I just heard that Roscoe died about 2 minutes ago. It was apparently very peaceful and maybe I'm nuts but I swear I felt a shudder right when he passed on. Heidi said it was him, finding me to get to Alice, who better be showing him around up there right now.

Rest in peace, little guy. We loved you so, but all the love in the world couldn't make your brain work quite right, couldn't keep you from hurting the people who loved you the most.

I just heard that our former foster Roscoe bit his mom so badly that she has 40 stitches on her chin. He's going to be euthanized today.

I Shouldn't Be Surprised
That the way our local co-ed rink is run is fraught with inequity. But some days, I still am surprised.

Last night, I show up for our 11:15 pm game (yes, that's right, 11:15 PM on a Sunday night. It does beat 11:15 on a Friday but still) and the doofus at the front desk tells Chuck and I that someone named Mark had the key to our locker room, #11. There's no Mark on our team. We know this, and even though the doofus asked us twice, there was, in fact, still no Mark on the team. The key to room #10 was hanging right next to Mark's license, so I asked if we could have #10 instead since Mark isn't on our team.

Nope, doofus replied, we can't change the rooms "for any reason," but he could get us into #11. Fine. Chuck and I headed out to #11 to wait for Doofus With Key to let us in. When he comes, we discover that Mark's team had all their stuff in #11, so eventually, 15 critical minutes after we first asked for it, we were given #10. For "any reason."

We played a team that was by and large, much nicer than my good friends on Phase Matrix. I wasn't called any names (thanks!) and for the first time I can remember almost EVERY PENALTY was called. Yep, that meant that a couple of my teammates had repeated sit-downs, but the other team did, too. I did see at least two instances where my teammate stick-checked the other team in the nards. Yep, I said nards. That looked painful, and both times, my teammate had himself a sit-down (aka penalty) for the offense. If I had nards, and someone stick-checked me there, I'd want that someone to have a seat also.

Well, I imagine I'd probably want more than just a sit down, but to their credit, the stick-check-ees took it in stride and kept on playing their game. Most of the team was reasonably even-matched with us, except for 2 guys. One, #20, you know who you are, and even though you momentarily scared the crap out of me when you faked like as to skate right into me, you didn't. Phew. You also knew how to play 'down,' setting up passes and all that good stuff. But that other guy, the Ringer Guy Who Scores 8000 Goals For Them, well, that guy is different.

League rules say you can only play 3 levels apart. That guy plays 7. Even in the New Math, 7 is more than 3. I can live with 7 if you're a team player -- maybe you score sometimes, but a lot or even part of the time, you're setting up plays for your teammates. Nope, not this guy. He cherry picked a bit, (though not that much, he was just crazy FAST and blew by all of us so fast it looked like he was cherry picking) then scored 3 of their 4 goals.

I just don't think that kind of single-player dominance is necessary, or cool. Does it really feel like a win when one guy scores a significant portion of your goals AND you know he's not supposed to be there?

We lost 4-3, so we did better than I'd dared hope with our semi-short bench. But to know that 3 of them were scored by someone who shouldn't be playing at our level leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Granted, it's the same bad taste I've had in my mouth about this rink for a while.


I'm spending a lot of time fixing bugs right now, which is fine. It usually goes pretty fast, I can crank out a goodly number of bug fixes in a short time then feel like I've accomplished something in the world (Woo! The good people of Strongbadia now have the right customer service number to call thanks to me! Be confused no more, Strongbadians!). But lately, I've been getting a lot that just don't make no sense, not even to dumb old me.

Normally I refrain from using the dreaded modifier 'Will Not Fix' but some of these beauties, I can no longer hold back. Today alone, I have marked 3 bugs Will Not Fix, with no sense of shame or caution. Let them get returned to me, just try! I will stand my ground and insist that I WILL NOT FIX that bug. I WILL NOT!

I know, I'm absolutely living on the edge. Next thing you know, I'll be enjoyng a shot of vodka with my apple juice.

The Patrick Report
It's good news and bad news. The good? His affected area seems to be healing just fine. He's taking his pills like a trooper and I'm washing the area once a day. He doesn't like the way the wash stuff feels, but he still wags his tail the whole time. That's my guy, just wants to be loved.

The bad news? He's REALLY unhappy. Inconsolable. It's like the day we picked him up from Dena, Walt and the Holders, who had fostered him both when he was 6 weeks old and again when the Stupid Family returned him for NO REASON, except of course, that he was supposed to come to our family and help heal my broken heart. That weekend, he just wanted to be with his Mama Holder, he wanted very little to do with us or Rainie, though he sort of liked us. It took him a couple of days to adjust, but ever since then he's been a happy guy.

Until now, until the Great Neck Injury of 2005 (GNI2005). Since The Shaving, he's been largely inconsolable. Yes, the tail still wags but he's quite unhappy. Sigh. Please wish my little guy good thoughts, he's been through enough medical crap in his short life and he does not deserve to feel anything but happy, if a bit slow.


It's Mine, I Swear
My bank seems to hate the idea of me buying anything fertility-related. It denied my ATM card usage at the sperm bank, and now it won't let me buy the fancypants ovulation predictor kit that our sperm bank suggests. I just called said bank and they claim that nothing is wrong with my card so who the hell knows.

The Patrick Report
Andrea was able to pick up our little guy from the vet's office yesterday (thank you thank you thank you). They'd shaved the entire underside of his neck. It looks awful, like a plucked chicken. They also cleaned his ears in the fancypants way only the vet's office seems to do. Apparently, he enjoyed the ear cleaning -- the vet told me he moaned through the whole thing. The man does enjoy having his ears rubbed, but I feel like he cheated on me by moaning for the whores at the vet's office.

He's pretty mopey, pissed, no doubt, about having his previously luxurious chin fur replaced by a licence to warble and a big pink bald patch. He's on antibiotics and I'm tasked with washing his bald patch once a day. Just looking at it makes me sad, so I'm not thrilled about the washing but it's what our guy needs so it must be done.

In other news, Zeus is increasingly perplexed by daily life and, more often than not, finds himself outside, or inside, barking out of sheer frustration at god only knows what. Andrea rescued him from himself outside this morning around 3 am. I think he's going to have to sleep in a crate for a while, so he doesn't feel the need to go outside, get confused and bark all night. He's still happy, though and would love a treat.


Havin' A Bad Day
Woke up totally tired today thanks to yet another day of prenatal vitamin-induced nausea and a larger-than-usual bout of Fretting About Shit That, in the long run, Doesn't Matter. Must. Call. Doctor. for new prescription for vitamins. The excessive fretting, I don't think the ob/gyn can fix. But I digress. The exhaustion coats me like a fog, I stumble through the morning's getting-ready routine. Finally dressed, I head into the kitchen to make yet another in a seemingly endless series of PBJ sandwiches on wheat to take to class with me. I bend down to check Patrick's neck, which has been rubbed raw thanks to I'm not sure what.

Sigh. It's worse. Way worse because my man lacks the ability to reason or resist and can't stop itching himself. Poor guy's manageable sores have become behemoth abcesses and his neck is a mess. Off to the vet he must go, but I can't take him today and Andrea's day is totally full, too. We broker a deal, she'll drop him off, but in the end, she has to pick him up, too since I have the one class that I just can't skip tonight and a crapload of meetings today.

He's all fixed up now, been shaved, had his ears cleaned and nails trimmed. I'm sure it'll be another $200 but if my little guy is okay, well, it's worth it.


Reason #105 Why TMobile is My New Friend
I switched from Cingular to TMobile back in October, mainly so I could finally give in and become a happy Sidekick user, just like Wayne Newton and Snoop Dogg, who now both know about doing laundry. And pimpin.

Today I was reminded of yet another reason TMobile is better: because Catherine Zeta-Jones on their home page, smiling at me from her realm of hotness and of course, because of her accented-talking hotness. It's like she's saying 'hello, Liz. Will you take me home? Oh, and please pay your bill, while you're here.'

Cingular just has that orange ameoba-looking thing. Which would you prefer?

Seal: Broken
Big props to #24 on Phase Matrix for breaking the seal by calling me a dyke during last night's not-that-friendly game. That's right, folks, it only took almost 5 years for some a-hole to whip that name out during a game.

I replied "Every day, pal. That's not exactly new news to me."

But still, why you gotta go there?

Last night, as I lay awake with my usual Sunday Night Fretting (yes, I know yesterday was Monday, but since it was a holiday and I had a late game, that means Sunday Night Fretting) I was fretting about the survey of our women's league I plan to do for my thesis and how I'd get the highest possible number of respondents. One plan includes having folks leave completed surveys in the locker the league keeps at Belmont. From there, my thoughts went to a day not that long ago, when we discovered that some mystery person had placed a lock on that always-unlocked locker. I was getting dressed in my goalie outfit when the very concerned husband of a green player came over to me, to inform me about what would come to be known as the Great Mystery Lock Appearance of 2005 (GMLA2005). I said "I don't know who put it there, I don't have the combination and there's nothing we can do about it now."

Over the course of the next 15 minutes, that same very concerned husband (who is a super sweet guy) came over no less than 3 more times to give me updates re: the GMLA2005. Each time, I replied "I don't know who put it there, I don't have the combination and there's nothing we can do about it now," and each time he returned.

We never did find out who put it on but soon we dispatched someone to cut the thing off, ending the GMLA2005. So last night, as I was Fretting, I said aloud into the quiet of our bedroom, "Remember the time someone put the lock on that locker at Belmont?"

And Andrea asked what made me think of that.

Karen: Master of Photography
You must have known I'd include this one:

My friend, Leah Zass at GHATD this year. For more excellent photos, check out Karen's badass photo gallery.

I'm still laughing at the butt shot.

Look at me! I'm wearing yellow pants!

Look at Viv! She's wearing blue pants!

It is not a Toomah!
We took the Z man in for an x-ray yesterday, so we could all get to the bottom of what could be wrong with him. I snuck him out the door by picking him up and carrying him while Andrea snuck his leash out behind us. We had to do this because the other dogs, okay, just the bassets, grow absolutely maniacal when anyone goes near the leashes. The howling, the baying, the whining, the howling, the barking, the prancing around. It all gets out of hand right quick.

Rather than walking them more so the promise of leashes loses its excitement, or doing something crazy like train them to SHUT THE HELL UP, please, we work around this level of craziness like anyone would -- we pick up the 30 pound dog who needs to leave the house and we carry him out the door while sneaking a leash off of the leash tree, so like as to not arouse suspicion from the ever-watchful eyes of the bassets.

Mission accomplished, we had Zeus in the car and were on our way without too much trouble. We rolled into the vet's office, which is tortorously located next to a Starbucks. Fighting my urge to buy a big, caffiene-laden latte, we made our way into the office. Zeus decided that the office just wasn't cool and barked inconsolably. No amount of petting we did or amount of times he sat on my feet would make him stop, so our visit included a number of trips outside to the little grassy area until it was his turn for the x-ray.

Our friends behind the counter suggested that we go and get a cup of coffee while we waited for him, the bigass latte of my dreams again taunting me. But we resisted, ran instead to Walgreen's across the street so I could score some allergy medicine to stave off (1-2-3) my unexpected allergy attack. We also enjoyed some rubbery pizza slices and I drank non-caffinated apple juice instead of a big coke or a latte. Sigh.

$180 later, we got to see the x-rays and all is well with Zeus' innards. His low thyroid levels are due to us under-dosing his thyroid medicine, because of our own ability to tolerate what our vet affectionately calls his looney-ness on the full dose. We can fix that. He's also put a pound back on, after having his food increased, which the vet also approved of because it means 'we can control his metabolism.' Makes me wonder what else we can control....

Afterwards, the man was pooped enough from the adventure to nap while we napped, giving us a blissful afternoon free from his fine bark. And sleep, oh the sleep. It was Very Nice. I woke up starving and had myself a Coke and some food. And man, that Coke, it was a giant cup of heaven.

Class was not quite as boring as it had been the last couple of weeks. The Heyman count was 10, the mentions of his PhD count was 2, though we also got to learn about all the experts in various niche fields that our prof had worked with. All good to know, but eventually, I'd like to get on-topic, you know? We've chosen our project, this thing where men walk (less than) a mile in high-heeled shoes, in some weird roundabout way of raising awareness about sexual assault. We'll be helping them plan the event and evaluating it once it's done. I offered to do all sorts of writing-based tasks but refuse to attend the event. Why? Because I don't see a direct correlation in how having prominent businessmen do such a walk will prevent any drunk asshole from forcing himself on a woman, should the mood strike him. There's a great gap between walking the streets of San Jose on a Wednesday afternoon and all the awful shit that goes on in places that women may or may not have previously considered safe.

I have other reasons, too, but all I told the class was 'I won't elaborate.' It's not my place to share why or why not I think the event has merit, I'm just here to complete a class project.


Ow! My Ass!
During last night's CocoNUTS! game, I was doing my best to prevent a worthy opponent from scoring. He had a breakaway and I drove him outside, but he had a step on me. Working on one of my goals: not giving up, continuing to skate, moving my feet. And it worked! I got the puck away from him, and there is was, taunting me. It was a kickable distance from my foot, so I decided to go for it, reaching with my skate to kick it to the corner.

Totally did not work. My foot went out from under me and I went crashing into the boards, ass-first, after I'd landed on my ass, hard. Even with my Amazing Red Pants, I fell hard and it hurt. A lot. What hurt more was when my opponent fell on top of me, then sat there, on top of me, asking repeatedly, "are you okay?"

Look, I said, I'll feel a whole lot better as soon as you get off of me. And I did, but my ass hurt like crazy and continued to hurt throughout the rest of the game. It got to the point where I couldn't sit down on the bench, so the poor guy I was replacing kept thinking I was calling him off early since I was standing up, looking like I was ready to go play.

The good news? Andrea and I both played the earlier game, subbing. I had a 3 point game, scoring one really nice goal and getting 2 strong assists. Woo!

But Ow! My Ass!


My Main Man
In case you were wondering if last night's class brought any new stunning statements from my main man lawrence, you are not to be disappointed:
  • ...because we all know the white man is the cousin of the monkey
  • ...there are so many professional sports teams around, like Stanford and Berkeley
  • Parents should teach their kids to respect police, because they will be beaten with a baton.
  • People who are tall are missing upstairs (this said, pointing to his brain)
I pay how much for this?

(Part of) The Scoop On Zeus, or Why We Love Our Vet
Because she waited to talk to me in person to share the whole picture of Zeus' bloodwork. First, he's low thyroid, which means the medicine he's been taking is not enough, or it could mean Something Else. He's also anemic and has target cells, which seem to indicate that there's a strong possibility of what could be a benign tumor on his liver or spleen. She doesn't think it's cancer, becuase he'd have a bunch of other symptoms, though his weight loss (correction: it's only 7 pounds, not 10. Still not terrific but not quite as bad.).

When we discussed what exactly about Zeus' behavior is annoying, I laid it all out: the tap dancing, the constant licking, the inability to ever lose focus on food, etc. She reminded me that beagles are beagles, to which I replied, oh yes, we know what to expect -- after all, we had Alice.

And she said: "Yes, but Alice was perfect."

Trying to hold back the tears, I said, yes, yes she was.

She went on to include differences between them like, Alice was sweet, more into people, and female. Sometimes, she said, beagles can't help being beagles and I think Zeus suffers from that. Even now, if he went to live with someone else (like, say, Dan) tomorrow, even after over 4 years with us, he wouldn't really notice as long as he was being fed.

Hearing that sort of absolved me from how differently I feel about them. Alice was my soul mate, my first born baby girl, for whom I still cry today. Zeus is a great guy, a sweetheart, but he's in the end, a dog. Alice was more like a person in a very small, very pretty dog suit. Zeus is 100% dog, in a very faded, scrawny dog suit. Al was born to a fairly decent line of showdogs, complete with a fair chunk of inbreeding, where Zeus is all kinds of backyard-bred, which, in many cases, makes for a pretty hearty dog, health-wise. And yes, I love him very much.

He's off for an xray on Monday, please send good thoughts his way.

It's Back!
My cheap ass finally bought the webcam software I'd been using and the webcam is back in bidness! However, my new cube has some serious backlighting issues so I'll have to keep tweaking so I look nice and purty.


I Have Done It!
After over 2 years since our fateful trip to China, I have organized my meager collection of web-ready photos plus the few teasers that Amy sent over today into a Photo Album of Our Trip, complete with the witty comments that have taken 2 years to bubble up. Enjoy!

And This Is Why
Someday, our kid will ask me why I fell in love with Andrea, how we came to be together and eventually, to be ready to be parents. And I will say c'mere, little Murray, let's look at the Internet (which will no doubt, be projected directly into his little head via a magic yet-to-be-invented device). This is the picture I will show:

And I will say, Murray, because your mom endured 10 hours of Aunt Amy and I screeching in our first class seats to fly to China, to be extremely cold, only to emerge from the coldness and the screeching to grin like a mad fool at the Century Mart in Pudong while holding translated Miracle Whip with her new best friend, the Century Mart employee grinning, too, at the crazy Americans and their giggling.

Wait till you see Andrea with the Tang lady....


Jena says:
Jenanator: if i had a cookie hat, i'd no longer have hat!
Jenanator: and i like hats
Jenanator: but i like cookies too
Such are the dilemmas of modern life.

When I first started this blog, my life was about work, the Internet (which is where I worked then, and still work now), eating free snacks and drinking free beverages while occasionally dancing on our desks to the newly-departed God of Jazz Organ, Jimmy Smith. We were badasses, rulers of the free world, masters of the internet. And I wrote all about it.

Somewhere along the way, I became a mom to the world's most amazing dog, Alice and this blog changed course along with my life. She and I had 2.5 years together, and I assure you that though it could never possibly have been enough, those 2.5 years were a lifetime.

Other dogs came our way, a relentless parade of permanent residents and fosters that led us into buying our first home, giving you a glimpse into the exciting, exhausting world of dog rescue and home ownership. All at the same time! That led to the inevitable burnout on both fronts, resulting in a lack of foster dogs, a sea of permanent canine residents and piles of crap strewn carefully around the house.

I took up hockey, adding tales of being unable to start, let alone stop. The frustrations of trying something so foreign at my advanced age, eventually those frustrations led to some degree of success for me, to Andrea joining me in this endeavor and to a host of new friends. It also led to Andrea buying an Endeavor, finally replacing her dying Volvo.

In the last year or so, it seems that all of our friends have started having amazing, beautiful children who we've come to adore. And thus, this blog has become a showcase for those kids as they grow. And for some other stuff.

Tune in to see what happens next. It's a mystery to me, too.

Heyman, Those Kids Are Ridiculously Cute
During the 30 minutes between leaving work, getting my skates sharpened (I had NO edge. Note to self and to you people, the guy in the little shop at Redwood City does a very mushy job that DOES NOT LAST and costs $8. I have never actually lost an edge until this time around. I cannot begin to tell you how crappy and scary that is, trying to stop, knowing full well that you can, in fact, stop, but having your skate slide out from under you.) and stopping home to get my gear, I had a chance to do a Drive By Baby Visit.

I cannot adequately describe how cute the girls were. It had been over 2 weeks since my last visit and naturally, they had changed like magic in my absence. Sammi was smiling at me. This from the girl who is usually grumpy with the people she knows and charming with strangers. Though, who knows, maybe my long absence converted me from Auntie Liz into a flirtable stranger.

There's Sammi, with a hint of that Magic Smile

Picture in picture! How very meta of me. This is from their 9 month photo shoot

Getting their smiles on with their toys

Riley, moving on from the toys toward a new challenge while Sam continues her flirtations with me

At one point, they were both making fart noises so I did what anyone would have done: I called Andrea so she could experience the joy. That made her and her verboten-from-visiting runny nose very sad, yet thrilled that the babies are now sophisticated enough to carry on a conversation. Granted, that conversation consisted of me and both girls making fart noises, peppered with sporadic baby giggles, but it was a 4 way call just the same.

You just don't know joy until you've been part of a conversation like that.


I'm Sure You Were On The Edge Of Your Seat
I know I was. Class last night was a lot better, a lot more focused on the very compelling task at hand -- evaluation of leisure services. So much of what we're studying is stuff I know from having worked in the bidness world, but it's still sort of compelling.

I just keep telling myself 'after this semester, 2 classes left and I'm a Master!' I can get through this, then I'll be done and my time will once again be filled with the sorts of leisure experiences I've spend the last 2 years writing about.

Lemmeoutlemmeoulemmeoutofschool, now please.

In Case You Were Wondering
The time-honored way to make a women's team name is to take a name you like and simply add the word She to the beginning.
Beavers = She Beavers
Sharks = She Sharks
You get the idea. That said, Viv, Vice President of naming tournament teams nixed the She Beavers for Vancouver. Poo. I think we're gonna be the San Jose Stormtroopys instead.

If it's gonna be nonsensical, it may as well sound cool.

New Addiction
While we were in Vegas, Andrea, the Nettes and I discovered a little slice of heaven: The Sonic Drive in. They have every bad-for-you drive thru menu item you can think of. That, and slushies! You know how I feel about my slushies: slushie=heaven. Between the slushies and Extreme Tots (Napoleon Dynamite would be beside himself, though I admit that they'd be a little more challenging to put in your pants pocket than just plain tots), not even counting the cheese sticks and burritos, it's a wonderland of fast food items.

And did I mention the drive-in part of it, where roller skate-wearing carhops serve your food? Good times, good times.

We're headed to Anaheim in a couple of weeks with the Nettes, Jennie, Graham and about a thousand other people that Jennie knows. Though the alleged purpose of our trip is to ride all the Disneyland rides you can't ride when pregnant (in a way, my own little version of a bachelor party), I have no doubt that we'll be enjoying Extreme Tots more than once.


HEY AMY!!!!!
Just this weekend it occurred to me that P-O-R-N is just one letter away from P-O-R-K. This stunning revelation happened when I was suggesting to Andrea that we go out and bone, er, stock up on some porn. When started to spell it out, I began chuckling at the thought of our Chinese tour guide telling us the water town was famous for its P-O-R-N instead of the scary looking P-O-R-K thighs that were all over town, glistening under the regular light bulbs masquerading as heat lamps.

The boat that took us through the water town filled with P-O-R-K and pay toilets that were really holes in the ground. Our gondolier sang us lovely songs, commented on how large we were compared to her usual passengers and then asked us for a big tip. We gave her about $1 American.

Me, on the boat that took us through the water town.

Yes, it was every bit as cold as it looked. Maybe even a little more.

Andrea's dad, taking a nice rest at the airport before we left the land of C-O-L-D and P-O-R-N.

Amy and I, posing nicely in front of the Chinese Piercing Pogoda.

Me. Doing what I do best.

Ode to Yardwork
Dear Yardwork,
You suck. I hate you.

Happy New Year!
In what I assume was a celebration of Chinese New Year, these kids:

Were lion dancing in the asian grocery store near Giovanni's. It seemed sort of random, but was nonetheless kind of cool.

Let Me Start By Bitching
Not about all the things that hurt after this weekend's Hockeypalooza, which seemed more taxing than usual, even though the quantity (4 games + GHATD) is no more than usual. I think I just did a lot more flailing about and in general, being in the wrong place. But I digress.

I'd rather bitch about last night and how very little sleep it granted me. Coming off Saturday night's sleep, which was amazing, so much so amazing I like as to stay in bed very late to continue enjoying it. But alas, last night's sleep sucked. I was still sort of wired from the games but I was determined not to lay awake, fretting about nothing and everything, the way I normally do on Sunday nights. After a mere hour of gentle slumber, Andrea's coughing fit jolted me awake, and awake I stayed for far too long thanks to the incessant barking of a dog somewhere in the neighborhood. And by incessant, I mean a steady, no signs of quitting kind of bark. There are many things I adore about our neighborhood -- the fact that our slovenliness when it comes to yard work goes unnoticed, that they look out for us, that they don't give us shit about having 4 dogs. But I am growing increasingly tired of the number of junkyard dogs, the amount of police activity and I have to admit, more than a little unnerved by the fact that having family members in jail is old news to many of our neighbors. Add to that oldass, expensive-to-upgrade electricity, the very real fact that having a kid with its own room will mean no office, no spare bedroom, no place to put the mountains of hockey gear that define us now and it sort of adds up to something.

In the end, I wasn't sure I got enough sleep for any of my morning fertility tracking habits to be effective (4 hours is the required minimum) and I admit only to you that I'm pretty damn grumpy, something not helped by my lack of caffienated beverages.

It's gonna be a long day.


Sometimes, the Longing is So Great
I'm making a very concentrated effort at giving up sugar. Part of that is yes, my beloved Coke, which I miss like ex-smokers must miss their smokes and ex-drinkers must miss their booze. Because Coke was my booze, my Jack Daniel's, my personal crack.

And though I loved it, it was killing my stomach and yes, hampering my ability to get knocked up. So it had to stop. I've done far better at this than I would have dared to predict -- I have one coke every couple of days. And when I have that Coke, heymanitellyouwhat the heavens open up, the flood of sugar and caffiene pulses through my veins and wherever I am, it becomes a little slice of heaven.

Coming back from Vegas, that little slice o' heaven caused me to have tourette's on the plane, re-enacting the opening number from Thunder more times than I care to admit, way more times than my fellow plane-mates would have liked.

Having more than one coke is no longer an option -- I use the time-honored Catholic tradition of guilt (or in the modern vernacular, guiltinating) with myself and ask 'which do you want more? The Coke/coffee/Snickers or a baby?' But the other day, I wanted some cake SOOO badly it was ridiculous. In the end, I quietly sneaked a finger of frosting and I have to tell you that was the best sugary snack ever. Ever.

The Reach of Trogdor
Even spreads to my office, which features this impressive display of Very Important Arms:

In Other School News
Tony happened to mention that if you planned to graduate at the end of Fall 2005, you would have had to turn in some lameass form by September of 2004. What? So unless Mr. Heyman, my new advisor, can work some magic, instead of (hopefully) waddling my pregnant ass across the stage in December, I'll be carting an infant across in May, a mere 6 months after I'm actually finished.

Meeting with Mr. Heyman on Monday to get this straightened out. I must remember, then remind myself, that meeting with him means that he'll talk and I'll listen.

"I'm here to listen. I'm here to listen."


I suspect that I'm not the only person writing about tonight's ER, where Carrie's birthmother found her. Given the level of quality I've come to expect from that show, I was really looking forward to a nice tear-jerker, a casual reminder of my own reunion experience.

Talk about a crock of shit! The birthmother seemed barely older than Carrie, her acting (her lines?) was pretty unaffected and honestly, all that Jesus stuff seemed more than a bit heavy-handed.

I so wanted to cry when the birthmother mentioned that Carrie's 'daddy' had died, when Carrie wimped out about telling her whole life story but I lost interest when the woman started going on and on about God and how she's pray for Carrie. Interesting points about faith at the end, about what people are looking for inside of faith, but really, they fucked up what could have been a powerful episode.

For once, I couldn't relate to a reunion on television at all. Even though the daughter was a lesbian, there was nothing there for me. Oh well, I didn't really need to cry anyway.

Class! Woo!
This was the first day of my new class. I was totally looking forward to it and rightly so. It turned out to be pretty stellar, especially compared to how lame my lone class in my own department has become. We discussed ethics, philosophy and a host of other crap, all of which managed to hold my interest.

The only thing that stood out as unique was my main man, Lawrence. He's an older guy, probably in his late 40's, I think from China. He speaks with a thick accent and a questionably large bandaid on the back of his hand. In addition to his rather unique physical appearance, he's got a very um, unique set of beliefs that he felt the need to share with us.

Such as:

  • We should watch a kung fu movie, in its entirety, as a class so we can gain the 'essence of kung-fu'
  • In response to my teacher equating the don't-ask-don't-tell policy in the military with a similar policy that's going in in regards to steroid use in teenagers, he grew irate at the thought that GAYS could be the same as DRUGS, even though that's not what the teacher was saying anyway. He went on to explain that he was a vet and that if there had been a gay guy in HIS army, well, he would have told that guy to 'get out of here!'
  • Women aren't as dominant as men.
  • Gay people choose to be gay. The other gay guy in the class and I jumped right on that one, with me saying 'I was engaged once' being met with silence. At that point I realized that with my long hair and purse, people may think that I'm one of Those People, i.e. not among 'the gays.'
  • Poor people depend on fast food for all of their meals, then get fat.
  • Nobody likes fat people, anyway.
I bided my time, but yes, of course I did this. Stepped up and told him that making the kinds of broad generalizations that he was destroyed his credibility and that he should speak more specifically. Yes, I could easily have been more hostile but hey, it's my first day in the class. You gotta start somewhere.

It May Go In The Potty, But...
SoopahVivinator: DOOODIE!
SoopahVivinator: HE SAID DOOOODIE!
Liz2D2inator: he did! he did!
SoopahVivinator: why must you incite me like that?
SoopahVivinator: i'm at work, yo
SoopahVivinator: DOOODIE!
Liz2D2inator: because its' fun
SoopahVivinator: omg i have DOODIE! tourettes

Why oh why does Viv have to be in a meeting right now and Jena not ever be on IM during the day so I have nobody to share this with but the entire Internet? Why?

Peasant's Quest: The Movie
Quoting the guy who sent the link:
Yes, it's live-action.
Yes, the peasant has short shorts.
Yes, he gets burninated.
I would totally pay to see this movie.

Baby Names, Redeux
The Baby Name Wizard is amazing. Shows how popular the top names have been over the last decade and is a tremendous time suck. Must. Stop. Looking.

TMI re: Yesterday
I'm not kidding. This is totally TMI. Skip this entry if you don't want to know something kind of gross.

Here's how my day started: with some major gas pains. Not the fun/funny kind of gas where you make funny noises and might make bad smells, no, this was the kind of gas that just sits in your belly, causing bloat and a great many grimaces (not the purple happy kind from McDonald's anyway, the unpleasant kind. And speaking of McDonald's characters, I'd like to start a campaign to elect Mayor McCheese President of something.). As the day went on, no amount of Pepcid helped, the mere thought of carbonation sent my stomach into knots. Sitting in class, I attemped to drink a Talking Rain with my sandwich but that only made things a whole lot worse. More grimacing (and alas, no Mayor McCheese) commenced. By the time my teacher announced that he had to leave so we could go 45 minutes early, I was nearly doubled over.

Sat on the couch at home for a while, arms up, trying to coax out the gas bubble that was surely killing me. No luck until I sucked it up and ate one of the hard-core tastes-like-ass Pepcid chewables that also have the anti-gas in them.

It took some time but it was magic, pure, heavenly magic. During band, I actually felt hungry so by the time band, then quintet practice was over, I was again about to die, this time from hunger.

Before we went to bed, Andrea asked me 'do I have time to pee/wash my face/brush my teeth or are you crowning?'

I went to bed feeling ridiculously good. And so much lighter.


Happy Birthday, LizSpeaks
It occurred to me that sometime next week, this blog is about to turn 5. 5. That's seriously a lot of crap that's been said. I hope some of it was worthwhile.

Now That's A Fan!
Rugby Fan Cuts off Own Testicles...It was reported that the man told his friends: “If Wales win I’ll cut my own balls off.”
After the 11-9 victory in the Six Nations clash, the man is reported to have gone outside and severed his testicles before bringing them back into the club to show fellow drinkers.
A local was reported as saying that the man was on medication and should not have been drinking.
You think?


Progress Meter
Liz's Mom: Hi Elizabeth. Just catching up on my e-mail. I am
Liz2D2: well that's good
Liz2D2: i'm just working
Liz's Mom: Hi, Elizabeth. I'm going to try and get in on e-bay and

Hi Mom, welcome to the internet!

I'm going to suck it up and add one more class, hoping to pique my interest and, more importantly, to make it so that after this semester, I'll have just 2 more classes left. It should be so totally worth it.

Truer Words
I'm not sure why these funny statements about marriage are on the cartalk website, but they are, so enjoy!


    "Married people usually look happy to talk to other people." Eddie, age 6
    "I don't know which is better, but I'll tell you one thing. I'm never going to have sex with my wife. I don't want to be all grossed out." Theodore, age 8
    "There sure would be a lot of kids to explain, wouldn't there?" Kelvin, age 8
And there you have it, folks. This said by a person who is hoping to have one of those kids to be explained.

Hey Man...
So, I am 5, count 'em, 5 classes away from getting my Master's in Recreation, effectively becoming Liz Doughty, Master of Recreation. If I knew then, what I know now, I would have gone into Human Performance, aka Kinesiology, aka PE or gym class. But I didn't and now I have those 5 classes left to taunt me. It's now or never and even though I don't really know why I'm bothering, except for the fact that there are only 5 classes between me having a Master's degree in anything or having nothing, only the wasted carcass of the last two years of my life and being out a bunch of cash, time and effort.

But really, what am I going to do with this? I have no idea. There was a time, not that long ago, when I thought I would eventually become a Recreation Professional, leading others to enjoy their leisure time, guiding them toward more fulfilling lives. Even though imparting my particular belief system on anyone isn't really my style, it still seemed.

This semester, I'm taking the Research Methods class that I've been dreading. I'm thrilled to find that it's not that bad, that my most excellent (and now retired) advisor had adequately prepared me, that I actually have a fair portion of the work already done. Woo for that.

I'm also taking this course in evaluating recreation programs. While I question the relevance to my particular thesis (A continuation of Shaw's 2003 and 1986 studies on the impacts of primary relationships on women's ability to get out of the house and experience their own leisure time despite having the demands of relationships and families) of this course, it's required and it's also too late for me to switch to HUP so there I am on Monday nights learning how to evalute programming that I'll most likely never do.

But it was okay, because my second favorite teacher ever was teaching it. She was bound to make at least part of it relevant for me, or at least interesting. But last night, when I arrived, I was totally bummed to see my newly-appointed graduate advisor there to announce that he was taking over the class because nobody had signed up for his class. Budgets being what they are, the terrific part-time teacher gets cut while the full-time faculty guy with expertise in a different part of the field teaches our class.

And did I mention that I'm really not that fond of his teaching style? We ended up spending almost 3 hours listening to him talk, about his PhD, about how he knew every author of every article we read, all of the things that grated my nerves about certain other full-time tenured professors I once took classes from.

But I'm stuck. This course is required, though I'll always question it's relevance (harder so, since I'm not even sure why I'm bothering to finish this degree), so I have to take it. But now instead of having relevant discussions about the literature, I'll be listening to him tell us all about who he knows (e.g. an author named Sandra becomes Sandy, implying a relationship) and counting the minutes until I'm done.

I'll also be counting the number of times he says 'hey man'. Last night it was 9.


The Shrinking Puffin
For the record, I consider Puffin Face like as to be like a puffin bird. I stopped home after lunch to check on Rainie and saw that the swelling from this week's Mystery Ailment has gone down. Here's proof:

The Weekend in Pictures
Friday night, we headed up to the city for Andrea's relative, Grandma's, 100th birthday celebration, where I saw this sign:

Which reminded me very much of China. And of flames, coming out of a man zass.

Saturday morning, I took Rainie and Zeus to the vet for a checkup. When Zeus was taken from the room for his traditional party-hat enhanced nail trim and the old man blood panel, Rainie got very concerned and waited patiently by the door for him to return:

She also wouldn't sit still long enough to get a non-blurry closeup.

That afternoon, I went to visit the tinest Eatonweb, Mr. Ronan. He spent the afternoon sleeping in my lap and making the most amazing array of noises

And just being cute.

Can I just start this week over?
I woke up today prepared to have nice, easy blog entry about how much better (though not 100%) my ankle is feeling, how nice it was to skip playing goalie yesterday and coach my team instead. They took a record-setting 24 shots on goal and even though they didn't score and still lost by the same 2 goal margin they do when I'm in the net, they played well and I was proud.

In addition, I had planned to discuss Saturday's vet visit for Zeus and Rainie, how we learned the scary fact that Zeus has lost 10 of his 33 pounds in the last year. I knew he was skinny but I didn't realize it was that bad. We're waiting on the results of his geezer blood work to see what's going on there. My dad consoled me in his special way by reminding me that Buddy's sudden weight loss was how they discovered he had the lung cancer that killed him. Thanks, I feel a lot better.

I was also going to mention how Andrea talked me into skating the A-Team 2 game instead of coaching red like I was supposed to and about what a good thing that was since I ended up breaking the seal on our scoreless ways, getting an unassisted goal when I ran it up. We lost 3-1 against a team that had kicked our asses in the past. Again, a loss, and again, I couldn't be more pleased.

I could mention my maroon game, how we ended up short players so I got to have Chris, Viv, Ellaine and Mary (aka Stitches) play with us. One player on the other team has this weird (to me) habit of doing two things: 1. she holds her stick WAAAY high up in the air when she's calling for a pass. At least once, I've taken advantage of this and ducked under her just in time to let her high-stick me in the helmet and get the penalty. 2. she parks in front of the net and bangs her stick on the ice for the pass. As a defenseman, as the defenseman guarding you, I cannot thank you enough for these two habits becuase they 1. let me know exactly where you are and 2. let me know exactly what you're going to do. In response, I started holding my stick WAAAY up high, then banging on the ice for the pass.

Whaddya know? At least 3 times, I got the pass and cleared the puck out of the zone. And of course, cracked my team up every time I did it. Eventually, she started calling with words and the ruse was over but it sure was fun while it lasted.

I was also prepared to mention the snowball fight Viv and Ellaine had with the Zamboni runoff just outside Belmont. And the snowball that Viv carried outside her car window to the restuarant nearby just so she could chuck it at Ellaine.

But what I really need to mention is how stunningly bad my morning has started off. Every day, as I'm getting dressed, I open the door to the kitchen and let the bassets (who are invariably waiting by the door for this moment, again winning the doggie lottery) waddle into our room. Rainie ran over to the bed and jumped halfway up, something she doesn't normally do. But she was trying to show us her poor face, which had been puffininated by some mystery ailment. It was ridiculously swollen and one side was totally red and hot. She kept trying to rub it off.

I called the vet and told them they had to see her NOW. Andrea whisked her away while the other guys were eating. Patrick came running after them, wailing in his silly way. After they left, he re-enacted the tale of their leaving by running back and forth to the leashes, then the door, moaning as if we'd cut off his right arm. Which, in a way, we had.

I got about a block away from home when I realized that I had no cash for lunch so I turned around and went back to get some. Patrick again told me his tale of woe and I once again assured him that his Rainie would be back soon. He didn't buy it, though, and wailed after I left.

To make my morning just a little worse, I got an email from the sperm bank telling me that they're raising the roof, er, their rates by $60 per vial. That means that each attempt we do now costs an extra $240, since we'll need 4 per try. Tee-riffic! They did assure me by sharing that since they've made the improvements that this increase attempts to cover, the pregnancy rate has increased by 30%. Cool but damn. This stuff is not covered by insurance, since technically, I'm not infertile. Sheesh.

Rainie got two big shots and is apparently on the mend. I'll keep you posted on her decreasing puffin-face.


I Guess I'm Speechless
Because I can't think of anything really interesting to share with you people.
  • My ankle seems better, thanks to a very sporty ankle brace that I got at Safeway. I also got some unsolicited advice from the clerk who rang me up about how to heal faster. Um, thanks?
  • Enjoyed the Nettes birthday dinner last night, playing the part of their 'little friends'. I fully expected to contribute but was touched when Daddy Clifford whipped out the cash anyway. Thanks!
  • We're making our semi-annual pilgrimage to Disneyland soon. With any luck, this will be the last time I can go on some of the more hearty rides and I want to make the most of it.
  • One of the A-Team 2 subs has stepped up to captain the team so it looks like they'll continue, without most of the current players. Cool.
That's it for now. Sorry I'm not more inspired, I'm busy thinking of the best way to say '90 day trial period.'


Bob, the guy who'll be taking over my captain duties on the A-Team once we're With Child, suggested to me today that it's far more favorable to treat children like cars -- trading them in every 5 years -- than to raise them through teenager-hood.

I'll keep that in mind...

Playing last night's A-Team 2 game was probably a bad idea. My stupid ankle is now retaining even more water, and causing pain to boot. Lame lame lame.


Friday night (I think) most of the Burninators went out to see the Thunder from Down Under. I'd expected it to be like the gay-focused strip shows I've been to in the distant past (look, when I was first coming out, my only gay friends were guys, gimme a break!) where the hot men would trot around in their g-strings, packages fully fluffed to high fluffedness, but it wasn't quite like that. These guys basically stripped down to shorts then jumped onto tables via cleverly concealed stageside trampolines then strutted around the audience, showing us their shorts.

You see more stuff at the beach, and it doesn't cost $43!

But I digress. The show was actually kind of sweet. They brought ladies up from the audience to participate, and at one point, had 3 contestants on stage for an orgasm-faking contest. The two younger, fluffy-type chicks absolutely wimped out, but the contest was won handily by an older gal who assured us that she'd done this before. During the contest, I turned to Viv and said "here's how you'd do it: Dude. Woot!" and we laughed hysterically while Sharon's sister Cindy continued to go apeshit about the whole experience. Watching Cindy was truly better than watching the show, since after about 10 minutes I pretty bored with the whole thing, though the Nettes and I got enough out of it to reenact the opening number on the plane home.

I actually skipped an A-Team game last night due to exhaustion and an ankle that is stubbornly retaining water. Word on the street is, they won without me, 5-2. Woo! I felt really weird about it, since it's the second game I've missed EVER due to any kind of injury. I've played through tendonitis, a shoulder impingement, a wide assortment of bruises and yes, another more-sprained ankle. The only difference is that I'm still exhausted from Vegas, no matter how much I sleep. But it still felt weird.


The Future of the A-Team 2
Hey A-Team 2,
I know we've talked about this in person a bit but I wanted to lay it all out, now that we've had some time to think on it.
In our 2 seasons together, we've done some great things and had a lot of fun together. However, despite our own best efforts, the outside influence of the way our league is being run has made it very hard for me to want to continue with the team.
For the record: I do not mind losing. I don't like it, but winning has never been my main goal with either team. Instead, I've sought to provide a place where folks of all ages and skill levels can have a good time on the ice.
But the way the reffing has deteriorated over the last couple of seasons has me very concerned for everyone's safety. I do not think it's appropriate for a ref to 'let them play hockey' when that means people are getting shoved into the boards at potentially dangerous angles or penalty after penalty goes uncalled.
It has hit the point where I can no longer guarantee your safety playing at Logitech and given that, I am going to disband the team.
In lieu of Logitech, I invite all of you to check out Redwood City's Saturday night league (www.iceoasis.com). They actually call penalties and help beginners learn what's a penalty and what's not instead of just glaring at us when we ask a question. They also move players who are too skilled or agressive to a more appropriate level so everyone has a chance to succeed. Game times are always 8:15, 9:30 or 10:45 on Saturday nights. No crazy weeknight schedules or late times.
The drawbacks? It's a bit more expensive than Logitech (though they have many freebies and discounted rates on classes and open skate) and we won't all be able to play together. But I'm willing to live with that if it means that everyone can do their best without worrying about the next set of gigantic guys coming our way. Please let me know if you have any questions. This was a hard decision, but in my heart, I know it's the right one.
Take care,

Happy Nette Day!
Yo! Today is the Nettes birthday! Happy birthday, Nettes! May the big wheel keep on turnin for another terrific year of Burnination and fun.