Sunday, February 26, 2006
About a year after our beloved Cody, an akita/chow/shepherd mix died, we decided it was time to get another big dog. We live in a somewhat rural mountain area, and I really dislike the idea of having guns in the house.
Although our Yorkshire Terriorists have the hearts of lions, one drop-kick from a bad guy would almost certainly turn them into puppy smush. Plus, they'd never quite gotten over the loss of their big fuzzy friend. They still seemed a bit depressed.
So we did some research through Petfinder. The closest Petsmart that had shelter dog fairs was over an hour away, so we contacted one of the shelters that would be participating to get more information before making the drive down the mountains in the dead of winter.
We had a specific criteria. The dog must be female, and shouldn't have any lab in her. This last was recommended by our vet when we asked for his advice. We had put a pool in a year earlier, and he said that labs and lab mixes just can't resist the water.
The Valley Shelter is in a small, remote area and happened to have three litters of adoptable puppies at once. Apparently someone's Tri-color Collie got out and went on a bender, knocking up two shepherd mixes and an airedale in the same weekend (sounds like quite the party!). The shelter was pretty sure of the parentage, and not a lab in the bunch. Perfect!
So Daddy set off in a blizzard and brought home Mathilda (now known as "The Noodle").
The Yorkies were furious.
Who is this smelly, clumsy--and, er--unladylike intruder and what the hell is she doing in our house?
Charlie, our 13-pound mutant terrier, was a puppy-mill rescue. As a baby puppy, she had to fight amongst bigger and older dogs (dozens housed in one pen) just to eat. She has the instincts of a streetfighter. She decided to take action.
She took every single dog toy--including the puppy's--down to the basement (where dogs aren't allowed) and hid them. If she was unhappy, ain't NOBODY going to have any fun!
Molly, aka The Little Walnut Brain, is our 3-pounder. She's a follower, not a leader, so she joined in with the sulking and the snubbing.
When Daddy didn't immediately get in the car to return The Noodle, Charlie decided to turn up the heat and demonstrate her displeasure in other ways.
She pooped on his shoe.
She pooped outside his bathroom door in a strategically steppable spot while he was in the shower.
She pooped in front of his easy chair.
When this didn't get the desired effect, she decided to ratchet it up a notch.
She barfed on the armrest of the couch where he rests his head.
She barfed on his side of the bed.
It became the ultimate battle of wills between Daddy and The Charles.
Finally, it was quiet on the excrement front. But Charlie didn't want to be held. She refused to play. She kept herself away from the family except to bestow baleful glares in Daddy's general direction.
I got worried and called the vet. I explained the situation, and described the symptoms. He was quiet for a moment.
"I think she's suffering from pique." Pique? Dogs get pique?
I wasn't convinced and we made an appointment. The vet tech put a thermometer up Charlie's heinie to take her temperature. When she pulled it out, there was a low rumbling. A sulferous grumbling. Like nature's warning in Dante's Peak before the volcano blew.
My husband took Charlie off the vet's table and put her on the floor, where she unloaded the dump of all dumps. The grandaddy of all poo. He estimates it was almost half of her body mass.
Guess in an effort to win the war, she'd been holding it in for a few days to let off a last big hurrah. Curses! Foiled again!
The siege was over.
In an effort to promote Noodle and Yorkie harmony, my little guy posted a set of doggie rules (you can click on the picture to see it in all its glory!). Sometimes they pay attention.
P.S. As a footnote, labs aren't the only dogs who can't resist water. It took The Noodle 2 months to figure out how to tunnel under the fences.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
---Kathy Griffin, comedian
Guys play fantasy football. I play fantasy fashion critic. So what if I'm sitting here in my ratty ol' sweatpants? Like you can see me.
If I could be Boss of Everything for one day, I think I would become a one of those fashion and hairstyle "do's and don'ts" people from Glamour magazine.
"Pull your pants up, dammit! Nobody EVER wants to see your ass crack!"
I think I'd start with Senator Barbara Boxer (D-CA). I would tell her that the hedgehog her stylist glued to her head is very distracting, especially during last year's confirmation hearings. I kept expecting it to jump off and bite Teddy Kennedy on the nose.
As for radical right political author Ann Coulter: Take advice from fashion maven RuPaul. An artfully draped Hermes scarf can camouflage even the most obvious adam's apple. Unless, of course, you really are going for the Chicks With Dicks look.
Calling all anorectic actresses: Don't kid yourself. Stick figures aren't sexy. Outside of Hollywood, only necrophiliacs fantasize about having sex with cadavers.
There's a reason why bras don't come in size "Concave"!
Eat a cheeseburger! I beg you!
Dear Michael Moore,
A little soap and water will not turn you into a right-winger.
And this just leaves us to our final fashion victim of the day, Donald Trump.
Don---may I call you Don? I don't CARE what Larry King tells you. The plastic Malibu Ken doll "do" went out in the 70's.
Larry probably still listens to his 8-tracks in a polyester leisure suit.
In our next issue: Heroin. It's not just for super-models!
Sunday, February 19, 2006
There's got to be a Michael Jackson joke in here somewhere, but for the life of me, I can't think of one.
Is February "National Nose-Biters" month?
Is there a creepy fad diet I haven't heard of yet, like Atkins For Cannibals?In the last couple of weeks, there have been no less than three separate articles in the news about nose-biters.
A Connecticut woman was convicted and faces up to 28 years in prison because of an altercation with her neighbor. She claimed she was "defending" herself when she stabbed the neighbor in the back of the head with her keys, pulled out chunks of hair and bit off part of her nose.
Kind of makes you wonder what they were fighting about. Stolen cable?
A woman in Minnesota was arrested a few days ago in another nose-biting incident. Police had to get a search warrant to enter the home where the fight took place to recover the piece, and found it in the kitchen. Luckily, they were able to re-attach it to the victim.
Neighbors were stunned. "I don't know how they did that ... they must have been drunk."
And finally the California guy who was visiting a family in Oklahoma with his girlfriend. As the family was sitting down to dinner, the girlfriend rushed in with a napkin on her nose, claiming that Greg Hill had bitten her. They summoned emergency services. When the medic realized that the nose was completely gone, he notified police.
"We looked around and tried to find a nose but couldn't find it," Cpl. Larry Edwards, a police spokesman, said. "I think he swallowed it."
Hill was booked into the Tulsa Jail on complaints of aggravated assault and battery, resisting arrest and (gak!) destroying evidence.
So what's suddenly sparking off these multiple cases of biting rage? Phases of the moon? Something in the water? Mind rays from Pluto?
Friday, February 17, 2006
There was a recent article about a man in the UK who read the back of a package of sliced ham that his significant other had purchased. On the list of ingredients was "dog shit".
Now, as a person who grew up with white bread, mayo, processed cheese slices and ham or ham-like (aka Spam) product (thus rendering me incapable of ever enjoying any meat that is pink and shiny), I wouldn't be surprised if the ingredients in lunchmeat included "pulverized snouts" or "pureed pig tails" or even "powdered hooves". But "dog shit"? Whoa Nellie!
Turns out that a now-former employee was playing a prank. Big surprise.
While I was thinking about it, I remembered a can of Renuzit air spray I bought about 10-11 years ago.
My best recollection of events was a radio disc jockey I heard in my car, joking that someone from the "Conservatives for Consumer Products" or some such organization, lodged a complaint with the Dial Corporation for an "obscenity" they found on a can of "Renuzit Fresh Cut Flowers" aerosol air freshener.
The air jocks wouldn't say what the "obscenity" was, though.
My first thought was "Wow, they really have a group called 'Conservatives for Consumer Products' whose only purpose is to hunt for smut on packaging? Where can I get a job like that?"
My second thought was..."hey, didn't I buy one of those?"
So I went home, took it out from the bathroom cabinet and examined it. And looked. And looked again.
Lo and behold, about 20 minutes later, I saw it. I showed it to everybody I knew, and we laughed our tushies off. Then I put it away in a safe place to leave for my (hopefully) future grandchildren with a chuckle and forgot about it.
Mind you, this was years before I got on the internet, and years before I knew Google or eBay existed.
Anyway, after reading about the ham made out of "dog shit", I started thinking about packaging mistakes and pranks. I googled the main keywords about my can of air freshener, and found that my funny little thing wasn't really that special.
Snopes.com, is probably the number ONE expert site for confirming or debunking urban myths. It reports the Dial company claimed that the picture is NOT of a disgruntled art director's Johnson, but of a badly cropped photo of a stray petal belonging to a pink tulip (it just LOOKS like it has--urgh--veins!). They didn't recall the cans, but put a leaf to cover the questionable spot. Others, however, disagree.
So, I decided to scan mine and post it here. Click on the picture to enlarge it. What do YOU think (other than that I have too much time on my hands)?
Monday, February 13, 2006
A man is incomplete until he is married. After that, he is finished. - Zsa Zsa Gabor
I'm in love with the perfect man. Well, not completely perfect, because he has really scary-looking toes. And instead of retrieving the pillows he knocks onto the floor in his sleep, he has a bad habit of yanking mine out from under my head.
Other than that, to me he's perfect. He's funny, he's cuddly, he's loving and he's kind. He's dependable, and smart, and decent. Everything you'd want in a car or a dog but imminently better when you find it all wrapped up in a hunky man-suit.
But most importantly of all, he puts up with me. And he loves me.
For the last couple of weeks I've been wracking my brain to find him the perfect Valentine's Day gift. I've read some horror stories (like the guy who bought his wife an outboard motor for HIS boat). I'd like to find something that says that I'm thinking of HIM, the love of my life.
Meeting him at the door with a martini in one hand and his slippers in the other--wearing nothing but Saran Wrap and a big pink bow, ala The Total Woman--isn't practical. Plus, it would probably scare the kids. A lot.
His interests? Football. Golf. Football. His car. Football. In that order.
Football season is over, so I've been looking for something to tickle his fancy until golf season starts, which won't be for a few months up in our neck of the mountains.
Archie McPhee seems to be a vendor of the unique and unusual. Maybe I'll get hubby some beef or corndog car air fresheners. Now EVERY day can smell like a tailgate party! Then again, every dog in the neighborhood might start running after the car as if it was in heat.
Those wacky guys at Golf South are offering the "Poop and Putt". You can perfect your putt while on your butt. *Sound effects not included.
So many ideas, so little time. Maybe I'll just get him a whomping big box of chocolates and offer to spank him with the BIG hairbrush.
It's the thought that counts, right?
Happy Valentine's Day, my Love!
Sunday, February 12, 2006
One of my constant New Year's Resolutions is to simplify my life. Make everyone clean out their closets so we can discard or donate things that don't fit. Clean out the basement. Go through the cupboards. Clean out the junk drawer. I am, by nature (or is it nurture?), a pack-rat, so it is always a Herculean task.
Every year I plan to go through my computer "Favorites Folder" and delete all of the superfluous websites.
I never seem to get that one completed.
So as a result, I have about 6 years worth of crap stored up in no particular order.
Today I'm going to be ruthless. But I thought I'd share a couple of the good, the bad, and the ugly while I'm at it. So you can feel the pain too.
Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid.
Ever wonder if the waitstaff at your favorite restaurant is doing nasty things to your food before serving it? The folks at The Stained Apron share tips on how NOT to get a booger in your chowder.
Kind of makes you want to stay home. Forever.
"Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!"
-- Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride
Well, you can't actually talk to Mandy Patinkin, but if you want a live phoned-in birthday greeting from various--um-- celebs like Arnold Horshack or Richard Hatch (the original Battlestar Gallactica guy, not the butt-nekkid Survivor guy), Hollywood Is Calling can set it up for a mere $19.95. Other celebs include the boxer Larry Holmes and a bunch of wrestlers I've never heard of. Oh and Cindy Margolis too.
Whatever Happened To...
Ever wonder what happened to your favorite TV show? One day it was here, the next it was gone with no explanations, farewells or apologies? Television Without Pity isn't always completely up-to-date, but contains a lot of funny information and episode recaps sent in by viewers. Warning: Lots of spoilers, so if you haven't seen the episodes in question, don't peek!
If you have a few hours, take a visit to Landover Baptist Church, where "The Worthwhile Worship". Whether it tickles your funny bone or infuriates you, you have to admit that Betty Bowers, America's Best Christian ("So close to Jesus He's seen me without makeup. Once.") has a wicked, witty way with words.
Well, that's all the cleaning out I'm going to do today. Off to cheer for our athletes in the Olympic Winter Games. Have a great weekend!
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Now c'mon. Do doctors really sideline in B & E?
If I go to the emergency room with unexplained stomach pains, are they going to break into my home, and hunt out my secret stash of cheesecake bites?
Saturday, February 04, 2006
My husband simply adores Sally Field.
How he kept this a secret from me for so long, I have yet to figure out. But a couple of years ago, he let the cat out of the bag in a very weird way.
When ads started appearing for the first season of "24", starring Keifer Sutherland, I thought it might be an interesting change from the influx of stoopid reality shows. We were watching TV one night when an ad aired.
"Oooh. That looks interesting," I said. "We should check that one out."
"What? Why not?"
"I don't like Keifer Sutherland. He was mean to Sally Field."
WTF? "Like recently? What did he do? Was it on the news?"
"No---in that movie. You know, the one where he killed her daughter (An Eye For An Eye)."
"You have GOT to be kidding me!"
"How can anyone be mean to the Flying Nun?"
So, we've never seen 24, although by many accounts, it's a fabulous show. Maybe one day, when he's on a business trip, I'll rent it on DVD and see what I've been missing.
We finally got around to watching Chocolat one Friday (it's movie night, because there really isn't anything worthwhile on, unless you're a guy who tunes into see Jennifer Love Hewitt's hooters in their new hit TV show). Halfway through the movie, my husband sat up straight.
"I know who that is! That SOB (Alfred Molina) was mean to Sally Field!"
Yeah. About 15 years ago in Not Without My Daughter.
Every Thursday, when we watch ER, he prays that a helicopter will fall on the character Abby. You guessed it. Sally Field guest-starred as her mother in about four episodes, and Abby was mean to The Flying Nun. Sheesh.
I guess I should be grateful that his adoration wasn't fixed on someone like Kevin Bacon, for example. Mr. Bacon has probably worked with almost every actor under the sun (hence the game called Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon), and a good many of them have undoubtedly been mean to him on film.
I can see it now...
"Let's go see Last Holiday!"
"Who's in it?"
"What? Why not?"
"She was mean to Kevin Bacon."
WTF? "When? What did she do? Was it on the news?"
"In that movie--where he played that obnoxious poofty hairdresser."
"You have GOT to be kidding me! He was the BAD guy. She was supposed to be mean to him!"
"I don't care. How could anyone be mean to Kevin Bacon?"
One of these days, I'm going to rent Legally Blonde 2, where The Flying Nun plays a particularly heinous beyotch. I mean c'mon, how can anybody be mean to that adorable little Reese Witherspoon?
I'm just afraid hubby's head will explode. Kaboom!