Extreme Measures Book Review

Since it's cold and I don't want to leave the house anyways, I've been doing a lot of sitting on the couch and reading. I made sure the kitchen was cleaned up first, so it's ok.

Extreme Measures (Vince Flynn) is the story of how Mitch Rapp and Mike Nash teach the Senate Judiciary Committee and Senator Lonsdale that 'extreme interrogation' is necessary and if they are not allowed to do whatever they need to do to get information there will be a terrorist attack. And there is. Not gonna lie, I found the first part of the book too preachy about torture and too close to reality. It made me squeamish. I'd rather read about bad guys that don't involve terrorist attacks on Washington DC. That said, the lead up to the frenetic climax is a page turner. I was reading until 4:00am and then again a few hours later. I'm not sure you could say this book is about some ass kicking because there's not that much ass kicking. In the next book Pursuit of Honor I think there could be some major ass kicking because Mitch Rapp has been given pretty much carte blanche to kick ass.

Best and Worst of 2010

Not wanting to be left out of all the Best and Worst Lists of year, I've given a lot of thought as to what I wanted to rate because I'm sure everyone cares.

BEST BOOKS OF 2010
I decided to go with just five because I lose focus after the fifth one on other lists. They are in no particular order.

Worth Dying For Lee Child
Cutting for Stone Abraham Verghese
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo series Stieg Larsson
Columbine Dave Cullen
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks Rebecca Skloot

WORST COUNTRY SONGS OF 2010
"Water" Brad Paisley
"Welcome to the Future" Brad Paisley
"I'm Just a Guy" Brad Paisley
"Anything Like Me" Brad Paisley
"Water" Brad Paisley

That's right, I listed "Water" twice because it's so dumb it deserves to be on the list twice. Brad Paisley makes me want to get a gun and shoot the radio.

TOP ACTS OF MISCHIEF AT THE SARATOGA ANIMAL SHELTER
Looking back, the winter of 2010 was relatively mischief free. Maybe mischief hibernates in the winter.

PDub and EDub UFC match.
Sarah digs a hole in the mattress. (I'm officially saying it was her.)
Emmah Snickerdoodle gets a mullet
Something is found dead in the duck pool
Two dead cats

Rare Sighting

Today while bike riding, we had a Nick Viselli sighting. I love Nick Viselli. I love Nick Viselli because he tells stories that go like this, "We were on the kayaking circuit with our ten year old grand daughter when we saw a heliomonster and I tried to ride out, but my bike had a flat tire, so I used my lighter and duct tape and a hollowed out piece of bacon to facet a bike pump and got us out of there."

This is the first time we've seen Viselli since he retired last year. He's been too busy donatating blood (playing rugby) and wining champtionship rugby mugs and following the Junior Olympics kayaking team and building commerical buildings to ride bikes with us. He needs shoulder surgery, but is going to wait until after he goes to Japan to play rugby to get it fixed. Nick Viselli said, "I'm gonna stay a bit back from you because I don't have any breaks to speak of." Because Nick Viselli disabled all of his breaks pretty early on in the ride. Who rides mountain bikes without breaks? Nick Viselli. Because he is freaking hard core. The worst part? Even though he could kick your butt 25 times over he will pretend he's completely fine riding at your pace.

I want to be Nick Viselli.

Does Anyone Know How to Reach Dexter Morgan?

Blood splatter clearly indicates that Mischief was around a plenty while I was out today. I triaged all members of the Pack and no one is bleeding. PDub and EDub are happily swimming in their pool. I did a brief inspection of the backyard for dead animals during my interrogations: "Are you bleeding? Are you bleeding? Earl are you bleeding? Assholes. What the hell did you do?" The investigation yielded nothing. This leads me to these possibilities:

• The Pack killed/maimed someone who was trying to get into my house.
• The Pack killed/maimed a mouse and ate it.
• The Pack killed/maimed one of the doves that have been eating their food while they lounge around lazily.
  

American Assassin Book Review

Bill said I would like American Assassin because it's like the Jack Reacher novels. And I liked it. This is the story of how Mitch Rapp becomes a hard core doesn't even exist spy or killer or whatever he is. The back story to all of the previous books. I think Mitch Rapp looks like this:
So it was pretty easy to get into the book. (Mitch Rapp could have been described as a stocky red head for all I care- I imagined him looking like Hawaii Five-0 guy.) Rapp is out for retribution for the Pan Am Terrorist bombing in which his girlfriend was killed. He balls up all of his feelings deep into his belly, stamps it all down with anger and goes into the woods to train to become a killer and then he comes out killing.

This book was fast paced and a good read. The bad guys were bad mix of Russians (historically former bad guys) and Jihadists (current bad guys) which Mitch and his 'handler' Stan Hurley work over. There's some torture and fingernail pulling out and one guy looses an ear. Now I have to wait for Bill to let me borrow the other Mitch Rapp books he has.

Brief comparison of Mitch Rapp and Jack Reacher: Mitch Rapp and Jack Reacher have many significant differences. First, Mitch Rapp is hot and Jack Reacher does not come across as hot. I mean, the guy wears the same clothes until he buys new ones. That is not hot. Second, Jack Reacher works alone. He does not have friends. He does not collaborate with anyone. He has no need for a radio because he doesn't talk to anyone. Mitch Rapp is working with the CIA even if he officially does not exist. Jack Reacher works solely in the USA kicking the ass of home grown bad guys. His passport is expired. Mitch Rapp is a world traveler and therefore has many a passport to choose from. Apples and oranges my friends, apples and oranges.

Countdown to Lockdown eBook Review

"Scaffolding" is what we called it in my day, but I think now the eduspeak term is "frontloading." Whatever its called, I could have used some for this book. I am not a wrestling fan. I do not watch wrestling. I was continually lost in the nuances of TNA and WWE and Lockdown and Wrestlemania, blah, blah, blah. The last wrestling match I can remember is the one with me and Padilla the night before my dad's surgery in which Freddy's dog ate my glasses (literally ate the glasses) requiring me to show up at the hospital unable to see and my sister all "see who's the good one now." In any case. What I would like to say about this book is it pushed the limits of my stereotypes of wrestlers. I'm not too proud to say that I have never considered wrestling the sport of brainiacs. I would stereotype wrestlers as a bunch of neanderthals unable to spell the because of too many chair hits to the head. But this Mick Foley guy, he breaks the stereotype. He has a whole chapter about his love of Tori Amos. He gives money to build schools in Africa and money for rape victims. He's well written. So most of what I've taken from this book is that I should not stereotype and even Hardcore Legends can be sensitive men. Awkward.

I did not like the two chapters in which he gives his opinion about steroid use and what wrestling should be about. I skimmed those. Foley conveniently starts each chapter with the Wrestlemeter letting you know how much wrestling each chapter holds. If you like wrestling even just a little bit, you'll like this book. If you are not a wrestling fan, then maybe you might like this book, but I'm not going to suggest you read it because I don't need that kind of responsibility on my shoulders.

Success

And after patching the roof (a two Lowes trip because I forgot my wallet the first time) I may have controlled the leak in the laundry room. Lucky me did not have to get on the roof because my neighbor Tony did it for me.

In the Photo Booth

Finally finished!
Don't tell me that's not stinking funny.

Round III

I know what you're thinking. Why didn't she stop them? Well, I TRIED! This was only the aquatic portion of the fight! Before this, there were three rounds on the ground, where first I yelled at them. Then I pounded on the fence with the green metal spike that holds up the chicken wire, then I yelled some more. I thought they were done when they took to the water and so I said, fuck it, I'll film them. But then when it got particularly nasty and I was afraid EDub was going to drown I ran (ok, walked) out to the pool to try to get them to stop. Then I pounded on the pool with the green spike all of which only got me splashed with green duck pool water, which turned out to be a good thing because it forced me to make a decision about a shower. (Aren't PDub's wings amazing?)

Perplexed, I just Googled "Why are my ducks fighting?" and came up with several items that suggest that this is not abnormal behavior, along with a video PDub and EDub's dopplegangers fighting. Somewhat reassuring. One post suggest that they are establishing a pecking order.

Round II

Round I

Pro-Choice

Since EDub and PDub never bothered to learn English or write little signs describing what exactly their beef was with me, it appears that the protests and death threats from the Little Backyard were centered around the fact that they did not have the freedom of choice to get on the patio. Since I opened up the little area for them to walk up to the patio they have been calmer and despite the fact that it has been raining for nearly 24 hours straight these guys have spent nearly 100% of that time sitting out in the rain or swimming in the rain, or walking around in the rain. I guess they just want the option to get on the patio.

But because of the 24 hours (and continuing) of rain the rest of the members of the Pack have been reluctant to exit the building, except Earl who protested at 4:00am and wouldn't come back in and who is still wet after enduring a few hours out there. I, too, am reluctant to leave the building, but that's really because as of late, I would prefer to never leave the house ever. If I could figure out how to get someone to go buy my groceries for me I probably would never leave the house again. All this means is that now Mischief is confined to the interior of the household and unless all animals are in the same room with me, I must do a Michief check every 30 seconds to make sure that they are not tearing shit up, which the last check just revealed Earl nibbling on a pillow case, which now has all members without thumbs banned from my bedroom.

Ain't That the Truth

Good Things

In case the Daily Press is not on your daily reads and you missed this because it was one of the reasons my blood pressure was so damn high.

Capitulation

The Giving of the In went like this
(pouring rain)

Ducks: (thinly veiled mute like threats)

WeakWilledMe: Oh, God, maybe they'll die because they won't go in the duckhouse and they'll be wet.

StrongWilledMe: They're ducks. They'll be fine.

WeakWilledMe: But ducks in the winter fly south.

StrongWilledMe: We live in the south.

WeakWilledMe: Maybe they're using all of their energy trying to kill me.

StrongWilledMe: A duck can not kill a human being.

WeakWilledMe: It's animal cruelty.

StrongWilledMe: Do you want the patio filled with duck shit again?

WeakWilledMe: No, but I don't want them to die!

StrongWilledMe: Don't do it!!

WeakWilledMe: (undoing the fence in one spot) It will only work if they are smart ducks and figure out how to get out.

StrongWilledMe: You suck.

WeakWilledMe: I know.

This Is What I'm Talking About

I'm also going to place a hard copy in a safe deposit box because that's what you do when you fear for your life.

In an attempt to increase their pay-per-view ratings, EDub and PDub took their mixed martial arts cage free fighting to the aquatic arena this morning. The part I saw involved EDub sitting on top of PDub and holding her head under the water or sitting on her head while pulling at her back feathers with the soundtrack of me yelling, "Get off of her! Get off of her!"

In Case of my Untimely Demise

Dear Friends,
I have become increasingly concerned for my life due to the viscous hostility I encounter when entering the Little Backyard. It seems that some members of the Saratoga Animal Shelter have not gotten over the fact that they are not allowed on the patio anymore and are pissed the fuck off. When I walk out to feed them, they run aggressively towards me threatening me with bodily harm in the half mute quacks. Food does not calm them. Filling their pool does not calm them. They are out for blood.

Should I suddenly stop posting and become unreachable by phone, e-mail, or text, please look for my beak stabbed body in the Little Backyard.

The Real Housewives

If my house were a microcosm of the Real Housewives franchise, Randi would be the crazy one who creates her own fun wearing inappropriate outfits no matter where she went or who she hurt; Earl would be the silent one who would cut you when you least expect it and Clarky would be the neurotic, talk behind your back annoying one. Sarah would have been the one with the sage wisdom and English accent, to whom no one listened. And me, I would be the responsible one who actually worked.

This Week's eBook Reviews

I've finished two books in the past week.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot. I bought this book before I realized that it was the same one that Megan had read, but I was glad to know that someone else enjoyed it besides whatever book review it was on. It's the true story of Henrietta Lacks, whose cells were the first to be grown and are still alive and seem to be responsible for many many medical advancements. So many medical advancements that you think, not possible. And no one knew anything about this woman. The books is both a biography of her, a biography of her family, a brief medical history and a commentary on medical ethics. And all quite interesting. I tried to convince Married Ladies Book Club we should read it, but they didn't go for it. (The did go for Cleopatra: A Life and I'm very excited to start that book.)


Shaken: A Jack Daniels Novel J.A. Konrath eBooks can be expensive. This one was $4.99, so I decided to take a chance and you know what? It turned out ok. Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels, is a homicide cop and in this installment (one in a series of clever drink titles) is being held captive by the crazy serial killer Mr. K, whom she has been chasing for several years. Her partners' witty dialogue was actually witty and funny. It was, however, a bit gory for me. There were a couple of times where I was like wow, yeah, that was a little bit too much description of the body thank you very much. But for $2.99-$4.99 a book, I would read another.

I Do Not Have an Infectious Disease

It's no secret that one of the best parts of work is that Mr. Ostlie often leaves me little presents in the form of "I HEART YOU" stickies. Mr. Ostlie and I have been married for several years now after I said, "Can we get married?" and he said, "Sure." And made me an engagement ring out of bubble gum wrappers and masking tape. Later he upgraded my ring to an enormous plastic diamond ring held together with making tape. Our marriage was founded on the fact that he could keep his then girlfriend and now legal wife. Technicalities. I called first dibs.

Moving on. To say I've been a little busy and stressed out with work would be like calling Mount Everest a minor hill. This morning I got to work and within ten minutes I was trying to juggle a college student in my room asking about a tutoring job, a phone call and a mouse that wasn't working. The mouse, I discovered, was courtesy Mr. Ostlie who had left a sticky with a heart on it over the light so it wasn't reading. Obviously, it was a cheap ploy to get me to call Mr. Ostlie bright and early all "I got a problem, can you help me?" I was too smart for him and fixed the sticky right quick.

So I walked up to the office, made some copies and here's where the story starts to really get going: stopped by to tell Peggy thanks for fixing my bracelet that Randi had broken. I wasn't there long when Peggy exclaimed, "Bethany, what wrong with your ear? It's all red!" I said, huh? and Peggy insisted on showing me extremely red and swollen left ear in her mirror. It was rather bizarre because Gretchen had not said anything to me this morning, so I assumed it was something that had happened recently. I marched myself back over to our rooms and to Gretchen and said, "Yeah, Gretchen, quick question. Did my ear look like this this morning?" To which she yelled, "OH MY GOD!"

She took a picture, but it didn't come out well and she wanted me to take some Benedryl and while I would have appreciated the sleep, it wasn't going to help me to get any work done. "Well, since you're not going to take some Benedryl, maybe you should at least put your hair down." I didn't like that option either because I hadn't washed my hair, so I left to go find Mrs. Watt, the health teacher to see if she had some cortisone cream.

She was gone. But her assistant said that my ear was quite bizarre and she remarked that it had even gone to my right ear. So I left there and was on my way to the restroom to see if my rash had spread to any other part of my body. On the way there, I ran into Toni, the security guard and I said, "Toni! Look at my ears!" To which she yelled, "OH MY GOD! You look like Rudolf, only with red ears." Toni said the rash was spreading to my face and afraid that I might pass out on my way to the nurse's office, she insisted I ride on the golf cart and off I went to the nurse's office.

In the nurse's office, I pointed to my ears and said, "Look at my ears." And the nurse yelled, "OH MY GOD!" And the kid sitting in the office said, "Yeah, I think there's a rash going around because my gramma got it and she was itchy all over." I thought great, I've got some crazy ear disease. So the nurse took my temperature, then Debbie walked in and said, "OH MY GOD! Did you check your blood pressure?" Since Debbie's so practical, the nurse, Toni and I set about trying to get my blood pressure. The first cuff the nurse discarded because the reading wasn't right. The second cuff did work and she said, "Oh wow, yeah that first one was right." Because my blood pressure was 140/100 and I never have high blood pressure. She subsequently put some cortisone on my ears, which subsequently looked less swollen and decidedly less red rather quickly. I stuck around long enough for the nurse to tell me that I should come back in an hour for a second checkup on my blood pressure and ear redness. Toni drove me back to my room and as I was thinking I should sanitize the phone in case my mysterious infectious disease was still lurking around, I picked up the receiver to find that Mr. Ostlie had placed scotch tape over the earpiece and written "I love you" with an accompanying heart with a red Sharpie pen.

To which I yelled, "OH MY GOD!" Because I had just wasted 45 minutes of my morning trying to diagnose a mysterious ear rash without alerting the CDC, which was really a redness caused in part from red Sharpie and in part from the allergic reaction to red Sharpie. I promptly called Peggy who said, "OH MY GOD, I'm going to kick Mr. Ostlie's ass." Mr. Ostlie said, "My God, how did you not notice? At least we know you're allergic to red Sharpie." I responded, "If I were you, I'd lock your door, cuz Peggy's on her way."

Récapitulons: Before allowing anyone to convince you that you have an ear rash requiring hazmat suits, check the earpiece of the phone for red Sharpie. And FYI: I am allergic to cats and red Sharpie.

Pretty Exciting Afternoon

Mr. Hawk was sitting on the chair out in the Little Backyard. Stephen said he would only go after baby ducks, so I tried not to panic, but having hawk chillin on a chair in my backyard? That does not freaking happen to me everyday. I took the picture through the window. Because I'm pretty sure a hawk could eat me.

THEN! Even more exciting was I caught EDub sticking her head into their duckhouse!!

And because it's a lazy Sunday afternoon and I have nothing to do, since I refuse to leave the house and a shower smacks of overachieving, I stood at the door and watched as both of them took cautious baby steps until PDub put her whole self in the duckhouse!
Then EDub pounded on her head until she came out and then she pounded on her some more until I opened the door and yelled for her to knock it off. I was getting worried because I thought that maybe PDub and EDub weren't ever going to go into their duckhouse. I even asked Duane how I could entice the ducks to go in their house and he said, "Huh, good question." And then I was forced to ask Jenny to ask Stephen who responded via Jenny that ducks like to sleep outside because they like to see what's going on. So I was pretty sure these ladies were never going to go in the duckhouse. This is sooo exciting.

This morning I came up with a self-treatment plan for my back, since treatment for the issue seems an impossible demand. (My insurance denied the next treatment and said I needed to "explore a more long acting narcotic to manage pain." Don't think I won't be telling Choice Medical a big fuck you on that one.) Anyways, here's my plan. I am going to train Randi and Earl to massage my back and hips on a regular basis. Or I'm going to get a puppy and train it to be my pain management dog.

Prime Suspects in the Who Chewed on My Pants Crime Committed This AM

What Kind of Dogs Are Those?

People are always asking me what Randi and Earl are. I always say "bad." Because, well, they are. This morning the guy who is currently working on making my backyard weed free said Earlie looked like a hyena.

I suppose Earl looks a bit lit that, but I think he looks more like this:

Mostly I think Randi and Earl look like some kind of mutt Akita combined with a lot of mischief.

I got out our stockings last night. I couldn't bring myself to throw Sarah's away, so I put it on her grave. Randi and Earl are getting nothing but coal.

Basculée

My sister has purchased a Nook. My sister who has never read a book in her life. You know what my sister did with the books we had as kids? She wrote her name all over the pages of the books. My sister whom I saw with a book in her bag and I said, "Amber, are you reading a book??" and she replied, "Oh. No. I just wanted to look like everyone else, so I put a book in there." My sister who used to sit and say, "whatareyoudoingwhatareyoudoingwhatareyoudoing?" while I was reading until I was forced to leave the room. My sister who has an allergic reaction when she walks into a book store. My sister bought a Nook. I don't even know what to do with this information.

Mischief caused the backyard to flood today when Mischief somehow got the connector thingy for the hoses unhooked from the faucet. And since the water was on, the water spread all over the backyard. My backyard is mud sludge.

The balance of Michief and Reason has shifted exponentially to Mischief since Sarah's passing. She, apparently, was the Moral Compass of the backyard and without her Reason has no place. This is also how a pillow ended up spread across my living room on Monday. Mischief.

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

Proud to Be An American

Tonight I had a party to celebrate Pete's birthday and him becoming an American this week. Pete's been in the USA forever, but finally decided to make the big leap to citizenship. He's got his own reasons, but I maintain it was based largely on the crazy ex-Canadians we met at Amy's Mexican Food at my birthday challenge dinner who told Pete if he died the government would come in and take everything and Steffi would be left without even a washcloth and could likely send her off to Thailand as part of the sex trade. Pete says that had nothing to do with his decision, but again, the time line clearly shows crazy ex-Canadian talkers and then Pete applying. So you make your own conclusions. All the bike boyfriends were there but Clarence who is "getting ready to go to Oregon" which could mean he's leaving any where from today until two weeks from now.

I decided to make a Chocolate Guinness Cake for dessert. Bob Hollywood had made it as his Christmas party last year and its primary ingredients are Guinness and Chocolate. My main concern was keeping Earl away from it while it was cooling because you will remember he has a soft spot for cakes I've made for Pete. It turned out very good, while the lasagne turned out a gooey mess.

Pre-party nap.

Wine cork center piece.

Pete wanted to have martinis, so we had a martini bar.

Evan (EDub) and Pete

The Orginial EDub and PDub

Bill

Chocolate Guinness Cake
Yummy.

Banishèd.

Unreasonable Gone Wild

This duck is not a Team Player.

First, she knew I was having a party tonight and I wanted duck eggs to put in my baking because I said, "EDub, could you lay some eggs soon, so I can put them in my baking?" I was very clear. She responded by biting at my pants so hard I had to shoo her away so she didn't rip a hole in them. Then yesterday I came home to discover that this duck had laid EIGHT eggs right next to the fence in a new nest which required me to move tree branches, move over tree branches and get hit in the face by tree branches all while being crouched down in order to reach them. And I had to throw them all away. THEN, then today I walked outside to grab the egg I was sure she had laid last night so I could use it today, only to discover as I was moving furniture to clean the duck crap off the patio that said duck had laid her egg right in the middle of her pile of crap on the patio! Another wasted egg! (I did not take a picture, because I don't want anyone to have an image of exactly how much duck crap was on the patio.)

I didn't know it, but Black Cat was visiting, but left when I started washing off the patio. Twice in one week. Maybe he's ready to start getting serious.

Freakonomics and Nothing to Lose eBook Reviews

Freakonomics is a great book if you're interested in interesting questions like if you're vacillating on a name for your child and want to pick one that will give him/her a great chance in life. (FYI, according to the book, it's not Shenequa.) I was most definitely interested in the chapters on why some students do better in school, because I had just had a conversation with the principal where we were trying to figure out what parents of failing students might need to help their students. Eventually we came to the conclusion that we were not experts in that arena, given that his kindergartner is reading chapter books (and told me at age 2 1/2, "Bethany, C says 'k.'" and I of course have a pack of dogs and two ducks. (Aside, last year, when said principal and I were throwing around ideas for parental help he suggested that I could teach some parenting classes. I politely replied that someone else might be more qualified.) Again, according to Freakonomics what those kids need is some more educated parents to start with. Recommended reading. Highly interesting and not so full of blah, blah statistics that you will want to poke your eyes out.

Nothing to Lose Lee Child. Let me summarize this book. Jack Reacher walks from Hope to Despair, beats up some guys and then walks or steals a car back. Repeat for 250 pages. If Jack Reacher were around, I'd kick his ass because this book was so not his best. Hope-Despair-Hope-Depair with no real reason why he would be walking back and forth and why there's dead bodies. And certainly no bad guys to keep you wanting to read nonsense. Maybe the Hope-Despair daily traipse is supposed to be some kind of metaphor/theme. But you know what? I don't read Jack Reacher novels for the use of literary devices. I read them because I want to imagine Jack Reacher kicking some damn bad guy ass. And this book was a disappointment.

De Retour

Shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots

I had my "trigger point shots" today. I had my momma take me because I wasn't sure if I would be able to drive afterward since the whole procedure was clouded in mystery and the Internet was ambiguous. I won't recount the entire conversation with the doctor because I'm always just frustrated about the whole issue. She said I can't go back to physical therapy because "That does nothing." And I need to lose weight. Well, obviously. Like I don't know that the Hawaii Five-O guys would be more likely to show up if I were significantly thinner. I don't like shots that don't come in a glass, so I had to lay down so I didn't faint. Now my butt just feels like it's on fire. I canceled my college classes so I can lay around watching quality television with my ass on fire. I have to wait 10 days to feel their 'maximum efficacy' and then I have to go back in a month and see if I need a second round before we can discuss going back to the original shots that the pain doctor recommended a month ago. Grrrrrr.

Additions

Jon Hamm is also invited to the four day weekend fête, if he shows up looking like this:

Decisions

The Shelter can not decide which one of the Hawaii Five-O guys we would prefer to spend the four day holiday weekend coming up, and so feeling pressed to make a decision we have decided on both. But the little guy needs to wear his tight shirt and the tall guy has to wear a t-shirt that ends right at his tattoos. (I don't know their names because I'm not ever really paying attention to the dialogue.)

Oh Earl

When he's not being a Mob Boss, Earl is the Best because I couldn't find my CD to load Photoshop Elements onto the Little Laptop in preparation for the Photoshop Elements workshop me and the Big Guy are going to on Saturday. (I'm looking more forward to the time spent with the Big Guy and less the workshop, since I already use it to scrapbook.) Anyways, I said, "Earl, I'm going to need you to find the CD." And he did. He went right to the drawer with the CD. Sure it could have been a fluke. Sure I could be anthromorphosizing the dog a little too much. But we can't ignore the facts; he did find the CD. And he is super lovey. And he smokes a lot of pot.

Not This Time, Lance

My new bike!

My spinner bike came while I was in Sacramento and my daddy helped me put it together when I got home today. I had to get a spinner bike because:

1. It is the ONLY exercise I can do and the only thing that makes me feel better. I went to the spinning class after the three days I couldn't move and after I warmed up, it was the only hour in four days that I was pain free.
   
2. I wanted to sock 24 Hour Fitness and their "Workout when you want, how you want" campaign in the face because all of the spinner bikes on the floor have been broke since July and any time I asked about it they told me, "Uh, it's in the computer." And I have not been in any way shape or form motivated to get up at 4:30am to go to the gym to ride a broken bike which means I have not been getting an appropriate amount of exercise to counter the amount of calories I prefer to consume, so....
   
3. I was forced to go to the T/TH 5:30am spinning class at 24 Hour Fitness which made me want to sock the instructor in the face because she wouldn't shut her damn mouth. No really, she talks non-stop for an hour. To which all I wanted to do was shout, "Shut the fuck up and let me exercise!!" You will be happy to know that I neither socked the lady in the face nor spouted expletives. I did put myself in check, and said, "Self, you chose to come in here. You must stay quiet. Do not talk." But in reality I was just thinking about how much the fun of exercise was ruined by incessant fucking chatter, sooo
4. I was not motivated to get up at 5:00am to go to the spinning class and I was not getting the appropriate amount of exercise.
   
5. Bill said it was probably a wise choice since I wanted to sock many people in the face and that maybe I should also get a punching bag. I would have, but I wasn't sure how I was going to put it up by myself, plus I have concerns about breaking a nail.
   

I am now motivated. I am excited about my new bike. I can't wait to ride a spinner bike that works and not to hear flippant chatter whilst I am doing so. This is good because it appears that I am never going to get help for my back. My referral for the spine shots was denied by my doctor because she says I have to go in to get shots from her. I was beyond despondent. The return call to the doctor went like this:

Lady: She says you have to come in here for some trigger shots before the epidural.
Me: (holding back TEARS and SOBS) Why?
Lady: Because she says so.
Me: (Release of TEARS and SOBS)
Lady: Are you still there?
Me: (Angry tones interspersed with bigger TEARS and SOBS) If she could do something to help me why didn't she do it 7 months ago?? (HICCUPS, TEARS.)
Lady: She can see you November 10.
Me: I (SOB) can't (SOB) see her (SOB) until November (SOB, SOB) 10???
Lady: Ok, hold on honey. Let me see what we can do.
Me: (Unstoppable TEARS AND SOBS.)
Lady: October 27, can you make that?
Me: (unintelligible answer because of TEARS and SOBS.)
Lady: Will that work?
Me: TEARS AND SOBS

I am not someone who generally breaks down in tears in front of people. Clark, yes. Other non-canines, no. And then I said, self, you have to stop crying because you can not down to the workshop to find out how to implement a service learning club in after school programs with unending TEARS and SOBS because you will be branded as someone who cares so deeply about service learning that you break down in tears and you don't even know what service learning is.

All is well here at the Shelter after my four days in Sacramento for the After School Conference. No dead animals to report.

Betrayal

I saw Black Cat in someone else's yard. I know Black Cat and I never had "the talk." We never said we were exclusive. We never talked about expectations or boundaries. I just assumed that Black Cat was coming around because I had something a little special. A little something something he wasn't getting anywhere else and that his time here meant something. I thought we were sharing moments and building memories. I felt harmony when he was around; at one with the animal kingdom. I thought he wanted me. Oh, the red flags were all there: He was very vague about his personal life. He never invited me to his pad. He only came by very late at night or on the weekends during the day. He never stayed very long. He never answered my calls. I figured he was just busy and was playing it cool. I never considered that Black Cat was playing the field and just stopping by when it was convenient for him; 10-15 minutes here, a half hour there when the wife and three kittens were out. It's clear now, Black Cat. I understand that Black Cat has needs. And as much as I don't want to be Black Cat's sometimes weekend fling, I have needs too. Until some other cat, more faithful, more open, more willing to commit comes along, I'm willing to put up with Black Cat's philandering because he takes care of business when he's here.

Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet- Book Review

I thought this book was corny. Don't get me wrong, I finished it, but I started skimming because I just didn't care. I thought that the characters were from iStockCharacters.com and didn't really have much dimension to them. I thought the ending was predictable. I thought it was an easy read that didn't require much thought. Probably good for a plane ride.

Freakonomics

Bill suggested that I might enjoy reading Freakonomics, so I downloaded that and started last night. These guys are giving answers to some interesting questions. My dream centered around the interesting question of why Earl doesn't always want to come in to sleep at night. He sometimes prefers to stay outside by himself, basking in alone time, probably counting his buds and smoking in peace and quiet and then about 2:00am barks so I let him in. The answer, as presented in my dream via the book, was to build a bar in the corner of the deck and to drink more wine, thus making it so Earl would want to come in with everyone else more.

I also dreamed that the new Drew Barrymore movie was about her being a polygamist and married to Gael Garcia Bernal in Mexico City and some white guy in the USA. There was also a rather disturbing scene of another dream in which I had to drive my truck down a road with illegal immigrant men on either side who were standing so close I couldn't even get by and when I hit the gas I still didn't go, or, run them over and then one jumped in the back of the truck and I had to jump out and scream, "Get out of my truck!" Freakonomics didn't provide any answers on those ones.

For the Record

I have inspected Earl's feet and limbs to see if there is something stuck in there that would necessitate the ferocity with which he chews on his feet. Je n'ai rien trouvé. I have checked more than one time. I finally just gave up. Like how I gave up thinking something is wrong with Sarah when she fake limps. I had to face reality - the dog just likes to chew on his feet.

Friday

• Randi made friends with EDub who was hunting moths. Do not worry. These guys were "talking" for 20 minutes, about half of which was a starring contest, which I think could go to Randi. I've got video of it, but let's face it- a dog and duck in a staring contest is not that interesting. I locked the screen door just in case she wanted to go out and do the talking even more face to face. There were a lot of moths, so they continued to make friends until I got annoyed and shut the door.
  

• Earl finally advanced to the Elite Pro Category of Extreme Feet Chewing and rubbed his mouth raw. He's been training extra hard lately with six to seven training sessions a day, working all major feet and limbs. I think this morning's training session lasted 30 minutes and ended only when I left for work. We had to talk about this sudden intensified interest in his feet. He ignored me. I'm considering an intervention because it's starting to affect our lives; this feet chewing business. Even Randi was like, "Play with meeeeeee." But Earl couldn't because he was "training." (He's training even as I write this.) I think he's hoping to win some kind of course record.
  

Cutting for Stone- eBook Review

Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese is the story of Shiva and Marion Stone, twins born to a nun in a missionary hospital in Ethiopia. Marion tells the story, weaving in what he knows of his mother and father (Sister Mary Joseph Praise died in childbirth and the father ran away when they were born) and what happens as they grow up in Ethiopia. Marion has to flee the country because he is wrongfully suspected of being an Eritrean sympathizer.

I loved this book. I loved the story. I loved learning about Ethiopia and Eritrea. I loved reading a story about Africa that didn't involve boys walking through the desert and becoming soldiers. What I didn't love was the ending. Not because I wanted something else to happen, but because what did happen didn't seem plausible. It seemed forced in order to end the story.

Overall, an excellent read.

Detecting

Yesterday Sara and Jessica came over for dinner and what turned out to be too much gin on my part. At one moment our conversation was about my detecting skills and how, since they just have one cat each, it's pretty easy to find out who committed any crimes at their houses by first ruling themselves out: "Who shit on the floor? Wasn't me, must have been the cat." Whereas I have to do real detecting.

This morning when I got up I found that someone one had thrown up in the corner in the sewing room and I could not immediately rule myself out as a suspect. I didn't think it was me and I sure as heck didn't want to believe that I had been so drunk that I threw up in the corner in the sewing room and didn't remember. It threw me for a loop. The sewing room would have been an unusual place for me. I started thinking, good God, what else don't I remember? And planning a day checking the sent mailbox to see what drunken rants I may have sent while I was in here. Luckily, it wasn't me. Subsequent lab results revealed that the contents were the chewed up bone from the pork roast, which had been in the trash. And I know, no matter how drunk I was, I did not go digging through the trash can to eat a pork bone. Not when there were still brownies left anyways. I'm pretty sure I've not seen the end of this pork bone. I'm sure I'm going to be dealing with its consequences for a few days.

I am no closer to knowing who actual culprit is, though the prime suspects are, of course, Randi and Earl, since they are always trying to get in the trash.

Teamwork on a Saturday Afternoon

When I first looked down, there were three ants moving this piece of dog food. I thought it was a three legged scorpion or hitherto unknown type of poisonous attack animal, so I screamed. These guys moved the piece of dog food over 25 feet, from the dog food bowl to the driveway. But in the time it took me to get the camera and change the batteries, there was only one guy left. He's still pretty awesome.

Child Birth

So...I went to my appointment with Dr. Park, who wins the "Office Most like a Beverly Hills Plastic Surgery Center in the High Desert" award. Dr. Park was very nice, but since I've had to explain to about ten different doctors my problems, I've fallen down on the job and forgot crucial elements of the "I am stinking miserable please help me" story. (MRI, the fact that I took Gabarpentin, etc.) Anyhoos, after pushing on my spine, butt (yeah, that's right, if it hadn't have hurt, I might have like it), and hip he said, "Let me tell you what's wrong with you." I said, "Please, finally can someone tell me..." And Dr. Park had his script, which, as a 35 year old female involved me having some babies. He said, "And so when you had kids..." I said, "I don't have kids." You could literally see his brain come to a full stop and try to process this information and work it into his script. "Have you ever been pregnant?" I said, "No." Again, you could see his brain working this information, then he recovered to tell me that I need five shots. Three in my spine, one in my hip and one in my buttocks to relieve the muscle that is not happy. I left with some samples of Lyrica, which my mother tells me I can not drink and take. "Not at all, at all," is what she said. So I've not taken any Lyrica, because I'm not ready to give up wine for medicine that I'm feeling less than optimistic about.

All of which brings us to today and me. I hurt. I hurt a lot. And yesterday I hurt. If I could have stayed in bed with Earl acting as my heat pad all day I would have. I could hardly stand up to take a shower. And so I walked around all today obviously miserable based on the number of comments from people who saw me walking around. I sat and had kids pass me papers that were two steps away. I stayed in offices long past my welcome just because I didn't want to get up. Which brought me to Alice, Debbie and Peggy (PDub's namesake who will be jumping off the unemployed list back to the employed list as of next week.) I told Peg about my aliments and my non-child birthing problem. I said, "Could I have had kids and not known about it?! How many kids do I have?" Alice pointed out that they could be in my classes. I am overwhelmed by this possibilty.

This could be the biggest tragedy in my life so far. I have a condition caused in part by child birth YET, I have no children. I have no one to do the dishes, or pick up in the yard or take care of me when I'm drooling. My mom missed out on making baby clothes. And as Peg pointed out, I don't even remember the sex that got me the kids. (For the record, it was surely the best sex ever.)

This child birthing business has been all pain and no gain for me. Starting tomorrow I am going to start looking for my children. (That is, after the Grand Opening and Ribbon Cutting Ceremony of the F-3 Computer Lab at 2:10 pm with Prizes. No Food or Drink-It's a Lab.)

Success

The Big Guy reported that his "How to Pick a Winning Jury" presentation went fabulous and that everyone was impressed with the Powerpoint. And that he gave me credit. I will add it poste haste to my résumé.

Someone chewed up my yellow highlighter. A cursory inspection of the buccal cavity of all canines at the Shelter revealed no yellow marks. Note: Sarah would not open her mouth without her lawyer present. After a weekend of TV, first I tried good cop, "Sarah, I understand your reluctance. This is routine, we just need to look in your mouth to exclude you as a possible suspect." She held her stance. Then I tried bad cop "Open your damned mouth!! You think you're the only one we've hauled in here!? You think the chewing up of a highlighter is something to joke about? This is someone's livelihood! A highlighter has been ruined! I'll keep you here indefinitely. You think anyone's going to believe you're innocent after the mattress incident? What? Like that wasn't you either? Yeah, prove it by opening your mouth! WHAT DO YOU KNOW!? " Then I made like I was gonna slam her head on the table. (Nah, I didn't really, that's just what they do as bad cop.) I may need to invest in one of those fancy light machines Nick Stokes has so I can see things that the normal eye can not. Now I have to get a new highlighter because I take my school supplies very seriously.