More pissing and moaning

It's just occurred to me recently that I never shared my experience of going to the inauguration. Probably because it sucked, where sucked means it was cold, and crowded, and cold, and because I'm only 5' tall all I could see was a massive wall of winter coat clad backs. And it sucked. I had a ticket and it sucked. Imagine how it was for the poor unwashed masses who braved it without. How did I come by such a coveted token, you ask? Sit here at my knee, my pretties, and let me tell you.

My father lives in a somewhat exclusive little mountain community about an hour outside of DC. He lives there not because he is exclusive, but because when he built his house there twenty five years ago it was just a mountain. And he lived on it alone. Then the city folk found it and he's complained about them ever since.

Except for one. The Senator. The Senator lives next door, a few trees down the road. Well, he does when he's senatoring. Otherwise he lives where ever it is he senates for. We have known The Senator for over twenty years. In those twenty years I have never heard him referred to as anything other than The Senator, and yes, you say the capitals. I'm sure he has a name and actually I do know it, but it's seems wrong somehow to say it. He just is The Senator.

And because The Senator is the stereotypical old (really, really old) white, rich, republican, he nor his family were interested in his tickets. So, using all of my wiles and graces (which, in actuality, amounted to simply asking) I scored a ticket.

I took the train out of Harpers Ferry into DC, where I took the metro to the mall. Where I then went through many, many security checkpoints. I haven't been manhandled so much since my honeymoon. Just when I was starting to have a good time, I got through. Then I stood in the cold, looked at everybody's backs, got scared by Aretha's hat and went home.

I wish I could say that I was moved by the historical-ness of it all, blah blah. But I can't. I wish I had stayed home and watched in on the telly. But hey! I can say I was there.

My Preshuuuusss

I've been reading a lot of the current addictions posts, which made me think about the things I really appreciate on a daily basis.


First thing in the morning I make out with this:



See how the cup is full in the picture? It a LIE! Even though I choose the bigger cup on the menu, I only get three quarters of a cup. (Yes, I can manage to piss and moan about things I love.) I fill the other quarter up with creamer and sugar, so it's all good. But, because of those nifty little cups the coffee comes in, there are no grounds to dispose of. This is a huge plus in my house because of the rule that goes like "a dog will not tear out trash unless it contains huge amounts of coffee grounds to drag all over the carpet".


After "K" and I finish our morning session, I usually need to spend a little quality time with this:

See above mention of "dogs" and "trash", add in a five year old tasmanian devil and you'll see that this is "mommy's other little helper". It's for people that are too lazy to fill a bucket and wring a mop. (me) It also sweeps the floor. It helps to do that before the scrub part.

Once the top layer of grime and filth is removed and I can pretend I've accomplished something domestically related, it's time to go curse that slimy bastard that tortures me on a daily basis. Yes, I'm talking about this:

The trainer? He is an agent from satan himself. He hates me and I hate him but we continue to meet up daily. He insults me and I hurl curse words, slurs and the occasional remote at him. Although I grudgingly admit that I have lost five pounds since we've began our affair. I'm also able to get up in the morning without doing the old lady shuffle, so there's that.


Finally, on to something enjoyable. My new love, the light of my life:




It's sitting in the box, taunting me as we speak. I'm scared to open it. I have no idea how to use this camera. But I just HAD to have it. There are so many pictures I want to take that I can't with my point and shoot. So now poppets, prepare yourselves. Batten down the hatches and stock up on the likker. There will be many bad, poorly composed, out of focus pictures coming your way soon. Your assignment is to tell me that they're artistic. That it's ok that you can't tell what they're supposed to be of, because they speak to you. I promise that when I'm a famous foto graffer, I'll credit you with keeping me going.

Again

First Maximus, then Katharine Hepburn. Now Athena.

Athena was the oldest of my herd. At 11, she's been through it all with me. She helped me raise Maximus, Katharine Hepburn, Betty Boop, and these two goofy labs. Not to mention Silas.

She woke me this morning to tell me good bye. I was able to help her with her transition by holding and comforting her while she took her last breath and until she left her body.

And I'm not sad.

Not really.

Eleven years is a pretty good run. She was getting to the point where she was in pain more than she was comfortable. I could tell she was sad that she couldn't keep up with the pups when they run in the yard.

So now she's not hurting anymore and it's hard to be sad about that.




Beena, you were a good dog and we'll miss you.