So That Happened

Every now and then something happens that reminds me of my own, and others mortality. It freaks me out. Last night was one of those instances. There were five of us in the car and we pulled up to our destination pretty sure we'd be looking for parking for hours. The driver, Gina, is blessed with being Italian and thereby always getting the best parking spots, or as she likes to say "Italian parking spots". I was beginning to believe all the hype of being Italian with this parking spot on a Saturday night. It was right in front. So we filed out of the car and were waiting on the sidewalk for Gina who was still in the car. We were talking about something or another - probably the validity of this whole Italian parking spot business - when we heard a crash. Not just any crash. I metallic glass loud bang clearly coming from the other side of our car that was not in view. And the first thing that ran through my mind was that Gina was dead. I thought a car had sideswiped as she was getting out. And then I looked on the street and couldn't see a car, and everyone we were with was panicking...like WTF just happened. Running to the car. I was still standing shocked on the sidewalk and there was a crowd growing on the other side of the street and I kept hearing, "Oh my God" and shocked murmurs.

I finally snapped out of it enough to go see just WTF had happened. Mind you, this is only like 10 seconds later. And I go around the car where the rest of the group is and see a biker moaning and standing up and Gina staring with wide eyes. She's alive! Holy shit, it was scary. I immediately scan the area for damage to people and property and someone grabs the bike out of the street and someone on the other side says "This is the second time I've seen that this week!" The guy must have been going fast, and with perfect(?) timing, Gina had opened her door, sending him to the ground and her door back way farther than it was even supposed to go. Crazy stuff.

The biker gets up holding his head, muttering about a concussion but he seems...okay. People okay - check. I walk over to him with authority like some sort of doctor or something and check his pupils. Thank you ER and Grey's Anatomy. I "assure" him his pupils are the same size and ask him basic questions and ask about his vision. He seems to take stock in what I say and is like "that's good". Eh...I wonder if I should have told him I don't actually have a PhD.

Anyway, long story short, the biker eventually moseys down the street with his uninjured bike, amazingly. Assuring us all he's okay. (I so hope that's true!) And meanwhile at the car, the new problem has arised that the door no longer shuts. It's a regular old competition between all the men to see who can get it shut. Lots of slams - resulting in the door bouncing back. A metal on metal sound that clearly illustrates that this door is effed. The valet guys come help us and after 30 minutes of failed attempts at realigning the door, we finally reach the conclusion that it has to be tied shut so the car can be driven home. The problem with that is all the interior lights staying on will most likely drain the battery over night.

Gina finally speaks up that she has triple A so we call them to see if they can have better luck with the door. They don't and they end up just retying it and showing her how to disable the battery overnight. We are trying to convince Gina that the night is clearly over - seeing as it is now 12:30 and her car door is not lockable. She doesn't bite and insists on at least getting a drink. What a trooper. I would have not been functioning after the whole ordeal. Actually wasn't functioning for a bit there, and it didn't even happen to me.

Anyway. How easily that could have been a car. How one second we're all joking and laughing about Italian parking spots and the next, something like this happens. So fast. Just unbelievable to think about. And things like that do happen. That's the crazy part. I mean luckily everyone is okay, but I can only imagine a fraction of how people feel when something so out of the blue happens. Eh.

So this is a friendly reminder to check and double check when opening your door to the street. Sheesh. What a night.

Remember That Time...

We were walking down Hollywood Blvd, even though we never go there because I know how freaked out you get. But it seemed like a good idea at the time. The guy on the skateboard didn't know about your fears and whipped past us, wheels loud on the pavement. But I held you close, and could sense you by my side, so I didn't turn around to check on you because I felt your feet beside mine. I literally could feel you trembling in fear, but I tried to hurry through the busy streets hoping that we'd be at the next block soon. And I heard people screaming, but that's normal for Hollywood. And cars honking. And I turn and look and you have somehow escaped me and the footsteps behind mine were not yours at all, but Jack's instead. You have fled to the street, attempting to get to the other side where you may feel safer, and I see the car coming, and thinking back now I don't know if it was really going that slow or if, in an act of natural human masochism, my brain wanted me to remember every detail so that when I played the moment over and over again, I could forever picture it seamlessly. And in slow motion the car stops and you guys just stare at each other. I have no idea what I say then, but I am panicked. And you somehow make your way back to me, probably because I'm pulling you there with my words, but you are subdued, and odd, and I can't stop shaking. And when we make our way back home, you lay on the couch in peace and hopefully thankfulness, and when I attempt to hug you, you yell at me! And that's when I know that you know I wasn't looking behind me, and I totally feel like a terrible friend now.

Today has been better. I'm glad you're okay, and hope you understand, but you are never going to Hollywood Blvd again.

Expletive, Expletive, etc

How quick you can go from on top to run under a bus.



There's just no good news or bright side right now. I'm unemployed. Uh, the life of a freelancer is glamorous. No notice, no nothing. Double negative, expletive, etc. Seems the next episode I was going to work on got cancelled. Which leaves a gaping four week hole before my next job. And! That next job is a huge downwards step because, "There were too many people in line before you". That's not what I was told when I signed on for a lower rate last year. I was told I would have a spot on the next show. "You do" they argued. As a night assistant. "It's not you..." they said, and I felt like I was in the midst of a terrible breakup.

And now, while I felt so smart attempting to pay off some credit cards, I'm finding myself with little to no savings. Poor planning all around. Definitley been an explicit 24 hours.

Thus, the new search begins. When can I stop starting from square 1?

Eff.

Ehhh.

I woke up this morning and was pretty sure it was Friday. I sadly assured myself it was only Thursday. When I got to work, everyone was walking around with doughnuts. Since we have doughnuts at work every Friday, I was once again confused. Hopeful, I asked what day it was. Thursday. Disappointment. And Valentine's day. Again with the disappointment. Ugh, really. Only Thursday? I'm so tired and just blah.

I'm ready for the weekend. Soooo ready.

Ehh.

Ehh.

Oh yeah, my episode is locked and is going to online tomorrow. And all the stress has hit me like a ton of bricks.

I accidentally pulled my computer to the ground today. Hard. How it is still working, I will never know. Oh, and I've almost lived in LA for a year. Insane. I'll have to do a Since I've Lived in LA Part 2.

Good night. I'm watching Friends now and am relieved to be home. Now if I can only get my toilet fixed. Yeah, real long story, but just another casualty of my insane work schedule I've had lately. I figured I've worked about 67 hours in the last week. Guh. Is my math right??!?

8+10+16+11+10+12

If tomorrow is an average day, my grand total for the week will be 76. 76?! That seems insane. Oh yeah, it is.

Ehh.

Give Me A BREAK!

100th post! Woo! [Excitment fades back into anxiety.]

Things go from bad, to badder, to worse. Ready for a sob story? I can deliver them like no other.

As I sit in my apartment at 1:22am, anxiety ridden and clutching a hammer, I know that sleep will not come tonight. My shuttle for my new flight comes at 6:00am and I was hoping to catch a little sleep before then. I now believe that is impossible. But let me start from the beginning.

Saturday: Leaving Hopper at the vet was horribly sad and frustrating. On top of being overwhelmed with sadness of leaving her, the vet kept adding on a bunch of charges that made me lose a little bit of my mind. For the sake of my sanity, I won't rehash the details, but the jist is, I will never go back there, other than on Friday to retrieve my pup. Like Mario saving the Princess from the castle. My poor baby!

Not wanting to stay at my apartment by myself, and wanting to make it easier for my airport ride, I stayed at a friends house. I made the mistake of deciding to stay up all night. We watched movies and had a nice time. I was able to keep my mind from my sad little pup for a little while which was nice. I ended up deciding to take a power nap at 5:00, to wake up at 5;30. That all went well.

Sunday: We go to the airport and I'm surprised at how fast I get all checked in and everything. I go to my terminal, buy a bottle of water and a magazine, and put on my iPod. I hear some announcements and take off my headphones. Yes, you guessed it, my flight was delayed. 15 minutes, they said, so I put my headphones back on knowing I'd have plenty of time to make my connecting flight. Another announcement, I remove my headphones. And then they announce the worst thing ever. Flight cancelled. Not delayed. Not rerouted. Cancelled. The details get boring so I'll give you the rundown. I wait in line for close to 3 hours. It seems to be taking about 30 minutes per person. I'm in the back of the line, because they were doing it by connecting city. Since I had one of the longer layovers, Charlotte was close to last. By this point, I was exhausted. Throughout the crowd, there are various rumblings of there being no flights available until after Christmas. Mentally I prepare myself for a Christmas in LA.

Finally, finally, finally I get to the ticket counter at our terminal. The woman seems as exhausted as I, but is very nice. She finds a flight for me, for tomorrow. Ehhh. So off to home I go, still without sleep and ready to eat a house. They comp me a shuttle from the airport. The ride takes a while, but I talk to a nice guy from Switzerland who is travelling around the states for the first time. We talk about Switzerland and his impression of America so far. It was really cool to hear about his journey.

Anyway, I get home and order pizza and pass out on the couch. Completely exhausted, I sleep for four hours, waking up at 7 wide awake. I decide to continue my night on the couch, hoping to sleep more before my shuttle that is to arrive at 6. Well, the one night I'm at my apartment alone and without my dog, my doorbell rings at 12:30. Confused and a little scared, I quietly make my way to my door. I look in the peep hole and there's no one there. I get a little nervous, but keep looking. Then, after a solid minute, a man, possibly homeless, peeks his head into my view. He's looking into my peep hole, which as we all know is impossible, but it's still creepy. He then rings my bell again and disappears. I'm shaking at this point, completely freaking out. But it's silent, and I don't see him anymore. So I grab a hammer and my phone and root myself in front of the peep hole. Nothing. I hear a few sounds that could possibly be in my hall, but it's also kinda windy out so I can't be sure. I think back to other times in which I've called the police, and given their response times then, I thought I would just call the non-emergency number and ask for someone to come by. That way, at least I'd know someone was on their way. Still heard nothing, but let me tell you, sleep was the last thing on my mind at this point. Unfortunately. I keep a watch on the street and peep through the hole every now and then.

Finally, I see a police car drive up, shine its light on my building, but before I have time to be embarrassed, they pull off, obviously convinced everything was fine. That's the last I've heard of them. I heard my neighbor go outside, and went outside and talked to him. I told him what had happened, and he made me feel better, saying I'd be fine, and to just not answer my door. I told him that if he heard me hitting someone with a hammer, that it might be me attacking a homeless man and to call the police. Yeah, so anyway, at least they're home. Now it's 2:13 am and I'm still a little too scared to sleep. The one, ONE, night I'm without my dog, this happens.

Okay, tired. Might attempt to let one eye sleep. Life in the city is never boring, that's for sure.

No Words...

Where do I begin? Sheesh. What a few weeks this has been. No kidding. You ready for an epic tale? Sit back, grab a drink, and get to reading. I'll begin two weeks back.

An amazing thing happened. I got a temporary job that lasted exactly to the day of when my perm job was supposed to start back up. And I not only got the job, I nailed the interview. They showed me the stacks of resumes and did the whole bit of flattering me by saying they liked my resume the best and I was the first they called, etc etc. Then made a whole show of tossing the rest of them into the trash. Okay, so it was probably the best interview I've ever had. The show was something definitely cool and different. I heckled a bit a got a wee bit over my usual rate and everyone seemed nice and welcoming. So I was pretty excited.

The day I found out I got the job, I also found out that I got to edit a music video for an actual record label and an actual band and it could actually go on tv! (Maybe, possibly, maybe). Flying high here, right?

Okay, then things started going terribly wrong. I soon discovered that my once top-of-the-line editing system had plummeted so far below the line that it couldn't even handle aforementioned music video. Not only that, the new job was not quite as great as I had imagined. It was hard going back to working days when I had grown so accustomed to nights. Having people breathing down my neck and not being able to get online and waste time was definitely a downer.

So one problem at a time, I knew I wanted to do the music video. I had just wrapped up the short that I've worked on literally all summer and was excited to go to something different. The song is catchy and poppy and fun, with a hint of darkness, and altogether perfect for me. The director is someone I've wanted to work with for a while, and well, music videos have always had a special place in my heart.

At this point in my life, I was broke. Broke broke broke! I quickly learned that in order for me to update my system so that it could handle the project, I wouldn't even be able to update my exsiting software, (since it is an Academic version, [which at the time sounded like such a good deal]). I'd have to buy the super expensive bundle of applications I'd rarely use, one of which, enabled me to do the video.

Thirteen hundred dollars in debt later, I'm sitting at my computer, all excited and ready to install my new software when I discover that I need to update my OS X to even be able to INSTALL FCP 6. What?!? That would have been nice to know at the store where I had bought the software as they were closing and locking the doors behind me for the night.

I should have taken this as a sign that the universe did not want me to do this project. But I couldn't stop there. This was an unreturnable purchase and I was going to use it damnit.

The next morning I awoke nice and early and was at the store as they opened the doors. I went in, bought my OS X gazillion, (after the fated conversation with the nice salesman, "Do you really need it now?" "Yes. Why?" "The new version is coming out next week. You should wait until then." Of course. "I can't!"), and left the store feeling even smaller than I felt when I entered.

I got home and spent the entire day installing software, including yet another upgrade I had to download as the smoke flew from my ears, and then, finally, FINALLY, importing the footage. Somehow, someway, I still got the first cut done that night, right on schedule. I was doing my best to overcome these obstacles and desperately wanted to leave a good taste in the mouth of the director. The next day, of course, (this is getting ridiculous, no?), after all of that hard work, I discovered that one little tiny box had not been checked when I imported the footage, (not to get into too many boring specifics, but it's an HD project and this was the first time I was dealing with actual HD in my timelime), so I had to reimport. Reimporting caused all my current files to reconnect almost an entire second off, meaning I was basically having to recut the entire thing. In one night to even attempt to stay on schedule.

Can I just say for the record this was one of the most fun things I've ever had the privelege of cutting. Even so, I would have preferred to do it once, especially with the tight schedule we were on, but I digress. I stayed up late, starting off my week on four hours of sleep. I finished, yay, but the lack of sleep hurt me.

Monday-I went to work, realized I had made a couple of mistakes, tried to correct them, cursed the assistant before me and the vague notes she left me, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, drove home, walked my dog, and the director came over and we worked for the rest of the night on the cut.

Tuesday-I went to work, realized I had made a couple of mistakes, tried to correct them, cursed the assistant before me and the vague notes she left me, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, drove home, walked my dog, and the director came over and we worked for the rest of the night on the cut.

Wednesday-I went to work completely exhausted, realized I had made a couple of mistakes, tried to correct them, cursed the assistant before me and the vague notes she left me, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, drove home, walked my dog, and the director came over and we worked for the rest of the night on the cut.

Thursday-I went to work even more exhausted, realized I had made a couple of HUGE mistakes, like sending a bad DVD to the Network, (eck!), cursed the assistant before me and the vague notes she left me, cursed my boss for not letting me check said DVDs before he burned and sent them, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, drove home, walked my dog, and the director came over and we worked for the rest of the night on the cut.

Friday-I went to work unbelievably exhausted, didn't make any mistakes, stared at the clock, waited for it to hit six thirty, got in my car and started to drive home. I was trying to make my way as fast as possible through the rain, (yes, rain in LA), and traffic, so I'd have enough time to walk my dog before the director came over. I got a call. EPIC! I warned you! (I actually had to stop and remember that other stuff because it is so pale in comparison to my next catastrophe. I was like "Wait, didn't something else suck like four days ago?")

My house, a duplex, had gotten struck hard by the rainstorm. The shotty old wire coming off of my bedroom and onto the pole had ripped from our house, still barely hanging on, but doing so in a vicarious manner. My roommate, who was home when it happened, had seen the sparks from the event, and ran outside. A small fire had started under our house. She grabbed the dogs and called the fire department. By the time they had gotten there, the fire was out and a large portion of cable/internet wires was a mess a black goo. Needless to say our cable/internet still hasn't been fixed!

They put up some tape and told us we needed the electic company to come out as soon as possible. It was around this time that I was finally getting home. The electricity was understandibly out, (just our house), and when I touched the back railing by the stairs, I got shocked. A loud, unbearable hum was coming from my wall, and our fire alarms were beeping mercilessly, as they run solely on electic energy and not batteries. The fire department had left and there was no fire at this time, so I tried my best to feel safe. My roommate went to a movie and I was stuck at home alone to sit and hope that, despite my gut telling me otherwise, everything was okay.

I kept getting wiffs of an odd odor that I pinpointed as a vitaminy smell. The fact that the fire alarms weren't working troubled me, but I tried to stay calm. Finally, sensing the smell was getting stronger, I broke down and called 911. I asked the fire department just to come back and investigate the smell. A little over two minutes later, four trucks came roaring into my neighborhood. My cheeks flushed, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

They could not smell anything and when I told them that the railing had shocked me, they looked at me like I was crazy. The dogs had both yelped in the front yard, as if they were getting shocked too. They didn't believe that it was anything to be worried about. They left, as there was no fire.

The electric company was slammed and no one came that night. I also had to understandibly cancel the editing session for the evening. I couldn't even sleep in my room as the hum was not only annoying, but troubling. It sounded like a ball of electricity trapped in the wall. I slept of the couch. A fitful nights sleep at best. After a week of short sleep nights, my nerves were rattled and body, exhausted.

I awoke the next morning and me and my roommate both called the electric company begging for someone to come out. One house without power didn't seem to be a big priority. We explained it was an emergency, but there was only so much customer service could do.

Finally, after an unsettling morning, a lone man from the electric company came to investigate. He looked shocked and basically said, "We're gonna need a bigger boat."

Duh. This is what we'd been saying. He was nice enough to call the dispatcher directly, hopefully expressing the severity of the situation. He was also nice enough to explain that somehow electricity had infiltrated our entire yard, or anything metal touching the house. And no, I was not crazy for thinking I got shocked. I actually did and thank goodness it wasn't enough to do any damage.

But he couldn't turn the electricity off. Basically that had to be done at the pole or something. For some reason, he couldn't do much. So again, I waited. Waited, sniffing the air anxiously. Roommate had gone to breakfast and I had stayed home, not wanting to leave the dogs alone. I was so nervous, just waiting for the house to catch fire, I actually packed up some things in my car. I just knew. I can't explain it, but I knew. I was putting my head between my knees taking deep breaths and trying to calm myself down. I felt helpless. Like I was just waiting for it to catch fire. Like it wasn't a question of "if", it was "when". I literally was having an internal debate on whether or not I was overreacting when I smelled the vitaminy smell again. I didn't want to false alarm the FD again, so I waited. It got stronger, much stronger, and finally I broke down and called my roommate begging her to come home. When she got there she laughed at the fact that I had packed up my car, but as the rain started falling again, the smell got even stronger.

So I got on the phone with the power company and told them we needed someone now. Now. Then, my worst nightmare happened. My roommate saw smoke. I took the dogs outside and put them in my car, yelling to the power company that my house was on fire, it was too late now, and I had to go. I hung up, feeling utterly helpless and like no one seemed to give a damn that we've had this huge risk around us and no one could seem to do anything but wait. Wait for this, I guessed. Wait for the house to go up in flames. That's what it took it seemed. My roommate ran down a few seconds later, having already called the fire department, and said she saw flames. In my head, it was gone. The house was gone. When the fire trucks pulled up, I met them at the street and told them where the kitchen was. Immediately when they ran in, I started crying. I know. I'm such a girl. But it had been an emotional day and I'm terrified of fires and I really thought the house was long gone. And just to push the sympathy points a little higher, it was pouring down rain and I was completely soaked. And neighbors were coming up to me offering me umbrellas and water and to go inside their house and sit, but I couldn't move from the driveway, alternating from watching the house in horror, and not being able to watch at all, fearing I'd see flames from the roof. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle that.

I'll add in here that we couldn't reach our landlord because of the Jewish holiday and he had left no emergency number.

I got dragged away from the house by a friend who took me down the block to her house and supplied me with dry clothes and made me calm down-which was probably a good thing. I think the firefighters were laughing at me. When I returned, it was business as fire usual. They had decided they had no other choice but to cut down the power line completely. They were inspecting all the walls with a camera thing to make sure nothing else was on fire.

A fireman, the chief I do believe, approached me and asked if I was the one that called last night about the "vitaminy" smell. I confirmed that was me, and he, in turn, confirmed, in his best apologetic tone, that I wasn't crazy. What I had been smelling was the old insulation smoldering in the walls. HA! (Although I'm not sure how much I appreciate being right on that one.) I knew I wasn't crazy. I'm pretty sure they felt bad about the jokes they made after they left. So yes, technically there was a fire in our walls for nearly twelve hours. This house we SLEPT in.

Anyway, that is how I spent last weekend. Hardly any damage was done, although the firemen did chop up one of our walls! The house has since been rewired, although not very well. Needless to say, we're not really feeling too safe here anymore, and are looking for a place elsewhere. Because of our dog situation, (them not getting along too well), we're going our seperate ways.

And now, I'm going to try and finish a project I've been working on and was almost done with before this big mess! Goodnight!

Woe!

So as a good friend of mine keeps saying--karma owes me big. I've had a kinda hectic couple of weeks. Between trying to scrounge up enough money to register my car in California before my 30-day grace period is up, and trying to play peacemaker in my home between the two dogs, who think they are both dominent, things have been a little stressful lately.

As far as the car thing goes, little did I know when I was buying my car in NC, that when I brought it into California less than a year after purchase, I would have to pay sales tax on it, which roughly estimated is 1000% percent. I've had thirty days to get the sixteen hundred dollars together, and all was going well until the tooth incident of 2007.

The two dogs in our house have been fighting pretty frequently. It's been stressing me out enough, but It all came to a head on this past Saturday night. Several things were unusual about this fight. I was outside and the two dogs were hanging in my roommates room. Usually when the fights occur, we are both present and it seems to be a fight over attention or food or something. But I hear the tell-tale yells from my roommate who is friutlessly trying to seperate the transformed beasts. I come in and rush to help. We hadn't done much research on the matter, so we were still grabbing their collars trying to seperate them. Wrong move, I now know. As I grabbed Hopper's collar and started pulling her towards me, the collar snapped flying back into my face, breaking off a large piece of my bottom tooth.

I was horrified, but kept my cool, (well as far as the tooth thing goes), until we had sucessfully broken up the fight. Immediately afterwards, I broke down, having enough of the fights and suffering the trumatic loss of a large piece of tooth. It was painful and had me just at a loss at how something like that could happen. I saved my tooth and after some good pep talks and sympathy pains from friends, we set out to Walgreens where I could get something for the pain, and/or, discomfort.

Once again, this financial burden increased two-fold. How in the world could I afford to get this fixed when I have a hefty bill to pay for my car, that coincidentially is due this week. I called some emergency dentist, not having a dentist in the area, who offered to call me in some painkillers and said he could see me first thing on Monday. I passed on the painkillers, and stuck to Tylenol, but counted down the hours until I could find some relief. The Tylenol worked pretty good, but the whiskey worked a little better. On Saturday night, with the dogs locked up for the night, I sat back and through a straw drank some whiskey that eased the pain quite nicely. I just wish that in my gum-numbing fun I would have realized just how painful it would be to brush my teeth. But no, not then. It felt fine and I brushed, carefully, but still with enough fervor to have me up at six am on Sunday crying for my mommy.

Monday came and I went to see the dentist. He was able to glue to portion I had broken off back on, but not without shooting me full of novicane first. (Little did I know, you aren't supposed to drink coffee on mornings before you visit the dentist in which you are going to be numbed. Now you know.) Five shots later, I was finally numb enough for them to start work. It went off without a hitch, and after expressing my financial concerns, they gave me a discount that although made thing easier to handle, still took enough out of my account to not have enough to pay my bill at the DMV.

Long story short, I got some help from the parents, which at this point in my life, is a little humbling, but much appreciated. And today, finally, on the day that marks the end of my grace-period, I can go and register my car.

So everything seemed to work out, as things usually do. Now I'm just trying to find a way to keep the peace with the dogs. I've been absolutely horrified about another fight, and have started to keep the dogs seperate almost every moment I am home. I have to get some sort of advice from some dog professionals about how to handle this correctly. If you have any advice, please share. I'm at a loss right now, so scared to even attempt any methods of defusing a situation, not even wanting to let them get close enough to each other to try.

But, other than that, things are just great! Heh! I perhaps had a quarter-life crisis last night, in the startling realization that all the women editors I know are single and without children, and that one of the assistants I work with is way older than I thought. Her solace was no help, "Time flies!", "I still feel like I'm twenty," "It was only yesterday---"

Whew. So lots going on right now. My computer battery is dying and I'm about to go to the DMV to take care of this pesky robbery thing that I feel I am a victim of. But I was just checking in and sharing my latest with you fine folks.

Aliens in America review to come!

I Love Dogs!

I feel like my day was ripped from the pages of a screwball comedy. I've had the pleasure and privilege to take care of three dogs today. Not by choice, mind you, by default. At least if I had known what I was getting into, I could have mentally prepared. Alas, I haven't been this mad at a dog(s) since Hopper ate my Liz Phair CD. I cried extraordinarily large, hot, white tears.


Our three stars:

Hopper-You know her. She's my little lady.

Cillian-My roommates little lady.

Stanley-My roommate's friend's puppy in which she was taking care of this weekend.

The set-up:

Roommate unexpectedly had to go elsewhere for the evening last night and much of the day today. Leaving me with default doggy duty.



My day began as the sun rose and woke little Stanley up. It was about six am. He decided that it was time to chew my headband, a hole in my carpet, and then wake his friends. Hopper, being well-trained to not rise before me, held her position on my bed, but Cillian was up and ready to play. When I refused to open my door, and let loose the herd to run rampidly through the house, no doubt waking my downstairs neighbors and thoroughly pissing them off, they revolted against me. All jumping on my bed, BARKING, AT ME, to wake up.

Barking. Enter my new pet peeve. Newly discovered. Barking, incessantly that is, dogs. Dogs that bark at every noise they hear, and that won't stop with a simple "Shut up!" Multiple dogs doing this may be a cause of death for me in the future. I nearly climbed out my window right then and there. Luckily, for your entertainment pleasure, I decided against it.

Not so luckily, these dogs were up. Up and not going back to sleep with any traditional methods of persuasion. Tranquilizers weren't at my disposal. Stanley, being an un-housetrained puppy, had to immediately be taken out. He's nearly eight months so I'm not exactly sure why he's not completely housetrained. But he's not, and he doesn't seem to care when you rub his face in his mistakes.

So I rolled out of bed with probably a picturesque face and an attitude that even coffee wouldn't fix. The second I got off the bed, the dogs were running around in circles and bounding all over the place, surely waking the neighbors, despite my best efforts.

Walking three dogs is hard enough. When they all want to go in different directions and love twisting up in each other's leashes, it's far worse. Stanley thought it was a good idea to pee on Hopper while she was peeing and Cillian saw a squirrel. I silently pleaded for my roommates timely return. Some how I made it through the morning, which is actually pretty long when you wake up at six. I had to seperate the dogs quite a bit in the early hours, still trying to keep the pretense of quiet.

By ten, when I hear the downstairs people mulling around, I let them be the wild animals they had wanted to be. What do they do? Sleep! Of course! By this time I had three cups of coffee pumping through my veins so no sleep for me.

Stanley then proceeds to poop in the den and pee in my room. Lovely. This is right after me taking them out again, mind you. And on this trip, instead of actually going to the bathroom, (obviously), Stanley thought it was a good idea to chase at a frou-frou dog of a not-so-friendly neighbor. When we get back in, he goes for my sunglasses, actually in the process of chomping down on them, and I yell at him louder than I've yelled at any other living thing ever. He smiled at me a wagged his tail. Infuriating.

At lunch, I take the dogs in the car to get some well-deserved lunch, (for me). Here, they were surprisingly well-behaved. Looking back, perhaps I should have just driven around all day.

Home again, Cillian, in the hopes that every car passing by was her mother returning home, found it important to bark as loudly as possible in case roommate was to miss the turn. She also found her release of energy in taunting Hopper all day, trying to get her to fight. Which with Stanley's presence, these two fighting is not an anomaly.

By nightfall, with roommate still not back, I knew I had to take the dogs out again. Courageously, I leashed them up and went where few have gone before. (I'm an exaggerator by nature.) The highlight of this walk was, beside the comically twisted leashes throughout and the three near trips of yours truly, was when Stanley's leash got stuck, somehow, inside of Hopper's collar. While I was trying to keep the dogs still long enough to untangle, Cillian decides now is a perfect time to finally get a snap in on Hopper. While my head is right by Hopper's face, she starts trying to bait Hopper into a fight. When I yank her leash, Hopper yelps and I realize I have yanked the wrong leash. At this point, what can you do but tredge on and go home and drink at beer at 7 o'clock on a Sunday evening? Nothing. So with choas around me, I sat here, where I am still, trying to ignore the loud barks and bounding dogs throughout the house.

I'm officially taking myself off doggy duty. Come hell or low water.

Take This Day and Shove It!

I woke up this morning in an exceptionally odd mood. I wouldn't say any worse than any other Monday morning by any means. But as always, the allure of coffee made me rise. My dog was in a fantastic mood. Staring me down, trying to lure my gaze away from my computer, smiling and panting when successful. When not, she'd let out a playful howl. Then she'd snuggle down into the covers and try to get to my body beneath the sheets. And then on our walk, she was exceptionally outgoing and everytime she'd turn around at me and smile, my heart would soar! She's sooo happy!!

Now if you know me, you know the problems I've had with my dog, or rather, the problems my dog has. She's a rescue and to an extreme that is rare, she is afraid of most anything that is new. People, plastic bags blowing in the wind, car doors slamming two blocks away. She jumps, and is on edge, and her whole life is filled with this anxiety that fills me with anxiety and I love that today she was having a good day.

And at the beginning of the day, I thought that maybe my day would be extraordinary as well. Think again. Now I know in comparision to some people's bad days, this was nothing, but I couldn't find anything to wear. Immediately this caused warning lights in my head to go off. I knew these days. I hate these days. You know, the days where you can't find anything to wear because that shirt makes you look fat, or you saw someone on the subway wearing those pants, or those shoes give you blisters. And you think of a shirt that would maybe suit this day perfectly, only to realize it's dirty, along with all the other clothes that you wanted to wear today because throughout your weekend of rest and relaxation, you failed to do laundry.

Blah.

So I throw on something comfortable, because let's face it, I wasn't going to be having a "You look fabulous! Where did you get that?!" day. And I didn't shower. I admit it! I showered yesterday, and I wanted to sit in bed and drink coffee and ponder what I was supposed to do on September 22nd a little longer.

I really set myself up for this day to be bad. I didn't do laundry, I didn't shower, and now I wonder why I feel blah? I wish I could go back and get up a little earlier and shower and dig a little deeper in my closet and find something that I haven't seen in months. But I can't. Instead, I find solace in being a bitch to those around me, and complaining when my boss gives me work to do!

I hate this day. I hate it because it's my fault that it's sucky and I can not really do anything to change it. My face feels greasy, my headband is pinching behind my ears uncomfortably, and I know when my boss says he wants to train me to do this other show so some weeks we switch off, he really means, even though you work your ass off four days a week, putting in more hours than anyone else in this office, yet you get paid less than everyone in this office, I can't stand for you to have a light Monday, when I have to be here. So I will train you to do this show, so on the rare occasion you have a chance to catch your breath, you can do my job too and I can sit back and be the boss.

It's really just one of those days. So yes, I could try and cheer myself up and not be bitchy to people around me, but I'm a freaking ray of sunshine compared to ninty percent of this office on any given day. Let me have my day to gripe and be pissy.