What's better than a flying monkey? Nothing. That's what.

Sydney just hauled a scrub oak branch larger than she is into the house (through the tiny dog door) and promptly stripped it of all its leaves, gave the resulting twig a cursory chew and then passed out in the foyer. Sydney: 1, Scrub Oak: 0.

Yesterday my sister E delivered her second child, my 4th nephew. (It's like a gaggle. 3 sisters, eight kids, I can't even keep track anymore.) His name is Micah and of course he's perfect and she had a natural delivery which kind of makes me wonder if we're even related. I'd want drugs. Lots and lots and LOTS of them. But in all fairness, afterward the woman looked like she'd done nothing more than take a leisurely stroll around the block and what's that? Why don't I just throw on some jeans and lets go grab some dinner. Peace of cake. Freakin' rock star.

In closing, a friend just gave me this, and I can't WAIT to take it into work tomorrow and harass some firefighters. Go, monkey... go, monkey.

Mastering the art of.... er... not sucking

So my friend B and I have a very exclusive book club. The name of the club is so long we had to turn it into an acronym, and I don't remember everything it stands for except for the ending is "we also like wine" and who can go wrong with that? The club is devoted to books (hopefully good ones) that become movies (also, hopefully good ones. Sadly, as we discovered with "Twilight," this is not always the case). There are only two people in our club. Frankly, there aren't that many people we can stand for 2 hours of movie time PLUS the before and/or after discussion of the book over coffee or lunch. Note: I don't think we've actually had a book discussion over wine. Travesty.

Our summer reading selections included "Julie and Julia." Frankly? A little disappointed by the book. Or rather, the author. Man she swears a lot. Don't get me wrong. I swear A LOT more than that in day to day conversation. (Won't my mormon mother be proud) Especially with B. But somehow having it in print for all the world to see is a lot different than dropping f-bombs while venting to your friends or, say, counting the number of times they're used in Quentin Terantino movies. (Whassup, Reservoir dogs?!) Also, being a memoir, the author seems just a TAD instable to me. But you can read it (I don't think you will) and determine whether or not that is true for yourself.

What I'm getting to is.... we went to see the movie this weekend and it was great. And not just for chicks. I actually think TPO would like it. And when you're talking about boneless duck stuffed with pate' in pastry, that's saying a lot. (P.S. Meryl Streep kicked ass.)

Dog days of Summer

Sydney is turning into such a great dog. She's graduated to being able to spend the day outside of her crate (took longer than I thought, but she finally got there) and has the run of the finished basement and the backyard while we're gone, under the watchful eye of a barking collar. And before you crucify me I will say that A) it was completely absolutely totally necessary, especially with a deadline approaching fast by which time she'd HAVE to be able to have freedom because I would be knee deep in Chem lectures right about the time her bladder would need a break, and B) I've only seen it actually "zap" her once. She shrieked. The neighbors called to make sure she was okay. There were fireworks going off that night and they were worried she'd had some sort of mishap. (we have good neighbors)

My point is, she's a freaking smart pup. As soon as that collar goes on, she shuts it as if her life depended on it.

Other good dog points:
- She's doing GREAT off-leash. Good people and dog etiquette. Still need to tune her up on mountain bikes though. Like not running into their path.
- Now that she's passed the 1 year old mark, she's mellowing considerably. No more having to watch her like a hawk out of concern that a shoe or a pillow might be JUST.... TOO.... TEMPTING...
- No more 7PM puppy meltdowns. I think the outside daytime freedom is helping with this considerably.

So yeah. There's your boring puppy/pre-adolescent update. I won't even make you look at a picture. I also won't bore you with a tribute post to our very old very sweet schnauzer, Chevy, who passed away last month. Suffice it to say, she's sorely missed.

Peace, yo.

I always liked to think that I would make a good writer. Lately I have discovered an inherent flaw in that logic - I'm pretty sure you have to actually write. Consistently and reliably. So, as they say on America's Next Top Model (what.... you don't watch that? I was certain that you did) - I'm "out!"

It's been a pretty stressful few months here. More big budget cuts coming at work, and one aging dog in failing health. Last time that happened it completely drained me. TPO needed propping up and I needed propping up, but it seemed I was the only one given a pole with which to do it. I don't want a repeat of that scenario this time around. However, I feel that despite my best efforts, that's exactly what will happen. :|

A Mooning I Actually Enjoyed

Did anyone else see this last night? It was very cool. And unlike most astrological phenomenon, I didn't have to stay awake until 2AM to see it. Alas, all the good stuff that I sacrifice to sweet lazy sleep.....

Not your momma's drama class

It seems to me that family drama comes in waves, and it's times like these that I wonder if my parents occasionally wish they had four boys (or maybe even four dogs) instead of four girls. Me? I'm just keeping my head down and hoping none of that drama gets instigated by me. So far, so good. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find some wood to knock on.

Drink up

I'm a sad drunk. I don't get drunk often (and nope, I'm not drunk now) and I always thought it was because I was being responsible. But I realize now it's because, in the middle of what's usually a happy occasion, I didn't want to become that sad person and certainly don't want others to see when that happens. Sure, I get giggly and talkative first, but then I get quiet, and then I get sad. I wonder why that is. Does is mean I'm fundamentally unhappy with the path I've chosen?

I wonder.

Jack Frost can kiss my patootie

I'm so freaking cold. My butt's cold. My back's cold. My shoulders are cold. I'm wearing knee high socks (you're welcome for that visual) and my legs are cold. I'd climb into bed if the sheets weren't so cold. I'll have to give in eventually, I know.

Today we set a record low for December 15th of minus 8 degrees Fahrenheit. I remember it being colder in recent years, and Denver hit minus 19 today, but holy moly was it no fun venturing outside today.

I would like to point out that I still wore very stylish open toed shoes at the office AND while running errands at lunch. That was more out of stupidity, though, than any devotion to fashion. But you already suspected that!

*shiver*