Why Yes, We Still Do Own That Other Dog a/k/a Why Haven't I Updated About Nevada?

Parenting fail.  I remember constantly posting about Jersey. Well, that is probably an exaggeration, but I know I posted more than I do about Nevada. Heck, I don't even take that many pictures of her.  Not sure if it is because I am lazy or she is not. Man this dog moves around.

So anyway, here were are just two months after rescuing a undernourished and very dirty Nevada from a home in a rough area and she is doing great.  She doesn't even look like the same dog sometimes. It could be that now her ears stick straight up:

I kind of miss the folded over ears, but I have convinced myself that her ears are up because she is happy.  Yes, that is her standing on the arm of the couch. No manners that one.  She eats a lot and LOVES to eat.  I know all dogs love feeding time, even Jersey will cock her head to the side and book when you say "food." This dog though? She jumps in the air (by the way she can jump straight up in the air without even launching off of anything), she does leaps, her tail goes crazy, she runs in circles. It is quite insane.  However, she has filled out now. Up to 44 pounds:

Know what else? She pees a LOT.  And she wasn't potty trained either. We forgot how much puppies pee and then this one was 100 x that amount. I swear I took her outside about three times in 45 minutes.  She has somewhat gotten the hang of it even though there are some mistakes made occasionally:

She is constantly on the move, usually chasing Jersey, riding Jersey, biting Jersey's foot, gnawing Jersey's face...you get the picture. She does have a small warrior scar from when Jersey had enough.  They are still friends.  This is a rare moment that she was still:

Then she eventually just konks out near me or on me.  For the first week she slept fitfully. She would moan and groan and I was very concerned. That has since passed and aside from the occasional snoring (seriously), she sleeps rather well and with us.  Sometimes I wake up with Jersey entangled with my legs under the cover and Nevada laying lengthwise under my arm. At that moment, even though my entire body aches, I think "this is heaven."

Now, she and Jersey are like sisters. They have fun, they get annoyed with each other (mostly Jersey to Nevada), they sleep all over each other and are almost always by each other's side.  Nevada has definitely changed our lives.  Like it was in Jersey's case, it is for the better.

Thanks for finding us Little Baby Bada.  We love you!

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Shreds a Finger

Last week I was having problems with my assistant. She wasn't assisting me. At all. Not only that, but what she was doing reached new heights of problematic so I took it up with my HR guy. Later, my colleague reported that my assistant was in there talking to the HR guy:

J: Sounds like HR guy is having a meeting with your assistant.

Me: I was wondering. Can you hear them?

J: Not really. Sometimes I can. It cuts in and out. I could definitely tell that it was her talking about the things you emailed her. *

Me: Oh good. I hope she doesn't plan on killing me later.

J: Ha. Ha.

Me: It's all fun and games until someone has a weapon.

J: Go and take her scissors out of her desk. Although I guess she could always try to stab you with a pencil.

Me: Great! I have already suffered one scissor injury already. Another one would just make this week PERFECT.

Yes, I had already been cut with scissors. The night before. By my HUSBAND. You see, my mother decided to gift me with these scissors that I guess would be called shredding scissors. They have many blades and can shred documents. Although not credit cards. Trust. I have the injury to prove it.

B was very eager to test out these new scissors and I insisted they could cut up credit cards. In fact, I was going to hand him one to cut up RIGHT THEN. So I leaned over with the card and B totally cut my finger. I immediately screamed "LOOK WHAT YOU DID" to which he responded "it is so deep it is not even bleeding yet." Nice.

Then it started bleeding. Yes, I thought I might have to get stitches. No, I did not. Yes, I had to beg B to help me put a band aid on it despite the fact that he is the one that injured me. So he slapped some Neosporin on it and declared "It will be healed in 5 days. That is what the tube said." For the record, there is a scar.

And I still have that damn credit card.**

*Apparently my assistant did not like my helpful emails pointing out her problematic assisting.

**But I don't have that assistant anymore.

***I win.

Tales from the Courthouse: Pursuing Justice with Grace

The other day I had to go to court on some motion hearings, three to be exact. That is a lot of courtrooms to run between. Luckily, one of my colleagues was there and took pity on me and did one of my hearings for me. He still got out of there well before I did. That was in large part because all three news channels were in my courtroom. Naturally, I was in the hall when that hearing occurred and missed being on TV, but I did get to witness the post hearing interview in the hall. It was a ridiculous law suit, filed on a decades old law that has since been overruled by subsequent law, to which the attorney claimed he would appeal. And he was wearing floods. Nothing like being on TV with too short pants.

In any event, as I was waiting and watching, I thought of all the things that I could post about my trip to the courthouse. I truly thought that the highlight of the day would be the guy next to me that screamed at his associate for a good 15 minutes about a brief using every swear word you can imagine and ending with:

"He had a finger stuck up his ASS? Does that sound consensual?"

No, it really doesn't does it? Well, although quite entertaining, that was not the highlight of my trip.

The highlight would be when I FELL on my HANDS AND KNEES.

IN THE STREET.

In front of an oncoming car and in front of at least 10 people, only 1 of whom asked me if I was okay.

And thereby SKINNED my one knee and bruised the other knee and also skinned my palm (but did not drop my phone - um...yay?).

At the time I did not know about the skinned knee and bruised knee although I suspected it from the pain. After telling the ONE person that asked if I was okay that I was, and after quickly getting up to make sure I wouldn't get hit by the car, I just casually walked to the parking structure like nothing had happened.

It was only as I was changing into the pair of jeans I luckily had thrown into my car that I realized the damage I had done.

That was over two weeks ago.

My left knee is still horribly bruised.

My right knee still shows evidence of being scraped.

And my pride? It is still lying in the street with pieces of my skin.

Spare Parts? I Have a Few

I recently had my gallbladder removed. As recent as Tuesday. Apparently you can live without your gallbladder. You know what is hard to live with? A barely functioning gallbladder. Makes you feel like shit, sometimes literally. So that bugger had to go. Three small cuts later and a big LASER*, and I am gallbladder free.

While I was in the hospital being prepared for this planned surgery, it reminded me of the last time I had some parts removed, namely my appendix. Apparently you do not need that either. In fact, it is so unnecessary the doctor could not even tell me its function. Apparently my appendix's function was to fail. Miserably.

Unlike my current surgery, the appendix was much more emergent. It all started with an attack that I did not recognize until much later that left me in such excruciating pain that I had to have my dad come get me to drive me to the doctor. By the time we got to his office, the pain was gone and all was well. Luckily the next attack waited about 6 months or this surgery would have been performed in the Dominican Republic and more like something from Turistas than something involving a LASER.

The night of my unbeknownst-to-me-surgery, I went to bed feeling fine. Within an hour I felt like crap and it just continued to get worse. Nothing I did made it better. Not trips to the toilet, cool wet rags, lying perfectly still. Of course it took me about 5 hours to realize that the sickness and pain were actually getting worse and were concentrated to the center of my stomach. So, of course, I got up and checked WebMd. Sure enough, sounded like my appendix. I decided it was ER time. In my pain riddled and delusional state, I decided I was going to drive myself. So I woke up B:

Me: Hey, I have to go to the hospital. I will be back later.

B: What?

Me: I am in a lot of pain and it is getting worse. I need to get to the hospital.

B: Do you want me to drive you?

Me: I don't care. I just have to go.

B: Give me 5 minutes.

By the time the 5 minutes were up (and it actually could have been less), I was lying on the living room floor in a ball. Yeah, I wasn't driving anywhere. Off we went to the hospital.

Here is what you need to know from there:

• We arrived at 4 am. They did not diagnose me until 4 pm. 12 hours later.
• They gave me stupid tests like a gyno exam
• They then lost my tests
• I threw up around 11 and felt 100% better and figured there was nothing wrong with me
• They didn't go get B from the lobby until around noon
• B had to rifle through my purse to find money for cookies to eat
• I ate nothing
• They did not give me one sip of water during that time (actually worked out well considering surgery).
• I had just sent B off to work when the doctor told me I needed surgery.
• I interrupted the doctor to call B back to the hospital. The doctor did not like that
• After being diagnosed at 4 pm, I did not go into surgery until 8 pm.

The appendix came out without a hitch and within a week I was feeling good. Probably in large part due to Mooch's nursing which involved laying directly on my stomach where the stitches were for three days straight. On day four he left, so I figured I was better.

Other things B and I learned in the hospital:

• the whole seen in 30 minute rule - yeah, INITIALLY seen. After that it could be hours
• doctors do really say things like "I have some good news and some bad news"
• in my case the good news was "we found your tests!" (too bad you didn't tell me you lost them) and the bad news was "we have to remove your appendix"
• having a catheter inserted is uncomfortable
• however it is not excruciatingly painful as the girl next to me made it out to be. Not sure how she planned on birthing that baby she was carrying if she could not handle a catheter
• some people believe that having an ultrasound is so that the baby "floats so you can see it better"
• some people will wait 3 days before coming to the ER with ALL signs of a heart attack and prior heart issues because their doctor said to "ask for him and he wasn't here"
• some people will wait until both of their feet are swollen three times their size, purple and falling off before telling the ER there might be a problem

Ahhh...memories. This is also the story I pull out against B every now and then "remember the time you didn't think I needed to go to the hospital?" Because he totally didn't believe that I needed to go and my whole feeling better later did nothing to dissuade him from that belief.

Despite his belief that I may not have needed to go to the hospital, he did take me. That is what you do when you are in love.

Or at least when one of you is curled up on the ball moaning.

*I dont know if a laser is actually involved, but I like to think that it is and say it like Austin Powers LASER. B loves it. Just ask him.

My Brother is a Bad Ass!

My brother recently decided to follow in the footsteps of our father, our three uncles, our grandfather and his cousin and become a firefighter. He embarked on a 10 week fire academy program that was very strenuous and stressful and quite a physical challenge. Last week we were able to attend what they called "Family Night" and what I called "Bro's Big Skit." It was a chance for the trainees to show us what they learned. It was quite a night and we have never been so proud.

The first shot shows the guy on the left demonstrating sliding head first down the ladder. My bro can be seen at the bottom of the right ladder holding it for the guy climbing up it:

Next, my bro demonstrated how to carry an unconscious person down the ladder. Of course, he was carrying another student who was NOT unconscious which resulted in the instructor repeatedly yelling "YOU ARE UNCONSCIOUS!" and "DO NOT GRAB THE LADDER WITH YOUR HAND" which was quite humorous. My bro got the man down safely:

While the next demonstration was going on, the instructor had the remaining guys hunker down. Totally my phrase for it. I don't know what it is really called, but I do like the way my camera picked up their reflectors: My brother is the one in the middle with the frosted looking shield:

Next, they saved this dummy from a burning building:

Then it was time for a BIG fire:

And the guys had to put it out:

They then impressed us with their mad push up skills. Again, the reflectors are so cool:

And when it was over, we got to visit with my bro. The reason his shield is frosted is because he had to put out that big fire above before we got there and it actually burned him. Thank goodness for the shield!

The fire also got his arm and left his jacket with this cool flame like pattern:

Bro wasn't too fond of the not so cool blisters that he got on his shoulder and knuckles, however. He classified those as "only" first and second degree burns. Tough guy!

And, of course, I have been having camera issues lately with my memory card eating some of my pictures. It chose, on this day, to eat the picture of my brother and dad together after the demonstration. And although I took two of every thing else, I only took one here. Not to be deterred, I grabbed B's camera and took a picture of my camera. It is not the best picture and bro is a little grainy, but it isn't totally awful:

With only a week until graduation left, my bro went back to his side job at a catering hall when, wouldn't you know it, some lady fell, hit her head and was bleeding. Part of the training at the academy was as a first responder so my bro was able to jump into duty and assess the situation, keeping her calm until the fire department arrived. I am surrounded by heroes!

Soon enough, it was time for graduation, this past Friday. Here he is in his dress academy uniform:

And here is my Dad dressed in a suit and wearing his badge as he was able to present my brother's graduation certificate to him as he is a retired Chief:

My Dad presenting bro with his certificate:

And posing for me. These pictures were hard to take because I only had a short period of time and the lighting was awful:

See? My brother IS a bad ass. And a hero! We are so very proud of him!!

On another note, what am I to do with all of these heroes around me? First my Dad, then B, now bro? I am going to have to step up to the plate. I am going to have to find a horrendous car accident, with a guy who has been shot, administer aid to a woman who got knocked down in the madness and has a bloody head, then jump into a spinning car with a baby inside while calling 911 and inadvertently stopping a robbery in progress only to follow the robber down the street and continue telling 911 where they are headed.

Piece of cake.

Holy Mammaries!

Today I had the lucky opportunity to get my first ever mammogram. And when I say "lucky" I mean "forced-on-me-by-some-evil-doctor-that-thinks-he-is-doing-good-and-doesn't-he-know-those-don't-start-until-your-40". Having heard how they like to take your breast and squash it until you can eat it with some blueberry syrup, I was less than thrilled. I went anyway.

Boys, you may want to stop reading here.

You've been warned.

I arrived at my destination with the mindset that I would completely forget everything I had ever heard about mammograms and act like I know nothing. A blank slate of sorts (kind of like Echo for those of you that watch Dollhouse. FYI - if you like Joss Whedon, watch Dollhouse). While waiting in line to check in, I noticed that they had a "take a number" setup for those getting blood work. As a line started to form behind me, a guy says "are you here for blood work?" Ha! "No," I respond, "I am here for the pancake breakfast." Okay, no I didn't say that, but I should have.*  Those lucky dogs got numbers and were in and out before they called my name.

When my name was called I followed the nurse to the imaging room that had been painted some obnoxious pink color. Okay, I know pink is the color for breast cancer and also for girls, but really? The last thing I want to think about when I am getting a mammogram is breast cancer and I am well aware that I am a girl. Not to mention that the pink I am referring to was like a Pepto Bismol pink but with orange in it. Can you imagine? You might not want to try. In fact, I thought I might need some Pepto Bismol to help my stomach from just being in the room. Obviously, I did not know the fun was just beginning.

After changing into a pink (of course!) patterned smock thing which "opens in the front please" on top of my polka dotted work skirt and knee high boots - ROWR (just imagine if those blood work guys could have seen me then), I filled out a form, ON PINK PAPER. Overkill much? The tech asked me if I had heard awful stories about mammograms. Wait! There are AWFUL stories? WHY WAS I HERE???? I nonchalantly acted like I had heard absolutely nothing until she said "we are going to use compression which means..." at which point I interrupted her to assure her that I knew exactly what compression meant. I did not need to hear what was going to happen.

So the machine? A silver tray where the tech not so gently plops one of your girls on top and then molds it around until it does her bidding. The compression? A piece of plastic. Seriously, like a tray. Maybe I could get a drink to go on that tray? I was nervous as heck, sweating bullets and they wouldn't even let me apply deodorant today. Side note: I currently have a stick of deodorant in my purse as I was not about to go an entire day without deodorant. That would be a crime.

Back to the machine. The compression? It REALLY compresses. I did not look because I didn't think that was something I wanted to see but it was very uncomfortable. In fact, the tech said "some women find this uncomfortable." Some women? Let me guess those that don't find it uncomfortable HAVE NEVER HAD IT DONE. Oh and it was twice per girl - once from the top and once from the side. SHE COMPRESSED ME FROM THE SIDE. I may never be the same again. My girls are crying. Well they don't have tear ducts, but they are quite sad. My left one especially. During the second phase I actually said to the tech:

"Huh....just when I thought you couldn't possibly compress anymore, you go ahead and surprise me."

She did not really find that amusing. You know what I didn't find amusing? Having to check to see if I still had nipples.**

* This joke is very timely considering IHOP was giving away free pancakes today. No pancakes for me though, just for the girls.

**I do. Don't worry.

Memo to...

MEMO

To: Coworker

From: Me

"Dramatical" is not a word. In fact, I do not even believe it is the combination of two separate words. Thus, I have no idea what you are trying to convey. Your insistence on making up words and utilizing them in a professional setting has resulted in my completely ignoring you.

~Dani~

---------------------------------

MEMO

To: B

From: Me

When I raise my injured hand in the air as you approach me on the couch, that is NOT an invitation to give me a HIGH FIVE! Love the thought, but the execution was quite painful.

~Dani~

----------------------------------

MEMO

To: Me

From: Me

You have an injured hand. The can of corn left you with three stitches. Thus, it is not wise to CLAP YOUR HANDS to emphasize a point. Unless, of course, the point was to show your two partners how loudly you can say F@ck. If so, mission accomplished.

~Dani~

----------------------------------

MEMO

To: Can of Corn

From: Me

I am still bitter about Sunday. So much so that I cannot bear to take you to the recycling box. Admittedly I am a bit scared too. It would look more than a tad bit ridiculous if I were to get another cut and more stitches. People would think I was doing it on purpose. I may ask B to recycle you but I am sure he would make some comment about how I was threatening to sue the corn company on the way to the hospital and how we will need to save the "evidence."

~Dani~

----------------------------------

MEMO

To: Random Guy at Lunch

From: Me

Remember when it was a cool thing to say to people "so, are you working hard or hardly working"? Those days are in the PAST. You look like a fool. A behind-the-times fool and you are not even that old.

~Dani~

----------------------------------

MEMO

To: Searcher of Blogs

From: Me

I know you stumbled upon my blog by searching for "riddle for ant in the carpet" but I am not sure what you were trying to find out. I know you ended up here, but I do not think that satisfied your query. Did you want a riddle to tell an ant in the carpet? Was the riddle that there WAS an ant in the carpet? Inquiring minds want to know. Heck, I think the ant wants to know.

~ Dani~

The Dinner That Almost Wasn't (a/k/a My Battle With a Can of Corn)

After my recent success with crockpot cooking, I decided that Sunday I would have another bout at it.  I also decided to attempt my lifelong dream of baking from scratch.*  Armed with this recipe for Applesauce Chicken from the lovely Crockpot Lady and this recipe for Chocolate Chip Oreo Cookies from Picky Palate, I embarked on my Sunday journey of cooking.  Of course, as all of you readers know, nothing is ever that easy for me.

First, the chicken recipe called for chicken, which I guess goes without saying but I said it anyway. Great! I have frozen chicken, I thought, and the recipe said frozen would work.  I mixed together all of the ingredients for the sauce and got out the chicken.  That is when I noticed that being the brilliant chef that I am, I froze the chicken in its original packaging.  Yes - it was frozen to that piece of styrofoam tray.  Grr!  So there I am running it under water, utilizing a knife to free the chicken.  That is when the doorbell rings...

The day prior, Saturday, the campaigners were out in throes.  I just shut my door and they went away.  I figured the same could not happen twice in a row and certainly not on a Sunday!  So I left the front door open.  There I am, hand deep in half frozen chicken with some fool at the door ringing the doorbell incessantly.  I did what any rational person would do...ignored him.  Yes, I totally ignored a ringing doorbell despite the fact that my door was wide open. That is what they get for disturbing me while I am making dinner! We all know that I cannot afford distractions!

I finally get the tray removed, dump the chicken and the sauce into the crockpot and wonder if B will even like this dish.  You see, I generically told him that we were having chicken stuff because I was not sure if he liked applesauce or even apples.  I am such a risk taker!

While dinner was slowly cooking I made the cookies.  The.Best.Cookies.Ever. Seriously! And I was super proud of the fact that I made them from scratch and that I did not burn them since it took my oven almost four times the amount to bake called for in the recipe. Stupid oven!  B said they were good too observing, however, that they were quite large "like cookie pancakes."  (They were not that large).

As dinner was almost done and riding high on my successes so far, I ask B if he wants corn with the chicken and the rice I planned.  B says corn is always good. This is usually true.  Not tonight though.  I pull out the can of corn with the pull top opener and think how great it is that I do not have to use the can opener.  I stand over the sink and pull gently and nothing happens.  I pull harder and slice right into the ring finger on my right hand!  I yell for B.  Blood gushes everywhere.  B is slow to respond. I tell him I need band aids.  He comes in and runs for a towel.  Once he starts applying pressure, it starts to hurt. Bad. I start to cry. B is asking me if I think I need to go to the hospital.  I just cry and say it hurts.  Finally he looks at the cut (after making me turn away) and declares we need to "pack it up" we are headed to the ER.   Despite the pain, I knew that I could not go to the ER in the hoodie I was wearing (a freebie with the name of a40 oz beer on it) and sobbed for him to take it off me.  He asked me if there was any other outfit I wanted to change into.  I looked at him like he was nuts.  And then we were off with B wondering if they would think he somehow did this to me.  Ha! Even the ER people knew this story was so ridiculous no one would make it up!

Luckily we were only there for an hour and I only needed 3 stitches.  However, the slice is right at the knuckle/joint line at the top of my finger so bending will be quite painful and I was told I will have quite the scar.  A battle wound I would like to say.  And do you know how embarrassing it was to look at the ER form and see "can of corn" as mode of injury? I am SO tough.  When the doctor told us she hates when she sees "saw" show up on the screen, I was mortified to think that "can of corn" showed up on there. She assured me it only said laceration.  I am pretty sure she was lying since on her way out the door she said "watch out for those cans of corn."  They are all laughing at me still; I know it.  Just like my Dad who laughed through my entire story and thanked me for sharing it.**  Hey - no problem, nothing like a little blood loss to spice up everyone's day.

So here I am, typing with about 7 fingers and it is driving me crazy.  That and it is a constant reminder of my enemy - the can of corn!  Only frozen from now on said B and I think I will have to agree.  Oh - and the dinner? We ate it when we got home.  Thanks to the crockpot it was still warm.  And it was good! I declared it the "best chicken ever."  B said it was good and tasted like an apple cinnamon bagel.  Um...okay.  He liked it and that is all that mattered.  And the cookies? The 8 big pancake cookies? They did not even make it to today. Obviously a big hit. Almost as big of a hit as my corn story!  Nothing like lunching with clients and having to explain why you cannot shake their hand and your colleague asking if you want him to cut your food up for you.  I am so tres chic.

*My dreams come and go so "lifelong"is absolutely meaningless in this sentence.

**My Dad did express the proper amount of concern as well.  And at least he did not laugh only when I told him I cried like someone else I know!  Glad my pain and tears caused you so much humor. *smooches*