I'm a WUSS!!

It's true. I can't handle pain. I won't be one of those people that tells you, "Oh I have a VERY high pain tolerance. Seriously."

Nope, not me. Can't stand it. I'm pretty lucky though. I rarely get headaches. The only nagging injury I have is from when I broke my leg when I was 14. It still gives me a little grief, but two months in a cast and six in a leg brace taught me how to 'limp' without looking like I'm limping.

But I've got a toothache! Two weeks ago I had a filling replaced and since then. . . WAAAAAHHHH!

It finally got bad enough that I went back to my dentist. Advil for breakfast and dinner is not a good thing. She filed it down tons but said it might take a while for my jaw to adjust. It hurts! It aches all the way back into my ear and my neck and shoulders are killing me from how stiff my jaw is! I can't really shoulder check when I drive anymore. I'm miserable!

Now as I said, I can't take pain, but tooth pain is the absolute worst! You can't really put heat on it, you can't massage the area. You can't do anything for it! I had to have an emergency root canal a few years back and I still shudder when I think about it.

So what does that picture of Portia have to do with my toothache? Absolutely nothing. But it makes me smile and that makes me feel better!

Tragedy!

It's the worst thing that's ever happened to Jenge and I. We've been inconsolable for hours. We still can't believe it. How could this happen? Why would this happen to us? We're good people (mostly).

Sniff.

Today we say goodbye to the coffee maker.

The coffee maker has dutifully done it's job well for two and a half years, but no one could live up to the kind of pressure we put on it.

Now, it won't even turn on. We stood in front of it for an hour this morning. Turning it on, waiting. Nothing. Turn it off. Turn it on. Wait. Nothing. Turn it off. Once, in a fit of panic I hit the button 30 or so times, but still, silence. No bubble bubble. No hiss hiss. No pop pop. Just the smell of freshly ground coffee that was not going to brew!

I called Paul at Starbucks warranty service (who was quite helpful and nice). Surely there must be something I can do! He's so young! So shiny! So needed!

Nope. After explaining my problem, Paul said I could try to take it to a small appliance repair shop but it would likely cost as much to fix as to buy a new one.

SOB!

But Paul did know how to fix my espresso machine (a ray of hope!). Unfortunately, I will have to call him back once I find a Phillips head screwdriver and a 3/64'' Allen wrench.

So sad! So unecessary! And Jenge and I are trying so hard to save money right now! What will we do? Where will we go?? How will we get up tomorrow morning without the promise of our sweet, glorious brew!

God only knows, mes amis. God only knows!

You've Got Personality, Baby!

So today I took one of those personality tests (click here to take it yourself). I'm always really entertained by these things. Afterward, I did a little research on my personality type. INFJ, that's me. According to this test, I am very rare (some might say 'Odd' but I prefer the term rare!)

Now, I read this profile and thought, omg, that's me! My best friend agreed, but I do wonder how much of it is like horoscopes. You can always find someway it applies to you.

On another website that had well known INFJ's, Ghandi and Jesus were listed.

Wow. I was under the impression that we had no writings of Jesus. I guess he didn't have time to write his life's story, but he took a little time out to take the personality test and hide it in a safe place for future generations.

Honestly! Jesus??!!?? You don't know what he would have answered! Some of these questions wouldn't have even been applicable in those times! (See question #37. - You feel involved while watching TV soaps. Yes or No? I'm pretty sure he was too busy to keep up on Days of our Zion).

But if you're curious and looking for something to kill time, I highly reccommend it!

Lawn Mowing Bandits Strike Again!!

Dad's not 18 anymore. Of course, if you try to tell him that, he'll give you a dismissive 'dad face' and then pretend he can't hear you. While he is partially deaf in both ears, I find it hard to believe he can still hear what Steven Segal is saying on the Spike Weekend movie, yet can't hear Jenge and I when we tell him he shouldn't mow the lawn without us.

Last week, Jenge was over at the 'rents, and Dad said he was gonna mow the next day. Jenge said, nah, don't bother, I'll do it right now. Dad protested, it's too hot right now. I'm going to do it tomorrow morning when it's cool. Jenge replied, why don't I just do it now? I'm here. I'll mow. It'll take me 2 minutes. Dad was adament. Now you may wonder why Jenge just didn't overpower him and mow, but Dad is not someone you openly defy. And we were raised to respect our parents. So, Jenge told him she would be over tomorrow morning and help him. To which she received a non-descript shrug.

We found on the next morning that he waited for her to leave and mowed it himself!! Curses! Sneaky Greek Man! Foiled Again!

But this week, we had a plan. We were not going to take no for an answer! We were over for BBQ last night and he said he was going to mow once he got back from Ann's (our older sister) tomorrow. He is helping Ann's husband build a deck and so we knew he was going to be too tired to mow the lawn.

We called Ann as soon as we got home. Told her to call us when he got there in the morning.

10 am this morning, we call Ann (we hadn't heard from her yet). Dad had landed! He was at her place and getting ready to go to Home Depot with her husband.

We dashed in the car and raced over there. We broke in (okay - we still have keys so we didn't actually break in, we let ourselves in) and we mowed! Front and Back! We did a B & M - Break and Mow. We bagged the grass and then cleaned up. Whole thing took less than 40 minutes (we're young, but not very good at mowing - starting the 'One-Pull-Mower' generally takes about 20 pulls, several kicks and curses and then finally a disgusted snort and then it will start).

We emerge triumphant! Dad has yet to go home and see our sneaky handywork. Ha!

Of course, he'll prolly gripe about the job we did. Once when I was younger he told me a mowed the lawn like a girl. I just stared at him and then said, "This just in - I am a girl!"

But there's nothing he can do about it now!

Lawn Bandits strike again!!

Moderation is the Mark of Maturity

That was the tag line on a bottle of Hot 100 (cinammon schnapps - 100 proof) that I bought many a year ago. We howled with laughter as we read that on the back of the bottle. But, in an effort to be mature, I placed a piece of masking tape an inch from the top of the bottle and annouced to everyone at the party that I was not going to drink farther than the tape!

Two hours later, I've a vague recollecton of stumbling on the beach and falling into the water a bit (we were houseboating) and my 'mark of control' (the masking tape) floated away into the Shuswap. I don't remember much more from that evening, but I am assured by those who were with me that I had a fabulous time.

Last night I had the girls over for girly martini night. Donna and Heidi came over with wine, liquers and food in tow. Now, the last time I had the girls over for drinks (Heidi and Jenn that time) I ended up being the worst party host ever (!) when I proceeded to drink too much and then take a nap on the bathroom floor for 2 hours. Of course, this was after a few drunk phone calls made to other friends (and some wrong numbers - Damn it's hard to dial when you're seeing double). But this time, I vowed, this time I was not going to go overboard! I was not going to have to make apology phone calls the morning after! I was not going to make my guests scrounge around in the pantry for snacks!

I was going to be mature about my drinking! After 12 years of drinking to get drunk, I was going to drink to be social, and then cut myself off!

And you know what, it acutally worked! It's sad when you reach that age when you realize that getting plastered is not the only reason to drink. Remember when you were young and you did the pre-drinking drinking at someone's house before you went to the bar? You had to get drunk before you went out because a) the whole point of drinking was to get absolutely rocked and B) you were not going to be able to get that drunk paying 5 bucks a drink at your local watering hole, so you had to booze it up for two hours prior and get drunk enough that you only needed to maintain the insanity at the bar.

So last night I made sure that there were snacks aplenty (thanks Donna! You're party food rocked!) and I made sure that once I got pleasantly buzzed off a martini and a half (they were STRONG BUT GOOD!) I had a couple glasses of water and some munchies. I waited a while in between drinks, and was a good host (I hope!). I even cleaned up before going to bed.

What a difference this morning was from other mornings I've had. I'm not hungover, I got a good sleep, the kitchen didn't scare me when I walked into it and I didn't have to make a round of apology phone calls while trying to figure out if it was the girls and I who drank all that vodka (Surely not!) or did I knock the bottle over and spill some down the sink? (Oh the lies I tell myself!).

It's sad but true, moderation is the mark of maturity!

It's Greek to Me!

My dad is greek. Moved to Canada in 1965 and the rest, as they say, is history. I know a smattering of greek (where's the bathroom? I want some water. No, I don't have a husband. . . . ) but I've always wanted to learn more. So my sister's and I have signed up for a Greek course at the University of Calgary in Octobr (first available date). I'm pretty excited! I really worry that without the language I will end up losing touch with my dad's family, as most of them speak no English, and those that do speak English only speak a little. Once I learn greek, I'll finally be able to defend myself! What do I mean by that? Well, on my second last trip there, I finally met up with a 'cousin' of mine (in Greece anyone who is remotely related to you, or the offspring of a family friend is your cousin) who spoke English. And I asked him where it was that I had agreed to go with my family the next day. All I knew is someone asked me a question. I heard the word 'go' and the word 'tomorrow' and so I nodded.

Turns out I agreed to pick peaches for the whole day. Luckily my cousin translated for me and I got out of it.

I also get constantly harrassed about when I'm gonna find a husband. Used to be, I was considered an old maid and on the shelf, and had been since I was 20. But Big George (an actual cousin by blood) recently got married to a woman in her mid to late 30's (Big George is around 50ish I think) and suddenly, there was hope for me apparently! I was no longer on the shelf! I could be dusted off and married! No problem according to them. They have shamelessly being trying to set Jenge up with everyone from the local breadmaker's son to the tomato stand guy for eons and everytime I go they ask 'where is your husband?' When I tell them I don't have one the get this look on their face. A cross between 'Unbelievable!' and 'That's so TRAGIC!' I once tried to explain in my broken greek that I had a job, I had a house, I had a car, I didn't need a husband. They said 'What about kids?' I said I had dogs.

Don't even get me started on the reaction to that. These are country people. The fact that my dogs live in the house with me and don't actually 'work' for their keep is just as mind blowing as the fact that I am not desperately in need of a husband.

So, it's off to Greek School. I gotta say, I love to learn languages! I think I might download a 'How to speak German' book tape to my ipod!

Until then, Yasou! (greek for goodbye!) By the way, the picture is the view from my Aunt's house in Greece, where my dad grew up.

Black Thumb


So for two and a half years, I have been planning the landscaping around my house. I have a small garden in the back, begging for foliage. My dad built a fence so the dogs wouldn't get it, but unfortunately he has yet to install the gate.

The first summer Portia ate $200 worth of plants. This winter she finished off the two that survived the first massacre.

But I planted a big, fat rose bush out front and it was quite promising last fall.

I just got back from outside where I was carefully inspecting my rose bush. Dead. Sniff. Dead, dead, dead. No hope for survival I'm afraid.

I love flowers. I've been on vacation to Switzerland, France and Greece and when I go, I take pictures of flowers. Big, swollen blossoms, so feathery and light. Petals like velvet.

But I have a black thumb. Oh, the dissapointment.

But I will sally forth! I will make another trip to the garden store promising myself that this plant will be different! Yes! This one will bloom! Huge, soft blooms that will make me smile whenever I see them!

Dammit! It is going to happen!

Murder! Murder most foul! (well, is there any other kind?)

Okay, so I live with my sister (and no, I didn't murder her! Although sometimes I think we've both had dasterdly thoughts about it!) but the thing is, when you live with your sister, if something scary happens, it's just the two of you to deal with it.

So Portia and Rocky like to have the freedom to roam about so in the summertime we leave the screen door open so they can come and go as they please (this is also because Portia has learned how to open the screen door and will swipe it off it's hinges if she finds it closed). But sometimes, due to our 'open door' policy we get bugs. Big bugs. Starship Trooper sized bugs.

Yesterday we had a bee and a wasp at the same time and they were HUGE!! Size of my hand! (okay, so I'm exaggerating, but they were the size of nickles, honest!) I was FREAKED OUT! But what can I do? Call for Jenge? Nope, she's worse than me. So I had to resort to a trick I learned from my mum. Get the vaccuum and suck the freaks up.

But then I don't want them to fly back out the vaccuum cleaner!! (Shut it! It could TOTALLY happen!) With our old one, this wasn't a problem. Stuff it with a paper towel and in a few days, ditch the bag. But this new vaccuum is bagless!! So I took the cannister out and tied it in a garbage bag, knowing I'd have to empty it at some point but a girl can only take so much!! Hopefully they would die shortly and all would be well.

And then last evening, all evening long, there was the incessant sound of pissed off buzzing from the bag. It was absolutely nerve-wracking. I couldn't think of anything else! Bzzz bzzz bzzz. The sound of a bee and a wasp planning my demise! But hey, I didn't go into their house! Now some my argue that the entire earth is their house, but unless they pay property tax, I disagree.

But now, I am a murderer! Or Murderess as the case may be. I must admit, I do feel kinda guilty. It's must be a horrible way to die. Trapped in a dark dusty bag, surrounded by dog fur. Shudder! I've got guilt! Out damn spot, out! And the kicker is I really need to vaccuum before Heidi shows up for the weekend but I'm too chicken to face the bag and ditch the bodies. I keep thinking I hear the buzzing!

This is exactly why I would make a lousy serial killer!!

Is Life Passing Me By?

So I was a little busy last week with some committments I made and other do das [Hello, lawn mower, nemisis of mine! It was time to dust you off for the summer!]. I find myself wondering in my race to get everything done, is life passing me by? I'm a hermit by nature, preferring to stay in and hang out with myself than go out and be surrounded by people. I like to read, scrapbook and knit. The latest thing I'm trying is running, but these are all solitary things. And there's my crux. I like to be alone. Now, people who know me generally know me as a chatty cathy, making jokes, telling stories, but I crave alone time like nothing else. But in my quest to find some quiet time for me, am I missing out?

It's not like I would want to be out dancing the night away. I don't sit at home wishing that the phone would ring. Generally when the phone does ring, I'm glad when it turns out to be a telemarketer I can avoid. I'm happiest when I go shopping and no sales people ask to help me. If I could order my coffee by passing a note to the barista, I would. But since I feel the need to be polite, I will smile, start a conversation. I fear that if I didn't, people would mistake my shyness for rudeness.

But when I hear my friends talk about new stuff they do, or nights out on the town, I wonder, am I in the passenger seat of life? I went to a wedding with my dad on Saturday night [Mum's out of town so dad needed a date] and I'm always surprised at how different from my dad I am. He's Mr. Social Butterfly, circling the room, saying hi to people, catching up with other folks I don't even know. But they all know him. He couldn't leave until he made one last circle of the room to make sure he didn't miss anyone. I myself, thought I saw someone I knew but didn't go over to talk to them: to shy and to afraid they would not remember me. Not so my dad. He sat there the whole night surrounded by his fishing buddies and drumming up conversations with new people.

So I fear that my affinity for being by myself is causing me to miss out on stuff. But at the same time, I'm not sure I'm willing to sacrifice my alone time to get out there. I don't even think I would enjoy it that much if I did. But how do you know when time alone is too much? Or is it ever? Hmmmmmm

Horsing Around

Ola! Yes I have been neglecting my blog lately, mes amis. It's not because I don't love you!

Heidi and I were having a discussion last week about how we are getting set in our ways. The older you get, the less tolerant of certain things you become. Sad but true. For example, Heidi mentioned to me a while ago that she has really come to appreciate a well cooked meal. She's tired of screwing around with crappy food and when she goes out to eat, she wants well prepared, well presented food. Thankfully, I still have the pallette of a fourteen year old boy and really enjoy my tatertots and McDonald's! But I digress. . .

One of the things we came to realize is that people who can't laugh at themselves are duds. Yes, duds. I'll be the first person to tell you that I am klutzy, funny (funny haha and funny weird) and that I am chock full of quirks. And if I do something stupid (which happens quite frequently) I'll be the first to tell you so we can all have a laugh about it.

But some people seem to be incapable of laughing at themselves. C'mon! It's SUCH A DRAG when you take yourself so seriously! It's hard to sympathize with someone who thinks that they are king rat of the $#!T pile! Lighten up! You'd have gads more fun and be more entertaining if you would realize we're all in the same boat! We're tired of craning our necks to have a conversation with you while you are up on that high horse! Get off the horse! Or one of two things will happen:
You will find youself alone. On a high horse. Yes the view is great, but who will you tell?

You will be yanked off said high horse uncermoniously and the fall will be brutal.

I don't know why some people take themselves so seriously. I'm such a geek that I can't possibly take myself seriously, plus I've found myself in too many akward yet hilarious situations of my own making to not develop a sense of humour about it all. So lighten up! You can do it!

Zip.ca aka: A Shout out to Heidi

So, I'm always beaking off about something and generally there is no cure for my woes. But recently, I was complaining to Heidi about how I go to the Blockbuster and can never find what I'm looking for. Namely, a tv show called 'Dead Like Me' on DVD. Sure, my local blockbuster carries every season of CSI and even has Desperate Housewives in already. But I am not one of the unwashed masses. I am more interested in a show that has already ended its run, but from the episodes I've seen, it was quirky and humourous. Like me!

So Heidi tells me again about zip.ca. She has mentioned it before but I wasn't ready to listen. Zip.ca is a website where you can sign up and for a montly fee you can have DVD's delivered to your door (or mailbox as is the case in new neighboorhoods - See previous rant!). You can keep them as long as you like, and you have MILLIONS of choices. I was able to put tons of stuff on my ZipList (Stuff I want). Being the huge dork I am, I have already added all the episodes of 'Dead Like Me' to my list as well as Season 1 of MacGyver (MacGyver! I love it! I had the BIGGEST CRUSH on Richard Dean Anderson! sigh. Be still my 12 year old heart)

So, if you're sick of being disappointed everytime you go to rent movies, be sad no more! Visit Zip.ca and sign up!

New Community Blues

I've got the new community blues. I'm tired of taking the puppies for walks and seeing ugly construction everywhere. Portia eats whatever the construction workers toss on the ground after their lunch (SLOBS!! There is lunch crap everywhere!!) Their paws get muddy when it rains because not everywhere has grass yet. All the trees are tiny new trees. Parks are incomplete, baseball diamonds aren't done yet. Pathways go nowhere because they haven't been finished. Back alleys are a thing of the past. We keep our blinds closed all the time because in new neighboorhoods all backyards touch all other backyards. Plus, small lots. Leave the blinds open and you will likely find yourself nose to nose, staring out your window at your neighboor staring back. Sniff. I got the BLUES!!

I miss the big trees of my parents' neighboorhood. In the summer, driving up the main road to mum and dad's place, the trees are so big and the road curves just-so, so that it looks like the tops of the trees bow over and tough each other across the street, like a canopy. There are back alleys that I know so well (from years of riding my bike) and they actually go places. Look out their kitchen window and you can barely make out anyone else's windows because a) big trees block the view and b) large lots make them far away. My entire house and lot could fit in my parents back yard.

I got the blues. . .

It's that special time of year!

Yes kiddies! It's time to register for the CIBC run for the Cure!! The first Sunday of every October is the day to run/walk for a cure for breast cancer. This will be my 6th year! It's a great time, and last year we took the dogs too. I even put a breast cancer t-shirt on Portia and she was a big hit. It's loads of fun, you get bagels and apples, water and juice and you get to raise money for a good cause! If you want to register go to the CBCF website. If you raise enough money in donations, it's FREE! You heard me right, FREE! I hope to see you there!

Responds well to authority

If I were to be analyzed by a shrink, one of the things that would be on my chart (other than: paranoid- self-doubting egocentric) would be: Responds well to authority. I've always had this thing: I must follow the rules! I have to obey! If you are in any sort of position of authority (doctor, police officer, dentist, nail-tech) I will do whatever you tell me.

Case in point: I fear going to my nail tech. I love Amanda dearly and no one does a set of nails like her, but I'm scared everytime I go when I have to show her what I've done to her artwork over the last three weeks. She knows I am a habitual filer so she forgives me, but I hate having to turn my hands over to her knowing that the jagged edge on the index, or the raging hangnail on the thumb are all courtesy of me (except I tell Amanda that Evil Margarita did it. Damn Evil Margarita! I'm always apologizing for that bee-yatch!)

Case 2: Going to the hairdress with massive split ends and bad roots. I feel like I must explain that yes, I use the curing iron and flat iron all the time, and no, I didn't deep condition and yes, I use drugstore shampoo (at this point there is generally a disgusted snort tossed my way).

Same thing at the dentist. I cringe when they say I need to floss more and focus on my gums. I'm a bad flosser! I confess! I'll talk! I'll tell you all about the 5 consecutive years I made a new year's resolution to floss every day! Just turn the hot lights off!

So, it's true. I'm a yes-man. Or yes-woman as the case may be. I can't help it! 1. I was raised catholic (stand up and feel guilty - just for old times sake!) and 2. I'm a people pleaser. I want everyone to be happy. And if they're not, we'll it's generally my fault and I feel guilty about it. If I had been the main character in Orwell's 1984, all they would have had to say was, "Do you see 5 lights?" and I would have said, "Do you want me to see 5 lights?" Book over.

Reluctant Traveller

I like to travel.

Let me clarify that.


I like to see new things and eat foods in far away places and generally look around. But I am a reluctant traveller.

What happens when a type-A, paranoia infused, shy, self-concious girl like me goes travelling? Well, it goes something like this. . . .

A fabulous idea pops in my head. I will go on vacation! Yes! Vacation! Now where to? Hmmm. I will visit Allan! Yes! Allan in Switzerland! Rocking good idea, he speaks French and can order all my food for me! I buy ticket. I get passport renewed. I start to think about what to pack. Day before the journey, I panic! I hate the 'getting there' part! I will have to check in 2 hours early. What if my luggage is seized for some insane reason I didn't know about? Don't be ridiculous. You're luggage won't be seized. Gads! I have a four hour layover in Frankfurt! What am I going to do for four hours! Okay, it's okay. You will buy a coffee and read a book. Buy a coffee! I don't speak German!! Breathe, breathe, it's the airport, they will speak english. OMG, I'm an annoying English speaking person who travels the world assuming that everyone will speak her language. I have to cancel! Cancel! I can't go! I'm too nervous! Can't cancel, ticket paid for and non-refundable. What will you tell friends, family, co-workers?? That you bought a ticket to Europe and chickened out? No, must go! Will have good time. Get to Geneva, hang out with Allan. He wants to take 8pm train. Will we make it? No! Of course not! But he has to try! We don't make it. Decide to take train next morning. Go to small French town. What a pretty sight. Oh no! I have no French Francs! Only have Swiss Francs! Feel guilty mooching off Allan even though I am writing it all down so I can pay him back! Back in Geneva. Hmm should go out. Scared! French not so good! Dammit! Did not come all the way over here to hang out in apartment. Book tour of Lac Leman. Go. Get horrendously lost. Get found. Make bus just in time. Have good time. Learn lots, see lots. Eat crepes on lake side. Book tour of Swiss countryside. Go. Have good time. Learn lots, see lots, have glass of wine. Maybe stay in and watch a movie? No! Go out! Do something! And don't be afraid to buy lunch! Go to United Nations. Shop. Won't get lost again, won't get lost again. Can figure out transit now. Orient self by the Starbucks. You can't get lost as long as you know where the Starbucks is. Get stuck in rain. See fabulous Swiss garden when sun comes out. Time to go home. GADS AGAIN! Four hour layover in Frankfurt! Four hour layover in Toronto! What to do? What if my luggage gets seized? Where is my passport? Did I forget anything? Okay, okay. Luggage will not get seized. Passport is in front pocket as always. You have your packing list and it is complete. All is fine. Panic, panic. Will be fine. Am going home.

Get home and recollect that I had a fabulous trip! Panic forgotten. Anxiety gone. Pics turned out great. Have cool stories and souvenirs. It's the same everytime I go somewhere.

Yes, it's true, I read trash fiction!

So, I figure my brain gets a pretty good workout during the day. I have a job in a field where I don't actually have a degree (degree = math, job = history) so I figure my noodle is working fairly hard all day. I prefer to write fiction in my spare time, but while I'm on the clock, it's non-fiction only (spare time = coven full of witches, job = factual responses). So the old noggin is chuggin away.

Which is why when I come home and finally set aside some me time to read, I enjoy easy reads and the occasional good pile of trash!

My name is Margarita, and I am a trash fiction junkie.

I do have some criteria. It must be a fast read. No gigantic sized words that send me running to mirriam-webster. And while I'll put up with a lot of silly plots, I cannot stand big plot holes. My characters must be charming, relatively intelligent and outrageously fashionable. I read historical [and I use that term quite loosely] romances, contemporary sci fi [once in a while] and I'm a sucker for a gruesome crime novel with a strong female lead. I have my favourite authors and I wait not-so-patiently for their next books to come out, at which point I run down to Chapters, find out that it's not in the store yet [despite the fact that it was released a week ago] and then run home and order it from amazon.ca [but that's a whole other blog!]

I will not read a book if it's currently on Oprah or the 'it' book to read. I scoff at 'it' books. Da Vinci code, suck it. I've no interest in you. You are highly recommended by the general public who I consider to be full of brainless boobs. You did not make the cut. Oprah, you tend to pick books with a 'deep message' and frankly, I don't need you to teach my life lessons. You are off the list.

I fully admit that what I read would generally be considered trash, but I love it. So shut it. At least I can read which is more than I can for some of my age-group.

Gita's Faves - In no order
1. Kelley Armstrong and her Women of the Underworld Series - Strong heroines, werewolves, witches and snappy dialogue. Love this woman.
2. Charlaine Harris and her Southern Vampires - Mind reader/Bar Waitress Sookie Stackhouse and her vampire friends. A hysterical series. Love it.
3. Tess Gerritsen - Well written, thought out crime novels. Good characters. Page turner every time.
5. Kim Harrison - These ones are only for you if you like more fantasy stuff like fairies and elves, only they live in today's world. Entertaining reads.
6. Kay Hooper - For all you fans of psychics, esp and the paranormal. Her earlier stuff has less of it and is fabulous too. I recommend 'Finding Laura.'
7. Jayne Anne Krentz/Amanda Quick - Same author, different names. One for contemporary romance, one for historical. Her books are all pretty similar, but hey, if it ain't broke. . .
8. Laurel K. Hamilton - This one comes with a disclaimer. Stop after Blue Moon. It goes downhill from there. Don't be tempted by misleading synopses. Anita will never choose between Jean-Claude and Richard. She'll only add more boy-toys to the mix and you'll be disgusted with her.
9. Iris Johansen - Reliable Author. Good plots. Good characters.
10. Christina Dodd - Romance Novels
11. Lisa Kleypas - Romance Novels

You are what you eat! aka: I'm a bad mummy

So, Porita and Rocky graduated sometime ago from sleeping in their luxury sized kennels to sleeping anywhere they want to in the house. Rocky will only sleep in Jenge's bed, and apparently, sleeps like the dead. Which if you know him, is quite funny since we can't get him to slow down or shut up for the other 18 hrs of the day.

Portia, free spirit that she is, prefers to roam the house. I leave my door open so she can come and go as she pleases. Sometimes she pops up onto my bed, generally choosing to sleep dead center of the mattress. I swear, she must have a little, itty-bitty doggie measuring tape that lets her know where the exact center is. But I digress. . .

On a walk, Portia has been known to pick up whatever tickles her fancy and eat it. Other than totally grossing me out, this generally is not a problem. However, over the last couple of weeks I have learned a few things:
1. Peach pits will not go out the back end. They must come back out the way they went in.
2. Ditto for Starbucks straws.
3. Ditto for plastic wrap.
4. Ditto for large pieces of wood.
5. Ditto for tupperwear
6. Ditto for whatever it was I cleaned up Sunday morning - I didn't want to look that close!! EW!

What makes me a bad mother is that I'm too squeamish to reach into her jaws and yank it out while she's chewing on it. I mean, I don't know where that has been! Yuck! What makes me a worse mother is that I, like Rocky, sleep like the dead. I wake up like the dead too. Zoned out, cranky and hungry. The last two times I heard her getting sick in the night beside my bed I was like, "Noooooooooooooooo. Sigh. I'll get it tomorrow." Roll over, snort, fall back asleep. Oxy Clean is my new best friend. It really does work like in the commercials. I have found little Portia presents all over the house.

Honestly, sometimes I think she's got no brains! As for stuff that has made it out the other side:
1. Tub of margarine and tub of sour cream, simultaneously consumed.
2. Package of Tim Horton's butter
3. Package of ketchup from fast food restaurant
4. Pieces of blanket
5. Pieces of rubber bone
6. Dog hair (we groomed Rocky and she ran off and ate all the fur we freed from him)
7. Rubber band (this one is a personal favourite of Portia's)
8. Pieces of shoes
9. Scented Candles
10. Puzzle pieces (as I found out after assembling a 748 piece puzzle. Dammit! Two pieces short! Four pieces in the puzzle were already mangled by slobber and teeth)
11. Yarn/String/thread - Go ask Jenge how this was extracted. She took the prize for Mummy of the year that day. Too bad she's scarred for life!

Stuff I have snatched from the 'Jaws of Death':
1. Razor
2. Nail clippers
3. Knives (she loves the handles)
4. The rest of the shoes
5. Spoons
6. Remote control
7. Books

You would think that I leave stuff out, but I don't. I swear, she has a hidden opposable thumb and that's how she gets all this stuff!

But I love her. Sniff. She's pretty darn cute!