Chrissierocks

There’s a cow in front of my building.

I know what you’re thinking. “Ha ha Chrissie, very funny, April Fools to you too.” But I’m serious. There’s a cow in front of my building. Actually, it may be a bull. It has udders and horns. Since I’m not up on my bovine anatomy, you’ll have to forgive my confusion. But I swear, it’s standing right outside my office door.

Laura, my co-worker, refused to believe me. I had to walk down to the first floor and out the doors with her and the whole way she kept saying, “I’m not falling for this.” Of course, once she saw the bull/cow, she changed her tune.

Greg, our assistant, says they are all over downtown. He saw another one lying down up the street. I think I may go out for lunch to see how many I can find. Of course, by then the city will probably have removed them all. I, however, think it is a grand joke.

Oh yes, I suppose I should mention that these bulls/cows aren’t alive. No, they aren’t dead carcasses either. They appear to be very realistic looking sculptures that, when tapped, sound hollow. They are also all decorated differently. The bull/cow outside my building has skin made of dollar bills and the inside of it’s nostrils are paved with dollar signs. The one up the street has a golden head and its body is swirl of laughing faces. They are life sized and very very well done.

I wonder who did them? I’d love to order one for my front yard. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?

Hope you have something strangely wonderful happen today as well. Who knows, maybe this bull/cow thing is nationwide. Keep you eyes open......

Have discovered the source of the cows - kowsforkids. Can't wait for the auction. Wonder what a fake plastic cow sells for these days.....

My friend, Laura, sent me this joke. Finally, a lawyer joke that doesn't involve snakes, sharkes or killing lawyers......

Two physicians boarded a flight out of Seattle. One sat in the
window seat, the other sat in the middle seat. Just before
takeoff, an attorney got on and took the aisle seat next to the
two physicians. They introduced themselves and settled
back for the flight.

The attorney kicked off his shoes, wiggled his toes and was
settling in when the physician in the window seat said," I think
I'll get up and get a coke."

"No problem," said the attorney, "I'll get it for you."

While he was gone, one of the physicians picked up the attorney's
shoe and spat in it.

When he returned with the coke, the other physician said, "That
looks good, I think I'll have one too."

Again, the attorney obligingly went to fetch it and while he was
gone, the other physician picked up the other shoe and spat in
it. The attorney returned and they all sat back and enjoyed the
flight. As the plane was landing, the attorney slipped his feet
into his shoes and knew immediately what had happened.

"How long must this go on?" he asked. "This fighting between our
professions? This hatred? This animosity? This spitting in
shoes and pissing in cokes?"

So yesterday I quit my job.

Ok, I suppose that isn’t totally true since I am sitting here in my office surrounded by paperwork that needs to get done. But I did have a strangely surreal talk with my bosses yesterday who, after the initial shock of it all, were very kind. As most of you know, I’ve been bitten by the restless bug. There’s been a change brewing in the air for quite a while now and I just haven’t been able to put my finger on it. Then, things sort of crystalized and I realized that I wanted to try something different. What is that you ask? I have no idea. All I know is I’m not happy where I am so I’m going to go somewhere else.

I know this is slightly crazy but I’ve always been one to leap first and look later. I mean, I enrolled at Lewis & Clark law school without a visit or even the foggiest idea of what Portland was like and now, I love it. It was one of the best leaps of faith I have ever made. I think sometimes you just have to resign yourself to the hands of something greater and believe the best will happen.

Actually. I am seriously toying with the idea of hanging out my own shingle and taking a stab at the law firm of McLaughlin and Associates. Of course, there wouldn’t be any other associates so I guess it’d be called Law Office of Christine McLaughlin. Not a bad ring, eh? But that’s all down a very long road. Right now, I have to figure out how to close down four years of work and put years of knowledge onto paper and into files.

One of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, once said life is like driving at night. You can only see as far ahead as your headlights but you can make the whole journey that way. So right now, I can see about six feet of road. Once I’m through that distance, I’ll move on to the next.

And yes, I will post every square foot of my journey here. Anyone want a lift?

I have spent all day trying to get stuff out of my office and it appears to have backfired. Papers are everywhere, files willy-nilly and I have no idea how to tackle this mountain.

Last night, while watching West Wing, there was this commercial for financial planning. A professionally dressed woman is cleaning out her office with her husband. Picking up awards and nick-nacks and putting in into a box whistling a happy tune. Her husband says something along the lines of... 14 years of work and it all fits into one box. She takes one last happy look at her now clean office, hits the lights, and strolls down the stairs with a box that looks like it weights .5 pounds.

Something is seriously wrong because I have only been here four years, but I have already filled five boxes full of very heavy stuff. Where does it all come from? Some stuff, I can only look at and wonder - what on earth possessed me to bring a pizza cutter to work. But there it is, in my desk drawer buried under 12 bottles of lotion. (Strangely enough, I never recall noticing my skin being dry at work but it must be. How else to explain the myriad of creme in the back drawer of my desk?)

I figure I'll have to pace myself and rather than jump in the middle, I'm going to work methodically from one corner of my desk, inch by inch, to the other. After that, I tackle my computer. Just the thought of having to print out and file all the stuff I've collected over the last few years gives me the heeby-geebies.

May have to enslave Kevin and come in over a weekend. Wonder how much U-Hauls are renting for these days.....

It’s Friday and there’s finally a new Farscape on tonight. This makes me very happy. Of course, all this week it has been beautiful. Yesterday it was blue skies and 75 degrees out. Today, rainy with a high of 56. And, of course, the rain will stick around all weekend and only decide to clear out on Monday.

This fact is tempered by the knowledge that soon the distinction between a weekend and a work day will disappear for me. Then I won’t be stuck behind a desk watching a beautiful day fade away. Sigh.

(I think someone is sneaking into my office and adding new papers on my desk. Grrrr. Am making no headway what-so-ever. At this rate, will finally be free sometime in the year 2010.)

Friday Five

1. What are the first things that you do in the morning to start your day?

When I wake up, the first thing I have to do is get the dog off of me. For reasons I don’t understand, he loved to sneak up onto the bed in the morning and lie right on top of my legs. Not Kevin's legs. Mine. Please understand that he is very very fat (over 80 lbs) so the act of removing myself from my own bed is difficult. I think he secretly hopes that if he pins my legs down, I won’t be able to leave the house and then he can spend all day snoozing on the bed.

2. What are the last things that you do at night before going to bed?

I have to check the doors. All three, (front, side & back) to make sure they are locked. Kevin is constantly wandering in and out of the house willy-nilly. I have read far too many mystery novels for my own good and am convinced someone is going to sneak up stairs and smother me if I leave the doors unlocked. So I always check. There is nothing creepier than going downstairs in the morning and seeing that the door was unlocked all night. My over active imagination goes into overdrive and I envision people hiding in my closet and waiting until Kevin leaves before they jump out and get me. Gives me the heeby-jeebies.

3. What daily routine have you recently added to your day?

I have started sweeping the floors almost daily. Take three furry animals and add warm weather. You’ll end up with so much hair lying around the house, you’ll be able to stuff a queen sized down comforter at the end of the week. The only way to stay on top of the situation is a) Nair your pets or b) sweep. The little buggers have learned to run and hid when they see me coming with the pink bottle of Nair so I’m reduced to sweeping.

4. What routine do you wish you get rid of?

Having to wake up every day before noon. That just sucks.

5. What's the one thing that makes you feel like something is missing if you don't do it some point within your day?

Checking the mail. I love getting mail even if it’s just credit card offers. My day isn’t right unless I check the mail box. It’s like getting little presents wrapped in white envelopes. Makes me happy. If Kevin ever gets home before me and gets the mail I feel off balance. Like I missed something. I guess I’m just a strange duck.

On Saturday, I woke up at the ungodly hour of 9am, plodded down the stairs to the coffee pot, looked out the kitchen window and saw a moose eating garbage out of our neighbor’s trash can.

Well, technically, it wasn’t a moose moose. It was just a really big dog but he could have passed for a baby cariboo. Think Marmaduke meets black lab. He was a giant black lab mix that made Artie look like a poodle. I had Kevin head out to shoo him off and clean up all the spilled garbage on the sidewalk since it was early and our neighbors didn’t appear to be stirring yet. The moose dog grabbed a bag of Tostidos and wandered into our yard where he proceeded to get sick. I guess he had gotten into something spoiled during his trash diet.

I am a sucker for lost dogs and sick lost dogs are more than I can bear. They just tug at my heart and I’m always trying to save them which drives Kevin nuts. (I think he has visions of me being mauled by stray rabid canines. What a worry wart!) So when this poor giant wandered into my yard, I grabbed Artie’s bowl, filled it with some good old dog food and headed outside. I figure, Artie could spare a cup full of grub and this guy needed a good meal.

I approached slowly, using my sweetest dog voice, and he watched me. A little scared but his tail was going a mile a minute and at the sight of the dog dish, he rush up to me, his whole body wagging. While he ate, I checked him out. Collar but no tag. Coat shiny and unmatted, feet very clean. Although he was hungry, he clearly hadn’t been on the street long. So I lured him into the back yard while Kevin called the Humane Society. Of course, they didn’t do pick ups on weekends and weren’t even open until 11 for drop offs.

Artie, meanwhile, was inside going crazy. Some strange dog was eating out his *his* bowl, being talked to in the sweet voice, and getting lots of pets. Poor fat sausage eventually planted himself on the sofa and started to howl in despair. On his best days, Artie is only mildly social toward other dogs and today was not one of them.

We decided our best bet was to hit the pavement so we hooked the moose up to a leash and started wandering around the blocks. We asked everyone we passed if he looked familiar but no luck. The moose dog was, fortunately, very friendly and insisted on getting rubbed by every stranger we met. He was a bit of a leaper as well which proved problematic since, on his hind legs, he could look you in the eye and seemed to just love slobbering you right in the face. Crazy moose dog.

When our stroll produced no results, our neighbor recommended calling local vets to see if anyone had reported a missing dog. I tried the big ones around us without success but left my name and number just in case. When 10:30 rolled around, we decided to take him to the pound and have him scanned for a micro chip on the off chance that he lost his tags but was registered to someone. A little nervous as how he’d react to a car ride (and the fact that his digestive system was not function too well), Kevin swathed the backseat with blankets and we loaded up the moose dog. He traveled like a pro and everyone at the pound fell in love with him at first sight. They were a little knocked out by his size but he was so sweet you didn’t seem to mind. after a while Unfortunately, he wasn’t microchiped so, with a sad heart, we had to leave him there with the hope that whoever owned him would come and claim him.

He was so sad to see us go it broke my heart but Kevin was tough and we walked away. I was heartbroken until, Sunday afternoon, I received a frantic call from a woman three streets down. Her son had lost his dog, Rocky, and she got our name from the vet hospital I had called. She described him as black and huge which was definitely my moose. I gave her his process information with a happy heart. I was relieved Rocky was going home, and Kevin was relieved that he wouldn’t have to adopt another dog.

So next time I’m walking the pooch, I’m going to go by her house just to see if I can catch a glimpse of the moose and say hi.

Last night we hit the store for our weekly food run. I guess they weren’t expecting too many shoppers at 10pm on a Monday because they were very short handed and only had a few check stands open. Luckily, both Kevin and I are easily entertained while waiting in line. Kevin was mesmerized by the magazine covers and was happily reading about Cindy Crawford’s husband cheating with a college co-ed. Kevin’s response to the story was to ask me why do they call female college students co-eds? I had no answer so I distracted him with the startling headline declaring Martha Steward has a mean side.

Meanwhile, I was people watching. I was casually checking out what the person in front of me was buying and, after she cleared out, turned my attention to the girl behind me. I think you could almost make up a story from what she had on the checkout pad.

1 box of fruit roll-ups (strawberry flavor)
1 generic brand pregnancy test
1 package of Trojan condoms

Talk about groceries speaking louder than words. Ok, the fruit roll-ups weren’t all that revealing. In truth they were being used to cover the other two items but my prying little eyes managed to peer under the Nabisco box.

The way I see it, a pregnancy test itself can go either way. It could be, “oh I hope it’s yes” or a “please God let it be a no.” Sitting by itself on the checkout pad, I figure I have a 50/50 chance of calling it. Usually, if it’s a young woman with no ring, I decide it’s probably a “no” but you never can tell.

But throw down a pack of Trojans next to the test, and it’s pretty clear what’s going on. I’m thinking she was relying on a “no” pretty badly. Probably had a little talk with the Divine power along the lines of....”if you’ll just let me off easy this time, I swear I will be extra careful from here on out.” Kevin, ever the economist, said he would have just bought the test because, if the result was positive, he wouldn’t be out for a pack of now useless Trojans.

Of course, I could be wrong. She could be buying stuff for a sister or mother or friend. I find, though, it’s the people who only buy two or three items that are the most interesting. I mean, you aren’t going to drive to the store and stand in line for one item unless you really need it, right? I think my strangest express purchase was a bottle of wine, duraflame log, and toilet paper. Yup, I sure know how to put together one wild night of romance.

So next time you’re in the express line with a plunger, bottle of Drano, and grapes, look around because odds are pretty good you’ll find me scrutinizing your purchase and wondering, “why grapes?”

How to Laugh by Baby Dan.

My office is strangely quiet. The walls are almost empty, my desk has these big shiny empty spots, the shelves hold a few dog eared phone books, and my drawers hold only the essentials. Pen, paperclips, post-it notes. Gone are the coffee mugs, certificates, photos, lotion bottles, and pizza cutter. It has a surreal, twilight zone feeling really. I hardly recognize it as my office anymore. I guess because those things that made it mine are now gone.

So tomorrow is it. The last hurrah, the final push. The light at the end of the tunnel is going to hit me right smack in the face. I’m so excited.

Kevin has already started pulling attitude though. Last night, after dinner, I reminded him, “I cooked so you clean.”

“No way, you’re quitting next week and I’m going to have to work so you get to clean.”

I gave him my “wonder how fast the life insurance check will get here after I bury him in the backyard” gaze and he quickly began loading the dishwasher.

We have agreed, however, that I will take over full laundry duty since it is the No. 1 item of contention in our marriage. I still, however, refuse to iron. Good thing Kev’s an engineer. I think wrinkly, food stained shirts are a requirement of the trade. Which is a good thing ‘cause that’s all Kev owns.

I, however, can’t wait to pack away all my heels and suits and jackets. I plan on spending all day in my pj’s. I’ll scandalize the neighbors who’ll comment amongst themselves, “I think she’s been wearing that same t-shirt all week. She used to be such a pretty girl but now, tsk, tsk, tsk. I wonder if she isn’t slightly, you know, impaired? In the head? And her hair! Don’t even get me started.”

Actually, I am very nice neighbors who, oddly enough, are all retired so I’ll at least have someone to day hello to when I wander out to the front porch around noon to pick up the paper before making breakfast. Hey, someone has to provide scandal for the neighborhood. Might as well be me & my well worn pj’s!

Had a very nice lunch with the my bosses and co-workers and it made me a bit sad. These are people I’ve seen almost every day for four years and now, after today, I’ll only see them on the rare occasion when our paths cross. Don’t get me wrong, the idea of not working for a while makes me very happy. But I’d be lying if I said I won’t miss it.

I think it’s just this empty office that has got me sort of glum. I’m sure, come Monday morning, when it dawns on me that I don’t have to get up, I’ll be back to my normal happy self. But it will be odd.

Am down to the last few papers. One last push and I’ll be outta here!

My first day of freedom got off to a rocky start. You see, I envisioned myself rising from a restful slumber around...oh...eleven o’clock, wandering downstairs where I’d let the dog in and prepare a delicious brunch of fresh fruits and crispy bacon. Then I’d peruse the newspaper before dressing for the day. Sounds lovely, right? Well, Artie wasn’t informed of this plan. He had his own plans. They went something like this.

Wake up with Dad at 7:15. Get fed and put in backyard. Hear dad drive off in car. Don’t hear second car or mom leaving as usual. This means mom is being a lazy butt so I’ll just plant myself right under her window and bark....bark....bark....bark....bark....whine (for variety)....bark....bark... Well, look at that! There’s mom, opening up the door for me. Man, she doesn’t look so good. Wait a minute, where’s she going? Back upstairs? Hmmm, this isn’t part of the plan. Lets follow her and make sure she’s up. Ah ha! Just as I expected, she’s back in bed. Man, you can’t leave your people unattended for one minute. Lets see... Make sure I get a running start and... slam... Hm, covers over head now. Lets try this again. Back up, and....slam. Ha! Now she’s sitting up and throwing books at me. This is progress. Well just.....dodge...here....and slam . That did it. I have the art of bed slamming down! Ok, getting clothes, that’s good, lets just push her down the stairs a little, great, now we’re moving! Shoes, that’s good. Now for the leash, yup, and the treats, don’t forget the treats lady! Jeez, that was close. Alright! We’re off on our walk!

And so, at the bright and early hour of 8:30am I found myself being dragged around the block by my stupid dog. Grrrrr. He’s now curled up at my feet sleeping. Right when he looks like he’s having a really good dream, I like to poke him.

Hey, turn about is fair play, right???

I tried a new plan today.

It failed. Have decided I have two choices. 1) Wake every frelling morning at 8:30am or 2) return pets to the pound. Just thought I’d jot down a quick entry before I load up the annoyants since the animal shelter doesn’t open until 11:30am.

Last night, I explained my situation to Kevin and we worked out a new plan. Kev was going to get up and head to work without feeding the dog or putting him out. Instead, he was going to move Artie up onto the bed in the hopes that he’d be content to sleep in with me. This part of the plan worked brilliantly. Artie popped up on the bed, Kevin left, and I sank back into peaceful slumber with dreams of arising around....oh, elevenish, floating downstairs where I’d feed the dog and let him out for his morning routine while I fried up some sausages and drank espresso.

At 8:30am, the plan went horribly wrong. I had forgotten one very important (and loud) factor. Fatty cat. For reason I cannot explain, Fatty decided she wanted to get fed this morning and so, at 8:30am, she planted her big fat butt on the upstairs railing (well, mostly one with some chubs hanging over the side) and began to cry.

meow (feed me)......Meow (Feed Me).....MEEEEEOOOOOOW (FEEEED ME NOW DAMNIT!!!)

At 8:45, I was firmly buried under blanket and pillows trying to hide from that piercing cry. Artie, however, had enough. With an audible sigh, he jumped from the bed and walked over the Fatty who meowed in his face. He replied with a growl that even I could understand meant, “shut up and go away, we’re trying to sleep”. Fatty refused to be bullied by a dog and returned a growl all of her own. Artie, who isn’t a morning dog in the first place, took his big old nose and poked her in the butt. Fatty returned the poke with a swipe across the nose. Next thing I know, there’s barking and snapping, hissing and swiping.

I just gave up and got out of bed.

This is tough. I mean, on a normal work day, I’d go to my little coffee shop on the way to work and they’d see me and smile. “Good morning!” they’d cry, “the usual?” And before I knew it I had a cup of hot coffee and a croissant in my hand. Even on weekends, I knew I could wake to a pot of brewed coffee and Kevin burning pancakes in the late morning/early afternoon.

Now, nothing. I come downstairs to an empty coffee pot and I have to not only make my own but then cook my own breakfast. This whole life of leisure thing is turning out to be tougher than I thought. And it gets worse. After breakfast, I have to make my own lunch! Phew, just thinking about it tires me out. Maybe I’ll go join the dog on the sofa for a quick nap....

Animals......grrrrr.

Actually, this time it’s partly my fault. Last night I made this very yummy pork chop casserole. We were munching away and poor Artie was watching us with his big brown puppy dog eyes with rivers of drool slowing puddling around his feet. Ok, the drool part wasn’t so cute but his little puppy face was heartbreaking so Kevin and I gave him our pork chop bones.

I don’t know what we were thinking. Maybe that, like a normal dog, he’s just chew on it for a while and then leave it on the sofa. But no, not our wonder pooch. He actually ate the whole thing.

Now here’s a good lesson for you. Dogs can eat raw bones just fine. (I guess their soft enough to digest or something.) However, they cannot - repeat CANNOT - digest cook bones. Of course, neither Kevin nor I realized this until early this morning when the bones reemerged in a pile of bile. Kevin took puke round #1 and then had to leave for work. I’ve covered round #2 and #3 and am hoping that’s the end of it. Poor puppy looks just miserable.

And so, I am wide awake at 9am with a bottle of 409 and a roll of paper towels following around my sick dog.

Grrrrrrr.

Finally, the plan worked! The dog didn’t bark or barf, the cats didn’t meow or hiss, and I was able to sleep like the princess I am until 10am. Simply wonderful.

My extra sleep energized me and not only have I walked the dog but I have figured out how to download pics from our camera and built a bird house. All in about 2 hours. How cool am I?

So, here for your viewing pleasure is the slide show of my life.......

First, may I present to you, the fish drink bowl.

Yes, this is what poor Charlie has to put up with on a daily basis. My crazy cats have two separate fresh water bowls but no, they prefer fish water. Personally, I think they are hoping for a little munchy along with the water but Charlie is no dumb fish. So far, he’s survived.

Next, I would like to re-visit a topic of ire. That’s right. Laundry. In an attempted to hold our tattered marriage together, I agreed to take over all laundry duties. (Except ironing - a girl has to have her standards.) Little did I know that waiting for me in the basement was the leaning tower of dirty clothes. See exhibit A.

When questioned, Party B broke down and confessed. He had stopped doing laundry weeks ago. Oh sure, he’d gather together the dirty clothes, but put them in the wash? Nope. Instead they were just piled in the basement. Waiting. The picture doesn’t do this pile justice. There are, easily, 10-12 loads here. Sigh. I did manage, however to catch the culprit in the act. Grrrr.

And finally, the birdhouse. Kevin found a huge bag of birdseed over the weekend that I have no memory of buying and I saw this in the paper this morning. All you need is a milk or OJ carton, a wire coat hanger, scissors, birdseed and voila! Instant feeding station.

I suppose you could paint it or spruce it up but it’s still raining here so I though I’d let to go. Don’t want to get too ambitious.

And, finally, in parting I offer you a Poocheese shot. He’s my new bud and is loving the fact that there is now someone home to feed him all day. Gotta love this dog.

Oh yes, thismade me laugh. I’m thinking my garden may just need a gnome or two....

Just for a little perspective, there were three, maybe four loads of laundry there. And the pile stems from the same basic issue of: "the laundry must be piping hot" in order to be folded by said wife in exhibit E. Which, when you include washing and drying times leaves laundry to be done on Saturdays between 12 - 8pm (prime gardening time by exhibit E).

Kevin has been working on more Baby D pics for your viewing enjoyment. I can't believe that in a mere 5 days I will have that little bundle of chubs in my greedy smurf hands. It's all so very exciting.

I have developed sewing thumb however from trying to finish my baby quilt in time. It's so soft and cuddly, I'm sometimes tempted to keep it for myself!

3 to 4 loads? Um, I think not.

Seeing as you will soon be doing all the laundry you'll know that is really only 5 loads not 9 :)

So I’m 29. Ick. That would, however, explain the grey hair and inability to stay awake past midnight. Sigh. All I have left to look forward to now is flabby underarms and a sagging butt.

Hold on, dog is barking. Be right back.

Sorry about that but today is “work on the roof” day in my neighborhood. I guess I missed that memo. The house behind mine is getting a new roof so they are up there ripping off the old shingles and my next door neighbor is having her chimney repaired to they’re out there spraying sealant and other good stuff. Poor Artie is totally freaked out. Seeing people walking around on the roof drives him batty. Guess it just doesn’t look natural to him. So this morning, when they climbed up there at 8:30 and started ripping away, he went into super bark mode and hasn’t quite calmed down yet.

But I had a wonderful birthday. I am now the proud owner of a flat screen monitor, ice cream makers, and stepping stone kit. Oh yes, Beanie sent me the cutest koi lantern. I think it’s suppose to be hung but I like it better nestled next to the pond. I snapped a pic for your viewing pleasure and yes, that’s the dumb dog drinking the stagnant pond water. Makes picking up the poop oh so pleasurable. Grrrrr.

This day is just flying by. Already 1pm and I haven’t even managed to get out of my PJ’s yet. But hey, it’s Monday and Mondays are always tough. I figure, tomorrow, I should be dressed by at least 11am. I know, I’m pushing it, but I’m just a livin’-on-the-edge type girl.

Don’t work too hard!

I learned two very important lessons today. First, my neighbors cheat. Second, the post office at 11am on Wednesday is a wonderful experience. I know both of these facts are very shocking and I apologize in advance.

Yesterday, I took the pooch on our afternoon walk a little later than normal. As we strolled down the streets, I felt that familiar cloud of envy and self-loathing settle around me. I walked down my street, looking at perfect green lawns, perky flowers free of pests, and rounded healthy bushes. Every step I took had me doing a mental comparison. My roses were small with only three slug eaten buds - this house had a huge bush bursting with flowers. My lawn had bare spots and moss. That one could have been used as a putting green. It was horrible. And then I turned the corner and there they were.

Gardeners.

Yes, you heard me. Gardeners. Professional gardeners no less. There were groups of five or six working on a single lawn. Fertilizing, pulling weeds, pruning bushes, and deadheading flowers. Up and down the street, as far as the eye could see, they were out in full force. When they saw me, I think they looked rather guilty. They wouldn’t meet my eye and hurried back to their trucks. (Of course, Artie was doing his best to eat them so I suppose that could have explained why they ran.)

I suddenly felt the spring ease back into my step as I realized the reason my lawn looks so horrid in comparison is not because I am a lazy gardener. Oh no, the fact that I forget to water, weed only once a month, and prune like a blind person suddenly meant nothing. I realized, I was an amateur competing with professionals! Of course my yard sucks. That’s cause it’s just me working on it. It’s like taking a high school basketball player and throwing them into the NBA. Of course they’d get trampled.

I can’t wait for the weekend when my sly neighbors are “working” in their yard. Now, I can walk by and hold my head high knowing it’s all a fiction. While they gather their perfect flowers to arrange in stunning crystal vases, I can take pride in my single slug eaten bloom thank you very much.

And as for the post office, it was wonderful. I walked in to no line. The teller was friendly and joked. He actually laughed. I swear. It was surreal. Usually, I’d go to the post office only when absolutely necessary since I had to do so on a weekend. I’d end up in a line that wrapped around the building filled with screaming kids and people who have never heard of deodorant. At the front, there’d be five or six stations, only two of which were open. One would have an old man trying to mail a package he wrapped with scotch tape (which causes postal workers to have a fit). The other would have a lady with 50 boxes all going somewhere different. Makes you want to pull your own teeth out.

So you can imagine my surprise when I went this morning and found myself laughing with the teller like we’re old friends. If I never go to the post office on a weekend again I’ll be overjoyed.

Oh yes, my new bud behind the counter informs me that stamps are going up on June 20th to .37 cents. Grrrr. I still have .32 stamps I haven’t used. Very grumpy.

I am back home in PV again. This place is like a strange time warp where nothing changes. My room still holds my old paperbacks, the same old glasses are in the same cupboard, and my parents still don't have cable. It's a very strange trip back to the 80's.

Tomorrow is the big day when I get my greedy smurf hands on that cubby BabyD. I'm so excited it's like Christmas Eve. I'm convinced the sooner I go to bed, the sooner I'll be in San Diego. The bad news is that the rain has followed me here. Yes, I come all the way to LA and it's overcast, windy, and cold. Grrrr. Very unfair!

Checked in with Kev who informs me that the dog won't eat and is moping around the house missing me. Kevin, however, seemed quite chipper. I am conviced, however, that when I return on Sunday, all my plants will be dead, my fish will be floating, and the house will be littered with pizza boxes and empty cans. Actually, as I left, I told Kevin, "don't forget to feed the fish." To which he replied, "we have a fish??" Yes, this is my life.

So that's all for now. I'm going to curl up on the bunkbeds, read the old signatures, and dream of fat little baby legs. (I really am rather strange.)

Ack! I forgot to feed the fish! ... Ok. Little Charlie looked somewhat thinner than I remember but at least he's full now. How much do you feed him again? Oh well, he'll either be one plump pisces or one floating fin by the time you get back.

Have fun in SD.

ps - I unclogged the sink ;)

Pooka Jones' Diary

Day #1

Bugger, dumped far too much tiny little fish food into sad Charlie's bowl. Will have to feign ignorance when bloody thing turns bottom's up Monday.

Ate lasagna for dinner (again). Can't quite get hang of micro-something or other. Either over cook dish and end up eating runny cheese noodle thing or under cook it and bite into ice cold pasta blah. Will either figure it out for lunch tomorrow or lose 5 lbs from starvation. Might have to break down and go for burrito binge at local taqueria.

Dog is still moping around house. Every time I try and play with pooch he just looks at me and says, "mom was much more fun than you, dad." What does the frelling cheez want? Maybe needs another walkie in the pouring rain again. Oh joy must put on wool socks.

Doing friend thing with Josh & Kat tomorrow. Just another reminder that wife is living large down in sunny SD. Hmm, that reminds me, I must remember to do laundry tomorrow. Have no clean nickers.

Right, Farscape on in a few minutes. Banger and all that Aerun girl is crackie. Mental note, must put another shrimp on the barbie tomorrow.

Cheers

Oh dear. I appear to have left my copy of Bridget Jones' Diary in the bathroom and it seems Kevin has gotten to it. At least, I think he's being british. Or it's australian. With Kevin, it's hard to tell.

After one day with Baby D, I can confirm that he is as cute (if not cuter) than in the pictures. Actually, it isn't his cuteness so much as his size that hits you. This kid is
B-I-G. We're talking one giant mound of sweet, soft, smoshy, baby fat. When Suzy changes his diaper, she has to hold his leg chub out of the way, fasten the tabs, and then artfully drape the baby fat around the diaper line. I am not even kidding about this. Even his feet are fat. Don't know how that's possible but it is.

He is a remarkable calm and sweet baby and even the invasion of his house by strangers didn't seem to phase him. He just watched us and smiled and smiled and smiled. So sweet it's almost unbearable. I just want to smoosh him. Am working very hard to control that impusle. I'm taking lots of pictures and will post them soon so you can see the baby and his auntie. We look alike with our pug noses and chubby cheeks.

Have I mentioned that this kid is cute?

The little baby is crying. We wore him out with all the kisses and pinching today and now he’s tired and just can’t fall asleep. It must take a lot of energy to be that cute so I don’t blame him for needing his cutie rest. They tell me he woke up last night but I didn’t hear a thing. Personally, I think he is an angle boy. So sweet and mild tempered, he’ll just lie by you and watch you talk or work with the utmost interest. He’s quite an observer this one. Even something boring like a spot on the ceiling will capture his attention for minutes on end.

The best part of the day was went Baby D giggled. His first giggle and I was there to witness it. Now, you must understand that this boy loves his father. When Big D comes into the room, Little D just can’t stop smiling. Big D was explaining to his son that tomorrow the Padres are going to have a double header which meant 6 hours of back to back baseball action. This news made Little D so happy, he added a little giggle to his giant smile. Dan looked at me, I looked at Dan, and we were astounded. He giggled! Of course, he then promptly developed the hiccups from all the double header excitement which pretty much ruled out any possibility of a giggle repeat. But I did get to witness baby history. Yes!

Called home and Kevin is not there. I figure he’s probably driving around looking for a pet store that sells red beta fish. You see, I dreamed about Toaster Struedels which, as everyone knows, means a fish death in the family so I’m not holding out much hope for every seeing the real Charlie again.

Maybe tomorrow, Baby D will take his first step or say my name. How cool would that be?!?!

I am going through Baby D withdrawal and it's bad. Poor Artie is cowering behind the sofa and both cats shot through the pet door and out to freedom hours ago. They all seem terrified of the idea of me snuggling them any more but I can't help myself.

I have just a few pics from my parents camera for your enjoyment. First, feast your eyes on Baby D and Auntie Chrissie. I know he looks a little scared in this picture but there was a noise outside or something. He loved being held by me. Honestly! He especially loved being smooshed. Again, there's that wierd look on his face. Don't ask me why.

Finally, here he is on his new baby quilt. Yes, there is in infamous baby quilt that nearly caused me to go blind. It was, however, fun to do and I can't wait for another baby so I can try my hand on another design. There's a better picture of the quilt somewhere but I can't quite seem to find it.

The trip seemed far too short really. I already miss that smooth baby cheek and the smell of baby power on fine hair. Definately going to be visiting SD again soon. Don't worry, there are about 50 more pictures on the way so come back soon!

I have decided to give my house a make over. Starting from the top and moving to the basement. Each week, I’ll tackle another room with no short cuts. I’m notorious for stuffing loose ends into closets and drawers believing that if it is out of sight, I won’t have to worry about it. Of course, this makes it very difficult to find anything in our house and opening closet doors is quite a hazard.
So this week is upstairs bedroom week. Yesterday, I pulled out all my winter/fall clothing and replaced it with my spring/summer stuff. Then, as if by magic, I got a call from a local charity saying their truck would be in the area to pick up any clothing donations. How weird it that??? So now I’m going to weed through my clothes looking for donations.

Of course, I hate the weeding process. My technique is to pile all of the out of season clothes on my bed. The obvious keepers go straight into a storage box but there are always questionables. Things you bought but never wear, items that are now worn out or out of style and, my least favorite, items that have mysteriously shrunk. (No snide comments please!) And so I’ll probably spend a good afternoon trying on jeans and skirts, tops and slacks, keeping those that still fit and look ok and passing on the items that I no longer need.

And my shoes! I had no idea how many pairs of shoes I owned. I’m embarrassed to admit to the actual number but it’s well over 20. And even though I know I won’t wear them all, I just can’t seem to get rid of any of them. I think I could have some kind of shoe disorder. Judging from the numbers in my closet, it appears to be rather advanced.

So I figure my house has seven rooms (not counting the bathrooms or laundry area). By my calculations, I should have this place in tip-top shape around, oh, mid June. Of course, that assumes that I can clean a room a week. As it is already Tuesday and I’m not even done with my first closet yet, that may be an unrealistic expectation!