For the most part, I’ve always been quite adept at attracting the crazies. There was the candidate for Worst Second Date Ever (the guy who told me the exact date & time he cut his long hair …. I (lightheartedly) said, “Wow, it must have been really memorable!” to which he replied, “It was exactly 24 hours after we put my mother in the ground, and she always wanted me to cut my hair,” and then he began to cry. Hell-O, can you say awkward moment?) There was the date where the hobbit-height man called me “Miss” and informed me he could look up all kinds of information about people from just their license plate number (he was in collections.) I am not sure what chemistry within me makes these people interested in me, but perhaps it is that I’m not overly mean, rude, or judgemental, until the crying or the stalking begins.

So, this brings us to Joe. Joe lived on the same floor of the apartment building and was a lonely little feller. About 4’6″, Joe was a diminutive man with a habit of working his jaw and making smacking noises. He sort of looked like a frog, with big glasses. But what I noticed about Joe was that he had numbers tatooed on his arm, a survivor of the Nazi death camps. Auschwitz. Another woman in the building wore faded blue numbers on her arm as well, and whenever I saw them in the building, I was sobered out of my own pity party & minor inconveniences, reminded of horrors I never had to live. So, being able to converse with a tennis racket, I quite easily struck up a conversation with Joe, and that led to him becoming COMPLETELY ENAMORED WITH ME. He would come down the hall to visit. But Joe didn’t knock, Joe tried the door FIRST. He walked in on James one afternoon, surprising the hell out of Mr.Wo! He invited me down to his apartment. I dragged James with me, because by this time, he was asking for kisses every time he saw me. Big froggy-smack kisses. (I was grateful that my mother had taught me how to turn my cheek quickly, at the last minute, to prevent unwanted liplock.) He appeared surprised when I showed up with JWo. But, he soldiered on. He told us about being a young man in the camps, and how he regained his strength by working in the kitchen at the army base after he was freed. It was amazing, to meet someone who had seen and survived what truly was Hell on Earth. And then he said, in his thick German accent, “So,” pointing at James, “This your brudder?” Oh, Joe’s hopes, dashed again. Nope, my fiance’, sorry Joe!

The last time I spent any time with Joe, he took me to McDonald’s for breakfast. He drove, on his INSISTENCE, and don’t ever let me ride with 70+ year-old men, ever again, mmmkay? Because he drove as though we were in some kind of Amazing Race competition. And then, when we got to McD’s, he insisted on paying. So we sat down, and shortly thereafter, men were coming up and chatting with him. And I realized, I was his ARM CANDY. OMG! He was totally showing off to his Saturday morning breakfast buddies that he still had the MoJoe Magic.

JWo & I got married & moved shortly thereafter, and we still laugh once in a while about Joe, who didn’t have appropriate boundaries & must have fancied himself something of a geriatric Lothario, pursuing an engaged woman half his age! He was harmless & it was kind of amusing to be someone’s arm candy – at a frickin’ McDonald’s no less – despite the age difference. A little bit younger & JWo might’ve gotten a run for his money – except for the fact Joe was slightly crazy. And kissed like a frog.

Actually, I am already on the Not Podding road. I don’t want a piece of technology that when the battery goes out, the item is finito.

So! That leaves me with a lot of options, but not a lot of knowledge and a reluctance to bring another gadget into the home that will go relatively unused. My primary purpose for getting an MP3 player would be to create a mini-jukebox from the existing CD collection, which is quite significant. That means I probably want the highest-level of storage capacity. And a way to hook it into a stereo or surround-sound system. But wait, I want more! I want all the song information to transfer to the gadget, and I want to be able to categorize things. Like, “Party Tunes” or “Dance” or “Folk”, because then, if we have a party, you could select that as the filter and then all the music that would be shuffled would only be songs with those labels on them.

And I realize the whole burning & transfer of music is as exciting as watching paint dry, which is the other reason I am not jazzed or chomping at the bit to do this – but eventually, I’ll be getting a big-screen tv, and upgrading the surround sound system, and a tidy, compact MP3 player with all our music on it would rock the casbah. Hey, I gotta dream.

So if you have knowledge or ideas, float ’em my way. Thanks in advance!

What is UP with Janice Dickinson? She is such a bitch. BEYOTCH. Her diva attitude makes Omarosa look like someone you could almost hang out with. I said almost. What I really hate about Janice is that she keeps QUITTING over the stupidest shit and trumpeting her self-appointed title of World’s First Supermodel, like somehow it gives her license to behave like the world is hers and everyone else is in the way. She needs to be slapped. Hard.

Six Feet Under viewers: WTF? I am so mad at Nate I could clock him. Except he’s already on the floor. And no SCENES for next week?! What is up with that? ARRRRGH!

It’s so hot, we didn’t even go to the movies last night. Because even though movie theaters are supposed to be FREEZING, especially in the summer? Last weekend we went, and they weren’t. And sitting in a room with 200 people in the dark, while trickles of sweat race from my temples is not what I call a “good time”. There is only so much technology can do in the face of 90-degree-plus heat. And yesterday? It was 100 degrees. And then there’s the whole journeying process, from the door to the interior of a car, which probably reached levels hot enough to bake muffins yesterday, and then there’s walking from the mile-away parking space, and so we decided to stay inside & drink slushy pina coladas. JWo played backgammon on the computer, and watched a movie, and I read. Finished Harry Potter this morning, weepy & yet still fufilled.

And relieved. Because my favorite radio station gave away the ending on Monday, but because I was too busy either talking on the phone, or listening to Coldplay, I didn’t hear it. WHEW! They did it again on Friday, and who knows how many times in between, but by that time, I had heard they were doing it, and I announced to JWo I was going to No Media Status. CD’s in the car, CD’s at work, and very skittish viewing of web news & blogs. The radio station ruined it for my friend Roger & he was quite bummed – and even though I started to flip ahead (to help myself brace for the news), I got busted by James & realized the error of my ways. :) Sigh. At least now I can discuss it with my friends!

If I ever leave the house….

I’m feeling extra-PSA this morning – a result of combined exposure to Cesar Millan (the Dog Whisperer), an article in the paper on pit bull rescue, and the weekly dog adoption segment in the local morning news.

ARRRRGH.

Now that I’ve got that off my chest, let me just pontificate for 60 seconds.

Don’t get a dog because you want to surprise or gift your partner or child.
Don’t get a dog and then give it up because you’re “moving & can’t take it with you.” The only valid excuse I can think of for this is if you’re getting moved overseas by the army. I have seen & read this reason so many times it makes me want to slap people without even hearing the why. Dogs are not sofas, to be unloaded when you’re moving because you don’t want to bother! ARRRGH!
Don’t get a dog and treat it like a baby, and then be surprised by behavior problems later.
Don’t get a dog & think it’s NOT like raising a child. Just because you can crate them, doesn’t erase the parallels between the two. Boundaries, discipline & responsibility are essential.
Don’t get a particular kind of dog because it “looks cute” or is somehow “in fashion”. Research breeds. Take a hard look at your life & lifestyle, and determine from there the kind of dog that fits you.

I wanted a soft-coated wheaten like nobody’s business, five years ago. They look like teddy bears, they are exuberant, and they are cute, cute, cute. With jumping-up issues, and a coat that requires loads of upkeep, and as a terrier, a mindset already prepared to challenge and resist you. Things I blithely ignored. Thank god I’m married to JWo, who had a lot more knowledge than I about the process & commitment to a dog. We already had Suzy, and I wanted “my” dog after we bought our house. Since he was going to have to do more care for the dogs, given his work schedule, we agreed it should be a breed we’d both be happy with, and that would benefit us both (me-companionship & fun, him-hunting) and wasn’t going to require either of us taking up running, since we’d probably fall down after a block. It was a long discussion, and we concluded a black lab was the dog to get. I’d grown up with them, and of course, they’re great hunting dogs.

I realize I’ve treated Polly like a baby at times, and she is more needy & less polished & trained than I’d now like her to be. Suzy & her 1/4 Chessie genes need to recognize that I am not on the same level as her in the pack, but that I am above her. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love our dogs, but I realize I need to give up a little of the “she’s my baby” behavior in order to give Polly some of the room to just be a dog, a calm, submissive dog who knows her pack leaders are large & in charge. :) In watching the 800 episodes of the Dog Whisperer, it becomes crystal clear that in allowing a dog to have more control (esp on the leash), the dog becomes anxious, aggressive, out of control; exerting just that small amount of assertiveness quiets the dog & allows both owner & dog to enjoy each other. It’s frustrating to see people with dogs get angry & upset & then think the dog should be put down, because somehow it’s the “dog’s fault” and the issues are incurable within the animal.

I could draw a parallel to how many people are parenting their children nowadays – excessive permissiveness, ignoring problem behavior, doing what’s easier for the parent regardless of the result in the child, etc. – but then I’d have to scream again & write for another twenty minutes. So. The mantra for the day is, Be the Pack Leader. It’s what your dog wants.

Say you’re making volumes of zucchini bread. Usually, you add nuts. Instead, you add chocolate chips and coconut.

Duuuuuude. It’s totally stoner bread nirvana, and for those of us who work and don’t lay around all day tokin’ up on mary jane, it’s pretty damned good, too. Kudos to JWo on another batch of yummy goodness!

Wednesday was what I’d categorize a “roller coaster” day. If you asked me about my day as a whole, I would have to average all the quarter hours and say, “Well, it was stressful at times, but overall, it was good.” However, averaging things just means you’re working with an average. You can get to the number 11 many different ways. For instance, my morning started with histrionics from a sales rep, kicking, biting & screaming like a toddler, and since I am fucking addicted to the Dog Whisperer on the National Geographic channel, I imagined myself putting a choke chain around the neck of this squawling, puking being, and pulling up on the leash, you know, (say this in a sexy accent) raise his head up, like in dog show. Show him you are the leader, he will be proud! Instead I attempted as much diplomacy as I could, while defending myself, without being rude, until he made a threat. And then I said it. It was a first for me, asking someone straight out if they were TRYING TO THROW ME UNDER THE BUS, before they even tried to do it. Because I am goddamn familiar with The Bus, having felt its wheels on my body many a time at the old job, and I tell you what, a sales rep is not gonna punch my ticket for the bus. And suddenly the bus went away and the ears went back and the strain relaxed and we established that I was not in his life to make him miserable, but that he was crossing a line. Don’t make me get Cesar Millan on your ass.

After that, I figured I might as well tackle all the other things that were pissing me off, you know, just sort of throw all the stinky trash into one bag. It was like fishing through sweaty locker room underwear. BLEAH! Then, running late & rushed from all the grossness, I was off to a client meeting, and it was one of those meetings you wish for. It was fun, we laughed, we had a great time, and my revolutionary, change-your-entire-strategy proposal actually slid right in to the overall discussion and was well-received and appreciated. APPRECIATED, people, that is what makes work worthwhile, makes the morning from hell fade away. Then I had lunch with friends, and then I had a dentist appointment and then I did more work.

And you probably think the dentist appointment was another bad thing, but it really wasn’t. I got a lucky roll on the dice genes when it came to my teeth – so checkups are speedy & relatively painless. I came home & watched more Dog Whisperer & ate Thai food. All-in-all, a good kick-ass day, with the good far outweighing the bad that was my morning. So I leave you with what was my FAVORITE part of one of the DW segments:

Cesar: You show favoritism to one dog over the others?
Dog Owner: Yes.
Cesar: See, that is not fair. You have to treat your dogs equally. If you send your dog to me and I have a favorite dog already, that is not fair to your dog.
Dog Owner (not believing him): Don’t you have favorites of your dogs? (Cesar has 30 dogs)
Cesar: No. They are all number 2.
Dog Owner: Who is number 1?
Cesar: I am.

Cesar is the SHIZNIT.

A dear friend of mine is currently experiencing an acquaintance (by proxy, really, it would be far too generous to even call this person any name under the friend umbrella) who is copying most of the aspects of her life. She gets a new job, the other girl switches jobs. She gets engaged, the other girl gets engaged. She takes up spinning, the other girl takes up spinning. She thinks about selling her homespun yarn, the other girl muses about creating her own business, selling – shocker – homespun yarn. Interestingly, this happened to another dear friend of mine – anything she did, the co-worker had to do, too. It practically drove her “underground” – she didn’t want to share things because she knew they’d be replicated within a week!

Now, I am not saying I am 100% completely constructed of original thought. Quite frankly, I believe I have an excellent balance between self-driven concepts and those that are copycat. We all are copycats, to some extent – after all, in a free society, an exchange of ideas is expected. So much so, we have patent laws and copyright laws, just to punish those who try to be accomplished without doing the work! But haven’t we all had that one person, made even worse when it’s a friend, who insists on doing, being, living EVERYTHING you are doing? It’s like someone’s trying to steal your skin and live in it, and then where does that leave you, just slopping around like a background dancer in a Robbie Williams video, tearing out chunks of yourself & flinging them at the camera out of frustration? It sucks, and it’s been my experience, that the friendship ends.

The person who liberally helped themself to my ideas, style, and life eventually got kicked to the curb. She loved my apartment, so she rented one in the same building. We were friends, so it seemed fun, at that point. But then the pattern got established – I got a cat? She got a cat. I shopped for (fill in the blank), she got one the next weekend. I bought a new car? She bought a new car. It never ended. Gratefully, she moved away, and one of her truer personality traits shone brightly through the facade she had patchworked over herself: cheapness. If there is one thing I can really get behind hating, it’s being cheap. Not broke. Broke is forgivable. Cheap. Cheap means you have money, but you just won’t part with it, no matter the circumstance. Cheap means not paying people well even if your own net worth from their work is in the gajillions. Cheap is when you break something, and you don’t buy a new one. Cheap is telling someone you’ll pay them X amount to do something, and later go back on it and try to nickel & dime the situation. (“I’ll pay you $15 for gas.” Fifteen minutes later: “No, actually, I’ll pay you $5 for gas.”) She was infamous for this, and she pulled a fast one on me, at the last minute, and at that point? I was done. She was toxic, besides being cheap. I am all for frugal, and finding the deals and being a power shopper – but don’t be cheap. It reeks of bad breeding and you soon discover you have no one to go to dinner with, like, ever.

I joked with my friend (the one who’s being copied) about how I’m also copying her – we’re both knitting a particular shawl/wrap, both knitting it out of Noro, bought from the same online retailer. But she also knows I do plenty of other things off in my own direction, and it’s part of the froth & fun of our knitting gal-pals: you see someone working on something that’s so ass-slappingly gorgeous, you just have to make one for yourself! And we’re not doing the same color, for pete’s sake. My friend Kim finished the most gorgeous cabled scarf, and I might have to be making one of those, too. It’s affirmation and adulation – and part of the “knit klatch” mentality.

Every one of my friends (knitting & otherwise) is an individual first, and a follower second, and perhaps that is the difference to me. For me, imitation CAN be a form of flattery, but in small doses. If you spend more time imitating, than being yourself, then you are not real. You are a shadow, always a few beats behind, striving like mad to ignore who you really are.

Hurrah, Harry’s back!

You scored as Hermione Granger. You’re one intelligent witch, but you have a hard time believing it and require constant reassurance. You are a very supportive friend who would do anything and everything to help her friends out.

Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is…?
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