Saturday, November 28, 2009

Ladies Guard Sergio The Hound

We ended up taking on an unexpected new addition to the family. Above is the new guy, Sergio, who is a Great Dane and only 4 months old. Beside him is Dakota, our 4 year old Shiba Inu, who is obviously dwarfed by the mammoth Sergio. Jari, our cat, has decided not to be photographed at this time. He has also refrained from making comments on the matter, aside from the occasional hiss or batting at the face of an overly curious monster pup.

Thanksgiving Shit-nanigans

Thanksgiving is by far my favorite holiday. I love food and there's no pressure to buy anyone a stinkin' gift. I hate buying gifts when I feel obligated to do so. This was the first Thanksgiving I've not gone to my aunt's house and I really am an old dog; I'm not much for change and breaking new ground on holidays is not one of my strong points. Rich and I spent this year with his family; first we went to his aunt's house and then after (over)stuffing ourselves and enjoying a bit of conversation, we headed over to his dad's place for round two of our eat-a-thon. It was really an outstanding day. I lucked out with Richards family; they are all excellent, intelligent and fun people to spend time with.
As Thanksgiving is a food oriented day, this tale was predestined to turn into a poop story. My life is very poop-oriented. I was going strong that day, stuffing my belly and throwing caution to the wind! During the evening, however, after our second lovely turkey dinner of the day, I felt a rumblin'. I acted swiftly by excusing myself and darting for the nearest bathroom at hand. Things seemed well enough; the bathroom was a fair distance away from the crowd, the fan rumbled to a start (I love a good, loud bathroom fan) and there was even a convenient Pumpkin Spice room spray on the back of the toilet. I knew I was about to create a massacre, so decided I'd give the room a few good sprays of pumpkin spice scent to mask (or mingle...) with the Parfume de Arse I was about to drop. By "a few good sprays," I mean six sprays.
Now, often with any scented aerosol room spray, it takes a bit for the stuff to really cover an odor. The six sprays seemed standard. That is, until I started choking. My eyes were watering and I got this tickle in my throat that wouldn't quit, so I was hacking it up in the bathroom, trying to finish my business, eyes watering, and I looked over to see my pumpkin spice savior said "concentrated." Welllll, isn't that just rich.
I got up and began scrubbing frantically at my hands, holding my breath as long as my body would allow. I couldn't have been in there for more than a few minutes, but it seemed like time slowed down as my face began to flush red and I gulped in different regions of the bathroom, searching for a place that was not yet penetrated by the overwhelming pumpkin-shit-spice scent.
Finally, I dried my hands and got the hell outta there, leaving the door cracked and hoping against hope that no lonely child would wander in there trying to take a leak and discover himself choking, causing a surge of adults to accompany him and speculate about who the culprit might be, thus forever branding me the pumpkin-shit-spice bandit of Thanksgiving 2009.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

The Big Two Five in Sin City

On Friday, November 13, 2009 I turned 25 years old. That's a quarter of a century. I remember being in elementary school and looking up at the big eighth graders and thinking of how lucky they were to be so old and sophisticated. It seems the older I get the younger all older people seem. Like now I would consider maybe 65 to be "old," but still potentially spry and sharp. When I was looking up at those eighth graders they were 12 and I had stars in my eyes just imagining the ripe old age of 12 and the freedoms that came along with it. I have also always felt very 'in the moment' of my age, like I'm a whole person at whatever age I am. Then every year I go and surprise myself by realizing one or another stupid decision or choice I made the previous year. In a way it's humbling. There will always be so much that I don't know.
Enough of that; let's get on with the fun part! My dad flew in early from Colorado for my birthday and had a surprise brewin' for me. He asked if I could take Friday off from work (granted!), and held out on telling me what we'd be doing. On Friday I woke up to a text message that said "Vegas baby!"
Awesome! I had always wanted to check out Sin City and my dad was the perfect person to go with because (a) he knows his way around and (b) he's pretty badass in general. On the drive we stopped at the Hoover Dam and I can now say I hovered at the Hoover. Hovered over a very smelly porta-potty, that is. I also took some awesome pictures (not developed yet :x I need to break free of the 35mm world) and the drive gave us plenty of time to talk and catch up.
We stayed at the Tropicana hotel and saw two shows; Cirque De Soleil-Ka' and later a dirty/hilarious hypnosis bit.
For anyone planning on going to Vegas, make sure you bring your walking shoes because I was tuckered out from the insane amount of roaming in my Chuck Taylors. Also, I advise you take out your rage on those damned swarms of porn distributors that stand in long lines up and down the Strip. If I didn't want a LIVE NUDE GIRL! who DOES WHATEVER YOU WANT! the first three times, what makes you think I'll want one the next two thousand one hundred forty seven times?! Also, bring lots of money. And don't put it in those flashy machines because you will lose it. The only machine we won on was one of those mega oversize slot machines. After which all money was promptly lost. Thank goodness I am not a lover of gambling.
So much diversity! I saw pimps (literally) reciting the slogan "if you ain't hoe-in' you ain't goin'!" and shaking their canes around, I saw platinum blonds with tiny skirts getting into a limo, a guy wearing bling and a fur coat with sunglasses (at night), a bum rummaging in a bus stop trash can to fill up a cup with old leftover beer from the night before and every other type of person in between.
Best birthday trip ever!
(Above: Pops & I in a Vegas hotel)

Monday, November 2, 2009

Beware The Mighty Prune

I’m going to start off by saying, hesitantly, that I love the taste of prunes. They’re delicious, sweet, wrinkly snacks. Since I was a little girl I would smuggle them from the refrigerator or take deep, cool swigs from the jug of prune juice my great grandpa kept way back on the shelf (certainly in an attempt to thwart my prune juice reaching).

It had been awhile since I enjoyed my childhood treat and on Sunday (Halloween), my brother and his wife came over and brought an enormous sack full of them. We were having a vegetarian BBQ in order to celebrate their recent lifestyle change in becoming vegetarians. Neither Richard nor I have taken the veggie plunge, but we take any excuse we can to assemble and this sounded like an interesting theme. We packed our bellies full of a variety of grilled squash, veggie burgers and a spaghetti squash veggie medley I found online. The festivities were a hit! Then something happened. I don’t know who invited this unwanted bane-of-my-existence, but my great aunt Flatulence made her entrance.

Did I mention that Richard and I were going to a Halloween costume party later that evening? I’m sure the excessive vegetable intake didn’t help. My body was not adjusted. But to further worsen this tale, I decided I’d eat three of nature’s laxatives, PRUNES, without batting an eye.

Ah, my old friend the prune. The prune is stealth itself. He looks so innocent sitting there bagged, like a dark skinned old man, hunched and pitted, mushy and polished with age. Beneath that frail skin is a sleeping giant. I awoke the giant that night. Under my hippie caftan garb a slow and steady rumblin' started rolling through my belly and by the time we got to our Halloween party I thought I might soil myself before I crossed the threshold. I don't think my patchouli oil scent would have covered a horrendous odor wafting from beneath. I scurried to an off limits bathroom and grappled with the stealthy old devil. Beware the mighty prune.