When I first moved here, in 1996, I bought myself a pair of Lucky Jeans, mostly because the inside of the fly says "Lucky You." My ex-girlfriend had a pair and I thought they were the niftiest damn things I'd ever seen. So I plunked down an astronomical $70 and got myself a pair. I wore them contstantly but they have virtually no signs of wear.

They were also the first thing I got too fat for, and they've been sitting on my shelf, carted around through 3 moves, ever since.

Today, I am insanely proud to report, they fit just fine once again. Let us all thank the fat gods, who are washing away my sins and returning me to the best jeans ever.

So...about a month ago, I was extremely frustrated with IKEA. My schedule sucked (24 hours a week, spread over 5 days. Do the math, you'll see how sucky that was) my job was extremely repetitive ("do you have your reciept? Great. Just give me your (credit card) and I'll credit you back. You're all set. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.) and, most importantly, my schoolwork was suffering. It turns out that I'm not so good at cranking out pages of anything (pages of anything=cousin of Fountains of Wayne) in just an hour or two after working part of the day. I need blocks of semi-quiet time.

But I digress.

I saw a posting on craig's list for a job selling shoes, at a specialty store down the street from my house. I've spent an awful lot of time selling shoes in my life, so I applied and eventually got the job. It pays less than IKEA but is close by. I put in my notice at IKEA and prepared to make the move.

Turns out, IKEA likes me. A lot. They offered to do my schedule right (24 hours=3 days a week) and float me around to some more interesting departments. I countered with wanting 2 weeks off, then going to 2 days a week through the end of school. They said yes, Liz, of course, Liz, whatever you want, just continue returning Poang chairs for us.

So... I haven't heard squat from the shoe store. I figure that they decided me being only available 2 days a week wasn't enough so I turned my focus to working at school (#1 priority, over all Poangs, Jussis, Magikers and even the famed Jerker) then straightening things out with IKEA.

Yesterday, they call, after over 2 weeks of no contact. I'm supposed to start today. Um. Hi. Were you ever going to tell me that? Now I'm trying to figure out what to tell them. Suggestions?

Mr. Z is home with me, stoned out of his mind, but home. As he and I walked out of the vet's, I turned to them and said 'how wonderful is it, to be leaving with a live dog," Yes, yes it was nice. Z and I are off to take a nap, we've both had a long day.

My wishes came true: the vet just called. Z came through just fine and is starting to wake up. He got the full treatment, a nail trim, an in-depth ear cleaning and had the little csysts in his ears removed as well. She's a little worried about his labwork, he is borderline anemic and has a low thyroid level so he'll be starting on Soloxine, a drug we know well from Alice's days on it. Hopefully that will take care of everything and perk the old guy up a little bit.

But the important thing is that the old guy is still with us and doing fine. Thanks for that, whoever gave it to us.

2003: A Tooth Cleaning Oddessy commenced when I dropped Zeus off at the vet early this morning. While I was saying my goodbyes to him, not that he even looked back, just sauntered off toward the back, toward a new adventure, away from me, another family pulled up. Debbie the receptionist (all of the staff are famiy friends, Alice's legend looms large in Dr. Kate's office, even now) muttered something about PTS and I couldn't leave. PTS= put to sleep.

Why am I always there to see the families walk in, see them try to be strong when they know what they are about to do? The animals are sometimes resigned, or clearly in so much pain they can't really see. I think ahead to Friday, when the nice man from the pet cemetary will come by to pick up their bodies (he comes to my vet on Mondays, too).

So today, a middle-aged couple got out of their Jeep Cherokee and went around to the back. Much later, they started to walk in, the man at the front, the woman at the back, each holding a rolled-up towel around a portion of the dog's body. His name was Tucker, even with the help of both parents, he could hardly walk. His grey face, his red eyes stared past me as they came in, his people trying to be brave for Tucker's last walk.

Here's my silent wish that Tucker's journey was easy, that my Alice and his departed friends are greeting him now, that he can run as I imagine he once did, free of pain. I also wish that my Zeus will not join them today, that he will wake up from the anesthesia, ready for the wet food treat that I've told the staff he's welcome to have.

I just noticed that the house is, indeed, very quiet. There are no telemarketers calling to sell me things I don't want, nor is that obnoxious foster dog inspiring my guys to do things that make noise. As I write, Zeus, Rainie and Gus are all curled up behind me on the futon, snoring like the little boogers that they are. And I, I have cranked out 4 pages of conference paper stuff, hopefully I can incorporate it into what I'd already written.

I think I'll celebrate with a hard-earned nap.

Here's where I stand: the longer I spend around english department types, the more energy I spend reading, writing and thinking about other people who have read, wrote and thought, the more I feel myself drawn to them, to the literary world. Which would be fine if I were strictly an english person these days, but I'm not. I'm first a member of the rec department and as such, I owe them some things. Like assignments (not that I've failed to turn any in, far from it, I'm getting an A there, too), my heart is simply not in them. I'm cranking out good work because I know how to not because I love to do the work.

If I'm going to take this much time off from my life, from the opportunity to have a 'career' (like those really matter in the end) then I need to make it count. Increasingly, that place looks to me like the english department.

I don't quite know what this means, though short-term I suspect that it will mean another semester of 2 eng classes and 1 red.

Having a really hard time writing a conference paper right now. I've been stuck on page 4 for a while, no progress in sight. Need to unlock the block...

I had the opportunity to see Alice Sebold speak last night. She was magnificent, real and funny, smart and charming, offering great insight into the writing process. It was better than the last couple of movies I've seen. Maybe I'm becoming a big literary geek and that's okay; maybe I should.

Once again, Rainie heralds the onset of winter by urinating indoors. I had forgotten this particularly pleasant habit, the knowing that because it's not 70 degrees and sunny outside, it's necessary to pee indoors. For Christ's sake, her name is Rainie, you'd think she could handle getting wet. I guess not.

If you're wondering how we know she's the culprit, I'll say only that having one girl dog makes this sort of thing pretty clear.

So now the house smells like pee and I'm constantly cleaning up pee or maniacally spraying Febreeze, hoping for the best. Please don't ask to come over right now. It smells. Thanks, Rainie. Happy winter to you too, sweetheart.

Now that I think of it, Alice used to do the same thing, though Al never really got used to the winter, she'd indiscriminately pee indoors all winter, creating that 'strong doggie odor' that our old (evil) landlord charged us extra for when we moved out of our last rental before crossing the threshold into homeownership.

Zeus goes in for a teeth cleaning tomorrow morning. We've put this off for far too long, largely because I'm afraid. The last dog we sent in for surgery didn't come out of it, leaving a gaping hole in my heart that will never fill in completely.

It's been almost 2 years since Alice's death. November 29 is the day, another thing that's hard to believe. I am grateful that her memory remains strong, that a large portion of the most acute pain has passed, that I can remember good things along with the loss now. But yes, I still miss her every day and have yet to go a day without thinking about her at least once.

Please keep Z in your thoughts tomorrow as he goes under the gas and the dental tools. I'll be worried until he's back home with us, being a pest.