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Random Tuesday Thoughts: The, Well, Random Edition


Do you know the scene in Broadcast News where Jane Craig (Holly Hunter’s character) unplugs the phone and holes herself up in her office to have a good cry on a regular basis? I do that sometimes. Mostly because I’m wound tightly, but lately because I’m sort of coming unglued.

My job has been rough and I don’t know what to do. There have been issues with my salary, and it’s been brutal, but on top of that I have a boss who doesn’t think twice about being rude to me simply because I’m the person standing in front of him (and sometimes just because). Yes, I can be sensitive, but I can also hold my own. I give as good as I get, but after a while it gets old.

I know I’m at a crossroads with this situation. I’m tired of feeling scared (for my job), I’m tired of feeling angry (for putting up with certain situations) and I’m sick of going home and crying in the bath tub, trying to hide it from my husband so he doesn’t know just how shitty this is. I’m not a victim and I’m tired of behaving like one.

And really? All this crying isn’t good for my face. Puffy eyes are not a good look on me.


I guess I'll cool my heels

I guess I'll cool my heels

Then again, this was my horoscope this weekend.


I keep trying to write a series of posts about the new fall TV season, but I can’t seem to find the time because I’m glued to the tube. It’s so insane, that both Tivos are maxed out with shows.

On Sunday it’s Mad Men and Brothers & Sisters (I’m a few weeks behind on Mad Men and need to catch up). Mondays and Tuesdays are all about Dancing With the Stars. Tuesdays also have my new favorite show Modern Family. And if you aren’t watching it, you should. And that’s all I’m going to say about that. Except you should watch Modern Family. I’ve also been recording Cougar Town with Courtney Cox but I haven’t had time to watch those episodes yet. I can’t think of what’s on Wednesday night, but Thursdays are jam-packed with The Real Housewives of Atlanta and Grey’s Anatomy. But because Gracie’s agility class is from 8-9 Thursday nights, I don’t usually get to watch Thursday’s stuff until Saturday. This fall, Ugly Betty will be on Friday nights, and I also record a show on Animal Planet called Jockeys.

I’m a huge fan of Lost and a few people told me that Fastforward is just as good, if not better, than Lost. Somehow I doubt it, but I’ll check it out. I missed the first episode so I’m going to have to track that down on iTunes, but I’ve been recording the series, hoping to catch up.

This list doesn’t even include shows like Toddlers & Tiaras (yes, I admit it. I watch. Sue me.), L.A. Ink and I still record West Wing, which is still the best-written show on TV.

And yet I wonder why I haven’t had time to write more often…


I’ve just discovered Nutella. I don’t know where this has been all my life, but now that I’ve found it, my life is complete.


The chocolatey, hazlenutty goodness is heaven in a jar.


For more random, go see Keely. She’ll serve some up, hopefully with a side of Nutella.


Boobies, Horny Dogs and Patrick Swazye (And, No, None of These Things Have Anything To Do With Each Other). Just Another Random Tuesday


Lazy Blogger

I haven’t written much lately. It’s not that I don’t have stories to tell, things to say or rants to make. I have plenty to say, I just don’t haven the energy to focus and write. Which stinks because it’s a good way for me to relieve stress and blow off some steam.

But I’m so tired. I’m worn down. I feel like hibernating—and it’s only mid-September. I feel so lazy that the simplest, most basic tasks seem exhausting. I did a few loads of laundry Sunday afternoon and it sucked every bit of life out of me. I don’t think it’s the seasonal change—I am so happy that it’s starting to cool off a bit and I can break out some sweaters and my beloved boots—I think life is catching up to me. I had a vacation (that I still haven’t written about. What’s the statue of limitations for that?), my birthday, my anniversary, dog shows and work. Plus, all the little stuff that adds up to long and busy days. I hope whatever this is stops and life gets back to normal.

Mondays are for Mammograms

If you’re feeling particularly sadistic, make sure your schedule your mammogram the week you have your period. I had my first mammogram at 35. Since I’m adopted and don’t have a medical history, they wanted to establish a baseline to check against. Now that I’m 40, I guess I have to do this every year. I had my appointment yesterday—the day before my period started. I made my appointment months ago and didn’t realize I scheduled it when I was going to be on vacation, so I pushed it a couple of weeks without really paying attention to the calendar.

It takes the pain and magnifies it a million times. It’s bad enough the tech has to grab what little boobage I have and wrestle it into this machine to smash it into a pancake, when they’re already sore and swollen (I apologize to my male readers for the visual!) it’s like having vice grip attached to your tatas while someone cranks it tighter and tighter until tears spring from your eyes, your boob feels like it’s burning and you’re just about to cry “Uncle!” when the machine mercifully released your bruised and battered boobie. Repeatedly. (Bill’s thinking, “Shit, she’s never going to let me near THOSE again!”)

“Bitch in Heat!”

I went to my first dog show a couple of years ago. When I got Gracie, they told me I was required to show the little diva, and although it sounded fun and I watched the Westminster Dog Show on TV, I had never actually BEEN to one. So I begged and bribed asked Lesley to come with me, and we drove to the middle of nowhere (or close to it) to meet Gracie’s handler (who also owns Gracie’s Baby Daddy) at a dog show. I realized quickly that it was not going to be as easy (or as inexpensive) as promised, but I was willing to give it the old college try.

A couple of weeks before Gracie started showing. I met Gracie’s handler again at another show so I could see what this was really going to entail. I wanted to talk to her about how I needed to groom Gracie beforehand. I also wanted to watch everything from how they get the dogs ready to go into the ring, to how the judges look them over, to how people behave (Did you know that Rottweiler owners are big into clapping and cheering for every single dog while Samoyed owners think it’s not appropriate to applaud until the very end? File that under Weird Shit You Never Wanted To Know.)

Bitch in Heat!

Bitch in Heat!

So the Sammys are getting ready to show, and Gracie’s handler has me walk one of the male dogs to the ring for her. As I’m taking this dog over, a woman is dashing through the crowd with her German Shepherd, sees the obviously male dog I’m walking and starts bellowing, “Bitch in Heat! Bitch in Heat!” At first I wasn’t sure if she was talking about herself or her dog. But I realized she thought the boy at the end of my leash was ready to break free and start humping her little bitch. I was stunned. I looked around to see if anyone else thought this was strange, but no one blinked an eye.

Gracie has a show this weekend and she’s in heat. If we’re lucky, this will be her last one (show, not monthly visitor). She only has two more points before she becomes CHAMPION Gracie, so I think I’m going to go out with a bang (pun intended). I’m going to bring a bunch of bodyguards to surround my precious baby to make sure no rouge dogs knock her up. And I’m going to walk her through the crowds and announce “Bitch in Heat!” With a bullhorn.

Maybe that should be my new tagline?

Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

Although it’s not unexpected, I’m still sad that Patrick Swayze passed away yesterday. Dirty Dancing is one of my all-time favorite movies. I love those Saturday afternoons when I don’t have anything to do and find it on TV. I will stop and watch. Every. Single. Time.

One of the best movie lines ever...

One of the best movie lines ever...

For more random reading today, check out Keely at the UnMom.

Random Tuesday Thoughts (Facebook Friends, My Hero And, Well, You’ll See)


Most mornings after I’ve settled in at work I’ll log into Facebook and see what’s going on with everyone. Yesterday morning there was a friend request that I was happy to see, and then there was a friend recommendation. I’m not always sure how Facebook makes its recommendations. It’s usually based on something legitimate like the high school you went to, the year you graduated or mutual friends. But every now and then there are some random ones. Like the one recommending my husband’s second ex-wife. Now, after about 14 years of not-always-peaceful co-existence, arguments, and awkward family gatherings, it’s pretty clear that me and this woman are never—not in this life or in any other—going to become friends no matter how much Facebook wills it so. But I’m still curious because she is not friends with any of my friends or my husband. I’m not friends with their son online either—in fact, I don’t even know if he’s on Facebook.

I have to admit though, I’m dying to see what her profile looks like!


Google Search is endlessly fascinating to me. I get about 15 hits a day based on this post about Bejeweled Blitz. Apparently, I’m not the only one with a wicked addiction to this game. I also seem to get a lot of hits for Bret Michaels, Neil Diamond (mostly inquiring about his marital status), and for Costco. But the last couple of days Google sent a handful of people to me for the search “pants crap.”

Aside from wondering about the person who types these search terms, I couldn’t figure out what hell it had to do with The Daily Snark. I Googled “pants crap” and I never did find a connection to this blog—the closest thing I could find was this post with the word “crap” in the title, but my search opened up a whole new world to me. Apparently, there are anonymous groups dedicated to this. I made the colossal mistake of clicking on a link to see if they were support groups or fetish groups. Guess what? There’s a whole community of people who do this. ON PURPOSE. I don’t mean to shout, but OHMYHOLYHELL.


My hero...

My hero...

This guy? He’s my hero. He is the defender of all things Mo. I’ve had a rough week or so and he’s been there for me, listening, giving advice (when asked), and stands behind me when things go upside down. In a few weeks, we’re going to be celebrating our 10-anniversary and I can’t help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world.


I switched my drink at Starbucks last week. For years, I’ve gotten my venti Skinny Vanilla Latte every morning, 5 days a week, 52 weeks a year. But a friend of mine recently read my tarot cards and told me that if I wanted to bring change into my life, I needed to change up my routine. Simple changes bring bigger ones. I’m sure it has someting to do with being open to new opportunites. I’m not sure why I decided to enact change with my cofffe, but I’ve started drinking a venti misto, which is half coffee, half steamed milk. And I add a packet of Splenda. I’m kind of digging the change. I’m not sure if it’ll stick, but for now I’m test-driving it. However, it turned the staff at my Starbucks upside down.  I’d walk in, and by the time I got to the register my drink was there. I just had to pay. I didn’t have to say much more than good morning and thank you. So when I told them I was changing my drink, all of the employees went into shock. There was a disturbance in the force. Now they view me suspiciously. I may switch back, but then again, I may try something entirely different. I’m feeling kinda wild.


For more randomness, don’t forget to check out Keely’s blog at the Un Mom.

A Totally Random Tuesday



I think I’m doing something wrong with this whole relaxing over the weekend thing. Without fail, Sunday nights roll around and I wonder where the hell the weekend went. I feel like the more I try to relax the more stressed out I become. I like to catch up on all the crap I Tivo’d during the week, but then I realize I’m really just losing my weekend in 30- or 60-minute increments. Monday mornings come and I’m exhausted. Even if I haven’t done much of anything for two days I’m worn out. I haven’t figured out if it’s because I’m just a Type A personality and just can’t relax or if I’m trying so hard to relax that I have no idea how to do it.


BRITAIN Michael Jackson

I am sick and tired of hearing about Michael Jackson. Mostly because it makes me sad. Every blood-sucking leech has crawled out from under whatever dank place they hide to claim a friendship, a business partnership, or some kind of close personal relationship. Even in death people are taking advantage of him. Everyone from the nanny to these scumbags who claim they were his business manager (even when presented with written proof that their employment had been terminated) has come out of the woodwork to grab a piece of the action. People who should have been the most trustworthy—doctors who have taken an oath to do no harm—are the worst. It’s depressing that someone so talented was so lost. I feel sorry for his kids because they’re going to grow up never really knowing if people like them for who they are or because they’re Michael Jackson’s kids. I truly hope someone in that family is able to protect them.


Is it wrong that I’m totally excited about the Real Housewives of Atlanta starting on July 29? And will you all still love me even though I set my DVR to record Toddlers and Tiaras?



I’m reading Julia Child’s autobiography My Life in France, where she writes about how she started cooking, and how Mastering the Art of French Cooking came about. Even if you don’t cook or you store your books and sweaters in your oven, it’s an amzing story because this woman who really taught America to cook didn’t figure out her life’s path until she was 37 years old, which seems relatively late in life. Without Julia Child there would be no Food Network or celebrity chefs or cooking magazines. For Julia, food wasn’t just something to be eaten to fill yourself up. Food was to be savored. It was about the sense and texture and smells. It was about enjoyment. Which in turn was about enjoying life and all it has to offer.


For more random reads, visit The Un Mom.

As Random As I Wanna Be


I don’t care how people find my blog, I’m just glad that they do.


It’s a Blizzard Up In Here

Gracie is blowing her coat so badly that I can pick it off by the fistful. There’s so much that her hair balls look like a litter of puppies running around the house. She’s like a cat horking up her own fur balls.

On Sunday I took Gracie to one of those U-Wash Doggie places. I have a grooming table and professional drier at home, but this place is great because they have a giant tub raised to a level that saves your back from bending over a wiggling, wet dog. The other benefit obviously is that I don’t trash my own house when I’m splashing around with her in the tub, blow-drying her hair all over my yard and being smothered with wet towels.

I brushed and combed her out before rinsing her off to get off as much of the loose hair as I could. I thought I did a pretty good job until the drain got clogged up and I had to clean that out about a dozen times. But when I started to dry her off I realized she was still a hairy, shedding mess. It was so bad—white hair everywhere, circling through the store, covering my face and head and every available surface.

After about 10 minutes, the guy who works there told me I had to stop. I guess another customer didn’t really appreciate Gracie’s hair blowing all over her and her dog.

Now I can say I got thrown out of the dog wash.

Big Fat Nissan Fail

And speaking of wash…Saturday I decided to drive through the car wash. As I was just pulling into it and the water started to dump on my car, my driver’s side window rolled itself down. I scrambled to roll it back up, but it kept trying to roll down part way. I ended up having to hold the button the entire time to keep the window up. I just learned it’s a common problem with Nissan. Their window motors don’t work well, and although they’ll replace it (under warranty), they haven’t gone the extra mile to actually fix the problem with the motors. Kinda stupid if you ask me.

What I’m Reading

Because there are no episodes of The Real Housewives of New Jersey/Atlanta/Orange County, etc. this week, I’ve resorted to actually READING. I used to do that a lot, you know.

I just finished this book:


“Dogged Pursuit” is a memoir of a man who spent a year on the dog agility circuit and what he learned about himself from his dog. I read this book one night in one sitting because it reminded me so much of my experiences with Gracie on the dog show circuit. Dog people, scratch that, dog fanciers are a whole, um, breed unto themselves. I’ve been trying to write a post about dog shows, but I can’t quite get the right tone. This book is exactly that. Just swap agility for conformation.

And am now reading this:


I love Michael Connelly and I’m a sucker for a good crime novel. This is the blurb from Publisher’s Weekly:

“Bestseller Connelly comments on the plight of print journalism in a nail-biting thriller featuring reporter Jack McEvoy, last seen in 2004’s The Narrows. When Jack is laid off from the L.A. Times with 14 days’ notice to tie up loose ends, he decides to go out with a bang. What starts as a story about the wrongful arrest of a young gangbanger for the brutal rape and murder of an exotic dancer turns out to be just the tip of an iceberg that takes McEvoy from the Nevada desert to a futuristic data-hosting facility in Arizona. FBI agent Rachel Walling, with whom he worked on a serial killer case in 1996’s The Poet, soon joins the hunt, but as the pair uncover more about the killer and his unsettling predilections, they realize that they too are being hunted. With every switch between McEvoy’s voice and the villain’s, Connelly ratchets up the tension. This magnificent effort is a reminder of why Connelly is one of today’s top crime authors.”

For more randomness on running, video games and hemp, check out The Un Mom.

Random Tuesday Thoughts


Chowing Down

I had one of the best meals evah! This weekend Bill and I drove down to L.A. to eat at Mario Battali’s Pizzeria Mozza and it was day-um good pizza. It’s not like that Domino’s crap or even Pizza Hut. It was even better than John’s Pizza on 44th in New York City where I have eaten entire pizzas by myself once or twice. Mozza’s crust is thin and airy with just enough weight to hold whatever is on the pizza, but not so much that you get a face full of dough. The toppings were amazing—proscuitto, house-made sausage, you name it. Clearly, Mario knows good food.

Further Proof (as if you need it) That People Are Stupid

So the Lakers won the NBA Finals on Sunday night. That’s exciting and all, but winning seems to bring out the worst in this town. Exhibit A:

Asshole (Photo courtesy of the L.A. Times)

Asshole (Photo courtesy of the L.A. Times)

Really? What makes you ever think that throwing a garbage can on an LAPD patrol car is ever a good idea? Especially, when you’re doing it in front of the cameras.

What I’m Reading

I just finished The Beach House by Jane Green…


and just started Handle With Care by Jodi Picoult.


Yeah, it’s kind of chick lit, but they’re both very well written. Picoult’s books always tackle headline-worthy topics with gripping storytelling. Years ago I read My Sister’s Keeper and I think I cried the whole way through. Last weekend I watched the trailer for the movie. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get through that—not without 16 boxes of Kleenex. Jane Green is new to me—I think I found her through one of those “Readers Who Bought XYZ Also Bought…” on Amazon. I will totally make my way through her other books. Here’s their synopsis:

Sixty-five-year-old Nan Powell has lived comfortably and happily in Nantucket since the suicide of her husband, Everett, so she is thrown for a loop when she learns that she is in danger of losing her beloved house. After weighing her options, Nan decides to turn her home into a bed-and-breakfast. The guests she gets for the summer are all at a crossroads in their lives in one way or another. Daniel has just separated from his wife and is facing something he has denied for years; Daff is recovering from the heartbreak of a divorce and getting a much-needed break from her anger-filled 13-year-old daughter; and Nan’s son Michael is on the run from a disastrous affair. Nan finds herself opening up to her guests and enjoying their company, but she is shocked when she discovers a person close to one of them has a startling connection to her. Peopled with likable, flawed, realistic characters and moving seamlessly between them, this is Green’s best novel in years, a compelling, unputdownable read.

There’s That News Van!

This morning on my way to work I got caught up in what, to me, is typical Los Angeles. Apparently, a robbery suspect is holed up in a storm drain on the 405S freeway—one of the busiest freeways in Southern California. And my main route to work. All lanes except the carpool and the left lane were closed. There were no fewer than 8 firetrucks, a half dozen California Highway Patrol cars, a dozen  LAPD patrol and undercover cars, paramedics and a full contingency of Department of Water and Power trucks. I’d estimate there were about 60 people standing around a storm drain looking down, chatting and drinking coffee. Meanwhile, Channel 7 reporter Leo Stallworth was reporting from the side of the freeway, most likely saying the same thing he had been saying since 3:00 a.m. when the whole thing started. Like traffic on the 405 isn’t bad enough…

Dear New Neighbor,

We haven’t met yet, but I don’t like you already. You’re clearly new around here, so let me clue you in to a few rules.

1. Though shall not park in front of your neighbor’s driveway, blocking them from entering their own property. Ever.

1a. If you do, even temporarily, do not shoot me dirty looks when I want you to move so I can pull in to my own garage. Asshat

2. Though shall not park 375 cars on the street. This is not a used car lot. This is where we live.

3. Though shall not covet your neighbor’s space. You live three doors down and across the street—claiming the space in front of my house (and everyone else’s) isn’t cool.

4. Though shall not drive 2 inches off my bumper while driving through our neighborhood.

5. Though shall not try to pull around me when I’m turning onto our street. Especially, when you clearly don’t see the 20 three-year-olds running around.

6. Though shall not drive down our cul de sac at 60 mph.

Follow my rules and we’ll get along just fine.


The Bitch On Your Street


For more Randomness, grab a martini and head over to Keely’s at The Un Mom.

Random Thoughts on TV, Wind Chimes and Cayenne Pepper



Music to my ears

This weekend we discovered a plant nursery here in town. I shouldn’t say “discovered” because it’s not exactly a big secret that we uncovered. I’ve passed this a million times, but we’ve never stopped in until this weekend.

We went in to buy a palm tree and some flowers to plant in a shady spot in our yard. It was a breezy day and while we were walking around the arbor, we heard a little tinkling sound that was so pleasant. Hanging in the garden they had two of the biggest and most lovely sounding wind chimes playing a melodic symphony prompted by the breeze.

I love wind chimes. I have about 8 sets of them hanging in various parts of my front and back yards. (However, when the Santa Ana winds blow through, I run around ripping them down because they sound like someone’s banging spoons on a pot). But I’ve never heard anything like these. It turns out that they are like the Bentley of wind chimes. Hand tuned each in a musical scale.

This one? The one Bill bought for me? It’s 50 inches tall (long?) and tuned to the scale of A.

My backyard is now like a Zen garden.


Gracie’s version of Zen is digging up all the new plants I so painstakingly planted.

Last night I sprinkled cayenne pepper in my garden. Somehow I think it’ll be the last time Gracie finds peace in digging.


Sunday night I watched  Iron Chef America before bed. It was Battle Octopus. All night long I dreamed of work and octopus. I had nightmares of being strangled by my bosses tentacles. Clearly, I have some issues to work out.


I bought a domain name for this blog (without the wordpress.com part of the name) and I bought some hosting space as well. But I am too dumb (or most likely too impatient) to figure out how to set the whole thing up. Which doesn’t bode well for my future career as a web designer.


In 38 days Bill and I are going to Las Vegas. Can you tell I’m excited? I’m so ready to spend four days doing nothing but hanging by the pool, reading, drinking, eating, playing craps and, oh yeah, the whole point of this trip—celebrating Bill’s birthday. It IS his weekend, but I think we’re both excited to get the hell out of Dodge for a few days. No work, no bullshit, nothing but a good time (do I detect a Poison song in there somewhere?).


I watched Nurse Jackie on Showtime last night. It’s my new favorite show. And it’s not even a crappy reality series. It’s dark, sharp, snarky, and a little wicked and twisted. Edie Falco is amazing as the drug-addicted nurse who seems to struggle with being a saint and…not.


To read more Random, The Un Mom is the place to go.