Dog Day Afternoon

This giant bag of wiggles is known as "Molly":





Yeah, I know it's a crappy image, but it came from a crappy camera phone, so whattaya gonna do? I'll try to get some good pics tonight with a real camera so you can see the absolute crazy-ball cuteness that is her.

Molly came home last and I'm not sure who was more excited: Scott and Katie (her new owners), or me. I was super excited because, yanno, PUPPIES!!! Even better - RESPONSIBILITY-FREE PUPPIES!!!!
Jericho, on the other hand, was significantly less excited. And let's not even talk about Skittles, who was so *not* excited that she whipped out the claws on several occasions. Poor Skittles, she does not adapt well to change (or 20-lb puppies charging into her full-throttle).

Yesterday evening was spent puppy-wrangling as Molly tore through the house putting things in her mouth and generally just raising hell. She has this tendancy to throw herself into you, and by that, I don't mean just run at you full-speed. She actually gets a running start and launches herself at you. If you're standing up, she kind of crashes into your thighs, but if you're sitting down, she pretty much breaks her momentum with your face. Yeah...she's a handful.

Nonetheless, much fun was had because, let's face it, watching a puppy is more entertaining than watching TV. Jericho tried his hardest to not like Molly. He put on this sad face and grumbled and played the part of an old, crotchety man for the most part. But she managed to get him riled up quite a bit and on a few occasions he betrayed his growley exterior by actually playing with her. He'd then look up at me with this giant grin on his face...and suddenly remember that he was supposed to be miserable. He'd then tuck his tail between his legs and sulk his way over to the couch. What a nerd. Jericho is the kind of dog who may not necessarily like puppies, but they are really, really good for him. Well, that's my theory at least.

The best part of the evening was when she pooped in the house. Why, you ask? I'll tell you why. The best part of the evening was when she pooped in the house because I didn't have to clean it up. Because she's not my puppy. Nope, I stayed far away from that hot mess (literally), distracting Molly and enjoying the fact that I wasn't staring down a humongous pile of puppy poop. Hey, I've earned the right to gloat. If any of you knew what I had to go through with my other dog, Sage, you'd know that I earned my respite from paper towels and lysol and other cleaning products. I swear, if stuff wasn't coming out of one end of that dog, it was coming out of the other. And I know that those of you who have met Sage are cracking up right now because it's absolutely true. Don't deny it!!!!
I think I have a picture of her around somewhere...

Aah, here she is:

If nothing else, she's was a ridiculous looking animal, right?
And look what else I just found whilst rummaging around! A picture of Skittles in a pumpkin costume that was 2 sizes too small for her fat ass:

Doesn't she look happy? I especially like the ear action going on in this pic. Lol.

Okay, so that's about it.
Moral of today's post: pets are HUGELY entertaining. If you don't have one...go get one. You won't regret it.

And just a note - Easter is this weekend, and we get off of work early tomorrow (triple arm pump for that), so postings may be a little sparce - if not nonexistant - over the next few days. Or maybe they'll come fast and furious. I dunno. I guess it depends on if I motivate myself to actually get stuff done over my two-and-a-half-day weekend, or if I procrastinate (who, ME?!?!) and find myself on my laptop when I should be doing domestic-type stuff.
We shall see...

[Insert Creative Title Here]

Hellooo out there!

If you've come to this site expecting to be entertained by a quality post, I have the pleasure of informing you that nothing creative will be coming out of this brain today. I'm pooped!

I had one of those nights where you wake up to roll over and somehow just don't go back to sleep. My brain was kicked into high gear, and I don't know if it was because the room was a little too warm or because Brian was hogging up the bed or because Jericho was chasing rabbits in his sleep and his claws were tippy-tapping against the wood floor, but I just could not sleep last night. Like, at all. Between the hours of 1:30 and 4:30, I was more awake than I am on any given day at the office, which is SO not fair.

But at least I wasn't staring at the ceiling, stressing out over finances or anything (which I probably should have been doing because I have to pay taxes and deductibles and I own a car that is probably not even safe to drive). It was all good stuff that was going through my brain. A lot of future-type things have been figured out recently and directions have been decided upon and plans are beginning to be mapped out, which is totally awesome but not a subject that should be mentally broached in the wee hours of the morning.

I can't disclose much, but one thing that has FINALLY been launched is my career as an award winning novelist (insert snort of sarcasm here). I've taken that first huge step and finally have a few paragraphs down on paper - paper, in this case, meaning Microsoft Word - and as far as I'm concerned, that was the hardest part. I can't tell you how many times I've sat down to begin writing that thing and just froze in fear of failure. I mean, what if it sucks? And believe me, in all likelihood, it will suck. But I've decided recently that I need to give it a shot, if for no other reason than being able to look back at my life when I'm 80 years old and say "I once wrote a really crappy novel that nobody wanted to publish." Hey, it's respectible in it's own way, right?

And if you're expecting to read any of it here in my blog, that's a big fat "no way, Jose". Yes, I'm aware that being shy about my writing isn't exactly conducive to geting something published, but one step at a time okay? Geeze....

And did I mention the puppy?
PUPPIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Brian's brother and girlfriend are bringing home a puppy tonight. She'll be staying in the house until next friday, at which point the whole happy family will be moving into their own place, which is kind of sad because I've gotten used to them being around, but is also kind of awesome because we're all more than a little ready to have our own space. Sooo, the next week and a half will be full of puppy fun with zero puppy responsibility. Does it get any better than that? This is how grandparents must feel when they get their grandkids for an afternoon.

And who knows, maybe Brian and I will like having a puppy around so much that we'll get one of our own. PUPPIES!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, time to get back to work, but not before hitting the coffee station HARD because I'm definitly rocking out zombie-style here at the office. So I can't think of a better way to leave you than with puppies. PUPPIES!!!!!!

Okay, I know that last one is a seal, but it's effing cute, so I threw it up there. Don't judge.

Pantyline Confessions

I admit it – I check out other women’s butts. But it’s not what you think! First off, ask any woman and she’ll tell you the same thing. We all do it. We do it because we’re women and—by default—insecure to some degree, so we continuously look at each others’ butts and compare them to our own. I could probably describe the butt of every woman in my office, not because I’m leering or judging, but simply because it’s how I figure out where I stand in the world (from a butt perspective, of course)

The gym is no different. In fact, the gym amplifies this habit to some exponential degree because, let’s face it, we’re all there to make our butts look better. It doesn’t help that we’re all ensconced in spandex, throwing ourselves over machines and bending over in deep stretches. And don’t forget about motivation. The motivation factor is huge. There have been multiple times when I’ve been on the treadmill, on the verge of hitting the stop button because I’m tired and sweaty and am just HATING the fact that I’m running, but I glance up at the butt…oops, I mean woman…in front of me and think either A) man, I want an ass like hers. I’d better keep going, or B) man, I’d hate to have an ass like hers. I’d better keep going.

Either way I keep going. It’s a good thing.

So I was at the gym the other day, running on the treadmill, and checking out the butt of the woman in front of me. She was on the elliptical and, according to the size of her ass, must spend the majority of her waking life on that machine. I was jealous. But I digress…

As I was staring at her ass, I noticed a lack of pantyline. Now, let me back up by saying that pantyline is any woman’s arch nemesis. Nothing kills a well put-together outfit faster than the bumps and lumps that reveal the make and model and (god forbid) color of the day’s choice of under-things. Of course, the most obvious way around the pantyline is usually the thong (with the less-obvious choice of going “commando,” but this route is impractical for a number of reasons that I’ll discuss at a later date). Permanent wedgie aside, thongs are a great way to look smooth and seamless and rockin’ in whatever pants or skirt you decide to wear. Of course they’re uncomfortable, but women have been sacrificing comfort for beauty for thousands of years (except for a brief stint in the ‘60s), and we are unlikely to stop now. So we wear thongs and suffer the string of fabric lodged between our cheeks because we know we look awesome and there is absolutely no line to spoil the vision that is our ass.

Of course, I personally believe there are exceptions to this pact we have made to sacrifice comfort for a nice looking ba-donk-a-donk. In my mind, the panty should prevail in any situation where the goal is ease-of-mobility over a seamless silhouette. I’m talking about the gym. Oh, I’ll do what it takes to look nice at the office. I’ll wear underwire and thongs and three-inch heels with pointy toes, but at the gym, all bets are off. I’m not there to impress anyone. I’m not there to pick up guys. I’m not there to do anything but sweat and burn calories and maybe rock out to Snoop Dogg on my MP3 player.

So why then, ladies and gentleman, am I expected to not have a pantyline?

As I stared at the woman in front of me, with her seam-free buttocks bouncing up and down as she “ellipsed” in place, I felt sorry for her. Obviously she had chosen to wear a thong to the gym, and was suffering terribly in silence. Cardiovascular assaults are uncomfortable enough without adding anal insult to the list. What was she thinking? After taking a moment of silence for her undoubtedly tortured no-no area, my eyes drifted to the right, where another woman was struggling on a similar machine. Now this woman had obviously…how do I put this kindly?...let herself go. She was not-just-a-little overweight and clearly out of shape to a pretty pathetic degree. I gave her a mental high-five for summoning up the will-power to take control of her situation by going to the gym, and was about to move my eyes to the next interesting thing when I couldn’t help but notice…her butt.
Her un-pantylined posterior.
A lack of visible undergarments on her backside.
Another thong victim. Wow, so sad.

But then, as I continued to peruse the butts of women around me, I had a sinking realization. Young and old, thin and fat, they all had one thing in common: no pantyline. A gym full of women, and not a pantyline in sight. My eyes searched the crowd in a final, desperate attempt to identify any seam that indicated an undergarmant beneath. Nothing. Not a one. And then came my second, equally disturbing realization: I was the only woman at the gym who was wearing panties.

Ladies and gentleman, I implore you. Are we no better than animals? Are our mating rituals so ingrained that we go to great lengths to appear sexually attractive, even when it directly competes with our ability to function in our surroundings? Are muscular strength and cardiovascular endurance not more indicative of reproductive health than a derriere that is unmarred by underlying garment seams?!? I ask you, what kind of society do we live in when a woman is expected to parade around a gym, smiling like nothing is wrong, taking great pains to work off that cupcake she had after lunch, all the while enduring a wedging assault to her backside?!?!?!?!?!?!? IS THIS NOT INSANITY IN ITS PUREST FORM!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

But I guess I’m the only one who has a problem with this. I’m the only one at my gym who is disturbed by the concept of making a grueling work-out more uncomfortable than it has to be. So apparently I have no choice other than to join the ranks of the thong-wearing gym masochists at Active Fitness . That, or I condemn myself to be known as “that freak with the pantyline who always looks so miserable on the treadmill.” I suppose it wouldn't be such a bad thing. Sure, crowds would part for me, a thousand eyes upon my backside, mouths agape in horror, childering whispering and pointing at my pantyline, but at least I wouldn't have to wait for a treadmill...I'd just walk up to one and the person using it would turn it off and back away slowly, lest they disturb "that freak with the pantyline."

Freaks of the world, eat your heart out. Your horns and lobster-hands and gigantic tumors and hairy growths are no match for my pantyline.

Does Not Compute

So, this is weird. I’m back in the office today. ‘Nuff said, right?

The thing with medical writing is that to do a good job, your work has to be completely factual and practically devoid of creativity. After being a medical writer for 5+ years, doing my job is easy, but coming up with blog topics or ideas for new artwork or anything requiring creativity is a struggle, to say the least.
But since coming back to work after my unfortunate (but radical) accident, I seem to have developed the opposite problem. My creative juices are flowing, but I honestly have no idea how to write a factual, scientifically accurate newsletter or monograph. I mean, they want references for chrissake! From peer-reviewed scientific publications! This does not compute. Not by a long shot.

So yeah, I’m “working” insofar as I’m sitting here at my desk as a full time employee. Hell, I’m not even surfing the web or otherwise wasting my time like I used to do when writing about hospital-associated diarrhea and hereditary angioedema came oh-so-easily. Seriously, my nose is to the grindstone. Honest to god.

Problem is, I’m just not….*doing…anything. I’m reading stuff I wrote in the past, utterly impressed that at one point in time it seems like I had my act together, desperately trying to channel that inner professional that seems permanently out to lunch. I feel like I’m in a dream, where I’m in a familiar place and everything appears as it should, but for some reason, I can’t get to a certain place or do a certain task or remember something that should come easily. Like when you dream that you're back in school, but you forgot to show up to class for, like, a whole semester, and now you have to take a test, and you have no clue what's going on. At this point, I half expect to come out of the bathroom and realize that I’m stark naked. And then I’ll wake up screaming. That’s how weird this feels.

I guess I should just enjoy it. Pretty soon this routine will seem tortuously dull and monotonous, and I will pray for a situation in which things seem bizarre or out of the ordinary. So I’ll ride this train for as long as possible. I’ll sit back and look around and just be confused and pretend I smoked pot during my lunch break because honestly, I feel kind of stoned right now. But all good thing must come to an end, and I’m sure it won’t be long before I’m sitting at my desk, praying for a natural disaster to come and disrupt the tediousness that is my job.
Se’la’vie

And in the meantime, there’s always baked goods. My coworkers brought in a box of donuts for my arrival. I was touched. I was flattered. I was hungry.
Never mind the fact that I had to change my work pants this morning because the pair I put on didn’t quite fit after a 6-week lay-up. Yeah, there was a whole lot of boo-tay going on up in there. Aah, the ironies of life.

So I guess it’s back to medical writing for me. And working out. And rising early. And commuting. And conference calls. And receiving a steady paycheck.
And donuts. Don’t forget the donuts.

A Mouse, A Snake, And A Good-For-Nothing Cat

Well, more bad news this morning, and I might be out another hefty chunk of moolah. God, I just can't win.

But I will not submit you guys to another bitchfest like the one I had yesterday. I'm terribly sorry about that uninhibited rant. Sometimes you just have to vent or you end up standing in the middle of the road naked, covered in someone else's blood, holding an axe and wondering why you can't remember the past 36 yours.

Not a shared experience? oops. Now I guess things are going to be awkward between us.

Sooo...let's talk about something else, shall we?

This is Skittles:

She's a cat. She's young, healthy, and active. She has claws and teeth. She has great hearing and the ability to see in the dark.

Moving on....
This is the snake in the basement:

Rather, this is the only evidence we have that a snake lives in the basement because let's face it, if I even see that sucker, let alone have the ability to pick up a camera and photograph him, I'm bricking up the basement door and calling an exorcist in, just to be on the safe side.
Now, we don't know much about Ormonde (that's his name. Naming things makes them less scary), but we DO know that
A) he lives in the basement, and has for some time now, and
B) he's getting bigger, because this is the second skin he's shedded out of. Which means he's healthy.

Now, what do Skittles and Ormonde have in common? I'll tell you. When given the option, the both eat mice. Which brings me to my next point:
Given the fact that Ormonde occupies the basement and Skittles occupies the rest of the house, WHY THE "F" DO WE HAVE A MOUSE GOING THROUGH OUR CABINETS?!?!?

Gah. Leave it to us to inherit the only cat/snake combo that seems to have no problem cohabitating with furry rodents. This is ridiculous. Come on, guys!

Skittles, I know that you sleep for 22 hours a day and that the other 2 hours are usually spent dashing around the house in a puffy-tailed frenzy being chased by invisible forces that, judging by the speed at which you run, are hell-bent on skinning you alive, but could you...you know...spare a moment from your sleeping and senseless running to catch that friggin mouse?!? I promise, I won't even scream when you leave the dead carcass in my shoe. Hell, I'll roast it up, slather it with gravy, and serve it to you on our fine china myself. Just please....for the love of god....kill that thing so it stops shitting and peeing in my cabinet drawers, forcing me to run the silverware throught the washer repeatedly to keep me from shivering in disgust.

And Ormonde. I know we've kind of been trash-talking you lately because, let's be honest, you are kind of squatting in our basement and doing the laundry now gives me the heebie-jeebies. But here's your big chance to redeem yourself. I promise, if you eat the mouse, you can stay in the basement as long as you want. Just stay invisible and don't throw any parties. Oh, wait, are you poisonous? Probably not, but if you are, then you need to go. Well, kill the mouse first, then go. Consider it a going-away present.

In the meantime, Brian says he's going to purchase some sticky traps to catch that little varmint. I'd say our chances of catching him are good, considering he's been routing through our drawers for 4 nights in a row. Mouse, prepare to meet your doom. You'd better pray you step on one of those traps, because if our cat/snake posse ever gets its shit together, you're one dead rodent. ("If" being the operative word here).

Okay, I'm off to enjoy my last weekday of freedom by cleaning and doing laundry. I hope Ormonde does me a favor and lays low while I'm down there (eeek).

Is it May Yet?

Hey guys, guess what? Did you know that April has been officially renamed "Screw Lily" month? Tell your friends!!!
Seriously, I know it's only April 2nd, but so far, April has really sucked balls. I went to get my taxes done yesterday. Not good. Did you know that the standard deduction for taxes is about $5800? Guess how much of it I got back this year. Zero. Less than zero. WAAAYYYY less than zero. I've heard that can happen, but I didn't think it could happen to me...I actually OWE the government money this year!!! And not just a little bit of money. A whole big spankin LOAD of money. We're talking 4 figures. And this is happening about a week after I just payed my divorce lawyer another hefty 4-figure check for services rendered.


I just threw up in my mouth a little writing that.


Also, while getting screwed by the IRS, I found out that my ex had been screwing me too. Well...screwing me MORE than he already has, which is really saying something. Apparently when we were freshly separated and still "friends," he lied to me about our stimulus check. He told me that because he had filed our taxes late, we weren't eligible for the stimulus package. Made sense to me, and I didn't question it, because I'm one of the most trusting idiots on the face of the planet. Well, lesson learned. Apparently we received a $1,200 check last summer, just like every other married couple in America, and he kept the whole thing. Now, this is not surprising considering the millions of other ways that A-hole screwed me out of money, but finding 2 months after the divorce that he had taken more....well...it still infuriates me. It shouldn't, but it does. Grrrrrrrr. Grumble grrrrrrrr. I'm festering and fuming and I can feel my eyes squinting shut and my head dropping between my shoulders like Mr. Burns. This is what my ex does to me, which is why I left his sorry ass in the first place.


Dear Ex,
You are pathetic. But you probably need all that money you took from me to buy friends, because nobody would hang out with you otherwise.


Okay, I feel better now. Sorry 'bout that, folks. I try to leave my "Ex-rage" out of my blog, but I'm feeling particularly vengeful today. It won't happen again. Unless I find out that he screwed me out of MORE money while we were married. And then he's a dead man. Am I kidding? Try me...


I'm also partifularly grumpy today because I'm fighting with my previous auto insurance company. I say past because I have since moved on to Geico (which gave me a better deal anyway) after dealing with the scandalous customer service at Liberty Mutual. Seriously, they are just horrible. This is the second month in a row that I'm paying for not only my car insurance, but also my Ex's insurance as well. Despite the fact that we are divorced, the title is in his name, and he's living somewhere in Philadelphia. Despite the fact that I cancelled my policy last month.


Dear Liberty Mutual
Go train your Customer Service Representatives on how to...oh, I dunno....do their jobs. And then get it through your big fat heads that I don't live in Voorhees and haven't lived there since February of 2008, so maybe you should consider updating my address. And then eat a dick.


Oh, and did I mention we now have a mouse going through our kitchen drawers one-by-one, searching for food and in the process pooping on everything? When you have a snake living in your basement and a cat living in the rest of your house, how can you possibly have a mouse problem?!?!? Skittles needs to get in the game. I'm considering not feeding her until she catches the mouse. Hey, you call it animal abuse...I call it a highly effective bargaining strategy. That cat is worthless.

Okay, I'll wrap up this little rage-fest. Serenity now and all the rest. I have many things to be thankful of, and I just need to focus on the positive. Like, for example, I get to go back to work on Monday. No...wait....that's not positive. Okay, how about the fact that I've lost weight thsi past month....oh wait, that was muscle I lost, not fat. Hmmmm.

Alright, it's not working. Here's a pretty picture I took while canoeing with Brian the other night. Now leave me alone so I can drown in my negativity in coffee and tastycakes. Breakfast is served

Adult Situations

Hmmm...there was something I was supposed to do. What was it?...
Oh right. Taxes.


I hate doing my taxes. It's probably because my mom swore to me that "once you're out of school, you'll never have to do homework again, but since you're still in school, you have to do it."


I'm not in school, but I still have to do my taxes. What gives? I'm on to you and your lies, mom!!!!

Taxes are completely confusing to me. I really don't understand write-offs and W2's and 1044 forms and the like. Honestly, not a clue. And my taxes seem ten times more daunting by the fact that I was married last year to a man who used to handle the taxes, so I have no idea how he filed or how to file that he's (thankfully) no longer in my life. Just thinking about it gives me a headache and an anxiety attack.
Soooo...I'm heading to H&R Block to have someone more intelligent than I handle them. BRILLIANT!
Yeah, I know they were involved in some million-dollar scandal in 2006, but hell, scandal or not, they still know more about filing taxes than I do. Heck, the way I figure it, they are so freaking good at filing taxes, they found ways to cheat at it. Hence...the scandal. We have a winner!


So this morning will be spent trying to wake up with the aid of copious amounts of coffee. Since I'm going back to work on Monday, I figure I'd better get used to waking up before 10:00 am (stop rolling your eyes - you'd wake up at 10:00 too if you were off on disability for 6 weeks). It's not going so well. My body now believes that 10 hours of sleep is a reasonable amount, and anything less is an obscene suggestion. ugghhhh. must. wake. up. Have they invented a coffee IV drip yet? Get on that, people!

Once I'm fully awake, I'll be heading to H&R Block (but don't tell anybody, because technically I haven't been cleared to drive by my doctor yet), and then to my physical therapy appointment where I will hopefully be cleared to work and drive, and then I'll be driving home safe and sound and covered by my auto insurance company. Fingers crossed. Of course, if the doctor said I couldn't drive or work for the next month, then I guess I'd just have to stay home for 4 more weeks. What a shame lol.


But seriously, I have to go back to work on Monday. Which sucks. But I shouldn't complain, because at least I HAVE a job, which is better than a lot of people out there.


So I guess the moral of today's post is:
Being an adult and having "adult" responsibilities blows goats. Period.


Okay, I'm off to shower and do "adult" things. I leave you with a dialogue from Calvin and Hobbes:


Calvin: The TV listings say this movie has “adult situations.” What are adult situations?
Hobbes: Probably things like going to work, paying bills and taxes, taking responsibilities...
Calvin: Wow, they don’t kid around when they say “for mature audiences.”
Hobbes: I’ve never understood how those movies make any money.