Bad Hair. Bad, Bad Hair.

So I went to get a cut and color today. I should have stayed home. I went to my regular guy, who's usually amazing. But I've never gotten my hair colored before, just permed, so I really didn't know what to expect. I decided to go with highlights instead of full color. He asked me what I wanted - I told him, no blonde, please. I think it looks tacky when you've got a dark brown shag with blonde highlights. And way too many people do that. That's my personal opinion. I don't judge you brown-haired, blonde-highlighted gals out there. He said red or caramel highlights would look great, and we opted for the caramel. I desperately wish I had gone with the red now. I'm sure it would have looked so much better. But what's done is done. Now I have caramel highlights that don't really look caramel-ish at all. They look blonde. A dirty blonde. A stripper blonde. And I want to scream and pull out my hair. I love the cut - the haircut is beyond adorable, but the color? ARGH!!!!! I spent $200 on the cut, color, and a cut for my sister, plus tip and some shampoo.... so I'm not going back there until I absolutely have to. So blonde highlights it is for 2 more months. ARGH! ARGH! ARGH!!! GAH!!!
But I won't kill my lovely hairdresser - he tried his best, and everyone said it looked so cute, but they're all employees, so I say they HAVE to say it looks cute. GARGH!!! Blah. Red highlights for me in 2 months.

The Obligatory Christmas Posting

Okay, so I couldn't really think of something deep and profound to say on Christmas Eve, so..... I'll talk about my favorite movies of this year. The year's practically over, so I'll call it the Top 10 Films of the Year. It is possible I may miss a movie or two, since I'm doing this by memory, so I encourage you all to share too. These movies aren't really in any order, since my love of each increases or decreases depending on my movie mood.

Ratatouille: A rat, that cooks? Food that looks so delectable that I collected drool in my theatre soda cup? Yep, at the top of my list.

Death At A Funeral: Pure British Gold. You want a movie that makes you pee your pants non-stop throughout the film? This is it.

300: THIS IS...SPARTA! Tee hee hee... Nearly naked men, bloodshed galore, Rodrigo Santoro (even if he does look a little cheesy).... geez, it even got MY testosterone pumping.

No Country For Old Men: You want a disturbing movie? You want a movie that practically at the beginning makes you think, "Oh, the good guy is totally f*cked." This is it. It'll haunt you for days.

Juno: Morbidly funny flick that had me crying half the time. It's special.

Shoot 'Em Up: Having a guy have sex with stunning Monica Bellucci while shooting a bunch of goons after him? That's called Not Taking Yourself Seriously. And that's what makes this flick so much fun.

Death Proof: You know, I have to admit I'm just not a fan of Quentin Tarantino. I don't see anything interesting in most of his work. And I usually don't get why people say he's a freakin' genius. But Death Proof? Death Proof was great. But then, when you have a bunch of sexy girls beating the crap out of a middle-aged creep, you've got my respect there.

28 Weeks Later: I love zombies and vampires, but it's so rare to come across an actually decent flick featuring either. 28 Weeks Later is more than a decent flick, and it's just as enjoyable as the first. Zombies kick ass!

The Bourne Ultimatum: The Bourne Identity was all right. The Bourne Supremacy was a little less than all right. The Bourne Ultimatum... well, it was a LOT more than all right.

The Mist: Creepy S**t. And I'm not talking about the monsters. I'm talking about the crazy-psycho-killer people. And the end? Wow. Just, wow.

There were a few others that I did enjoy, but not enough to post on the Top 10 list, so sorry movies. You entertained me, but I shall not honor you. Or promote you. For now.

And now I shall leave you with a Merry Christmas to all, especially Tam, Cinnkitty, Jessie, Karly, Sue, and Pinkbowshoe.

And I shall go remove Celeste from the potty pads. She somehow believes that lying on top of them is comfortable. Thank God I just replaced them and there's no actual potty on them. Stupid dog.

Tewtally Exhausted

And yes, I know I spelled totally wrong. I just sounds cuter as "tewtally". Anyway, for the past two weeks, especially the last week, I've been getting probably no more than 5 hours of sleep at one time, which has completely messed up my system. I'm already feeling ill because I've decided to stop taking happy pills, and have been in the process of weaning myself off them. On a regular day, I have tons of headaches, can't move without getting a major dizzy spell, feel utterly exhausted, can't concentrate AT ALL (seriously, I can't - it's horrible), get antsy, feel like throttling someone.... yeah, it's pretty bad. And this is weaning myself off it just like the doctor recommended. This is NOT going cold turkey - which thank God, I haven't done, since I don't even want to imagine how bad I'd feel. If you're wondering why I'm on the pills and/or why I'm getting off them, well, I'll tell you - I had a bad time about two years ago that interfered with my schoolwork. My grandpa had just died, I was having major problems with the folks, I got into a car crash, someone broke into my car and robbed me, I was beyond stressed out with school... all this and more made me have a mini breakdown, and the Dean practically told me either I'd have to get on meds or she'd make sure I'd never pass the bar. And since I've already poured thousands and thousands of dollars of debt into this endeavour, I wasn't quitting now. So I obeyed - I went to a therapist and got myself drugged. It wasn't too high of a dose, I believe, but I guess it helped somewhat. I had these anxiety spells where I couldn't sleep because all I could do was think of every bad thing that I'd done, might do, had happened to me, might happen to me... it took hours to fall asleep, even with prescribed sleep medication. I was a bit of a wreck for a while. But then I decided that I needed to take control of things, and not try to just cope by drugging myself to forget things. So I took some necessary steps, and now I feel a lot better. Sure, I'm not where I want to be yet - but I'm really trying to get used to the fact that some people are never going to change, so either I suck it up and deal with it, and don't let it hurt me, or I'll just stay depressed for the rest of my life. So that's one reason why I decided to go off happy pills - I'm in a better emotional position now, and I am the type of person that would rather not be on medication if it isn't ABSOLUTELY necessary. Another reason why I decided to go off the pills was because I've been gaining a ridiculous amount of weight. Back when I started about a year and a half ago, I weighed maybe 125/130 pounds, and I looked fine. I had just gotten back from a 4 month trip to Europe where I walked everywhere, everyday, and had shed a few pounds in the process. I liked how I looked. When I first started the medication, things were fine - I exercised regularly, ate well, and as a result, I was losing a few pounds. But then maybe 7/8 months into the medication, I ballooned up to 150 pounds in probably 2/3 months or so. I remember going on Christmas vacation and wearing these lovely gray jeans - one month later, when I tried them on, I couldn't even zip them up. It was insane. I've never in my entire life put on so much weight so quickly than I have this past year. And okay, I can deal with weight gain, as long as I know I can lose it by eating healthy and exercising. So I did both. All summer I went to the gym 2 hours a day, and ate 1200 calories of HEALTHY food every day. EVERY DAY. And do you think I lost weight? No. Not at all. Not ONE pound. And now I'm a size 14, up from a size 6 (well, pants, anyway. I have CURVES, people). That is just ridiculous. Seriously. So I gave up - you girls understand how depressing and hurtful to one's self esteem it is to gain weight. And then to try SO hard to lose it and not be able to? That just killed it. I felt like it was my fault - like I was a big fat pig that couldn't stop eating, when honestly I've always eaten the same amount and never had problems staying at the same weight. I was diagnosed with mild hypothyroidism early this year, so I thought that was the problem - I got on the meds, but I didn't see any difference, and my doctor eventually told me to stop taking them because my levels were back to normal and I certainly didn't want to become hyperthyroidic by continuing my medication. So it wasn't that. Then I started doing research on the happy pills I'm taking and I was flooded by stories of people who've been on it and have gained ridiculous amounts of weight - I'm taking about people who run marathons, who weighed 100 pounds and went to 190 in a few months. So that was the straw that broke the camel's back. I was fighting to get back a normal emotional state, and continually thinking I'm a fat ass isn't helping. So I'm off for good now. I just need to make sure to try extra hard at school so there's no need for the Dean to interfere again.
But anyway, that really wasn't what this post was going to be about. I was just going to complain about finals. Yeah, finals weren't very fun. Since I barely slept, I was exhausted AND couldn't concentrate, so taking a test with a time limit? Soooo not a good idea. But I did, and I was officially done by Tuesday at 4. Awesomeness. I don't feel relieved, but I think that's because it hasn't really kicked in yet that I can chill for the next 3 weeks. I've been really busy cleaning up my apartment for my parents' visit next week, and today I finally finished. I still need to get groceries and whatnot, but that's cool. I can do that. That's the easy part.
So now I'm going to head off and finish uploading some songs to my iPod and then go to sleep, since I'm really tired and I don't think I've caught up with all my missed sleep yet.
So Merry Christmas, ya'll, and I'll try to post something closer to Christmas. Toodles!

Another Pug Video

Okay, I admit defeat. I've recently discovered I can fix my pug videos, and I've been thoroughly entertaining myself. This is my most recent creation (with an old video) - and it must be seen with sound ON. P.S. I'd rather see this than the Mayweather vs. Hatton fight I saw a few days ago.

Pug Video: With Effects!

Pugs EVERYWHERE!

So I'm blissfully sleeping in today. I came in late yesterday night, since I went to the Timberwolves vs. Suns game (amazingly the Timberwolves won - my BF says they're rather horrid this year), and then we went to a friend's place to catch the Mayweather vs. Hatton boxing match. I'm not a fan of boxing AT ALL (it's such a bloodthirsty game - can't see how people take pleasure is seeing another person being hurt), but the BF loved it, and hey, it was short. So I went to sleep around 1ish. And when I go to sleep after midnight, I absolutely HAVE to sleep in, otherwise I will be a zombie for the next two days (yes, I'm an old lady. So sue me).

So like I said, I'm blissfully sleeping in. When I hear a loud crash against my bedroom door. Which is sufficient to wake me up and think for a second what could possibly have caused that noise. Then I hear growling pugs and figure, "They're playing rough today." Like they always do. But Babs usually tires out quickly and goes off to chew on his rawhide. Not today. Today they decided, "Hey, let's be SO loud and rough that Mommy can't go back to sleep! Yeah!" So I'd adjust my sleeping position, try to fall back asleep, and then...BANG! CRASH! KABLAM! KABOOM! GRRR! BAM! Then relative silence. I'd adjust, try to fall back asleep, then....BANG! DOUBLE KABLAM! CRASH! And repeat. Over and over and over again. So Mommy couldn't go back to sleep. So Mommy got up and showered, dressed, and ran off to her BF's house so she could nap in peace. Which she will do right after she's finished with this blog entry. Ciao!

I have become a pug...I mean, a bug.

I have an exoskeleton. And it's peeling. My skin is falling off! Falling, I say! Peeeeelliiinnnggg!!!

Okay, well, maybe just the skin on my tattoo area. I went from the very-tender-recently-tattooed skin to the scabby-skin-falling-off tattooed skin. Which I guess is good - it means I'm healing really quickly. But the downside is - I AM ITCHING SOOOOO BAD!!! Every time I touch my back, I can feel the scabs peeling off and all I want to do is rip them off and scratch like a maniac. But like every tattooed person knows, I....MUST...NOT....SCRATCH. Otherwise I risk damaging my tattoo. And I wouldn't want that. But I'm dying! I NEED to scratch, people! NEED IT! ARGH!

Okay, that's enough complaints for today. Toodles for now.

Tattoo: Day Two

I am utterly exhausted. My head feels like it was rolling and rocking and swinging like mad yesterday, and now it hurts just to move it. My whole back is sore, as are my arms and legs. Which is all rather confusing, because I just got my back tattooed - not my ENTIRE body. But I guess I may have traumatized myself more than I thought. I have been unsuccessfully trying to wake up - I've been up and about, but every time I sit down for a second, I fall asleep. So I'm seriously contemplating giving up and just sleeping for the rest of the day. I figure my body probably needs it anyway. Well, just updating you all - toodles for now!

Tattoo Picture: UPDATED

All right - still looks a little shiny from the camera flash, but you get a better idea. BTW, my skin is NOT that white - it's the camera flash.

Drumdroll, please!

I'm officially NOT a virgin anymore. A tattoo virgin, that is. I had my appointment moved up from the 9th to today, and at about 2:40 I received my first official tattoo.

Yay! Me excited!

So, for those of you curious about the procedure, I will let you know the gorey details. Mwahahahahaha.

So, I get there at 12 on the dot. Nervous - well, just a little. After reading tons and tons of stories from tattoo "survivors", I was pretty sure that I needed a few essentials - namely, a blankie, something to entertain me (in this case, a Zombie book), and some juice and snacks to keep me from fainting. And my credit card, of course.

My tattoo artist, David (who owns his own shop - Ink Lab), let me look over the drawing again and talked about the colors with me. Afterwards, he set up his workstation and brought me in. While pondering what comfy clothes to wear yesterday, I eventually came to the conclusion that I'd have to take my shirt off. Fortunately, I didn't have to - he just rolled it up and taped it. So I could preserve my dignity. Yay.

So far, I was feeling pretty good. A little nervous, but reading the book helped me chill out. And then..... I heard the buzzing of the tattoo gun. That's the part when my heart decided to pack its bags and jump out my mouth. But as soon as the gun turned off, I was back to "chill" mode.

Finally he gets ink on the gun and starts the first line. Wow. Just, wow. I mean, I won't say it didn't hurt - for a moment, I wondered if I could really take three hours of this, but as soon as he moved the gun away from my skin, the pain stopped instantly. The first few lines hurt, and the longer he kept the needles in my skin, the more it hurt - and just when I couldn't take any more, he'd stop and move on to another place. Soon, thankfully, my back sorta numbed and only a few lines really hurt. So many people have tried describing how it feels like - let me tell you: it feels like needles being jammed into your skin. THAT'S how it feels like. Well, okay - most of the time I guess I could compare it to a bee sting. A repetitive, LONG bee sting. Sometimes it felt like he was digging REALLY deeply into my skin, but maybe it was just that particular area being very sensitive.

So two hours later, there I sat, reading my zombie book and chilling. Despite the fact that it lasted for nearly three hours, it didn't feel that long. Time passed rather quickly. I didn't complain, say anything, grimace, ask for breaks, or basically anything. I was the perfect client. Now, that may sound rather childish, but people, give me a break! This is my first tattoo, and it took nearly 3 hours to get done - so I get to gloat and rub it in people's faces, darnit! The last half hour or so hurt a lot more - I think the numbness went away, and by this time, my skin had been run over with the needles so many times it was very tender - so I felt every line. It hurt. I got to the point where I had to ask, "Um, how far along are we?" To which he replied, "Oh, we're done." DOUBLE yay! So he put a bandaid on (a LARGE one), taped me up, and sent me on my way (well, after paying, of course).

So now I'm sitting at home watching the Golden Girls and trying to figure out a way to fall asleep with touching my back. All in all, it was a great experience - I've always wanted a tattoo since I knew what they were, and this step has helped me feel more free to experiment with more in the future. I can't post pictures right now, because I'm taped up for the next four hours, but I will post pictures later today or tomorrow.

In conclusion, getting the tattoo hurt, but not unbearably so, and I think that if you really want to get one, go ahead and don't worry about the pain. Although I would suggest getting something smaller than what I did - just because having your first tattoo sitting be three hours long is kinda intense. And avoid the spine. Everyone says it hurts - and they're right. But like I said before, if you really want it, the pain shouldn't be what stops you - it's bearable.

So toodles, until later!

Back!

Well, I know I haven't blogged in a bit. Thanksgiving was nice - we took the pugger children up to a friend's, who happens to have two wiener dogs (Kudo and Bozo) and one sheepdog (Kayla). The wiener dogs are grumpy old little bastards, who hate all dogs. But the sheepdog is still young, and freakin' LOVES "herding" - I say "herding" because she has the instinct, but no idea how to really DO it. Babs spent a blissful two weeks with Kayla earlier this year, and they became best buds. This was the first time she met Celeste, and let me tell you - despite being a puppy, Celly is quite the character. After a short introduction, Celeste decided she was the Master of the Universe, and began chasing Kayla, Babs, and the wiener dogs. Then she jumped on top of them and chewed on their ears. And when they decided to go get a drink of water, she bawled and screamed until they came back. Bossy little kid.

So that was my Thanksgiving. Then I came home and worked on stuff and vegged out on the couch re-watching The Incredibles and The Iron Giant (both awesome movies).

But that's really not the best news of the past week - the BEST news is that I've finally gone and found a great tattoo artist, given him my idea for a tattoo, waited for him to draw it up, and scheduled a date for the tattoo (Dec the 9th). This really has happened over the course of two months (he was booked until early Nov) - but we talked early in Nov, and he drew up the tattoo on Monday. I've been reading BME (Body Modification Ezine) for MONTHS, reading stories of what to look for in good artists, what to expect, people's experiences, and it's really helped me a lot in my whole tattoo experience. I read a LOT of stories where the tattoo artist drew up the tattoo, and the client took one look at it and fell in love. Now, because people are so unique, I figured that this would probably not be the case in my situation, which is fine. My artist made it clear that he'd be more than happy to modify his drawing until I was satisfied with it. So when I went in Monday, I was ready to say, "Um, I want this changed, and this, and this....."

But guess what? He pulls out the sheet, I take one look, and go...... "OMG! It's.....perfect!" It was honestly the most gorgeous design I've ever seen. I couldn't even begin to think of any cons -all I could do was stare at it and go, "I want it on me NOW, NOW, NOW!"

Now, I chose something that a lot of girls get - flowers. But not just any flowers - I chose three different types of orchids, which will be lined up vertically on my back. When I picked out the orchids, I couldn't imagine how he'd be able to do them justice, and just from seeing a lot of flower tattoos online, I've noticed that most aren't really all that pretty and delicate. They're usually just a clump of basic colors, and that's not what I want. But now - NOW I know that my tattoo artist is really talented, and knows exactly what I want. So, yay! Yay! The only downside to this is that the tattoo is going to take about 3 hours to complete (in one sitting), and I'm going to blow quite a big wad of money on it. The 3 hours bothers me more than the money - I'm willing to pay as much as necessary to ensure that the tattoo is as perfect as possible (after all, it will be on my body forever). But I'm a HUGE wussy when it comes to pain, and I have a feeling I'll be in utter torture for those three hours - the tattoo is going to be directly over my spine, and I've heard the spine area is VERY painful. But, oh well. What can I do? I'm more than willing to endure 3 hours. So I will. And when it's done, I'll post pictures for you all to see.

Classic Sesame Street - I LUUVV Grover.

The Utterly Perfect Car! Watch until the end or die!

The Battle Of The Turn Signal

Okay, perhaps I should explain. A few months ago, a bridge collapsed (remember the 35W bridge in Minneapolis? Yep, that was it) - it was only a few blocks away from my school, and that's what everyone used to get home during rush hour. Unfortunately, once the bridge collapsed, that route was wiped out - and it's not as if you can rebuild a bridge of that size in a few days. So traffic was rerouted to the street right beside my school.

Now, my daily route to school uses that street - however, right when I get to the school, I have to perform a left turn to get to my parking ramp that's RIGHT THERE. Which means that every time I drive to school, I face BAZILLIONS of cars coming the opposite way. Normally, this would not faze me. After all, my stop light has a left turn light. Well, it did. Until the bridge collapsed. Then whoever controls traffic lights decided that, "Hey! Let's turn the left turning light off! I mean, no one ever uses it! We just put it there years ago because we felt like it! Whoo-hoo!" (note my sarcasm). So now I have BAZILLIONS of cars cutting me off from making that VERY IMPORTANT turn. And I wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. Every single day, I wait at least 3 stop light cycles, if not more, in the morning when I get to school. Then when I leave for dinner and come back around 5, I wait ANOTHER 3 stop light cycles. And let me tell you - having to do this EVERY SINGLE DAY for months has slowly been driving me B-A-N-A-N-A-S. There's a left turning light RIGHT THERE, installed, ready for use, but NO ONE TURNS IT ON. So finally I snapped last week and sent in a complaint to the city telling them that it is IMPOSSIBLE to make a left turn during rush hour traffic, and it is MOST frustrating.

They sent an email back saying that their investigation would take 5 days.

I thought, "Cool", and then went and played with my pugs.

Today I'm driving to school, and see car lights shining like little firefly butts waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyy into the distance. Oh, crap, not again. So I get to my stop light, and get ready to wait a good 10 minutes before I can turn. Then, to my utter shock, I see a little green arrow pointing to the left. An arrow, people! AN ARROW! My turning light! It's there! So before the mirage disappears, I turned and parked in my ramp.

Then I got out, screamed, "I WIN, RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC!!!!! KISS MY ASS, SUCKERS!!!" and start into Barry Manilow's "It's A Miracle".... "a true blue spectacle, a miracle come true". Well, maybe I didn't say it out loud, but my MIND was screaming it. And that's all that matters.

Babar's Masseuse

My pugs are retarded.

Yes, they are retarded. I just don't understand them. Today I went to Target to get some stuff to clean the bathtub (God, don't you HATE it when you clean it and scrub and clean and spray and 2 days later, it's begun to get all grimy again? Bathtubs are evil, I tell ya.), and I passed the dog section and couldn't resist. So I bought them these rawhide things which they LOVE to carry around all day and chew on. Along with some puppy biscuits for Celeste (she had run out), and a toy called Tuff Tugs (two handles on opposite sides, tug of war... you get the idea).

So I get home, and I give one rawhide to Celeste and another one to Babar. Celeste's mouth isn't big enough YET to bite down on the rawhide, but she can nibble on it if she puts her paws on top to hold it down. Babar grabs his and runs away.

I turn around and start the put the groceries away, when I hear growling and barking. I turn, and see that Babar has abandoned the rawhide I gave him and is growling at Celeste, who's nibbling away at hers. I grab his, show it to him, put it near his mouth, and he latches onto it and runs away again.

I get back to the kitchen, but before long I hear a high-pitched yipping. That's definitely not Babar. I get back to the pugs and I see that Celeste has abandoned her rawhide and is yipping at Babar to get HIS. I grab her and show her HER rawhide, and she grumbles and goes away with it.

I go BACK to the kitchen, when soon enough, I hear growling. I go back and see Babar swipe Celeste's rawhide from her mouth, and then run and hide in their mutually-shared doghouse. I peek inside and see him staring at me, all grumbly-looking, as if to say, "WHAT?! It's MINE! All mine now. That bitch better not bother me again."

Geez! These pugs drive me insane. And as I write this, they've decided to both settle at my feet and eat their rawhides. And Celeste just tried to steal his. He nearly bit her nose off in defense. Ugh. It's just like me and my sister when we were 6. Blah.

TPing my house.... lovely....

Surprisingly, it isn't bratty high school kids that toilet papered my house THIS year - no, it was someone near and dear to me. I should probably set up the scenario for you all:

1. I'm in the kitchen, chilling with The Babs, checking some stuff out on my computer (specifically where to buy a frying pan with a frackin' cover. I can NEVER find a frying pan with a cover....).

(NOTE: You pug owners out there know what the Pugtona is. For those of you that don't, it's when your pug goes insane from happiness or ADD or something, and begins to run around in circles like Hell is trying to bite their tail.)

2. I have just installed a brand-new toilet paper roll in the OPEN bathroom.

3. You know where this is going, don't you?

4. Celeste is nowhere to be seen.

5. Suddenly I see this flash of black streaking across the kitchen floor with a trail of white behind it. It takes me a second to figure out that it's Celeste, and then another second to figure out that that lovely, perfectly white, perfectly cut white trail is my toilet paper roll. By this time, she's circled the kitchen table and headed back towards the bathroom.

6. Telling a crazed pug to stop and drop the TP doesn't work. She just looks at you with eyes that you could swear are turning around in circles. And keeps on running.

7. So yes. My house was TPed. Celeste performed the Pugtona for the first time ever. Hmm, well, at least I know she's a real pug.

My dogs ate my homework

Or rather, my dogs ate my credit card and driver's license. I found the tattered remains of the credit card, but the driver's license is gone. Who knows where - although I strongly suspect Babar's tummy. Little bastards. I spent all morning calling the bank to issue a new card and sitting with 50 other people waiting for my number to be called so I could get another copy of my license issued. Again, little bastards. It's a good thing I only carry my license and credit card in my purse - Babs was able to pull it off the kitchen counter (part of the handle thingy was dangling over the edge) and then they had a nice feast of the-things-that-allow-me-to-leave-this-house-and-escape-these-evil-creatures. You know, it must all be a monstrous planned hatched by the Babster - so that I can't drive or buy anything, thereby being stuck in the house with them - FOREVER! Mwahahahahaha..... okay, I'm getting a little carried away here. But it's a possibility. Mebbe. I think I'm too hungry - my stomach is eating my brain.
Anyway, more videos to come - pictures too. I'm just too lazy to get them off my camera and into the laptop. So toodles for now!

Pug Video: Celeste getting snacks!

Idea! Please comply - please?! Please?!

Okay, well, I was thinking - my readers are all female, and being female, we are especially attuned to what is beautiful and what is not. So what I propose is you all (me included) do a post on what men and/or women would force you to throw yourselves at their feet and go, "I'm available! Do me please! Please! Please!" Pictures are not a must, but would be very very welcome. There's no limit, but I'm personally only doing my top 6. I guess I'll start this madness, so here's my list of beautiful men/women. In no particular order. Tee hee hee....

Raoul Bova - see Under The Tuscan Sun and fall in love...

Djimon Hounsou - CK underwear model and actor...

Olivier Martinez - stunning in Unfaithful and The Horseman on the Roof

Travis Fimmel - CK model and failed actor. I still think he's yummy.

Monica Bellucci - the perfect example of Italian beauty

Angelina Jolie - some say she's trashy, I still think she's gorgeous.

Updated Update - With pics this time!

Update!

Well, after being reminded of my woeful absence at Blogger by dear Cinnkitty, I've come back with an update. I don't have any pictures - sorry, the puggers just don't sit still for a minute anymore - but I've got a short video that'll hopefully let you see a little bit of how the babies are getting along. The first few days, I was a bit worried, since Babar seemed rather miffed at the fact that there was a new pug in the house - but he's come around, really rather quickly, and now they can't be separated. If I take one out of the room, the other sits at the door and cries until they're united. I think it's a little bit of affection and greed - one can't have what the other doesn't. They're just adorable.
As for Celeste's potty accidents, I'm taking it in stride I guess. Babar was worse, not because of his accidents, but because my house was not as pug-proof as it is today. So it's much easier to clean up these days. The BF isn't too happy about waking up to a few little brown balls lying around the living room, but then, he isn't too happy about any dog that lives inside the house. I don't give a crap. They're mine, I paid about $1000 for them (not including vet fees, food, and other things), and I keep them alive - so shut it, Mr. He does have a soft spot for Babs, though - they're buddies, the only men in a household of messy women (well, women being me and Celeste). But anyway, this video is just a little sample of what happens between Babar and Celeste every...single...day. Like I said, they just don't stay still for a minute anymore. Unless I catch them at 5 in the morning snoring like fat, balding men in their bed. Also, this is what Babar would do with ME until he finally found a better replacement in Celeste - of course, I wouldn't bark back. :) I think he prefers Celeste.

Pure bliss.

I'm sitting here, researching cases for my schoolwork, with a snoring pug on my left and a snoring pug on my right. Can I ask for more perfection?

My babies, my sweet sweet babies...

I got the batteries today, and here are two pictures of my babies. The fat one and the rat one. Tee hee hee....

She's HERE!!!!!!!!

And I can't wait to escape these two little monsters! Oh, my - wow. This is gonna be a rather rambling post, so get ready. It was an eventful Friday. The good thing is that she's 11 weeks old, so she's got personality - lots and lots of personality. So it's kinda like having 2 full grown pugs around the house. Except one is so tiny I could crush her if I accidentally stepped on her (I had a nightmare about that last night). And she's a TOTAL cuddler and kisser - something Babar is NOT at all. Yay! I'm excited. Yesterday she kept on falling asleep while cuddled up in my neck. Awww, she's adorable. She also wants to be picked up ALL the time. She follows me everywhere and tries to climb up my legs. Of course I give in and pick her up. I'm a total pushover. The BF's a little disappointed - he had hoped there wouldn't be TWO Mama's Dogs around here - but alas, his wishes were dashed. Babar is a little jealous - he keeps on stealing her bed and toys, and wants to eat her food. It was nearly impossible to feed them both last night - I kept on grabbing him and dragging him away from her food bowl while she ate. Then I gave them both a little ice cream as a treat - the thing with the bowls is that they are plastic and very light, so if serious licking is going on, they're going to go in many directions. So Babar is walking all over the kitchen licking his ice cream, and eventually he bumps into Celeste and pushes her away from HER ice cream - then he realizes she's eating ice cream too, and starts eating hers. Fortunately for Celeste, she realizes there's ice cream in Babs dish too - so she just saunters over and starts eating his. Ugh - complete chaos here. Another thing about Babs is that he doesn't realize she's a puppy, so I have to make sure he doesn't jump on her or step on her - I'm scared he'll step on her face and scratch her eyes or something. He also doesn't have any respect for her - the poor baby was sleeping last night, and when Babs realized she wasn't moving, he sat down beside her and started barking in her ear. Little bastard. I had to kick him out of the room so she could nap in peace. So now I'm waking up a bit late - yes, I'm a bad mother, but dammit, it's Saturday! When else can I sleep in late! - and I'm going to wander outside and see if the dogs have killed each other yet. I checked sometime during the night and Babs was squashed into the tiny bed I had bought for Celeste (idiot!), and Celeste was sprawled on Babs big bed. Bleh - I'm never figure out what's wrong with Babs. But I will leave you with some pics the BF took on his cell phone camera last night - they're obviously not the best quality, but they'll do for now until I buy batteries for my actually decent camera. NOTE: She looks HUGE in these pictures, but believe me, she's NOT. She's WAY tinier than the camera makes her seem - after all, the camera does add ten pounds *ha ha ha ha...*

Tomorrow, tomorrow!!!!

I'm getting my pugger! *In singsong "Tomorrow" from Annie voice*

Yes, SOOOOOOOOOO excited. For a while, I kinda forgot that she was coming home - I mean, a week is so long! Well, when I want something. I can barely wait a day. Instant gratification rocks purple striped socks. Yes, I know - I make no sense. I'm half asleep and I hate the class I'm currently sitting in, and I can't find anything to entertain me. So I'm blogging about my new pug. Celeste - ah, Celeste. Is that really a hard name to pronounce? Because I've had at least 2 people fumble it up. I guess for me it's easier, because being a Spanish speaker since I was a baby, Celeste is strikingly similar to the word "celeste" in Spanish, which means heavenly and light blue. And you pronounce it pretty much the same - except in Spanish you add a little "eh" after the Celeste part. And that's your Spanish lesson for today. Tee hee hee hee...

And now I leave you with one of my favorite new comics - Sheldon. The fella owns a pug and sometimes sketches up comic or two on how it is like to live with a dog without brains. Ha ha ha...

Me Sad. Me Need Hugs.

Why am I sad, you may ask? Well.......... Celeste isn't coming home this Friday. Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's so sad. So sad. The poor girl, well actually the entire litter, got the runs a few days ago, and now they've been sentenced to stay at home for another 8 days while taking antibiotics. So I won't get my baby girl until NEXT Friday. Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I don't think I can wait. Ahhh, the puppy breath!!! The puppy breath is calling me........ it says, "Come Jane! Come get me! Come smell me! I'm utterly irresistable!" And I agree. *sniffle*

I want my pug. NOW.

T Minus 5 Days...

And counting! In five days, my life with be altered forever. I shall have...another PUG! I know, you all know this, but I just can't help myself. Another pug! Another pug! Yay! Yay! Double yay! AND it's a puppy! I love puppies. I love puppy breath. I love how they fall asleep in the crook of your neck. I love how they waddle around like little duckies and trip all the time. They're just too damn cute. Okay, that's enough. I've been working on the computer for too long - I'm going a little zany. I should go get myself a brownie with a scoop of butter pecan now. Toodles!

The Ultimate Dessert

Here's the recipe for the tastiest, low calorie dessert EVER:

1 little box of fresh raspberries

1 little bottle of good honey

Put raspberries on a plate. Pour honey on the side. Pick up raspberry and dip in honey. Put in mouth. Enjoy!

Ahhhh........

(I bought some today as a romantic snack for the bf and I. He left to keep watch on the Jamaican election - I stayed home, watched Flash Gordon and ate the entire box. That's what happens when you leave me alone at home with dessert and don't padlock the fridge.)

Pug babies and MORE pug babies!

Well, I'm back home in my lovely tiny apartment, and I'm definitely overdue on a post. So here it is.

After enduring a not-so-bad plane ride home (as I get older, I start to hate the discomfort of plane rides more and more), we drove to pick up my pug baby and see what he was up to. Now, I should probably let you know that we left him with some family friends who happen to have 3 dogs, one of which is the Energizer Bunny in disguise. I swear, that dog does NOT have an OFF button. And Babar is sorta like that, except for the fact that he's overweight, so he eventually gets tired and dozes it off for a bit. Now, I knew that they'd get along great, but I didn't suspect the extent of her influence on him. So we open the door, and out runs this skinny little rodent that somewhat resembles a pug - my first thought being, "OMFG! They killed my pug and replaced him with this rat!" But alas, it really was my baby boy (minus what I lovingly term his "baby fat"). I'd only been gone for a bit more than 2 weeks, and he's lost more weight than I've been able to this entire summer (and believe me, that's another story that will be told). It was that damn Energizer Bunny dog's fault - even the Boyfriend remarked, "That's not a PUG! Where's all the fat?!" So, alas, it's time for a chicken/ham/meat only diet from now on - to get him back to his glorious puffy state. :)

And that was on Friday.

On Tuesday, I went and fell in love with my new baby, Celeste. Like I've mentioned before, I'm getting a pal for the Pug, a girl this time, and her name MUST be Celeste (Babar & Celeste - the old Babar the Elephant stories? Look it up.) And I'd finally been invited by the breeder to come down and pick out my girl (and put down the deposit, of course). So I went with the Boyfriend and the Pug, to hopefully see whether he prefers one. There were only two girls, but...oh my...I fell in love with the first one handed to me. She was just so precious - I picked her up and she covered my face with kisses and wagged her tail so hard her butt was moving from side to side. I...MUST...HAVE...HER. To hell with Babar's wishes. Now, Babar has been changed forever by his time with the Energizer Bunny - he now believes that all dogs like to play and chase him around and play-bite his legs and ears. So when they don't, he gets miffed and starts barking his discontent. So when he saw that the other girl puppy wasn't quite interested in chasing him around, he started whining. So I put down MY girl and she immediately proceeds to chase him around the living room. Ah, it was meant to be. I was so delighted that I had to stop myself from grabbing her and running out the door, screaming, "Mine!! My precious!! Mine!" And the puppy breath? I LOVE the puppy breath. I've reminded the Boyfriend to NEVER EVER EVER let me breed any dog - I will not let ANY of the puppies leave the house. And then we'll end up with 50 dogs running around and I'll be labelled the crazy dog lady. And we don't want that.
So yes, we paid the deposit and decided to pick her up the 14th of September - just two days after my birthday. She'll be my little present. I can't wait! I've gotten used to the whole puppy housebreaking thing, and the house is more than pug proofed, so it shouldn't be a problem this time. I feel like dancing around and shaking my booty to Peaches & Herb's "Shake Your Groove Thing". Couldn't take any pictures - well, we did, but they ended up all fuzzy because the babies were running around too quickly. Oh, well. Next time. :)

Back...in the USA

Soooo, yes. I'm back. In Miami. With broadband internet access at 30%. Meaning this post might not even go up. Just wanted to let you know I'm alive, and I loved Ecuador. I got tummy sick my last day, but considering the food I was eating, I'm shocked it didn't happen before. But I'm better now. I'm posting one pic for you - ever since I was six years old, this has been a family tradition. We eat at this little dirty restaurant (we bring our own utensils - that's how dirty it is), and then we go outside and shoot gum. Makes for fun childhood memories.

Vacation Time!

Okay, I'm taking two minutes here to let you all know that I'll be leaving for vacation tomorrow and won't be back until the 23rd of this month. I will not have internet access (well, reliable internet access), so there will most likely not be any posts. However, I'll catch you all up when I return. Sorry for not commenting on your blogs lately - I've tried to keep up, but this week has been Crazy Central for me. Today I've been running around like my butt has flames on it, trying to get everything packed and bought and stored and cleaned. I hate the whole process that happens the days before (or day before) a trip - although I'm always glad I managed to clean the house a LITTLE when I get back. Nothing is as bad as coming home to a messy, smelly apartment.
Regardless, I'm still only half done, and I have a little work to finish (as in, job work, not clean work) - so I'd better get back to it. For those of you wondering, I (and the bf) will be in Quito, Ecuador for the next two weeks (where some of my family lives), and then I'm flying to Miami to visit the bf's family. So yay - I love vacations. Way more than I should. Toodles, all!

Poor Ol' Sensitive Me.

Due to my troubles with sleeping these weeks, I've been up exploring new sites and reading about things online - and today I spent some time going over success stories for my local pug rescue group. Some of the background stories of rescued pugs are so sad - I honestly cannot begin to comprehend how anyone could be so cruel to an animal. Especially one as sweet and loving as a pug. Just thinking about the things these poor fellas go through brings tears to my eyes, and yet I realize that this is not even the tip of the iceberg for the immense animal cruelty that occurs every day in our world. That's one of the reasons why I'm a vegetarian - I can't possibly enjoy the taste of animals when I know most of them were treated inhumanely from birth until death. Many people tell me that it's not a big deal - it's just an animal that can't feel or rationalize like us, and therefore, we as the superior species at the top of the food chain, are allowed to do whatever we wish. And I know that animals can't suffer to the degree a human could, but they do feel, and they do suffer to whatever extent their species is capable of. I can't help but put myself in their place, and ask whether I still wish visit the local KFC knowing what I know. And the answer is, no, I don't. I'm not one of those crazy PETA people - I don't hate, or even judge, people who buy mass-produced, cheap chicken over organic, farm raised. I understand that a lot of us just can't afford to pay the difference, and some of us don't even have a choice (at least, my old tiny town in Michigan certainly didn't know the meaning of the word "organic"). However, thankfully I have a choice, and I do my best to remember that my choices impact the world around me, and I can decide whether it's for better or worse. I'm hardly perfect - I'm utterly horrible at recycling, I take baths regularly and don't feel a smidgen of guilt over wasted water, and I can't give up ice cream even if I was threatened with prolonged death. But I try, and really, when it comes down to it, it's not what you accomplish that matters, but your mindframe and your eagerness to be a better person. At least, that's what I believe. All right, I'm done ranting for now, and I'll try to get myself a bit of sleep. Tomorrow I'm getting my hair cut and having a waxing session, so I'm beyond excited. Short hair, here I come!

My Little Celeste

It's here! It's finally here! My first picture of my new pug baby, Celeste. Not that I can actually SEE her in this adorable bundle of pug bodies, but she's there - somewhere. There were two girls, and six boys - this picture was taken right after the babies were born. Yay! Just wanted to share it with you.

Cold...so very cold...

Today is Babar's last checkup at the vet - from this day forward, he's no longer a puppy. He's an adult pug. Well, at least that's what my vet wants me to believe, so I can spend another $300 on the adult plan this year, since he already convinced me to spend $200 on the puppy plan last year. So the poor pug was bundled up, tossed in the car, and handed over to the vet's receptionist. During it all, he was wagging his tail like it was motor-powered, and licking everyone in sight. Poor pup - doesn't know what's in store for him. Now I've returned home to a empty apartment...so dark...so QUIET. I'm lonely. Although I may oftentimes wish my pug was 100 miles away, especially when he gets into one of his moods and wants to chew my fingers to the bone, and then munch those down his throat.... but when he's gone, I miss the little bastard. Why? I don't know. Perhaps I'm a sadomasochist. Or mebbe I just love that darn dog too much for my own good. He's also a great entertainer. He's got such an expressive face, so even the slightest little movement says volumes - I laugh myself silly sometimes. Lately he's taken to acting even more like a spoiled child - he's realized that he can tug on my pants or dress to get my attention, and the little monster does it ALL THE FRACKING TIME. I look at him and I see his little brain spouting, "Mommy?! Mommy?! MOMMY!? Attention!! Give me attention! I am the center of this universe!! Attention!! Attention!!" He's also developed his own little form of language - he rarely barks, and almost never at me, but he will go from grumbling, to whining, to short little yips, depending on what he wants. It's almost endearing, but not quite because it annoys the hell out of me. Unless he's doing it to someone else. Then I just laugh my pants off. Oh, well. Enough of this pug talk - I've got work to do, and I'd better get to it. Ciao!

Tattoo Advice Requested

Hello, my dear readers. 'Tis three AM and I can't sleep. Again. I should probably head over to the pharmacy and take out my sleeping aid prescription - I've finally succumbed to the fact that I need it. Desperately. Anyway, that's not why I'm writing - well, not mainly, anyway. You see, I want to get a tattoo - it would be my first, and I want something that's really special (doesn't everyone say that?). A few months ago, I was determined to get a cartoon pug on my lower back, but I decided that although I adore my pug, the actual picture that was gonna get carved into my back wasn't something I was emotionally attached to. So I thought...and I thought...and I thought. I came to the conclusion that I don't want anything with someone's name, regardless of their closeness to me, because...well...I just don't. I also thought about symbols that might represent something about me, but those just seemed rather pretentious and I gave that up too. What I've really been looking for is something to express my young-child-in-Neverland side. The hope I have that no matter how old I get, I don't lose my wonder and naivete that I had as a child (and still do to some degree). So I figured what else but a picture of a cartoon that I loved as a kid? So here are my three choices - Gus, from Disney's Cinderella; Mr. Toad, from The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad; and last, Betty Boop.

Now I probably should add that although I adored Gus and Mr. Toad, I didn't watch Betty Boop on a regular basis. However, when I was younger, I was frequently compared to Betty Boop due to my "delicate look". So there you have it - my top three picks of characters that had meaning to me as a kid. I'm thinking of getting it on my shoulder or lower back, and I would love to have it done before I go on vacation in August. And why am I sharing this with you? Because I just can't decide! I'm leaning towards Gus and Mr. Toad, but then I look at Betty and her legs... so, in short, I need your help! I know my reader-base is quite limited, but I would LOVE to have any input whatsoever. And if there are any readers out there who've never commented, comment! PLEASE! I know whichever I get, I won't regret it, and it'll probably be the first of a few more to come (I've always loved tattoos), so give me your best shot, and I'll definitely take it into consideration. Toodle-pip!

Anxiety sucks ass.

It really does. You see, like I explained a few posts ago, I'm a naturally anxious person - probably because I've always been a pessimist, so I think of everything that could go wrong, and that makes my blood pressure skyrocket and often makes me unable to concentrate on anything other than those worrywart voices in my head. Lately I've been having troubles falling asleep, and I stay awake for hours hearing my brain rush through all the things I have to do, and all the things I haven't done, and my future, and my past, and everything I've done wrong recently, and everything that could go wrong in the future.... ack! It drives me insane - and I just can't seem to quiet my brain. I try to distract myself by doing something else, but unless it's something that requires major mental or physical strength, I still hear those little voices in the back of my head stressing me out. And at some point, the voices turn into this hard lump in my chest, a feeling similar to dread, that stays with me all day long and far into the night. I've been having troubles concentrating on work lately due to this craziness, and due to unexpected circumstances, I've horribly behind on some projects, which just doubles my anxiety and makes me even less effective. Ugh. I need a vacation. But since it's quite possible my planned vacation for August is going to fall through (ugh, that's a whole 'nother can of worms that's keeping me awake at night), that's probably not going to happen. I should probably take up yoga or something.
Which reminds me, I always thought the whole meditation-relaxation-stress-relief thing was a joke, and that anyone could just sit cross legged and breathe deeply and relax for 10 minutes or so. HA! I was so so very wrong. In my desperation, I'm tried to just relax - calm myself - focus on breathing - picture the air coming in and out... but after 2 seconds of it, the voices rush back in and start screaming even louder to be heard. Damn, that meditation stuff is hard. I really don't know what to do - I guess part of writing this post was to vent (I apologize for having so many "venting" posts lately), but also to maybe get your advice. Anyone have any ideas on how to shut those godawful little voices???? I'm desperate here. Well, not nearly so, but I'm getting there. School will start in a month, and I cannot be in this state when I start. It will not bode well for my studying. Well, it's very late, much later than my normal bedtime, but I can't sleep (I bet you can't guess why...). But I'll do my best or lay in bed with my eyes closed until morning. Whichever comes first. :)

Ah...travels.

Well, today I've been looking at tickets for international flights and pictures of some of my old trips beyond the sunny lands of good ol' US of A. I've been trying to calculate how many countries I've visited, and whether some "count" as having visited or not. I've always felt somewhat guilty labeling places I've stepped foot on for an hour or so as somewhere I've "visited". So it's now up to you, dear readers, to let me know if they count or not. I shall abide by your wishes. Here's a list of places by category.

Places I've stayed at longer than 24 hours:
Sweden
Norway
Denmark
The Netherlands
France
Switzerland
Czech Republic
Austria
Hungary
Croatia
Italy
Greece
Spain
Portugal
England
Canada
Brazil
Ecuador
Mexico
Jamaica

Places I've stayed at less than 24 hours:
Slovakia
Costa Rica
Argentina
Paraguay

Places I've used the bathroom at:
Germany
Belgium
Panama

Now it's your turn to vote and decide - and if any of you have visited any of these places, I'd LOVE to hear your opinion about it or your experiences. I'm a travel junkie (as must be evident by now), so I love listening to anything related to traveling. Toodles!

Bleh.

So I took my car to be checked out - I found a really nice, HONEST mechanic who went through everything and realized that I'm going to need major changes. This is an OLD car with lots and lots of mileage, so I figured this day would come sooner or later, but I was hoping it wouldn't until next year, when I graduate and get a new car. But alas. So it seems I'm be spending $300 on fixing it (just parts) and begging my dad to come from Michigan and fix it for me (otherwise I'd be spending over $800 to fix it at the mechanic - and he reduced his prices). So bleh.
Family issues are still around, but it seems like it'll all blow over if they cooperate. Which I've strongly advised them to do. But still - I'm normally a very anxious person, and when it comes to my family's problems, I cannot manage to stop worrying until I know the problem has been cleared up. Having depression doesn't help either - usually my medication is more than enough for me to float through a normal day, but if I have big problems, I find it impossible to sleep and spend the rest of the day with little voices in my head describing the worst possible scenario that could happen. It drives me insane.
Ick. Okay, that's enough depressing talk for now. I did hear good news today, though. I'm currently in the process of buying a black pug puppy, who should be ready to come home around September. Today I got word that she was finally born - the mommy popped out EIGHT puggies. Eight! That's a ridiculously huge amount for a pug. Six boys and two girls. And one of those girls will be mine soon. Yay! I'm so excited - I can't wait to have another little pugger running around the house terrorizing all the ants. I should be getting pictures sometime this week, and when I do, I'll post them up. I've heard some people say that they just don't like pugs - but as you will discover soon, pug puppies are just ridiculously adorable. You can't NOT like a pug puppy. Maybe a pug dog. But NOT a pug puppy.
All right - time to go to bed. I promise I'll devote more time to blogging - I've just been horribly busy this week. Toodles!

Worst Day Ever

July the 8th, 2007 hates me. Hates me with a passion.

Let me explain.

Today I wake up feeling sick. I run to work to drop off my timesheet to get paid, and I effectively lock myself out of the house. So I can't get back in, or crawl through any window because they're all closed. On the way to school, my engine starts overheating and the "Check Oil" sign turns on. So I check and realize there's got to be a leak somewhere with the engine oil AND the coolant, since I had recently replaced both. So yay. I go to school, drop off my timesheet, and manage to break down into embarrassing tears in front of my two bosses while asking them for legal advice regarding a BIG problem my family just got into (which only happened because my dad was angry at my mom and wanted to do something to get back at her - and yes, they don't get along much and probably will divorce sooner than later). So I head back home and start calling locksmiths everywhere to come help - I find someone nearby who promises to drop by and open my door for $60. He comes, looks, can't manage to open the door easily, and eventually ends up charging me $90. I'm currently nearly broke, so that's a big hit to my bank account. I finally get inside the house and The Pug is really pissed off at me and starts biting my toes and tugging at my dress, prompting me to trip and smash my toes really hard into a cabinet. Now they're hurting like a mofo.

So I sit here in my room, hurting, tired, pissed off, and I STILL need to call around to figure out this whole legal mess my parents have gotten into. God, I HATE my life sometimes.

P.S. I know this isn't at all entertaining, but I really needed to get it out of my system.

Happy 4th!

Well, it's come around - the 4th of July. And I'm sitting here, roasting my ass off in the sun, and keeping an eye on the stray pug who's running up and down the beach like a maniac. Where, you might ask, am I? I'm cold chillin' with my homies up at Duluth, MN. It was The Boyfriend's tradition, and now it's OUR tradition, to go up and spend some time with friends by Lake Superior. And this is the first time the pug has tagged along - and let me tell you, he absolutely LOVES it. He's been carried into the lake, waves rolling and crashing over him (well, waves to him. Ripples to us.)and let loose to run around with other dogs. Then he tried to dig a hole to China. And was promptly distracted by people walking by. Or a bug crawling along. Or oxygen. He's just an easily distracted pug. Then he got my nice clothes all dirty, tore wounds into my feet while digging in the sand, and pooped in the water. All in all, a fun day for him. I've been rather entertained as well, and I can't tell you know nice it feels to not have any responsibilities or things to do right now. It's so relaxing. Now I wish I could fall asleep on the couch, but unfortunately, gotta keep an eye on the pug. So it's off to catch him before he scares a baby. Toodles, and hope you have a nice Independence Day too!

And this one too.

Okay, okay, I promise this is the last one! Promise! But seriously, look at those dancer girls - soooo "attractive". Unfortunately, nowadays we have beautiful dancers and horrible songs.

But in my defense...

I'm also currently obsessed with this song as well. It's such a mix of corniness and utter genius. I can't help myself.

There's something wrong with me...

For liking Rihanna's latest single, "Umbrella". I've already taken the oath never to like highly publicized singles (or at least, ignore them until they sink into obscurity) - but I just can't help myself. I find my eyes oogling Rihanna's legs as she dances in the video. You MUST watch the video - turn off the sound if you like, but watch her body move. Amazing. Is it evil of me to wish I could rip out her brain and put mine in there instead? Being short and stunt-ish isn't fair.

Odd.

I don't exactly know how to begin this post, since I'm still rather confused by the subject matter, but I guess I might as well just jump into it: I think I saw a dead person.

Now, I probably didn't, and I hope that our society hasn't become so jaded and uninterested in their fellow man that they didn't leave a dead body to rot in the sun all morning.... but I could have sworn he was dead.

Perhaps I should make myself clearer: The Boyfriend and I are driving around town this morning (10ish, probably), and we pass a busy intersection, which has a couple park benches in random spots for people to sit on. And as we pass one bench, I see this bare-chested man wearing dirty jeans, arms spread out and head tilted back. His eyes were closed, and it seemed like he had just been given a knock-out punch and had fallen back onto the bench unconscious. I would have assumed he was a homeless drunk who'd fallen asleep on the bench, if it weren't for the fact that his arms and neck were covered in what seemed to be drying blood - you could see droplets of blood sliding down as far as his abdomen. He seemed eerily still, and I couldn't detect his chest rising or falling. So, to my mind, that seems to point to all signs that he's dead - or quite injured.

I tell The Boyfriend, who didn't see it, and doesn't seem to be too worried, but we've already passed him and I don't even know whether to call in and report it. So I don't. I assume if he WAS hurt or dead, people would have noticed already, since he's sitting in the middle of such a busy intersection - but maybe everybody's like me. Maybe everybody assumes someone else will take care of it, and walk on by. Now I feel guilty about not stopping or calling someone, and I'll keep my eyes posted on the local news just in case.

Maybe it was nothing, but when a man is covered in blood, you should stop and try to help, dammit. I hate society and myself for becoming so skeptical sometimes.

Pug & Pug LLC

You know those cheesy commercials that come on at 2 AM on Lifetime? The ones that say, "Hello! Are you hurt? Have you been injured in an accident? You may be eligible for damages, up to $1,000,000 dollars! If you want to find out more, call us at 1-888-I'M-GONNA-STEAL-YOUR-MONEY!"

Yeah, those. You know those. So I'm chatting with The Boyfriend tonight, and I'm discussing my overwhelming urge to parachute into the Amazon jungle and live off bananas and roots for the next five years - adopting a little monkey who I eventually name Yoko, who fathers a whole family I dub "Yokonites".

And he says I'm being impractical and unreasonable, to which I heartily agree (but when am I really ever reasonable? It's no fun to be reasonable). But I still insist he should take long vacations with me, feeding the Yokonites and feasting on crushed roots. Unfortunately, The Boyfriend has other things on his agenda. Things like, for example, working for the Public Defender's Office. Which is all well and good until you realize that a beginning attorney earns 1 vacation hour per week. WEEK - yes, I said week. Which, according to my sloppy calculations means he'd have to work for about 3 1/2 years before he could take a week off for vacation. What kind of retarded system is that?!

So, in shock and desperation, I order him to cease and desist all Public Defender activities and come join me and my side of The Force. Or rather, my own little private practice I'll set up when I graduate law school (the reason being cuz no one will hire me and my bad bad grades). I plan to name it Pug & Pug LLC (you know, Keller & Keller, Brown & Brown, blah blah blah). Our commercial jingle will be: "Is your dog in trouble? Has he been injured in an accident? Has your dog suffered discrimination? Has he eaten too many chicken wings? We can help! Call our offices of Pug & Pug LLC, at 1-800-PUG. We'll be waiting!" We'll even have a little V-Dub Beetle painted in brown with a speaker fixed on top that utters loud doggy barks every 10 minutes. It'll be awesome.

Ogley-Eyes

I went to the gym this week. Like the week before. And the week before. I've discovered, much to my delight, that the upstairs portion of the gym is almost always empty, and I can run from machine to machine in manic delight at the sheer available-ness of it all. So this week I was upstairs, pouring salty beads of sweat, and doing my best guppy fish impression while drinking from my water bottle.

And in comes someone to ruin my lovely I'm-all-by-myself Zen mode. The fella plops down on the floor and starts doing those crazy pushups you perform with 2 fingers or something. I'd never try that - they'd snap off in protest. So I'm chillin', doing my StairMaster, glancing at the clock every 2 seconds to see if I've progressed beyond my current 3 minutes of a rather lame-ass sissy workout.

And reading, of course. Every so often, I raid the Bargain section of the local Borders or Barnes and Nobles, looking for something that looks completely unintelligent and has someone being killed or stabbed or stalked or farted on. Hey, I can only concentrate so much while bicycling vigorously and swatting my tendrils of nosy hair back in place. I need brain-dead material to entertain me. Otherwise I will grow to hate the gym, and I will balloon up into an ungainly and rather unattractive 300 pounds.

So I'm reading, and stepping, and swatting hair, and drinking water. And sneaking little glances at my workout "buddy", rather jealous that he's lifting 100 pound weights in each hand like they're sticks of butter. And then I notice something that boggles my mind to this minute: my buddy is glancing at me, smiling that "you're kinda cute, do you think I'm cute too" smile, and winking every so often. I'm absolutely flabbergasted.

Now, perhaps I should explain. I understand, and have been told by some people, that I'm somewhat attractive. And this usually happens when I'm wearing the most expensive dress I own, the tallest shoes in my closet, and a bit of makeup. I've looked at myself in the morning after getting out of bed, and let me tell you, the sight is not pretty. Now, I'm one of those people that will get dressed up for everything - I'll wear a dress to go shopping for groceries. But the one thing I absolutely refuse to dress up for is the gym. In fact, I have subconsciously made it my utmost priority to look my absolute worst when I go the gym. Probably because my gym clothes look like they were made in the 70s, and I'm sweating like a pig.

So, back to the story, I'm puzzled that this fella is making ogley-eyes at me. Me, the girl in the old sweatpants and faded ugly t-shirt. The girl who's hair is pinned up, but looks strikingly similar to a volcano that's about to erupt. The girl who's face is as red as a tomato - no, make that an eggplant. Yes, I was purple from exhaustion. The man must be going delusional from all those 2-finger pushups. Or those He-Man weights. Or maybe he's crazy. Scenes from Psycho and the music from Jaws pop into my head and I grab my little towel, draping it over my shoulder like a mini-shield, and make a dash for the stairs. Once safely in my car, I realized perhaps he just has a fetish for eggplants in ugly sweats. That's probably it.

And since I wrote nothing about the pug in this entry, I shall let you all know: he's safe, he's snoring, and he's still the spawn of Satan.

Yoga!

Lately I've been thinking that maybe I should stop being a overweight slob and actually go out and do some exercise. As well as cut back on the gallons of ice cream consumed daily.

It's been going pretty good, and this week I decided to pick up a book about yoga. I've always been interested in limbering up (hell, I'd be happy just being able to do the splits), and I've heard yoga is great for that - so yoga book bought at Borders, brought home, quickly scanned while steaming broccoli, and forgotten until a more convenient time.

Today I got back from the gym sweaty and feeling like my tummy was carrying around one of those giant water cooler jugs (probably due to my over-enthusiastic consumption of water at the gym). I call out to my pug, with the usual greeting of, "Good evening, my child" (in a sinister Dracula-ish voice. I don't know why.) He jumps all over, snorts, farts and looks at his behind as if to say, "Huh? Wasn't me. Swear." and does all those other lovely pug things. I spot the yoga book lying forlornly on the kitchen counter, and decide to try it out.

So I pick the book up, read a little, lay down on the floor, and start my yoga routine. Ahh, the corpse position. Close my eyes...breathe in....and out....and in...and OUCH! I open my eyes. DevilSpawn is sitting on my chest, his little tail wagging like a torpedo, panting very very close to my face. Granted, I'm sweaty and smelly and all, but I still don't like being slobbered by a dog that eats chicken every day (hey, I'm a vegetarian. I cry for each chicken killed unnecessarily. But I get blackmailed into buying chicken every week for the pug. He's an evil mastermind, I'm telling you.) So I pick up the pug, put him far away, and return to my yoga maneuverings. Now, I'm sure if I had a Golden Retriever, or a Doberman, or a Keeshond, or even a Chihuahua, the dog would eventually tire of my antics and leave me be. However, that is NOT the case with a pug. My personal theory is that pug brains are so small, that they can only receive and remember a certain amount of information - therefore, what was newly discovered and memorized 2 seconds ago, has been erased by now. Which equals a very curious pug that never shuts up or leaves you alone. Let me tell you, that session was short. VERY, VERY short. Every time I moved a limb or finger, the pug would be there to put it in his mouth or slobber on it. And if I wanted to lie really still and concentrate, he'd make sure that I become an obstacle course, where he'd jump from my left side to my right side, usually falling on my chest in the process. Just lovely. I have a feeling he got more exercise done than I did.

And that was the end of my first try at yoga. I think I'll have to close the door next time.

Perfect Description

At long last, I've found the true meaning for the pug breed:

Pugs: They're like owning an incredibly dumb "Evel Knievel"

*Snort-and-roll-over-from-intense-laughter*

But I must give credit where credit is due (read it! read it!)

And of course, the bestest explanation for pug anatomy EVER.

Swollen Face = Heart Attack for Pug Mom

This morning I wake up to a nice and bright day, full of opportunities to go to work and earn a living. I go outside, grab my pug, swing him around in the air while yelling, "Good mornin'!" - and then shriek in horror. My pug, lovely pug that he is, has a big face full of wrinkles. Today his face has doubled in size, and I detect a red undertone beneath his fur. I glance at the clock - 9:05. I've got 15 minutes to get to work. But work smork - my baby is in trouble! I don my Pug Mom cape and pack up the dog, rush to the car, and drive like a madwoman to the hospital.

Not to worry, says the jolly ol' doc. It's just an allergic reaction to something - we don't know what, but heck, he probably won't go into anaphylactic shock. Somehow, I'm not reassured. After a shot or two, I wait with the pug. And wait. And wait. The pug looks at me with red little eyes that seem to say, "Moooommm? Mooomm? You're overreacting, Mom. I'm bored, Mom. I wanna eat. Food, Mom! Foooood!"

Finally we're given the OK to go home, and we pack it up and leave. Of course, the hospital's number is on my speed dial in case the pug bloats up again like a balloon. We get home, I nearly cry from relief that his face has gone down to it's normal, un-football like state. I feel him half a chicken, he wags his little tail in greedy devotion to the Almighty Chicken, and then plops down on his bed and snores away. I stare at him. He's wiggling around in contented slumber, and my pulse is still beating away like a jackhammer. I think I worry enough for the both of us.

Pug Sugar High = Bad for Pug Mom

For all you pug owners out there, let me give you one tip from a very sleep deprived Pug Mom: NEVER give your pug too much ice cream. You WILL regret it.


Let me start by saying that my pug is rather quiet most of the time. Yes, he whines and moans and groans at me, but he almost never barks inside the house for barking's sake. He only barks when he senses someone at the door. So, at least with my pug, I've never known what it is like to hear him bark on and on and on for hours at a time. Thank God.


Last night, I'm feeling rather sorry for my pug, who's watching me eat some vanilla ice cream with sad mopey "how dare you not feed me, you fat thing, you" eyes. I decide it wouldn't kill him to have a scoop of ice cream, so I bring out the ice cream carton and start scooping something out. To my dismay, a large (think larger than humans should eat at one time) scoop flies out of the carton and lands on the floor. Babar immediately attacks it. Although slightly concerned at the magnitude of the scoop, I figure he'll be all right, and head to bed.


After falling blissfully asleep, I am awoken by a bark. And then another bark. And then another. And another. My first thought: "Someone's at the door." Which is scary when I live all alone in a basement apartment, and it's dark outside (hey, it doesn't take much to scare me). So I wait to see if there's a knock, but nothing happens. So after some hesitation, I roll over and fall back asleep. I am woken, seemingly seconds later, by another string of frenzied barking from DevilSpawn. Again I think someone's at the door... but no, false alarm. I roll over again and try to fall back asleep. Woken again by barking. Try to fall back asleep. Woken AGAIN by barking. Try to fall back asleep. Rinse and repeat. My body eventually decided it wasn't going to wake up fully each time the dog barked, and while in a semi-catatonic state, I could hear myself scream, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Evil pug! Shut up!"

I wake up at 1 in the morning. Complete silence. My little heart clenches up and I think, "Noooo.... my pug has died from over-barking!" I know - my brain works rather oddly during the early morning hours. I slog my way out of bed, and peek out the door. The pug is lying on his bed, content and asleep, snoring away. I fall back into my bed and curse ice cream. Never again will I listen to those mopey eyes.

The Attack of the Chihweiler

This morning I was late to work. Why, you ask? Because my good ol' landlord decided to put up my apartment for sale a few months ago, and ever since, I've been barraged with visits from the realtor's office at random, usually inconvenient, times of the day. Today it was from 11:30 to 12:30.

So I'm at home, doors open, house cleaned, sitting on my bum waiting for people to drop by so I can finally leave for work. The DevilSpawn is running around outside in the patio, attacking the dragonflies buzzing around.

All is well.

Then the Pug starts screaming bloody murder. Usually, this happens when he sees a human walking by - he can't help himself. I believe his thinking pattern is: "Person! Person! Play! Play! Person! Play!" Being rather entranced playing Tetris, I ignored the bum.

Then I heard it. It was a weird barking sound, a combination between Rottweiler and Chihuahua. It started with a deep growl and progressed into a high pitched “rarrf!” I couldn’t think of any dogs that lived nearby, so I popped my head out the door to see what it was. There is my pug, staring at a little boy, maybe 4 or 5 years old, who’s on the stairs leading down to my apartment. And he’s nearly down on his hands and knees, doggy-style. And barking. At my pug. I swear upon coconut ice cream, DevilSpawn turns to look at me, cocks his head to the side, as if to say, “What in all the blazing eff is that?!”

I could have died laughing.

The little boy, not to be discouraged, ups the volume of his barking. Babar looks at him for a second silently, probably wondering whether he should stoop to that level – then barks back in reply. For the next 5 minutes while the kid’s parents toured my apartment, I could hear: Pug bark, pause for kid bark, kid barks, dog barks in response, kid barks again, dog barks. And repeat.

Just loverly.


P.S. On a side note, I want to live in Denmark. Desperately.

20 Things About Pug Mom

After long thought, I decided this blog belongs to me, Pug Mom, just as much as Babar. Therefore, I'm allowed to blog about myself from time to time. I hope. And I figured a "20 Things About Me..." list would be an easy way to start. So here goes.

1. I'm addicted to ice cream. My stomach starts eating itself alive if I don't get a scoop once a day.
2. I'm half Mexican, half Ecuadorian. But I've lived in good ol' US of A all my life.
3. I used to change my diapers when I was a toddler. I kid you not.
4. I start drooling when I think of asparagus.
5. I love having my feet kissed. Not massaged, KISSED.
6. I bite my tongue and cheeks every single night when I'm asleep. I've gotten used to seeing the pools of blood on my pillow when I wake up.
7. When I was very little kid, I thought my caramel skin color was just dirt, and if I scrubbed hard enough with a loofah, it would turn white like my friends'. Boy was I wrong.
8. I once actually thought Justin Timberlakes hair from the N*Sync days was hot. Shortly afterwards, I saw the light and shivered in disgust.
9. If it's a kid movie in CGI, I will go watch it.
10. The first time I thought I fell in love, I felt nauseous, lightheaded, and feverish all day. Turns out it wasn't love - just bad food.
11. I'm a sucker for baths. I also yearn for the day when bathrooms will be encased within soundproof walls.
12. I'm scared of my pug.
13. Although I love trying different foods, I can't stand lots of spicy-ness. It might have something to do with that bowl of guacamole in 1995 with large chunks of extra-extra-extra hot chili floating around, that somehow managed to end up in my spoon, and 2 seconds later, my mouth.
14. I'm a law student. But I'm not evil. Don't hate me.
15. My first kiss was with fella from the Navy in Rome. Rome, Italy. On the escalator at the Termini subway station.
16. I love having my back kissed. Not massaged, KISSED. And scratched too.
17. I have a bottomless tummy. If I feel full, I just need to wait 5 minutes, and I'm ready for another meal. It's rather bothersome when you're trying to lose 20 pounds.
18. I make feline animal sounds at random moments of the day to express different emotions. I once barked at my boyfriend. I'm not crazy, believe me.
19. I love Vincent Cassel - and I don't know why. I don't think he's a great actor, I don't think he's attractive. Maybe because he's married to Monica Bellucci, my ultimate lesbian dream date.
20. I think anacondas and boas are beautiful creatures.