motherhood. I don't need to be taught how to love something or even make sacrifices for another human being or pet...I know how to do that. I have plenty of maternal instincts (although I suppress them). I know how to love, sacrifice, yada yada yada.

What I don't know how to do is be patient. At all.

So, someone please help me understand how I'm supposed to potty train this dog (I'm crate training) when I'm at work? The fortunate thing is that I live very close to work. I can run home at lunch every day. So, I went home today, and he tee-teed in his crate. This was not supposed to happen. This is what I'm doing:

1. Wake up, take him out to potty outside.
2. Feed and water him, let him play while I'm getting ready for work.
3. Take him outside to potty one more time, and then head to work.
4. Come home at lunch to let him go outside, right when I get home, and right before I leave again.
5. Come home and let him go potty outside, then bring him back in for dinner. Repeat "potty outside" as necessary until bedtime, when he goes back into the crate.

My questions are these:
1. I know he has no control over his bladder, but I do have control over his water intake. Should I start monitoring the input to control the output? I'm feeding him only twice a day, but water is a different story...

2. Does anyone have any experience trying to potty train a dog when you live in an apartment with no immediate exit to the outside? My apartment sits inside a building where I have to walk some distance to get to a grassy area.

3. It's been suggested that I put him in a room, rather than a crate, like a bathroom or kitchen, where I can close him up in his own "area" to go potty during the day. I think this is a bad idea because he will either (a) eat up the cabinets or (b) learn to potty in that room only, or there's always the chance that (c) that room in my house will smell like ass. So I think this option is out, right?

4. With the crate training, I basically have him in there only when I'm not home and at bedtime. Should I crate him more often than that?

I know you guys have experience, since you all own animals. So give it up. Clearly, it's been 2 and a half days and I need this dog potty trained. Now. :)


posted at 1:40 PM

 

Jack the Fetcher.

posted at 10:26 AM

 

Lily, retreating to the porch.

posted at 10:26 AM

 

Jack riding to his new home.

posted at 10:25 AM

 
Jack. Jack Dragon.

I used to hate people who had first, middle and last names for their pets. Really, like most pets, Jack has several names. Jaquis, Just Jack, Jackie, Jack-O-Lantern, Jack Baby, Baby Jack, Sweet Angel Baby...You get the point.

So we went to deep East Texas to pick him up Friday night. Although I bought him from what I net out at thinking is a "trustworthy" home breeder, I still think they have bitten off more than they can chew with the number of animals they have. I mean, the kennels weren't kept very clean, the animals were barking a lot, and there were even more animals inside the house (I wasn't invited in), yapping away like crazy. They scrambled for the paperwork, and would only accept cash from me. This was, with no uncertainty, a puppy mill.

Regardless of his first home situation, we love Jack very much. Regardless of the fact that he has pissed on my carpet seven times in the past two days, I still love him. Regardless of the fact that he shit on the floor this morning (right after going outside), then stepped in it, then walked around, then smeared it all over the carpet and bathroom floor, I love him very much.

He's brilliant. He fetches and retrieves...Over and over and over and over and over again. He's almost learned how to sit on command. He begs, even though we didn't really teach him that. He doesn't bark much, and he licks everything. I caught him licking the corner of the wall the other day. Not chewing, not biting, just licking it. He chews on nothing but his own chew toys, not on the furniture or shoes or anything like that. He's an angel.

The first night, Lily wasn't very excited to see him. She came running to the door to greet us, the way she always does when she hears the key in the door. Then she saw him. And she was not happy. (Is it strange that I can smell urine right now as I'm typing this? I've cleaned enough over the weekend...) Anyway, she looked at him for a bit, then retreated to the bedroom where she stayed perched on my dressing table. The next day, she spent half the day in the bedroom, hidden under the bed. As of yesterday, though, she's out and walking around, walking near him, jumping from perch to floor and back up again when she feels the need. They have staring contests. She always wins.

Jack's not allowed to sleep with me, as he's still in the crate at night and when I'm not home. Lily, therefore, keeps her place in bed with me at night. If it weren't for her gift of jumping high onto the furniture, she would feel defeated. She's still got it. The upper hand. Or paw, as it were.

I just realized that most of you don't give a rat's ass about all this shit I'm typing.

I'm suddenly wishing I had named Lily "Diane".

More later.


posted at 10:05 AM

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

 
I want a dog. A puppy.


posted at 9:29 AM

Monday, October 11, 2004

 
The Roonie.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Some people have really grown up, they've really matured. They've become real adults with real lives and real problems and real stuff. And they're interesting to talk to and catch up with and smile at and understand that they'll leave and continue on with their normal lives once the night is over, and hopefully we'll "keep in touch'.

But then there are the others. Oh my God, the others. The others, I wanted to shake them. There were people there, still holding grudges from high school. There were girls who are catty, oh so catty, oh the cattiness! There were people who did not grow up, they did not mature, they stayed idle. They never changed, they never grew. They stayed exactly the same. And not in a good way.

It's just an observation.

There were accusations (about boob jobs, divorces, you name it.) There was a lot of drinking. There was rain. There were drugs. And rumors. There were over-reactions. There were people trying too hard. There was a busted water line causing a geyser of water to spew for about an hour until we fixed it.

But there were babies, little pictures of babies that I couldn't focus on. And marriages, and great jobs, and good stories, and smiling faces. And more pictures and old stories.

"The Todd" (as he's so affectionately called now by his new friends) didn't wear the priest get-up. But he was befriended by an old friend of mine who convinced him to jump in the lake with him at midnight. Thank God The Todd knows better.

I used the word "pussy" in front of a Baptist preacher who also doubled as a health teacher and "coach" while we were in high school. I remembered it from one of his classes, when we were discussing VD's. So maybe it was appropriate? Maybe it was the gin and tonic.

There was the one-named guy (like "Cher" or "Madonna", only something less famous, less recognizable, and less catchy) with his newfound speech impediment, passing drugs out to people like candy.

Then there was the steroid guy who sat in one chair and threw the peanut shells on the floor all around him and looked at everyone like they'd better not ask him to clean up those peanut shells, or he might break into a rage. Then, there was The Todd, wanting to ask him to clean up the peanut shells. The Todd thinking the peanut shells on the floor was disrespectful. Then the Roid Rager disappearing into the woods with the one-named guy to do God only knows what. Then us cleaning up the peanut shells quickly, before his return. Before the rage.

Oh, and the "connections". One connection, two others who contacted me for e-mail addresses after the fact to make a connection. Sparks of interest. All good people. All very exciting. I feel like the match maker. And I like that feeling.

A total of six e-mails or phone calls from people telling me how much they liked The Todd. I like that feeling, too.

Like I said, good and bad. I'm just glad it's over. Sweet Jesus, it's over.


posted at 1:57 PM

Thursday, October 07, 2004

 
Skivin'.

I've not been providing any updates. That's because there's nothing really going on except planning for this reunion. There's other stuff...but you know how it goes. Sigh. I'm so tired.

- I'm getting my massage/mani/pedi this evening. If only I had fingernails to manicure. I've eaten all of them this week. And I haven't done that since pre-orthodontics. But I needed them. I needed to eat them.
- I've got a stye on my top eyelid. And it hurts. And it's heinous. And it will be lovely at the reunion.
- I've also got some sort of clogged pore on my nose. It hurt so bad that I saw a doctor this morning about it. He prescribed me antibiotics. And this is precisely what is wrong with healthcare today. At the end of the day, this thing is basically a ZIT, and he gave me a Z-Pak. Holy shit! I still can't believe it.
- One evening a few months ago, I stepped off the back of my couch...all of my weight onto one foot and leg, and really hurt my foot. I was forced to sit on my kitchen counter with my foot immersed in a sink full of ice water, which I detested. I'm really having some issues with my foot that I think are a direct result of that injury.
- Work is scary for me, too. It's scary slow.
- Everyone I know is having a baby. Really, everyone. So if I know you and you're reading this, you might want to run to Walgreens and buy a test. Does this look like the face of someone who is kidding with you? No.
- My boyfriend will likely be wearing a priest's get-up (white collar and black shirt) to my reunion. And it's not a costume party.
- I have splinters in my fingers from a pretty rough game of Spoons last night at Youth Group. I love those kids in Youth Group. I really do. I loved their questions and perspectives on evolution vs. creation last night. I don't remember being as smart as some of these kids are when I was their age.
- I took my Aunt B in for a colonoscopy and endoscopy yesterday. She was so scared, but so relieved now that the problem is minor compared to the fears she had created in her mind. She is so funny coming out of anesthesia. I've seen her in this state a couple of times. Cracks me up. Last time, after some extensive surgery, they asked her about her pain. When she was coming out, they asked her to rate her pain on a scale of 1 to 10... She looked up at us and said, "What number am I?" She is so cute.
- I have great friends.
- I have friends with huge hearts. And it hurts me when people don't respect that they are such caring, good people.
- I'm going to be late for my massage if I don't leave now.
- I love food.


posted at 4:18 PM

Friday, October 01, 2004

 
I have the most wonderful mister.

I've had a stressful week. It's not been awful, I've just been a bit edgy. (Not edgy to the point that I will yell profanities from behind my steering wheel at bike commuters, but just a little rattled.) It's planning this high school reunion, finding out that my car payment was withdrawn from my account twice this month, work stress, you know the type of thing I'm talking about.

So I get home yesterday, and I have this beautiful bouquet of flowers waiting for me, along with one of the aforementioned Nestle Crunch + Caramel bars (apparently, I talk about these a lot, because he rarely visits the blog), gift certificates for massage, manicure, pedicure, and the most wonderful card. All for me.

It's not about spending money on me. It's about wanting me to relax and smile and feel good. And he does it, just by walking into the room. But yesterday's surprise was still a nice treat. Every day I wake up and I think about how I couldn't possibly be any happier with him. And it always gets better. It's unreal. It's scary.


posted at 10:21 AM