What I see:

A turquoise necklace, two bottles of pink nail polish(each a different shade and manufacturer), a bottle of Bufferin aspirin, a green calculator, a cylindrical, meshed-metal pen holder holding no less than fifteen “special“ pens/pencils, three rulers, a pair of wire cutters, a metal ball with chimes inside, Pablo Neruda’s “The Captain Verses”, Hampton Sides’ “Blood and Thunder, Jeffrey Kacirk’s “The Word Museum”, two blank journals, a plaque from APS thanking me for volunteering, 10 Starbucks Vivanno coupons, a purple pen, two silver rings, one silver and tiger eye ring, a pair of turquoise earrings, four watches, a photo of G-Man, a dream catcher, a pelican feather in an odd shaped, glass vessel, an owl feather on a leather string hanging from the top shelf and held in place by a crystal owl figurine, an incense burner, a Keva Juice gift certificate, my Certified Food Safety Manager card, a silver chain with St. Anthony AND St. Christopher medals, two white dots from the hole-punch, a Guns n’ Roses CD and the soundtrack for Coyote Ugly, a bill from Comcast, a metal “Hillary” button, a metal Certified Barista button, three small screwdrivers, a grease pencil, a pad of handmade paper, a black Bic lighter, a pack of cigarettes, a Pepsi, an ashtray, a white, plastic lid that formerly went to a container for bread and it looks just like a piece of bread, one leg stabilizer-thingy for a box fan, a bottle of patchouli, three very small sand dollars, four small Moleskin books, a Moleskin address book, a checkbook, the mouse and mouse pad for my desktop, 80+ blank CD’s, 16 collectible Starbucks gift cards, three lip glosses, cable router, wireless router, two small speakers and a sub-woofer, a dolphin figurine-thingy filled with patchouli, a cedar box that has Lucille Ball adorning its cover, a pair of prescription, “Transitions” sunglasses in a hard case, a three drawer, two shelf, mesh-metal letter/stuff holder (upon which many of these other items reside), a sticker of an orange, sparkly goldfish.

What I hear:

A small autistic child, sniffling, sneezing, talking (incessantly) to himself and to the dogs, the swamp cooler fan, a door slamming, the news on the boob-tube talking about Obama, Biden, and McCain, typing (my own), a snoring dog, small, autistic child singing to himself (sounds like Miley Cyrus).

What I smell:

Something smells *wet* but I’m not sure if it’s the swamp cooler or rain outside.

What I feel:

Tired, sore, soft puppy fur on my left foot, stiff neck, tingling in my right hand, warmth on my wrists as they rest upon the laptop, slightly annoyed, hungry for something savory, to be followed by something sweet, even more annoyed as I resist, not quite happy, not quite sad, not quite sure, soft puppy fur on both of my feet as Mojo has just shifted, a paw on my leg from the snoring dog, ready to burst (blame the Pepsi), a little hot and sweaty ’cause the swamp cooler doesn’t seem to be cooling anymore(must be fixin‘ to rain), sorry for my neighbor who is, for pity’s sake, on a bender this weekend, annoyed at drunk neighbor, wanting to get up and close the front door…

What I am sure of:

Trash. Taxes. Death.

Everything else is, quite simply, a Moveable Feast.

Oh, it has been far too long…

I just walked into the boys’ bathroom and caught all three of them, Larry, Mo, and Curly, slapping each other in the face. It was literally a Three Stooges Moment. I scared the hell out of them just by walking across the threshold; the teeny, tiny room went deadly silent. They stood there waiting for me to meter out their punishments.

Ah, football is great, isn’t it? Yes, these rambunctious boys are finally on a football team (actually, oldest and middle child are on the same team: that’s a whole ‘nother blog) and, let the games begin! What a wonderful, wonderful bargaining chip this is and, my, my, my; how violent and whiny they have become. Both of them hurt somewhere on their bodies at least once a day. Both of them act tough but show off their bruises and then talk (incessantly, I might add) about how sore they are, how tired they are, how this hurts or that hurts.

So, tonight, as I barked orders at them, they “Yes, Ma’am’d” me to death and went directly to bed without complaint, not in fear of being spanked (which they all deserved) but more in fear of being yanked from football practice. God, you’ve gotta love that. Immediate obedience and candor. Why in the hell didn’t we think of this earlier? Well, it’s expensive, and I mean, really, really expensive; and then there’s carting them around all over ABQ and back.

It’s worth it. It was worth it just to watch the about face tonight. Ah… Our three little stooges… But you should see them in their gear: very, very cute! And so awfully full of testosterone. What’s a girl to do? S and I giggle at them constantly. And cheer. And threaten when appropriate. It’s amazing how much homework is getting done and how the chores are actually done completely and on time.

S and I had two dates in one week. I know, right? Amazing! We haven’t had a date in over a year so we decided to have two in one week because we were both inspired. Our first date was with Bill Clinton and our second date was with Hillary. I guess, technically, you’d call that a threesome or, better yet, a three to six thousand-some. We made new friends, nonetheless. Neither of us know any of their names (except one, in my case, as I’ve made a nice contact with our lieutenant governor) but we affectionately remember them as, “Lady with the Son” and “My Dad for the Night.” There was one small mishap, not my fault, in which I almost pummeled a woman.

I was standing fairly close to the barrier, off to the side, when someone bumped into my back. We were pretty smooshed into this area so I simply turned around and said, “Excuse me.” Then I was pushed in the back… again. I turned around and looked at the woman. She looked back at me. A moment or two later, I was hit in the back and pushed forward. I turned around and politely asked this, fairly nicely dressed and seemingly middle-class woman to stop hitting and pushing me in the back. She called me a f&%*ing c*nt and told me to turn around. I couldn’t believe it. Here she was, this middle-aged, red-headed, English or Irish (couldn’t really tell the accent by those swear words) woman who was attempting to push her way to the front by ramming into me. Now, I’d been there, waiting, for three freakin’ hours and there was no way in hell I was going to let this woman through. My buddies around me were all mad at this woman as they could see and hear what she was doing. After all, I’d given everyone gum and kept them laughing as we all stood there, feet planted and legs locked, for so long that our tootsies were actually going numb. The only time any of us moved was to shift our weight and attempt to regain some blood flow to the lower-extremities. Then, hours into it, this woman comes along and decides she’s going to literally push her way in. Then she hit me in the back and pushed into me again. I swear to God, it was everything I could do to not hit the wench and knock her to the floor. Instead, I told her if she touched me one more time, I was going to knock her flat on her ass. To which she said, “You hit me and I’ll beat the f&#k out of you, right here, right now.” Nice, eh? She then moved off to the side of me and began doing the same thing to the little old lady next to me. By the end of it, she had pissed everyone off. I couldn’t believe the things she was saying! Finally, I told her to take her life-sucking, black soul to some other area because we were all tired of dealing with her nastiness. Then she called me fat. I just looked at her and smiled and said, “Well, I can change that… but you’ll always be an asshole. Move along.” And that was that as she literally pushed her way into the crowd in front of me.

Later, I told all of my new friends that, before it was over, we should all take the gum out of our mouths, smash it flat into the palm of our hand, and then grab a big chunk of her hair and smoosh it in. That got a big laugh but all of us knew that none of us would be doing any such thing. The thought of it was enough to make us all laugh and relieved the tension of wanting to kick the shit out of this woman.

Don’t you just hate that? One person can, due to their rudeness, set everyone off to the point of wanting to physically harm her. I really don’t think any one of us would have, but, still, it was enough to have all of us burning her black soul with our best mother’s looks. That’s Mob Mentality for ya.

Bill was here for a Thursday rally at UNM and Hillary was here the following Saturday at a local high school. Each time we, stood in line for at least 2 hours, froze our asses off, and, once inside, split-up because, you see, S is a photographer and I’m a poseur. See how well we get along? I worked the crowd while S worked the aperture. For Bill’s event, we had to sneak away while the kids were still in school. For Hillary’s, we actually paid a babysitter to watch the boys. It was well worth it despite the fact that we didn’t have dinner, stood in the cold for hours, then stood in a hot, stinky gym… for hours, and then simply did our own “thang” on opposite sides of the gym.

Here are the results:

That’s Diane Denish, our Lt. Governor, in the background.  I like her.  I like her, a whole bunch.  She introduced Hillary at both rallies.  We don’t need no stinkin’ governor!  We’ve got Diane and, someday, she’s going to be our governor!  All that “Woman Power” stuff was great. 

It was really fun. My kind of “date” when you consider all of the other choices like, PF Chang’s, a movie, going to the bookstore, going to Starbucks (God forbid!), hanging out in a bar (not our style), or getting new tattoos. (Hahahahaha! Carmen will love that line!)

S posted a photo of Hillary on an editorial stock photography website, and, well, she’s displaced Mojo at the number one spot. You’d think there would be plenty of photos of Hillary and not so many of a very cute, Bichon Frise’ but… nooooooooooo! Still, Hillary was a great date.

And then came Super Tuesday… My God, could my home state embarrass me anymore than this? Not enough ballots, long, long lines, many people turned away or leaving in disgust and not voting, and then, to top it off, some “officials” took several of the ballot boxes home with them because it ran so long and, well, they probably didn’t know what else to do with all of those ballots, right? Wrong. Something is really stinky about this and, still, we don’t have the final tally. It’s too close to call (by something like 100+ votes) so now they are counting them all over again. Jesus. H. What is wrong with these people? What an embarrassment…

We’ve all been terribly sick and passing it around like Ethiopian Injera; basically, a utensil of germs. Currently, middle child is down for the count but youngest is just starting a new wave. He’s not actually sick… yet. He acts-up, gets tired, and drops wherever he is and falls asleep, and then gets a snotty nose and hacking cough that doesn’t go away for a month. Poor little guy. It’s pretty common for kids with autism to have a compromised immune system and he is no exception. If it’s in the air; he gets it. And then I get it. Then S gets it. Middle child eventually gets it. However, if oldest gets it, we know it’s a particularly virulent infection because he never gets sick. He’s so excited about football that he will actually lie and say he’s fine and then attempt to go play while sporting a temp. No way, Jose’. No Football for YOU!

That’s how I’ve been measuring my days, weeks, and hours recently. It’s been very cold so it’s hard to tell if it’s a sickness or simply just so damned cold that the faucet turns on and the hacking is from that constant, drip, drip, drip.

Nasty.

Work is good although we just received the latest music thread and, well, Kenny G makes me want to kill myself. No, wait; he makes me want to kill everyone and then kill myself. No amount of espresso can make up for that emotion. And what is up with Sheryl Crow? I used to really like her and now she sounds like a burned out version of Hannah Montana. Sheryl, babe, you are over 40 now; stop it!

Mojo and Q are in love. Poor Mojo has the scars to prove it. Lulu is so over it that she hangs out with me and looks at me longingly as if to say, “Would ya get ‘em a room? Please?”

The dumbass neighbors have defaulted on their house. I caught them doing a Baghdad-Middle-of-the-Night-Move and asked what they were up to; moving was the reply. Duh! They still haven’t cleaned their backyard. Thank God it’s been cold otherwise… EW! You just never know about people, you know? Kinda like that black-soul woman and her push and shove routine.

People are so filled with high levels of entitlement, NIMBY, and such a terrible lack of manners. It’s uncouth!

Thank goodness for goodness. Between the sweetness of little boys and their football, mobs of people all hoping for the same hope in a presidential candidate, and volunteers who are actually worth their salt; there is balance in this world of ours.

That and a double tall, two pump, easy whip, mocha can really make your day!

All photos by S… Aren’t they marvelous?!  She got some really, really great shots and, I believe, had a great time doing it.

And it feels like Tidbit Tuesday… It’s been a long week.

Have you ever gone back and read through your blog or stuff you’ve written and it seems totally foreign to you? I’ve been reading through my blog (and forgot my own password, for God’s sake!) and laughing, smiling, tearing-up, and grimacing. The grimacing is more about the spelling and grammar issues. Grimacing is always followed by wincing. Eh.

Anyway, I think I used to be funnier in the days when I wasn’t working. Now, there’s a reason to quit a job, if I’ve ever made one up seen one. Or so I tell myself… It wouldn’t take much, at this point, to lure me from my career choice especially considering that ol’ being robbed at gunpoint deal. I’m still dealing with the issues from that and every day become more and more aware of dangers lurking just beyond the doors of my own abode. “Safety First!” was always one of my top mottos when I was only joking. It’s not funny anymore.

I was watching KRQE news last night and they had a little ditty about a supposed Chupacabra sighting. I looked at the photos and immediately recognized it as the thing I saw in my neighborhood the other night. The photo sighting isn’t that far from where I live so I figured the poor thing had simply gone up the hill into my neighborhood. It’s definitely a coyote or dog with mange, though, and I felt very sorry for it. I hope animal control finds it and puts it out of its misery.

We’ve had some developments with the kid’s “father” in that he’s, once again and without warning, dropped the child support. He’s also stolen (copyrighted) photos from S and posted the kids on his MySpace. THAT pissed me off. Of all places… MySpace! Of course, he’s trying to get a rise from us and, well, that will just get him some hefty legal action. I hate this shit, you know?

Mr. Q has decided that he loves Mojo. Mojo has decided that he loves Mr. Q. I love the love balance. And… it’s all fun and games until Mojo gets his eye poked out. They chase each other through the house and it’s hilarious. It wasn’t so funny when Mr. Q jumped on me and launched off my forearm to get away from the yapping, foo-foo dog. I have a four inch, nasty lookin’, scratch that screams, “I HAVE A NEW CAT AND A CRAZY DOG!”

My mother told me she doesn’t know how I deal with all the dogs, cat, kids, and craziness. One day at a time, mom; one day at a time. Actually, it’s more like moment-to-moment; ’cause you just never know what yer gonna git. Forrest Gump Moments.

We finally, officially met the “lezzies-up-the-street” ’cause they were having a garage sale. S came home with hideous looking, porcelain, velvet-clad, pole-up-her-butt, Barbie. The conversation went like this:

S: “Do you have five dollars?”

Me: “Hmmm? What? What for?”

S: “For this…” She produced this hideous thing from behind her back and I almost screamed.

Me: “What in the hell is that and where did you get it and why do you need five dollars?”

S: “The lezzies-up-the-street are having a garage sale and they’ll let me have this for ONLY five bucks!”

Me: “Um… That is totally frightening. Even if I had five bucks, I wouldn’t give it to you at this point. I’m having a Twilight Zone PTSD moment.”

S: “Please! Please! Please! Please! I’ll pay you baaaaaaackkkkk!”

Me: “I have two bucks and you can have that. Where are you going to put it?”

S: “Up here.” (She plops the thing atop her bookcase.)

Me: “No way, Jose’. You’ve got to turn it. It is looking right at me and creeping me out.”

So, later that day, I decided to mosey up the street and check out the garage sale. I finally met the lezzies-up-the-street, who are very nice and totally funny and gave me a hard time for giving S a hard time for the Barbie deal. We joked back and forth and they ended-up giving me something they thought would “frighten” S and I think I actually felt my face flush. It’s a little ceramic thingy with two piggies dressed in leather gear. I told them that it certainly wouldn’t frighten S but would definitely spark a big debate in our house of which of us is the girl-piggy versus the boy-piggy. And now you might understand why I password protected this entry… hahahahaha! So, I told them the story about the kid’s psychiatrist (in Chicago) who saw me wearing my purse and turned to S and said, “So, she’s the “girl” in the relationship, eh?”

S has never been able to live that one down and it’s been really fun to tease her (constantly) about it. Yet, she’s the one with Twilight Zone Barbie and I’m the one with pigs in leather, five shades of lip-gloss in my PURSE, a circular saw and a complete set of tools.

Don’t even try to define it… it defies logic.

Oh… The Drama! Kitty-Saga blew into a full-on nosy-neighbor-clash. It turns out that this lil’ kitty was SUPPOSEDLY being taken care of by the crazy-lady’s neighbor and he wanted the cat given back. This guy is a real *winner* of a dude, no job, always scammin’, and when he talks to you (when the “you” is a woman) he won’t look you in the eye; he fixates on boobs. Can’t stand the guy. Instead of simply stopping by to speak to us about the cat, he took the tact of yelling at S and calling her names. NIiiiiiiiiice…

It turns out that our little buddy Q has a microchip. However, the name attached to the microchip doesn’t exist, the phone # is bad, and the address is nowhere near our neighborhood. Q has been on the run for a while, it seems. I took him to the vet to get his shots, check his health, and get him on path to be neutered. I got all of the necessary information for updating his microchip, paid the vet bill, and brought him home.

Then I went to Mr. Lecherous’ house and presented him with the bill. I was calm when explaining everything that was “wrong” with Q and told him that I was concerned for the animal’s health and welfare and have taken possession of the kitty. Of course, when presented with the bill, the guy backed right off, apologized, and started stuttering something about the cat being a “stray” that crazy lady didn’t really want, what with everything going on in her life. Interesting how everyone backs the hell off when it comes down to money. I gave him a piece of my mind about his actions and let him know that he can speak to me anytime, as long as he keeps is civil, and that yelling and calling anyone names is totally inappropriate. He shook my hand and took his 13 year old mentality back into his house. Chicken-shit. Sure, it’s true that S called him a “Nosy Bitch” but that was after he’d slung a slew of obscenities at her while she was getting the kids on the bus. God. What is wrong with people? Anyway…

…That’s that about that.

I’ve been fighting a cold all week. I’d been winning the war until the final straw of stress occurred Thursday night. I got a phone call from someone (S answered, I had no idea who it was) saying, “Hi, Natalie. We’ve just been robbed at gunpoint.”

Okay. Not really what I was expecting and I had to ask who it was a couple of times because the person on the other end of the phone was so freaked out that I didn’t recognize her voice. I spent the next four hours in a very tense situation. They caught the guys, which is great, but it was, to say the least, a scary expenditure of my time. There was one point in which the detectives took my employees to I.D. the “perps” and they were supposed to leave an officer there with me. Well, the officer that was supposed to stay with me was suddenly gone and there I was, by myself, alone in the store. I locked the freakin‘ doors and waited it out; scared to death and busying myself with cleaning up, doing dishes, mopping floors, etc… It was the longest (and probably most productive) 45 minutes of my life. When it was finally over, we all hugged each other and talked about how glad we were that no one was hurt. And then it began to sink in… everything we‘d all just been through… and we acknowledged what a scary process it all was and how my staff had handled themselves so professionally. It was the sinking-in process that caused all of us to have trouble sleeping. It wasn’t until afterwards that tears fell and a nervousness took hold. I didn’t get home until after midnight. And then I had to be back at the store at 5AM the next morning. It was surreal. (And, yes, this was all over the news which only added to my headaches in this process.)

I have to say that everyone in the company was really terrific about the whole ordeal. I’m not going to go into specifics here but let’s just say that shifts had to be covered, stuff had to be fixed, and I worked a close/open that about killed me. I haven’t slept much and this cold has found a weak spot and taken hold. Insult to injury is what I’d call that…

Things will hopefully settle down and get back to normal this upcoming week. I don’t feel any safer and I am definitely weighing my options about this job. This whole thing was handled terrifically but I’m wondering if it’s worth it to work in a situation in which I (and everyone I work with are) am put, so directly, in harm’s way. It’s not the company’s fault but, still, it makes me wonder… ponder… and think… what the hell am I doing? Well, now I have yet another mouth to feed so I’d better get busy thinking about either committing or finding another possible commitment. My boss has been terrific and there has been so much support and truly caring attitudes from everyone. I’m going to mull this over and continue doing my best but all of this does not leave the mind peaceful. A little meditation is in order. I’ll have to pencil that into my schedule which is full to the brim. Eh.

Today we are having our “Holiday Meeting” and I have to be all-upbeat-and-Holiday-cheery. My ears are ringing and I could sleep for two more days. I’m going to have to fake it. That’s okay ‘cause us Pisceans are good at acting (and acting-out) and I’m thinkin’ today is going to be an Academy Award Winning Performance.

My next day off is Halloween. Oldest had, once again, been in trouble at school and we’d taken away his ability to trick or treat. Then we got their report cards and the kid has been trying so hard that we told him that he just earned the ability to trick or treat with us. Up and down and all around; that’s what this is and we hope he stays the course until Wednesday. We took them out for pizza to celebrate their grades and a good time was had by all. We discussed our conferences with each of their teachers and it was all very encouraging. Now we can move on, put on our costumes, and eat a bunch of candy. Whew!

There’s the silver lining…

Have a frightfully terrific (and safe) week!

I am such a sucker.

Last night, we were watching TV, hanging out, when we heard some kind of ruckus going on next door. Our neighbor had company and they’d been drinkin’, a wee bit, and there was some kind of commotion going on in the foyer. Evidently, there was a kitty sitting outside their door asking to come in but our neighbor, in her funny, not-so-ha-ha-way, wasn’t havin’ it. She was worried about her own cat and could be heard rudely shushing and hissing poor lil’ kitty away… and then she slammed her door shut. We looked at each other, rolled our eyes, and went back to viewing CSI.

And then I heard it… “Me..ahh…ahh… ow…”

At first the sound came quietly and then became more insistent. Of course, Lulu and Mojo went wild and began tossing themselves at the front door in a clearly menacing manner. So, I went outside to see what all the commotion was about and shush the critter back to its own house.

I first saw this kitty the other day as I was driving home. I saw a woman walking to the mailbox and her kitty was following her. It was very sweet and cute and he’s a very pretty kitty. I was worried he’d run out in front of my truck so I drove very slowly, keeping my eye on him the entire way. I remembered this as I finally caught sight of this same kitty now hiding in the bushes just outside our front door.

I coaxed him over and he came eagerly, purring, meowing, and rubbing against my legs. Oh, what a pretty little boy! Well, I pretty much knew that he belonged to the crazy lady who lives four houses down and, although I knew I should take him back, I really didn’t want to because this woman is so nuts. Her husband died three weeks ago at the pickled young age of 35. He suffered from cirrhosis of the liver and cancer. Both of them are alcoholics and since his death, this woman has been a holy terror. About three weeks ago, just after his death, our street was being paved causing all of the residents to have to park on an adjoining side street. S, and a few other neighbors, came upon this woman, half in/half out of her parked car, looking as if she were dead. She’d taken a bunch of drugs and had been drinking and was totally passed out. This wasn’t the first time and by the looks of it, wouldn’t be the last.

We’d noticed that her daughter was no longer living with her (thank God) and that she suddenly had this cat. This crazy woman had also done some weird things to our immediate neighbor that just cracked us up. One day, some months ago, this woman was all lit-up and walked into our neighbor’s house, up the stairs and into her bedroom, and surprised her by lifting her dress over her head and then asked her to have sex with her. When our neighbor told us this story, it took everything we had to not laugh our asses off because, really, it’s sad and freaky and an awful way to live. However, that hasn’t stopped us from referring to her as our neighbor’s “girlfriend”, much to our neighbor’s chagrin.

So, here I am with this kitty and now I have to go confront “the girlfriend” and give her back her cat without getting asked to have sex or a drink or engage in some weird conversation. I walked up the walkway to the house and dogs started barking. I didn’t know this woman had dogs and wondered what the heck was going on in that house.

A woman answered the door and, although she looked vaguely familiar, I didn’t recognize her as the crazy lady. It turns out that I had the wrong house and hadn’t gone down the street far enough. This nice lady told me that she’d been feeding the little kitty because the crazy lady had stopped feeding him, had thrown him out of the house, and he’d been wandering the streets for a couple of days. She’d tried to find him a home without any luck. She would have kept him except for the fact that she already has two dogs and two male cats. She implored me to take him in and give him a good home.  It turns out that it was this woman I saw at the mailbox and he’d been following her around for days.

At that point I felt I just couldn’t refuse and would, at the very least, bring him in from the cold and danger of coyotes (and they’ve been out in force lately) until I could find him a good home. She gave me the box and old towel she’d made for him, a baggy of food, a half of a container of kitty litter, and sent me on my way.

When I got home, I yelled at S to put the dogs outside so I could bring him into the house. He immediately made himself at home on the couch. I decided to test the waters and let Mojo into the house. Suddenly, kitty was hissing and spitting and puffed-up twice his original size. Well, Mojo really dug that and decided to take a closer look. As Mojo crept toward him, kitty took a swing and caught Mojo squarely on the nose. Well, that was enough of that! I took kitty out to the garage, made his lil’ bed, gave him some food and water, and set-up a makeshift kitty box. He stayed in the garage last night and seemed perfectly fine.

This morning, after the kids had gone to school, I let him in because I could hear him mewing for some attention. He was happy as a lark to get out of that stinky, ol’ garage and planted himself on my lap and the warmth and comfort of my blanket. Damn him for having such a sweet little purr, soft, silky hair, and adorable little white toes. He’s a really pretty little kitty and I just can’t help myself… I want him to stay with us and have a forever home. He’s still just a baby, about four-five months old, and could easily get used to being in our home.

That is… if he can get along with the dogs and the dogs can get along with him and, he actually uses the kitty box and doesn’t tear-up my furniture. He’s a smart lil’ guy and listened when I’ve Cesar-Milan’d him for putting his claws into my couch. We let him be with us all morning (the dogs were outside) and he’s taken up residence behind S’ computer monitor. It’s a nice, safe place for him while he and the dogs get used to each other. We just let the dogs in and they’ve finally settled down. They are very excited to have another species in their house and are dying to sniff-butt. What they don’t know (and will probably soon find out) is that this lil’ guy has stickers in his paws and isn’t afraid to wield them.

S has decide to name him “Q” because, a) it’s her turn to name something; b) she’s appealing to my ego by naming him that (Q used to be my moniker on another blog); c) she’s all about Star Trek and I wouldn’t let her name him Jean Luc or Chakotay.

She’s written about him over at her blog… and it’s pretty funny. She also has a photo of him posted.  (Just a reminder that her password is the same as mine.  If you can’t remember it, just email me.)

We are still undecided (yeah, right, sure, uh-huh) whether we will keep him but one thing is for sure: we are not giving him back to the crazy lady. Her kid has been taken from her and there’s no way in hell we are going to let her neglect and abuse this little guy. It sounds like we live in a really wacky neighborhood but, really, it’s a nice area; we just seem to have a few nut cases down the block. Thank goodness for the kind-hearted animal lover neighbor whose house I went to accidentally. Everything happens for a reason! She and I totally bonded over this kitty and I really appreciate that I woke her up, she responded (in her pajamas), and helped get this little guy out of harms way.

The really weird thing is… just two nights ago I had a dream about a cat I had years ago. Her name was Pepper and I’d adopted her from the Humane Society. She was the best cat I’ve ever had and I’m not much of a cat person. She had a great sense of humor, didn’t use a kitty box (went outside), and if she got locked in the house, she’d pee down the bathtub drain. She ruled the roost and used to punch my dog in the snout, as if boxing, just to get her attention. She never hurt my dog but did that boxing thing whenever she felt the dog needed to be reminded who was in charge. Great cat! I had her for a very long time and always think of her very fondly.

And now we have “Q” whose personality is very much like Pepper’s. I wonder if she showed up in my dream to let me know he was coming. In my dream, I was looking for her and worried about her and being chased by bad people. It was clearly an anxiety dream (probably more about work than anything else) but in the end, I found her. She was sitting atop a fence, tail wagging in communication (she was quite a tail-talker), and purring.

With the exception of the fence, that’s almost how I found Mr. Q.

Welcome to the family, buddy. Just wait until you meet the boys; you may want to reserve your desire to live with us until after 2:15PM today. This house is not as quiet as you may think… and the dogs may be the least of your worries. HA!

So far, since moving into this house, we’ve been given two puppies and have had several stray animals just show-up at our doorsteps. We are also a second home to a neighbor dog that is quite the escape artist anytime there is a thunderstorm. I don’t know what it is about this house but it seems to be a magnet for stray animals. Must be the good Karma, dogma, catma, whatever… There’s certainly never a dull moment around here!

I switched over the swamp coolers today. That’s plural because I did my mom’s and then did ours. Hers was a cinch but ours is proving a bit more problematic. First of all, I fell off the damned ladder. Not exactly fall-fall, more like slipped, slid, fell, scrambled, scraped, lunged, jumped… scraping myself along the shed… all the way down to the ground. I’d stepped on the roof-edge of our plastic shed and a piece popped off causing my foot to dangle and the need for a quick grab of the ladder. I then fell, just a little at a time, along the torn and jagged side of the shed. Scraped my entire right side, I did, and now have a funky-lookin’ “road-rash” along my right elbow. Stings like the Dickens! I guess it could have been worse and I should be thanking my lucky stars that I didn’t actually fall… but, sheesh! This ooouie hurts!

Then the pilot on the furnace wouldn’t light. It’s electronic and I can’t figure it out. Everything is on… but it’s not firing-up. Bother! I am currently airing out the garage in an attempt to get all of the errant gas to fly away. I’ll try again later and hope I don’t blow myself up in the process. I’m not EVEN going to attempt to light the fireplace pilot light. I mean, really, I’m not that blonde!

Lulu has figured out how to open doors. She can open any internal door (jumps up and grabs it with her paws) and can push the sliding doors and come and go, inside/outside, as she pleases. Usually it’s more her letting herself in when we have purposely put her out. S and I couldn’t figure out what was going on, at first, until we saw her do it. This, of course, means we will occasionally find doors that are wide-open and every half-alive-hanger-on fly has come into the house. The place is abuzz. Mojo thinks this is just wonderful while I think I’d like to kill our smarty-farty dog. You know, when I first got Lulu, she was such a ding-dong-spazz-puppy. She’s still a ding-dong-spazz-dog but she’s smartened-up just a bit too much for my liking. Although she is a great judge of people… that comes in handy sometimes. Now we are chasing after both dogs and kids to SHUT THE DAMNED DOOR! Born in a barn; all of ‘em.

Our street will be closed tomorrow and we won’t be able to get in or out with our cars. I’m thinking this is a good enough reason to call in “busy” to work. I actually had an employee call in busy once. The next time he tried to come in to work his shift, I suggested he start making money at being “busy” ’cause he no longer worked for me. Now, why did that make him mad? Because, well, he was a dumbass and thought his life business/busy-ness was more important than anyone else’s and we should have accommodated him. I did accommodate him; I showed him to the door.

When I lived/worked in California, I had a young man tell me that he skipped coming in to work because there was a hurricane in Hawaii. I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about until he said he just “had to get out on the waves, dude!” I told him I hoped he was a great surfer and could make money at it because, yep, you guessed it; he no longer worked for me. Harsh? Oh, hell no! Just another simple Life Choice. Glad I could accommodate those with a lack of Life Choice skills but why do I even have to do that? Everything is my fault. Pffttt… I don’t think so. But, then, I’m not a professional surfer. Wish I was…

Methinks I best figure out where I can park my truck and make sure S is on shoe patrol after school tomorrow. I wonder what the bus driver will do when she attempts to pick-up/drop off the kids. How much you wanna bet she simply drives over it, anyway? Ten bucks says she does. The warning notice told us that tar and asphalt will not come out of clothing or carpet. They went to great lengths to tell us this information which I’m guessing covers their butts if someone is actually dumb enough to walk on the wet asphalt and then walk into their home. I’m more worried about my shoes. Hey! I paid big bucks for these Docs!

It’s dry-sneezing season in Albuquerque. I sneezed 32 times this morning. I counted… I blew my nose as many times. What’s up with that? And then I went to my mom’s house and sneezed some more. We are also back to zapping each other any time we kiss, touch, or grab a doorknob. If only the electric ignition in the furnace was so prolific…

Time for Mojo’s bath… he’s been a terrific lil’ Swiffer but it’s time to shake out the mop. Remind me again… why did we get a white dog?

It is green chile’ season. The air, dry though it is, smells wonderful.

It’s also Balloon Fiesta. A woman died yesterday when the balloon she was riding in got caught in some electrical wires and tore the basket… causing her to fall 60 feet to her death. The other three women in the gondola were injured and, wow, what an awful thing to have your friend die, right in front of your eyes, while you are wondering if you are about to suffer the same fate. My condolences to everyone… there were lots of witnesses and everyone was totally freaked out. Very tragic… These women were in their late fifties, early sixties, and on vacation from California. Geez.

This morning there were four, count ‘em, FOUR balloon accidents. I really don’t understand why we have the Balloon Fiesta in the first part of October. It’s a traditionally windy time of year and wind is not a balloonist’s friend. Accidents aside, it has been wonderful to see all of the balloons filling the skies. The traffic from this event is horrid. They expect over 900, 000 people to attend the Balloon Fiesta this year. They are all on the roads, gawking/looking-up, at the same time I’m trying to drive to work. Usually, it only takes me 15 minutes to get to work at 4:30 in the morning. Not so, this time of year. Eh. I guess you take the good with the bad.

The trees are starting to turn on the Bosque. It’s goigeous!

The kids are acting up. I just got a call from D-Man’s teacher. He refused to get on the bus after school and, during P.E., called another little boy a “Bitch.” Now, this is not a word we use in our house (but we do, I ashamedly admit, use lots of others!) and when he says the word, “Fish”, it sometimes sounds like, “Bitch.” However, his teacher told me it was said in anger. *sigh* Fish Bitch, whatever, it was said in anger so it all has the same meaning. And… He snuck his cars to school again. I had to go pick him up. When we got home I made him throw all of his cars in the trash. It was most traumatic. If this was the first time… well, it wasn’t. It was the umpteenth time and today he learned the real consequences. Oddly, I’m his new BFF… I think it’s because he had to sit on his bed and watch his older brothers get in trouble for their antics.

The other two boys have been on a lying jag. We found candy wrappers in their room. We found wet toilet paper blobs slogged to the ceiling (aka spitballs.) Oldest took his “bling” to school today. That’s against the rules. He had it taken from him on the bus. One boy threw his pencil at him as they were fighting over the bling. Oldest took the pencil and poked it into the bus seat and tried to blame it on the other kid. They wrestled, oldest got his bling back, and then everyone on the bus told on him for puncturing the seat. The bus driver told us we would have to pay for the seat to be fixed.

I could kill them all. However, I know why they are doing this. They just found out that Mr. Patrick and Miss Veronica (our neighbors with their BFF neighbor kids and too many dogs) are going to get a divorce. They’ve been freaking out about it since Saturday. I had to have long talks about why people don’t stay in relationships and why they do stay in relationships. I also had to go back over all of that crap about their dad which still hurts and haunts them. Ergo yon stupefactions of acting-out processes. I really hate that I have to, in some ways, defend their dad. But I want them to know there is such a thing as a healthy relationship. Also, I refuse to run someone down when that person does this through their own actions quite well.

So, we’ve got bling, spitballs, Fish-Bitches, cars in trash, blistered-for-lying-butts, and a vinyl bus seat that will need to be repaired for, I don’t know how much money. Yeah; all in a day’s work.

Kids, I love ‘em.

Charbroiled.

By the way… I got the furnace to light. Just in time for a BBQ… Muahahahaha!

I woke up and immediately asked for coffee. Then I was told that I was a blanket-hog all night. Yes, there is a chill in the air… it was only 53 degrees when I woke up this morning. This caused the boys to sleep longer than usual. Each of them was wrapped tight in their little blanket-burritos and didn’t want to greet the morning air. They all complained of being “cold.”

How far we’ve come from our definition of cold and haughty, nanner-nanner‘s back at our Midwestern friends. If we’d still been in Chicago, we would have described the morning as “balmy” or “lovely” in comparison. However, I checked my favorite weather website and saw that it was 67 degrees in Chicago. What’s up with THAT?

This weather definitely energizes the dogs. They are up and at ‘em in the morning and itchin’ to get out of the house. Maybe that’s because the neighbor’s dogs have been up and at ‘em since 4 in the morning, braying and baying at anything that moves. This includes the wind, a leaf on a tree, and each other’s wagging tails. That cute little puppy that my neighbor got a couple of months ago is now a huge, lanky, howling-hound-dog. I know exactly what time they get up, get home, go to bed, and leave for the day. There’s no order to that; I know. That’s because I’m annoyed no matter what time it is.

I’m calling the city today. You know, I hate to be the asshole neighbor and call about the stench of too many dogs and someone not bothering to clean their yard, take out their garbage, feeding and watering (They are back to using the huge, half barrel, mosquito incubator for water and it‘s green and gross and, oh, those poor dogs!) their dogs… but I’ve had enough. There are also the people across the street that park their boat on the street and then park in front of my house. I can barely get out of my own driveway.

Yeah, like I’m the asshole neighbor… But I’m sick of it and will now stand up for my legal rights ’cause talking to them in a civil manner hasn’t done a damned thing. *sigh*

Otherwise, S and I are planning our escape. We have most of the day to ourselves and, if we can decide where to go, we are GOING! We haven’t had any time to ourselves because of our schedules and the kids and the dogs and our work and the house and the cars and the non-existent-grass-in-both-the-front-and-back-yards. (‘Cause grass is such a concern… don’t ya know!)

I’m thinking we should head north (and never look back) and see if the Aspens are turning yet. It’s been cool enough and, well, it is breathtaking in New Mexico this time of year. I’d be happy with a carne adovada burrito, some papitas y frijoles, a hot, sticky, honey-filled sopapilla, and a nice cuppa coffee. So, S is going to have to drive… hahahaha! But that defeats the purpose of time alone together because then she can’t take photos out the window while I scream along the back roads at 75 MPH. Hands must always be in the 10-2 position when she’s shooting out the window.

Maybe we should just pack up some PB&J sammiches and hit the road, sans camera, sans kids, sans dogs, sans sanity.

Spontaneity is the burrito of life. Unless it’s a blanket-burrito and then we call that a “JammyDay.”

Whatever works.

I’ve often wondered what would happen if the skin peeled on my tattoo. Would the peel be black? I now have the answer: no, it doesn’t peel black unless it’s a microscopic black and I can’t see it without the help of a microscope. I’m so tempted to get out the microscope and look but I might scare myself. I think, maybe, the bigger, more burning question would be, “Why do I even wonder about this stuff?” ‘Cause I’m a freak like that.

Our dogs have kennel cough aka Bordetella. We are sure they contracted this from the plethora of unhealthy dogs living next door to us. We will be presenting our neighbor with the vet bill and this will cause a shit-storm of crappy proportions. I hate having to be so confrontational but, whoop(ing cough), there it is. They still haven’t done anything with the dogs or their yard and it’s a mess. I’ve had it; we are calling the city and an officer will come out and check out the situation. Oh, bother!!

::Update!:: It is confirmed: the dogs have kennel cough. It cost me $157.64 to have them checked and get meds. I got an extra copy of the bill just for my neighbors… I can hardly wait for them to get home from work. *sigh*

It seems that Albuquerque Public Schools is having a lot of controversial activity these past couple of weeks. The superintendent is shuffling principals and creating new administrative positions. She’s also looking at shuffling some teachers around. All of this is supposedly to move better principals into low achieving schools to jump-start better education possibilities for the kids. It’s been called a “bold move” and a “proactive” engagement. We’ll have to wait and see about that.

Also, there’s been uproar about a teacher refusing to change a grade allowing a kid to graduate from high school. It seems an administrator stepped in and ordered the teacher to change the grade so this kid could graduate. What’s interesting about this is that the kid’s parents are a county commissioner and a former Board of Education member. The parents claim they weren’t notified of their child’s failing grade. The teacher stands by her grade based on the kid missing 17 English classes, being 4 1/2 weeks late on makeup work, and barely passing the final. The administrator claims that, since the parents weren’t notified in a timely manner and the kid did the work, the grade should be changed and the kid should be allowed to graduate. It seems that the parents were notified that he was failing math and that he did the makeup work and got a passing grade but they were never notified about the failing grade in English.

I’m pretty sure that kid knew he wasn’t going to graduate and that he was failing English. What do you think? It would seem to me that the parents should have known this, as well. This kid is 17 years old which, to me, is old enough to be responsible and accountable for his own behavior. It sounds like the parents stepped in, made a raucous, and demanded that his grade be changed. These are people who should know how the system works and it is beyond me to not sound snarky about this situation considering the amount of times this kid obviously ditched class and didn’t do the work. It’s totally not fair that the kids who did do the work will now graduate with someone who didn’t and who has powerful parents to get him out of this jam. This also usurped the teacher’s authority for assessing his work and assigning a grade. The teacher’s union has filed a grievance against APS. What a mess.

And then there’s the APS police department which, recently had an internal and external audit done and the findings were not good. They had bought service revolvers and didn’t take or keep an inventory of them, performed illegal background checks, and kept terrible records for petty cash and evidence property. From KOB TV: “Police equipment and cars were found at employees’ homes. Guns and bullets were used by civilians. Time cards were not filled out properly either. All examples, the audit says of district time and money squandered.” The chief of police has been under investigation for months and on administrative leave, with pay, while all of this has been going on. APS has decided his contract will not be renewed. They are considering turning the findings over to the DA to determine if criminal charges should be applied. What a mess.

And then there is our situation in which I’ve been dealing with the Student Transportation department and safety on the buses. Our youngest is special needs and rides the short school bus to school. He was being terrorized and bullied by the other special needs child on his bus. D-Man has scars and scratches on his chest from this kid grabbing at him, he’s been spat upon, kicked, hit, bitten, scratched and his backpack has been torn apart. The bus monitor does everything she can to control this other kid but he’s so unpredictable that it’s incredibly difficult. D-Man does not provoke this other kid, in fact, he ignores him. This other kid has spat upon me (and the last time, he got me right in the mouth… gross!!) and tried to hit and kick me, as well.

It took over 3 weeks for the district to deal with this situation and get this other kid, the bully, off the bus. I had to fight with the person in charge of transportation and listen to him tell me how difficult his job is and how much money it costs to get this other kid off the bus as well as how this other kid has rights, too. It wasn’t until I concocted a scenario of similarity for him (ie: an analogy of a fifth grader bullying a third grader to this same extent) that he began to understand the gravity of the situation. I had to deal with his boss in order to get anything done. I had to copy the superintendent with emails concerning what wasn’t happening and how poor the communication was and that this was an unsafe situation for our son, who’s rights were being stomped on, before anything actually happened. And it all took three freakin’ weeks for a change to occur. We actually received a phone call, after the situation was supposedly changed, and were asked if we would transport our son to the school if they paid the mileage because the mother of the other child was being “extremely uncooperative and threatening to sue.”

S and I had been cooperative, persistent, and even threatened to go to the media and, still, nothing happened until I finally contacted the superintendent and the director of the department. Now, why is it like that? Why do I have to bother the superintendent and director just to get anything done? Why is this guy, Larry Madrid, still in that job? He’s obviously ineffective and unable to handle the complexities. I don’t know. It’s over now, until next year, and, hopefully, we won’t have to go through this again. What a mess.

But…

What I see as a common denominator between these aforementioned scenarios is a tremendous lack of clear, productive communication, connections between parents and administrators (and possibly educators), and a lack of solid policies.

I said I wasn’t going to bitch about APS anymore but I just can’t help myself. I want to be positive and productive but every step of the way it’s been a bureaucratic nightmare, two steps forward and three steps back, and a completely inefficient grasp on reality within the district policies and procedures. To this day, I haven’t heard back about creating better Best Practices/policies for our kid’s safety while getting on and off the buses which are, by the way, the most vulnerable place a kid can be in for being snatched or harmed.

APS is doing quite a lot to try to accentuate the positive. They’ve changed some of their communication methods and seem to be trying to be more forthright with the community. It looks like the BOE are at odds with each other yet are trying to stand united within themselves and the district. The questions that are currently coming up and the situations continue to beleaguer all of them. It ain’t easy being green… is it? I think a big part of the problem is that it takes so long for any level of effective change and some of the administration is still operating on old or previous methods of communication, lack of cohesiveness, and a general malaise within the troops.

The “leaders” are not all operating within the same message and are not espousing the need for change and holding their subordinates or their peers accountable. Maybe this principal/administration shake-up will do some good and everyone can get on the same path.
For now, I see everyone going in different directions and heavily employing CYA tactics. Kinda sounds like the Bush Administration, doesn’t it? What a mess.

And this is why I haven’t been blogging as much of late: there’s so much going on around this crap that it’s hard to not talk about it, rant about it, try to understand it, try to be supportive, and just get my danged garage cleaned out, my sunburn slathered, and finally answer that question of, “Would the peel be black?”

I guess everyone’s feeling a little under the microscope, as of late.

The swamp coolers are up and running. How cool is that? Quite, actually. Yes, I said coolersssssss ’cause I set-up my mom’s cooler, too. I have just one thing to say about that: “Handymen can take the things apart and put them back together (sorta; they were both missing quite a few screws) but they never, ever, ever bother to clean them.” No wonder there’s so much shit flying out of the vents! To top it all off, the dude who has been setting-up and turning off my mom’s cooler every year, didn’t drain the copper waterline properly and it split six ways of Sunday. It had to be replaced. Luckily, her neighbor was willing to help for the price of beer. He got the job done but it’s never just the price of beer, is it? He did the part I didn’t know how to do and I did everything else. I’m glad I could. That handyman dude is on both of our shit-lists. He has no idea how powerful my mom’s word of mouth is… she’s got friends all over town. I don’t understand how anyone could do such a poor job and be okay with it. Bah!

It’s all good now and fresh and clean as lavendar and vanilla Downey. I put a capful in the water and it smells great! Who woulda thunk? And, I have a bitchin’ tan goin’ on from all that roof-time. However, I have a sliver of sunburn on my lower back from where my shirt pulled up and my shorts pulled down from all of that bending over business. Yeah, I have an asscrack sunburn. I guess that’s apropos for my new Handywoman role. Hurts like hell, though, as that part of me hasn’t seen the sun in some time.

I’m thinkin’ that my neighbors are on the verge of getting a divorce. Every time I see them together, they are fighting; and now they have all of these dogs ’cause someone is not getting some somethin’ or other. (Of course, this is just my assessment but I’m pretty sure I’m right-on with this one.) Man, this is dumb and it’s only getting dumber. Not only did they get a new puppy but TODAY, Patrick came home with yet another puppy. Yet another pooping puppy! They now have three (count ‘em!), three dogs in a backyard fit for just one and a half. Holy Mary!

So, what did he do today? He took the new puppy to Petsmart to be bathed (Veronica won’t let him use the bathtub for dog baths anymore) and while he was there, a woman was standing outside of Petsmart and just gave him this new pup. He claims he couldn’t resist the little long-haired Dachshund but I happen to know that his wife is mad at his first two choices of dogs because she originally wanted one little dog. Then he brought them both home, dumped them in the backyard, and left for the day. He STILL isn’t home! It’s a good thing the dogs all seem to get along. They’ve been thrust together and alone for almost 8 hours now. It makes me want to scream at him.

God help us. S says she’s going to call animal control the MINUTE they are noisy, poopy, without water/food, and there are flies. I know she’ll do it. I may seem tough but she’s much tougher than I am when it comes to this kind of stuff. See, if it was me, I’d just take the dogs, find homes for them or take them to the humane society, and leave the gate open causing them to wonder what happened. Is that mean? Passive aggressive? Eh. I don’t care. But, S is right (write that down) and the phone call would be more effective ’cause, Lord knows, they’d just go right out and get three more dogs. I feel it comin’ down and it ain’t gonna be purty. I wonder if ABQ has an ASPCA chapter? I have my own little Animal Precinct going on here.

I bought water guns today. We had an awesome water fight on the front lawn. I found out that our oldest has seen the movie, “Beauty Shop” way too many times. After soaking me thoroughly, he looked at me and said, “Got Milk?” which is a shortened line from the movie in reference to breasts, most specifically, mine as they were quite perky in my wet, cold t-shirt. I was incredulous and could have killed him! Man, did he get it! D-man was the funniest, though. He kept saying, “Hold it! Don’t move!” and then he’d squirt me right in the face. About half-way through, middle child started crying and whining and carrying on and said he didn’t want to play anymore. Well, that got him soaked. Ha! So there! Afterwards, we all stood there and dried off in the light breeze and 85 degree heat. It felt wonderful.

Then we went to The Dog House and had chili-cheese dogs, fries, and cokes. It was awful. We had to console ourselves with ice cream. I am now nursing an upset tummy and oldest has the worst gas. Was that TMI? Sorry. It was simply the first day of hot weather for us and, I’m tellin’ ya, I want to get this stuff out of our systems as fast as we can. We are now good on chili-cheese dogs for another year. Blech!

We drove all over town looking for a place that I only vaguely remember that sells Italian Ice. We couldn’t find it anywhere. I have an idea of where it might be but don’t know the name of it. What a bummer! Today was a perfect Italian Ice kinda day. That’s the problem with thinking I know where something is only to find out that my memory has faded. I saw the place just two weeks ago and now I have no idea where it is. Dang it!

And then it rained. It was lovely. The raindrops were big and cold and splatted on the hot truck and almost sizzled. The dust settled down and it smelled wonderful. And then a big truck drove past us and hit us with water. I had my window down and got a direct hit. Yeah, yeah, they all laughed at me… and I guess I deserved it considering I had just said, “We really should roll up our windows.”

So, I got soaked twice today. Got Milk? Lordy, I’m going to laugh about that until tomorrow. And then I’m going to have to cream my neighbor.

I love animals of all kinds. If I could, I’d have cats, dogs, horses, pigs (Yes, even pigs because I find them to be clean and highly intelligent.), and birds. (I would not have chickens however; they are dirty and dumb and probably the only animal I could kill with my own hands. Not really, I don’t think I could kill anything. Chickens are just gross to me.) I’d also have the appropriate amount of property to have all of these animals. Maybe it’s important to point out that I’m no hoarder and, as you can see by the list, not a fan of reptiles. Reptiles are better left to the great wide open, in my humble and freaked-out opinion.

We don’t currently have a property that would support all of those animals (and for God’s sake, I can’t afford all of that feed without a job) and I know my limits no matter how cute, in need of a home, adorable, adoptable, darling, or precious the critter. I would if I could but I can’t so I won’t. That’s a tough mantra to hang on but necessary. Our two critters are well cared for and want for nothing and that’s as much as I can handle for now. I have, on occasion, been known to take in animals until we could find them a good home.

Our neighbors got a new puppy. These are the same neighbors to whom we gave a home-seeking, wonderful, adorable, wish we could keep her but can’t, puppy to last year. The pup, now known as “Honey”, was given to us by another neighbor before we got Mojo. It was just too much to have two big-sized dogs and, just after we got her and decided this, we had new neighbors move in next door to us. They had lost their old dog and wished they had a dog and, well, it seemed like the perfect match. In many ways it was but then their circumstances changed and, Patrick, the husband, had to go to Arizona for five months for work. This left, Veronica, the wife, with three kids, two jobs, one big house, the holidays, and a dog she didn’t want in the first place. Honey is definitely Patrick’s dog.