A Wise Investment

I have to tell you that at the end of the day of Tweeting and Tumblr-ing and website-ing as I continue to network online as part of the job search, THIS feels like coming home. We're approaching the 200th post and I'm still shocked at how posting something everyday still continues to change and grow me. A reader might not notice it, especially since the majority of the posts are extremely random and disjointed, but I as the writer notice the difference. I reminded myself time and time again that the process was more important than the product. Breaking myself of this perfectionism is more vital than maintaining the charade of perfection in my performance. I am different already, but certainly still have a long way to go. But this little project here is working. I'm sure I'll be able to articulate why at some point in this journey, just not quite yet.

Speaking of random...do you like that poor excuse for a transition? I was listening to Hot 103 Jamz ("don't forget to slam that z") this past weekend. Okay side note: I was listening because there was a good run of songs playing that I could sing along with and I may or may not have been trying to memorize choruses and cataloguing good songs for use in my wedding band/singer repertoire. I really really want to perform with a wedding band. I just need a couple to trust me enough to let me and the band perform at their wedding. Anyway, a quick segment came on where the radio personality pulled out a question from the mailbag to answer. The topic was how to become wealthy if you don't come from affluence. His advice was really great as he began with the importance of saving, saving, saving. He also talked about cutting your spending and reevaluating your needs vs. your wants. For example diamond jewelry depreciates so you shouldn't waste your time on things like diamond encrusted emblems hanging from a chain dripping in diamonds, or fresh clothes, or spinners (no matter how badly you want them). Good sound advice, right? And then he said to invest your money. He did mention stocks, but it was about fourth on his list somewhere after...ready for it? stamps and antique coins. These things only appreciate in value, so invest now and you'll be rich later. Can't say I've heard this advice recently or ever for that matter. So I'll definitely look into it. Sounds promising. While I'm at in I'll probably pick up a lottery ticket as well just in case the coins or baseball cards or Hummel collection doesn't work out.

I Feel...

Went to the counselor today and came home with an honestly helpful worksheet for how to use "I feel" statements when sharing emotions. Number 21 was awesome, only to be outdone by number 28. I cannot wait to bust out either of these phrases while talking to Daniel...

Honey, the dishes keep piling up so I feel righteously indignant.
Sweetheart the way you missed as spot while mowing the yard made me feel morally outraged.

Nice.

The Weenie

So before campers arrived this afternoon for our final week of camp this session, the work staff got an opportunity to ride on the boats. Me and the girls went banana boating and it was awesome...until we fell off and Natalie got a concussion.

PS- The banana boat used to be called the weenie back in the day. Let the jokes begin.

Hijinks

When returning to my room this afternoon I found Rocky Balboa lying under my sheets and Chewbaca staring at me upside down when I got out of the shower. Pretty hilarious. I do enjoy a good practical joke.

"I'm Your Pusha"

Don't worry that's me in those pictures. I would never "X" out another person as part of my online niceness promise. I took some clothes to Plato's Closet today in hopes of cashing in on my fashion mistakes from years past. I can't believe some of the things I was wearing 2 years ago, let alone last year. I submit for your consideration the examples below.


1. First we have a fake leather biker vest. Some faux leather is able to maintain a good texture and look. This vest did no such thing. It looks like plastic, it feels like plastic, it sounds like plastic when it moves. Then there's the fact that it's a biker vest. I don't need to expound on that; it speaks for itself. The story behind this particular faux pas was that my friend was wearing one (real leather, less biker-y tailoring, she's hot) and I thought I could pull one off as well. Wrong. In fact I had already spent that month's clothing allowance and was able to still get the vest after winning a bet with Daniel. Though I won the bet I think I'm somehow really the loser if this was my reward. PS-Never wore it. Not.Even.Once.

2. Second item: Stiches jeans. These were awesome when I first got them! Flare leg, white stitching, distressed pocket. The skinny jean has been a wonderful trend for me as this old flare fit makes me look shorter and wider and other negative adjectives.

3. Outfit number 2, item number 3: Let's stick with the denim discussion and observe these glorious True Religions. Fergie sang about them, Blonde-goers were all wearing them (if you don't know what Blonde is that's because it's hay day ended back in '08, thus the dated-ness of the jeans), they were the hotness. Teenagers and apparently other people are still into them because Plato's Closet will buy them from you every time. True's in the closet = cash on the spot. They've just been sitting on the shelf begging to be cashed in like a winning lottery ticket.

4. Item 4: Fake BAPE hoodie. Where does one get a hoodie like this perfect for hip hop dancing? The answer is Bannister Mall. What's that Bannister Mall was torn down a year ago...again just proving my argument. If the establishment that you purchased your clothing from doesn't exist anymore (and it's not vintage) then you probably shouldn't be wearing it. I didn't even pay the sticker price for it because apparently at all the shops at Bannister Mall you barter. I felt like I was in Jamaica at the market negotiating over the price. Weird.

I have very mixed feelings about Plato's Closet because so much rejection is involved. You take in bags worth of clothing, some items are designer that retail in the $100 range, all my jeans retailed for over $200, and suddenly the power lies in the hand of the salesgirl yielding a calculator wearing a pair of used denim. I do not mean to mock employees of Plato's Closet, I'm just trying to paint the picture of the villain or adversary in the story to demonstrate what it feels like when you're the one putting your clothes, fashion sense, style, and overall worth up on the chopping block for Susie salesgirl to deem cool or uncool. Almost every time I've been sent home with designer items like J Brand jeans (worn by celebrities) while my Hollister and American Eagle tops get swiped up immediately. I've come to expect that they will want the tackiest stuff in the pile. One time we took in a paisley polo that Daniel used to wear for YL's event Tacky Prom. He didn't want to because it can be embarrassing to submit such hideous items, but of course they bought it, while turning down much more classic articles of clothing I might add. They know what sells. I can't knock their hustle. It's not their fault but rather the people consuming the product.

I left with $53.10 today. A big day. I have walked away with only $7 before. Did you know rejection has a numerical value? It's $7. That's like pity money, "We didn't want to just return all of your clothes to you, so here's $7...loser." That's what it feels like when someone goes through a pile of your clothes and says, "Thanks, but no thanks." It's like you're offering your hand me downs to a kid sister or friend and she doesn't even want them. "So what when you said I looked cute that one time you were lying? Cause now I'm offering you the outfit and you don't want it?"

Plato's Closet and I have a better relationship these days. We understand the dynamic better. We would never be girlfriends. We wouldn't go the same places, hang out with the same people, wear the same things. But we have a mutual respect for each other. I know how to play the game. I won't be embarrassed about showing you the pink satin baby doll dress I used to wear because I know that you'll buy it from me. And I won't feel so wounded when you turn down my DVF skirt because I realize that you don't even know that's a designer label. Who's the more fashionable one now PC? Sure we'll talk bad about each other behind backs, we'll sneer at each other from afar, but at the end of the day it'll go down just like a drug deal. I'll supply you with clothing that is hazardous to one's health, feeding an addiction for the cheap and tacky, and I'll get paid. It may be dirty money earned by peddling my fashion mistakes thereby enabling others to commit fashion crimes of their own, but it's still spends the same. (I literally hear Clipse in my head right now rapping, "dirty money, dirty money". Maybe I need to pull out that hip hop hoodie and start rocking it again.)

Overheard at the Bookstore

While at the bookstore tonight Daniel and I noticed a group of teenage girls congregated in the diet section. Of course we quickly posted up in the next aisle to eavesdrop on their conversation in the hopes of catching some wisdom from the adolescent psyche. We got some real doozies...

"This one is 100 diets. I'm just going to keep flipping through it till I find one I like."
"No carbs. They only work if they're no carb."
"I want a celebrity diet."
"Like what?"
"Like this one where she drank garlic water. There was so much garlic in her system that she just sweated it out."

So be on the lookout for the new diet that's all the rage with the stars: the garlic water diet.

Go Fighting Hornets!

I was sitting out on the deck trying to soak up some sun in order to combat the transparent whiteness of my legs as we enter full on shorts and skirts weather. However my lounging was interrupted by an uninvited intruder. I'm not sure if it was a hornet, wasp, yellowjacket, or other stinger-armed insect. I am not well versed in this area so can't distinguish between these different species. Nothing puts a damper on a care free sit in the sun than the threat of a sting, knowing at any moment if I take my eye off this flying attacker I could fall prey to its stealth assault.

I don't have an irrational fear of bees, but I do have a healthy respect for the damage they can inflict. So before you go dismissing my fear of this tiny creature as excessive, ponder the pain of the puncture and the subsequent swelling. I pondered this myself and as I observed my opponent I realized what an excellent mascot a hornet is. In the past I've dismissed hornet mascots as silly and cartoon-y. How are they supposed to stand against lions, tigers, and bears (oh my!)? But how often do you encounter a lion or tiger outside of a cage? Sure bears actually exist outside of captivity in the wild frontier of the US. But unless you live in remote expanses in the mountains, the likelihood of running into one is rare. But hornets! I saw two just today. The fear of lions or tigers doesn't interrupt daily activities like sunbathing or yard work. Hornets' strength lies in their pervasiveness of our suburban landscape. They are everywhere. I normally viewed their size as a disadvantage in the mascot world, but it actually adds to their terror. They are hard to see from afar, hard to track, hard to hear. Their size makes them stealthy and sneaky.

So I've been proved wrong North Kansas City High School, Charlotte (now New Orleans), and any other hornet mascoted teams. Teams can keep their tigers; the hornet is the more intimidating adversary.

I think I've had this guy all wrong. Look at what a do-gooder he is helping out his community.

The Wilderness Suite

Daniel and I are at a marriage retreat with Young Life this weekend down at Big Cedar Lodge. We just checked into our room and I had one of those want-to-jump-on-the-bed sort of moments. There are 4 dead stuffed animals in just our room, one pelt, and 2 more sets of antlers...so you do the math as to how many actual dead animals are represented in our suite. I was sitting on the edge of the bed unpacking when I was surprised by a bobcat critter guy staring back at me while perched above the TV. One word for how I'm feeling about this suite..AWESOME.

An Open Letter to a Boston Terrier

We were at Independence Center today which is one of the only local malls that still has a pet store, so whenever we're there we visit the puppies. We used to visit the animal shelter pretty regularly (even when not actually in the market for a new dog). I think we viewed ourselves as kind of candy stripers for the dogs: kind faces and kind words to comfort the sad sacks at the shelter. Our visit to the puppies today reminded me of a letter I wrote to one of the shelter dogs after a less than encouraging trip to the shelter.

An Open Letter to a Boston Terrier

Dear Sir,

Today at the animal shelter you were quite rude. I thought I should warn you concerning this behavior since your life is on the line. When we approached your kennel the growling was rather unnecessary. Worse still when we reached to read your information poster, your snarl and attacking lunge were fairly jarring. I have found that most adopters would not find these actions appealing in a prospective pet.

Now sir you have an astute stature and an agreeable face. These qualities make for an excellent first impression behind the kennel bars. I’m sure you have much to offer. But you simply are not putting your best foot forward.

I see pain behind those angry eyes and am sure you have quite the story as to how you ended up on death row. Owners can be wanting and the world an unforgiving place. Your new family would love to help you work through your abandonment issues. But first sir you must remove the protective shield around your broken heart and let them in.

Please take heed to my words as I fear your time is running short. Sir you have been given a second chance. And though all dogs go to heaven I would certainly feel sad if you missed out on life here with a new loving family.

Signed,

A concerned citizen and animal lover

PS- You might try wagging your tail. Humans love that as we do not have tails of our own in which to wag.

The Wrong Side of the Tracks

I took the pups on a walk this morning that turned into a bit more of an adventure than I was going for. Indulge me for a minute as I tell you what a terrible dog owner I am before getting onto my main post. We usually walk around our quaint and charming historic downtown, but today I went the opposite direction as we headed towards the park. Geographically Harris Park is not far from our house, but we are separated from it by the railroad tracks. The track runs right down the middle of downtown and is blocked off by rod iron fencing except at a few intersections. So we had to walk all the way around the fencing before finding an opening a few blocks away. My dogs are in their geriatric stage so we rested for a bit once arriving at the park in preparation for the trek home. I opted to take a different way home thinking it would be shorter than our fence induced detour. I don't think it was any shorter and it was far more heroing to say the least. At one point after dragging poor Penny down a too steep, over grown hill we had to walk along the highway frontage road. Penny is particular about being on my right side, so she was a little too close to traffic for my liking. I ended up carrying her along this stretch of road. Then Toby just sat down on the shoulder of the road and refused to walk any further. He was spooked by the noise of the train crossing on the bridge overhead and the cars on the highway wizzing by. So I picked him up too. Then I dropped my keys. Picture me on the shoulder of this frontage road squatting down to pick up my keys while holding an elderly dog under each arm. I kind of looked like a dog super mom rescuing my children from danger, but then when you take into account that I'm the one that led them down this doomed path you can't really call me super. In fact my lead may make me the villan. We entered back into the neighborhood a little worse for wear. Though on residential streets there still weren't sidewalks. Toby had to stop because he had diarhea. Penny began dragging tail so I just carried her the rest of the way home. Well whatever the saying is about the road paved with good intentions, my best intentions led me to exposing my children to dangerous traffic and causing exhaustion and diarhea. Total failure.

Now onto my actual post. Our adventure making our way around the railroad tracks reminded me of a debate Daniel and I have. We live just a few blocks from the tracks and have to cross them everyday. We pondered this and began asking the dreaded question, "Do we live on the wrong side of the tracks?" Practically it seems that yes we do, but our bigger concern is with the figurative question of status and class. Do we live on "the bad side of town", "the wrong side of the tracks". Daniel and I have had many conversations where we weigh the affluence and attributes of each geographic side of the tracks. Schools: Lee's Summit West HS is on the other side, but Lee's Summit North HS is on our side...equal. Neighborhoods: all the Wintersets and Longview are on the other side, our side has Lakewood though...equal. Hy-Vees: Hy-Vee West seems to be a little cleaner/nicer than the one on 291...hmm a point for the other side. Blockbusters: Blockbuster West is a stand alone building while the 291 location shares its facility with a Hallmark store...ugh lost another point. For me the straw that broke the camel's back though was that the other side has Target and we have Wal-Mart. I enjoy Wal-Mart, but when it comes to status, clearly Target is viewed as more prestigious. That parallel is a kind of a microcosm of the two sides of the tracks. Wal-Mart isn't bad, but Target is just a little newer, nicer, cooler, and more expensive. So I think the consensus is that we do indeed live on the wrong side of the tracks. We're hoodlums.

Not sure if you can tell, but we're crossing the tracks in this picture (to the "right" side in case you were wondering).

Sex Ed at the Bookstore

I was camped out at Borders tonight reading in the Spirituality section when I heard, "How is she doing that?" I looked past Sociology, past Psychology, and sure enough there was the Sexuality section. I couldn't see the giggling culprits, but I heard the whispering voices of two adolescent boys. Apparently they couldn't contain their curiosity to a whisper level after encountering this particular information. I enjoy people watching/eavesdropping whenever in public, especially at the bookstore, but this I could have done without.

Meet Me in Chicago

Today I made travel arrangements for my upcoming trip to Chicago. I was emailing with a friend who I'm going to stay with after I'm done working. This friend is my sweet Annie. As we were emailing back and forth I realized that we have only interacted face to face during two trips. The more I thought about our relationship, the more I realized how much our romance resembles that of An Affair to Remember.

When describing it on paper it really does seem like a torrid love affair:
The first night we spent together was in a grotto-style hot tub in Orlando. We soaked ourselves in the steam and chlorine while talking for hours about our families, our lives back home, our hurts, our pains, our joys, and our dreams. We would not reunite until a year later in the snow covered mountains of Colorado. We shared a week together holed up in a lodge seeking protection from the storm. We stayed up late talking by the fire. We laughed together and our love for one another grew even deeper. And we spent hours in the hot tub again. The steam rose into the brisk mountain air as we gazed at the stars, hoping against hope to see a shooting star which would grant all of our deepest wishes. After our fated week we parted ways and returned home to our suburban realities with no reunion date in place.

At last the reunion approaches.

We will meet once again in her hometown, The Windy City. But alas it has been a long year apart and I am unsure if her feelings for me still remain. Has she carried a torch for me these past 14 months as I have for her? So we will meet atop the Willis Tower. (I suggested the Sears Tower, but she informed me that it no longer exists. She corrected me to call it by its updated name to spare me the embarrassment. What kindness she showed me. I can picture myself running through the streets of Chicago asking for directions to the Sears Tower to no avail.) If she still feels the same, she will wait for me on the observation deck. It will look something like this:


But if she doesn't arrive and meet me on the appointed day I will be left to assume that her heart belongs to another. Or she might have gotten hit by a car on her way to the Willis Tower. But at least I will know where she stands. I will be heartbroken...and left without a place to stay and a ride to the airport. That would suck. (At least give someone the courtesy to show up if someone else is counting on you for a ride to the airport.)

Annie, if you're reading this just know that I don't plan on murdering you and then wearing your skin around the house. The photoshopped pictures might be a little over the edge and stalkerish, but I just really needed a blogpost for the day. I promise I'm not crazy. Promise. And at least I let you be Deborah Kerr in the pictures and I made myself Cary Grant. You got to be the girl so you really don't have anything to complain about.

Aack! I'm Becoming One of Those Women.

Oh God it's happened. I've become one of those women who relate to the "Cathy" comic strip. Egad.


I logged on tonight to talk about the perils of being an emotional eater since I've fallen off the wagon this past week and then it hit me. Aack! Brownies! Saddlebags! Egad! I'm a "Cathy"! Really? Is this what I've become? Three months of daily posts and I'm resorting to posts about overeating. That's all I can come up with? That's worth talking about? This blog has, as my husband would say, derailed.

Oh Cathy and her perils. First it's having to listen to that annoying co-worker while you work away in your shoulder padded blazer. Then it's complaining about your lack of a man or what's lacking in the man you do have. Then the shopping and blowing your loot on those shoes you had to have. You might as well seek some solace in some pie, Cath. What a life you crazy lady, you.

That's not me. I don't own any clothes with shoulder pads and I don't technically even have any co-workers. (Though I do joke that since I work from home, I have two less than par administrative assistants, Toby and Penny. I think opposable thumbs would really increase their job performance.) I have a man and he doesn't wear sweaters with the collar poking outside like her animated man does, so I don't have much to complain about there. I don't feel guilty about shopping and I doubt the sensible work pumps she blew her loot on are anything I would ever buy. But drowning your sorrows in strawberry rhubarb...aack! Got me!

I've already embarrassed myself enough in one post by not only writing about Cathy, but by also comparing myself to her. In a few years I'll probably be remarking on the hilarity of "Maxine" t-shirts and coffee mugs. I might even put that year's Maxine desk calendar from Hallmark on my Christmas list. Egad. Not even thirty yet and already resigning to the caricatures at Hallmark for my amusement.

Oh Maxine.

So I will spare you the story of my most recent falling off the wagon. INSTEAD I'll tell you a story about my friend Branden's sleep eating! We've been friends since high school, but it wasn't until this fall that I first learned of his after dark binge sessions. I don't think he even became aware of them until after getting married. His wife would wake up on his return to bed and ask what he'd been doing. He had no answer for her because he was still in a sleepy and confused stupor. She would find the jar of peanuts laying on the counter and cupboard doors open. Though his sleep eating incidents usually seem to involve peanuts, if I'm not mistaken (or just wanting this to be true) I believe there was a morning where he awoke with some chocolate mysteriously smudged around his mouth. (I could be fabricating this part of the story unknowingly. My memory just loves this picture of him awakening to a chocolate stained pillow.) When he met her parents for the first time and spent the night at their home, he happened to have an episode (is episode the correct medical term for this "condition"?). Her mom said there were all these wrappers laying next to the candy dish. Apparently Branden had raided the dish containing the miniature candy bars in the middle of the night. But what's even better is that he picked out just his favorite kind! Rather than indiscriminately grabbing at any of the offered varieties, he actually was able to select and pick out only the type he preferred. Isn't the brain fascinating? This story makes me want to become a neurologist. This story makes Branden a cheater on his P90X diet. I think it's his body craving all the deliciousness he's being denied and revolting against him. Asleep or not, it will not be denied it's peanuts.

When searching for a good pic of Cathy to post I came across Tina Fey, as Liz Lemon, doing her Cathy impression.


I really hope I'm not becoming like Liz either. She's funny to watch, but the audience is always laughing at her...not with her. Her flaws are not endearing, but rather ammunition with which to make fun of her. I do not want to be a Cathy OR a Liz.

Here's Andy Samberg doing an even better impression of Cathy.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

My sister and nieces from Minnesota are in town for spring break. They are quite the hilarious trio...and my brother-in-law may not be here with them but he's quite the crack up as well. We've been entertaining ourselves with the little hand-held game 20 questions. Have you played this? The computer is about 95% accurate (in my experience) in coming up with what we were thinking of. The first time I played with my mom and the computer produced what she had been thinking of ("ice skate" if you were curious), I thought my mom was going to have a heart attack. She began devising conspiracy theories about how there must be some sort of hidden camera or microphone in the device spying on us in order to produce such answers.

This reminded me of one of my favorite quotes from my niece Katie (and there are many).While playing the original/all-human game of 20 questions on a roadtrip:
"Mom, what does baby start with?"
"B.""Okay I'm thinking of something that starts with the letter b and it's not baby."
"Is it baby?"
"Yeah."

Because I'm feeling generous I'll share this gem with you as well.
Katie while sitting on Daniel's lap over Christmas a few years ago:
"Do you smell toot (fart)?"
"Why did you toot?"
"Yeah."

It's stupid stuff like this that lightens me up. I can get stuck in my own head too often, take everything too seriously, over analyze, and worry myself sick. I need more silliness in my life to keep me grounded. Maybe I should have kids of my own or a better idea is to just track down old episodes of Bill Cosby hosting Kids Say the Darndest Things and borrow other peoples' kids for my amusement. It's certainly a more affordable and time saving option.

The Giggles

Oh man this is going to be a sorry excuse for a post today, but oh well.

The internets (or interwebs if you prefer) have really been keeping Daniel and me entertained these past few nights. Here are the two things that made me laugh till I cried.

In honor of Korea abiding Tom and Bonnie:

You are my love my angel don't treat me like potato

This totally sounds like an argument me and Daniel just had, "Okay jeez, I'm sorry! I've been treating you like such potato lately honey."

Fugees & Funions (or is it Funyuns?):

Sorry for my immaturity. I'll do better tomorrow.

Buyer's Remorse and Other Perils of Caffeine Sensitivity

I spent the day working from the Barnes and Noble cafe on the plaza where I enjoyed a delicious Starbuck's Chai Tea Latte. I'm not a coffee drinker, but have found a friend in Chai, and even that I don't drink very frequently. So when my body gets a dose of caffeine it can result in some serious side effects.

Caffeine is not recommended for those who suffer with anxiety as it can agitate an already "jittery" feeling. About an hour after consuming my beverage the side effects kicked in. At first it feels like an adrenaline rush, all is right with the world, everything is amplified (sounds, colors...I promise I'm not talking about ecstasy here, just tea). I had my head phones in so music only increases this adrenaline rush effect. Then comes the crash: shortness of breath, the jitters, racing heart (at least it feels like it's racing). Again I promise I'm not talking about ecstasy, though coming down from a high certainly sounds similar to what describing.

So I take deep breaths, turn off the music, drink some water, get some food in my stomach and try to convince myself that I don't need to rush outside to pull any cars off of old ladies trapped beneath. It's a little like an Incredible Hulk episode only Hulk not angry, Hulk just caffeinated and crazy.

A few years ago I was shopping with my friend Brea at Standard's warehouse sale and consumed a latte prior to our trip. I left the sale with a few purchases, spent a moderate, but perfectly acceptable amount of money, and found myself experiencing the most severe buyer's remorse. "I don't need this stuff. I'll never wear this. I can't take it back...final sale...FINAL...FOREVER...NOOOOO!" I had no idea where this panic was coming from and Brea pointed out that I just seemed a little over-caffeinated. Oh was that all? It was indeed. I came down from my jittery state and the buyer's remorse subsided.

This caffeine induced guilt does occur frequently for me, but that adrenaline rush, though temporary, feels so good. I'm sure heroine feels good too before you crash and burn, but you don't see me reaching for it. Maybe I need to rethink the Starbucks, but I'm sure it's fine. I can quit anytime I want to.

You Know You're Crazy When...

You know you're crazy when you think your dog is capable of using a camera.

I have often stated in this blog that I am a crazy person. I have completely irrational thoughts running through my brain on a regular basis. Remember the Volvo thought process? I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that my thought process on that issue was completely genuine. I love my dogs and am fully aware that they are in fact dogs and not people. I don't pretend that they are my babies or anything crazy like that, but still my brain processes my thoughts as such and I end up with crazy thoughts like these two examples that I submit here for your consideration:

First, Daniel and I were getting ready to take the dogs for a walk downtown and I wanted to take a picture of Daniel and me in front of this cool mural painted on the side of one of the buildings. But then I realized, "Who is going to take the picture since I want Daniel and me to both be in it?" Here was my brain's response to my own question: "Oh I'll just have one of the dogs take it." I'm not joking. I literally thought Toby or Penny could take the picture for us. I'm not sure how much of a delay there was before I realized how non-sensical this was, but it was not instantaneous by any means.

Second, I was thinking how fun it would be for my sister and brother in law to visit me overnight at Young Life camp, but then considered, "What would they do with their kids (my nieces) while out of town?" Ready for my crazy response..."They can just board them." Yes, board them. Like dogs. Again not sure at what point I realized the absurdity of this response, but for at least a few minutes my brain had accepted the feasibility of this option. I think it was 10 minutes later or so when glancing around my kitchen and spotting my dogs' kennels/crates that I even remembered having that thought. It's craziness didn't catch me off guard, but rather just floated through my brain amidst other normal everyday thoughts unchecked.

So if I ever end up in an institution, you'll know it was because I live in my own little world where dogs can operate cameras and children can be boarded in kennels.

Gas on a Plane

It's 11:57pm and I just sat in my bed after a long, long day of travel. Ugh, good to be home. This is going to be a worthless post, but part of the agreement this year.

On the flight to and from Boston I was suffering from some highly offensive gas. But if you've ever seen Seth Rogen's stand up bit on "Funny People", you know that on an airplane you can get away with loud flatulence. He tells a great story of sitting next to a woman asking about her grandchildren while just ripping away. The woman sits oblivious to his offenses because the engine noise drowns it out. This was me. A chai tea before a 5:30am departure on an empty stomach equals rumblings as does pre-flight McDonald's on the way home. I apologize to all folks present near 25 C and the surrounding areas. It was me. I'm sorry.

Holy Roller

We're down at Windemere at the Lake of the Ozarks for our regional leader retreat and stumbled across this gem of a bus in the parking lot.

It seems sort of corporate:"Jesus...making a difference (since 1984)". Which a friend tried to make more accurate by saying, "Jesus...making a difference (since 0 AD)". And then he was corrected since "in the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God", therefore "Jesus...making a difference (since before the beginning of time)". Just trying to use correct theology in our joking. Regardless an amusing bus.
PS-The front slogan says, "Jesus: Your God". Also a compelling message. Much less corporate and appealing on a more intimate level.

Sitting in the Principal's Office (or the Vet)

Today was a rough day to be a dog in the Cummings household. This morning Toby and Penny visited the dentist. Our day began at 7:30am so I could drop them off at the vet before 8. We are not early risers, so I literally had to shake Penny awake while she lay on her bed made from the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. Their emotions ranged from sleepy stupor, to elation at the sight of leashes and the car, to terror at the entrance to the vet. Apparently 7:45 was the peak time to drop off your dog because the lobby was packed. I grew maternal out of nowhere and found myself wanting to protect my children from the unruly pug and his irresponsible mother. We started off on the wrong foot when she lost hold of his leash and he lunged at Toby and she lunged along with him trying to recover said leash. Toby was startled more by the large woman throwing herself forward and yelling, "Get back here!" than he was by the pug itself. Here are snippets of the conversation that happened behind me while I was checking in at the desk.

Pug Owner Wife: "Look at the white one! She's funny lookin'!" (Note the exclamation marks. It was early and the obnoxious pug owner felt the need to yell each comment.)
Pug Owner Husband: "Keep him [pug] away from the black one; he [Toby] is scared."
Wife: "No he ain't; they're just fine."
Husband: "Look the fur on his back is standin' straight up and he's shaking."
Wife: "He's just cold."
Husband: "Pull him [pug] back away from him."
Wife: "He [pug] is just smellin'. When he growls, that's when you pull em back."

I really wish this lady didn't wait till she heard a growl as her signal to "pull em back". I felt like I was dropping my kids off for kindergarten and was fearful for them being bullied by the mean pug. I then envisioned myself telling off the other mother reprimanding her for not keeping her child under control. Oh man...if this is how I want to react with my dogs, I can see myself becoming a crazy, overprotective mother with my real children. But seriously lady stop yelling, remove your unruly dog while you let your husband handle registration, and it's not okay to let your dog growl and intimidate mine or anyone else's in that waiting room!

This morning I was the paranoid, overprotective mother. When I picked them up this evening, I was the guilt-ridden, feel-like-a-terrible-mother. Total cost for the two teeth cleanings, anesthesia, blood work, and medication...$414. Gulp. Wasn't expecting that. So maybe I was put a little on edge from the sticker shock. The vet comes out to the lobby to debrief me and all I hear is, "You're a bad owner. You're irresponsible. As a parent you fail." No, the pug lady is the irresponsible one. I'm kind and nurturing. I take my dogs for walks, throw them birthday parties, and they have enough outfits to clothe 6 dogs. The vet actually has to ask me this question, "Do you groom Penny regularly?" Ouch. Yes, yes I do! They made a note in her file to mention the matting, especially around her eyes. Oh no, she has a blemish on her permanent record. I feel like I'm sitting in the principal's office being told I've sent my second grader to school in dirty clothes. They're the doctors; don't they recognize that she has chronic ear and eye irritation, conjucta-something? We rescued her at age 10! She'd never been spayed, had fleas, ear mites, yada yada. We inherited her like this. We didn't cause this. We saved her. We're the heroes, not the bad owners who neglected her and let her get like this! (Note my exclamation marks at this point.) Toby's debrief is maybe worse, "Okay so he lost two more teeth." Yes she said 'more'. When we first got him he lost two at his first teeth cleaning due to rot. I actually voice my defense this time, "Yes when we got him, (ahem) rescued him, we rescued both of them, his teeth were in bad shape (read- we didn't cause this). Is there something we can do to help him? Are we doing something wrong?" She assured me it was probably genetic and prescribed the chewy treat Greenies. This is like prescribing candy for a child. Greenies are like crack to Toby . After vomiting bright green after a trip to his Grammy's house (where he received the bulk of his Greenies), we discontinued his consumption of them. I thought I was doing the right thing and being a good parent by eliminating them from his diet. Wrong.

The three of us trekked home: Toby toothless but still reeling from the Greenies prescription, Penny looking like a hot mess with wet? and selectively trimmed hair where she was matted, and me feeling defeated and embarrassed by my lack of parenting skills. A rough day for all of us indeed. I'm trying to do right by my children. Sometimes love and nurturing (and turtleneck sweaters) aren't enough. Dogs need proper care and know-how. They will be boarded next week while we're out of town, so maybe they'll do better in the hands of professionals. Below I have humbly posted pics of the recovering patients to prove the hot mess-ness of Penny and my embarrassing missteps as their owner. I pride myself in my love for dogs, especially my own, so revealing my imperfection (complete failure) as a pet owner is more difficult than revealing imperfection in other areas of my life. Forgive me my children and don't blame everything on me, your pathetic mother, in your therapy sessions.

The haggard Ms. PenelopeA toothless Mr. Tobias