donnaught

i spend more time staring at the dance floor than i do holding up the bar. but when i need to wet my whistle i will de-mesmerize, return to reality, and wind my way to the libations.

it was then that i would see you. standing there, drink in hand, smack in the middle of a 110 degree steamy basement bar. you would be dressed in your corduroy "blazer" (because it has pockets where I put the things I want). i would squeal with delight. then i would wrap my arms around you and give you a fierce hug. you would squeeze me back. we would pick up our typical banter as if it hadn't been 142 days since i'd seen you. in person it was short and sweet. a rib here, a rib there. the ever exchange of hair (or Hair).

then i would return to my usual state. and at some point i would look up and notice that you had slipped away.

now forever.

i will miss your genius humor. 

"I dance more than most people you know. I just don't dance to shitty music. I wasn't born with a fake smile."

i feel certain when i make it to where you are, our pattern won't skip a beat.
though i rather hope you will have lost the ponytail. [grin]

that b*#@$!

my dog is clicking. not "doing something" that clicks. just clicking. while she sleeps. that can't be good.

other things about my dog...

hattie does a mean impersonation of my late nana. but only when she licks her chops. nana used to make that exact sound. if i could figure out how to type an accurate documentation of the sound i would. but i can't. my brother also used to make that sound when he ate mashed potatoes. but that may have been purely for my amusement. because it sounded like nana. however, this fact is inconsequential since this blog is about my dog. (i'm a poet and i didn't even know it.)

delilah was saying prayers before bed one night...
troy: "should we pray for hattie?"
delilah maeve: "yes. pray for her stinky breath and stinky toots."

hattie is smelly. in her older age she has developed quite a case of gas. she literally passes fumes 10+ times a day. this has been going on for several years now. but despite the several-year-status of this ailment, she still startles herself with her own gas. she'll fart, suddenly jump up and turn around to look at her own butt in confusion. as if to say, "what the eff was that? that could NOT have come from my ass." then she'll survey the room and lock her gaze on any human she spots. it's amusing to say the least. though i don't find the gaze in my direction, that implies i produced the foul smell, amusing. dogs aren't supposed to blame the people. it's just not natural.

hattie is a kiss slut. she loves to make-out. particularly with those who are less than enchanted by her advances. her prime targets are babies. and small children strapped into car seats. the poor things either don't have the motor skills to roll away or they are unable to retreat from the onslaught due to safety restraints. and did i mention her breath? oh, yes. delilah did.

hattie and her sister delilah have a severe case of sibling rivalry. and if you don't believe sibling rivalry is possible between child and canine, i will provide evidence:
exhibit A:
i'm sitting on the couch and hattie settles into my lap. delilah (previously engrossed in something and totally disinterested in what i am doing) streaks across the room, flailing her arms, "i sit there! i sit there!" and proceeds to push and shove her way into my lap forcing hattie to growl and move away.
exhibit B:
delilah has created a "bed" with a blanket on the couch. hattie is contentedly sleeping in her dog bed. delilah leaves the couch to get a toy. as if her movement has trigger some type of internal sensor, hattie leaps up from her bed, hops up onto the couch and lays down on the blanket. delilah rushes over yelling, "that my bed!" and crawls onto the couch to push hattie away. hattie jumps down and lays in her bed, only to return again when delilah's back is turned. wash, rinse, repeat.

the clicking has stopped. is it just a coincidence that she farted just after the clicks ceased? or has she developed into a ticking stink bomb?

this blog entry is brought to you by the letter G (several Glasses of wine)  
and the number 43 (the number of hours of sleep i will require to make up for this week.)

she'll get a hold on you believe it

this morning i was all florescent spandex and jazz shoes as i whipped my hair around and rocked bad 80's dance moves while easy lover pumped through the sound system. a-high-kick-jog-in-formation and a-synchronized-sashay later i was doing that weird butt swiper move that my dance instructor was so fond of choreographing. then i woke up. and i realized i was laying in my bed while the phil collins classic droned out of my alarm clock speakers.

you know it's going to be a good day when it starts with a flash back to 80's dance school where young children perform in dance recitals to completely inappropriate music selections. it's raining men? yeah.. i danced to that at the ripe age of 7. while a shirtless muscular guy in his late teens lifted me over his head.

then there were the "dance shows" at my house in plainville. my friend kim and i would put on the thriller album and dance in a manic manner around the kitchen. my mother would enter the room and quickly dash my dance thrash pleasure by insisting i use the moves taught to me by my perpetually leotard clad dance teacher. "i'm paying good money for you to learn how to dance. it's a waste if you just leap and jump around wildly." then i would be badgered and/or guilted into inserting a "step touch" here and a "kick-ball-change" there. it was torture.

but as i lay in my bed this morning replaying this scenario i realized that while i despised the idea of utilizing those moves in my spare dancing time as a child, they could come in quite handy as an adult. handy for a perfectly planned, yet seemingly impromptu, dance sequence while out to dinner with friends. this event will not be reminiscent of a flash mob. the hilarity of this endeavor can only be acutely felt if it is executed as a solo mission.

only the bold will likely dine with me from this point on.

foodie fascinations

let the half-started blog entries roll on out. 
i started this one three weeks ago. 
thank god for school vacations.

today there was salad for lunch. as i lowered a portion into my bento box, my tastebuds delighted at the message relayed -> from my eyes -> to my brain -> to my tongue. my buds personified: "mmmm. what a lovely combination. papaya slices and chunks of goat cheese." i practically skipped to my lunch destination ::ricketywoodenmidgetchair:: where i proceeded to dig in.

!! HOLY MENTAL MEAL UPHEAVAL !!

this salad did not conform to the preconceived notions of my tastebuds.
my senses were bamboozled! they were hoodwinked! they were duped!

the papaya was in fact...... turnip.
the goat cheese was in fact..... tiny pieces of cauliflower.

there was no way in hell i could enjoy this "winter vegetable" salad after the drool inducing imaginings of a papaya and goat cheese combination.

this is a common situation for me. when my mind locks into a taste sensation - and that taste does not meet my expectations - i hit a stalemate. utter meal combustion. then i move straight to dessert.

i am fascinated by the connection between sensory input and knowledge base.  like when you step in something squishy and your mind immediately assumes it's dog shit and you check your shoes out of habit. like when the overpowering scent of patchouli creeps up and you turn around to see what the hippie looks like and you simply find a damp pile of soil next to the sidewalk.

and i'm TOTALLY fascinated by this guy because eating one of his junk food dessert-lookin' concoctions could cause me to "be-dee-be-dee-be-dee" myself into a catatonic shock.

a butter way to go

if i decided to die by my own hand i would choose to butter myself to death.
this leads me to the quandary: how MUCH butter would it take to end it?
and would i abandon my pickiness about butter brands to lower the cost of the endeavor?
i suppose i could balance the cost/pickiness factor by making my own butter for the act.  

RANDOM FACT UNO: while shmying vintage, i always look for the perfectly priced old fashioned butter churn jar. i have yet to find one. spending $250 on a butter churn does not seem practical. though the calculated digits call it cost effective. but should i stumble across an "appropriately" priced churn, i will most certainly buy it. then i might share my homemade butter with you. though once i separate a personal portion i might not have enough to share since...

i'm a -  one roll :: two pats of butter -  girl.
i'm a -  one potato :: four pats of butter - girl.
i'm a -  one sm popcorn :: eight pats of butter - girl
i'm a -  one bowl of bisque :: sixteen pats of butter - girl
i'm a -  one unclogged artery away from fulfilling this deathwish by butter - girl

RANDOM FACT DOS: when i traveled to ireland i was a big fan of the sandwich making practice of adding butter rather than mayonnaise. but i never took up the practice myself when i returned to the states. perhaps because i wouldn't hesitate to continue to add the mayonnaise and mustard on top of the quarter inch layer of butter.

(are you cringing yet?)

documenting my butter eating habits has made me realize that i am well on my way to discovering how much butter it would take to take oneself out. death by my own butter slathering hand is not so far fetched.

if i have to die by someone else's hand, i sure hope it is a drive-by fruiting.
i'm destined to die fruity.

spooning leads to... well behaved children?

i like to eat my cereal with a big spoon.  delilah just had a conniption fit because i wouldn't trade my large spoon for her mini spoon.   when she finally calmed down and we had the proverbial "if you ask politely -- you shall receive" lecture, i gave her a spoon of equal value in size to mine.  she took one bite with that spoon and decided that she wanted a smaller spoon.  however, the original spoon she had been using was, TOO, small.

(i have a suspicion that i need to lay off my oral retelling of goldilocks.  maybe i'll switch to the pigs.  of course then i might come home to piles of sticks "built" into homes and she might wander about doing a lot of huffing and puffing.)

knowing where to find a "just right" spoon, she took herself to the kitchen to work it out on her own.  she returned with a chopstick.  i simply raised an eyebrow and watched with interest to see how she would proceed with this chosen utensil.  she is now managing to eat her cheerios - one at a time - with said chopstick by skewering them through the hole. 

it might be a long day.  or at least a long breakfast at this rate of consumption.

we have been swept up in a crescendo of meltdowns over the last few days.   i've lost count at this point.  if i really cared to calculate them i think i would require one of those tally clicker thingamabobs.  the most amusing part of this fiasco is the impetus for the tantrums. 

yesterday she collapsed and sobbed on the floor because, "won't work! won't work!"  when i looked to see what wouldn't work, i realized she was attempting to fit the larger of her buckets inside the smaller.  sorry honey, that wouldn't work for anyone. 

she has also been particularly naughty.  testing the limits more than usual.  she's been doing things she knows she shouldn't be doing, all the while peering over her shoulder at me to see what kind of reaction she will muster.

when i was young and naughty (wait a minute...) my parents discovered the only thing i was afraid of was "the BIG spoon".  they would chase me around the house with it and i would behave.  they never actually hit me with the spoon, so it was a total mystery as to why i was afraid of it.  but it worked so they went with it.  my mother even took to carrying a normal sized wooden spoon in her purse because i liked to hide on her while shopping and i wouldn't reveal my whereabouts until she brandished the spoon and made an idle threat. 

so, no.. i'm not chasing delilah around the house with a large wooden spoon to control her behavior.  but yes, i'm in full on "guess who's watching?" mode.  santa's omniscience has a real positive effect on behavior in this household.  how long do you think i can stretch out his power?  july?  april?  at least through the next week?

six sigma

at eight in the morning i was in a shaws buying two dozen ice cream sandwiches.  it was not for a snack attack.  it was for a class project.  however, while the cashier was ringing in my purchase i did contemplate eating at least a third of them myself.  so there i was, waiting to swipe my debit card and daydreaming about binging on ice cream sandwiches, when i felt a presence in my personal space.  i looked to the left and there was a tiny asian woman waiting next in line.  except for her "next in line" seemed to be synonymous with "up my ass."  i looked down at her and she looked up at me.  a disturbing grin spread across her face and she somehow managed to creep closer to me than i thought humanly possible.  i instantly went from a dreamy-floating-on-a-cloud-of-desserts mood to a crabby-annoyed-by-people mood.  this is when i realized i have a real issue with personal space.  i like it.  a lot.

i consider myself a fairly easy going person.  generally speaking, i go with the flow.  but this incident got my wheels turning and i began to consider the many things i am not so easy going about.  they are not deal breakers.  they are more like pet peeves.  or maybe they are just preferences.  i don't know.  regardless, they seem to be increasing in number as i age.  and they seem to be interrupting my flow.

six preferences to ponder:

1)  please do not put black pepper on my mashed potatoes.  it totally ruins the natural flavor.  please DO put a stick and a half of butter on them.

2)  i enjoy looking at colored christmas lights strung around town but i do not like them on my tree.  i do not like them on my house.  i do not like them with a mouse.  not in a box.  not with a fox.  it's strictly white lights for me. 

3)  if you invite me into your home i may adjust your lighting.  please do not find this odd or startling.  i have an issue with lighting.  there is a fine line between too-bright and too-dark.  and if i can see the light bulb, i might coerce you into disposing of your lamp.  or i might go macgyver and fashion you a lamp shade with a coat hanger, toilet paper, and some duct tape.  don't fret, i'm the daughter of a firefighter.  i know my way around an extinguisher should things go awry.

4) speaking of toilet paper... for some reason i have a strange need for toilet paper to be placed on the spool so that the paper rolls from back to front over the top of the roll.  it just annoys the hell out of me when it is not this way.  so much so that i cannot even count the number of times i have rearranged the toilet paper in the homes of people i barely know.

5) why the hell do people serve my whiskey on the rocks with a lime?  is there a plethora of whiskey drinkers that request limes?  i might have to seek out this illusive group and sit them down for a tutorial.  

6) i may have a touch of claustrophobia or an odd worry about a norman bates reenactment.  i never buy solid shower curtains.  i always buy clear vinyl ones.  they always have designs on them.  but they are always clear.  not opaque.  clear.  WAIT... third possibility: am i a closet exhibitionist waiting for someone to mistakenly walk into the bathroom while i'm showering?!

given these oddities, i wonder what my defect rate would be.
though it doesn't matter much since i have no interest in total-perfection.
total perection... now that's another story.