Find the Smoking Toaster

First and foremost, a big sloppy wet welcome to my 9th follower, Jessica! Hola Hessica! One person closer to double digits. Feels good.

Anyway, if there was a theme for this week it would be....fire. Why? Indulge me to explain.

I was toasting an English muffin in our toaster oven on Monday when I suddenly noticed smoke building inside. Not inside our house, but inside the toaster. It had only been going for a few seconds, but still I turned the timer to 0. I was disappointed, as I hadn't anything else to eat for breakfast and I was already running late. I peered inside to see if a random crumb was on the heater bars when I noticed something that looked like burnt cheese on them instead. I suddenly recalled Joe saying he heated up some pizza the other night and assumed some of it's cheese had dripped off without his noticing.

I considered just going to work without breakfast, but worried I'd get into trouble with food the rest of the day. Quick side note: I heard someone use an old adage that said, "Breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, dinner like a pauper." It does make sense as a diet plan, sort of. If you are full in the morning you are less likely to overeat the rest of the day. However, when I think of eating alot in the morning my mind goes to making things like eggs and bacon; surely not what dietitians had in mind. So then what constitutes a big meal? A really big bagel? Two bowls of oatmeal? It's almost an oxymoron: eat alot of not alot. The only way I could reason in my head was by having a small bowl of cereal with a bread of some kind. Not sure if I'm getting any fitter, but I do find my mealtimes require less binge-eating.

Anyway, back to my toaster and English muffin. I didn't want it barely touched by heat, but I also didn't want to waste it. In the end, I popped it back in for a shorter amount of time and just watched. Sure enough, within a few seconds, the thing started smoking again. I waited as long as I thought safe and then turned it back off again. It had just crossed the not-toasted to toasted line, albeit barely. I slathered on some butter and peanut butter and made do. For the rest of the day I would get a dry charcoal taste in my mouth that reminded me of hamburgers. Not really a pleasant taste at 9:45 a.m.

The next day I opted instead to just buy a bagel from the kiosk in our office library. The guy behind the counter asked if I wanted him to heat it up for me.

"No thanks," I said. "I'll just pop it in the toaster oven in our office."

Back in our communal kitchen I broke the two halves apart and set them in the toaster. While I was getting some water I looked back and noticed the same exact smoke starting to billow. Although I was surprised at the odds of two toasters in my life starting to smoke, I was more panicked at getting in trouble with my co-workers. I could see the forwarded CC message now...

"To whoever was the dumbass who set fire to the kitchen: Can you go ahead and NOT do that? We here at ******* appreciate an unburnt kitchen but don't appreciate irresponsible temps using bagels as charcoal briquettes."

I quickly stopped the timer again, and waited till the smoke had seeped and slipped out before pulling out my, once again, barely heated breakfast bread.

Finally, today, as I decided to neither use my own toaster nor test the toaster in our office kitchen, I stopped at your favorite neighborhood McDonalds for my breakfast. A few hours later as I sat at my computer desk we were suddenly overcome by piercing buzzes and flashing lights. An unexpected fire drill was sounding, and as we all listlessly gathered our belongings and dared each other to take off for the rest of the day, I couldn't help but imagine some poor schlep was inside trying desperately to put out the flames of their Toaster Strudel.

I'm off to a wedding tomorrow night, folks, so have a good one! See you back on Monday!

Boo X 2

Jeez, I was just rereading what I had written back on Monday to realize where my story left off, and was taken aback by all my typos. For shame, me! What would other half-assed-barely legitimate-former English teachers like you say? I apologize to the actual English teachers out there for my glaring inaccuracies. Anyway, let me bang the rest of this story out...

So there I was, on the line, with no looking back. As we climbed onto the bus and found some seats, the same guy with the elaborate make-up stood up to tell us the rules.

"Please do not touch the monsters as they are not allowed to touch you.." I heard the word "monster" and I suddenly slipped down into my seat, shaking. I know this probably sounds a little melodramatic, but I couldn't help my reaction. I was silent for the whole 45 seconds we were on the bus, and as we started to disembark I briefly considered making a run to the nearest bar to wait for the rest, calling my apologies out over my shoulder. Instead, I knew I was in it. I'd have no choice but to go forward.

Thankfully, the girls were great about calming me down, although I had a slight panic when they led me over to sign a waiver. Yeah, a waiver!? I barely put my pen to the paper, suddenly terrified. Carly led me back towards the line, and as we waited to get in I noticed a girl of about 7 or 8 coming out of the attraction. She was talking excitedly to her family members or friends, and seemed overall unharmed.

I suddenly jolted back in my memories, recalling the time my sisters and I were in Magic Kingdom the last time and they were dragging me onto the Haunted Mansion ride. I was quite literally pitching a fit, when they beseeched the man at the door of the ride to simply tell me it was ok, and not that scary. He looked us over, with his pale made-up face, and said in his spookiest voice, "I wouldn't go in there, if I were yoooou." Thanks alot, Casper. Way to earn that theater internship and complimentary Disney stock.

I was still freaking out, until we noticed several kids, much younger than I, talking about how they had been on the Haunted Mansion ride a bunch of times. Suddenly, one of my sisters turned to me and said, "Really? These kids could be on an elementary school trip and YOU'RE freaking out?" That shut me up. Save a few whimpers, anyway.

I felt exactly as foolish then as I did now on that line. Except I was much older. And the kids looked even younger. I tried to compose myself, but the characters, noticing my fidgety hands and quick screams, found in me an ideal patron: gullible, blind, and already a barrel full of a fear. As we finally made our way into the actual penitentiary, I swear I could hear them whispering to each other in their headsets...

"Glasses, ponytail, and blue sweatshirt. Go go go!" They loved to get right in my ear, breathe on my neck, and wait for me to turn the corner before popping out. Finally as we headed for the last section, the others reminded me to simply avoid eye contact, and then they'd leave you alone. I was glad to listen to this advice, as it did keep them from attacking me full force, as they had on the other three sections.

When we finally made it out, I screamed a sigh of relief. Later on as we were making our way back, the braver and more experienced haunted-house visitors gave their critique.

"That was ok. But if you thought that was scary, you don't want to go to Field of Screams..." You're right, I really don't. I was glad I didn't totally wuss out and make myself an even bigger coward in front of the group. But I'll also be happy to never go to another one of those things again....Which way to the Spinning Teacups and Flight of Peter Pan??

Town-haunted-house?

So that was weird. Maybe I've been watching too much X-files, or maybe it's just the spirit(s) of the season, but I got all kinds of freaked out last night. I'll give you the quick recap and then continue with my description of my trek to Eastern State Penitentiary...

As I was typing last night's post, I was sitting in my living, towel tightly wound around my wet hair, with just the tall living room lamp on. Joe and Georgia had gone up to bed not long ago, and I was on such a roll I figured I'd get up to bed soon myself.

Suddenly I heard what sounded like papers dropping to the floor. I quickly glanced up, and realized it had come from the kitchen. Whereas usually an odd sound will come and go so quickly your mind reasonably dismisses it, the sound lasted a good few seconds. So long in fact, that it freaked me out enough to holler up to Joe a few times. He didn't answer and I was so immediately afraid I quickly finished my sentence and closed down my comp and headed upstairs.

I walked into the bedroom, trying to not wake Joe, but because our floors are all creaky hard wood, it was hard not to. When he told me to come to bed, I asked if he had heard me calling him. He said he didn't though I thought I said it pretty loud. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth when suddenly I heard what sounded like heavy footsteps walking up our stairs. Wanting to finally confirm that I was not crazy I yelled to Joe again.

"Did you hear that??" I asked, with a mouth full of toothpaste.

"I was cracking my ankle," he yelled back.

"No, it sounded like footsteps!"

"I didn't hear anything, but it was probably just the neighbors."

I spat out the foamy paste and rinsed my mouth. "No, it definitely sounded like it was right inside. Right up here."

He said again he didn't hear anything but when I finally came to bed he asked if it sounded like the bed moving. I said it did sound like creaking, so he recreated the motion he had done to crack his ankle. Sure enough, it sounded like creaks I had heard. Although it seemed that the mystery was solved, I still held a smidgen of doubt.

Besides, we've had other kinds weird things happening. Now, it might not seem like much, but all our light bulbs seem to be going out the same time. I guess you could imagine, rationally, that whoever installed the lights might've done so around the same time, so it would make sense for them to go out around the same time. But, as Joe pointed out, we aren't using them all the same amount. Probably nothing, but still kinda weird.

Another kinda scary thing happened yesterday as well. I have a route that Georgia and I take for our run around town. I actually don't mind it, and in some instances look forward to it; there always seems to be something new to see or people to meet. Anyway we were just about winding down when we decided to do a final loop around our block. As we were coming back around all of a sudden a big junkyard-looking dog jumped out, barked and began chasing us. My instincts told me to run, but I recalled something I had seen on "It's Me or the Dog" where Victoria Stillwell said that if a strange dog is coming after you you must remain still. (See, television CAN be educational) Luckily the advice worked like magic; as if broken from a spell the dog suddenly stopped dead in its' tracks and trotted away. I quickly scooped Georgia up and dropped her into the safety of our yard. When I relayed the story to Joe, I suddenly became nervous all over again. I thought I had met all the dogs in the neighborhood, all of which have proven to be quite tame and friendly, and this one looked neither familiar nor friendly. In fact, I didn't even spy a tag on it, so the very presence of a strange dog in a very dog-prevalent neighborhood struck me as unusual.

One of the nice things about living in apartment complexes is that you never really fear the presence of ghosts or lingering spirits, because apartments, for the most part, are for people in transition or in need of temporary lodging. But now that we are living in a townhouse, not to mention one that has been around since the 50s, I guess it's more likely that connections could exist. I dunno, but I do hope that whatever freaky stuff is happening quits it soon. Or, at the latest, November 1st.

Sorry I didn't get around to finishing the Penitentiary story. I'll make that priority numero uno for manana. Until then, g'nite!

Boo Time

Not sure what the hell I did to my format. I was looking at other people's blogs and love how unique they made them so I tried tinkering with it back on Thursday. Unfortunately, I couldn't really figure it out before I decided to close down for the night, so I guess it save whatever changes I made. If anyone has any insight or (the better option) wants to design mine for me, I have a crisp $1 with your name on it. Ok, enough business, onto the blog...

So much happened this weekend that it would probably require multiple posts to get it all, so instead I'll simply recap one momentous and (hopefully) amusing experience.

In case anyone was not aware, Joe and I took a small overnight trip to Philly with our married friends, Shawn and Carly, to experience the Eastern State Penitentary. This came about a few weeks ago while the four of us were out in our yard having a few beers and shooting the shit. Shawn and Carly were discussing their love of a "good scare", especially in the form of local haunted house-productions. You know the kind where people dress up and appear around the corners or pop out of the walls?

They encouraged us to come along with them sometime, at which point I thoroughly, but politely, declined. Moments later they mentioned how they were planning to see the Penitentary at night with a guided tour. For that, my ears pricked up.

"I'd do that!" I exclaimed, trying to regain some bravery-points.

They looked a little puzzled, and asked why I'd be willing to do something based in reality, but not something fake. I tried to rationalize it for them and myself. I guess because I have a profound fascination with history. I love hearing stories and then traveling to those places to see and touch them. Plus, I enjoy the comforting bubble a guided tour offers you. No matter how scary something appears, you can still remind yourself that your in good hands...even if those hands belong to a barely pubescent 17 year old wearing a plastic badge and carrying a cheap flashlight that probably came from a Happy Meal.

They seemed satisfied enough, and with that Carly booked the trip.

As we stood in the long line waiting for our turn to ride the bus that would take us over to the Penitentary, I suddenly noticed an employee walk by wearing some elaborate face-makeup. My heart skipped a beat. All I had kept saying in the car that day was "I really hope it's not one of those pop-out and scare you things...."

Ok, more tomorrow

After School Special Blog

Hum, this stuff on my teeth feels weird. Kinda reminds of when I had my braces and they gave me this clear waxy stuff I used to have to put on my teeth whenever I'd get those sores or blisters inside my mouth from the metal rubbing against my cheeks. It feels like a mix of that and when you stuff gum inside your lip. Anyone else ever do that?

Anyway, I had another visit to the dentist today. Don't worry, I won't bore you with yet another dental-recap. Suffice it to say I was reminded about two things today: 1.) What getting a cavity filled feels like. 2.) I have a small mouth.

The latter was something I never really noticed as a physical trait, but today Dr. Baig was the second dentist to acknowledge. The first was the oral surgeon, who asked me to open up as wide as I could, and when I did so, he said, "Wow, you have a small mouth." Thanks, I guess?

And then today, as Dr. Baig asked the same of me, she mentioned it again.

"Open wide. Ok, that's a wide as you go." It wasn't like a question; it was more stated as a fact. The sky is blue. The economy sucks. Your mouth is small.

But I'll take having the feeling I have gobs of crap on my teeth, so long as it helps the sensitivity. And speaking of sensitivity (call me Sally Segue)...

I am such a whiney pain in the ass. I absolutely can not stop myself from comparing myself to other people, even when it really doesn't matter. Allow me to explain.

So my fremp Alex sent me a link to another blogger's site that she said was really funny. Actually, it was because of Alex and another blog she sent me a link to that got me thinking that I ought to try blogging, myself. I ended up not reading it anymore though. I became paranoid that I'd start to model this thing just like the other one's. But she sent me another one today.

I read it, enjoyed the cartoons that I assume were created by the blogger, and enjoyed the stories as well. Then I happened to look to the side of the blog, and noticed she had over 2,000 followers! She even had some stupid writer's copyright crap that I'm pretty sure was done FOR her.

Don't misunderstand. I freaking literally love ANYONE who bothers to take the time to read this b.s. I blather on about everyday. I am grateful to every last one of you, follower or not.

I don't really know why it bothers me so much. I guess because I like the idea of blogging as a pretty neutral playing field. Anyone who wants to can have a blog and write about anything. There's no real pressure because you aren't competing with anyone. But you are. And I SUCK at competitions. I was so the "thanks, but I think I'll just watch" kind of person growing up, but when you start to do something you like and really want to succeed at it, you are bound to be thrown into competition, because chances are, someone else out there wants your dream for themselves. So I guess the competition is supposed to help you improve and rise to the occasion, or some other after-school special sounding crap.

Anyway, thanks for letting me have my bitch-out. Please, please do not feel the need to soothe my lame ego, but instead leave comments about how you deal with feeling inadequate at times.

Tomorrow's post- "What I Use as a Tissue"

The Maine Event

Holy crap, I completely missed my centennial! Can't believe it's been 100 posts. What the hell have I been talking about all this time? Hopefully something entertaining.

Anyway, I'm on a tight time-restriction. Joe's on his way home from the studio and he insisted that since I used the excuse that I was too tired to watch x-Files last night, I couldn't use it again. I've therefore been ordered to write in the blog right now so we can watch an episode when he gets home.

So what to talk about? Well, I hate to keep beating a dead horse with this whole weddings and marriage thing, but Beck had a good suggestion for tonight's post. I was at work, hardly working, when I decided to check my email. Low and behold I had almost 13 new messages, all from the same 5 cousins. Apparently Beck had sent out a mass message to all of us asking what we were going to wear to our cousin Graham's wedding (which is taking place next weekend).

You ever see My Big Fat Greek Wedding? I know they are Greek, but when it comes to family matters, Greek and Irish are quite similar, especially when it comes to big events. Among the girls in the family, the question always comes around to, "what are you going to wear?" However, since I pretty much cashed in my femininity check a looong time ago, I was satisfied with just reading what everyone else was saying. (Seriously, I looked at pics of me at my cousin Kristen and Evan's wedding. Why I had opted for the pink, puffy, short dress, (at 25) I'll never know. Even my younger cousins looked more elegant than me, while I looked as awkward as a hippo in a tutu.)

In any event, Beck mentioned I should describe some of our family's past weddings as tonight's blog, but since time is a factor I shall relay my memories of the first wedding I really recall, a.k.a. Why I Don't Drink Midori Sours Anymore. Enjoy.

The first wedding I really recall was my cousin Rachel's. Hers was pretty momentous, as she was the first of all the cousins to make that big adult step, so we were thrilled. What was even more exciting was that she and her now husband Chris decided to do a destination wedding in Maine, a favorite family vacation spot for all of us. Linds and I joined Hill and her boyfriend in his car for the drive up, where we were given a full lesson on early Police songs. We all booked rooms in the same hotel in Portland, so we felt as if the hotel was all ours. Unfortunately there was some maintenance being done in some areas, so besides the occasional wall stain and odd buckets here and there, it was very charming.

Months earlier all the Dempsey sisters were a buzz with phone calls and long discussions on the beach consisting of who was wearing what to the wedding. So when the day finally arrived we were all running around each other's rooms, borrowing these earrings or that perfume (again, like My Big Fat Greek Wedding). This was also very momentous because this would be the first social gathering with my family in which I'd casually (and carefully) have a drink or two. But since we didn't want to piss the caterers off, we snuck a few small beverages in our hotel room after the ceremony. I was still a rookie in the drinking game, so I told my sister's boyfriend that I wanted something "easy". He brought out some Sour Watermelon Pucker, which we mixed with handy dandy Sprite. It tasted awesome, actually...in a super-sugary-yank-your-teeth-outta-your-head kinda way.

Anyway with our Pucker buzz goin we hit the reception. Everyone was dancing and laughing, having a wonderful time. At some point a waiter asked us what we'd like to drink. I'm pretty sure Beck and I exchanged glances. What were we supposed to say? We wanted something, but didn't want to suggest the wrong thing. We asked just for something sweet, at which point he brought us these Ecto-cooler neon Kermit green drinks. We took a sip and were relieved that it tasted similar to our Pucker drinks. We paraded around the reception feeling like such big shots, although I'm pretty sure we were deservedly mocked by our relatives.

The next day I felt like a hammer was being chucked out of my head from the inside. I stumbled over to the bathroom and noticed my face creased with makeup and my eyes bloodshot. I didn't recognize her at first, but I had just been introduced to Hungover Me. I felt the sickening sweetness of watermelon in the back of my throat and wanted to vomit. It was then that I vowed never to drink Midori Sours again.

We wished Rachel good luck with her future, sending off one of our own. And as I sat in the back of my sister's boyfriend's car, listening to "Canary in a Coalmine" for the 11th time that trip, I reflected on how quickly time goes by. If there ever was a moment when you can physically point to and say you've officially grown-up, marriage must surely be it. It was strange to see a direct cousin of ours make it to that particular moment. I could barely comprehend it, although what did I know? I was still a teenager, nursing my very first hangover, and vowing never to do something so stupid again. I stuck to that promise too...for a few years anyway.

Marriage Whoas

I might need a ruling on this, but I've been watching episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3000 online...is that cheating? Technically the show's been off the air for years, so it couldn't be a show I'd normally watch. Besides, since the majority of the show is a movie, does it really count as television-watching? I'm not sure, but seeing as how the colder months are coming up fast, I'm going to just say they don't. But speaking of MST3K...

If you aren't a fan and have never heard about it, it's basically a show about this guy and his robots (puppets) in space that are being chased by an evil woman named Pearl Forrester who forces them to watch bad movies. The fun part? You get to hear their hilarious riffs while you suffer through the movie with them. Such a genius show, I don't know why it got cancelled.

Anyway, they also sometimes show some "shorts" in addition to the movie. I caught one, which must've dated back to the early 50s, and was a sort of PSA meets after-school special about marriage. I was amused at the outdated-ness of it (as were the guys on the show), however it made me think about marriage as a whole.

I know I haven't been the biggest supporter of marriage; in fact, I've been downright terrified and critical of it. I've often tried to pin down where all this fear stems from. Theoretically, I should be delighted at the thought of marriage; my parents are still married, Joe's parents are married, and most of the people in my family are still married. So why the fear? I guess because there is such pressure to maintain a marriage. And anyone who knows me knows I'm not big on the whole "pressure" thing.

And I guess I'm critical because I've seen people get married for the wrong reason (and hence, divorce). I could never understand these girls that married right away, after barely knowing the guy. It seems they are more doing it for the novelty and not the real commitment. They don't think, as they look around at their multi-million dollar wedding, and take John Doe's hand, look into his eyes, and say the overly-rehearsed vows....I'm going to be with this man for the REST OF MY LIFE. Not just as he is now, strapping and confident, but later on...when he's shuffling about and incontinent, mumbling on about which diner sells the best scrambled eggs and telling you the same story for the 34th time...that day.

I've been to several weddings and there are more still to come. And here I sit on the bench, clutching my hesitation like a glove to my chest, and watch. Luckily, these weddings consisted of people who really did see the person for who they are before taking to the alter, like my cousins and Joe's family and friends.

Meanwhile, as I watch more and more so n' so hyphen so n' sos appear on Facebook, I've been with Joe as long if not longer than these people, I have to ask myself why do they not feel the fear I do?

Maybe because they know something I don't. It's like going into the deep end of the pool for the first time. You take what you know, close your eyes, hold your breath, and take the plunge...and then just hope you made it through alive.

Wow, sorry if this was a lame duck, folks. What can I say? They can't all be winners. I'll bring the funny tomorrow.

Personn-hell

First off, let me start by giving a proper shout out to my dad, my eighth loyal follower. Hi Dad! If mom's driving you crazy, hopefully this'll put a smile on your face. And speaking of family...

I come from a long line of customer service-pros. Not in just the fact that, at one time or another, everyone in my family has worked some sort of customer service work, but more specifically, if there's one thing my family does well, it's get things straight. To the layman you might refer to it as "complaining", but the Dempsey females have mastered it to an art form; letting the person who is (supposed) to be helping you know EXACTLY how they're doing. I include the Dempsey women, but unfortunately I do not lump myself in with the masters.

My mother is a dynamite complainer, though she would never admit it. More likely she would back-up her embarrassing complaints with the simple statement,"Well, after all I'm PAYING for this." And really, as keenly as an artist selects her brushes, my mother knows which tone pairs well with which words, given the circumstances. For instance, when in a restaurant, and her meal arrives cold, she'll simply call the waitress back over and without breaking her sunny voice and sweet words say, "Excuse me, hun. But I think this needs to be warmed up a bit more, please."

That's because usually it's some poor teenager just trying to make some cash, and my mom knows it's not her fault (usually). However, if she's to go to battle with such enemies as Comcast or AT&T, she opts for a more cutting tone and sharpened words.

"You know what, I have been a customer with you guys for X amount of years, and this is really ridiculous. I am not paying for that anymore, so please either cancel my service or tell me what you can do for me, because I've had it." Sure enough, the representative on the other line admits defeat and offers up the spoils in the form of an extra few months of reduced cost or something for free. I used to slink away from the room when she'd be engaged in such a battle of words; now I simply watch and learn.

My problem is I don't seem to be getting anywhere. More likely, I'm the one who ends up apologizing for something someone else did.

"I am soo soo sorry, but could you please, if it's not too much trouble, heat these Southwestern Eggrolls up a little tad more?", I said on a recent trip to Bill Bateman's.

"Oh sure, are they still cold?", asked the waitress.

Well, I'm guessing the ice crystals that are lodged inside are not part of some trendy marketing gimmick, I think. Instead, I just say, "Um, yeah just a little."

My big sister Hill, though, seems to coming along just fine, if her letter to a major chain hotel in St. John is to be any indication. I tried to copy and paste a few excerpts but for some reason I can't, so I'll just give you the gist of her experience.

Hill and her friend Annie were going for a small vacation to St. John's, just as hurricane Otto was slamming the coastline. Though they were both forgiving of the weather conditions (and therefore lack of fun in the sun), what was unforgivable was the hotel's lack of fun in the anything. No pool. No hot tub. No restaurants or bars that were open. They were basically left sequestered in their rooms, held hostage by boredom due to unavailable amenities. According to Annie's letter, they were not even addressed by words of concern or apologies from the staff; in fact, quite the opposite. When she asked why no one had bothered to inform the guests of the closed facilities, the receptionist merely replied that it wasn't their responsibility to do so. Yeah, because when people are spending their hard-earned economy-helping money at a high-end resort, why would they bother informing their customers in advance or (gasp!) post it for free on their website. Some people deserve to get sucked into a hurricane...

The girls were looking for something, ANYTHING, to make their stay worth while. The people at the front desk did not offer any sort of complimentary services, nor did they offer any solutions (besides telling them that the Ritz was open, which is exactly where my sister and her friend checked in halfway through their trip).

They managed to salvage the rest of their vacation, and even were rewarded with a few free nights at their original hotel (after writing scathing yet deserved letters to management). I still live pretty much by the motto "You get more flies with honey.." But maybe it pays to use vinegar more...

Ok kiddies, the towel on my wet hair is pulling my eyelids back, which means it's time to hit the hay. See you tomorrow!

Dog-gone It!

This time I really mean it. I am going to keep this s.o.b. short! Especially with how early I was up this morning. Let's begin.

So as you can probably tell from the title, this one's going to be about my sweet little angel face, Georgia. Or "dog" as I like to call her when she's pissing me off. Like lately!

The thing I've noticed about Georgia is that she goes through peaks and valleys, behavior-wise. For about 80% of the time we've had her she has been surprisingly good: doesn't whine for our food at the dinner table, doesn't bark, and hasn't had an accident in the house for weeks. It's just that pesky 20% of bad behavior she dips into that drives us crazy. Luckily it usually only lasts about a week before she's back to being very good. But what a week...

A few days ago, while Joe and I were inside watching a DVD, he received a message from someone saying that he had our dog. We both looked at each other, and realized we hadn't checked on the dog, naturally assuming she was just frolicking in the yard, as usual. Oh this happened on Sunday, the same day I felt like ultimate crap but put on a brave front because we were going to the Renaissance Fest with friends and I didn't want to be a Debbie Downer.

I had been trying to nurse my hangover the whole morning, but the second Joe told me about the message I sprang (well, quickly hobbled is more accurate) to my feet and tried to find some shoes. It just so happened that our friends were meeting us at our house and they arrived around the same time as our dog-rescuer did. We thanked him profusely and he explained where he had found her.

Apparently she had either slipped through a gap in the fence or simply hopped over it, I assume in pursuit of a squirrel. He said she seemed to be trying to figure out a way back in, as she stayed near the fence. This was a small amount of relief to me, since the road right next to our sidewalk tends to get busy and cars often surpass the speed limit by a few miles.

We were happy to have her home, but once again our trust was broken with her. Joe had spent a good deal of time and money fencing in the rest of the walkway, but the reward was that Georgia could run and play outside without much supervision. Now we were both panicky and paranoid.

The next day as we were getting ready for work we let her out to go to the bathroom. Joe and I were talking about something and as he turned his back to check on her he noticed her trying to squeeze her body through the gap at the bottom of the gate. He shouted at her and immediately she pulled back out. This is, we guess, how she must've gotten out, but we're still not 100% positive.

Then I came home from work, walked into the kitchen and couldn't believe my eyes. She had not only been on our small make-shift card-dinner table, but she had completely destroyed the fabric on top. I walked in to find the top of the table in complete and utter shreds. As if that wasn't enough, I then walked back into the living room and spied a fresh, wide, wet pee stain on the rug.

The next day I stayed a little late at work, but Joe texted me to tell me that the place was fine but she had still peed on the rug. Later that night (or Wednesday morning I should say), Georgia woke us both up by suddenly tearing down the stairs and whining. This is unusual for her, as normally if she wants to go out to go to the bathroom she just comes to my side of the bed and whines a little till I wake up. It's not strange to see her animated in the morning, but hyper and hysterical is.

I thought maybe it was because I wasn't being as diligent as I had been with taking her for a run with me, so I made it a point, after dinner with Ash, to tear-ass home to get in a run with her. Unfortunately, with the days getting shorter, it's a rush against time before it's too dark to go. I made it just before it got pitch black, and though it wasn't as long as our runs usually are I still figured I had worked out alot of her pent up energy.

Sure enough this morning she tore off downstairs again, at around 5:00 a.m. I also wanted to try and curb her bladder so I gave her water to drink with her food, but took it away when I left for work. Sadly, when I walked into the house again, there was the yellow puddle, right by the door. I raised my voice a bit, but even without that she knew she had done wrong. Btw, does it make me the most evil person to admit that I think she looks the damn cutest when she's scared or guilty? Her big ears flatten against her head and that curly-cue tail unfurls between her legs. It's so hard to be mad at her when all I want to do is scoop her up and cuddle. But then she's basically learning that peeing by the door is A-OK. I'm not sure what to try next, but the week IS almost up, so maybe we're on our way to the peak.

I'll keep you posted. Until then, goodnight!

Teenage Mutant Ninja Teeth

Ok, I PROMISE this one's gonna be short. My back aches and I don't know how long my computer will last. So let's get right to it.

Even with having a shortened day, it still seemed to take forever. Why is that? Why does it so often feel like the half days are twice as long. Oh well, eventually 2:30 rolled around so I gathered my stuff and headed out. I was going to try and stay longer but I wisely chose to err on the side of caution (and logic) in case I got lost on my way and left a little earlier.

In case anyone forgot, a few weeks ago I met with a dentist who advised I consult an oral surgeon as to whether or not my wisdom teeth would need to come out. I had immediately brightened at the prospect of not having to go through that oral torture, thinking no one ever got a reprieve from that. She handed me the X-rays to show the doctor and then I'd come back the following week to fill a cavity and I'd let her know what they said. I called and made the appointment, and prayed the doctor would tell me what I wanted to hear.

When I came into the office the woman behind the desk handed me paperwork to fill out and when I had finished I handed it back to her. I didn't feel like flipping through a magazine, so instead I took in the sights of the office. It differed quite drastically from the homey feel I got from the dentist's office, with their plush chairs and warm light. Instead, this place reminded me of a hotel lobby. Elegant but cold and impersonal. I shifted slightly in my chair, trying to readjust my ancient pink shirt with the hole at the bottom and peasant-like slipper shoes, just to fit in more. Even as I walked back and forth to the front desk I felt bad as my too-long jeans scraped the bottom of the floor with every step.

Again, I was the only person waiting so it didn't take long before my name was called. I followed a scrub-clad girl to a small office where she took my blood pressure and then the X-rays I had brought with me. As she stuck them into the square of light to get a better look, she let out a semi-startled exclamation.

"Oh!", she said. I knew what she was surprised by, but I still waited a second.

"You're noticing my extra wisdom tooth?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Yeah, you do have one...huh", she said.

"Yeah, and the kicker is that my sister is missing one," I said. She turned around to face me, and asked if we were twins.

"No," I said, "but close. 13 months apart." She remarked again at the oddness of that, and then went to find the doctor. Soon he came in and confidently stuck his hand out to shake mine. The warmth of his palm had barely left mine before he quickly replied, "Yup, you need them all out."

Crestfallen, I tried to point out what Dr. Baig, my dentist, had which was how close my wisdom teeth were to the nerves in my mouth.

"Oh, they're always like that. That's not a problem." He then began explaining to me what to expect from the procedure and healing time. I tried to listen intently though I was still coming off the shock at how quickly hope had been ripped out of my hands. When I had asked my questions I went back out to the front office to pay for my visit. A visit that literally lasted less than 20 mins.

"$55, please," the woman said. She then did some calculations and showed me what to expect, financially. I got another whole dose of shock and apprehension. Not only would I have to get all 5 (5?! I'm a freak) taken out, but I'd have to shell out over $1,000 to do it!

It doesn't seem right; I'm basically paying someone a grand to fix something that isn't even bothering me. Oh well, I guess it's preventative. I just hope the pain would be worth this prevention.

Anyway, my insurance for surgeries doesn't kick in till November anyway, so I have some time to figure it all out. Ok, chickees that's it for me. See you back here 2morrow.

Ghosts of Halloweens Passed

WTF, I hate how the damn cursor on this laptop occasionally becomes possessed and takes it upon itself to suddenly scroll all the way down the screen. Or else is mysteriously clicks on the wrong shortcut link in the search and then takes forever before I can change it to the right one. Ugh.

Anyway, enough of that blathering. My nose is drippy, my throat is dry and coughy, and I'm carefully dangling my feet away from the (still) wet urine spot from Georgia's newest accident on the rug, so I'm gonna try to keep this one brief.

My sweet and loyal cousin reminded me that telling stories about our family would sustain this blog for years, so since I hadn't any other ideas in mind for tonight, I'll go for one of those. And since it is almost Halloween, I thought I'd offer some of my favorite Halloween memories from my youth.

Despite the fact that I'm a total wuss when it comes to scary things, I actually really love Halloween. It's the holiday that holds some of my favorite childhood moments. Ones that still brings a smile to my face are the choices of costume I made every year. Thanks to my mom's genius behind a sewing machine, alot of my costumes were homemade, and we aren't just talking witches and ghosts. The most interesting costume she ever made was a large shiny red Coke can costume which my sisters and I all took turns wearing at one point or another. Why someone wanted to be a Coke can, I have no idea, but it made for some interesting pictures (and guessing games as to what we were). My favorite costume, however, was my very dapper, very cheerful, very hot-pink, flamingo costume. No, not flamenco...flamingo. I had a faze where I was obsessed with these birds. So much so, apparently, that I had to be one. Any psychiatry fans wanna take a crack at that one?

The other great thing about Halloween for me was the tradition in all of it. Every year, from kindergarten to 8th grade, our elementary school would close classes early, gather together by grade, and then march around our town. Now, I come from a pretty tiny town so it wasn't a huge deal. But it was still pretty exciting to us; walking around main street with our parents and family members crowding the sidewalks waving their hands excitedly and waiting for the perfect shot with their cameras. We eventually walked all the way back to the school where all the students milled about excitedly as they announced the winners of the best costumes in each grade. Every year I felt my heart bob with a little hope that I might be called, but every year I was passed over. I mean, what were they thinking...I was a flamingo princess, people! Can't get more unique than that. It didn't matter because after that the trick-or-treating began.

My friends and I always knew which houses to hit and which to not bother. We had a strict curfew in town so it was like a limited candy-spree. We dodged to this house of that, sometimes splitting up to see which houses delivered what. The best trick-or-treat house was Mrs. Sague's. She was known to not only have name-brand stuff, but the actual regular sized. She was (or is, I guess) such a nice woman and I always got upset when I heard that some asses would egg her house or put toilet paper in her trees during mischief night. Some people are assholes even in youth.

Of course, once the timer had gone off (a.k.a. it was officially nighttime), we all went back to our respective houses. Now it became all business. For a few special years my sisters and I were all of the age of not just trick-or-treating, but trick-or-trading. As soon as we had all come home we'd go into one room pour out our loot, begin categorizing it in terms of value, and begin the trade-off. Wall Street has never seen such dedication and determination. I'm even fairly certain Beck had even come over once or twice for these candy transactions. And actually, it was with Beck that I had one of my favorite specific Halloween memories.

One year I had decided to visit my cousin in her town, which was right next to ours, to do some last-minute trick or treating there. I think it maybe was because they had an extra hour or something, but in any event I showed up at her house, along with a few of her schoolmates. We began seriously trying to get whatever last minute trick-or-treating we could done, but eventually we were all content with just walking around the dark town all by ourselves, chatting and feeling as if the night and town was for us. I don't remember how, but suddenly we all began singing Christmas carols. We must have been quite the sight; witches, pirates, or whatever else we were dressed as loudly singing "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" in October.

I've had plenty more pleasant Halloween memories, one of which was when I met Joe. But since we have some time still till Halloween (and since this baby is getting lengthy), I'll leave you with those for now. Until tomorrow friends!

Checked Out

*Sniffle, sniffle* *Hack, hack*. Goddamnit. I hate being one of those people constantly complaining about their ailments, but I'd like to catch a freaking break please (instead of a freaking cold). Oh well, it's probably just what I deserve after drinking a bottle of wine myself. Joe took the liberty of pointing out the obvious.

"You should know yourself by now. You get hammered after half a glass. You really should've just had one". Yes, truer words have never been spoken. But at any rate, onto tonight's post, which was also suggested by Joe.

So as I alluded to just now, I woke up this morning feeling a bit sickly. I noticed it on Sunday, but again, as I mentioned, I was simply chalking it up to mere hangoveritis. I was hoping the headachey, throat sorey, nose drippy feelings would have dissipated. No such luck. And on a Monday, too.

Thankfully my day at work was pretty much the usual. An old fremp stopped by with her baby son and we all went for a little walk, which brought about a nice break in the day. But eventually it was time to get back to work, so we waved a goodbye to our former fellow fremp and walked back upstairs.

Every so often my eyes would shift to the little clock on the bottom screen. 1:45 p.m. My mind went to the three things I wanted to get done today...1.) Grocery shop 2.) Stop by the farmer's market for fresh apples 3.) Take the dog for a run. As soon as it was the end of the day, I mustered up my snotty and dazed self, and went to my first errand.

Wegmans is a great place for groceries. Their selection is incredible and their prices are hard to beat. However, the problem with Wegmans is that EVERYBODY wants to shop there. And apparently, Monday is the official Baltimorean food-shopping day, because everyone and their mother seems to show up on that particular day.

I had gotten a little bit of a head start (shhh, don't tell the office), so I managed to find a parking spot and cart without any hassle. I was also relieved to not have that many items on my list; just some basics like milk and juice but what I really wanted was one of their rotisserie chickens. They taste great, their cheap, and (if I really am getting a cold) I can use the carcass for some homemade chicken soup. I was all set.

I happened by the cold/flu section, and thinking I might as well prepare myself (or Joe) grabbed a bag of throat lozenges and cold medicine. I went about the rest of my list pretty quickly and then it was on to the chicken. I walked over to the check-out aisles, where the chickens are usually found...and there were none.

I figured maybe they just hadn't put them out yet so I pushed my little cart over to where the full meat section was. I noticed a woman cleaning the case and approached her. Now another thing I usually love about Wegmans is their employees. I swear the majority of times I've visited the people could not be nicer or more relaxed. So, I waited a second for her to ask me if she could help me (which I really do love when employees do that. I know they really don't WANT to help me, but it breaks the ice so much nicer than having me do it). When she didn't, I asked her myself.

"Excuse me.." Again, I waited for the cheerful smile or at least encouraging voice. Instead, she barely glanced at me before continuing with what she was doing. "Are there any more rotisserie chickens coming out?" I asked as sweetly as possible.

"All out," was all she mumbled out, as she cleaned the racks.

"Ok, thanks very much..." For what, I have no idea.

Feeling now the frustration of a dinner idea down the toilet I quickly whipped together an idea and after spending a good 15 min. getting the new ingredients together I made my way BACK to the check-out aisle.

Now, I have another weird thing. I usually like to see who's working the check-out aisle before I enter their lane. Ideally I go for the 30+ women, because they don't give me sideways glances or suppressed anger when I whip out a coupon or two. Unfortunately, the shortest (and nearest) lane was being handled by a 20 something girl. Not my favorite, but it's better than a guy.

I began putting my items on the conveyor belt and noticed her shoot a sweet smile to a customer in front of me whom she had just finished up with. A good sign in my book. When it was my turn I also mentioned that I had one of those reusable bags and would like to use that as much as it could be filled, if that was ok.

She took the thing like it had snakes in it and settled it in front of her. As she began beeping the items I suddenly realized my check-card was gone. I remembered I had left in the pocket of my fleece, back in my car. The girl seemed to sense my panic as I could see out of the corner of my eye her casting an unsmiling face towards me. Thankfully I remembered I had my "in-case-of-emergency" credit card so I was able to complete the transaction. But still, I sensed a tone with that girl, like she couldn't wait to exhale a nice hearty breath of exasperation right at me.

Of course, it's possible I'm just too sensitive, but who knows...

Anyway, I could go on but this sucker is long. Maybe more tomorrow. Till Tuesday then!

Weed B Gone

Before I forget, just wanted to say hidey-ho to follower numero 8! Not sure if you are my dad Ken or my friend Ken, but either way, welcome and thanks for giving a crap!

Anyway, so just to give a rash-rehash...It's both better and worse. I haven't seen a new crop on my body in a day or two. However, they have instead chosen to appear...on my FACE! Woke up this morning rubbing my forehead and when I went to the mirror I noticed a bump on the right side of my forehead, another one just below my hair line on the left side of my forehead, one on my chin and (the kicker) right below my eye. I looked like freakin Woogie from "There's Something About Mary". They didn't itch as terribly as the ones on my actual body did (and sometimes still do) but instead looked like hive-things. I finally took some advice and used the plain Dove soap but I have no idea what the face-bumps are. So, the mystery goes on.

In any event, I wanted to mention my attacking of the weeds back on Sunday since I said I would, although thinking about it now, it wasn't all that terribly interesting. But I'll let you be the judge...

So the thing that's awesome about a yard is having basically an outdoor room. The thing that sucks about having a yard is that you have to actually maintain it. We've been having some rather soggy weather lately and Joe informed me that it's not good to mow the lawn when it's wet (as it causes the mower to buck and get clogged). And since Saturday we were wiped out from walking around Fell's Point, we decided to would work on the lawn on Sunday.

I took Georgia for a run while Joe mowed the lawn. When I got back he was just starting to do some weed whacking. Because we had never bothered with the weeds they had become quite jungle-like and overgrown. Normally it would just be a cosmetic thing, but as a neighbor informed me a while ago, we were the proud owners of some poisonous-berry weeds that were harmful to humans and possibly deadly to dogs if consumed (yikes!), so I was obsessed with chopping those down.

It wasn't long before Joe informed me that the weeds were too thick in the middle to completely cut through, so after he was finished I went about the yard picking up the weed entrails he did slice off and decided to do battle with the weeds still intact, man0 y mano. I slipped on some gardening gloves and approached my target, like Terminator. We have two patches of these berry weeds, so I decided to try the smaller one first. Luckily because of Joe's weed-whacking I was able to rip off the major strips with the evil berries still attached. Unfortunately, I was unable to rip out the whole thing, roots and all. I went over to the bigger patch, like the last level of a video game as I was about to come face to face with the Boss. I crouched down, still wearing my sloppy work-out clothes, and yanked and twisted, breaking off one arm after another. With determination in my eyes and sweat on my brow, I destroyed the invading branches that looped through the fence wiring and scooped up the clumps of berries hidden in the grass. Not to say the thing didn't put up a fight. I'm sure the neighbors enjoyed watching my struggle, as I got smacked in the face by branches I lost my grip to or when I nearly slipped on my ass.

But when I stepped back to acknowledge my work, it was indeed a shadow of it's former self. In fact, the feeling of finally getting to these berry-weeds inspired me to tidy up the yard with some weed-pulling elsewhere.

The other problem I face with having a yard that's ours and yet not ours, is trying to figure out what plants are meant to be there and which are not. I began yanking at some thin-stalked plants and was astonished at how easily they came up with their roots still attached and packed with soil. It almost seemed too easy. I then became somewhat paranoid that I had just tenaciously pulled up our land lady's prize flower bed, but Joe made the good point that as long as we rented there, it was technically our yard, and as long as we hadn't planted anything in it didn't matter what we pulled out.

So that was my first hand at weed-pulling, and it really was satisfying. I may do it again...dare I say to those berry weeds, I'll be baahck?

Ain't Misunderstandin'

You ever have one of those days where it seems the way you are saying things will be misinterpreted? I'll give you a few examples...

A few days ago in the kitchen of my office I was making myself a cup of coffee when one of my coworkers walked in. We remarked briefly about some topic and I noticed him reach for one of the fundraiser candy bars another coworker brought in. I didn't happen to notice if he dropped his required dollar into the envelope and said jovially (at least I thought..), "Hey, you can't just take one of those"

My coworker looked up at me wide-eyed and simply pointed to the envelope. I laughed it off like I was kidding, and I'm pretty sure he did too. I only became paranoid about it when as we both were walking back towards our desks my fremp Les asked how he was doin and simply replied, "Good, except Kris thinks I'm a crook."

I apologized for the 5th time, explaining I was just kidding and that I was genuinely sorry. I meant to come off cheeky but I think I ended up looking like the total ass.

Another time was today in the bathroom. Les and I often go for a stroll around the building for some fresh air and exercise, and when I told her I was going to run to the ladies' real quick first she ended up joining me. I asked how her project was going and she explained that suddenly she felt she was on a deadline. She said, "I'm going as fast as possible." To which I replied, "Yeah, that's as fast as you can go." I don't know why, but I felt like a bitch, as if I was saying, "Yeah, they shouldn't expect any faster from you.

Finally, as I was taking Georgia for our usual run we were suddenly confronted with a man and his black bichon'-looking dog. Georgia immediately wanted to get closer but the other dog was so anxious or excited it began to bark. And because it barked, Georgia began to growl and bark a little. I suddenly had to yank her back, saying something, "Now that's not how YOU act." I don't know why I care, but I became worried that I was insinuating in front of the dog-owner that I didn't want MY dog acting like his, which wasn't necessarily true. I just wanted her to be wel-behaved. Oh well.

I think I'll end there. I made the crucial mistake of cracking open a couple of Saranac brews, so now I'm super sleepy and droopy. Tomorrow- Sunday's weed tackle and why I'm insecure.

Octoberfest

Yuck, what a miserable Monday. Not that it was particularly bad, but weather-wise, it's pretty dismal: cold, rainy, dark. We seemed to have completely skipped over Indian Summer and fell right into early winter. But I think it's supposed to warm up a tad, so maybe we can dry ourselves off.

So since I can't think of a particular topic, Ill just dive into a weekend wrap-up...

We are finally into October (where the hell did September go??), but actually I really like this month. There are so many events to look forward to: Fells Point Fest, Renaissance Fest, a visit to Gettysburg, Hershey After Dark, going apple and pumpkin picking, our anniversary, etc. It's because of these annual events that I love this month so much. Joe, on the other hand, loves it because this is the month where he gets to torture me with horror movies, the only month out of the year I agree to watch them.

True to form, Joe was practically counting down the days till it was finally October and sure enough as soon as Friday rolled around, off we went to the movies. At first we stopped by Chilis for dinner but since the wait was pretty long we decided to go to the movies to get the tickets first and then come back. As Joe ran inside to get the tickets (and I quietly hoped that the movie would be sold out all opening night) I peered up at the other titles on the marquee. It was a surreal feeling. I didn't recognize 90% of the movie titles, and the ones I had heard of were simply because of passing billboards or Internet ads. I mentioned this to Joe as he jogged back to the car, victorious with two tickets in his hand (damnit).

"Well, yeah. We aren't being drilled with the information anymore." It's one of those oddities I hadn't expected when I gave up television.

Anyway, dinner was good (even tho we were late to be called) and actually the movie wasn't horrible. It definitely had its horrific moments, but it's storyline was unique and even...charming. I'm not saying I'd ever want to rent it, or even necessarily see it again, but at least it wasn't gore for gore's sake.

Saturday morning arrived and I was exhausted. It took me forever to finally get up and when I did it was because we were due to appear at our next October event, Fells Point Fun Fest. Now this is an event that we stumbled upon years ago after spending a boring afternoon trying to find something to do. We decided to just check out Fells Point for the day and happened upon rows of boutique stands and food vendors, art showcases and books for sale, and all about were hundreds of people, children, and dogs shopping and taking in the sights. We enjoyed ourselves so much that we made it a point to do it again the following year. And so we had for several years.

The one reason this year was to be so special was because we finally had a dog of our own to showcase and we were excited to let Georgia come along. So after spending a few minutes trying to get the dog prepared with her harness and leash we set off to meet up with Joe's friend Jeff and some mutual friends of theirs.

We had both been quite chilly in the morning so we erred on the side of caution by wearing sweaters and hoodies, thinking that it would be even cooler by the water. As we made our way from Little Italy to Fells Point, the sun was beating down on us directly. It wasn't long before we were trying to roll up our sleeves and cursing our clothing options.

But other than that the day was quite enjoyable. Georgia did surprisingly well meeting other dogs. Nervous, but not nippy or growly. It is weird though how you tend to take for granted your freedom without a dog. Georgia, still in her puppyhood, was pulling this way and that, stopping to sniff every butt or patch of grass she could, or else launching herself ahead to meet another dog. It was fine most of the time, however I became a bit more anxious when the crowd thickened and was forced to carry her some of the way.

In any event, the day was beautiful and after a few hours we headed home with the promise of mowing and weed-whacking the lawn on our lips, but as soon as I went upstairs, I was a goner, and promptly fell asleep.

Ok, I'll stop there to prevent this thing getting too long. Tomorrow: my battle with the weeds and my self esteem. Tune in.