Mom Is (Almost) Always Right

The older I get, the more "right" my mom becomes. The things she told me as a child and young adult really do have merit.

Take this little gem she used to utter: "Celebrities always die in threes." And, as I grow old enough to pay attention to celebrity passings, I can't help but notice she is right.

As wrong as this is, I admit that after hearing that both Don Knotts and Darrin McGavin had died, I thought to myself "So who'll be the third?" The third, unfortunately, turned out to be Dennis Weaver, an actor I always liked.

The passing of these particular three celebrities has left me feeling sad. However, I think even sadder is the fact that since the rule has proven my mom right once again, what other little motherly "gems" will will come to pass? Will time continue to go by faster and faster with each passing year? Will I really turn into my father's daughter, complete with ear hair and bald spot? More importantly, will God really pull the plug on us all soon?

Quite frankly, I'm a little scared to find out...

Cooking

While cooking dinner last night, hunky thought it would be a great time to quiz me on exactly what we were having and when it would be delivered to the table. This from a man who obviously had no where to go and no where to be, judging by his pajama-clad body.

Being as I hate being quizzed about the timeliness of dinner, I answered curtly with sarcastic responses like "You don't need to know" and "who cares, as long as you get to eat?"

Yeah, I know. I'm awfully mature.

He finally decided he trusted me enough to actually cook him something AND get it on the table before he died of starvation, so he went upstairs to play on the computer while I finished cooking, in peace. When he was called down to dinner 20 minutes later, he was surprised by something new: Stuffed Portobello Mushrooms.

Sometimes I get tired of making the same things over and over again. See, since hunky's been on Atkins, I've developed a few recipes that he absolutely loves, and encourages me to make over and over again. And while I also love many of those same recipes, it just gets tiring to eat off the same menu week after week. So, I like to change it up a bit.

Hunky was quite pleased with the result and so was I. The recipe is definitely a keeper. And here it is for all to see:

Stuffed Portobello Mushrooms

Portobello Mushrooms (either two very large ones, or a bunch of the "smaller" ones)
Mozzerella Cheese
Sherry
Garlic
Pepper
Pesto
Butter

Saute mushrooms in a mixture of butter, sherry, pepper & garlic. Turn on broiler. When mushrooms are sufficiently sauteed, place them on a baking sheet, and fill with cheese. Top with pesto sauce, broil until cheese is melted.

Voila! Serve with a side or two (I served with "mock" mashed potatoes). Simple, easy, quick AND MOST IMPORTANTLY delicious.

Don't you wish you were at my house for dinner last night?

Benny The Burglar

Do you remember the kid on your block who was basically good, but who could also be easily swayed by his friends to get into mischief? That's Spencer.

Spencer is an easy-going dog who rarely, if ever, causes us any grief - on his own, that is. However, in his efforts to be "one of the gang," he often gets caught up in the hijinks instigated by either Glindy or Benny. Like the time Glindy escaped from the yard, and Spencer, not wanting to be left alone, doggedly followed her, until they were caught and put into doggie jail, where they stewed until I bailed them out. Spencer wants to be good, but he also wants to be part of whatever excitement is going on.

Because of this, I can't even feign surprise when, upon investigating a strange noise I heard downstairs, I came across Benny digging and prying his way into Glindy's service dog backpack while Spencer egged him on gently from the side. While Benny rooted rooting away, trying to get to the buffalo jerky inside, Spencer was by his side, nodding his head and smiling as if to say "Go on Benny! Get us some food! Get us some food!" I watched as Spencer egged Benny on, and then I headed towards both dogs.

Spencer's face fell.

His happy, smiling demeanor fizzled into a "Oh no, the gig is up" face. Still hopeful that Benny would dig out some food before I grabbed the backpack, Spencer's eyes went from me to Benny and me to Benny until I picked up the backpack, and hid it in the closet.

Benny wasn't phased one bit. I could see him sizing up the closet, trying to figure out if there was a way he could break into it to get to the buffalo jerky. On the other hand, Spencer looked as if his world had just fallen apart. "Dammit. I'll never get my chubby little body through the crack in that closet door." Dejected and embarrassed from being caught, Spencer exiled himself to the crate. Meanwhile, as I walked back up the stairs, I could still see Benny staring at the closet door, trying to figure out a way to get in.

Take This Job And Shove It

Yesterday, I almost quit my job.

Oh I didn't. No, the minute I thought about walking out, I knew I was overreacting. But still... the fact is that the thought did cross my mind. In fact, I even did a little job searching yesterday, just to sort of see if walking out would be worth it.

It wouldn't be.

As bad as my job gets some times, there just isn't anything else out there, at least in Reno, that will give me the one perk I have grown to love: my regularly scheduled three-day weekends. There is nothing quite like a four-day work week, that's for sure.

As difficult as it is sometimes to make it through a workday here, the benefit is that I know I have three days of fun ahead of me before having to do it all over again. And that simple knowledge is usually enough to keep going...

So Hot

By popular request, I am updating my blog today.

BTW, for those not in the know, "popular request" equals one email from hunky, stating he needs his "PJammy fix." For a boy so intent on not marrying me, he sure does need him some PJammy! But I digress...

In today's update, I will rant about Paris Hilton's bondage ring. According to her, "it's hot." However, also according to her, bulimia is hot, stumbling so that her bodyguard has to prop her up by her boob is hot, and making a sex video that gets distributed on the internet and embarrasses her family is hot. So, I don't know... a bondage ring hot? Maybe. And maybe not.

My main problem with Paris' bondage ring and her subsequent pimping of it isn't the ring itself. It's that Paris is trying so hard to be hip and cool by pretending she's into the whole bondage scene. "Oh yeah, bondage is hot." The only thing Paris Hilton has ever been tied to is her cell phone. And believe me, that's not hot.

Personally, I think the only way her bondage ring would be considered hot was if she was forced to her knees, gagged, then bound to a a public lampost, after which that bondage ring was shoved up her ass. That would indeed be hot. Or at least amusing.

Hibernation

Sometime when I wasn't paying attention (and believe me, that happens more than I would even like to admit to), I turned into a bear and went into hibernation. I swear! I'm a bear! And a poet! And I didn't even know it!

Seriously, I can NOT get enough sleep. No matter how many hours I nap, snooze, sleep and snore, I still wake up tired. Last night, the hibernation mode hit me at about 6:30 pm. I tried to fight it, I really did. I slapped myself. I splashed cold water on my face. I even ran up and down the stairs a few times to get the blood running. Did any of it work? Nope. Instead, I just got more tired.

When hunky announced he was still tired from his trip and was heading to bed early, I said "I'm with ya!" So, at 7 pm, I was in my jammies tucked into bed. By 8 pm, the light was off and I was sound asleep.

Still, when the alarm went off this morning, I didn't feel rested. I felt like I hadn't even slept... and that I needed more sleep. How I managed to crawl out of bed and make myself a cup of coffee I'll never know. It's like one of those miracles I've read about in the bible.

While I ponder the fact that it's only 3 pm in the afternoon and all I want to do is sleep, I find I have a sudden craving for a jar of honey and a pic-a-nic basket. Where is Yogi when you need him, huh?

Wild About Harry

This weekend, hunky called me from the Dr. Who convention in Los Angeles, and told me in a rather excited voice "I bought a Dr. Who scarf!" Yes, my hunky was geekily ecstatic about his purchase. He went on and on about the scarf, and then segued into all the other "cool" Dr. Who things he got.

Quite unexpectedly, he said "Oh, and I got you something, too. You're really going to like it."

"Really? You found something for me at a Dr. Who convention?"

"Yes I did!" he proudly retorted back.

Well, excuse me... but I wasn't feeling very secure in the promise that I would "really like" this gift. After all, Dr. Who is a very foreign entity to me; I wasn't feeling the Dr. Who love, so to speak.

When I got home from work last night with the dogs in tow, hunky was happy to see me. More than that, though, he couldn't wait to give me the gift he brought back. "I just have to remember what bag I put it in."

He rummaged around for awhile, then said "Here it is." He pulled something long from out of a plastic bag and handed it to me.

I started jumping up and down. "Oh boy!"

"You know what it is, right?"

And we both answered his question at the same time: "It's a Harry Potter scarf!"

Yes, I am now the proud owner of a Harry Potter scarf. I wore it all last night, and have it on today here at work.

Call me a geek, but I loves me some Harry. And hunky.

Sometimes, he really does know what I want!

Still Alive

Just in case anyone thought I was dead, let this entry serve as proof otherwise.

Now, Wednesday night I did feel as if I was going to die, but I didn't. Nope, it wasn't death that was imminently upon me... just a case of food poisoning. Happy Valentine's Day to me.

Oh, I know. Technically it wasn't Valentine's Day. But it was the day hunky and I decided to celebrate (as I had a class on Tuesday night). We went to one of our favorites: Western Village's Steak House. We had almost exactly the same thing. The only difference? He decided to cut carbs and not get the sauce. I decided to indulge, and got the sauce.

So, Cupid awarded me by giving me a case of food poisoning. Instead of aiming his little red arrow at my heart, he aimed for my gut. Bull's eye.

I'm much better now, no thanks to Cupid and his evil sauced arrow. Next Valentine's Day, I hope I remember not to get the sauce.

Floral Freak

Just a few moments ago, the friendly neighborhood Sparks Florist delivery man brought me the most attractive flower arrangement I've ever received. The vase is huge. The flowers are all white (roses, hydrangas, gladiolas), with green fern and twisty branches as filler. The arrangement takes up a full corner of my desk.

All I can say is, hunky might be a day late, but my arrangement kicks all the other girls' arrangements asses!

Benny The Bi-Sexual

Benny has made a terrific addition to our household. He's easy going. Pleasant to be around. And he loves to love.

Yes, Benny loves to send out the love. He "hugs" us. He wants to be near us. But more than that, he tries to French kiss us. Both of us. Female AND male.

Yep, we can't give Benny the tiniest bit of affection without him trying to stick his tongue down our throats. Repeatedly. Without rinsing.

So we shake our heads, jerk our necks, and put him down. But Benny... all he wants is to love us. So, he starts jumping up and down, his eyes pleading with us: "Pick me up! Pick me up! Let me kiss you! Please! Let me kiss you!"

Poor Benny. We probably wouldn't even try so hard to get away, were it not for the fact that we've seen where his mouth has been, and it's not pretty.

Empty Field

Peter, Paul and Mary sang "Where have all the flowers gone?" Well, I can tell them where they went: to every woman in my office but me.

Guess all those young girls pickin' em depleted the fields, leaving none for me.

Bitches.

The first night of class, my instructor gave us a couple of homework assignments. The one I've put off the longest is answering the question "Why do you want to be a witch?" I finally finished my assignment today... just in time for tonight's class. Here's my answer:

Why I Want To Be A Witch

I've been thinking about the answer to the question "Why do you want to be a witch?" for almost a full month now, and I still don't have a clear answer.

Since I was a little girl, I've been interested in magical things. And not only was I interested, I believed. I believed in fairies and the magic of spells. I believed in things that go bump in the night and of serendipitous happenings. I believed in luck and magic powers. I believed in ghosts and psychic power. I believed in divination and an all-knowing God. Quite simply, I just believed.

Somewhere along the line, though, I lost almost all of my beliefs.

A few years ago, I began the journey to redefining my spiritual beliefs, which had become muddied and unrecognizable to me. During that time, my interest in magical things was reignited.

Serendipitously, I met a local Wiccan who told me about her Wicca classes. When enrollment time came, I signed up and counted the days until my first class.

Though I found the instructor likeable and the class interesting, I wasn't sure Wicca was for me. After all, it's basically yet another religion, with rules and regulations (although so much looser than those belonging to other religions). I found much of it complicated, and longed for the simplicity of Christianity (you know, real Christianity, not the Christianity borne out of churches with yet more rules and regulations). So, when classes were cancelled for a bit, I ended up never going back, as I just didn't "feel it" as the young kids say.

I found I missed going to classes... and learning about the Craft. Then I had one of those "Ah-HA" moments Oprah rambles n and on about: even though Wicca wasn't really my cup of tea, perhaps Witchcraft is.

I went back to some of the magical books I have on my shelves, and thumbed through them. As I looked, I asked myself "What is it about the messages in these books that attracts you to Witchcraft?" And I realized that much of it reflected and enhanced what I already believed. For example, candle magic is very much like a prayer in action. And the use of tarot cards just taps into the subconscious, bringing what's inside into the open. In other words. witchcraft, to me, is spirituality in action. It's using energy to bring about change, both inside and out.

Once again, serendipity intervened and I found out about another class that was probably more along the lines of what I needed (and in case you're wondering, that's YOUR class, Steve!). Even though I've only been in one class so far, I feel that this is a much better fit than my other class.

I still don't think I'll ever be what I call "a ritual witch." I don't believe in perfect love and perfect trust (not within humans, anyway), therefore would probably never participate in a ritual. And, the complexity of ritual in general is much too much like church for me to be completely comfortable with it. However, thank goodness, public ritual isn't what witchcraft is all about. No, it's about change and growth, and in the end, that's what not only attracts me to witchcraft, but what also makes me want to be a witch.

Another Craptastic Valentines Day

Today I feel like Pam in The Office, and that's not because we both have the same first name.

In last week's Valentine's episode, Pam the receptionist signed for bouquet after bouquet after bouquet for various co-workers, and one in particular. As the day wore on, it became very clear to Pam that she wasn't going to get a Valentine bouquet from Roy. As the last bouquets came rolling in, Pam almost threw them at the various recipients.

Today I am Pam. Okay, well, technically I'm Pam every day (to my parents, anyway; no one else is allowed to call me Pam. I'll spank you if you do!), but today I am Pam from The Office's Valentine's episode. Everyone around me is getting Valentine bouquets delivered, and I don't even think hunky knows its Valentine's Day.

Guess I can't really blame him. It's not like I've been the most succulent and bodacious girlfriend lately. Still... with each and every delivery, I paste a smile on my face, give the appropriate "oohs" and "ahhs," then go back to my desk to steam quietly.

If only I had a Jim in the office to make it all better.

Doing Things The Old Fashioned Way

I totally suck the big hairy one when it comes to keeping a paper journal.

This year, I undertook the challenge to keep a paper journal. Not even 20 days into it, I stopped. Thirty-nine days later, I can't even find my journal. So much for doing things the old fashioned way.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've loved the idea of keeping a paper journal. Of course, way back then they were called "diaries." Girls carefully dated each entry and began each written confidence with "Dear Diary" before spilling the dirty details of the boy they were crushing on. And if there was no current REAL boy crush, then there were plenty of entries on how one day Donny Osmond would walk into the room, the sky would turn purple (his favorite color!), and a choir of Latter Day Saints would sing soft love songs in the background.

Growing up, I had plenty of diaries. I collected them like Jeffrey Dahmer collected body parts. The diaries would be beautiful... pristine. But then I'd go and murder them with a few odd entries, cast them aside for a month or two, and they'd never be the same again.

Today I still collect diaries, but now they're called "blank journals" and I can't get enough of them. I have some girly ones. And Mary Engelbreit ones. I have a few cool retro ones. And a variety of others, ranging from the delicate to the radical. The only thing they all have in common are lines. That's right. Lines. This is one girl who can't write straight without lines to guide her.

For this project, I had all intents and purposes to go buy a new journal. Why? Because I couldn't bear to mark up one of the ten thousand blank journals I have already. I think deep down inside, I knew I would ruin it. I would either write in stupid stuff, or make lots of lineouts. I probably also knew that it would be a project that I would start... and then abruptly stop. So, I was going to buy a journal I didn't care for, so I wouldn't mind so much if it ended up abused and abandoned.

I didn't, though. Buy one, that is. Instead, I looked through my collection for a journal that might inspire me to pick it up everyday. And I found one. The front cover was done up in teenage girl style, with a mirror in the middle. Above the mirror was the phrase "Hello Gorgeous." Now, who wouldn't want to write in a journal that proclaimed them as gorgeous every time it was picked up?

Apparently I wouldn't.

I mean, I did. I wrote in it religiously for three days straight. Then I missed a day. Then I wrote in it again. And missed another day. And wrote in it again.

Then I missed two days in a row. Not to be discouraged, I picked it up again and scrawled off a page or two. But then I put it down and neglected it for a week.

Feeling like I was woman, hear me roar via pencil, I picked it up again. Again, the writing didn't last long. And finally... it's nowhere to be found.

Without it, the dream of keeping a paper journal has died before my very eyes. More importantly, who will tell me I'm gorgeous now?

Say "Cheese"!

Today, Benny is getting his teeth cleaned.

When hunky brought him in for his initial check-up the other day, the vet gave Benny a clean bill of health. Then, Benny breathed on her, and the vet said "Jeepers, man, that dog's teeth need to be cleaned." So, hunky made the appointment and we suffered through Benny's nefarious fog breath until this morning.

Because cleaning teeth is such a horrendously difficult and sometimes painful procedure for animals, vets always anesthetize the animal first, before going at them with drills and brushes and steel picks and minted floss. Wouldn't it be cool if we got the same treatment? "Yeah, doc, I'm ready. Put me under and scrape away. Just don't forget to wake me up in time for Lost."

My luck, though, the dentist wouldn't wake me up until it was time to go to work. And it would be a day that Michelle was out and Dennis had fourteen hundred emails to dictate.

I'd take an unanesthetized teeth cleaning over that any day.

Last night, I saw Lily Tomlin at the Pioneer Center for the Performing Arts here in Reno.

She was there to kick off a brand new series titled "Smart Talk: Women's Lecture Series." The season-long program features five well-known and revered women speaking about various issues. Lily, of course, broke the mold and didn't really "talk" about women's issues, as much as she did skits and pieces which definitely said a lot, but via laughter instead of hard-hitting points.

Walking to the theater, I found myself surrounded by throngs of women going the same direction. And not just any women. Lots and lots of butch lesbians. In fact, I had never seen so many butch lesbians in my entire life, even at the various Gay Pride Parades I attended in San Francisco.

As I got closer to the theater and encountered more and more butch lesbians, I had an epiphany. Of sorts. Lily Tomlin is gay. Of course! Why hadn't I ever clued into that fact before?

Probably because, like most comediennes, her life isn't really held up for scrutiny by the media. Most tabloids and paparazzi are much more interested in the likes of celebutantes like Paris Hilton, the fidelity-impaired antics of men like Eric Benet, the divorce proceedings of Hollywood power couples like Braniston, and the whacked out zaniness of the Courtney Loves than to focus on the (now oh! so yesterday) sexual preferences of comediennes. In fact, the only time I can ever remember the press making an issue of a comedienne's sexual preference was with Ellen DeGeneres, and I'm still not entirely sure why it hit the press so hard back in the day.

To me, Lily Tomlin has just always been Lily Tomlin. I loved her skits on Laugh-In. I have enjoyed seeing her guest star on various TV shows over the years. I've found her to be a refreshing guest on talk shows. I guess I just accepted her at face value, and never thought to scrutinize her sexual preference. It was just never that important.

And that's how it should be. Why should we even care that Ricky Martin might be gay? Or that Anne Heche is bi-sexual, no she's gay, no she's straight? We shouldn't.

I will admit, though, I do have a problem with anyone who markets themself as one type of person, and is actually another. This issue doesn't restrict itself to sexual identity, though; it embraces it all, from the Christians who market themselves as saints, yet cheat on their spouses, to the self-proclaimed vegan who thinks its okay to have a leather couch in their home, just because "it was free." I'm all for people being their authentic selves, and all against pretense.

Oh sure, I know we all have our masks... women have cosmetics. Men facial hair. We may act one way at an office function, and another at the home of a friend. But, those masks aren't pretentious as much as they are just different facets of us. It's not that we're hiding behind those masks; we use them to accentuate our positive aspects and character traits. After all, it just wouldn't be couth to play a drinking game at the office, nor would it be considered appropriate behavior to be stiff and formal at our friend's home.

Enough with the postulating already, and back to Lily Tomlin. She was great last night, as always. However, more than her performance I loved the fact that, throughout all these years, I've never thought of her in any other way than just a funny comedienne.

Wouldn’t it be a much nicer world if we always focused on the person and not their sexual preference?

(BTW, in case anyone is wondering, my sexual preference is no sex. Just ask hunky!)

The Bickersons

I don't know if it's something in the air or something up my butt, but I haven't been the nicest person to be living with lately. Just ask hunky.

We've been having little arguments since his sister left. And truth be told, we had a few while she was here. Those, though, were exacerbated by hunky's stress regarding his sister's visit. He was having trouble processing things I said, and often misconstrued what came out of my mouth. Then, I would overreact, forgetting that sometimes Asperger's gets in the way of his ability to process what I'm saying.

Since she left, though, the arguments have escalated and almost culminated in me leaving to spend the night elsewhere last night. At some point in our argument, I reiterated that I was leaving to for the gym. He snapped back with "I don't care when you leave. In fact, I don't care if you come home at all."

My thoughts? "Fine. If he doesn't care, then I won't."

Of course, finding a place to stay was a bit of a challenge, but I found one. I was going to leave without saying anything, but I couldn't be that cruel. Hunky has some abandonment issues, and it just wouldn't have been right to leave without a word of warning. So, being the kind girlfriend that I am, I warned him.

More arguing ensued. However, we got through it, was able to make up, and I went off to the gym to work off some stress.

While driving to the gym, I thought of a few things hunky said to me. He said leaving last night wasn't the right response, unless I really just needed to get away. And if I needed a few days away, he would take care of the cats for me while I was gone. He asked me to think about what I need.

And he might be right. I might just need some time alone.

I know it's hard for him to understand sometimes. But, now that he's working from home, he's been home every day since mid-November. When he was barely home during the 7 months he was working in the Bay Area, I got used to being able to do my own thing. Of being on my own timetable. Of not having to cook full meals. Of eating when I wanted. Where I wanted. Of sleeping without a lot of noise.

And while I'm glad he's home, I have to admit: I miss the freedom of just doing what I want, when I want.

So hunky is probably right. I might just need some time alone. If so, this would be the perfect weekend to go visit my parents. I could spend some time in a hotel room, and maybe even have time to visit the "holistic" expo in San Jose.

I'm feeling a bit of holistic healing just thinking about it.

Good To The Last Drop

On Friday afternoon, hunky and I went out to run a few errands before meeting his sister for dinner. Since one of the errands took place at PetsMart and hunky knew how painful that was for me (it's not that I mind shopping there... it's just that he takes forever to make up his mind what he wants), he took me over to the nearby Starbucks for a decaf.

His intent was to treat, but since he had treated me to a very nice lunch just a couple of hours before, I decided to treat instead. We both ordered decafs, however his was doctored up with pumps and whipping cream and whatnot. Unfortunately, they had just run out of decaf and were in the process of starting a new "pot." They said it would take four minutes.

For some odd reason, hunky's decaf came up first. And I say "odd," because his was doctored, while mine was just plain. After serving him his frilly decaf, they told me it would be another two minutes or so for mine.

We chatted while waiting, and the manager brought me my decaf personally, instead of calling me to the counter. I noticed they upgraded my size for free. I thanked him, and went over to the fixins island for Splenda and half & half. As I grabbed the half & half container, I could feel it was empty. Ignoring the obvious, I tilted it into my cup, anyway. Nope. Dry as a prohibitionist.

I brought the container over to the counter, let them know it was empty, and the woman behind the counter apologized. Within seconds, she had a new one for me. I took it over to the fixins island, and all of a sudden I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned, and it was the half & half woman again. She told me she was sorry that I not only had to wait for my decaf, but then had to fetch some half & half. She handed me a coupon and said "Your next coffee is on us!" I thanked her, and she said "No, thank you for being so patient with us," and then she turned and walked away.

As we left Starbucks, I told hunky that I couldn't be happier with my good fortune. I was happy enough for the size upgrade, but a free coffee as well? Hunky swears its his good luck rubbing off on me, but I prefer to think of it as my decaffeinated pot o' gold.

Alone Again... Thankfully

When Todd's sister left on Saturday, we both collapsed from exhaustion. While it was great to have her here (especially for hunky), every night was a late one, and every day was filled with activity. I took a much-needed and extremely long nap on Saturday afternoon, but apparently that wasn't enough to revive me completely.

On Sunday morning, Todd and I both got up early and started griping at one another almost immediately. I knew our tempers were short because we were both still tired... still, knowing what was causing all the strife didn't stop it from happening.

After one bitch session, Todd took a shower, put on clothes and simply said "I'll be back before dinner." I asked him where he was going and he said "Out."

Now, normally this alone would cause me to start bitching at him because he would never let me get away with simply saying I was going out. Not that he has to know where I am every minute of every day, but he doesn't let me out of the house without some idea of where I'm going, mostly for safety reasons (but also to guestimate as to when dinner will be served). However, I bit my tongue when I heard that him talking to the dogs... if he was going to get them out of my hair for the day, who was I to complain that he was leaving?

Without a "good-bye," he was out of the house within minutes. I breathed an expansive sigh of relief. It wasn't even quite 10:30 am, and I had the whole day ahead of me. I could do whatever I wanted. I was free.

I started off the day by catching up on a few of the shows I had taped on our DVR. But after a couple of shows, I was antsy. And tired. I wandered upstairs to my office, and sat on my daybed. I pulled out a magazine, curled up under a throw blanket, and started to read. The next thing I knew, it was 2:30 pm. Ahhhh... whatta nice long nap.

Feeling groggy, I found myself craving a Starbucks decaf. I decided to go grocery shopping, first to Smith's to pick up a few items I can only get there, and then off to Safeway for gas, Starbucks and meat (not necessarily in that order). Unfortunately, my shopping trip took longer than I had hoped, and not ten minutes after I had put all the groceries away after getting home, hunky came back.

We barely spoke to one another, but he did sit down on the couch to finish watching Kathy Griffin's "Allegedly," which I had turned on to watch while I unloaded groceries. After it was over, he went upstairs to his office, and I started to make dinner.

I know. He probably didn't deserve dinner, but then again, he probably didn't deserve all the bitching he heard that morning, either (although I heard my own share). So, I made one of his favorite meals, and soon the smell reached him through his office door.

He came downstairs with a smile on his hungry face. We talked for a bit, and I poured us some wine. He finally said "I'm surprised you're making dinner for us. I really expected you wouldn't."

I told him that I am capable of surprising him now and then.

The rest of the evening went smoothly as an evening does after a hearty meal and a glass (or two) of wine. And hopefully our exhaustion is over, along with the bitching that comes with it.

Our Newest Family Member

His name is Benny. He's a long-haired Chihuahua mix and the newest member of our dysfunctional family.

We got him on Wednesday evening. Kim, of the Reno SPCA, called us to give us first dibs on him before he joined the general doggie population. We had been in the previous Saturday, and saw him. However, it was his first day there, so he wasn't available for adoption as he still needed to be checked by the vet, etc.

When hunky and I arrived at the SPCA, Kim recognized us and left to get Benny. She brought him out, and let us hold him. He was nervous, but thankfully not anywhere near as nervous as when we first saw him on Saturday. She then led us to the visitation room, where we were able to let Benny down to interact with us.

And interact he did.

He ran right up to us, and tried to climb into our laps (well, not both laps at the same time!). He seemed quite happy to be with us. We spent some time with him, and he wore us down.

The only thing I was worried about was that he had been turned in because he had been chasing his previous owners' kittens. They were scared Benny was going to eat them, so gave him up.

Hunky said he didn't think Benny would pose a problem to our cats. Lucy is relegated to her cat playhouse, and when she's not in it, she's in our bedroom behind closed doors. Purrscilla stays far away from all the dogs, and Benny wouldn't be any different. Schmutzy weighs more than Benny, and would probably kick his hairy little Chihuahua ass if they got into a fight.

We decided to visit with Benny one more time before making a final decision. Again, he climbed up on us, kissed us, and generally seemed quite content to be with us. Next thing we knew, we were filling out the paperwork and forking over the dough. (Correction from hunky: I filled out the paperwork and he forked over the dough.)

The only trouble we've had with him since he entered The Snuggle Ranch has been his propensity to mark just about everything. We're considering getting him a diaper, but want to first try to train it out of him. However, he seems to be getting along with the other two dogs. On occasion, Glindy will butt clock him when he gets too much attention, but other than that, no fights or aggression between the dogs at all.

He's on a 30-day probationary period, but it looks like he's going to pass with flying colors.

Angry Much?

This morning when my alarm went off, I turned it off, rolled over, and fell back asleep.

Big mistake. I had a really bad dream.

In the dream, someone hit me when I was driving my Vibe. But, it instantly turned into a bicycle. I pulled over to the shopping center next to the high school and went into a store that was set up like a Starbucks inside, but actually sold health things, like smoothies. There was a big crowd of teenagers there, plus bicyclists and some business types.

I was trying to get some help for my flattened bike, when I noticed a young teenager stealing stuff from my purse. I grabbed him, but by then he had passed my wallet and money on to another kid, who had left the store.

I held on to the teen, and cried out for help. The cashiers didn't want to call the police, because one more call would put their store off-limits to teens, who apparently were a big part of their business. I was yelling out while holding on to the kid "Please, someone call 911. This kid stole my money and my wallet!"

A few people said they would call for me, but it seemed to take forever for anyone to show up. After yelling at the kid, who was making fun of me for being careless, I started beating him to a pulp.

I figured out which kid had my credit cards, and dragged this kid outside and over to where the other kid was. I continued to beat him up. I actually pulled his arm off of his body, and started beating him with it. I threatened to kill the kid if the other kid didn't give me my money and credit cards back.

The other teen just laughed and said "Go ahead. It's his own damn fault for being caught."

Then I tried to reason with the teen, and he relented somewhat and gave me a few dollars and my glasses back (which he also apparently stole from me). But he wouldn't give me my cards. I said "What good is it to keep them? The police are on their way, plus I'll just cancel them anyway and you won't be able to use them." He said he'd still have my drivers licence, so he wasn't worried. Plus, he said that the police weren't going to come... no one wanted the store to lose the business the teens gave them.

It was at this point that I woke up.

I don't know what the lesson is here, except for maybe teenagers shouldn't steal from me, because I'll beat them up with their own arm.

Queen For A Day

I always wanted to be a ruler. So imagine my delight when I found myself sitting on a throne in the Narnia staircase at Hamleys in London.

Like all queens, I expect you to curtsy before speaking to me. Oh, and delivering a few small, select gifts helps, too.