What Does Your Puppy Do All Day? Mine Takes It to the Mat

You may not know this, because I sure didn't, but there is this thing called Puppy Daycare.

Puppy Daycare.

Let that sink in for a minute.

Like regular daycare, you pay a weekly fee which you are charged no matter if your puppy goes once a week or all five days. Unlike regular daycare, you do not have to obtain a second mortgage on your house to pay for it. You do, however, have to give up a week's worth of groceries. Okay, maybe a week's worth if I am shopping because I rarely buy us any meat. How do we survive? No wonder the cooking blog is so sparse.

In any event, B decided that Jersey should go to puppy daycare. He stumbled upon a place, checked it out, and brought home a flyer. I thought it was a bit pricey considering they recommended about 4 months of "daycare." The upside was that you could drop your dog off at 7 am and pick her up as late as 7 pm and someone else took care of her and attempted to potty train her during that time. In fact, that alone might just be worth the fee.

So, I thought we had decided it was too much money. I thought wrong. Come one Tuesday, I come home and inquire as to where Jersey was. B responds "at the daycare." Wait. What. Huh? When did "we" decide this? Memories of how Jersey came into our life suddenly flash in my head and I realize B is once again operating as a royal "we." Huh.

Then Jersey came home. She was happy and tired. Tired. As in not trying to bite my arm, chew my toes or jump in my lap every two minutes. Point made Puppy Daycare. You win this time.

Also? She got a report card. I wish I were kidding. See for yourself:

After I stopped laughing my ass off, I examined it a bit closer. How informative was this little orange piece of paper? (Yes, I know it looks yellow. Stupid scanner.) We know that Jersey had three playmates. Hopefully she didn't try to eat them like she does Brad. We know that she was happy and playful. No surprise there.

Wait. Talkative?

Let's not encourage that Puppy Daycare. Chester used to be quiet until Mooch taught him how to bother us and now he won't shut up.

Shy? Ha! They must have been talking about Teddy. Jersey is anything but shy.

Finally, we learned what our puppy likes for hobbies - going outside and wrestling. You don't say? How unusual for a puppy.

As you can see, this was money well spent. We basically paid $50 for an orange piece of paper filled with information we already knew and for someone to watch, entertain, and potty train our puppy. Who's fooling who here?

We are fools.

Sure I will Do Your Math for You, You Are Only the Cashier

On Friday I stopped at the store in my office building to buy two lotto tickets. After a hard day at work I decided I wanted to become a millionaire. Also? My mom and I entered into a pact to go in on lotto tickets together. I am in charge of January. So far I have bought 3 tickets out of 6. I suck and we are never going to be millionaires.

While I was there buying the tickets, I noticed that they also sold scratchoffs. I love me some scratchoffs, or scratchers as some call them. I, however, cannot call them that because it sounds weird to me. Anyhow I tell the cashier that I want a specific scratchoff and she proceeds to pull off the wrong one. After explaining which one I want, I decide that I want the one she pulled off because it is now lucky.*

That is when the REAL confusion began. The lotto tickets were $2, the first scratchoff was $2, and the second was $2. That came to $6. I gave her a 10.

Cashier: How much do you owe me?

Me: $6. I gave you a 10

Cashier: How much do I owe you?

Me: $4

Cashier: [holding a 10 and a 5] Is this 10 yours?

Me: Yes. You owe me $4

Cashier: Did you give me this 5?

Me: No.

Cashier: How much was this?

Me: $6. You owe me $4.

Cashier: I need to change this $5 from the main register to give you change.

Me: Okay.

Cashier: Now what do I give you?

Me: $4

Cashier: [blank look]

Me: Take the 5 singles out of the register and put the $5 bill in it. Give me 4 singles and put the other single in the lotto register.

Cashier: Okay.

Me: By the way, you owe me 20.

No, I didn't say that last part. But I could have. She would have given me a 20. And the 10. And the 5. That is what we call a bad day.

And that last minute scratchoff? Totally a winner. A $2 winner.

At least I got my money back on that one. The others were a bust.

Now, if I could just get my sanity back.

*One time at another location I asked for a scratchoff and got the wrong one. I went back in and asked for the right one and the woman behind the counter pulled out this mangled ticket that looked like a dog ate it. I won $50 from it.**

**I just realized that the foregoing example was poor because it was not the wrong ticket that was the winner. Great. Now my whole theory is shot and I just have to buy all of the scratchoffs I see.

***Please send money.

Apparently I Am Still Psychic. This is Good News. But Only for Celebrities.

The other day I was driving down the street, which is a time when all good thoughts find me, when I was suddenly slapped by this thought:

Madonna is now single. Sean Penn is now single. They really loved each other once. I wonder if they will get back together again. Remember that time he punched out the paps? He can be rather mean. Or tough. How sexy.

Okay, that was more than one thought. But, then I came home and I read this.

Well, well, well. I am on to something. My psychic ability knows no bounds. Unless you consider only the lives of celebrities as a bounds. Frankly, I don't. However, I am at a loss at to how to make this newfound ability profitable. Thoughts?

While you are thinking about that, let's discuss something else important and which probably made me think of Madonna and Sean Penn in the first place.

Dexter.

If you don't know this already, John Lithgow was on the latest season of Dexter playing a psychopath. I won't tell you what happens because I hate when people do that and the show is really not the point of this post. The point? B is convinced that John Lithgow is a serial killer in real life because he played one so well on TV. This led me to ponder what roles I see as being that of the "true" actor/actress. Here is what I have come up with:

Sean Penn is the character he played in Mystic River. See above.

Kate Hudson is her character from Almost Famous.

Sarah Michelle Gellar is the character from Buffy, but I think we all know and would agree with that.

Christian Bale is the character from American Psycho. Honestly, he can scare me. Did you hear that on-set rant?

Brad Pitt is his character from Seven. I know Brad would like me to say the character from the Oceans 11 franchise, but, sorry Brad, it isn't so.

My Name is Dani and I Must Kick Your Car. Its a Problem

My name is Dani and I have a problem.

I like to kick cars.

Well, not cars exactly, but things on cars. What exactly do I mean? Let me explain.

Winter sucks. You know what the only good thing about winter is? Kicking cars. You know how snow gathers and clumps in the wheel wells of cars? That's what I am talking about. They must be kicked.

Seriously. They call my name. I love the satisfaction I get when I succeed in dislodging one and the thudding sound it makes when it falls to the ground. This may be the only thing I like about winter. Except maybe fleece.

My obsession with this kicking snow clumps is SO bad that I will kick other people's clumps as I stumble upon them. I try to do it when no one is looking for fear that someone will think that I am actually trying to kick their car and find retribution by performing a physical assault on me.

One time, I was so excited when we were stopped at a red light that I threatened to get out of our car to kick a nearby snow clump. B even egged me on. However, I truly did not feel like he had my back and would just laugh and drive away when the person confronted me. Husbands can be so mean.

Recently, this obsession took on a scarier angle as, in my enthusiasm to kick a snow clump off of a neighboring car, I lost my footing on a piece of ice and almost wiped out. It made me second guess my fun hobby. After all, hobbies shouldn't maim you, right?

The next day, though, I was back to kicking.

It is a problem.

I have to kick snow clumps on cars.

I must.

One Month Later, Five Pounds Heavier, and Four Legs Longer a/k/a My How Our Jersey Girl Has Grown

It seems like just yesterday that Jersey was this small, looking guilty for chewing on B's hat:

Actually, she never looks guilty. It is not her style. Now? Now she just looks BIG:

Look how long those legs are! And she gained almost 4 pounds in just the last week!

I can barely lift her in my lap and she can no longer lay there for naps:

She is just as beautiful as ever, even though B said she is not as cute as she was when she was a puppy.

Who wouldn't love THIS face?

She wants to love you too.

It was one month on Tuesday that Jersey came into our lives. We will never be the same.

Neither will the cats.

And we all love it.*

*Well maybe not Chester so much with the hissing and pawing.

**Or Mooch with the moaning and running.

***Maybe Brad until she catches him and tries to chew on him.

Most of us are loving it.

A few of us?

Two of us?

I Am a Vampire, but There Are Drugs for That

Recently I went to the doctor for my yearly physical and blood work. That is, if you call recently three months ago. Anyhow, I never called to get the results of my blood work. For most this would not be a problem. As B says, "if there is a problem, they will call YOU." In theory, this is probably correct. With my doctor's office, nothing could be farther from the truth.

You see, back in October of 2006, my doctor sent me for a sleep study as he thought I may have sleep apnea. When I didn't hear back from his office, I called them. The nurse proceeded to tell me that I had been diagnosed with sleep apnea and that the doctor wanted to send me for a second test. Apparently I was just supposed to know this without the office telling me, like I am psychic or something. The joke was on them though. Turns out after a year of battling with a sleep machine, I didn't have sleep apnea after all. I am narcoleptic. In case you don't know, that is pretty much the exact OPPOSITE of sleep apnea.

Yes, I still see the same doctor. At least, the same office.

So I call the other day and tell the nurse it is probably stupid that I am calling because they would have called me if it was important (knowing all the while that probably isn't true). She finds my records and says mostly my blood work was fine, however:

Nurse: Your Vitamin D levels are low.

Me: I was wondering about that and meant to have you check them.

Nurse. Well, it is LOW.

Me: Okay.

Nurse, VERY VERY LOW.

Me: um...okay?

Nurse: You need to take a supplement.

Me: Sure.

Nurse: 3,000 units a day

Me: WOW.

Of course when I tell B this he says it is because I never go outside. I do go outside. To get into my car. To get into the office. To get into the house. That is outside, right? Also? I have very nice cancer-free skin. That's a plus. I told B that he would appreciate that in 20 years. He merely responded:

"You will be OLD"

Thanks. Apparently, my Dad and brother had the same reaction, chuckling about my not going outside. I also informed my brother that I had beautiful skin. "Yeah, pale, alabaster, translucent skin", he said.

Jealous, much?

It is not that I don't want to go outside. But what am I supposed to do out there? You have all seen my front porch. Can't sit there. My porch swing is on a covered porch. Sometimes I walk to the store and to Starbucks. One time I hung out at the park until people looked at me weird because there were kids there and I didn't have any kids even though I was swinging on the kids' swing. I go on walking tours. Picnics and barbecues are nice. But on an everyday basis, what am I supposed to be doing out there? Anyone?

I can't help it that fresh air and sunshine makes me want to open all of the blinds, drapes, and windows.

And nap.

Isn't that what a narcoleptic vampire is supposed to do?

When You Plan on Staying Home Sick from Work, it is Probably Best to Actually Tell Your Office

It is early morning. Dani woke up to her usual routine - shower, breakfast, internet, dress and leave for the office. However, somewhere between breakfast and internet, Dani decided she wasn't going to be able to get to the leave for the office part. She thought she was getting better. She went to the office the day before, but today she needed more rest. And more Nyquil. So she emailed her secretary, took another dose and went back to bed.

And so she slept.

Meanwhile, at the office...nobody has heard from Dani. Everyone is asking her secretary where she is, but nobody has an answer. Her secretary emails her, but gets no response.

And so she sleeps.

Around 11 am, the office starts to get worried. Dani's co-worker calls and gets her voicemail. One of the partners calls and gets her voicemail. The managing partner calls and gets her voicemail.

She still sleeps with the faint sound of the phone ringing in the background. They will call back, she thinks.

Meanwhile at the office...panic has set in. "There was an accident on the freeway," someone suggests. "We should call her old employer for contact information" screams another. Someone texts her. Another calls her. THERE IS NO ANSWER they yell to each other. The whole firm has gotten involved. They have notified one employee that she has to drive to Dani's house to see if she is okay. Someone else suggests they call Dani's cell phone company to find a signal on her. A third person starts scrambling through papers to find info for B.

And so she sleeps.

And then she is startled awake at 2:00 p.m. by her husband screaming:

GET UP! YOUR OFFICE IS LEAVING ME MESSAGES. CALL THEM!

And so she awakes, stumbles to her phone to find 3 voicemails, 5 missed calls, 2 emails and a text message. She notices that there is a big red X next to the email she sent at 7:30 a.m. saying she wasn't coming in. She calls the first number she recognizes and is greeted with WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD. Word is spread that Dani is, in fact, alive. And sick. And sleeping.

And so she went back to sleep.*

In other news, have you lost something? Have you wondered whatever happened to that ex or long lost friend? If so, get my office on the case. They will find what you are missing in less than 5 hours - guaranteed!**

*I didn't really go back to sleep. Unless you count the times I dozed off during my marathon Dexter sessions. So I had to watch 3 of them 2 times? I was sick!

**I have to say that I am very amazed at the lengths my coworkers went to find me and to make sure I was okay. I feel very appreciated. And stalked.

Parenting a Pup 101: The One Where My Husband is in the Dog House Literally

Yesterday was Jersey's 3 week birthday. Technically she is like two months and 3 weeks old, but I am counting her "birthday" as the day we got her. Yes, she was alive for two months prior, but apparently just barely. So, I had great plans to take updated pictures for this event. Those plans went up in smoke when I woke up still sick and too drugged/exhausted/congested to go to work. So after emailing work to let them know, I went back to my drug induced sleep. Too bad work didn't get the email. Hilarity ensued, but that is a story for a different day as I don't feel like typing it all out.

Instead, I have some other Jersey pics for you. B is also a star in these. You see, when we first got Jersey her crate was actually the cat carrier. It was the perfect size for her. However, B seeing a long future and, more importantly, long legs on Jersey, thought a bigger, adjustable crate would be better. And so he found one.

Jersey wasn't sure of the new crate. B, being the good parent, decided to show her that it was a fun and comfortable place to be:

Don't they look comfortable in there? Well, one of them looks sad. I will let you decide which one.

And, if you are in a cage with your dog, you should totally call to your other animals to come see you and gauge their reactions to you being treated like an "animal":

Eventually one animal will come to check you out:

Then you can entice him to come closer by wiggling your finger:

Or sticking a toy banana out while your wife yells "HAVE A BANANA!":

Soon after your puppy will realize the cage is nice and comfy and her place:

Even if you have to talk her into it:

And even if she blends into the dog bed:

B is a good parent and a good sport. Also? This was totally his idea. I just made him sit in there a bit longer so I could grab the camera.

As for Jersey? She is back in the cat carrier. She likes small spaces.

And small cats.

But that is another story.

Vicky Runs My Life. As She Should Because She is Good at It. Is She Listening?

Vicky came to me on Christmas morning in the hands of B. She was wrapped in a little box and I knew exactly what she was. Probably because B asked me a month prior if I wanted her, informed me when he ordered her, and told me when she arrived at the house. Mystery runs deep with that one.

Vicky is my new BFF. She is very knowledgeable. It is almost like she has a huge database in her head. She also speaks perfect English. As a result, right away I knew her name must be Victoria. However, since we became such fast friends, I now call her Vicky for short.

Victoria, or Vicky for short, is my new Garmin nuvi 205, or GPS for short.* She is currently my most treasured possession. Of course, she is also my most dangerous possession. Really! I no longer have to think at all. I put in the address and Vicky gets me there. She tells me when to turn, even issuing up to two warnings before reaching the desired turn mark.

You can't outsmart Vicky. If you decide you do not like her route, which is always the best route by the way**, she will simply speak to you in her perfect English and say "Recalculating" and the next thing you know, Vicky has a new route planned and is calmly telling you when to turn and where to go without even a hint of anger in her voice.

How is Vicky dangerous, you ask? Well, every time I use her, I rely on her that much more. Go ahead. Ask me how to get to my mother's house that I have driven to every week (and sometimes twice) for the past 6 years. I DON'T KNOW. I can tell you the route I used to take before Vicky came in my life, but that would be the INCORRECT ROUTE.

And when I forget Vicky? DISASTER. Sometimes I don't turn where I need to because I don't hear her voice saying "Turn now." Then when I realize that I missed my turn I start screaming "RECALCULATE" but, sadly, there is no one there to do this for me. So I drive aimlessly around moaning Vicky's name quietly or until something starts to look familiar. Like our driveway because I was just down the block.

Seriously, though, Vicky is wonderful. B and I were driving around looking at Christmas lights with Jersey (who was thrilled as you can imagine) and just having the map on the dash helped when B instructed me to turn down a dead end road. When I told him it was a dead end, he replied "I suppose so." No, it IS A DEAD END ROAD. VICKY SAID SO!!

Yes, B made fun of me the first day for arguing with Vicky - "Yes, I HEAR you. I will turn" or "I can't turn there is a RED LIGHT" - until he drove with her and soon did the same thing. However, he soon came to realize Vicky's infinite wisdom and even took her on a field trip with his parents. Now, when faced with a tough question, even those not about driving, we often ask ourselves "What would Vicky do?"

The answer is always: Turn right now.

And so we do.

*I don't know if that is technically the short version, but all the cool kids call it that.

**It is always the best route because Vicky tells me it is.

***You do NOT argue with Vicky.

***help

The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same While Changing

Remember when I said I was thinking up new and exciting things for the blog? Well, I really wasn't referencing this blog. I decided to start a second blog. You know, because I have so much free time on my hands and all. The focus of my other blog is cooking. Or lack thereof. Long time readers know that I have had a few adventures in cooking, one that ended up with an ER trip. Hopefully that won't be repeated on the new blog. I am excited to start a cooking journey. So, please, check out the new pad. The link is on the top left under the aptly named "My Other Blog" section. And if you have tips, recipes, thoughts, ideas, please share.

As for here? Well I decided to change the layout and even made my own header. And by making my own header, I mean I found a header and added those words. Of course that only took me about 3 hours since I had to find a free paint program for Mac, then learn said program, and then finish it. Yes, all you website designers can rest easy. Your jobs are safe. Same for HTML people. Wait. Isn't that the same thing? What do I know? I am no doctor.

I am also going to try to post more often on this blog. I had grand plans to get some posts done in advance. Then I got sick. You know what sucks? Getting sick. You know what is worse? Getting sick while out of the office for the holidays. There should be a law against that. But the ultimate in worseness? STILL being sick when you have to go back to work on Monday. Damn you little germs and viruses.

That's it for now. Stay tuned tomorrow to meet Vicky.

And here's pictures of a really awesome sunset we had recently. Well, in November, but whatever. The pictures don't do it justice.