And I'm glad for it.
Max the dog recovered totally from his snake bite. And there were not any signs of more. But that didn't stop me from overdressing every time I went into the back yard.
Two months ago Hudson caught a squirrel, and played with it until it died. Barring an end-of-the-year surprise, that makes one snake (in two pieces), three baby opossums, and one squirrel I've put in the trash this year.
Speaking of rodents and reptiles, I no longer have to wonder what happened to my old high school friend Todd Williamson. He's going by his middle name (Dorsey) now and after what seemed an unsuccessful stint at being a cook, he's now day trading out in Lake Tahoe. (I've had his cooking. It was a smart move.)
I spent two days with him, and it didn't even take that whole time to figure out why his wife walked out on him a few years ago.
It might have been that he wakes to the sound of his own voice. (Seriously. His alarm is him singing that it's time for him to get up.) It started going off at 9:00 AM, and he promptly woke up at 3:00 PM.)
It might have been the line of dead flies on his kitchen counter, in a neat row with the rotten fruit he planned on juicing.
Or the lecture about healthy living as he paid for his wine, cigarettes, and plastic-wrapped deli food.
Maybe it was that he gave me instructions on how to walk properly.
Or the instructions he gave me on how to pour a Guinness. (Raise your hand if you find this especially funny.)
Or that he woke me up from jet-lagged sleep to yell at me, about how I poured the Guinness.
Maybe it was that he decided what I'd eat and drink when we went out.
Or that we had to see the whole of Lake Tahoe in ten-minute increments. We'd stop at an overlook, get out, and when he was ready we'd leave and drive to another overlook, stay until he was ready to leave, then drive more.
Might have been that the only thing I asked him to have at his house was coffee and milk, and he managed to have decaf and almond milk instead.
Might have been his insistence that road signs were meant for other people and not him.
I'll stop there since this is just the abridged list. At any rate, I found the piety and him being prone to fits of rage just really unattractive.
I ever meet his ex-wife, I'll buy her a drink. Of her choosing. And she can pour it any way she pleases. (Unless she'd rather have the cash for therapy.)
]]>I put Hudson in his crate, and took Max to the emergency vet. He was obedient getting in and out of the car, but moving very slowly. His face and neck continued to swell. As soon as we walked in, the vet tech said it looked like a snake bite. The vet confirmed it - Max had two puncture wounds on his snout.
Likely a copperhead, she said. They had a treatment plan for him, and would keep him overnight.
I got home, only let Hudson out on a leash, and then for only as long as necessary.
I called the vet at about 9:30 Sunday night. Max was responding well to the treatment, and was eating. Positive signs.
So I was happy to hear that, at the same time liking my back yard less and less.
Monday morning I brought Max home with two prescriptions. His face and neck were still quite swollen. I kept him away from Hudson too, knowing Hudson's tendency to play rough. All the while still afraid of my back yard.
I called Animal Control, and while the lady was nice enough, she had no advice for me other than to kill the snake.
Granted, I had hoped to do just that, but could have used a few more details. I looked online for help, and snake traps, and gave Max his medicine in peanut butter, and rotated the dogs from their crates to the yard, then quickly to the house.
Tuesday I let the dogs be together for a bit, and the instant Hudson got too close to Max, Max made a sound that then kept Hudson at the proper distance for the next two days.
Max continued to get better, and by Wednesday night had some spring back in his step.
Thursday morning I let them out to pee, off leash, and the obsessive sniffing of a patch of ground started. So I immediately called them in the house, put on boots, grabbed a shovel that was handy, and went out to see what they were sniffing.
And it was a copperhead. Two feet long or so. The adrenaline started pumping.
Fight or flight.
There really wasn't any question I was going to try to kill it. The only thing I questioned was whether I could do it with the shovel I had in my hand. I didn't think I could. But if I went to get something else, it might get away. My bypass pruning shears were just right there on the deck. They would certainly do the job.
Thus, I flighted back to the deck, grabbed the pruning shears, went back, and fighted the snakes head off.
I checked the dogs and made sure neither of them had been bit. And they had not. So the challenge had been met. The only thing left to do was to dispose of it, and, well, that was just nasty. In the big scheme of things, it was infinitely better than burying one of my dogs though.
So he was unceremoniously dumped into a trash bag and put in the bin.
But not before tweeting a picture of his decapitated copper head.
]]>Seriously. Is there any situation in which you and your boyfriend are not the victims?
Anyone searching for the mean girl will find pondring in the first page of results. And pictures of the bones she broke on the images page.
Google found this for me too.
With any luck it will be crawled tonight and pushed up even higher tomorrow.
There's really nothing private anymore.
]]>A moderator decided to take her name out of the post. I decided to put it back up. Here. And for good measure will likely post the rest of her outrageous emails also. Especially the one where she tells me I need to treat her with respect. That was my favorite. But that's for another day.
Here's the antsmarching post:
Hi everyone, I'm the girl that had her finger broken last year at Wrigley N1.
The girl that broke it is named Jessica Kulig and she is on here as JessJDK. She broke my hand, didn't say sorry, didn't try to get me any medical help, kept the pick and walked away.
I walked by the GA line the next day and she couldn't be troubled to come to say she was sorry.
I had to track her number down through other friends, and only then did she say she was sorry.
I had to have a plate, six screws, and a bone implant to fix the finger she broke. That was the first surgery. I had to have another surgery last December. I had physical therapy every day, and weekly checkups for five months. Out of work. (I teach software.)
Jessica, at first, offered to help pay my bills. I asked her to pay half of my out of pocket expenses. She decided to pay half of the bills that had come in within the first 30 days, then needed a payment plan because she was tight on cash.
Yet always able to buy concert tickets. Eventually she paid me $200 for my trouble, and I didn't hear from her again.
Here is her email to me, verbatim, explaining her actions... my responses are in red [but I have bolded them for pondring]. You guys can make up your own minds.
> From: jessica.kulig@gmail.com
> Date: Mon, 20 Sep 2010 16:17:19 -0400
> To: dmdmbc@hotmail.com
>
> Angela,
>
> Thanks for the email response. I agree that we are not mean people. Yes, we'll definitely keep talking. I want to know how your finger is doing. I really do care and want you to get better. I have an appointment today at 2:00 PM with orthopedic surgeon. I will let you know what has to be done to fix my hand.
>
> I really appreciate you accepting my apology. It means a lot to me. I was being completely honest when I said I was sick to my stomach. I was very upset and it brought tears to my eyes to think that you thought I hurt you on purpose. I completely understand why you were angry at me but I'm glad you no longer are.
>
> I want to respond to the items you mentioned you observed...
>
> The reason I was asking security There is no way what you were doing could be qualified as "asking security" - you were demeaning to him and very much not treating him with respect what was going on with the VIP line was because when you wait on line as long as we did, sleeping on the sidewalk, etc, it stinks when others can come much later and get in before you. I do understand that security had no idea what was going on though and I wasn't targeting you when talking to Rafael. I was upset about the whole situation. And yes, I was lucky to still get on the rail but I knew others that had been on line since midnight probably didn't. This really just illustrates my point: you had a sense that you needed to complain to a man who had no real control and probably fewer answers...complaining about people who paid three times what you paid for your ticket, but because you slept there all night you deserved it more. There were plenty of others in your same situation who rose above what was out of their control and just rolled with it. You had the choice to do that too. I paid so I would not have to sleep on the sidewalk. You also had that choice.
>
> I honestly had no idea you were even next to me when getting wristbands. It didn't really matter whether it was me or not - once again it was a sense of entitlement on your part - "someone else has their hand there, but let me just thrust mine in on top of it because I'm the only one here anxious to get inside" I wasn't trying to my hand in front of yours - I was just trying to get a wristband on as fast as possible. But didn't you get to the rail before me anyway?
>
> You held up signs all night (and I definitely saw when each of the guys saw the sign and smiled!) and I only asked you Jessica you most definitely did NOT "ask" me to lower my sign. you reached over, put your arm on my arm physically pushing my sign down and said to me "I can't see". to lower your sign once - when Boyd was doing his solo in front of the stage - your sign completely blocked my view. I'm sorry if that seemed rude asking would have been polite - pushing my arm down was rude - you have a mistaken notion about how you "ask" for things. but I just wanted to see Boyd play.
>
> In my previous 5 pit experiences I had seen the stage manager give the security guards the setlist a couple times so I thought my best shot of getting one was to ask the security guard. Once again - sense of entitlement after all you have gotten at shows. It wasnt like you asked one person nicely. You asked multiple people, and I heard you DIRECT them to hand it to you "Now remember Paul (or whatever his name was), they are going to hand it to you, and you give it to me" bossy, not respectful
>
> Yes, my boyfriend and I had gotten items before in California but we waited on line all day at those shows too so we could be on the rail. Also, my boyfriend has been to more shows than me and Carter gave him the gloves. We had met Jeff Coffin while at dinner one night in San Francisco and we all talked for over an hour. At the concert the next night he brought me over a signed setlist. Im sorry, but yet again, you have waited in line like thousands of others, and have gotten far more than most, yet still you feel you need more.
>
> We had gotten picks too, but like I tweeted, when I saw the white one I knew it was unusual (well good grief - do you need one of everything they toss out?) this just sounds so very greedy. and that's what made me excited and really want it. I didn't grab it out of anger, and I'm sorry if it seemed that way. Please remember the force of that "grab" broke bones. It wasn't a "gee i'd like to have that pick" reach, it was a "that pick is mine at all costs" action.
>
> Our California trip was a once in a lifetime experience. It might have been better had you not explained so much. Once in a lifetime? Really? Yet you seem intent to keep expecting things. Perhaps step away from the rail and let someone else have a chance. That was my first time, and I felt fortunate, and now I'll stand a few rows back and hear the same music. John and I felt like the luckiest people in the world. What are you giving back to the world for all this luck you have had? We met so many awesome people - including Amanda (daves_cornbread). But I saw her tweets about me and that made me sad. She sounded so hateful against me.
>
> During our trip we did spread the LoVE and gave away a couple picks and sticks to friends. Again, that's nice that you can be heroes and dole out trinkets, but maybe let someone else get the thrill of catching them to start with. You know how special that feels. Also, John sent one of Carter's gloves to a friend we met at Chula Vista who loves Carter more than anything. I got a drumstick N1, but only because the lady to my right that caught it already had one and she shared. That was love. I have a prize now and don't need to reach for more.
>
> I know it probably doesn't mean much to you since you're the one with a broken finger but this has definitely been a learning experience for me. I'm really very curious to hear how your behavior will change with what you have learned. Fine to say it was learning experience, but if it doesn't cause you to grow as a human being in this great DMB collective, then it was for nothing. It really kind of makes ME sick to think you were up there N2 still probably begging for setlists and wanting dave to sign your strap, etc. Hope Im wrong. You know the answer as to whether you were or not.
>
> I really hope we can meet again in person someday, talk, and learn more about each other. With all due respect, I don't think this is something I want.
>
> Jessica
Derrick was like ordering a Jack Daniels straight up, and getting a fruity frozen cocktail instead. A logical brain struggles to make the leap.
Once you go Black, you just walk away saying, "Huh?"
Move along. Nothing to see here.
Dianna heard that being drunk at our team dinner wasn't appreciated. Nor were the drunken hugs.
Dianna heard displeasure with her decision to have an employee, weak with cancer, train at a conference, when she had a backup trainer for that course available.
Dianna heard that it really wasn't appropriate for her to be discussing one of her employees' substance abuse problems, with another one of her employees.
Dianna heard from many customers about the poor quality of her training materials.
Dianna heard from HR.
Dianna heard she had a really poor review.
This is one of those times.
First, an article from the New York Times from this past week. The author wrote, "The Federal Aviation Administration recorded 18 collisions between aircraft and diamondback terrapins between 1997 and 2007... None caused damage to the aircraft."
A diamondback terrapin is a turtle. Considering the largest on record, a female (which grow larger than the males) was nine inches long, collision seemed an odd word choice - no matter how small the aircraft, or how fast that terrapin was barreling toward it.
Another article I read this past week, this one from the Christian Science Monitor said that Malaysia Airlines had taken the step of banning babies from its first class cabin.
Apparently they have solved the problem of sound carrying through the mesh curtain that separates the last row of one cabin from the first row in the other.
But how will they tell someone who wants to pay for first class seats (as opposed to being upgraded) they cannot, if they have an infant with them.
Not that it matters to me. I learned long ago how to quiet my mind, such that sounds (and self-absorbed seatmates in first class) do not keep me from sleeping when I wish to sleep.
In other news, I don't recall when I started watching the Dog Whisperer (on Hulu), but I've seen all the episodes now. And not once did I ever have the thought that any of the dogs on the show were being hurt. So the other day when I Googled Cesar Millan, I was surprised to find sites that think what he does is horrible. (But their "evidence" was so illogical that it was laughable.)
I've practiced what he teaches, and without an e-collar, without any choke chains, and really with nothing more than a wave of my hand, I now have two well-behaved dogs.
I came to the conclusion that the animal behaviorists watch Fox News.
I'll stay team Cesar.
]]>We chatted for a bit, and had a couple of beers. We started watching a movie. He went and took a shower, and then we turned the movie off about half-way and went upstairs to bed.
Where he turned on the Simpsons, put a pillow over his head, and went to sleep.
]]>Comic relief.
Please run, Sarah.
In other news, I have discovered just how well insulated my house is. My heat pump quit working, so I have been without air conditioning. Despite several days near 100 degrees, a couple of fans running in the house have made it tolerable. Well, that, and I have been spending most of my time outside, so inside the house feels cool, even at 80 degrees.
But a new heat pump will be delivered and installed Tuesday nonetheless. And relocated to the north side of the house. Which means it will be off my deck, and out of my field of vision. I hope the toad(s) that live under the old one relocate to under the new one because it will be outside of the fence and thus outside of the canine torture zone.
I can tell from the dogs' jerky movements when they have a toad or frog cornered on the deck. It's fun trying to get 150 pounds of dogs away from a one ounce amphibian. They don't have the "leave it" command quite down yet, but we are making progress with their training. Both new screen doors on the porch are still intact. Hudson has quit chewing on the house.
Yeah, Bradley Cooper was all cute speaking French, but Cesar Millan gets my vote for Sexiest Man Alive. Well, right behind the surgeon that fixed Busted Stuff. There are a few degrees of straight that I likely never will regain in that finger. And occasional feelings of what I call "clumpiness." But I can play the piano and my harp again. And type as well as I could before. And snap my fingers. And safely operate all my power tools. And scratch both dogs at the same time.
If necessary, I'd do a bang-up job of ringing those bells, too.
]]>They are funny dogs. Max is two years older than Hudson. They both are 75 pounds. Hudson is tall and lean, and Max is short and stocky.
One of these days I'll have their DNA tested and find out what kind of dogs they really are. Max is definitely a hunting breed. Hudson, well, depending on what he's doing, or how he is sitting, I see boxer, lab, possibly some doberman.
Plus whatever breed tends to fall off furniture a lot.
Max also has a lot of enduring qualities, but my favorite is his beautiful, graceful howl. He sits at the edge of the deck, lowers his head to the side, and on the upswing starts a melodic wail. Sirens always trigger it, and occasionally the two dogs next door will start howling, so he joins in there too. Hudson is pretty quiet most of the time. Max makes up for it.
Either way, they are good company since I am home all the time now. Sheaness has only one more day of school. (Yay.) She's got a busy summer. Plus she'll get her restricted driver's license. That is also mostly a yay, minus Mom's normal apprehension. Thus far she has proven a conscientious driver. Her first vehicle is going to be Ruby, which is kind of cool.
(Ruby is the red truck I got in 2003. I gave it to Bill when I got Jalepeno.)
So at the end of last school year, Shea got Cadet of the Year in NJROTC. They had two such awards - one for the 1st year cadets (which she was), and a second for everyone else. She won Cadet of the Year again a few weeks ago.
And as I write this her GPA is 4.66. (Not a typo. She takes Honors classes.) (Five of her seven classes this year were Honors classes. ROTC is not an honors class, and neither was bodybuilding. (Not a typo.))
She looks like an admiral in her dress blues. There is just no way not to be proud of her.
And no way not to be excited at the prospect of hanging out with her for the summer. (Not to mention being able to send her to the grocery store.)
In other news, after almost three decades, my Dad finally closed his pool hall. It was a labor of love from the whole family to help him sort and clean and box up years of memories.
The spirit is still here. Dad and Mom converted their jacuzzi room into a single-table billiard room. Dad took his favorite pool table, his card table and chair, plus a few other special things, and made a mini Mr. T's. It's so fun to see his friends call his cell phone and ask if they can come over and play pool.
Dad has also started going to the senior center to play cards. He really enjoys it, but he beats everyone, and we told him they weren't going to play with him any more if he kept at it.
So life is a little different these days, but a lotta nice.
And more to come.
]]>I've been distracted. But to the good.
I have officially retired my road warrior position. And dismissed the auto-pilot. (I'm sure she'll find work elsewhere.)
My last two trips were back-to-back weeks in DC. (Which seemed fitting in a way that is going to take a memoir to explain.)
The next time I fly it will be because I want to. (And because there is music at the other end.)
In other news, I tired quickly of Facebook, but will check it periodically over the next few days because Sheaness took a picture of the grilled cheese sandwiches I cooked for her the other night, and she has threatened/promised to post said picture.
There were multiple inputs into this culinary failure.
First, the bread was squashed on the way home, so it wasn't the same shape as the cheese slices. Second was the wrong pan. Third was wrong temperature applied to the wrong pan. Resulting in stuck sandwiches of funny size that then didn't fit the one spatula I have. What I was able to flip over fell open, spilling the not-yet-melted non-conforming bits of sliced cheese into the way-too-hot pan.
On the plus side, I did NOT set off the smoke detector, AND Shea said the sandwiches were, "Quite tasty."
I may or may not have laughed myself into one or more fits of tears. Which of course would also go on the plus side.
My idea this morning to start making her breakfast smoothies was rejected when she learned I would simply mix together what she already eats most mornings: toast, watermelon yogurt, and a glass of chocolate Instant Breakfast.
She made a face. Which only served to encourage me to imagine (out loud to her) her dinner last night as a smoothie: chicken on the bottom, then a layer of vegetables, and some Mango V8 on the top.
"Don't forget the cantaloupe," she says, as she laughs. But then I think she actually imagined it, because she made a new face, this one indicating dry heave. So I dropped it and let her finish her yogurt.
What a great kid she is. She got me a huge basket of red impatiens for Mother's Day, and said with a smile, "I figure you will be spending a lot of time in the back yard now..."
She was right. The flowers are sitting right in the middle of the deck. At the moment they are getting a thorough soaking compliments of Mother Nature. It's a cool rainy day.
Good day for a grilled cheese sandwich.
]]>Dave was singing up off to my left. At the end of the show, he threw a guitar pick out. It landed in front of me, but over the rail. The photographer on the other side of the rail picked it up and handed it across the rail.
I reached for it.
The girl next to me reached for it.
But I got it.
The next thing I know, the girl next to me was holding her hand in front of my face telling me I broke her finger. One of them was bent really bad and laying on top of her hand.
Horrified, I immediately started yelling for help. She was starting to cry, and hold her hand and try to hold her purse too. I immediately gave my things to my boyfriend and offered to help her.
She shook her head, but I could see that she was protecting her hand for dear life, so I made a little shield in front of her until the medics got there.
I could not believe that happened and just kept saying I was sorry. When the medics got there I heard her say she was in Chicago by herself. I walked with them and offered to help her if I could. She was probably going to have to go to the hospital.
Oh, wait. Hang on. That's not exactly right. It's correct up to the point where we reached for the pick, and I pulled and got it and she showed me her broken finger.
Horrified, I said, "Sorry," kept the pick, and turned back to my friends, saying nothing more to the girl as the medics took her away.
The next day I was waiting in the line for the second night's show. People were talking about the girl that broke her finger for the pick. A while later she walked past the line. She had a huge cast on her hand. I felt so bad for what I did.
I asked my friends to keep my place in line and I went up to her. I told her I was so sorry for what happened, and offered to give her the pick. I had gotten other things from the band before, and offered her some of those things too. I kept apologizing.
Oh. Shoot. Sorry. Wrong again. Well, it's correct to the point where she walked past us in line with the big cast on her hand.
But people were already saying really hateful things about me, so I just stayed in line and pretended I didn't see her.
The next day I finally tracked her down and called her and explained how sorry I was.
Oh, wait. No, I didn't. She had to find me.
Two surgeries, three months out of work and five months of rehab for her later, crazy bitch wants me to pay half of her out of pocket medical expenses for her broken finger. I paid her $200.00, and have just ignored her for the past two months.
Here are the lyrics as I heard them, and as if I didn't know it was in Italian.
(Sorry in advance Josh.)
Order de the deli there
You're my friend again
We're still wanted men
At the feet chillin'
We're both there again
'Til lunch and I credibly, fuck you Molly Dentro
You're no better now sitting
Some headache, hey
Two so free come and suffer
Kwan, dough and Laura Delladee.
Oh, say about the fancy can
Lame ass shelter see
And Senor Pedro Diamo
No no dear be fine
I don't care what you want, Felichita.
Credibly, fuck you Molly Dentro
You're no better now sitting
Some headache, hey
Two so free come and suffer
Kwan, dough and Laura Delladee.
Oh.
I sent Josh a tweet saying I was writing him a song about Twitter.
Well, not a song, but a long tweet perhaps.
So to the tune of Hidden Away
Over mountains, and sky blue seas
Filled with fail whales, you can follow me.
I'm Josh Groban, I'm verified
If you are lucky, I will @ reply.
All these words that I want to say
Must be clever, there is limited space
Words like Buzzcocks, that your poor hearts crave
I won't keep them, I'll tweet them away.
Here's a link, a funny Kanye West song
I could do this all day long
Looking now for something I can retweet
Cute baby with a light saber day.
I'm gonna tweet my dog
I think I'll use yfrog
Post this on my blog, later today.
I'm okay if he doesn't like it. I just hope he doesn't block me.
]]>