Worth Dying For eBook Review

If you have some unchecked aggression, but don't actually want or have the skills to kick in someone's head, break their knee caps, bust their elbows, shatter their nose, shoot them in the head and stuff them in a trunk then Worth Dying For is the book for you. By far, this was my most favorite Jack Reacher novel. After a vague explosion that nearly killed him, Reacher hitchhikes to rural Nebraska and, as Jack Reacher typically does, comes upon some wrongs that he needs to right. And he does. And the bodies pile up. And It. Is. Awesome. Bad guys gone. Civil liberties. Obliterated. Sure once the last bad guy is gone, the book ends without really explaining a couple things and there are some loose ends, but Jack Reacher hitchhikes it out with only his expired passport, ATM and foldable toothbrush. Just the way he likes it.

I think I've figured out how to download books from fnac.com. This could revolutionize my life. Particularly if someone had the forethought to make the French dictionary work in iBooks. And if they didn't, my patent is pending.

Success

Wing is clipped.

Faucet not fixed.

Ghettified

I have spent the better part of this morning making the Little Backyard even more ghetto. Making it look ghetto was not my goal, obviously, just the unintentional result of my project. Finally at my breaking point with the duck shit on the patio, I put up a larger 'rabbit' galvanized steel fence around the perimeter of the patio. I also moved the old plastic dog house to the Little Backyard for EDub and PDub. Stephen said they will go in there if you get some straw. Mostly what I am afraid of is that they won't go in, but an entire nation of horny fertile mice will. I think that the only other way to make this house look more ghetto would be to start buying cars that don't work and to put them on bricks in the front yard or to get some illegitimate babies and have them run amok in their diapers outside next to the rusted out cars.

I just spent 10 minutes chasing the PDub around the yard because she had a piece of tape stuck to her beak. While I was chasing her, she flew up and over the fence that separates them from the ghetto garden, which made me realize that while she could live with a piece of tape stuck to her beak, she could not live without a wing clip because either a) she would fly up and over onto the deck making my whole morning a waste of time or b) fly up and over to be lunch for Randi and Earl. I couldn't catch her alone because she is wiley and I could only block one area at a time. I have been forced to pull out the big metaphorical guns and call the Big Guy who is going to come over and help me catch the duck for a wing clip. I'm hoping I can also convince him to look at why the faucet outside is suddenly leaking, but I am afraid that just helping me catch the duck will be all he's willing to do for paternal duty today. (EDub has already had this year's wing clip because she let me pick her up about a month ago.)

Wish List

There seems to be some confusion over at Santa's workshop about this year's Christmas presents. When I mentioned to my dad something I might ask Santa for he said, "We already did all the Christmas shopping." To which I called not fair because they didn't ask once what I wanted. Normally, there's a week in which my mother pesters us to give her a list. But then Tuesday my mom told me that she told my dad to do all of the Christmas shopping this year and he has no idea what he's doing. I'm not surprised. Forced to make a decision about who the book went to and the pink Coach purse, I'm pretty sure my dad could correctly identify that I would choose the book and my sister the purse, but I don't think the Big Guy's had much to do with Christmas shopping other than writing "Love, Santa" on the tags, since he had to put together bikes when we were five. In any case, my dad keeps insisting that all of the Christmas presents have been bought and my mom keeps insisting that he has no idea what's going on. I'm inclined to agree with my mom on this one.

I'm personally fine with forgoing all presents anyways, because, though I like presents, I don't really care. I'd prefer to not buy anything for anybody and just spend all the money on myself on things I really want. About the only fun part of presents is that since my sister's married, her present budget has to be split in half, so now I get more presents than my sister. I consider this a fine argument against marriage.

My Christmas List (in case Santa realizes he hasn't done the shopping yet and wants some guidance):

1. 10 million dollars
2. California King sized bed
3. A wife

I need a bigger bed because since Sarah passed, Earl has been sleeping on the bed regularly. I know some people are anti-dogs on the bed, but I, obviously, am not. I like being all snuggled up with the dogs. Anyways, Earl's regular presence on the bed, plus the big pillow I put my legs on to help my back have reduced my area on the bed by a whole bunch. There's not a big margin for error. If I get in the bed first, we're usually pretty good. If Earl gets in the bed first he just fucks everything up. If anyone strays from their quadrant we are in big trouble. Heaven forbid anyone else were going to be in my bed. In short, I need a bigger bed.

A want wife à la Judy Brady article "I want a wife" because who wouldn't want a wife and I really feel like this could streamline my life. But, I'd be willing to settle for a husband with 10 million dollars and a California King sized bed.

Puppy Couture

You wouldn't know it by looking at him, but Puppy Clark is hard guy to buy sweaters for because of his manly over-sized chest that doesn't fit into any size. I've bought several pieces of clothing over the years none of which have ever fit properly including the jacket I just bought last week. And since Clark was shivering this morning when I woke up, and Pete said Steffi puts sweaters on their short haired dogs and they don't get cold, I decided that I would just alter the size from the one I bought et voilà! tonight Puppy Clark is both warm and stylish. I bought a couple of other fabrics; this one was just the "prototype." I've got to make sure that the design can withstand the day's activities and that it won't rub on his wienie and leave a mark. Now that I have the general idea, I can create even more stylish wear for Clark! (I'm not making sweaters of Randi and Earl because they don't sit still long enough to get cold.)

A dapper sweater that didn't allow for any movement.
2007

Bomber jacket we had to return because it wouldn't stay on because of Clark's massive pecs. Back when Clark still had a tag before Randi and Earl got here.
2007

2010 Finally! Stylish and Functional!

Spent

This tree called Bullshit and dropped all its leaves in about three hours.

Luckily EDub and PDub were not burried alive.

Reverse

In addition to being all that he is, Earl has another special quality. He prefers to put it in reverse to get out of a room. Instead of turning around like every other normal dog, Earl retraces his steps backward. A week ago, I witnessed, with my own two eyes, Earl get on the couch in reverse. He got off the couch, then got back on, first with this back legs then hopped up with his front legs. That's the video I need. Cash Cow.

Donate Now

Sara and I are going to start a new charity. It is going to be called the Never Have To Look At Animé Porn Charitable Trust. The mission of the Never Have To Look At Animé Porn Charitable Trust is to prevent innocent people from having to look at animé porn on public computers. Here's how it will work. Let's say you're a person who enjoys animé porn, but you don't have your own computer. (Studies show that if you are an animé porn afficionado, you most likely do not own your computer and probably also live with your mamma.) And this situation has therefore forced you to watch animé porn on public computers, say at the public library or Victor Valley Community College, then you can apply for a grant that will give you a computer so that you can watch animé porn, whenever, however you want so that people like me don't have to walk out of class at 8:00pm and see you looking at animé porn in the ATC building, because I have to live with that image for the rest of my life.

Possible Exoneration

This morning I saw a hawk chasing birds up in the air (obviously) around the backyard. All the birds within a three house area scattered. Even EDub and PDub stopped trying to eat the roll of masking tape I've never picked up in order to hide under the chairs. It got me thinking that perhaps a hawk could have killed Black Cat. My investigation using Google reports that yes, in fact, a hawk can kill a cat. This is enough reasonable doubt in my opinion to say that perhaps the remaining members of my Pack of dogs did not end Black Cat's life, but that this malicious hawk killed Black Cat and dropped it in the Backyard because Black Cat was too fat to carry off to the hawk's creepy lair, thus framing Randi and Earl and Clark. The storyline is right out of an episode of CSI, or CSI: NY, Bones or NCIS, so it must be based in truth. I have not, however, figured out how the hawk could have got in the garage and killed the other cat, so I think they're still on the hook for that one.

Law School

Fact: The dogs had an overabundance of food in their food bowls when I left for Vegas on Friday.

Fact: The Big Guy said that they had food "flowing all over the place" on Saturday when he checked that everyone was still alive and hadn't murdered anything.

Fact: There was not a piece of food to be found anywhere when I got home Sunday afternoon.

Conclusion: The Saratoga Animal Shelter was the host of the most hip-happening canine party, the likes of which have not been seen in the High Desert in years. I'm sure Earl brought out the high quality shit and shared it with everyone. Perhaps there was even a small memorial service for Sarah Warah at the same time.

I was in Vegas for a teacher's union conference. To say I was not excited about going to Vegas is an understatement. To say I wanted to stayed home is an understatement. I was a big party pooper and did not leave the hotel. I barely left my room. I thought about leaving the hotel, but then decided that the view from my room that looked out over the entrance to Cesar's Palace was good enough for me. I don't want to alarm anyone, but according to the hotel information TV channel, I may have a gambling problem because I set limits ($20) but was unable to stick to them ($40.) (The admission that I was watching to the hotel information TV channel should be evidence of my party pooperness.)

There were three major highlights of the trip. The first was that one of the vendors was giving away stickies! And not just regular stickies, a little foldable wallet of various stickies.
I love stickies. Three years ago Shannon came and helped me clean out my classroom and she said, "Bethany, you know those people who just can't stop buying things? I think that's you and stickies. You have to stop buying stickies." And so I did. And it has been hard. The sticky display at Target calls my name every time I go and I stop and look longingly at all the stickies. I have, on occasion, put the stickies in my cart, but then took them back out thinking that Shannon would be so disappointed. But these little wallet sized sticky books were free. So I got the guys to let me have three. No you can not have one.

Highlight Deux was that the bathroom had a TV in the mirror.
The third highlight was that the presenter in the "Social Networking and blah blah blah" workshop told me, "I have two words for you: law school." And I thought, "I have three words for you: oh fuck no." I did not enjoy this workshop for the primary reason that the presenter was all over the place and wouldn't answer a damn question with a straight answer. Not coincidentally, she is a lawyer. I think lawyers have a hard time answering yes or no questions because the law is never yes or no. Anyways, it was making me mad. Also, she had made a Powerpoint, but the slides didn't have anything to do with what she was saying so I found that distracting and in poor form. All of which made me want to just be annoying. Luckily Martha was sitting next to me so she kept me busy by writing notes and so I wouldn't ask even more questions that wouldn't have been answered. I learned in the workshop that all of the videos I didn't take of my wild weekend taking flaming body shots and going back to the hotel rooms of loose men, should not be tweeted, posted or texted because I could lose my job. When we left, I gathered the papers and the notepads I used to write my notes to Martha, so I could burn them, because not even Nick Stokes hottie CSI would be able to reconstruct that.

Now My Dad Might Be Deaf in One Ear

I just found a dead cat in the garage. I hate everyone.

HMO

Today my doctor's office referral lady called back to tell me that the doctor was "not going to approve my referral" to go back to the orthopedic doctor "at this time" because she needed "feedback" about how my trigger point shots had worked. I reported back that you can tell her that "they didn't work at all." I reported back that this is all bullshit, especially since I couldn't get an appointment to see her until December 15 to produce my feedback in person.

Secrets of Eden- eBook Review

Chris Bohjalian gets me every time because I'm just going along all happy, happy, joy, reading his story and then BAM, I'm like where the hell did that come from? Secrets of Eden is no exception. While I didn't like this book as much as The Double Bind or Midwives, it was still a great read. This is the story of George and Alice Hayward victims of murder-suicide and is divided into four separate but interconnected narratives: Reverend Stephen Drew, Detective Catherine Benicasa, angel and aura expert and general cookoo bird Heather Laurent and the Haywards's daughter Katie. I enjoyed Reverend Drew's narrative the best. He sets the tone and the basis of the story and then as I read the other narratives, I got layers upon layers of juicy complexity that made me wonder who the heck was the big fat liar. And as is typical Bohjalian, the layers are slowly peeled away, having stained the original and left me wanting to reread the first 100 pages.

Pet Database

The Town of Apple Valley is starting a new pet database for when dogs are arrested and incarcerated. I think I'll submit these for Earl's mugshot.

Whatever

Two scenes I walked in on this morning:

1. EDub trying to drown PDub in their pool by sitting on her back and pushing her head into the water. Saturday, I heard what you could loosely describe as panicked quacking and ran to the Little Backyard thinking Randi was back there only to find EDub on top of PDub and attacking her.
2. Randi and Earl playing tug o war with my covers while Clark was trying to have his way with Earl. All three of them looked up like, "wtf?" when I yelled for them to knock it off.
   

Human Mischief

I don't think I have ever in my life done anything that would intentionally get me in trouble. That is, until tonight, when I gave Emmah Snickerdoodle a mullet. Really, if she didn't want it would she have sat so still?

Grief

While I'm going to hold off on diagnosing myself as depressed until I have another three or four days of still wearing the same clothes, feeling lethargic, and crying at nothing, I do believe certain members of the Pack have been acting out their feelings in their own ways.

Items I have found chewed up or ruined in the past few days:

1. The fitted sheet on my bed.
2. The electric blanket on my bed. (And I'm a bad person because I thought, unfortunate that whoever did it didn't get shocked because they probably wouldn't do it again.)
3. The pillow case on the gigantic pillow on my bed.
4. A pair of decent underwear.

Lethargy prevented me from conducting any type of investigation into any of the above matters.

I discarded Sarah's little bed today. I'm washing the other one, hoping maybe someone will take to sleeping there. I suppose its appeal will have diminished significantly, since sleeping on it will no longer annoy the hell out of anyone.

Snakes

I'm a vivid dreamer. I can tell you what was written on a piece of paper, what you were wearing and what was playing on the radio in the background of a dream. I've always been a vivid dreamer. The first dream that I remember was when I was five or six and I dreamed that the Dukes of Hazard boys were my brothers and Boss Hog was chasing us down the 60 freeway.

Lately my dreams have been dominated by snakes. And I hate snakes. I've had three dreams in the past week about the slimy monsters, which leave me waking up screaming and kicking the three remaining members of my pack of dogs as I try to escape the snakes. Last night I dreamed that there was a snake on the wall of my bedroom above the bathroom. It was not green, thus not a Mojave Green, but it was rattling. Then it slithered into a hole where it bit Clark and I woke up as I was trying to determine if he was going to go to die and how much the vet bill would be.

The wonderful result of dream dictionaries is that you can eventually find an explanation that matches something in your life. My extensive two site and five minutes of research has yielded these possible interpretations of the damn snakes:

1. Phallic symbol representing fertility and/or sexual frustration and/or male orgasm.
2. Symbol of Evil.
3. Symbol of birth, life, death and rebirth.
4. Symbol of poisonous words and innuendo.
5. Symbol of hidden fears.

My fear of snakes is not hidden. I don't like them. I've never kept that a secret. And I don't think they're a symbol of evil. I think they're evil and nasty and I want them to leave me alone in my dreams.

Down-Dog

Since I got my spinner bike I've been getting up at 4:30am to ride the bike, lift some weights and so some yoga. At first, the spinner bike fascinated Randi and Earl; they mostly wanted to try to lick me as I was riding. Then they realized that bike riding was pretty boring and they just went to sleep. (Sarah never really got into the routine; she mostly just paced back and forth from the living room to the bedroom.) Today the puppies slept through the hour bike ride and the 15 minutes of weight lifting, but when I decided to do yoga...yoga awakened their Inner Mischief. My yoga practice was rather short today because in my first Down-Dog Earl decided to join me. He used the couch as a prop to achieve greater balance and a deeper stretch. Literally we were both in Down-Dog on the yoga mat at the same time; though admittedly Earl had wiggled his way underneath me. Then we practiced Give Dog Lovies Pose, a deeply relaxing posture. In my second Down-Dog Randi joined me. Again I tried Give Dog Lovies Pose and even Advanced Give Dog Lovies Pose, but when I swan dived down into my next Down-Dog, she moved effortlessly from peaceful Mountain Pose to Lick You Everywhere Pose which is probably my least favorite yoga pose. Lick You Everywhere Pose is best followed by Take a Shower Pose, which is how my yoga practice ended this morning about one minute after it began.

Unbalanced

Without Sarah, I feel like everything is just odd. The symmetry of the four dogs, two male, two female has vanished and has left me unbalanced and teetering around like a three legged dog.

I Can't Make this Shit Up

The remaining members of the Pack killed Black Cat. I'm assuming Clark was involved because he and Sarah were previously implicated in feline murder. I came home and Randi and Earl were tossing around Black Cat in much the same manner that they tossed around Ted the Turtle.

So, for the second night in a row, my mom came over with a shovel (because I don't have a real one apparently.) She left it because she said, "You never know what's going to happen." And, for the second night in a row, I dug a grave in the Little Backyard.

While I was doing that, Randi locked me out of the house by jumping at the security door and throwing the lock. So when I was ready to come in to enjoy some quality time with my friends Gin and Tonic, I could not do so. Luckily, I had my spare key outside.

Also, I think I hear a mouse in the laundry room. Now I don't even have Black Cat to regulate.

I am going to write a book and use this as my Cash Cow. If you want to be known under a pseudonym let me know now, otherwise I will use your real name.

Seriously. I could not make this shit up.

R.I.P.

It is with deep sadness that my pack of dogs has been reduced by one. I found Sarah when I got home today from a conference in San Diego. She passed sometime between last night when Pete and Steffi checked on the animals and today. I came home briefly at 3:00, but didn't see her and figured she was sleeping under the deck, but when I got home the second time I saw her just next to the deck in the dirt. My mom, dad and Pete and Steffi came to help me bury her this evening in the Little Backyard.

Last week Sarah stayed in during Pete's party, basking in the male attention and frolicking around like the filthy whore she was when men were around. I think she said, "That was the best it's gonna get, and I'm tired of this bullshit." And went to sleep. Steffi said it was the best gift a dog could give its owner, not having to make a choice. So we buried her in her skinny girl collar, wrapped up in two blankets in the Little Backyard. Steffi brought some flowers and a little cross. I inherited Sarah in August of 1999 and the conservative estimate of her age then was at least four thought more likely six, so that made Sarah Very Old Girl at somewhere between 15-17 years old. In her younger years you could tap your chest and she would jump straight into your arms from a sit. I am most definitely Sad Girl and even Randi, Earl and Clark seem to be more subdued.

Sarah Warah