So, the problem started with socks. Mine, specifically. He ran off with a freshly laundered pair of black socks, but since they were cheap (and I was lazy) I just let it go. Crystal came home and tried to take them away from him (cause, you know, dogs shouldn't eat socks). He growled, I got involved, he growled more AS IF HE THOUGHT WE'D FEAR A 27-POUND FLUFF-BALL WITH SERIOUS ALLERGY PROBLEMS.


Crystal went upstairs. And let's be honest, I was afraid he'd bite me if I tried to take the socks away. He was using his really mean growl. When "trading" for a treat didn't work, I got mad and told him to go to his "house." (IE, plastic crate with a metal-bar door. Prison would be an apt name). In he went. With the socks. And still growling when I got near him.


I shut the cage door. And placed the treat about four inches away from the front of the door. Close enough to smell, far enough away that there's no chance of getting it.


Take that, little spoodle!

Okay, so maybe my score shouldn't be zero - I've been wearing contact lenses for a little over a week. I've actually been WEARING them up until Sunday evening, when I dislodged one while rubbing my right eye. It was later at night so I figured I'd just take them out and call it an evening, but my hands were coated with puppy love and food (having eaten and played with BlackJack since last washing my hands).

So, I closed my right eye and went to wash my hands before I touched my eyes. Somewhere in the process, I involuntarily blinked and MY CONTACT FELL INTO A SINK FULL OF DIRTY WATER. Curses. I put on my glasses, turned on the lights and looked for the darned thing everywhere, but alas, found nothing.

I gave up.

The next morning, when it was light again, I drained the sink and LO AND BEHOLD, there was my contact, resting peacefully in the drain strainer. I plopped it in solution and pondered whether I could still use it. By ponder, I mean I called the Walmart Vision Center and the lady who answered the phone asked me a series of questions prompted by a computer program. It ultimately informed us that soft contacts tend to absorb whatever they are sitting in. So, if the dish water had soap and random food particles in it, I MIGHT feel some burning if I put the contact back in my eye.

I elected to just toss that contact and open a new package. I swear, I had NO IDEA these things were so complicated. ;)

I Google people all the time. I guess part of being a reporter/curious person is cyber-stalking people. Never know what you need to know about someone until you know it, right?

The key is: I NEVER TELL the person I Googled them.

Because that would just be weird, right? YES, YES, IT IS! I was talking with a new/unfamiliar source for the newspaper a few weeks ago when, suddenly, in the lull in the conversation, he said: "I see you're quite the little writer." I had no idea what that meant, so I made some non-committal sound in case he was going to start criticizing me about something. As embarrassing as misunderstood sarcasm is, the moment I realized he had found my blog, read it, AND WAS NOW TEASING ME ABOUT IT left me speechless.

No worries. He was willing to fill the dead air space. "I have to tell you, I will not be buying a boobie beanie." And then he asked if I was vegetarian! (Apparently not understanding that my post about "vegetarian hamburgers" was really about brownies and cupcakes.)

Wow.

The conversation ended okay, the article was okay, and I've talked with this source again without incident. And I've been almost obsessively Googling myself ever since then.

The results aren't that disastrous. I've resisted the urge to post anything on this blog that I wouldn't want a future employer to read (with the understanding that this is a light-hearted personal blog, of course, and not some sort of online portfolio. Rest assured, I do not consider this some of my better writing.) I'll admit there's been the occasional Facebook status update that could be misconstrued if you don't know me or my sense of humor, but those fade away into Cyber Nowhere Land (from what I can tell). No embarrassing or inappropriate pictures.

But I honestly could polish my online image a bit. My Twitter profile could be a little more professional. LinkedIn is one of the first things that pops up; that's pretty innocuous. Then Brazen Careerist, which I'll admit I'm only lukewarm about as a concept. I should probably either cancel my account or beef up my profile there. It's meant to be a career advice/networking site for 20-somethings, but too often I find it bogged down by the worries of 20-somethings who don't have any firm knowledge or experience upon which to base their advice. Unless they are looking to network laterally or in a new field, most 20-somethings are probably better off trying to network with older, more experienced people, right? I don't know. But I should probably decide soon and respond accordingly.

Then there's Blog to Lose, a networking site for bloggers who are trying to lose weight. My profile is set to private there, so that's also innocuous. What woman hasn't tried to lose weight at one point or another?

The rest is just stuff that comes with being a reporter: a few mentions from local political bloggers (not all favorable, but as I said, it comes with being a reporter) and old articles (including this gem on a pet cemetery and this contributing line I got while interning at USA Today).

How conscious are you of your "online image" and Google search results?

This woman was a pinnacle of patience. Listening to her coach me how to put in contacts and take contacts out of my eye Thursday reminded me of that time in college I tried to teach someone how to drive stick. Only she was so much nicer than I was.

About 4 a.m., I was really starting to worry that I had no idea how to cook eggs over easy. As in, I had no idea as to whether that mean the yolks were supposed to be runny (isn't that sunny side up?) or if the term did not refer to the yolks at all.

My new roommate is clearly the best thing in BlackJack's life. When he's in his room (where BlackJack, the stealer of socks and eater of any human food, is not allowed), BlackJack lays outside the door with inhuman patience. He has, once or twice when that inhuman patience ran dry, scratched on the door.

He doesn't feel that way about me.

The second he hears my car pull in the garage, he digs at the inside of his crate, demanding to be let out. He rubs his little, curly body all over my freshly washed sheets, as if it is HIS bed, and not mine. And when he's chewing on a bone, he glares suspiciously at me and growls, as if he thinks I'd steal it from him. I swear, that little moptop has never seen me knawing on a bone or eating a dog treat but the suspicions persist.


The other day, I was reading in bed when he ran into the room, hopped on the bed, and nipped me. He wagged his little tail, barked and ran out of the room. He repeated the whole procedure when I didn't immediately follow. LIKE DOGS DO TO OTHER DOGS. Then, he went after my books. ALSO LIKE DOGS TRY TO STEAL OTHER DOGS' TOYS TO BADGER THEM INTO PLAYING. So I played with the little guy, but really.

What did I do to make him treat me like a dog!?! ;)

... Saturday while I was shopping. I've watched What Not to Wear enough that, yes, I know what they'd say. They said I'm a GIRL and should wear a dress every now and then. You know, sometime when either someone I know or I, myself, am not getting married. And then, they said necklaces are the best accessories and I should add some to my almost exclusively bracelet-and-earring jewelry collection.


And what Stacy and Clinton said, I did. And OH THERE'S ANOTHER CHARGE CARD, did those Ann Taylor Outlet sales ladies see me coming. But I got some cute, professional clothing (plus two dresses - one of which is definitely casual Friday attire) at a good deal. I have a handful of skirts that go into the rotation in the summer, but dresses are a bit more feminine, right? And I love me some low-rise, wide-leg trousers. Now, I just need to lose about five pounds so I can wear them. ;)

(Yes, I did think about what Stacy and Clinton would say to that. And then, I bought the smaller size anyway. When you're between sizes, choices have to be made.)

So, the last time I wore a dress was at wedding in December. And this isn't too casual to wear to the courthouse on a Friday, is it?

... And if you were around last spring for the wine-tasting fundraiser, I'm sure you know what that means!




Yes, I did rummage through the 36D and 38DD bras and bought four. Thankfully, the check-out clerk was female. When I got home, I unceremoniously began cutting them apart to make brassiere purses. One of which will go toward Leanne's online auction (which hasn't started yet, but when it does, it will be here.) 


No idea what I will do with the others.


But can you believe that padded bra underwires look like this?!?




Here's what a finished "purse" from last year looked like:

I was a woman on a mission last month.

My roommate got into Penelope Trunk's blog months ago, which led to me starting to read her a few weeks ago. (Yes, I usually am behind). Trunk has Asperger syndrome. She announced her miscarriage via Twitter (By announced, I mean she didn't think the miscarriage was a bad thing. It saved her the trouble of a planned abortion.) And she claims to write career advice but actually organizes funny personal anecdotes into lists and calls it a blog.1. Did you relocate away from family for a better job or another more interesting experience? (Yes = One point)

So, there are no sesame seeds, no tinted lettuce -- and definitely no meat -- in these cute little burgers. If you can't tell by the pic, they aren't ACTUALLY hamburgers. They are white cupcakes with brownies and red frosting. I made them in honor of Election Night and managed not to eat (too many) of the brownie scraps. :)

(The recipe has a few extras, but I have to say, the white cupcakes and brownies topped with a little red frosting was pretty simple and still presented well. The newsroom seemed to like them, but I figure someday I'll be the coolest mom in first grade. Maybe, then, I'll try the sugar cookie fries :))

... unless I was so pretty no one cared that I couldn't cook :)

Anyway, my mom's been forcing me to take back all the crap I left with her during the various times I've moved out. And that crap had ended up in my garage. I popped open one box that was too heavy for me to lift without risking back injury and found a little time capsule into my past:

... doesn't mean we're good at communication.

For weeks now, my spare set of car keys has been sitting on the floor of my back seat. Yes, INSIDE the car. I don't really remember how they got there. Or why I don't pick them up any of the five million times when I saw them and thought, "Some day, you're going to lock BOTH sets of keys in the car and have to explain to a locksmith exactly how you got in this situation. He will undoubtedly laugh..."

Anyhoo, I locked my keys - the ones I was actually using - in the trunk.

With Crystal's help.

We were loading stuff in the trunk after a Wal-Mart trip and somehow I dropped my keys in the trunk when I slid my hand through the handle of the plastic bags. Only, I didn't notice right away and Crystal closed the trunk.

And then I was like, "Where are my keys? That's funny, I just had them."

And then I KNEW.

Thankfully, I had unlocked the car doors and it only took me 5 minutes or so to locate the back-seat keys beneath all the crap (er, stuff I will need any minute now) there. Moral of this story? Sometimes being a slob pays off. :)

So, once upon a time, I knew a girl who longed for a boy who would read her e.e. cummings. And, for awhile, that made ME long for a boy who would read ME e.e. cummings.

When I was older, and more practicality than romance ran through my veins, I simply TOLD a boy who was on his way to making a serious commitment that I used to love the idea of reading e.e. cummings with a boy. No need to hint, right? What's hotter than a man who declared he would capitalize and punctuate when he damn well wanted to capitalized and punctuate?

It never happened.

This boy used to sing me country songs with a romantic flare, but no e.e. cummings. But does "Hey, good lookin'? What you got cookin'?" compare with:

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,
my darling)i fear no fate
(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,
my true)and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Or with:

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you
,i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new


No, no, I think we can all see that it doesn't compare. And now, I'm afraid, the moment has almost passed...

So, ladies, being a feminist, I completely believe that you shouldn't always rely on a man to do things for you around the house. That's why I tackled the no-longer-flushing-when-you-touched-the-handle toilet problem myself.

Right after I considered asking The Neighbor Man Whose Cat Only Drinks From The Toilet to help me. And after I tried to describe the problem to my mom over the phone. And after That Guy Who Really Likes to Text (or Sir TextALot, if you will) diagnosed that the cylinder thing that covers the discharge hole in the tank was sealing too tightly. Only he pointed, so I had no idea what that thing was called.

Figuring new parts were in order, I ended up at a big box store. In plumbing, I found an aisle with copper pipes and weird cinch-looking things and new toilets. And what do you know, they had entire toilet tanks you could buy for $30.

I consulted my mom via phone and she informed me that the $30 tanks likely did not have working parts inside. She told me to find the aisle with toilet parts, which is harder than it sounds. (None were actually label "toilet parts.")

So, I figured it was time to ask an employee for help. But what words to use? I consulted Sir TextALot.

Him: Not sure...if ur at a store, u could call it the seal for the hole that opens when u flush the toilet
Me: So many ways that can be misinterpreted.
Him: Indeed. Just tell him you have a tight flapper.
Me: OK. I giggle just reading that.
Him: He can tell it's your first time. He'll be gentle.
Me: So, what's the thing the flapper goes into called?
Him: The flapper doesn't go into anything. It just covers the hole until u touch the handle and make all the liquid rush out.

Hehe. I find an older male employee. Explain that I believe the thing that comes up when you push the lever is sealing too tightly. Manage not to blush.

He tells me he is sure that it is not sealing too tightly, I must be confused. Generally, they seal too loosely and run constantly. That was definitely not my problem, but I'm relieved to see in the parts section that there is something that is actually called a flapper. But it has a chain. And I remember no chain anywhere in my toilet.

Again, the friendly employee tells me I'm confused. And he's right, I am.

I just purchase a universal flapper and hope for the best. Sure enough, the thing I purchased somewhat resembles a drain stopper, and the thing in my toilet looks like a cylinder with a rubber ring at the bottom. I take my toilet apart, and discover the rubber ring, which butts up against another rubber ring, has detached from the cylinder. I caulk the rubber ring back onto the cylinder...

What? Yes, I have asked boys to caulk for me in the past 6 months because I "couldn't do it right." It's true. I can't properly caulk. I get that gooey stuff all over the place. And I had to be shown how to LOAD a caulking gun a mere few months ago. But no one sees the inside of the toilet, so although I got caulk all over the place, including underneath my fingernails, it actually worked.

I flushed my toilet for the first time in four weeks this morning.

What a wonderful sound.

And I made it happen all. by. myself.