The Grinch's Dog?

  

 

A Day in a Dog's Mind - Part II

12:10pm: She made me put on the weird strappy thing that goes under my front legs, around my chest, and on which she clips The Restrainer. Oh I hate The Restrainer. It always keeps me several feet from her and I can't run like I want to or do what I want. I am over a year old now. I can go on my own. I can run ahead of her and see what's up ahead. Although, . . . . this one street is kind of scary, what with the towering Great Dane that yells obscenitys at me every time, and the yard that smells like death. She tells people 'Kaiya is a little timid'. I don't know what this means. Not sure it is a compliment. I know what compliments sound like: "awww, pretty girl!, pretty Husky! beautiful dog!" I like these sounds and when I hear them I'm sure to curl my tail extra tight in the way it looks good. But timid I don't know. Maybe it means hunter?

12:20pm: Ah fluff, we are going down the scary street. I know his house. It's on the right and I can smell him. He smells icky. He hears my jingly collar and starts yelling at me. I didn't even do anything to him. Seriously, I don't even know him. Why does he hate me? I can't repeat the things he yells at me. But I know one thing - he doesn't want me in his yard or house. I hurry by.

12:30pm: I smell something! Something I smell! What is it? What is it? What is it? It's right here! No, here. No, wait here. Or maybe over here. Wait! I smell something! She always rushes me.

12:40pm: Small terrier up ahead. It starts calling out to me, "Hi! Hi! Hi there! What's your name? Mine is Cocoa! We don't have much time to talk so please listen! You gotta break me outta here! You just gotta! My owner feeds me organic dog food and it SUCKS. You have no idea! So if you just pull on the fence right over here . . . " But I'm being pulled along by The Restrainer and can't stop to talk or help. I feel for her though - sometimes you just want some junk food like Purina.

12:50pm: We are turning home. I know by the smell and where we are. I'll stop pulling on The Restrainer a bit to give her a break. Tired of hearing her say 'heel'. What a dumb word.

12:55pm: We are walking up to house and, . . . . the pigeons are back! They are on the ground under the tree. I'll get them, let me go! Let me off The Restrainer and you can count on me! I do a special half leap combined with a bark/howl and it's most effective. The pigeons fly away quickly. I am the best hunter ever.

Grace

This is a special post for me. The lyrics to this particular song have always touched something inside me, and while they are quite haunting, I also find such beauty in the words. My extremely talented cousin agreed to sing this song and I paired it with some of my favorite photographs that also resonate with me. This isn't meant to be outwardly morbid, but to marry the images with the words and find the beauty that the two create together. Thank you to Susan for allowing me to share this.

This is dedicated in memory of Tony Ross. 

Restroom Lady Went Shopping

Saw this new sign at the Indianapolis Airport . . . looks like she went shopping for a new skirt! And suddenly she has hips. If they went to this trouble couldn't they have added a swipe of hair? :)

A Day in a Dog's Mind - Part I

The following is what I imagine went through my dog Kaiya's mind in one day with me.

7:45am: Where is she? She must still be upstairs in the high soft bed on which I am not allowed. I want that bed. I will go upstairs and find her and tell her to play with me. Ooo! There's the bathroom trash can with Kleenex in it. Gotta get a few of those and shred them up. Feels so good.

7:47am: I found her putting the warm things on her body while she made weird noise with teeth clacking together. She says the word 'cold' a lot. She hasn't taught me this word. I don't care. I don't have time for this nonsense. There is a stuffed animal pheasant downstairs with my name on it. But it won't throw itself. I howl two inches from her face as she is bending down to put more warm things on her feet. She jumps. I am funny.

8:00am: She's FINALLY downstairs and now we can play. She is petting me and telling me I am a sweet, cute, furry girl. I know this. See that pheasant over there by the lamp? I got a jonesin' to see it 'flying' through the air. Let's get to it.

8:10am: Still no pheasant throwing. She has been in the kitchen making food, none of which is for me. I wait patiently in the living room, rolling on my back and kicking my feet in the air. Man that's so fun.

8:20am: Wait a minute. She's sitting down at her desk with the glowing shiny thing! What is she doing? Every time she sits down at the glowing shiny thing she is there FOREVER. She makes little clacky-clack noises with her fingers that I don't understand. I will just remind her that I haven't seen the pheasant fly yet. I bring the fat pheasant with cool noises deep inside to her and gently place it against her leg. I gently push it into her leg. I gently push it up into her lap. I push it into her stomach. I push it harder and the pheasant makes the cool noise inside. Yes! I got the noise. Let's see if I can do it again by biting it harder and pushing it into her stomach at the same time. Yes! I can't get enough of that noise.

8:24am: It worked! She came into the living room and is throwing the pheasant! She can throw it so far! Like all the way into the dining room. Oh that silly pheasant, he always thinks he can get away from me. But I always pounce on him with extreme skill.

8:34am: I am sleepy and will take a nap in the special place by the big chair. Her clacky-clack finger noises in there are keeping me awake.

10:20am: She is pounding on the window, yelling something. I will go protect her. I see through the window - the pigeons. Oh no. She hates the pigeons. I will help her. I tell her in many howls but she ignores me.

10:34am: Pigeons keep coming back. She keeps being mad. She keeps pounding on window. I will help her. I howl and tell her and I will hunt the pigeons. I am extremely skilled pigeon hunter. She doesn't listen. So I walk to back door and she lets me out.

10:48am: Pigeons fly in towards bird feeder meant for little birds, not pigeons, and I bravely scare them off with my intimidating bark/howl combination. But I can't reach them through the fence or I could have pounced on one. She should let me out to get them. I will tell her.

10:50am: Very proud of my pigeon hunting skills and believe I need a nap now. I sit by back door until she lets me in. She says word 'cold' again.

12:05pm: She said we are 'going for a walk'! She said those words! We are 'going for a walk'! Oh this is the most exciting thing all day. Even more exciting than pigeon hunting and pheasant pouncing. I will tell her with many howls how exciting this is.

Dad: Version 2010

I came across this ad in a local magazine the other day and it made me stop and read it carefully. Not because of the visually stimulating images, but because of the messaging.
The copy reads:

Dad's Guide to Cooking:
Breakfast: Pancakes
Lunch: Pancakes
Dinner: Pancakes

At least Dads have good financial Advice.


So this is how the media is still portraying the American Dad in 2010? As the helpless half of the parenting team when the Mom is not around? The parent who can't cook and resorts to frozen pizza when Mom is at a late meeting? I guess I'm just surprised to see an ad like this. I personally have a Dad in my life who is the opposite of all of the stereotypes, and I know other men that do just as much for their kids as the Mom does. I think they are becoming the norm, not remaining the joke of the parenting world.
Anyone else find the message in this ad outdated? Or are there still plenty of Dad's out there that fit this bill?

Celeb-Obsessed

Lately I have found myself really irritated with the way celebrities are elevated in our society and how centered our culture is around them. Magazines and blogs now count the dimples in a celeb's butt, speculate on pregnancies that are never there, and report on trivialities such as what they drink at Starbucks. Now I fully admit that have been sucked into the celeb magazines and even the blogs before, but decided a few months ago to try to get back to reality and stop seeing them so much. Turns out, it is not so easy.

Has anyone noticed how many female celebrities now represent brand name products? It seems like they have exploded into advertisements in the last year and I am really getting sick of seeing them in so many places.

For instance, in this month's Glamour and InStyle magazines, companies that mainly used to just feature random models now feature the following celebs (some two to three-page spreads!): Jessica Biel for Revlon; Naomi Watts for Ann Taylor; Halle Berry for Revlon; Kate Hudson for Almay; Eva Longoria for Loreal; Kate Winslet for Lancome Paris; Julianne Moore for Bulgari; Beyonce for Loreal Paris; Amanda Seyfried for Movado; Drew Barrymore for Cover Girl; and the list goes on.

Is it too much to ask that we aren't met with these celebs with every page we turn? What happened to the regular old models who used to be picked for each brand, and they were different looking and unique and - you know - people. How about some originality?

Is anyone else feeling Celeb-Overload??

Peanut Butter & Jelly Shoes

Children of the 80's: . . . . . more specifically, GIRLS of the 80's: Do you remember jelly shoes? Of course you do. I had two pairs between the ages of 7 and 9 I think. I had a light pink pair and a clear pair. My favorite place to wear them was on any hard surface upon which they would click and slap and make that wonderfully grown-up woman sound resembling a heel. So I would walk around in the kitchen in them, just to hear the sound of them on the linoleum. And then I would wear them to play hopscotch in the driveway with my friends. I felt so cool and confident as I hopped along expertly in my jellies. Until - OUCH, damnit, a rock got in there! That seemed to happen a lot with those didn't it?

So being a girl who grew into a woman who adores shoes, imagine my delight when I saw that jelly shoes are back - in adult form. Melissa is making shoes made out of jelly material in all kinds of versions including flats, heels, pumps, slingbacks, sandals, gladiators, and more. And they are designed by noteworthy fashion icons such as Vivienne Westwood. Of course, this is probably so they can jack up the price, but hey, it's the fashion world.

I first laid eyes on the Melissa shoes while visiting Las Vegas this month and shopping the incredible stores at The Wynn and Encore hotels. They were like shiny, rubbery, girly beacons of candy and rainbows glittering at me from across the store. As Garth in Wayne's World would say, I was pulled in by their tractor beam. They had huge plastic cherries on the toe! I couldn't stand it. I touched, I pulled back, I picked up, I put down, I picked up again. And I grinned. And was that something yummy I smelled? Why yes, the cheerful sales gal said - all the Melissa's are scented like bubblegum. Well, now isn't that just taking me right back to the hopscotch line?! Instead of being turned off by the blatant girliness, I was pulled even further in, and after an encouraging nod from my shopping partner Angela, (thank you Ange for not saying they were hideous, or things might have gone differently) I asked to try them on.
It was jel at first sight.
They had me at jello.

So, my silly new shoes came home with me from Vegas and might have started an obsession.

An obsession which my internet browser is not helping by grabbing my cookies and having banner ads pop up with coupons to Zappos, showing pics of the other Melissa styles. Damn you Firefox! Stop stalking me! Oooo - are those burgundy ones?

Note: The shoebox said this style was named 'Lady Drag' and when Angela I saw that we had to laugh. Great, I thought, they are associating these shoes with drag queens. But later when I searched the plethora of Melissa shoes online I saw that the name had been cut off and they are called Lady Dragon. ;)

Dust

I never got to accompany Jenny to church. She was dressed in a light blue summer dress and walking down the hallway to the front door when she stopped at a low table to pick up a stuffed dog toy lying there. It was then that I glimpsed a mirror hanging on the wall above the table. But Jenny didn’t look up enough for me to see anything but her waist and the stuffed dog in her hands. She stood silently for a moment, clutching the dog tightly and fingering the satin lining of its ears. Then, at the shrill burst of Laura’s voice from outside, demanding Jenny hurry up, she turned and ran outside. As she threw open the front door something strange happened. A burst of orange light assaulted me and I knew instantly it wasn’t the sun. The world in front of me disappeared and I heard the same whoosh of air I had heard when I left my hospital bed. The strange feeling of pressure returned and the air roared around me while the light permeated my brain. As I felt myself moving through the air and fighting against the tremendous pressure, I had one thought infiltrating the chaos: I never got to see Jenny’s face.

As I hurled through the thickness I felt nauseous and dizzy. Okay, I should be headed where I need to go now, I thought. I took a little detour and now I will be on the right road to the unearthly palace of souls. Just wait until I tell the others what happened! First person I meet in heaven will get to hear quite the story. ‘Hey, I’m Grey. Yep, yep, just arrived. Would I like a pair of angora hair slippers? Why yes I would. A Patargus Series No. 4 cigar and a tumbler of Middleton? Don’t mind if I do. And how did you end up here? Ahhh, wife killed you huh? Well I can hardly blame her what with the way you’ve let yourself go man.’ But maybe the first ‘person’ I will be talking to will be God. How would THAT go? I wasn’t ready to think about that. I was ready to get there and get on with exploring this new world. Now, I was assuming that I wouldn’t just hit a black hole and disappear. If my soul was living right now, surely there was some destination ahead. I started to get a little nervous that there wasn’t. What happened next surprised me even more than the first time. The dizzying whirl and roar abruptly ended and a scene instantly appeared before my eyes. (My eyes?) I think I took another detour. Damnit. I was looking at a huge bookshelf towering over me, filled to the edges with worn book spines lined up like siding on an old barn. My hand reached for a book two shelves above my head. Damnit, not my hand. I watched as a hand with hairy knuckles slowly pulled a two-inch thick book off the shelf carefully. My knuckles were definitely not hairy. The book came down in front of my view and I read the title before the cover was gently pulled back. Cultural Anthropological Analysis of Brazil’s Pua Tribe. Okay now I knew I must be in hell. 

No Pun Intended

I took this picture in an old building in Victor, Colorado - a small mining town close to Cripple Creek. The sign is even funnier considering that the building used to be a brothel. Things that make you go hmmmm.

Suggestive, Eh?

I heart advertising.

Scary Sign Spinners

We've all seen them. Those people (usually awkward teenagers) standing at an intersection, holding a huge wooden sign and spinning it around and around. Their signs are advertising something, whether it be a deal on pizza, or pointing the way to real estate heaven, just down the road. Now how would you have known real estate heaven was just down that street, had the dedicated sign spinner not grabbed your attention and showed you the way?

Sarcasm aside, I have to hand it to those sign spinners - they nearly always look enthusiastic. They have their ear buds in, rocking out to music, and sometimes even bustin' a move artfully involving their sign. Extra points if they get someone to run a red light because they are too distracted watching them hop from foot to foot and twirling the wooden plank like a numchuck.

However, this advertising tactic mostly baffles me. I would love to see the ROI those signs bring their companies. For instance, on my way to work every morning a new sign spinner gal has started frequenting the same spot, but she's not like the others. She is dressed in a clown suit. She has a painted face. And what does her sign say? What is it she is selling? 'Carpet & Flooring'. Hmmm. Do clowns make YOU want to buy carpet and flooring? And does a clown selling carpet at 8am make you want to go buy carpet before you get to work?

Sign spinning is a good job for teenagers, and I'm glad they are working. And to those who at least have their positioning and timing right (pizza deal on street corner at 5pm on a weeknight) more power to you. But the clown I do not get. Did they not do their research and find that the majority of Americas are afraid of clowns?? It's like IT came up from the sewer and wants you to get some new Berber carpet or he'll bite your face off. I'll go buy some pizza, thanks.

Shoes are to Women . . .

. . . as Cars are to Men.

I. Love. Shoes. There - I said it. Hello, my name is Katie and I'm a shoeaholic. And hello my sister friends surrounding me at the Nordstrom shoe department like a flock of friendly birds, all entranced by the same shiny objects. I know, I know - almost all women love shoes. This is nothing new. But what most men, and some women, don't realize is - WHY. Well guys I'm gonna tell you: Shoes Always Fit. Unlike our dress size, our shoe size never changes. And as any woman will tell you, there are so many wardrobe issues that have to do with our weight, or perceived weight, that make having an option that never fails an absolute thrill. So there you have it guys. Mystery solved. When you see your girl come out in an outfit that you think looks great on her and the first thing she says is "Look! Look at my new shoes!" try not to shake your head and say, "What is the big deal with women and shoes?!"

Besides, men have their 'shoes' as well. Only they are cars. Just as slipping on a pair of lovely leather slingback heels can transform you from serious-girl-at-work by day, to fun-loving-vixen by night, a car can make a man feel more like the guy he wants to be, or maybe just enforces who he is. The cliche is that shoes and cars say something about personalities, but I do believe that. And when a man gets behind the wheel, he is inside the car, and therefore gets to take on the perceived characteristics of the vehicle; just as women do with shoes. And I'll admit that a guy's car sometimes makes him more attractive then he actually is. It's like beer goggles or something. I've had Mercedes goggles before. You see the guy in the SLK convertible at the stoplight and you are thinkin', 'He is hot!' But had he just been in line at Home Depot = 'meh'.

And so I give you my list of shoe types and their equivalent in cars and what I think they mean.

Ballerina Flats ========> VW Jetta ========> I am down to earth and low maintenance, but still enjoy being hip.

Platform Pumps ========> Chevy Camaro ========> I am classic and traditional, but have a naughty side.

Peep Toe Heels ========> Any Hybrid Car ========> I want the best of both worlds. (part pump, part sandal; part gas, part electric)

Knee-High Boots ========> Mercedes SUV ========> I am not afraid to stand out. I appreciate style, but still want some function and practicality.

Gladiator Sandals w/Ankle Straps ========> Mazda RX8 ========> I am unconventional and adventurous.

Stilettos ========> Lexus SC ========> I like to be noticed, am confident and fun-loving.

Tennis Shoes ========> Toyota Tacoma ========> I am sporty, practical and outdoorsy.

Sandals with rubber, fabric, or plastic ========> Toyota Prius ========> I am earthy and environmentally conscious. I also probably live in Boulder.

Night

The night was lonely. It was the most alone I have ever felt. It was similar to lying in the hospital bed unable to move or speak, but different in that this time I was in a body that could move and speak and feel, yet I had no control over when I could do these things. It was almost more frustrating than my previous situation. I heard the girl softly snoring, and the breeze ruffling the curtains at the window, and the incessant locus screaming outside. And now everything was dark. When her eyes closed, I lost my sight too. This amounted to extreme boredom. I didn’t think too much about why I couldn’t sleep along with her. I neither felt tired, nor the biological need to sleep. I figured that if I wasn’t really alive, then I didn’t need to sleep. But that didn’t make the long-reaching night any easier. Several times I tried to will her awake. I pathetically tried yelling ‘wake up!’, even though I knew by now I couldn’t bring the words to life and she couldn’t feel them. Next I attempted to share my emotions with her, as she seemed to do with me. I tried to send her a feeling of alarm, hoping to rouse her from her deep sleep. But she slept on, unaware of my presence. If this is what my eternity is, I thought, I would have taken the fire and brimstone of hell, just to have something more interesting to see.

Thou Shalt Not

This photograph from 1940 is poking fun at the era of censorship in movies started by Natty Will Hays. His list of movie taboos is shown in the upper right.
Good thing Mr. Hays wasn't around when Pulp Fiction came out.

Art: In the Eye of the Beholder. The Evil Red Eye.

If you live in Colorado, or have flown into DIA, you have probably seen the huge blue mustang sculpture that rears its veiny head outside the airport. This single piece of public commissioned art has probably brought about more controversy than any other in Denver. A lot of people hate this sculpture with a passion. I am one of them. It's ugly, vein-ridden, too masculine, seems to be a nod to the Denver Broncos with its choice of coloring - but it's not, and has glowing red eyes that just look plain evil. There is even a Facebook page dedicated to hating the Mustang and rallying for its removal. The horse's nicknames include 'Satan's Steed', 'Bluecifier', and 'Blue Devil Horse'. Also - it is Not a myth that part of the sculpture fell onto the artist in the final stages - and killed him. Seems like an urban legend, but it's not. So this is what our visitors see when they first get to our City:

"Welcome to Denver. Our evil blue horse just put a hex on you."

I have learned that publicly commissioned art pieces must stay in place for at least 5 years. I'm not sure after that, but I think it's probably a pretty big ordeal to have them removed due to public outcry. Now, of course art is in the eye of beholder and one person can see something totally different than another when viewing it. And one person can be offended by a piece, while another is inspired. Take for instance, a sculpture of a man and woman fused in mid-dance that was placed inside a roundabout in a Denver suburb. The woman's breasts are bared, in rough-hewn bronze, and because the sculpture is in an area where lots of children are, many people want it taken down. We can't expect every complaint about an art piece to lead to its removal, but at what point is the public outcry enough? When does it lead to a vote?

Now DIA has another sculpture that is raising eyebrows. This one is Anubis - the Egyptian god of the underworld. But people are incorrectly naming it the God of the Dead, and claiming it's morbid to have a statue representing death right outside the airport, making friends with Bluecifier and all. We know that the Egyptians put a lot of stock in the afterlife. You could say they almost took it more seriously than life itself. So Anubis does not really represent death - but the wonderful world awaiting on the other side. And he's there to help you to it. But people shouldn't get too upset: this statue is only temporary. It is there to promote the upcoming King Tut exhibit at the Denver Art Museum. I have always been fascinated by Egyptian life and mythology, so I am anxious to see the statue, and even more anxious to see the exhibit. So I don't mind Anubis hanging out at DIA. But if given the opportunity to vote on the removal of Satan's Steed, I definitely would voice my opinion. But that's all it is - an opinion. So can you really remove art that was specifically chosen, and worked very hard on - just based on people's perceptions? The artist of the Mustang said the piece represented "the wild spirit of the plains". But if the majority of others do not see it that way, when are they eventually heard?

Nippin' Out at VS

Okay now that I have your attention . . .
Are you wondering what the hell you are looking at here? Well I sure was when I was in Victoria's Secret after work yesterday and came upon this scary sight on the shelf. When asked about it, the sales girl rolled her eyes and said they had just gotten them in. Um, hold on. Back the lingerie truck up please. VS is serious with this? I just had to snap a quick picture with my phone when no one was looking.

Women have tried everything for years and years just to cover these suckers up. Lined bras, padded bras, breast petals, even band-aids. (yes, I had a friend in high school whose Mom did that) Not to mention women being taken seriously in the workplace among their male counterparts who get distracted by even the slightly slitted skirt, or gapping button. Is VS attempting to reverse all that we have worked for in terms of being seen by men as more than just sexual objects? Can you seriously see a woman wearing this - where?? A night on the town with the girls? The attention it would gain you would not be the kinds of men you want to date anyway. Church on Sunday?? I'm pretty sure nippin' out in God's house is frowned upon. Monday morning staff meeting?? CEO: "We had a hard second quarter, err, I mean, strong. And we saw a pointed rise in revenues when we released our headlights - I mean - headquarter's earnings." Moreover, whose boyfriend or husband would want their woman to actually wear this? Sure, they might find the sight sexy as you flit around the house in it, but they sure as hell won't feel comfortable about you wearing it on girl's night out. And rightly so.

No, we know WHO this bra is made for, and it's not for women, or even their boyfriends and husbands. It's for the OTHER men. You know the ones. And that is just not a healthy way to project yourself, to those other men, and to the world in general. It's VS saying "Go ahead, exaggerate this intimate part of you and use it to your advantage! Screw the message it gives young girls!" Not cool VS, not cool.

So by this rationale, shouldn't we soon see jeans in Abercrombie & Fitch that have built-in bulges? I mean, really - if we are taking away the mystery, putting it all out there, and emphasizing sexuality over all else, why not?

Would love to hear your thoughts.

You say boyfriend, I say . . .

I have a word dilemma. And being one who likes to write, a word dilemma is quite bothersome. In today's society we have endless labels and nicknames for everything. 'Man-bag', 'Gold Digger', 'She-Male', 'Fashionista', 'Cougar', the list goes on. (Although my personal favorite is 'Mandals' = man sandals. hehe)

Anyway, I am at a loss as to how to assign a label to one of the most important areas in my life: my man. Those who know me know my love is older than I, and me being out of my twenties now, I'm no spring chicken myself. We are not married and so we seem to be stuck with the 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' labels. Well, I'm sorry but 'boyfriend' does not begin to cover the depths of what this person is to me. Further, we live together, have made a life together, and you know - it's serious! So what does one call their love when we are past the high-school sounding 'boyfriend' stage? And I must say, I'm not particularly a fan of labels for the people in our lives, but it seems that you always come across it in everyday conversation and end up needing to assign one.

So I ask you - what are some other words instead of boyfriend that make sense for this stage in life?

Sight

Note: The paragraphs from my book will always have a one-word Title in the post.

My brain recognized sunlight immediately, and yet I did not feel the need to squint. Directly in front of my eyes stood something I wasn’t prepared for. A large brown horse. A horse so large that its head towered over me so that I could see up its enormous nostrils. I had never seen a horse so big and intimidating. My first thought was that this must be heaven. Was this a chariot of sorts? The horse exhaled loudly into my face and stamped a hoof, and I took a step backward. Or at least, it seemed like I did, but I did not feel my body move. Instinctively I tried to look down at my legs but I found I could not move my head. I felt the same as I did lying the hospital bed except now I was standing upright and somewhere in a sunlight field with Mr. Ed. I was thoroughly confused and willing myself not to panic since it seemed that I had just died and wherever I was had to be better than imprisoned in the dark in a hospital bed. Suddenly a voice behind me said,

“Oh for heaven’s sake Jenny – he won’t hurt you!” the voice must have kicked my brain into working my legs because I turned around to face the voice. A middle-aged woman stood near me, her thick red hair was secured in a low pony tail under her cowboy hat. She was very tall – unusually so, just like the horse. At my 6’0 height I had never felt so short in my life. I didn’t recognize this woman, nor did I recognize the landscape around me. I was also trying to make sense of the fact that she had just called me Jenny, and then I heard my response to the woman.

“Mom, I just don’t want to yet.” I mumbled quietly. Only it wasn’t me who spoke.

LBD at the DB

Yesterday my friend and I went on a shopping mission. This mission, which we chose to accept, was to find a dress for her to wear to a special work function. We drug our slightly-hungover-from-the-night-before butts to the mall, powered up with food court lunch and caffeine, and started the hunt. After no success at the Banana (sniff), better success at Ann Taylor, and resisting the pull of DSW (another day, I will be back for you my shoe loves), we found ourselves walking by Dress Barn. We immediately turned up our noses and scoffed. Scoffed I tell you!

Who the hell was in charge of marketing this store in the first place?? You named it Dress Barn? Really? Could you have a more unappealing name? The connotations of country, frumpy, and big-as-a-barn go on an on. I guarantee that many people have refused to ever shop there purely based on the name - my friend and I included.

However.
Despite ourselves we spotted a super cute Little Black Dress in the window. Out of desperation for the mission, and also dehydration that was making us delirious, we raised our eyebrows and slinked towards the doorway. Wellll, lets just look at that one dress. Yes there were ugly dresses. Yes there were dresses that did indeed belong at a hoe-down at the barn off Rural Route 8. But, surprisingly, there were several decent finds that left us yelling to each other across the store. "Hey! This is actually CUTE. Yea, look - this one. In between this crap here." (sorry Dress Barn employees)

After seeing several possibilities we decided that we judged too harshly. However we also decided to rename the store so that our perception of it changes. Dress Barn you have hereby been renamed Dress Cabana. Now doesn't that feel better?

Advertising is Grrrrreat!

I recently read that the Top 3 Most Recognized American Advertising Icons were the Marlboro Man, Ronald McDonald, and the Jolly Green Giant. Ahh, sit down to a Big Mac, green beans, and have a cigarette why don't cha. Who/What do you think of when you picture your favorite products growing up? Of course you know I'm going to say - where is Tony the Tiger in that list? :)

Who were/are the creepy product mascots that did the exact opposite of their job (made you never want to go near that product)? I have one word for you: Mucinex. I don't need to see shiny, blobby, animated mucus-people with clothing to understand that your product clears the nose.

Who were/are the most effective product mascots? I am a sucker for the Coca-Cola polar bears and seals. Always makes me think of an icy cold Coke.

Tell me the ones from the past you remember, and the current ones you like/dislike!

Ocean

One thing I am beginning to understand is that my concept of time has disappeared. I can’t tell a minute from an hour, an hour from a day. At times I think that I must have just woken up from a sleep because I can feel that heavy, laden and groggy veil on my mind that one feels when first waking up. I then feel like I should yawn, but of course, my mouth does not move. My sense of hearing is all I can rely on and never before have I listened so hard for anything. Sometimes I can hear soft voices from what I presume is a nurses station. I often hear the faint ringing of a phone, papers being shuffled, and the occasional laughter in conversation. I have surmised that this is when the door to my room is open. When all else is quiet I cling to these voices as a sign that things are still the same. It’s when there is total silence that I start to wonder if something has changed, if I have gone somewhere else. Yes, death has crossed my mind. I am a logical person and realize the peril of being in a comatose state. I realize that I might just slip away at any moment and float somewhere else in this darkness. I don’t mind saying that the thought of that scares the hell out of me, especially if I were to stay in this darkness. I don’t pretend to know what happens when we die, I only know what I hope happens. And I hope being able to see – something – is part of it. So when it is completely quiet all around me I begin to wonder if I have slipped off my life raft in this ocean and am sinking towards the sea floor. I strain my ears for a voice, a squeaky wheel on a gurney being pushed, soft tennis shoe footsteps on the vinyl floor. But all I get is the steady, soft beep of the machine close to me, which I have become so accustomed to that I barely notice it anymore. And as the silence presses in, becoming almost an oxymoronic roar, I struggle not to panic and lose my mind. Instead I try to focus and revisit past events of my life in order to calm myself.  

Me Kaiya. I make face like vampire bat.

Here's Kaiya while on a walk in the woods on Easter. We went over this big rock but she wasn't so sure about it when we tried to coax her to jump up and over.

Gym Etiquette with Matthew McConaughey

When it comes to landing pages and calls to action, 24 Hour Fitness is doin' it right. I went to their site to check out prices for a gym membership (never, ever thought I would be considering this, have always hated the idea of gyms, but I have learned to never say never). Anyway, I was pleased to see you can become a member online. And their membership process couldn't have been simpler. Their clean landing page design, obvious calls to action, and conditional formatting made for a quick and easy submittal. (Is it bad that I shop so much online that I have my credit card info. memorized?) If only all B2C websites could be like this! I'd say the only thing that could have made it better would be random photos and/or videos of a shirtless Matthew McConaughey winking and saying "Join Today Cutie".

Now, since I'll be entering the gym for the first time I need some pointers on gym etiquette. I don't know the unspoken rules and faux pas. Okay, well I know you wipe your sweat off a machine, and I know to wear flip flops in the locker room (yuck), but what else do I need to know? Can anyone pass on some tips? (24 Hour Fitness: This would be another good video spot featuring Matthew. Just sayin'.)

Also - please take the poll at the bottom right! I know it's hard to see. I would like to get more votes so I can have my new dog breed for the book! :) 

Push

Jesus, God, Lord of Mercy, please help me PUSH OUT OF THIS and be okay.

Ahh, suddenly I’m a religious man. Never have been before, but this seems like the prime time to start talking to God. Forget the positive thinking, let’s go straight to the big kahuna. But will God know I’m a fraud? I guess so since I haven’t spoken to God since I was probably 13, praying that I would pitch a no hitter in the championship game, and when that didn’t happen I started to question where God was. My lessening of faith didn’t occur because someone close to me had died, or because I saw the suffering of hundreds of people in another country on TV, no, it came when God failed to help me pitch a no-hitter. Granted, my parents never really did instill religious teachings in me, in fact the first time I saw a family say grace before dinner was when I was nine years old and at a friend’s house. I watched their bowed heads as they articulated a lovely thanks over a meat loaf. I remember thinking that it was weird, but also strangely comforting. However, now I doubted that God would forget that I gave him up over a baseball game and be willing to let me just jump back on the bandwagon in my time of crisis. But just in case God was listening, and maybe was forgetful, I prayed. I reached down into the depth and formed a prayer. It came out of my mind in fragments and pieces, sentences rushed together that didn’t really make sense, but somehow I couldn’t stop the flow. I started the prayer with shyness, hesitation and embarrassment. I moved into a serious and near pleading tone as the words came faster and faster. And by the end I could feel emotion welling up and flooding me and I my voice was the voice of desperation inside my head, uttering a plea so tangible I thought I could taste my sincerity inside my mouth.

Feeling bloated? Check your Chakras

I heard about an online test to see which of your Chakras are open, blocked, over-active, or under-active and I thought it sounded interesting. To help illustrate the Chakras I found the image at left (in which Miss Chakra has apparently had breast augmentation - did her Heart Chakra make her do it?)



The Chakras consist of the following:
Red - Root
Orange - Sacral
Yellow - Navel
Green - Heart
Blue - Throat
Purple - Third Eye
Lighter Purpley - Crown

I found that ALL my Chakras are open! Yippee! Model New Age Student! However one of them was Over-Active. Oops. Slow down there A.D.D. Chakra. I won't tell you which but I'm guessing those who know me best will know which one. ;)

To find out if you have any blockages and what you can do about them, here is the site. It also tells you more about what each Chakra means tied to personality traits. Pretty interesting and true for me.
http://www.eclecticenergies.com/chakras/chakratest.php

If you do the test, let me know how true you think it is for your personality/life.

Grey

(note: this is the opening paragraph of my book)

I have lived a good life, I believe. My 37 years on this earth were well spent. If asked if I had any regrets, my immediate answer would be no.


Wouldn’t it?

I pause and run down a mental list of accomplishments in my life. It seems short. Graduated high school. Stunning work there, I thought wryly. Graduated college. No small miracle considering the frat house parties and weekend road trips that kept me from studying. Ran three marathons. Not too shabby. Got a job as a financial analyst, then moved to CFO in seven years at a Fortune 500 company. Okay, for that one I can fairly pat myself on the back, grin cockily, and order the outrageously expensive Bordeaux without flinching. But this is where I draw a blank. What came next? I didn’t propose to Sara like I should have. I never took that trip to Africa. I didn’t buy that perfect 1930’s bungalow, even when the price dropped. I didn’t hike Mt. Everest. Hell, I didn’t hike a single fourteener in Colorado like I said I would on various ski trips. Okay, so I have some regrets. The truth is, I have too much time to think. It’s quiet and dark here, and I’m comfortable and warm. And it seems that all I have is time. I have plenty of time to replay the film reel of my life and kick myself for having that horrible mullet in the 80’s. But I don’t mind this time for thinking, as long as this wonderful warmth stays around me. It feels like being wrapped in a feather bed, a bed of feathers, a feather burrito. Like when you are bundled up in the covers in wintertime except, even my nose sticking outside the covers is warm. The incessant beeping of the machines is my only complaint. Its annoying high pitch interferes with my reminiscing. I’m not sure, but I think I am in a coma.

When Marketers Give Up

Marketing Director: We need a new banner out front that will draw people into our casino.

Marketing Manager: Hmm. Well we did our '100% Heated Inside' campaign last month. . .

Marketing Director: Well what else do we have inside?

Marketing Manager: I dunno, $4.99 Ribeye?

Marketing Director: Damn it Marketing Manager, we have fun inside. Fun.

Marketing Manager: I'm on it.

Sad Mannequins at BR

Last month my best friend and I were shopping the recession-fueled sales at our favorite stores and found ourselves inevitably in Banana Republic. Ahh BR. Your beautiful black suit sealed the deal during my job interview, I'm sure of it. However I spotted something disturbing in the store. No it wasn't that orange poncho-type thing marked 50% for a reason; it was a female mannequin standing nearby. She caught my eye because the back of her dress was not zipped all the way up. There was about an inch left to go. Being the Type A person I can be, I automatically reached over to complete the zip. I discovered it just wouldn't go the rest of the way; it didn't completely fit the mannequin. As I was turning away I saw it. SIZE: 0

Yes, even this poor, headless mannequin could not live up to the expectations of today's retailer in terms of size. I felt her pain. Although she was headless, her hands were turned out, palms up, and she seemed to say 'why do I have to be made to feel fat because I can't fit in a size 0?' Okay, maybe that's what I was thinking. Looking around, all her mannequin friends were the same size and boy were they lean! But still couldn't quite make the 0. I know the tirade about society's messed up views of beauty/size/weight is a bit tired, but, really. Really BR? Why facilitate the unrealistic ideals? Let her wear her size! (albeit probably a 2. sigh)

An aside: We also learned the important rule that you should try on dresses in the morning, Before mowwing at P.F. Changs, and you should try on shoes in the afternoon, because your feet swell during that time and you need to make sure the shoe will fit those proportions. Important stuff Ladies!

New Release, or Recycled Reading?

You know those authors whose books you will buy the instant they come out with a new release? You don't even really need to read the book synopsis - you just KNOW it will be good and you buy it without thinking twice. That recently happened to me when Borders notified me that Tami Hoag had a new release called Heart of Gold. I needed some new books in rotation so I bought it, along with others, on Amazon (sorry Borders, Amazon won out). Once I got the book and started reading it I saw the author's note about how she loved these characters, . . . . when she first created them 20 years ago. I looked at copyright and sure enough, it was 1990. I felt duped. Not that I would have minded reading a book of hers that I hadn't already, but in the 90's she mostly did cheesy romances - stuff I enjoyed back in college. Later she moved into mystery and thrillers (with a little bit of sexiness on the side) and those are the books of hers I enjoy today. So when I dove into Heart of Gold and found it's nothing more than a pile of cliches about lust and perfect biceps, I was very disappointed. I know, I know, I should have read ALL of the information about it on Amazon before I bought it. But I feel like it should have been more apparent that it was a re-release. I'll finish the book. I'll muddle through the unrealistic scenes of a typical bad romance novel, and feel gypped when done. But I'll know next time that all 'new' releases may not be as new as they appear!