Puppysitting

Well, this is going to be a short post because I burned the bejeezus out of my palm while cooking dinner tonight and it kind of hurts to type. (Note: do not grab a pan with your bare hand that you just took out of a 450 degree oven.)

But I just had to show you who I spent the day with.  (Should be "whom I spent the day with," I know, but that just sounds awfully pretentious, doesn't it?)

Meet Charlie, my coworker's 15-week old Springer Spaniel.  His mom had to work today and asked if we'd watch him.  UM, YES!

She's lucky she got him back.

Mitch is happy she got him back.*

So, anyway, if you call me tomorrow and I don't answer, it's because I'm at the special doctor getting my uterus filled up like a gumball machine with little puppy embryos.  That's not creepy, right?  More or less creepy than stealing someone else's dog?



*My dog is a territorial asshole.**


**Also, Mitch***, what the hell did this sweet little fat-bellied puppy-breathed cuddle buddy ever do to you?  Nothing, that's what.  If you don't shape up soon, I'm giving all of your bones away.  And Camel, too.


***I know he reads the blog.

Too Much Cuteness for One Post

So, our neighbor across the street was having a yard sale on Saturday.  I thought about going over, but I didn't really want to buy anything and I wasn't up for awkward conversation and I was tired and had a little bit of a wine headache and I preferred to just be nosey from the window.

And while I stood at the window like this. . .  (PS--still wearing that exact same outfit)

I saw that she has a brand new puppy.  A little fat-bellied, puppy-breathed, needle-toothed ball of uber cuteness.  And then I got all flustered and jealous and I wanted to go over and distract her by kicking a skateboard and making it knock stuff over so that I could steal the puppy.  (Someone's been watching a little too much Toy Story.)  But that's a bad idea, because we don't need another dog for lots of reasons and because she would probably figure it out pretty quickly.  Dammit.

So to satiate my puppy yearnings, I dug out some old pictures of my Mitchell.  (I didn't have a digital camera back then, which is probably for the best, because there's just not enough digital memory in the world.  But our new printer has a scanner, so I can share them here now.)

Mitch was a really bad puppy.  Like really really bad.  And he still has days where he drives me and Matt bananas, when he whines and gets in our faces and barks and howls. 

But even during the worst of those moments, I can always think of him like this.

Be still, my uterus! 

 If you don't hear from me for a few days, it's probably because I'm off at some experimental doctor's office getting my uterus filled like a gumball machine with puppy embryos. 

Dogs and Chevys

Guess it's time to buy a truck.



Sorry about the silence around these parts.  It's back to work, back to routine, and back to wearing heels.  My feet hurt and I'm tired and I don't want to ellipt even though it'll make me feel better. 

The good news is that there's a good chance that we are going to win 330 million tonight, so I'll be able to get some more comfortable heels and some liposuction.

In Case You Missed It. . .

It's possible that I'm the last person on earth to see these two videos, but they're both worth watching.

1.  Dogs and snow couldn't be cuter.



2.  Planet Rock.  Caitie called me today to introduce me to this.  Can next year's Christmas card be a video one where Matt and Mitch and I all do this dance?  OR--the new camera (It came today! Happy eeeeeaaak! More on that later.) takes HD video, so maybe I can just make it and post it here for you.

Thanksgiving Recap

My, what a wonderful Thanksgiving we just had.  This year we decided to do a friends Thanksgiving, so we trekked up to Hugh and Cassie's house for the meal.  I was very excited about the trip because we hadn't seen Hugh since July, because I had hosted Thanksgiving for the last six years and was happy to have a break, and because Cassie is the best cook I know in real life.  This year--instead of hosting a bevy of family members--we were in charge of only two things: bringing booze and making pumpkin cheesecake ice cream.

And then I forgot to bring the ice cream maker.  Seriously.  It was the one thing that I was responsible for.  Fortunately, Cassie was making three desserts, so it's not like I ruined the only Thanksgiving dessert like my friend Rachel did that one time.

The visit was delightful.  We talked and laughed and ate, and then we talked and laughed and ate and drank.  And then we drank some more and talked more loudly. 

The meal was the best Thanksgiving meal I'd ever had, and Hugh and Cassie introduced us to my new favorite beverage, the French 75.  (a.k.a. "Danger Drink")

Here's how sublime the visit was--the dogs even got along (which was a first).  They were basically BFFs.

Fletcher and Mitchell protecting the world from joggers and mailmen.

We spent the next day remembering the amazing meal, talking cameras (Hugh has recommended to me a dream camera), eating leftovers, and taking each others' Christmas card photo pictures (What a great time for me to get some kind of poison ivy rash ON MY FACE!  I will be sporting a hat in our pictures.)

Here are way more pictures from the visit than you probably want to see.

Making Us Look Bad: A Post from Mitch

Hey, you guys.  It's me, Mitch.  I know I've been the worst blogger lately.  I've just been so busy lately, what with work and plotting to end mail service for the rest of time.  (DAMN YOU, MAILMAN!)  I promise that I'll come back soon with dog gift ideas and some other holiday-related stuff. 

Anyway, have you seen Jesse?  Basically, he's a dog who's trying to make the rest of us dogs look bad.  I kind of hate him, but I just can't resist his smile.  I want to put my scent on him.



Do you want to put your scent on him, too?

Who Cares What's in Your Bag?

Have you ever seen these "What's in your purse?" blog posts?  I think it's basically what people write about when they're completely out of ideas.  They'll be all, "I carry chapstick and a pen" and then you're supposed to be all "You carry chapstick and a pen?  OMG!  So do I!  We're so much alike!" 

Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame.

I hate those posts so much.  Unless it's a handgun or a puppy, I don't give a shit what's in your purse. 

Likewise, you probably don't care that I cleaned out my school bag yesterday and, among other more boring items, discovered 10 Pilot Precise V Rolling Ball pens and 52 Sharpies.  And that's not a typo.  I had 52 Sharpies in my bag. 

[This picture has nothing to do with anything, really, except that I thought it was funny.]

I like to smell them and I like the colors.  Is that so bad?

A Message from the Future?

Yesterday Matt got an email alerting him about a Facebook message he'd received.  Here's the message.

Okay.  Let's address this.

1. We do not know anybody named John Appleby.
2. We do not know anybody who knows John Appleby.
3. I am not with child.

I am so confused right now.  I mean, Matt and I have been pro-baby for 24 days, which is a record.  Basically, I've been possessed by biology.  It could still go away--school will often do the trick--but so far this year I'm even finding ninth graders adorable.  WHAT HAPPENED?

It's a sickness.

So, here's what I'm thinking.  Maybe John Appleby was writing to Matt from the future, because in a few months they'll become friends.  And in the future I'll go by Amanda instead of Mandy, you know, because of the newfound maturity or something.  That's a reasonable explanation, right?  More reasonable than the idea that perhaps there's someone else out there with Matt's name?

Who Knew New Jersey Was So Nice?

When we were in New York City (which I like to say the way the old ladies did on those old Pace Picante salsa commercials), Matt and I stayed in a one-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side.  It was pretty cool because it was only about six blocks from Central Park, and Matt and I enjoyed being pretend New Yorkers for a couple of days.



And because we had a small (very small!) kitchen in the apartment, we thought it wise to bring a bag of pantry staples.  Matt and I don't normally eat out all that much in our regular life (too expensive and too bad for us), and by Wednesday of last week, day four of vacation, I felt like a big swollen sack of salt and grease because we'd eaten out for almost every meal.  Enter the pantry staples.  I really loved having the kitchen because it allowed us to eat one of our very favorite simple meals, pasta with butter and parmesan cheese, not just once, but twice that day.  So we saved between $80-100, and I found myself one step closer to having my wedding rings fit again.

We had to check out of the apartment on Thursday morning, drive across town (six miles and an hour and a half) to Brooklyn to drop our stuff off at Best Friend's "apartment" before heading to the Mets game.  We returned there after the game, and got to hang out with Best Friend and his good friend Kensie for a couple of hours before leaving the city life.

Let me tell you something about Best Friend.  He's completely in his element in Brooklyn.  He and his friend started their own farm, A Moveable Garden, where they grow organic produce and then sell it to the fancy restaurants around the city.  Best Friend moved to New York and became a farmer.  And he and Kensie, who have been friends for years and years and years, are essentially an old married couple now.  They live together in Kensie's studio space (Kensie is an artist, and is apparently quite good. I know nothing about art.), give each other tattoos when they get bored (Seriously.  Matt says they both look like they go the the funniest, most ironic prison.), and cook amazing meals on a hot plate.  They sleep on cots and don't have air conditioning.  And you know what?  I've never seen them happier. 

(left, Best Friend.  right, Kensie.  I stole this from Best Friend's Facebook.)

And then we left for our next destination, our friend Trina's house in the country in New Jersey.  We decided to leave New York at 5:30 p.m. via the Holland Tunnel, which took approximately 2 hours, after that is was only another hour to Trina's house. I don't know that we'd ever been so happy to see corn fields or to drive on quiet country roads as we were that day.  Trina's house was peaceful and nice, and Missy joined us the next evening.  It was great to just sit around and catch up with old friends. 

And there was Jonas, Trina's 6-month old Chocolate Lab.  Matt and I had been going through dog withdrawal, and we immediately fell in love with Jonas. 

Jonas also has a dog cousin named Toby.  Toby is perhaps the fattest dog I've ever seen in real life.

Both dogs had great personalities (though we were partial to Jonas), and it warmed my heart to be able to cuddle with a pup after a few days without my dogson Mitchell. 

Our time in Jersey was quiet and relaxed, but fun.  We ate cheeseburgers and hot dogs and talked and laughed and played Apples to Apples and basically just enjoyed being reunited with our old friends, Missy and Trina. 

Missy was supposed to introduce us to her new boyfriend Derek, but he was conveniently busy that night (read: she has invented this Derek).  The next day she disappeared for a while, and then showed up at Applebees with a very nice young man who claimed that his name was Derek.  Yeah, okay.  Nice try, Missy.

In Case You Missed It. . .

Just another reason that puppies are better than babies.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

When was the last time a baby ate off your infected toe?  I'll bet never. 

Vacation: Chillaxin'

Note the ridiculous cuteness of the dog life jacket.  Is Fletcher a swimmer, or a member of the bomb squad?

Matt wants everyone to know that Hitch 22 was one of the best books he's read in a long time.

Batdog!

I want to go back!