Hello World!
And now the moment you've all been waiting for...

World, Murray. Murray, World.

That's right folks. We're pregnant. Knocked up. In a family way. Preggo. Renting out the guest room. We have a bun in the oven. With child. IN TROUBLE.

The stats: 12 weeks, 1 day. Murray is due on 5/14/2006, aka Mother's Day. When did we find out? On the day we went to Hooters, of course, while on our fabulous, excellent, almighty trip to DisneyWorld.

Yes, this means that we stopped talking about trying even though we still were. I was beginning to lose faith in the power of my ovaries, in the power of unfrozen caveman sperm. I was ready to turn to Advanced Fertility Treatment but in the end all it took was a little bit of luck, a fair amount of amateur gynecology and the Luck Of The Irish.

I'm allegedly out of the first trimester, allegedly about to start feeling better. I'm still eagerly awaitng my very own seat on the 'stop feeling like shit' train though I feel it growing closer and closer (Clarice). What's also growing is Murray, who has gone from being an appleseed (Murray Appleseed) to a raisin (which was certainly NOT free) and now to being a peach.

As in, thanks for all the nausea, Murray. You're a real peach. Or the size of one.

So there you have it, the Big Announcement. Stay tuned for Murray updates.

If The Beastie Boys Knew ClearCase
They might say this instead: check-di-check-check-check-it-in.

Not Effective
No matter how long you give the finger to ClearCase, or whether or not you use both hands, it will not change it's mind about giving YOU that nasty error message.

Requirements Include: Ability To Follow Instructions
In the efforts of ridiculously tight security here at work, the door to the cafeteria (home of ice and pre-packaged snacks. Do not eat what they prepare, it has been known to induce illness and include frogs.) is under Security. That means it magically opens when you walk up to it from the lobby toward the Den of Frogs but you have to badge back into the lobby once you've picked up your frog-laden salad.

So, this morning, I'm stumbling heading from the famed lobby toward the Den of Frogs when the receptionist asks if I can do her a favor. Can I tell the guy on the other side of the door that they're broken and he'll have to go around? Um, sure. So I lean up to the crack between the doors and attempt to catch his attention. He's frantically waving his bage in front of the card reader, then pushing on the doors. I'm shouting at him 'it's BROKEN. You have to go around.' but he just keeps badging maniacally and pushing on the doors that do not yield.

Except of course that by standing there, I have released the magic doors from the lobby and he's now free to go, pushing past me like a man freed from a rat-filled cellar. When I make my return, I stand there trying to get the attention of the new security guard in the lobby. All he has to do is walk about 2 feet and freedom (freedonia) will be mine. He does so, then tells me and the other frantic guy who has joined me in the waiting that we need to go around. Dude, I'm already in the lobby so shut up. But I don't say that, instead I say, 'Or you could just help us out.' then go on my merry way.

And then I get in the elevator, remembering that last year a guy got fired for mouthing off to the security guards. And I think maybe next time, I'll shut the fuck up.


Dude, Where Is Everyone?
When you're a kid, Halloween in the United States is a big deal. Getting bigger every year until now it's gone from an afternoon of fun costume parades and candy at school when I was a kid (and man, I must tell you that I had THE MOST kickass costumes those days because that's right, my Grandma and my mom would work together for months in advance making whatever I'd asked for. Some of them I wore for a few years until they were just too small. I'm hoping that my mom saved those costumes because someday I'd like to put them on Murray). You'd trick or treat at night, parents who drank would go out to some party and then, it would be over. You'd be there with a dwindling bag of candy until a few weeks later all you had left was wax teeth and jawbreakers.

But now, now, people (okay, Americans) go apeshit for Halloween. You see decorations in stores the moment after labor day. Candy is everywhere (this: not a bad thing) and for weeks in advance all people talk about is their costumes and parties and how they're going to party (i.e. drink).

Well, my ass doesn't drink. At least not enough to matter at a party, where no doubt the costumed many would ask why I wasn't drinking more (um. because I really don't have good luck with drunkeness) and I'd leave after the requisite amount of time necessary to be polite. And really, I'm not that into dressing up. You see, I dress up as a very convincing hockey player about 3-5 times a week. That's my favorite costume. It has red pants. Maybe it's that I didn't play sports as a kid, that though I didn't it turns out that what I wanted more than anything in the world was the chance to put on a matching uniform and be part of a team. Marching band filled that void to some degree, but not nearly the way hockey does.

So if I dressed up as something else, a monkey, a zombie, a teabag like Krista's doing, a pearl necklace like her husband's doing, that would be cheating on my true self, the one who even now, 5 years later, is still thrilled to be able to stand on her own two skate blades, part of a team where everyone has the same jersey. Except of course that I'm usually the only one with red pants. But that's my deal. Blend in, to a degree, then blend out.

Many people at work were all jazzed about the big day. Discussions of parties and costumes ensued and finally, today, it seems like my entire floor is 'working from home' so they can do Halloween stuff.

I suppose that when we have a kid and that kid is dressing up in some radass costume that I'll be 'working from home,' too. So I don't miss a minute of that. But for me? This day is just not that exciting.

Just Tired
What the F? I'm still not fully re-acclimated to my American lifestyle, or rather to the time change between Sydney and here. Finally, though, I'm sleeping at night, I guess just not long enough. It's closer, Clarice.


Great Films From Days Past
Thanks once again to the ever-brilliant Tim (Hi, Tim!) for reminding me about what could possibly be the Greatest Video Ever: this nameless wonder starring every cheesy convention from the Decade That Showed Us How To Groove (or DTSUHTG, as Jennie might say).

Gloating A Bit
Let us all Praise Jesus that Miers has withdrawn her nomination. John Roberts isn't as liberal a guy as I would have liked to see up there, but he's a shitload more qualified than Miers. Her nomination scared me in oh so many ways. Good luck to ya but thanks for making the right choice.


Getting Better
After 4 nights of little or no sleep, I've almost caught up with myself. Meaning, going to bed (and sleeping!) at a reasonable (i.e. when it's dark outside) hour, then remaining asleep for most of the night.

Woo. Except that at 1 am, Gus woke me with the sound of his moaning. That can only mean 1 thing: that the man wants to get up, but can't. My poor dude. This time, he wasn't stuck under the table, he was just stuck in a horizontal position (though really, if he's up, he's still horizontal since he does have 4 legs). I had to coax him up for a good long while. Finally, with great effort and in the end, a bit of a limp on his good leg (sigh) he got up and walked in circles for me.

At some point after that, I elbowed Andrea in the top of the head. Ooops, and sorry! These pointy elbows are a gift to her as much as they are to me.

I got up, still feeling sleepy around my normal time. But it's progress.

And Gus showed me a small pheasant so at least he's a little better this morning. I can't help but worry about the guy. He's probably like 11 or 12 now and they do say that big dogs don't live as long. Though I say fuck 'them' and their sayings, our guy has never been the picture of health so I accept that our time with him will be what it will be. We'll do what we always do: give him all the love, treats and stuffed toys to schlep around that we can, then hope for the best. But you know, when it comes to Gus, it's all been the best.


How To Give Yourself A Heart Attack
Spend 4 hours joining 2 streams on ClearCase, then stop it for a second to remove old views, but leave the application open. Forget that you've stopped it and refresh your view shortcuts. They will all disappear, except the one of Heather's you have added for some reason you can't remember.

Panic for 5 minutes thinking that once again, your nemsis has bested you. Then remember you'd stopped it manually. Breathe. Restart. Then go the hell home.

Woulda Coulda Shoulda
Well, it's 10/25. 4 years ago, we celebrated Alice's 12th birthday at a beaglefest, a gathering of over 100 beagles at a dog park. The guys hosting it made a fuss over her, since we'd almost lost her in August and just having her there with us, happy, was a triumph. She ate tasty snacks and had a great day. This is her on the way home from a different, earlier beaglefest. That's Bagel on the left, a foster dog who absolutely broke my heart when he went to the best home ever, and of course Zeus, who will outlive us all on the right:

One month after her 12th birthday, you know the rest. Expensive surgery followed by her sudden and extremely tragic death, from which I will never really be healed.

Had she sill been with us, she'd be 16 today. If you ask me, that would be a little too long for a girl as fragile (yet tough, oh so tough) as she was. 14? I would have been thrilled to have her be 14. But we only had 12, 1 month and 4 days.

Happy birthday baby girl. You'll never be forgotten.


And The Best
After a really long, not fun at all weekend of bachelorettehood for me, Andrea just got of the plane at SFO. We are all back. Phew.

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly
First off, Jean scored YET AGAIN. She is now 3 for 3, a goal per game for each of the last 3 games. The drought leading up to this particular streak was long so the joy remains great. However, we're running out of game pucks to give her so she may just need to carry the puck bag and say they're all her game pucks. That's the good. No, the great.

The bad is that the jet lag has kicked my ass, or rather whalloped my behind in a bad bad bad way. I've only slept about 2 hours each night, then spent most of the day in bed Saturday and Sunday, emerging from hour-ish naps to eat, then nap again, then play me some hockey. Of course I managed to muster enough energy for hockey.

The ugly is that Lisa fell down and went boom during last night's Team Ingrid game. I think Ingrid Herself was the cause, from what I could tell Lisa was changing lines and Ingrid didn't see Lisa and boom. Lisa laid there for far too long but did get up finally (phew!) and eventually returned to play the end of the game. But it's always scary when your friends are horizontal on the ice.


Busses, Beaches and Bumping Into Parents
Yesterday we slept in (because we could) then headed out to Bondi Beach, via the train, which we boarded at Museum. Every time we go there I say 'mvsvem' in honor of Cheddah. Then I laugh and Andrea rolls her eyes.

There was a signal fire at Bondi Junction so we had to get off early, then take a bus that we couldn't find the rest of the way. We took a cab instead, and were dumped at the water's edge. As soon as we got out of the cab, Andrea said 'okay, I've seen enough' but we perservered and stood knee-deep in the Tasman Sea (I think) for a while. We did some shopping then boarded a bus back to Cicular Quay, where the ferrys depart and where the opera house is.

The bus was totally interesting, even if it did take forever. Always a good way to see what really goes on in a place.

We wandered around the opera house, enjoyed the facilities outside then headed inside to see the bathrooms that Andrea's cousin (aka the groom) had designed. As we're walking in, I see Andrea's parents giving me the same sort of stunned looks I was giving them. Andrea's mom filled me in on how nice the groom-designed crappers are and how she'd used them for big business. Excellent.

The toilets were indeed nifty. Andrea did an extensive photo shoot that you'll see someday. We had dinner with the parents then said our goodbyes. Since I'm leaving before Andrea is, unless we bump into them again, that was the last time I'll see them for god knows how long.

Today we're off to the Olympic stadium area. For $6 I can swim in the pool where the Olympians swam. I intend to do that but first I'll have to sign out of here then head to the mvsvem train stop. Later, mates!


The Ooz
Yesterday was an exciting visit to Toronga Zoo. To get there, you have to take a ferry past the Opera House and see a bunch of pretty stuff. You also have to take a cable car up a very tall hill, then you walk down towards the exit. Nifty, except that it doesn't quite go in a line so we spent a lot of time walking uphill to see more stuff.

And speaking of stuff, we have now seen a shitload of wombats, had our pictures taken with a koala and seen a zillion kangaroos. They are all cuter in person than on television or the internet. You all should come here to see for yourselves.

On the food: local food that's not Chinese is weird. Everything tastes just a little funny to us. The Chinese food kicks ass so we're eating a lot of that. In a moment of desperation today we went for Pizza Hut (a homage to our trip to China, which was tasty.

Let me say again: milkshakes in Australia are NOT like American milkshakes. They are watery, disgusting things with only the faintest hint of ice creamy goodness. Ick. Yes, there was spitting involved with this particular mistake. Good people of Australia, you do not know what you are missing in this department.

We also rode the train for the first time yesterday. It was clean, pleasant, quiet and cheap. And it goes just about everywhere. We're about to hop on one to go to Bondi Beach.

And hop I will, see you latah.


Oh Yeah
I miss you guys.

Fuck Australia
First off, I have 4 single-spaced pages written about our trip thus far. When we get our tired asses in gear and get to the free wireless on the first floor, I will post our Saga for you. In the meantime, I must tell you that JEAN SCORED AGAIN!!! I missed it but who cares? Jean, my hockey hero, is on a streak! Two games in a row!! I'm dancing from down under for her.

Okay, now some stuff about Australia. It's great. People are nice, our hotel couldn't be any more conveniently located, and for the most part, the food is tasty. Remember when we were kids, learning about other countries in school and the one thing you learn about Australia (besides Koala bears and Kangaroos) is that the water in the drain swirls backwards? Well, the toilets don't work like American toilets at all -- they have 2 buttons, the #1 button and the #2 button and neither allows for swirling. So I still have no idea if that's true but since we heard it in school, it must be true.

I was able to extend my trip by 2 days, so now I'm coming home on Friday, in case you missed me.

Everything here is named Murray. I guess there's a Murray river or something nearby but it cracks me up every time.

That's it for now. Soon, soon, I swear, you'll have 4 pages of joy waiting for you.


I think we're ready to go. I've hunted down a train from the airport (sweet, no introduction to a new country by an overly enthusiastic cabbie), discovered McDonald's near our hotel (after our trip to Shanghai, I'll never be unprepared in the food dept again) and mostly packed, though Andrea is apparently at home, unsupervised, repacking my bag.

I'm not nearly as aprehensive about this trip as I was about going to China. Why? Well, it's like this. China is nothing at all like the United States. I had some vague inkling of this before we left (I know, what gave it away? The BILLION people who do not look like me? The language? The squatter toilets?), I knew that when we landed, we would truly be Someplace Else.

And we were. Someplace cold, where all signs were written in characters that looked pretty but carried no meaning for me. Streets filled with cars at all hours of the night, smog that permeated everything outside, even cars. The only things that China had in common with my United States were the fact that cars had four wheels, people had two legs and the sun went down at night. And McDonald's, my home away from home. That was it.

I was absolutely out of place there and no amount of earnestly staring locals could let me forget it for even one moment. And it was cold, so cold I could feel it in my bones ALL THE TIME, so cold that literally, on the morning of day 8, I awoke to find crow's feet next to my eyes. Thank you, Pudong!

So compared to that, going to a place that includes many white people, speaks English and is not cold this time of year sounds absolutely fine by me.

See you in a week, Internet. If I had some music, I'd play it for you while you're on hold.


It's Not Less
So it's almost four years since we lost Alice and though I don't cry every day anymore, my heart still aches for her. I think it always will. Sometimes I see her out of the corner of my eye, wagging her tail, growing her little pirate growl (arrrrr! which she'd do on command for something good, like turkey), strutting around in her raincoat like the badass she was. I no longer see her neck turned painfully to one side or hear her yelp from the pain of that bad neck. I just see us, walking around Sunnyvale, going to work together, bobbing for hotdogs and oh yes, I will always hear the pirate growl. That soundtrack is stored deep within my heart.

I don't feel that way about Ellie. Ellie was ours for such a short time, and really, she was never really ours. She died 5 years ago this week (10/8) and though we honor her every single day through our Roos, I don't feel the same gut-wrenching heartache that I do about Al.

Right after Ellie died, I heard this piece on This American Life where they interviewed a family who honored their dead son through their restaurant. One of the relatives said something like "the loss doesn't get any easier, it only becomes less immediate." I've clung to that statement over the years, because for me, it's true.

The family all wore shirts indicating their relationship to their son -- Chad's Mom, Chad's Cousin, etc. At the time I imagined my shirt would say 'Ellie's Mom' but now I know that's not true. I wasn't really ever her mom, I just got to love her for a short time.

But Alice. I was 100% her mom. It didn't matter that we met when she was 9, that she died too soon, when she was 12, a month and 4 days old. Didn't matter a bit. We've had Zeus twice that time and I know in my heart that when we lose him, it won't be like it was for her. It won't be nearly as hard because we haven't been gypped of a single day. With Alice, I was robbed of at least 2 good years. I know this in my bones.

And so it is with Grandma. We were all robbed of 5 years, of those last 5 years where her world became just her bedroom, where holding court no longer took place at the breakfast table but around a hospital bed and a barcalounger, medical supplies and knitting all around us. She should have been walking around, driving her car no faster than 30mph, leaning on the shopping cart at Kroger as she bought Cokes for us kids, buying her own lottery tickets. I will always feel robbed of those years, just of the last 5, when things were so much harder for her than they should have been. She did not deserve that kind of pain, not after the 95 good years she'd put in to get to that point.

Right before she got the infection that eventually led to her being so damn sick for far too long, she was walking with just a cane. She said to my mom, "Look! I can do it!" Two days later she went to the hospital with what we thought was the flu but was actually a staph infection wreaking havoc on her body. She never really walked again after that.

This morning, I woke up crying. I'd been dreaming about Grandma (and inexplicably, we all had houses with pools in Las Vegas). We had a (also inexplicably) Baptist service celebrating her life, a service filled with song and joy and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grandma across the aisle from me, smiling and singing her heart out.

When I turned to her, she was gone.

I will always feel the loss of all of them, of Alice, of Ellie and in so many profound ways, of Grandma. But if I had a t-shirt, I think in the end it would just say "Alice's Mom." Because the entire world was Martha's Grandchild, anyone who asked could call her Grandma. And if you ask me, everyone should have. She was the kind of storybook Grandma that I have no doubt some of you dreamed of having. That you didn't have her, I am sorry but I am oh so very grateful that I did.

Caught It All
During last week's driveby visit with Andrea's aunt, we managed to get nagged about everything on my list -- our weights (though according to her, I might have lost some), our financial situation (which has changed dramatically for the better thanks to the hydroponic garden in our basement), Andrea got reamed for not giving Grandma (who was not really Andrea's grandma, but a family friend, I think) a red packet for her 100th birthday (of course, I'd give my right arm to have the opportunity to give my Grandma anything for her 100th birthday but that's not in the cards and I will always miss her wise-cracking ass like crazy even when I'm 100). We also got the tip about this weekend's wedding including a tea ceremony, for which Andrea (not me, that was made clear) will have to give the groom a red packet.

We were almost at the airport when I realized she hadn't harrassed us about how many dogs we had, so I brought it up just so I could hear '4 dogs! That's too many!'

This trip is going to be SO much fun.

You Could Totally Tell
Today, I was lunching alone since my usual partner in lunchtime crime had to run an Important Errand. This is never a bad thing -- I always have a book in my car and I assure you, I'm not afraid to read it.

So there I was holed up with my burrito, trying to read over the pretty damn loud mariachi music that was piped in for ambience when the voice of the woman behind me sounded loud and clear over the accordians' lovely melody.

"So I saw this he/she the other day at the courthouse. You could TOTALLY tell it was a man! It was like six-three, with a marilyn manson wig and a TATOO on his chest, wearing a black dress. He was there for a custody hearing, when we called his name, he said he was Nicole now and could they please refer to him as Nicole."

"I couldn't help it. I kept looking at him and laughing. You could TOTALLY tell."

I shook my head, did everything I could to not get up and give that young lady a lecture about the level of effort required each day for such a person to get dressed appropriately, then muster the courage to go out in the world looking in a way that solicits laughter from ignorant asses like this woman (who was some sort of officer of the court, how I longed for her to be wearing a badge that identified her place in the hierarchy). I wanted to explain what I knew of the challenges of finding womanly (e.g. uncomfortable as shit) shoes in large sizes, of finding dresses that fit, of repeated, painful electrolysis to remove extra facial hair, or even to address the fact that this woman had wound up in court on a custody hearing. Was that related to her realizing that she'd been born in the wrong kind of body, then trying to rectify the situation?

But the lady had no clue about any of this, no, she just knew the end result before her, someone she'd instantly deemed worthy of laughter and open scorn. A little empathy goes a long way but unfortunately an even smaller amount of scorn goes a lot further. I can only hope that Nicole didn't see this woman laughing at her there in the courtroom, as she fought her custody battle.

We're leaving for Australia. Tomorrow night. Huh? I've packed what I could but seriously, I'm in total denial about the whole thing.


Bizarre Contact Drama
Maybe you didn't know I wear contacts. That's sort of the point, that you can't really tell. Saturday morning I had a hard time getting the left one in and figured it was just time to use a new one. I tried that yesterday to no avail and despite numerous battles with saline and eventually, tap water (which stings like a BEATCH but totally works), I lost the war and had to take out the bad boy right there in the ihop, before I enjoyed my vive le cheddah.

I spent the rest of the day squinting like a pirate and saying to myself 'yarr!' and 'cagrrr!' Today I am back to being a 2 eyed monster so it's all good, if a bit blurry.

Weekend Fun
Friday night started off with Andrea's now-famous (because we've made her so) aunt arriving for a layover on her way to Sydney. We enjoyed about 2 hours of a visit, had some dinner, got nagged about everything on my list, learned that we could lose weight if only we ate less spaghetti, bread, rice and noodles, then went to look for a pumice stone (which we found) and film (which we did not). We said our goodbyes, dropped off the auntie and headed to my maroon game.

90% of the game was absolutely excellent, including the part where Lisa and Karen instructed me to go score. I was like 'um, you guys know I don't do that!' and then of course, I went and scored the game-winning goal right after that. Talk about magic! We won 3-2 and for the most part, had a great time, again.

We did have one player who has decided that nobody should give her suggestions about her play. She got so upset at a very reasonable suggestion from Karen that she stopped talking to anyone for the rest of the game. Huh? Afterwards she said that at this level (like we're the NHL or something) nobody should have anything to say about anyone else's play. Huh? My head is spinning. At this level, at EVERY level, your teammates are your teammates and they all deserve your respect even if you don't agree with what they're saying. Hell, my head is still spinning at that one.

Saturday, we looked at a few more houses, including one we really liked but of course it's in contract so poof, that's off the market. We also saw 4 more, 2 of which included some of the most bizarre shit we've seen to date. One had a lavish completely redone kitchen. The room directly behind it had no sheetrock, mold stains and holes in the walls. Um, right. It also had a Fort Knox-esque gate (reminiscent of the garage door at Fort Zawod) that opened via a motor and a video doorbell. Right. Next. Another house featured the ceiling separating from the walls, cracks all over and a very very creepy feeling. Next. One was HUGE, but the addition all went in a long line and had no doors between rooms. Huh?

Sunday, I coached my mighty Red team and had the highlight of the weekend, hell the highlight of the year! Jean, our mighty Jean, SCORED A GOAL!!! It was so amazing. She fell down, got up, got her own rebound and then SCORED!!! Both benches went apeshit. Goalies were cheering, coaches (okay, me) were cheering and there was dancing, as promised. Jean also went on to get an assist later so it was a no brainer to give her the game puck.

That was a game I won't soon forget. Hoooray for Jean Jean the scoring machine.


Why I'm Quiet Today

Originally uploaded by liz2d2.

Holy Shit
We're totally leaving for Australia in a few days. Am I anywhere near ready? Have I even begun to get ready? Nope.


Fleeting Moment of Liturgical Genius
From Heather Feather: You may now commence to be excited: delivery is complete! Please turn to page 47 in your ClearCase hymnal and sing "UCMJoining Brings Sweet Peace".

Also Overheard
"You gots something against librarians?"

No way pal. No fucking way.

Can you put umlauts in that thing?


Originally uploaded by liz2d2.

Top Donkey!

Originally uploaded by whileseated.

Face it, WhileSeated rules!

I Apologize In Advance
Because this post won't be nearly as interesting as it could be, given the parts I have to leave out. But hey, you get what you pay for. In your case, that's nada.

I've been working with my Dad on something recently. When it all started, I said, hey, I can help with this project but I need to make it clear that I can't do x (let's just say 'pick up the candy' instead). So fine. I've been doing what I can to help out but today, my phone rings while I'm getting ready for work. I know better than to answer it then, so I wait and call him later.

Bob Loblaw about some other stuff and then hey, can you 'pick up the candy?' Um, no. I really can't pick up the candy. Nor can I drop off the candy. 'So, can you pick up the candy?' Me: This is like talking to a wall. I really can't pick up the candy. 'Are you sure you can't pick up the candy?' Me: Yep, I'm really totally certain that I am unable to pick up the candy. 'Why not?' Me: for all the candy-related reasons I listed earlier and then again just now.

'Oh, but can you pick up the candy?'

For Bob Loblaw's sake! !*###@&!*(@&!*(&@*!(@&!!!!!!!!


Man. It is SO hard to type MOTHERFUCKER when the K on your Keyboard is malfunctioning.

Our Long Night
Last night's dinner did NOT sit well with me one bit. Finally I felt a little better so I headed off to bed. At 4 am I woke up to Andrea having words with Patrick. Apparently, he'd been pacing around like a madman and being growly with the other kids. Which is seriously not his MO in the world.

She put him in a crate but he whined and barked in a really strange way (for him) so I went out to talk to him. I checked and yep, he'd wet himself so either he'd had a seizure or he'd somehow gotten so freaked out that he'd peed himself. Again, not really his deal but you never know.

After a few more minutes of fervent, fevered pacing, Andrea went back out to talk to him and calm him down. Finally, he settled to the point where he went into a crate and laid down. This time, we didn't lock him in, just in case he needed to run free at any point.

He made it through the rest of the night without incident and this morning we stumbled out to see the telltale pee and drool signs on the couch cushion that confirmed our little guy had indeed had el seizure. Sigh. He did seem fine, though. So that's something.

Cheddah Locatah
The Mighty Cheddah is currently zipping her way toward the great salt flats of Utah. Which means she's totally on the western half of the country.

You people really know how to drive fast!


Cheddah GPS
Cheddah is currently in Wyoming where it is ASS COLD. Keep on truckin', get your ass back home!

Minding My Own Business
Came into work this morning to find that a zillion and one changes have happened around here. New bosses, new focus, new direction, all seeming to happen a lot sooner than I would have thought. My head is spinning and let me tell you, that's no fun.


Oh Yeah
This weekend we looked at a few houses. We sort of realized that it wouldn't necessarily cost us a shitload more to get a bigger house with modern amenities like electricity that's up to code, a garbage disposal, a dishwasher, closets and other stuff like that so we figured we'd take a look at our options. If the options sucked ass, we'd stay put. No harm, no foul.

So off we went, in the company of our trusty real estate agent. She's seen the exponential growth in property values in our 'hood so she's practically drooling to get the listing on our pad.

I had picked out a few nice properties from the computer internet so we loaded ourselves with no expectations and were off. The first house was OMG pretty nice. Huh? A house we could afford that didn't suck? I liked it more than Andrea did. But I think on some level we could both see ourselves living there.

However, our own little parade of homes went dramatically downhill from there. Next was the street that was so skeevy we didn't even bother to drive by the house for sale. Followed by the house that was a decent size, one story, but flanked on two sides by gigantic houses that looked directly into the backyard of the house for sale. That one featured the added bonus of a current resident sauntering toward her house and giving us the Death Stare for daring to look at her house, that was, might I remind you, FOR SALE. After that warm welcome, we drove around the corner and saw what I'd have to say is the worst house we have ever looked at. And believe me, we have seen some ugly houses in our time.

But this one, wow. We were greeted by a random brick chimney in the middle of the living room. That room also included a bizarro dish cabinet that didn't go all the way to the ceiling, a rumpus room and a door frame that was installed in the middle of the hallway. Dare I go on?

Our next stop was super cute in the front of the house, had a decent backyard and the smallest 'bedroom' I've ever seen. And people, I was in college. I've seen and lived in small rooms but this. Wow. I even said to the listing agent (who was there for a non-attended open house) 'are you seriously calling this a bedroom?' He just smiled at me, flashing his gigantic cubic zirconium earring and said yes. Right-o. Thanks, but no thanks.

The last stop was the hardest. It was a little house in the nice neighborhood adjacent to ours. The house was allegedly bigger than ours but really, they'd converted the 1 car garage into a 'bedroom/bathroom' unit so the bulk of the house was maybe even smaller. It had clearly been the home of an old woman, I think she'd lived alone though I couldn't tell you why. I could see the woman's family working to stage the house for sale, could see daughters choosing which furniture to clear out, which to leave. I couldn't stay in that house for very long, it seemed so much like what my mom and her family went through earlier this year getting Grandma's house ready for sale.

We ended the day thinking that maybe we could pull this off, but we'd have to do a fair bit to get our house ready for sale (like make 5 dogs invisible, for starters). It would have to be the right house and we'd both have to agree on that. So for now, we're staying put but keeping our options open. And maybe, if we can get off our asses and start to fix up the house, the worlds would collide and The New House We Both Love would come along at the very same time that our Old House That We've Outgrown But Both Love would be ready for sale.

It's Hard To Fuck Up Cereal
And it seems that our illustrious cafeteria has not, in fact fucked up cereal. I enjoyed a decent-sized bowl of the stuff today for a mere $1.35. Bonus: unlike when I eat ANYTHING else from that place, I'm not ill afterwards.


'Any word on the internet revisions?'

Wow, we're revising the internet?

Big Fun In A Medium-Sized City
Alas, we didn't get to go but at least there are pictures:

Riley and a goat. Apparently the girls kept saying 'dog' and doing the sign for dog every time they saw a goat. We figure that's because they met Gus last week and well, he's bigger than these damn goats.

Sam looking sheepish (pun absolutely intended) in front of the same flock of dog/goats.

Not The Same
Not even similar, that's how it is without Cheddah around. Come back McSoon!


We May Not Have A Name
But my new maroon team KICKS ASS! We won again tonight, 3-1. All of the goals were team efforts, scored from the far post after a great deal of teamwork to get to that point. Fun, fun, fun.

Let's get a name now, eh?