That's Life - Best and Worst times to fart

Sometimes my mind wanders, and I was was thinking today - when is the absolute best and worst time to fart?

The worst:

• When you're sitting on a man's happy stick in the middle of rumpy pumpy
• When you're having a massage
• In a job interview
• In an elevator, unless it's just before you get off
• When you are in a neighboring stall to a colleague you've just said hello to as you walked into the restroom
• During the first dance at your wedding
• In a sauna
• In a long line for the restroom at a concert
• When you're in Downward Facing Dog in a yoga class
• When you are in a one on one meeting with your boss
• At a meeting with your Nutritionist, because you will then have a ten minute conversation about what exactly in your diet is causing flatulence and you will never, ever be allowed to eat pasta ever again

The best:

• When your husband is drunk and gets into bed with that look on his face
• When you are alone in the car
• In a jacuzzi
• In your husband's closet, and then close the door
• When you are walking by yourself with your dog in the park, far away from anyone
• Just after your husband did - he can't complain then, can he?
• When your silly dog is sniffing your butt

I have to stop and open the front door - I swear to God! - Puppy Dog just got inspired and farted.

Hello from Puppy Dog - The Axis of Evil

Hello Friends,

That George Bush is soooo unoriginal. We dogs have known about the Axis of Evil for yeeeeeears.

Let me break it down for you:

• The key player in the Axis is, of course, the Cats. Everyone knows Cats are evil. You just have to take a look at the Claws of Mass Destruction. I have a scratch on my nose which will never go away, and neither will the memory...


• The Squirrels are the second major player. They blatantly ignore the Fluffly Tail Non-Proliferation Treaty and wave those damn fuzzy things all over the place. They say they are just working on clean acorn energy, but we all know what's really going on.


• Third is The Tennis Balls. They must be chased and caught and chewed to death immediately. All of them. They hide in little sleeper cells under the sofa, the bushes, the coffee table. We have to be ever vigilant.


• Then there are the spiders. Everyone knows spiders must be caught and eaten. Their fundamentalist belief that it's ok to climb up the drainpipe and up the bath plug hole is insidious and, before you know it, there are other spider followers. All trace of them must be erased.

The war against these little terrors must be won.

Lots of licks and woofs,

Puppy Dog

Hell is other people - And they're everywhere

[To buy the button pictured, click here]

Things irritate me.

When they do, I tend to have a dialogue (OK, OK, a monologue) with the people who cause those things. It's only in my head, of course, but it makes me feel better.

Here's what irritated me today:

• The guy who came up to the roundabout at the same time as me, on the opposite side, and turned left instead of going around it, almost hitting me. It's a roundabout, Asshole - the clue is in the name. You go round it anticlockwise and you give way to the left!


• The person in the Escalade who almost stole my parking outside the Fast Food Joint. Hey! Listen, Asshole. And yes, I know you are an asshole because you own an Escalade. That was my parking! I was sitting here, with my indicator on, waiting for that parking space and you saw me doing it. So nice try on taking to get in there but I guess my little car is more agile than your fucking tank. Tell me, Asshole, did the credit check for that car consist of valuing your bling bling? Does it have a special holder in there for your baseball cap? Did they give you a free velveteen tracksuit when you bought it? Huh? Huh?


• The Receptionist at the Chiropractor who asked me if I had any plans for the weekend. It's five o' clock, Honey, and you've been here since 9am. Have you asked everyone that inane question? Did anyone actually give you an interesting reply? I'd ask what you are doing this weekend but, here's the thing - I don't care.


• The male barista at the coffee bar who sat there reading rather than getting up to ask me what I'd like to drink. Get the fuck up and do your job, Numbnuts. Don't fool yourself that you are above all this because your grungy little music career is "about to take off". You're 29 and you're still here so how about you grab some coffee beans and get grinding.

Hell is other people.

Hello from Puppy Dog - Sick little Puppy Dog

Hello Friends

I have been a bit sick this week. It was horrible.

I tried to spread the load so that Mama wouldn't have to clean up one big mess of it. I did some in the kitchen, some on my cushion in the lounge, some in the dining room, some on my bed in her bedroom and some on the carpet. Mama had to go onto 1-800-PetMeds to get more pet stain spray, so I have stimulated the economy!

Mama took me to some horrible place where there was a lady with metal things in her eyebrow and in her tongue. Why doesn't she just wear a collar like me? Anyway, she was very nice to me and was stroking me but then she stuck something up my butt! I tried to tell her I don't swing that way but she ignored me. She said something to Mama about "another reading" and did it again! She was a total bitch - and not in a good way!

Then another lady came in and she also seemed nice at first but then she started sticking her fingers into my tummy. It hurt! Then she took me away from Mama and made me stand still in front of some stupid machine that buzzed at me. She also stuck something really sharp into me. Another total bitch - and not in a good way!

She put me in a crate and then it got a lot better. I got to watch a cat being cut open! It was great! Cats are totally evil! I was happy to see at least one of them get what they deserve.

Mama came to pick me up and I was so happy to be going home. First she talked to a lady behind the counter. When we left she mumbled something about how many pairs of shoes she could have bought with that $500 but I didn't know what she was talking about. She has lots and lots of shoes - why does she have to buy more?

So we went home and I just didn't feel like eating. I was very tired and slept a lot. Last night I decided maybe I could eat a little bit when Mama made toast with peanut butter. I looooove toooooast. Mama calls it Doggie Dope. She says the only thing better than toast with peanut butter is cooked chicken, which she calls Doggie Crack. I don't know why she calls them those silly names. I just know I like them!

Mama took me out for a very short walk today which was a bit sucky because I love to be out and sniff things and pee on other things. If I pee on something, it's mine. That's how it works. I own a lot of territory around my house.

I still feel a bit tired but I ate my dinner tonight and I do feel better. I got my ball today and brought it to Mama to throw for me and she said that's a sign that I am making a full recovery. She didn't throw it for me though. Sometimes Mama is like those other women, a bit of a bitch - and not in a good way.

Lots of licks and woofs,

Puppy Dog.

Health is Wealth - Coping with Pain at Personal Training

More PAPT (Pain at Personal Training) today. My personal trainer, Silent Evil, was on form, as always.

I have begun to name elements of training to make them bearable.

1. The Balls of Doom. These are balls, like basketballs, which have weights in them, which I have to carry above my head when doing lunges or squats.
2. The Path of Humiliation. This is a clear walkway in the gym which Silent Evil makes me do lunges, squats or jog along, holding weights which cause various degrees of pain. The path goes between the cardio machines, so I can be pitied by an entire row of people who are thinner and fitter than me.
3. The Bar of Whoosh. This is a bar that gets put at about hip height which I need to lean over and do push ups against. The first five are fine but, after that, I start to pant and force air out of my mouth as I push up, with an audible whoooooooooosh.
4. The Boo Boo Ball. When I was a child, I called any scratch or bump or anything that made me sore a boo boo. This ball is a large ball filled with something that's a cross between polystyrene balls and sand. I have to throw it against the wall about 5 feet above my head then catch it and hold it as I go into a squat. It's very boo boo.
5. The Weights of Ache. These are the heavy weights (about 22 pounds) that I have to hold as I walk or jog along The Path of Humiliation.
6. The Pull up and Pant. This is a machine where I have to pull up from a position where my arms are completely outstretched above my head. By the time I'm past the fourth one, I am panting like Puppy Dog after 20 minutes of chasing tennis balls.
7. The Fountain of Phew! Everytime Silent Evil tells me to take a break and get a drink of water, I hobble over to the fountain as slowly as possible with a gigantic sense of relief. Never has a water fountain seemed so fresh, so restful, so beautiful.
8. The Bastard Bubble of Imbalance. This is a bubble of plastic that has been cut in half that you have to stand on and use your core strength to keep your balance. Silent Evil had me put one foot on it, squat, then jump up and over it so the other foot was on it, and squat on the other side. I just couldn't get it right. I kept trying and trying until I put my foot in the wrong place, twisted my ankle and fell flat on my ass. No - wait - it gets better. As I fell, for some unknown reason, I yelled "Damn!" accross the whole gym, thereby ensuring that absolutely everyone looked up and saw me end up in a sweaty, jumbled clump on the floor.
9. The Frozen Clock. From about ten minutes into the training session, I'm watching the clock. The hands don't move. I swear to God Silent Evil has magic powers and she freezes time.
10. The Mat of Happiness. When the mat comes out, we are close to the end and, even though I have to keep working, at least I get to do it lying down. The mat is too short, my hands slip on it when I am doing Downward Facing Dog and it smells of other people's sweat. I don't care. I frickin' love that mat.

We all have our ways of coping with pain...

I am Woman - Chick Flick Crying Trick II

I forgot to tell you that the perfect sequel to the Chick Flick Crying Trick is the Comedette.

That's a word I just made up. It means a comedy film revolving around women.

You know the kind of thing I mean:

• The Witches of Eastwick
• Death Becomes Her
• The Banger Girls

So I am watching The Women, wondering how a director, screenwriter and editor have managed gather the most amazing female actress ingredients and yet cooked up something so very, very bland, when Bette Midler hits the screen.

And there I am, on the TV. The character she's playing in that moment, is me.

Let me set the scene. Whatsername from When Harry Met Sally... Mey Ryan! Yeah. Well, her character's husband has cheated on her and so she is getting a divorce. She isn't dealing with it well so she goes off to some yoga camp thingy. There are four women and a butchish instructor stretching by the side of the lake, next to wooden canoes. And along comes Bette, in full regalia: jangly jewellery, jumbo purse, velveteen tracksuit. 

Instructor: OK everyone, take a deeeeep, cleansing breath. Look around. Respect the power of nature. This is why you have come to the camp. Let it heeeeeal you.

[...bla bla other stuff you don't need to be bored with...] 

Bette Midler: Hold on, I'm coming! Don't start without me! Oh my God! I'm sorry. I'm just not used to getting up at the crack of friggin' dawn (excuse my French). Is this the time you always start? Because I'm pretty sure the lake will still be here at noon.

Instructor (crossing arms): We always canoe at dawn.

Bette (shrugging): I always fake my orgasms. That doesn't make it right.

Oh yeah, that's me.

As I always say when people talk about camping (after I snort with derision) "No room service - no deal."

And yes, I have seen the beauty of mother nature in the morning... Back in my twenties when we used to go clubbing and stay up all night. 

I am Woman - The Chick Flick Crying Trick

Sometimes, I can feel myself starting to get tired.

It's the mornings and evenings when it really hits. I feel heavy in the mornings, and struggle to get out of bed. Going to work seems like a chore even though, once I am there, I enjoy what I do. Once home from work, I don't have the energy to do anything social and I plonk down in front of TV, generally preferring to watch mind-numbing stuff.

Then something happens to really tip me over the edge. A bad incident at work, a misunderstanding with a friend or, as happened today, Puppy Dog being really sick and having to have a barrage of tests at the vet.

And then the crawling headache starts. It's like a demonic octopus-type creature is sitting in the middle of my back and it starts to stretch out its tentacles, sending an ache creeping between my shoulders, pain into my neck and throbbing across my temples. Finally the creature really takes hold, wrapping itself around my forehead in a tight, tight grip. All this comes with soupcon of sensitivity to bright light and a charming little nausea.

I only get these things about 4 or 5 times a year, but I've got better at spotting the signs early on, and taking a sick day. But lying in bed or on the couch watching daytime TV doesn't cut it.

There are five key elements to the cure:

1. Painkillers (obviously)
2. Couch
3. Very long, very hot shower
4. Lots of cups of tea
5. The Chick Flick

The Chick Flick (today it was Nights in Rodanthe) is not there to renew my faith in true love of the bonds of family. It is not there to make me feel empowered as a woman. It isn't even there to give me a chance to perv at the male lead.

It's there to make me cry.

There was a bit of a hitch today when a friend came to check on me in the middle of it, but luckily he arrived before the shower, the faded PJs and food-stained dressing gown, the red nose and bloodshot eyes and the clumps of soggy bits of kitchen roll. (I don't know why, but I never buy boxes of tissues.)

I think I need to have the catharsis of achieving suspension of disbelief and of having a good old wail at the trails and tribulations of others. Because, let's face it, my life is pretty good, and there is nothing in it that would make me actually want to turn on the waterworks. So I let actors, screenwriters and directors show me a situation that does warrant the boo-hoo-hoos, and I go at it.

Now, please note: the Chick Flick for the Crying Trick needs to be chosen carefully. It has to be well acted, and have a decent story. It has to be something I can relate to - where I could see myself in the shoes of the protagonist. And it has to be sad, but not too sad.

Terminally ill child? Too depressing. Gritty documentary about set somewhere hot and sticky? Too messy. Feelgood movie about a handicapped person overcoming adversity? Too corny. Death of a faithful dog? I want to cry, not kill myself. Old Yeller is out. Irritating overplayed-heartstring-tugger starring Tom Hanks? Puh-leeeeeez.

Here are some of the best examples of Chick Flicks for the Crying Trick:

• Terms of Endearment
• Fried Green Tomatoes
• The Notebook
• Beaches
• Thelma and Louise
• Steel Magnolias
• Postcards from the Edge
• Sophie's Choice
• The Hours

And here are some others that aren't chick flicks, but will do the trick:

• Away from Her
• In the Bedroom

Gay flicks that will do the trick:

• Longtime Companion
• Torch Song Trilogy
• Brokeback Mountain

Chick flicks I haven't seen held in reserve:

• Kramer vs. Kramer
• Coalminer's Daughter

I heartily recommend the Chick Flick Crying Trick... I already feel so much better.

That's Life - Credit card fraud

At 23:49 on the eve of the President's Day federal holiday, some schmuck tried to buy specialist engineering software that costs over $600 with my credit card.

Luckily, the company that provides the software found it strange that someone would order two copies of software that you download, and decided to call me to make sure I'd put my order in right.

Strangely, I don't need software that has something to do with installing or designing or doing something or other with windows. Not the Microsoft kind of windows.... real windows.

My husband, Fluffy Bear, said that they probably trying to test my credit card details and my credit limit ($1200 is pretty damn good test) before heading off to Walmart or Costco or the Big Noisy Truck That Comes With Mag Wheels And Its Own Shotgun company.

I called my bank, of course, but, it being a federal holiday, there wasn't anything they could do till the following day. I am sure it's no coincidence that this happened on a day the banks are closed.

Other than call the bank, what can I do?

The Police can't help me. I reported the incident to IC3, the government online fraud site, as well as to the people that provided the email address that the Fraudulent Bastard used. Those people - a big online email provider, emailed me back today and said that the email address used is often some poor hapless goon who has nothing at all to do with the transaction and that I shouldn't bother them again unless I had a Court Order. Makes sense, if you think about it.

And so I have decided I should curse the Fraudulent Bastard.

I know nothing about voodoo or Wicca, but instinct tells me this will be a lot more effective if you all help me out. So I would be eternally grateful if you would read the curse aloud when you read this blog, so that we can all send the energy of justice through the Universe to bring the Fraudulent Bastard down once and for all.

Here we go:

Fraudulent Bastard who used ittybittycrazy's card! May your hair always frizz, whatever the weather. May your cable go out for no reason at random times. May your food taste of sand from the dryest dessert. May alcohol have no effect on you. May stranger's dogs pee on your leg. May your car break down and your tyres go flat. May your ball hairs curl up and grow inward. May your ears be damned by a high pitched ring. May your teeth go black and your tongue be always dry. May you gain weight and never see your penis again. May you prematurely ejaculate whenever aroused. May your nose hair grow and your ear hair flourish. May your butt fart audibly, with no warning, in public. May your legs buckle under you when you're carrying hot coffee. May your toothbrush be infested with vicious bacteria. May your nose always run and your lips be ever chapped. May your underwear chafe and your shoes pinch your toes. May your bowels stop their work and leave you ever constipated. May your mouth utter spontaneous obscenities when your mother in law is present. May your dog's poop be mushy, and your cat's pee smell rank. May your eyesight grow dim and your hearing grow faint. May your breath smell of death and your earwax be ever visible. May your jokes be inappropriate and your conversation boring. May everything you touch turn to shit.

I am Woman - The glass ceiling shimmers brightly still

Today I was in a casual conversation with two male colleagues, one considerably older the other.

Man 1 - let's call him Hottie, because he is - told a story about some ridiculously athletic and energetic vacation activity. I began to tell the story of something related to that when Man 2 - let's call him Old Fart, because he is - interrupted me.

I got so mad I didn't say anything for the rest of the conversation, and just started to watch what was happening.

Hottie made eye contact with me and made reference to me when he spoke. Old Fart did the opposite. After the interruption, he did not glance my way at all for the rest of the ten or so minutes we were together.

Men interrupt women more than the other way round in mixed-sex conversations. Women ask almost three times as many questions in mixed-sex conversations as men. If a man and a women are talking, men talk longer than women.

Think I am spouting a bunch of crap? Sorry ol' chum, there's research to back me up:

http://www.mentalhelp.net/poc/view_doc.php?type=doc&id=286

 

Zimmerman & West (1975) and West & Fenstermaker (1993) investigated mixed-gender conversations and linguistic inequality in gender-specific styles. Thirty-one conversations were taped in public places such as libraries, coffee shops, drug stores and the University of California. The data were composed of eleven mixed-gender conversations, ten male-only and ten female-only conversations.

The findings indicated significant differences between same-gender pairs and mixed-gender pairs regarding the use of overlaps and interruptions.

Overlaps were defined as an act of anticipating the end of a sentence spoken by an interlocutor while articulating it with a topic-related response. An interruption, on the other hand, was considered as a violation of turn-taking rules whereby topical disarticulation is flagrant.

Results showed that all the overlaps were caused by male speakers and that 96% of the interruptions resulted from men interrupting women. Interestingly, men rarely interrupted each other, primarily using interruptions when speaking to women. Women used fewer overlaps with men than with women due to the fact that men tended to perceive overlaps as interruptions: "Male interruptions of women bring less social punishment than female interruptions of men" (Steinem, 1991).

Zimmerman & West (1975) and West & Fenstermaker (1993) observed that in mixed-gender conversations men tended to infringe on women's right to speak. As a result of male interruptions, the same study indicated that women tended to be more silent than men. Silence periods in single-gender pairs averaged 1.35 seconds, while they averaged 3.21 seconds in mixed-gender groups. Interestingly, the illocutionary act of silence was also defined as clearly gender-specific.

Females have been observed to fall silent after male interruptions, indicating their powerlessness, while males primarily used silence preceding minimal responses such as yeah, indicating, according to Zimmerman & West (1975) and West & Fenstermaker (1993), a lack of interest in the interlocutor's topic, denying women the right to control the topic of conversation.

West (1984) has shown that male interruptions apply even when females have a higher social status. Her study was conducted among male and female doctors interacting with patients: "Whereas male physicians (as a group) initiated 67% of all interruptions relative to their patients' 33%, female physicians (as a group) initiated only 32% of interruptions relative to their patients' 68%" (West, 1984, p. 92)

I heard of one writer who theorized that an organization was a collection of conversations. If women are constantly interrupted and subordinated in conversation, what chance do we have within the organization? The Glass Ceiling isn't just salaries and bonuses, it's not making ourselves heard every day, in all those little conversations, discussions, meetings.

Unfortunately for me I did a little side course in Women's Studies led by an ardent feminist back when I was at university, and it opened my eyes to things which, were I still in blissful ignorance, probably wouldn't bother me.

So, not only did I let Old Fart interrupt me, and then fall silent like a willing subordinate, but I knew I was doing it.

WTF?!?!?!?

I am going to go to my room and flagellate myself now.

Being a Doggy Mama - Puppy Dog is sick

Puppy Dog is sick, and I don't know what to do.

I brought him home from Doggy Day Care (you may laugh, but once a week he goes somewhere and runs around for 8 hours and then is complete peaceful bliss that night) and they told me he threw up.

I gave him a dog biscuit in the car and he threw it up.

I had to go and get tortured for an hour by Silent Evil, my personal trainer, so I had to leave him alone.

And when I got home there was vomit next to his bed and by the back door - he's a considerate puppy - he tried to go outside to do it.

Now he wont eat or drink any water.

And the internet really doesn't help in these situations. You start to read some guidance about what to do when your dog vomits and it all seems really helpful and nice until you get to the part where they say "vomiting could also be a sign of a more serious condition".... and then you're fucked if you read any further.

So now I am sitting here wondering which of these will lead to his imminent death:

• Stomach cancer


• Obstruction in the intestine (which is killing the tissue around it)


• Worms


• Parasites


• Poisoning


• Infectious disease


• Hepatitis (leading to liver inflammation)


• Kidney failure


• Pancreatitis (inflammation of the pancreas)


• Inflammatory bowel disease


• Intestinal cancer


• Hiatal hernia (part stomach herniating through the diaphragm)


• Hormonal deficiency


• Gastritis


• Stomach ulcer


• Infection of the uterus

OK we can rule out that last one - Puppy Dog is a boy.

Did I tempt fate by imagining a Death Poem for Puppy Dog?

Am I being punished?

Should I return to my Catholic roots and pray?

Will God even remember me?

If God remembers me, will he listen?

After all, I said some pretty shitty things to Him back in high school before I started ignoring Him altogether. And I was really mean to his envoy, our priest, behind his back. And I sat at the back of the church and didn't listen or sing. And I only went up to get communion for the gulp of wine...

Maybe I should pray, anyway.

Or maybe I should wait till I see the vet tomorrow morning.

It's gonna be a long night.

That's Life - Four children and a funeral

I went to a Memorial Service for a dear friend's mother today.

I was dreading it, thinking that all sorts of unreleased grief for my own parents would surface but, in fact, it was so nicely done that I remained totally focussed on the dear, Sweet Lady who had left us to join her husband for Valentine's Day.

Losing one's mother is profound or, at least, it was for me.

I wasn't home when my mother died and didn't fly back for the funeral - there were reasons, but I'll always carry that guilt.

Today, a photo montage of Sweet Lady's last days was shown on a flatscreen. And suddenly, in a photo that flashed by, there I was.

And I realized that I had been enormously priveledged this last week. In being welcomed to visit and say my goodbyes, I was a very small part of a family gathering where each of the four children came together from different parts of North America to go through photos, reminisce and say farewell to the woman who bore and raised and loved them.

I didn't get to do that with my mother. I didn't get to see her in bed and accept the end, I didn't get to gather with my siblings and laugh and cry, I didn't get to sit quietly with my her and just say goodbye, face to face, like I did with this Sweet Lady.

My friend - let's call her Eve - allowed me to be a tiny part of this intimate, sad and happy family gathering, to bring food as an offer of support, to hug them and to say that I am sorry for their loss.

I was a miniscule part of their journey, but the experience has somehow been very profound for me.

I was given a taste of a family facing the circle of life together, and it feels like it's somehow filled a portion of the gap of not having that with my family for either of my parents' deaths. Perhaps that's why my mother's death didn't hit me till the one year anniversary of her passing, and my father's death doesn't seem to have hit me at all, yet.

I know it seems strange to say that being part of another family's grieving process has been an honor, but it has. I am grateful that I could be here, with my friend Eve, at this time.

This last week, and today, has been a gift.

Rest in peace, dear Sweet Lady. I'll always remember that moment when you told a funny story at brunch....

This is a poem I found last night about mothers and passing on, and I felt comforted by it. Perhaps you'll like it too...

The Watcher

By Margaret Widdemar

 

She always leaned to watch for us

Anxious if we were late

In winter by the window

In summer by the gate

And though we mocked her tenderly

Who had such foolish care

The long way home would seem more safe

Because she waited there

Her thoughts were all so full of us

She never could forget

And so I think that's where she is

She must be watching yet

Waiting 'til we come home to her

Anxious if we are late

Watching from Heaven's window

Leaning from Heaven's gate

Being a Doggy Mama - Death poem

I have to go to a funeral tomorrow, so I've been looking up poems.

And it got me thinking... what would be my death poem for Puppy Dog?

And no, I would never buy something like that thing in the photo. That's me being ironic.

And I am in no way trivializing the funeral I am attending tomorrow. Puppy Dog's death would be profound for me, but I would want any poem about him to have the life and nuttiness that he has.

Anyway... poem for Puppy Dog.

He sometimes was a little shit
But - oh! - I loved him so!
Accross the dog park - lickety split!
A-bounding he would go

His ears so soft, his paws so rough
His tail could tell no lie
His coat as silky as a seal's
His wet nose on my thigh

The twitching as he lay asleep
Chasing rabbits, squirrels, cats
The clicking of his little claws
How he loved the strokes and pats

His poo smelt rank, he barked too loud,
He farted, burped and snored
But I shall miss him every day
My Puppy Dog, who I adored

Health is Wealth - She's in my head...

Our Personal Trainer, Silent Evil, is getting to me.

This morning I woke up with a sore right shoulder. As I lay in bed, I had this thought:

My back always feels so much better after a workout. It's probably the weights and the push ups against that bar. I don't have any weights at home, but I've been doing a lot of push-ups and I'm getting better at it. Maybe I'm ready to do them on the floor, the old fashioned way. And then maybe my back will fell better.

And....

1. I had this thought when I was conscious and rational


2. I was quite serious and not being ironic in any way


3. I believed myself.

What the fuck?!?!?!?!

She's in my head! She's in my head!

9 to 5 - Guess I shouldn't apply...

We went to a Burger Place a while ago and I noticed they had a sign up saying they needed staff.

The sign said:

Upbeat personalities, enquire within.

Guess the job's not for me then.

What would my type of sign say?

• Bitter Bitches, enquire within
• Dysfunctional Dyspeptics, enquire within
• Contemptous Cows, enquire within
• Sarcastic Snobs, enquire within
• Cynical Smarty Pants, enquire within
• Overeducated Yuppies, enquire within

I could go on...

9 to 5: Bring back the humans

Don't you just love calling those automated Switchboards?

Thank. You. For. Calling. Company X.

Please. Tell. Me. Who. You. Would. Like. To. Speak. To.

"Bob Smith."

I. Think. You. Said. One. Of. These. Seven. People.

One. Mike Kawazaki.

Two. Sheila Monroe.

Three. Hiyochi Namura.

Four. Tom Dole.

Five. [Mumble mumble].

Six. Chloe Ellis-Brown.

Seven. Vijay Chopra.

If. The. Person. Was. Not. Listed. Say. None.

"None."

I'm. Sorry. Please. Tell. Me. The. Name. Again.

"Bob Smith."

I. Think. You. Mean. One. Of. These. Fifty. Two. People.

One. Mariana DeVille.

Two. Chuck Bartels.

"None! None! None!"

I'm. Sorry. Let's. Try. That. Again. Please. Te-

"Operator! OPERATOR!"

I. Think. You. Want. The. Operator. Is. That. Right.

"YES!"

Transferring. You. To. The. Operator.

"Hello, this is the Operator, who would you like to speak to?"

"Bob Smith, please."

"And how do you spell 'Smith'?"

And this is when I send Bob an email.

Hello from Puppy Dog: Stupid Prey

Hello Friends,

Yesterday we came home and Mama let me out of the car, like she always does, without my leash. I am a good dog and I know where to go when she says "Home".

But as I got in front of our house I saw a Hairless Ape on our front porch! He was big and blue and had a funny bag. He was holding little white square things.

I ran up to the porch and barked at him, asking who he was and what he was doing in front of my territory. He froze and smelled scared and that's when I realized that he was my favorite kind of thing: Prey.

Big Prey think that they are harder for me to catch than small Prey, but they are kidding themselves. Small Prey is fast and nimble, but big Prey is generally slow. They may be harder to bring down but, as the saying goes, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

This Prey used a small Prey tactic. It froze. How dumb is that?

It was so big I could see exactly where it was! I need movement to see Stinking Squirrels, but big Prey I can spot a mile away.

Then Mama sprinted up and yelled at me. I barked at her that I was hunting, Thank You very much, and didn't need distraction right at that moment.

She kept saying "I'm so sorry" to the Prey and grabbed me by the collar. The Prey was mumbling and shuffled past me to go next door. I tried jumping out of Mama's grasp - with the Prey in front of the steep bank in front of our house I knew just one push would take it down and I'd be on its neck in a flash.... ah, the thrill of the hunt!

But Mama held on and dragged me into the house.

But I know this Prey. I've seen it before. It thinks it can come and invade my territory every day. I know it will be back on Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday. And one day, one day, I'll learn how to turn that round thing that opens the front door and then the Prey will be mine, all mine.

With love and woofs,

Puppy Dog. 

Hello from Puppy Dog: What's in a name?

Hello Friends,

As I said in my last note, Mama has lots of names for me. Some of them I get, but others I just don't understand. Maybe you can help me.

• "Bad Dog" - I get this one. It's when I've been naughty. But I'm a good dog, really... mostly


• "ADD Dog" - Mama yells this sometimes when I get distracted in the middle of a pee and run off. But if there's a Stinking Squirrel, what am I supposed to do? Squirrels must die!


• "Crazy Mutt" - Mama said this to me when I tried to climb a tree to chase a Stinking Squirrel. It's not my fault she cuts my claws! I could've got up there! I could've.


• "OI!" - I am not sure if this is a name. Mama and Dada yell it when I try to jump into a fountain when we walk in town. But I love water! And the fountains are for everyone, right? So why aren't they for me?


• "You Fucking Little Bastard" - Dada called me this special long name when he was holding the leash and I ran after a Stinking Squirrel. It's not my fault the leash isn't long enough! And Dada was being ridiculous. I didn't really pull his arm off. Geez!


• "Pig Dog" - Mama calls me this when I win the tennis ball race against other dogs in the park and carry three balls in my mouth. If the other dogs are too slow, that tough. It's dog eat dog. Or at least, dog eat other dog's tennis ball.


• "Silly Boy!" - Mama yells this when I get out of the river at the park and go over to her and show her how cool I am by giving a good shake and getting rid of all the water. She really doesn't appreciate my prowess.


• "Fish Face" - Mama and Dada yell this and giggle when I scratch a particular place on my shoulder that feels reeeeeeeally good. When I do it I can't help but stick my head forward and sideways so my lips stretch and Mama says I look like a fish. Sometimes Mama finds the spot and scratches it and I stick my face out and my leg just goes crazy all by itself and Mama and Dada giggle in that irritating way that Hairless Apes do.


• "My Baby Boy" - This is my favorite. Mama calls me this when I curl up with her on the couch and put my head on her knee and she scratches behind my ears... blisssssssss.

Lots of licks and woofs,

Puppy Dog

Hello from Puppy Dog: Why am I a Bad Dog?

Hello Friends,

Today has gone downhill. We had a nice walk in the park, Mama and me, but now she is ignoring me. We've been home for an hour and she hasn't scratched my head or invited me up onto the couch or even said a word to me.

Mama has different names for me and I think today's name is "Bad Dog."

We went to visit my girlfriend, Dogette. Mummy let me out of the back of the car and asked me to go into Dogette's house. But there were lots of nice smells and I needed a pee and I saw a cat and I ran after it a bit. Cats are evil and they get what they deserve. But I got into Dogette's house eventually after Mama yelled a lot... so why am I a Bad Dog?

When we got inside I found a bone on the floor so I took it and sat quietly chewing it the whole time we were there. I was sitting in the corner not causing any trouble.... so why am I a Bad Dog?

When Mama said it was time to leave I thought I could take the bone home with me. I found it, I was chewing it, it was my bone. Mama tried to make me drop it, but it was my bone. Mama tried to take it out of my mouth, but it was my bone. So I reacted like any self-respecting dog defending his food would do... I growled at her. I mean, it's only fair to give the Hairless Apes a warning when they are causing trouble, isn't it? So why am I a Bad Dog?

Mama and I struggled for a while and then she cheated. She stuck her fingers down my throat so I had to let the bone go. If she's the cheat, why am I a Bad Dog?

This sucks.

I'm going to my cushion to take a nap.

Lots of licks and woofs,

Puppy Dog.

Health is Wealth - When are the endorphins coming?

This is what I asked our Personal Trainer, Silent Evil, today at the gym.

When you exercise you supposedly get a little endorphin high from the pain of the exertion. That's why some people get addicted to exercise. But all I seem to get is the pain and no gain.

Goddammit! Where's my high?

Today Silent Evil made us throw a big squidgy ball up at the wall above our head, catch it and then hold it while going into a squat. Then she had us hold a ball - that has a weight in it - step sideways into a squat with the ball down between our legs ("Keep your chin up!"), then step feet together and lift the ball above our heads. We panted and sweated and generally humiliated ourselves down the length of the gym.

The best one was with each of standing at opposite sides of the gym and doing a relay. Fluffy Bear ran to me with a 22 pound weight, handed it to me and I ran back to the dumbell rack. Silent Evil gave me a heavier weight, I ran and handed it to Fluffy Bear, and so on.

This was all on top of the usual side squats, push ups and normal squats. Three - count them, three - rounds of those.

There was one large woman puffing on a treadmill, thank God, or we would have been the only red-faced, fat, old farts in a gym full of bright, young, skinny things.

Of course I am responsible for us having a hard session today. I started off by telling Silent Evil how neither of us wanted to be there. I think she might have taken that as a personal challenge.

I made sure I gave her her cheque for the next month's training as soon as we got there. In my heart I knew that, if I left it till the end of the hour, I'd change my mind and cancel her services altogether.

Finally we got to the part on the mats. There are three or four sets of ab exercises, but I usually enjoy that part, knowing it's something I can do without too much strain, knowing we're near the end and knowing that, even though I still have to work, at least I get to do it lying down.

But it was spoilt today by Her Perkiness. There she was, perfect body, perfect hair (how the hell can your hair look good when you're working out, for God's sake?!), iPod in, pushing herself ubersuperduperhard and counting in a stage whisper as she jumped from side to side or lifted weights or did pushups or whatever imitation of a jack rabbit she felt like doing.

It's really hard, when you are at the end of a hard workout and can see the end in sight, to keep focussed when you can hear "Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!" going on behind you. It's even harder to remember how many crunches you've done when someone else is counting. It took all my self control to stop myself yelling "FORTY-SEVEN! FIFTY-TWO! NINETY-THREE!"

Perky little bitch.

When we finished working out, Fluffy Bear and I said Thank You to Silent Evil and headed to the changing rooms.

"Let's walk like we're really old and can barely stumble," I whispered to Fluffy Bear.

So we limped and groaned up the stairs, providing comic relief for our trainer.

I glanced back at her... she wasn't smiling.

Health is Wealth - Personal Training

We have a personal trainer. She speaks very softly and hurts us, so we call her Silent Evil.

Our first session was painful. We huffed and we puffed and we sweated and she just kept on giving more instructions, quietly, like a leathal weapon with a silencer.

I found myself watching the clock from only ten minutes in.

"Now we'll do lunges, ten on each side," she cheerfully whispered.

I fucking hate lunges.

"Now fifteen push ups on this bar... Straigthen your body, drop all the weight.... Good job!"

My arms are going to fall off! Forty minutes to go... we're already one third of the way in.

"Now fifteen squats," she breathed.

I feel like I'm taking a dump in public.

"OK, now let's do fifteen forward lunges."

I hate hate hate hate hate fucking lunges! Twenty minutes to go....

"OK, sit here and push like this. Let's do twenty."

"Let's"? I don't see YOU doing a damn thing!

"Is the weight OK for you?"

If you mean is it killing me, then yes.

"OK, now let's start at the beginning and do another round."

Let's WHAT?!?!?!?!

Eventually she took us over to the stretching area and she brought out some mats. I started to relax, thinking that here come some nice, gentle stretches, lying down.

Nope!

Three sets of ab exercises. More pain.

Eventually we got to the stretching part. She had us do a routine where we started with Cat Cow back stretches, pushed back into Downward Facing Dog, putting weight on one foot and then the other to stretch calves and then lifted one leg to sweep it forward into Pigeon.

I'm used to yoga, but Fluffy Bear was suffering.

He was ranting when we went home.

"What the hell was she doing? I couldn't even see how she got into those positions, let alone get into them myself! What the hell? [Imitating Silent Evil's soft voice]. First, put your left toe in your right ear. Now balance on your left ring finger. Aaaaand streeeeetch! What the hell with this Yogi Bear crap?"