Category Archives: random



I work from home on Tuesdays and Fridays this summer (as opposed to Fridays only) and the good part of it I that it is one less day I have to worry about getting the kids picked up since I don’t get home in time. And being able to sleep in (until 6:30 – I never thought I’d see the day when 6:30 was sleeping in). But the bad part is that working from home on Tuesday makes me think it’s Friday. Which is So! Totally! Awesome! for a brief, fleeting moment when I’m all, “Yay! Friday!!), but then I remember that it’s only stupid Tuesday and the horror and disappointment of it all sends me reeling and crashing to the floor in fits and tears of agony. Or maybe I just say, Dammit! It’s only Tuesday?? Oh, MAN!


I had the pleasure of being on the basement last night while an entire herd of wildebeests and the entire cast of every production of 42nd Street in history were upstairs. And by an entire herd of wildebeests and the entire cast of every production of 42nd Street in history, I mean mr b, the dog and both cats (the kids were in bed). And let me just tell you – I have a whole new appreciation of Trolls (the bridge kind, not the internet kind). Because if that Troll that met up with the Billy Goats Gruff had to listen to that all the time, I can’t blame him for being kind of a douche. If the damned goats weren’t always clomping around overhead all day, he would have been cool – maybe asked them in for a lime-aid or something. BUT NO!


Something bad happened on the way down to the beach and I don’t want to talk about it. But I have to, so I can move on. Because something ran out in front of us & I couldn’t swerve. And there was a thunk. The thunk of something you don’t want getting thunked. I am very sad about this.


At the beach, the girl wandered into her aunts’ hotel room and picked up my (very petite) aunt’s bra and said, “Whoa – this is a tiny person’s bra. With tiny boobs.”


This time of year gets me in the gut a little. I miss being with my kids in the summer. I want to be able to romp and frolic with them for 3 months. I really wish I could afford to be off all summer long. I considered being a teacher for a while, but I was attracted merely to the schedule. Because can you imagine me as a teacher. ME?



I mean, really. burghbaby alone would have a damned contest pickem charity thing going on to guess which would happen and when: Crying, Losing My Shit, Calling a Kid an Asshole, Walking Out, Throwing Something at the Principal – on a – Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday.

Maybe I should go back and do it – for the kids.


I’m getting excited about vacation! In less than 2 weeks, I’ll be looking at this:

Thursday Thirteen: Random


How about a Thursday Thirteen, since I’m all full of random thoughts and can’t seem to focus? Okay? Good. So…Thirteen Random Things:

1. I have come to realize that geocaching is my favorite hobby. I used to say reading, but I’ve decided that reading isn’t a hobby, it’s like breathing. So now, it’s geocaching. Big deal, right? Well, considering that it is something that is done in the woods, it IS a big deal. Don’t get me wrong – I love the woods. As a child, I never hesitated to go running off to explore. But then I grew up and became aware of all the scary woods-things. Like spiders. And bears. And HIM. Who is HIM, you ask? Well, HIM is the psycho killer who is in the woods and wants to chop me up into tiny pieces. I know it’s not rational, but it’s always right there at the edge of my consciousness. Yes, in fact camping with me is a delight.

2. I was at the self-scanner at Giant Eagle the other day and I noticed an employee looking at me funny. Then I realized I that the heated argument I was having with the stupid machine was not in my head, but out loud. I can’t help it – I always argue with those self-scanner machines. They are all a) stupid, b) incompetent, and c) trying to start a fight with me. Please tell me you argue with them too.

3. Also on my shit list? “Please take your ticket with you” parking garage machines.

4. And since I’m on a what’s pissing me off roll, let’s talk about the Share the Road signs. I would be happy to share the road with bicycles. It’s the douchebags riding the bicycles that I have a hard time with. Stop means “Stop,” not “Stop, except for the delightful gentleman on the bike.” I’m going to feel bad when I run you over, but it will be your own damned fault.

5. Aaaaaaand, speaking of stop signs, there are a few simple rules that the entire Asshole Traffic Brigade needs to learn: 1) STOP, 2) Just because you stopped when the guy in front of you was at the stop sign – it doesn’t count as YOUR stop!” 3) See the stop sign? The one you just drove six feet past, through the crosswalk and into the intersection? That is where you’re supposed to stop, assclown.

6. My grammar isn’t perfect, and I know it. And yet I really wish facebook had a red pen option. Because while I understand that words like participle and transitive and subjunctive can make anyone’s head spin, seeing some of the shit that people write make my head catch on fire and explode. Also? Spellcheck!

7. The Girl received an academic award at the school board meeting this week. It started at 7:30 and we were expecting to be out of there in time to see Lost at 9:00. I nearly cried when we pulled into the huge parking lot and saw it completely filled up. Turns out there were about 220 awards to pass out. Each child was given a small paper to fill out their activities and hobbies, to be used in their introduction. Had everyone filled them out like we did, with a couple of activities and a couple of hobbies, it would have moved a lot more quickly. However, some of these parents seemed to think that their kids were receiving a Nobel prize and instead turned in a biography. I am totally not exaggerating when I say that there were many that went like this:

“Our next student is Miffy Schmuffkin. Miffy’s hobbies include playing outside, playing in her room, playing with her dolls, jumping up and down, going to the park with Pap, swinging on the swings, baking brownies with Grandma, running around in circles, playing beauty shop and making Mommy and Grammy beautiful, playing with her pets – her dogs Spot and Rover, and her cats Puffy and Fluffy and her seven goldfish and two hamsters Thing 1 and Thing 2, watching movies, watching TV, digging holes in the yard, watching Daddy cut grass, raking leaves, Helping Mommy inn the kitchen, taking walks with the dogs, taking walks without the dogs, playing with her little brother, talking on the phone, going shopping with Mommy, Aunt Judy and Aunt Lisa, having sleepovers with her friends, visiting with her cousins, coloring, reading books with Uncle Bob, riding her bike, flying kites, going on vacation, building sandcastles, going to Build-A-Bear, bungee jumping at the mall when she goes shopping with Mommy, making paper airplanes, singing in the car with her Hannah Montana cd, and eating ice cream.”


Needless to say, we left early. I felt a little bad, until I talked to The Girl’s teacher who said her son was up next and when he was done, she was leaving, too. I don’t know how long it went, but we stayed for an hour and they only made it through two grades. There were four more to go.

8. I need a sitter this weekend and I hate finding a sitter. I hate asking people to watch my kids. I mean HATE it. Almost to the point of not wanting to go out to avoid it. I don’t know why, I’m just crazy.

9. A teacher in Alabama was teaching his class geometry and to help them learn about angles, he used the scenario of assassinating the president. You know, I am having a very hard time with the fact that this kind of behavior is escalating and is somehow acceptable.

10. Her dad is as awesome as she is.

11. Being broke sucks. Hard. Whoever said “Money can’t buy happiness” was a douche. I am guessing it was either 1) some poor slob trying to make themselves feel better bout being poor, 2) some unhappy rich person who didn’t know how to properly use their money, or 3) some happy rich person feeling guilty and trying to convince themselves that their happiness wasn’t related to their money. Because while money can’t buy actual happiness, it could buy me a lot of things that would make me happy, like no debt, a nice house, cars that don’t suck, time off to be with my family, a personal chef, and vacations. So suck it stupid quote person.

12. OK- time for some vanity: You know what bugs me the most about getting old (other than the bitchslap of mortality)? No – it’s not the gray hair, or the weight, or the dumbassery. It’s the lashes. I never in my life wore mascara – I had long, thick lashes. People always commented on them. No one could believe that I wasn’t wearing any mascara. And suddenly in the past year or so, I started wearing mascara. I started because I was using powder shadow, and it would drop on my lashes, so they needed mascara for the color. But now I realize that I need it regardless. They are still longer and thicker than many people’s (I mean – I can’t wear some glasses because they bend my lashes), but they aren’t the same as they were in my youth and it pisses me off. I don’t know where this burst of vanity is coming from – I am not generally a vain person. Seriously – I wouldn’t even color my hair if not for walking into my BFF’s salon and having her say, Oh HELL no and throwing color on me. I guess it’s because my eyelashes were always “my thing?” I don’t know. But regardless? Aging is a fucker.

13. Today was The Girl’s kindergarten end-of-year program. Somehow the end of kindergarten is hitting me harder than the beginning. My baby is growing up. Hold me.

Random Crap


Patience may be a virtue, but it is a virtue that I have never quite managed to master. Case in point: This morning, I got in the car and my windshield was frosted over. The wipers didn’t help and being decidedly impatient, waiting five minutes for the defroster to do its job just wasn’t an option (in my head). Also not my strong suit? Resisting the allure of blaming mr b for things. I was using mr b’s car today. And a couple of months ago, I had bought some de-icer wiper fluid about for both cars. I took care of mine, but he failed to fill his. And somehow the entire bottle has turned up missing. I know! So anyway, clearly, this was ALL HIS FAULT.

So I’m all irritated, blaming him, looking for something to scrape the windshield, which I can’t find because we don’t have an actual scraper (see: de-icer), and we no longer have cd cases in the car (which work great) since it’s mp3 capable. And even though a couple of minutes had passed and it wouldn’t be long before the defroster did its thing, I COULD! NOT! WAIT! So I did what any calm, patient, totally not-crazy person would do – I opened the door and stood next to the windshield, grabbed an old chik-fil-a cup filled with melted ice and coke from the cup holder and THREW IT on the windshield.

Did I mention that I had the wipers on? Yes – in my irrational fury over the stupid frosty windshield, I failed to see what a terrible idea this was. I figured it out just as 20 ounces of stale, watery Coke Zero hit me in the face, hair, shirt, coat, and went down inside my sleeves. The little that stayed on the windshield immediately froze and made things worse than when I started. So five minutes turned into ten. This was also clearly mr b’s fault.

Man, I am SUCH a catch.


I read recently about some study that showed that when people find an old love, they don’t really care how they look – that when the feelings are strong, you remember the person that they used to be and it overshadows the person they are now. That would explain why I still feel nostalgic for a few old flames, despite the fact that they all seem to look like K-Fed now.
It doesn’t, however, explain why the holy hell all my old boyfriends look like K-Fed now. I imagine that it says something about me, but I’m not sure I want to know what exactly.


Here’s a little known tip to help you be a good friend: Always have an embarrassing story on hand.

No, really. When something particularly humiliating happens to your friend in your presence, help them out by sharing something even more humiliating that you have experienced.

I save my Pooped in a Bag story for just this purpose.


How is it that no one has killed that hatemongering cocksucker Fred Phelps yet? I mean, really. It’s not that I’m wishing for his death (though it wouldn’t upset me), I am just amazed that someone as vile as he is still walking around spreading his crazy and NO ONE HAS KILLED HIM! If the Supreme Court rules that he has a right to do what he does, I swear, when someone finally does kill him, I am totally getting a group of people together, renting a bus, and showing up at his funeral with the biggest, billboard-sized picket signs all depicting HARD CORE GAY PORN. Who’s with me?


The girl sat in the bathtub last night, singing her head off. She is always singing – pop songs, country songs, Grateful Dead songs, kid songs, songs of her own creation – so it took me a few minutes to hear what song it was. It was a song about how she is “A ten year old woman.”


Oh, and in addition to being a Ten Year Old Woman, she is also apparently Cinderella. She works and works and has to do everything and no one even likes her and why can’t people get her what she wants RIGHT NOW and Oh My God, she just cleaned her room like, two weeks ago – why does she have to do it AGAIN and why am I forcing the HORROR of (her previously favorite) jammies on her when I know that anything other than her Jonas Brothers nightgown will surely KILL HER!


I saw a headline today that said, “Wine may be good for women’s waistlines.” I clearly don’t drink enough. I’m going to get started on that right away.

Random Tuesday


This a crazy busy week. We have parades, and a birthday and trick or treat and parties and I can’t think straight. So it’s all random nonsense today


I’m in computer hell. Remember when I came home from vacation in August to a completely infected laptop? Well, I still haven’t gotten that fixed. Mainly because mr b is laid off and we can’t afford it, but also because I have my work laptop that I take home every night, so I haven’t been without a computer. Until yesterday, when I went home, turned it on and…nothing. I NEED A NERF COMPUTER!


The girl and the boy will both be in the Halloween parade on Wednesday. The boy with the marching band and the girl with her baton group. The marching band dress up in costume for the parade and the boy will be dressing as a hippie. I should probably be embarrassed to tell you that his costume consists of my clothes. As in, actual clothes that I actually wear. From one of my tie-dye shirts and my hand-painted Grateful Dead jean jacket to my fringe-y, suede footwear. I’m a fashion icon. Hey – at least the little round orange-lens Lennon glasses are only replicas of ones I used to wear. Baby steps, people.


The girl’s baton group will be wearing sweatsuits, since it’s too cold for their normal marching uniforms. A couple of weeks ago, they passed around a paper to take orders. A blank piece of paper, where they asked what size you needed. So, I put down a 5 pants and a 6 top. Well, apparently, they ordered them and discovered that the sizes were a little different, so instead of letting us know and decide what size we wanted, they made the choice for us. So the girl had a 6-8 top and a 2-4 pants. Awesome. I don’t understand why in the blue fuck they didn’t check out the company’s sizing chart first, and then have us choose from those, instead of just passing around a blank paper and saying, write down the size. Admittedly, a 6-8 would be too big in the pants (the shirt is fine), but I could have altered them. Instead, the 2-4 are short. Luckily, they have a giant rise and while they won’t be floods, they’ll hang down like harem pants. Hammer Time! Plus – the 2-4s didn’t come in red, so the few girls who ended up with that size will be in white instead of red. Why, oh why are people SO FUCKING STUPID?


My aunt and cousin were in from Virginia recently and my other aunt decided to have an early birthday cake for the girl and another cousin while they were here. Among other presents, the girl got a gift card and some cash. While my boy and the little birthday boy were playing with one of his new toys – something loud and annoying – they decided to focus their annoying on the girl. She started to get mad and came into the kitchen and said, “Mom, Brother is being mean. I don’t have to share my gift card and money with him, do I?” I told her that they were hers and she most certainly didn’t have to share them. This made her happy and she marched back into the bedroom to inform him that he gets nothing. Of course, they boy didn’t care and continued to annoy her until a few minutes later when she came back into the kitchen with an evil gleam in her eye and in the sweetest voice asked me, “Mom, when we go shopping with my gift card and money, can brother come?” Sure, baby. “Good. I want him to come and watch while I spend it and HE GETS NOTHING!!!” Ahh….Grasshopper, I have taught you well.


Finally, in camera news – I tried another lens on my camera and it worked, so it looks like the camera body is fine and I just need to replace the lens. Thank God! Also? Excuse to upgrade my lens! Yay!

When I was growing up, my dad always had good cameras and he taught me to use them young. As soon as I could hold a camera, I had one of my own, but I had access to my dad’s Nikon, telephoto lenses, external flashes, tripods, etc, whenever I wanted. I learned about f-stops and light meters before I learned my multiplication tables. So I wanted to do the same with my own kids.

Both of them have their own cameras, but I let them use mine whenever they want (in my presence, of course). The boy has a whole shelf of ribbons and trophies from photography contests, and has even won at the regional level. So, naturally, now that the girl is old enough, she wants to participate, too. I have been taking her out and letting her photograph whatever she wants. People often see her using that big camera and chuckle, thinking she’s just playing. Or they express disbelief that I am letting her. I have had people ask me why I let her use my good camera like that.

Well, here’s why:











Random Shit


I keep trying to post something, but I am leaving for vacation on Friday and all the NOT PACKING is taking up all my free time. Sheesh.

Yesterday was a shitty day. Busy and yet unproductive at work. Discovering that my recent broke-osity can in fact, get worse. Hearing about an old (yet young) family friend tragically and unexpectedly died – the most recent in a lot of tragedies within this poor family. The shooting in Bridgeville. I need some upbeat.

Sadly, I have nothing of any consequence to write about. So I’ll regale you (haha) with random topics I have come across in conversation or blogs recently.

Tackiest invitation I ever received: I got an invitation to a baby shower (2nd child) that included a paper listing gift suggestions for the mom (not a registry, mind you – a handwritten list of the top things the mom wants as a gift). First on the list? CASH. Klass-ay!

Ugliest Bridesmaid Dress: I wish I had a photo – really. I mean – I do somewhere, but I have no idea where. Hedge was also in the wedding. I was six months pregnant and Hedge was just a couple of months post-partum, so needless to say, we were not the easiest to fit in bridesmaids gowns. Also – we were hormonal bitches. And we ended up in high neck (horrible for the big-boobed), floor length (awesome for pregnant/new mom clumsiness), pink chiffon. And they had a matching pick chiffon scarf that we had to wrap around our necks and let dangle to the floor behind us. Recipe for disaster. We tried to talk her into letting us wear them like a wrap, to cover our “Hi Helens,” but she wouldn’t go for it. In retrospect, it wasn’t that the dresses were bad – it was the dresses on our pre- and post-partum bodies that was bad..

“High Helens,” you ask? Flabby arms. My SIL coined the term because when they were kids, they had a neighbor named Helen with really flabby, swing-y arms. And when they saw her, they’d yell “Hi Helen” and she’d wave back, flabby arms swinging.
Bitchiest bride: An in-law cousin. Her wedding was lovely (very classy and very clearly expensive) – we had a great time. But I ran into her about a month afterward, and I told her how wonderful it was and she snapped, “No – it was ruined!” I asked what she was talking about and she replied, “The DJ! He ruined the wedding!” I was surprised, because everyone thought he was wonderful and actually made the wedding. And then she said it: “He ate his dinner at the DJ stand! I mean – are you kidding me? He was supposed to eat in the hall WITH THE HELP!!!”

Best concert I’ve been to: This is a hard one. The Buddy Guy show a few months ago was pretty damned good. And I’ve had a blast at a lot of Dead shows. And drinking moonshine with some hillbillies at U2 was something. Civic Arena roof open at CSN and Boston – awesome. My first concert was Shaun Cassidy at the height of my girlhood crush. Ditto for Andy Gibb – second row. Watching Hedge superfly from the stage at a concert is one of my favorite memories. Pink Floyd. Roger Waters. But if I had to go on the overall concert experience, I’d narrow it to two. One would be Farm Aid ‘02 at Star Lake (post-gazette, whatever). This was the most crowded concert I have ever been to at that venue. People shoulder to shoulder, which I hate. But damn! it was an amazing show – great, diverse music and a ton of fun. The other is a weird one. Not a concert that I would have bought tickets for – I got them free from a relative, or I never would have even considered going. Ringo Starr and his All-Star band. Also at Star Lake – it was fantastic. The “All-Star Band” was made up of an assortment of musicians (Dr. John, Joe Walsh, Billy Preston, Levon Helm, Garth Hudson, Rick Danko, Nils Lofgren, Clarence Clemons and Jim Keltner.), and they just went around the circle playing songs that each of them had helped make famous. And it was weirdly awesome.

Worst concert: There are three. One was a Neil Young concert when he was in his metal/feedback stage and he had both Sonic Youth and Social Distortion open for him. By the time he came on, I had a raging, and couldn’t enjoy it. Even without the headache, I wouldn’t have loved it – it was just too loud and ear-piercing and awful. The next was CSN/Fleetwood Mac. We had great seats, but CSN seemed only mildly interested and Fleetwood Mac was fake Fleetwood Mac. The last was a Bob Dylan show in ‘88 or so at the Civic Arena. We waited and waited and waited (and waited) for him to take the stage, and when he finally did, he played for less than an hour. It sucked.

TV show I am most looking forward to: It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Funniest show ever. Seriously. I mean, Dexter is running a close second, but IASIP the best. To wit:
You’re welcome.

Biggest Asshole This Week: The douchebag at Giant Eagle, sitting in his truck, talking on his cell with his door wide open, partially blocking the next parking space. The space that I was pulling into. At first, I stopped to let him close it, because surely, he just wasn’t thinking and would be glad to get out of the way, right? No. This asshole just looks at me and keeps talking, dangling his legs out his open door. So I say fuck it and slowly pull in, avoiding his door. All the while, he refuses to close it, and is looking at me and pointing at something in the distance. I got parked (too close to the other line) and got out and he says to me, “You know – there are other spaces you could have taken.” I (being me) replied, “You know – there are other names I could call you but I’m just going to go with douchebag.”

PS. If you didn’t laugh at Kitten Mittens, then I don’t even know who you are anymore.

In a Funk


First off, I have a post up over at my Constance. It’s been such a long time, you’ve probably forgotten all about Constance, haven’t you? If you need a reminder – feel free to comment or email. As this blog becomes more public, I sometimes need the option of having a more personal place to talk.
Anyway – I’m in a bit of a funk. Not sure why exactly, but I think there are a lot of things contributing to it. I’m so much in a funk that I haven’t even been getting mad at the douchebags and assholes. I know – what is up with that??
I love Awesome Company, but I recently was given on endless, ongoing task that I hate and that is making it very hard for me to stay chipper during working hours. It’s weird – I am usually pretty hard to discourage when it comes to work stuff, but this is like some kind of allergy or something. I cringe at the thought. But I work for the best company in the world ever for the best bosses in the world ever and I just need to suck it up and get over it. But it definitely weighs on me and I am sure it’s contributing to the funk.
You know how there are old boyfriends/girlfriends in your past that you still think about? I mean, not that you still want them or anything, but we all play the remember when/what if game – it’s human nature. Well, anyway, I have discovered a couple recently on facebook. One just joined a Sarah Palin love group. Cue needle across record sound. Dreamy, lovesick memories replaced by “EWWWWWWWWW!”.
Oh, and speaking of old boyfriend, I have noticed a disturbing trend of many of my old boyfriends starting to look like K-Fed. I’m not sure what this means, but it can’t be good.
Help get me out of the funk – tell me something funny, make me laugh, ask me a question so I have something to write about. Anything to ward off the funk!!

Random Shit Monday


There was a truck in front of me the other day that had stickers on it that made it look like there were bullets holes all over fake bullet holes all over the tailgate. I truly do not get this. I am just not sure why this guy wants to say to the world, “I am such a huge asshole that someone SHOT AT ME” I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he also had fucking hitch balls. For those of you asking what hitch balls are, here you go. Classy. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I’d be wiling to bet there was a mullet involved. I’ll bet the guy has to beat the ladies of with a stick, because he is clearly quite a catch.


I saw that truck in the drive-thru line at McDonald’s while I was getting some morning caffeine. You know what I really hate? People who blow their horn in the McDonald’s drive-thru line. I understand that you are in a very important hurry, but do you not realize that we have no control over our speed here? The poor guy at the window is just waiting for his McMuffins and there you are, three cars behind him, blowing your goddamned horn. In MY ear. Stop it.


We rented some movies from redbox this weekend, and I have to say, Dear Baby Jesus – thank you for redbox. I am serious – they are cheap, and best of all, I don’t have to deal with the idiot working at the video store. I know netflix is cool, too, but really, if it involves stamps and mailboxes, I will fuck it up. Redbox is much easier for me.

Anyway, we watched Bolt, What Just Happened, and The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. I didn’t expect to like Bolt, but I did. I think I was biased, since two of the main characters were voiced by Miley Cyrus and John Travolta, and I don’t like either one of them. So I was prepared not to like the movie. But it turned out it was pretty damned funny.

I think What Just Happened is one of those movies that is really for Hollywood. Because I think that anyone in the film industry probably found it uproariously funny, but for the rest of us, it was just one inside joke after another. I just didn’t really get it.

**warning, spoiler-y**The Boy in the Striped Pajamas was a weird one for me. I was prepared to love it, but it just kid of missed for me. I liked it most of the way through (for as much as you can like a movie about the holocaust). Other than the fact that the boy from the camp was not only way too robust, but actually had full-on chubby cheeks, it was engaging and somewhat interesting. But the end ruined it for me. I think I was supposed to be heartbroken by it, but I wasn’t. don’t get me wrong, it was sad. But the overall horror of the holocaust is so overwhelming that it is hard to feel sympathy over this one “accidental” death. I mean, I guess that was the whole point of the movie that the holocaust was horrible. But you don’t rally need to kill off an innocent German boy to prove it to me. I know already. Six million dead Jews and 5 million other dead ethnic and religious minorities, disabled people, homosexuals, and free-thinkers (or more) pretty much make it clear without this contrived story that I felt was intended to pull at my heartstrings. It simply didn’t. in fact, although the boy was likable and I felt bad, I still found myself thinking, “well, boo-fucking hoo”

I know that the movie was critically acclaimed, but I just can’t get on board with the rave reviews. I didn’t hate it, I don’t think it was a bad movie, but I just couldn’t help being disappointed in the end (and don’t think I expected a happy ending, because there are none in this subject matter). I broke my own rule and saw the movie without reading the book and that may have made it worse. Reading about the book, I think I would have appreciated the slight differences. The movie, though, left me feeling…I don’t know…weirdly uncaring. Maybe that makes me cold, I don’t know. But Schindler’s List made me cry. Anne Frank: Diary of a Young Girl made me cry. Inheritance made me cry. Forgotten Holocaust made me cry. The Holocaust made me cry. Survival in Auschwitz made me cry. Night made me cry. Every single book I have read on the subject made me cry. Visiting Dachau made me an emotional wreck. But this movie just made me feel manipulated and underestimated.


OK, so now, since I hate to end things on such a heavy note, I will talk about dogs.

When I was cleaning on Friday, I found a few large-ish chunks of black pet hair. Now, having a black dog and cat means that I am always finding hair floating around, sometimes even big tufts and tumbleweeds of it. But these were bigger than normal an I was a little concerned that one of the pets was having some sort of problem. Until Sunday when I saw this:

I know it’s not a great photo, so in case you can’t tell, that is a large chunk of fur missing from the dog’s back. one of several, in fact. Put that together with me being unable to find scissors Saturday and The Girl “helpfully” telling me exactly where they were, and I think we all know what happened here. I guess she has moved on from putting eyeshadow on him.

Also – Puppy! (not mine, just “borrowed” for a little while from Rapunzel)