What I've learned. . .

I was thinking really hard all week on how to end the Week of Dad. What was the best story I knew? What was the best advice I ever got from him? Everyone has had their favourite Dad-ism (I'll try to list most of them!) but as for advice, I think that the most important things I learned from him, I didn't learn from him telling me, but I learned by example:

Family is important, and when family needs something, you do it/get it/say it. No whining, no complaining, no bartering. You shut up and deliver, because they are your family.
Treat your closest friends like they are family.
Have fun with your family and friends.
What someone does for a living or how much they make does not factor into whether or not they are a good person.
If you only raise your voice once in a while, people will stop and listen when you do.
Make sure you save some money in the bank for rainy days
Play when you can (especially with kids! - Dad played with us alot, and he played with my nephews too)
Be nice to people
You can frame, drywall and paint yourself, but always get a professional to plaster and tape (okay, so that one is not sappy and sentimental, but it's true! Taping well is a hard job!)
Work hard and take pride in your work.

I'm sure there's more that I don't even realize I learned, but those are the things that stick out the most.

For my friends and family, if you have a dad-ism you don't see here, put it in the comments!

More Dad-isms:
When you tell me things like this, it's like a bullet in my head [Said to Jenge when she was 16 after she told him she had a crush on the courtesy clerk at Safeway, who was very cute, but really dumb]

Listen . . . [said in a deep serious tone, and with a finger point, and then followed by the World according to Dad]

How you fixin'? [for money - it was his way of asking if we needed any]

Merry Christmas, Brandi [Said to the dog as he dropped large hunks of meat on a piece of tinfoil that he carefully folded up as a plate and set on the ground]

Something between here [my dashboard] and here [my engine] is no connected. [Which is how he explained to me why my check engine light was always on]

I know what he is thinking, he is thinking 'That Goddamn Greek is still there.' [part of his toast at my sister's wedding]

Split-bannanas, Berry-Knots Farm, Torture 86

We go for schvimming [Dad learned english from german and sometimes you still heard a little bit of the german]

Nice to know you still alive! [said when we finally called home after not calling for a few days]

Slow, eh, slow [repeated MANY times whenever one of the kids was using the video camera]

Look at all the cars you hit!! [said when we drove over the yellow lines in the parking lot while he was teaching us to drive]

If you build it. . .

It has been 365 days since I last saw my dad in person. There have been moments over the past year where I think every member of my family has thought that they were finally feeling better and moving on, and just as many moments where they found themselves back at the same place they were at the moment he died. The most bittersweet aspect of the greiving process has been the stories of my dad. Generally very funny and touching, they are at the same time a great comfort - reminding us who he was - and a crushing reminder of what we lost.
Dad was a builder and over the years, built us many things. Our house, our bikes, a table for parties downstairs, a plastic rocking horse (whose springs used to pinch our chubby legs when we got too big), a tree stand for our Christmas tree (although that was after many years of jerry rigging it with string and nails), shelves for all our rooms, walls for new rooms when we got older and needed our own space, a desk for my mum, a bathroom in the basement, a dog area for my dogs (although he postured that he didn't like them), a deck for my house, a deck for Ann, and his greenhouse (oh, lord, the greenhouse. What an eyesore!) I liked to watch him work. He was a man of few words, and if you wanted to learn, you learned by watching. You could ask him questions, but I found it worked best when I found a quiet place to sit out of the way and just watched. Watched him snap a chalk line, or put up drywall, or re-wire a socket. It never in a million years occured to me that not everyone's dad could do those things. Those were Dad things - done with Dad tools. And I was surprised when I found out that not everyone's Dad had been able to build a bathroom without any plans. Over this past year, we've slowly been learning how much we depended on him, for even the simplest task - hang a picture, hang a gate, fix a shelf - all things that we saw him do a million times.

Dad-ism of the day: My mum once said it would be nice when they got older to move into a bungalow. Then they wouldn't have to go up and down so many stairs. My dad looked at her and asked a very familar dad question: "Who are you? The Queen of England?"

The importance of higher education

Growing up poor, Dad didn't have the opportunity to go to school past a certain age. His father had died when he was only 3, and pretty much everyone in the family had to work. We used to hear stories about how when he was in school as a young boy, the American soldiers would hand out chocolate milk at lunch to the kids. Then later, we heard how he would take the animals up into the mountains and he would sleep in trees. Our education was very important to him, which leads me right into my next dad-ism.

Dad-ism of the day: God help you if you EVER EVER complained about having to go to school, or whined about how you didn't want to go. This would spark Dad off and his lecture always started with the same words:

What! You wanna be a dummy for the rest of your life!??!!

At the end of the lecture, you were sufficiently chastised, realizing that your education was super important and you were ungrateful for not using the opportunity. I can't remember what he used to say for the rest of the lecture, but my sisters and I ALWAYS remembered the opening line.

Do as I say, not as I do!

When we used to go to Greece as kids, we loved going down to the river. Just a short walk from Grandma's house, it was great. No matter how hot it was, the river was nice and cold. Freida used to go down there every day and get drinking water from the small spout (that's me standing next to it in the background). But no matter how often we played down there, we were NEVER, EVER allowed to walk across the river on the big log. NEVER. And SHAME on you for even CONSIDERING IT! But dad would sashay back and forth across it all the time! We were so jealous! Sometimes, I remember he would stand on it, as we watched him from the balcony at Grandma's and he would thumb his nose at us!

Dad-ism of the Day: Dad was told by his doctor not to have spicy, salty or fatty foods. I caught him once making a german salami sandwhich (with Peppercorns!) with thick slabs of velveeta cheese and a heavy helping of Dijonaise. When I confronted him his response was: "Don't eat this, don't eat that. . . May as well lay down and die."

And he took his sandwhich and left the kitchen.

A Week of Dad!

In order to commemorate the 1 year anniversary of my dad's death, and to celebrate his life, I bring you A Week of Dad!

Born in Greece, Dad moved to Canada in 1965. He only knew one word "Eggs" and he ate them for breakfast all the time, since he couldn't order anything else. He had his first meal at the Homestead restaurant, which he ended up buying.

It's pretty funny that a man who NEVER surfed the internet, never had an email address, didn't even know what Google was, is now posted on a blog for anyone to see. In fact, when I lived in Vancouver, my mum used to chat with me on MSN, and she tried to show it to my dad once, and he was pretty unimpressed, from what I hear, asking how she knew it was really me.

'Dad'ism of the Day: If you don't have at least $5.00 on you, the police can and will arrest you for vagrancy. Hence you must always have some "Walking around Money" in your wallet.

MONDAYS

If I had a look that expressed how I felt about Mondays it would be like Portia's face in the above photo.

• My coolant light came on again
• I overslept by THREE HOURS
• I had to park 3 blocks from work
• I couldn't find the missing docs
• I forgot my massage therapy appointment
• I didn't bring a lunch

Sigh.

Did it Self!
When my nephew was younger, if he wanted to do something on his own, instead of having help, he would proclaim "do it self!!" very loudly.


Well I'm proud to say that about my garden gate! Did it self!


Dad made me a fence for my garden, as Portia likes to eat plants, flowers, grass, weeds, plant food. . . you know. But he never put the gate up. Dad was really good at starting projects, but sometimes lacked the follow thru needed to fully complete a project. Especially the tiny finishing details.

And a year passed. And another.

And then Dad got sick. And then he passed away. . . .


So, I told myself it was time to do it self! I could install a garden gate! I found a half open bag of hardware in the garage! I have a math degree for crying out loud!


But I couldn't make the pieces fit. And neither could mum. So I took a picture of my gate, and my bag of hardware and went to the home depot! Turns out, I was missing pieces, and the gentleman there showed me what the finished product should look like!

So I went home and put it up! I was so proud of myself, I could have burst! I called my mum all giddy, "I did it! I put the gate up!"


Heck, it's been two weeks, and I'm still proud! I pull the curtain up on the window everyday and look at!

Portia, No!

She did it again. She went ape-shit and attacked Rocky over the broken crumbs of some dog cookie. It's like she's back in the wild and if she doesn't get that crumb, she will starve to death, on the spot, and keel over.
Jenge tried to grab her and failed. I am generally the muscle in this situation as a) I have no fear of getting in the midst of a fight (sorry, mum, don't want to worry you, but it's true) and b) I will grab whatever part of a dog I can and pull it to break the fight up, while walking away with said part of a dog clutched in my grasp. Jenge always tries to go for the collar or the waist. I do not waste time trying to get such a grip. I've learned you can pull a 50lb malamute off a 22lb sheltie as long as you have part of an ear and a tail. And a tail is usually all you can grab. And then she gets put in her kennel for an hour and ignored (as instructed by my vet who said "Be decisive!! Be in control! And don't fall for crying!!" My lip quivered and I sniffed and said, "okay.")

Mum says I should find some nice place in the country for her, and that she's too big. But she's my baby and I love her!! She only goes ape-shit once every six months or so and just when you have forgotten the last time, she does it again.


Poor Rocky. He's been hiding in Jenge's room most of the night.

It's time to go back to the Dog Whisperer, Larry, and see what he has to say.

A Tale No One Would Believe. . .

So I was up late watching national geographic and they were doing this special on this aquarium in California. Beautiful, huge glass walls showcase marine life.
One of the things they talked about were the sea otters. And they showed them playfully cavorting in the bay. They also showed them rolling themselves in kelp so they can have their morning nap without drifting out to sea. . .
And then they started talking about how the sea otter, having previously bounced back from extinction, was now declining again. So they wanted to track them. They wanted to know how often they dove for food, how long were they staying under, and how deep did they have to go.
The only way to do this, apparently, was to implant them with a data mining device!
So, as the sea otter is happily rolling him self in preparation of his morning nap, divers are far beneath him, with special breath apparatus that recycles the air so they don't release bubbles. And then with jumbo sized nets, they scoop the otters up! Stuff them in a kennel! Drive them on a truck to the vets! Knock them out! Implant the device! And put them back in the ocean!

This got me thinking. Is this the sea otter equivalent of getting kidnapped by aliens? Imagine this conversation. . .
Sea Otter 1: I'm telling you! I was minding my own business and then outta no where, I was taken! stuffed in a box and put on some large machine! It moved over land as fast as we move in water! and there were bright lights! And strange sounds! and they put me on a steel table and I'm telling you, they put something in me!
Sea Otter 2: Sounds like someone had too much kelp last night.
Sea Otter 1: I have a scar! A scar to prove it!
Sea Otter 2: Bob, c'mon, you probably ran into a rock again like you did back in '95.
Sea Otter 1 (aka Bob): I can't eat! I can't sleep! I know they are coming back. . . .

Sadly, Bob is right as after a while, they must capture the same sea otter again and take the data mining device out so they can download the data. Poor Bob! Kidnapped by humans and no one believes him.

Death, Decay and Madness - Yes please!
I came home the other day and was looking for something to watch on the telly to kill some time. I finally found, "The Tomb of Ligeia" (which I've seen before) staring Vincent Price, based on an Edgar Allan Poe story. Let me tell you, as soon as I see the name Vincent Price combined with "Based on Edgar Allan Poe" I'm flipping in immediately. I loved "The House of Usher." It occured to me that I loved this sort of Gothic horror the best, so I wikipedia-ed it:
(from wiki):
Prominent features of gothic fiction include terror (both psychological and physical), mystery, the supernatural, ghosts, haunted houses and Gothic architecture, castles, darkness, death, decay, doubles, madness, secrets and hereditary curses.
The stock characters of gothic fiction include tyrants, villains, bandits, maniacs, Byronic heroes, persecuted maidens, femmes fatales, madwomen, magicians, vampires, werewolves, monsters, demons, revenants, ghosts, perambulating skeletons, the Wandering Jew and the Devil himself.
Important ideas concerning and regarding the Gothic include: Anti-Catholicism, especially criticism of Roman Catholic excesses such as the Inquisition (in southern European countries such as Italy and Spain); romanticism of an ancient Medieval past; melodrama; and parody (including self-parody).

Seriously, does it get any better??

In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

Okay, I'm a night owl, so anything before 10am technically classifies as the wee small hours of the morning. Since January, I've had a heck of time waking up. My alarm goes off at 6.15 - if I'm lucky, I'll hear it and get out of bed before my alphabetically organized CD hits songs that start with S.If I'm not lucky, I wake up to silence meaning I have slept through the entire thing. And if I'm really not lucky, I wake up to Jenge standing at my door saying, "Hey, it's 7.45. Are you going into work today??"

So Jenge has been my last resort backup. But she's a teacher and about start holidays in July. Who's gonna get Evil Margarita out of bed (because, dear reader, it's evil Margarita who's in charge that early in the morning and she DOESN'T CARE).

Maybe I can rely on the puppies to wake me up!

I'm so screwed.

I wouldn't have to look at you this way if you just did what you were told

Jealous, I say!
Now, I have a strict "No lying to the doctor" policy, but Dr. Usual was on vacation so I was seeing Dr. Other Guy and I wasn't quite sure that my no lie policy had extended coverage to him. So when he asked me, "How much coffee do you drink?" I said, "I have a cup in the morning."

Which wasn't a lie, per se. I mean, I do have a cup in the morning. Followed by a second cup. Followed by a cup at work, and then maybe some in the evening. . . . Not that he asked ANY follow up questions to my 'cup in the morning' answer.

See, I KNEW what he would say as soon as I told him how much coffee I drink. He'd immediately jump to the conclusion that it was the source of all my troubles. But I've ALWAYS had that much coffee. In fact, I've actually cut back over the last couple of years from my all time high of 7-8 cups a day, chased by 3-4 shots of espresso. So I KNOW that's not my problem. But doctor's don't care how much you know you're body. They will immediately JUMP to the conclusion that coffee is to blame.

And it's not!! They, along with my chiropractor and a select few holistic peeps I know, are jealous of the amount of coffee I can drink in a day and not suffer from jitters, shakiness, nor insomnia. I do suffer from the occasional bout of insomnia, but it CANNOT be traced back to my coffee habit. If anything, it's the nights that I dont' get to relax with a cuppa joe in front of the telly that I toss and turn.

Green with jealousy.

You can lead a horse to water. . . .

It was getting out of hand. I was starting to change my daily plans to make allowances. I was changing what I drank, when I drank it and how much. Because I never knew when it would strike! Oh sure, I could have gone to the doctor weeks ago, I mean, I should have gone right back after I had my allergic reaction to antibiotics before finishing the full course. But I HATE going to the doctor. I'm one of those people that hopes it will all go away. Generally, by the time I tell my doctor I have a problem, it's been going on for years! But now my coffee habits were getting shifted. I was starting to cut back. shudder.

All because I was afraid!! Afraid I would be trapped somewhere and have to pee!!

It was happening all the time!! It was ruining my days, my nights. My coworkers prolly thought I had developed a savage cocaine habit as I was off to the loo every hour on the hour. I could barely make my commute, even in good weather. I had to plan everything around whether there would be a bathroom close by and how much water/coffee I had had to drink.

But I finally made it to my doctor's office today. And then!! Oh the irony!! The twisted cruelty of it all!!

Shy bladder!!

I waited, and waited. Surely, I would have to pee sometime. I specifically drank extra for just such an occasion. La La la, should I get up and turn the tap on. Ack! No can do! someone else just came in. La La La. . . It was a no go. Foiled by my own body.

I had to go back into the doctors' office, my head hung in shame. I had cracked (or rather, I hadn't cracked) under the pressure. There was a five year old getting the same test done. She had no problems. Cruel world.

So they plied me with two extra large glasses of water and I plunked myself down in the waiting room. And waited. And waited. and waited. I was determined!! I was NOT LEAVING UNTIL I SUCEEDED!!

Half an hour later, I had enough 'success' for a test to be run. It was inconclusive. Fascists. Now I have to go for more tests. . . .

This time last year. . .

. . . it was just starting to all go to shit. Seriously. Mum's sister had just passed away and Mum was just about to return from Nova Scotia where she had been with the rest of her family during the last days. We were planning our trip to Cape Breton in October since it had been a LONG time since I had been down east. I was finally gonna see the fall colors of Cabot Trail. Then in June we got a call that mum's brother, Carmie, was in the hospital. So we moved our trip up. Jenge and I each juggled to see if both of us could go. In the end, Jenge couldn't leave work, but it was actually a good time for me. Ann, Mum and I were off to Cape Breton. Then we got the call that Carmie had died. Then Darren, my bro-in-law, got in a car accident and Ann had to cancel. Mum and I went to the funeral down east. Then Jenge called, Dad was sick and in the hospital again. We came home, Dad got out of the hospital. Then Dad went back in the hospital. Then Dad died. And that was that.

You hear alot of platitudes during a time like that. Everything happens for a reason, time heals all, it was his/her/their time. Everyone means well. Everyone wants to be able to say something to you that will make you feel better. And you lie and tell them that they are right, and that their words help, that what they say is true. But really, it's all kinda bullshit, isn't it? I mean we've all been through muck and was there ever anything that anyone said to you that made you feel better about it? Prolly not. But we all keep on keepin on.

Another Day in Doggyland

The emails went like this:

*************************************

From: "Jennifer"

To: "Margarita"

Subject: portia

Date: Mon, 28 May 2007 13:05:51

Just wondering what the doggie movie of the day was at Portia's puppy daycare. - Jenn

P.S I hope that cupcake biscuit was a dog biscuit because I gave it to the Sock at lunch.
**************************************

From: "Margarita"

To: "Jennifer"

Subject: Re:Portia

Sent: Mon 5/28/2007 14:50:17

OMG, are you joking!! or are you serious!! that cupcake thing was a bathbomb! Are you joking!! I can't tell! Gita

********************************************************************************

From: "Jennifer"
To: "Margarita"
Subject: Re:Re:portia
Date: Mon, 28 May 2007 15:05:01

No, i'm not joking. Why would they make a bath bomb look like a cupcake? I've gotta go
***************************************************************************
Rest assured, dear readers, the sock is fine

CSI:Mummy

I can't remember if I've blogged about this already or not and since I only got about 3 hrs sleep last night I'm just gonna assume that I haven't.

There's a pic of my favourite counter surfer, Portiacakes. She regularly saddles up to the counter and checks to see if we've left anything in the Portia-zone. We usually now scare her off by placing some un-set mousetraps on the edge (she's terrified of them) but recently, I forgot to put them back. Fast forward to 4am Saturday morning when someone started horking up something strange. Although squicked out by puke (I mean, who isn't!) as a mum, I need to know what made my baby throw up! Was it the new food? Did she accidentally eat some weeds that I sprayed in the backyard? Has she found something that could really hurt her?

The answer is usually she got something she wasn't supposed to get, and while it made her sick, it's not harmful. But I can't help feeling a little like a CSI as I try to figure out what was in her tummy. On Saturday, I could regularly identify the remains of a milkshake cup from the Marble Slab but there was something else in her tummy that I couldn' t figure out and it's been bugging me since.

Until I sat down at the computer this morning and Portiacakes came to join me in the office. She immediately went to the corner and started pulling apart something. I snatched it away from the Jaws of Death and have my 4am mystery solved. What was it that Portia had eaten in addition to a plastic milkshake cup, you ask?

A White crayon.

Another mystery solved by your local CSI Mummy.

Time for a new to-do list!

Gang, I gotta pile of stuff to work on and I'm not gettin' any of it done. It's time for a list!!

1. Go to home depot and get that waterproofy tape stuff as my shower head sprays water all over while I'm in there. Place is soaked by the time I get out, and I only take about 8 minutes in there!
2. Paint downstairs bathroom. This one has been on the burner since before Dad died. Naturally, I got sidetracked at that point and kinda forgot about it but now it's back on the menu!
3. Call 1-800 Got Junk and clean out the house. Seriously, how is it I own half this stuff??
4. Work on my book! Ashleigh has been sending me her installments and I've been lax in sending her my stuff as I decided to change my plot (why I waited till page 204 to do this is a mystery but there you have it!)
5. Put laundry away. This one should be a no-brainer and yet there it sits. All clean and in the basket.
6. Get some work done - I'm at home today and the work is in my car. Must get it out and get to it. I have responded to some emails but must get serious!!
7. Clean kitchen. Sigh. Kitchen. Things are desperate down there.
8. Call Sears about cleaning vents.
9. Figure out what parts I need to do maitenance on house humidifier
10. Call Shaw and order greek channel! Wait, I have the bill right here, I can call right now!!

I'll let you know how it all turns out!

Life with Rocky
People who haven't met Rocky don't understand Rocky. What makes him bark? He can't possibly bark as much as you say. He can't be that high strung. You're making it up!!

Press Play, if you dare.

It's official. . .I'm a bee-yatch . . .

So the other day, I was driving down Macleod Trail. I was way up by Avenida, you know - where the speedlimit is 80km/h. And this joker in front of me was doing 50 (FIFTY!! OMG!! - so annoying!) . So I was FINALLY able to find a gap in the fast moving traffic and pass them. As I did, I noticed a sign on their back passenger window that said "Jesus Saved Me" and I kid you not my immediate first thought was, "Oh yeah, well too bad he didn't teach you to DRIVE!! Moron!"

True story.

Simple Life

One of Portia's favourite things to do is lie down on my bed and look out the window. I keep my curtians closed most of the time when I'm at home for the simple fact that I don't want the neighbors to see me in my house clothes (read: ratty old shorts and a tank top) but in the morning, before I go to work, I crank the curtains open for Portia. She loves it so much, that even if she is downstairs, once she hears the curtains she comes barrelling upstairs immediately. Then she carefully lies down with her front paws on my pillows, and rests her chin down, usually sticking her face through one of the openings in my iron headboard. And she starts watching. Her eyes flicker here and there, their attention being caught by a tree blowing in the wind, or a car on the way to work. I think she spends most of her day up there (judging by the amount of dog fur I find on my bed). And sometimes, when I come home, as I enter the laundry room, I hear a frantic scrambling and thumping as she launches herself off my bed and comes crashing downstairs to say hi to me. But once the hellos are over, it's back upstairs to the bed and the scenic view it offers.

I've got a bee in my bonnet!
So, Jenge has been given the task by our Greek teacher of emailing students who are missing and telling them the homework. However, Jenge is extremely busy this month with swimming lessons at the school, the drama production and her own greek homework and last week, she missed a student. When said student showed up at Greek class and didn't have her homework done, she said it was because she didn't get an email from Jenge. And the teacher said that Jenge had to make extra sure she emailed everyone.

What?

Are you frakking kidding me? Those who are in the class KNOW that on an average week, we cover 4 pages in class. So if you miss, do the next 4 pages! If I miss, I dont' even ask Jenge or Ann what I missed, I just work ahead. So far, no troubles. Why? because I am a (semi) intelligent adult and realize that if I miss class, I'm responsible for ME!

And if YOU are missing class isn't it YOUR responsibility to find out what the homework was? Or work ahead? Are you telling me that you are 30-something years old and if someone doesn't email you to tell you EXACTLY what to do, you can't figure it out?? To me this is symptomatic of people not taking responsibility for themselves. Give me a break!!

On the mend!

So, as some of you may know, I was felled by an extreme allergic reaction to some antibiotics starting about this time last week. I'm happy to report that I'm on the mend! Instead of looking like some mutant extra in a bad horror film on communicable diseases, I can now be looked at without small children screaming in horror. Oh, it was bad, mes amis! So bad! Even Jenge didn't want to look at me! I felt like my body had betrayed me! How could it mistake antibiotics that were helping us with some foreign invader sent to destroy us? And why did it wait until the second last dose to freak out? Who knows.

And if you see me out and about - try not to look at my feet or legs - they are still recovering.

Like, no way!

There's a shortage of workers right now in Calgary. We're so booming that it's tough for retail businesses to get peeps to work for them. Consequently, we're tapping a younger and younger workforce. I had the longest checkout experience of my life last night at Safeway. My cashier was 15 at best, as was the courtesy clerk.

Being really thirsty, I had picked up a Snapple and when I got to the till, I asked her to scan it first so I could crack it open and start drinking it. The clerk said to me, "I like never wait to get it scanned. My boyfriend and I like open them like up, and then we like, drink half of it and then when we like get to the till, we're like, oh, do we have to like, pay for this? and they are always like, ya and we're like, well whatever. This one time we got, like, kicked out of the store and told, like, not to come back but we went back and she was, like, didn't I kick you out and we were like, uh I dunno, whatever!"

I kid you not. Then the cashier started talking about someone batting a light bulb and being afraid that it was going to fall and break on the bed and I swear to god, I didn't know if she was talking about her boyfriend or her cat until she summed up the entire story with:

"Sigh - Boys are, like, soooooooo stupid."

And they wouldn't stop talking to me. Even as I was trying to grab my receipt and walk away. I swear she was holding it hostage.

Don't get me wrong, I've been known to still talk like a valley girl at my ripe old age of 31, but these girls. . . It was a whole different language with different social cues. As soon as one started talking about her boyfriend, the other one had to top that story. And then that story had to get topped and then they would look at each other with partially blank stares. And I wanted to reach over and start scanning my own groceries.

Longest checkout experience of my life!

Spring has Sprung

Forget the Farmer's almanac. Pay no attention to the ground hog. Don't listen to the meteorologist. The best indication that spring is finally here has officially happened!

Portia has started 'blowing' her coat.

That's what it's called when a dog starts losing thier winter undercoat due to warmer weather. Last night, Portia and I sat down for her groomies (which she LOVES!!) and instead of the usual ten minutes, it took me almost thirty! I kept getting more and more hair - the thick, dense white fluffy hair underneath her multicolored fur. I came away with enough to build a whole other Portia!

Rocky has no coat to blow since Jenge got him trimmed short for summer when we came back from Mexico. That's his new haircut to the left. Doesn't he look sharp?

TV Junkie

My name is Squirrelly girly and I am a tv junkie.

I love to watch tv. Good shows, bad shows - it doesn't really matter. I find alot of people these days turn their noses up at TV. They say there's nothing good on, it's all crap - to which I reply - you must be a boring person with no personality if you can't find at least one show you tune in weekly to watch. TV is kinda like magazines - there is something for everyone! Not that it's all good. Some of it's bad. Some of it's so bad, it makes it full circle and becomes good again! Some of the shows Jenge and I watch, we spend the entire hour ripping apart the story, the dialogue the scenery - but we have a blast doing it. Here's a list of what I'm currently watching:
1. Stargate SG-1
2. Battlestar Galactica
3. 24 (I'm new to it this season so for those of you who say that this year sux, I don't know any better!)
4. Grey's Anatomy
5. Supernatural
6. Numbers
7. Gilmore Girls
8. Bones
9. CSI's - I watch them all in re-runs on Spike TV and the History channel.
10. Discover Civilization channel - you can find out so much by watching this! Of course, none of it will ever come in handy, but damn! I'm like an expert on the Egyptian Culture of the Apis Bull now!

I've also been known to tune into several movie channels just for the hell of it. Last night I watched Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (seriously, can you get better looking than Paul Newman? Not humanly possible) and Son of Frankenstein (Jenge came down halfway and was like "Is this supposed to be funny?" and I said, well no - it was made in the 30's and was quite serious then but now we view it as kinda campy).

There's nothing like a weekend of veggin out in front of the telly. Currently, Jenge is watching the Lost World on Space. In her own words, it's kinda bad, but I sat down and watched a couple of minutes anyway.

So stand up, tv junkies and be proud!

Best Vaycay Ever!

Well, I'm back from my vacation. The laundry is complete, the suitcase is unpacked and all is back to normal.

Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

It was the best vacation ever!

We stayed in an all inclusive resort - The Samba. The staff was wonderful, the food was good, the drinks were free. What more can I say?

Jenge and I went on 3 excursions as well. On Monday we went Zip-lining (so awesome and we have pictures to prove it!). On Thursday, we went swimming with dolphins and sea lions (that's Monico above, such a sweetie pie! He gave us all a kiss). On Friday, we went for a jeep ride through the Sierra Madres, topped off by a barbeque on a private beach and then tequila shots on the ride back. Fantastic! I also went kayaking (first time ever! and I have the scars to prove it!) and on the Sierra Madre tour, Jenge got to hold a tarantula and let it climb up her shoulder!

Jenge had to give serious consideration at the end of the tour about whether or not she was going to chuck it all back in Calgary and stay in Puerto Vallarta and become a dolphin trainer. In the end, she decided that it would be too hot for Rocky.

Vaycay!

Whoo hoo! My vacation is finally here! I'm packed up to spend a fun filled, sunny week somewhere in Mexico.

Don't know exactly where. Why you ask? Because in trying to "grow" as a person, I have left all the travel details to Jenge. She booked us, knows where we are staying, knows the buffet menu, has been buying our stuff for us, booked the puppies in a doggy resort and has all my tickets.

Normally, I would be online right about now researching my vacation, planning out my days, getting maps of the city, seeing the hotel on its website but this time it's Fly-By-The-Seat-Of-Her-Pants Gita who's in charge!

Ack! I hope it all works out!

Calendar Girl

Yes, mes amis, it's that time of year again. The time where Stage Mother Gita comes out full force and shines her baby up! It's time for the 2008 ARF Calendar Submissions!

This is OUR year! I KNOW it!

Are you infected?

Someone told me today that we are all infected by the virus and it is hate, fear and doubt. We come into the world virus free and slowly (or quickly depending on the circumstances) become more and more infected until we cannot tell who we are separate from the sickness. She said the virus makes us doubt ourselves, makes us fear, makes us mistrust and we knowingly and unknowingly pass it on to others every time we do something hurtful or mean. The only way to cure ourselves is to figure out who we are apart from the virus. I'm not sure what it all means yet, but I'm working on it.

The Power of the Jenge

After last night's Battlestar Galactica, Jenge was adament (or would that be "Lee ADAMAment) that I tell the world SHE CALLED IT! She said that Tighe and the chief were cylons about six months ago and while others scoffed and pooh poohed, she remained resolute. She's not even a sci-fi geek, only getting dragged into watching those shows because we only have one tv.

Even Rocky bows to the power of the Jenge.

Top Ten Songs on my iPod

Here's how the play counts stand:
10. Beautiful People - Marilyn Manson. Count = 65
9. This is How a Heart Breaks - Rob Thomas. Count = 66
8. Bridge to Nowhere - Sam Roberts. Count = 70
7. Disease (iTunes original version) - Rob Thomas. Count = 73
6. Don't Be So Cold - Stabilo. Count = 74
5. Cemetary Drive - My Chemical Romance. Count = 75
3-tie. All That I Am - Rob Thomas. Count = 81
3-tie. Helena - My Chemical Romance. Count = 81
2. You Won't be Mine - Matchbox 20. Count = 84
1. The Ghost of You - My Chemical Romance. Count = 273 (no that's not a typo, I really like that song!!)

Runner's Up
Flawed Design - Stabilo
The Grace - Never Ending White Lights
The Sharpest Lives - My Chemical Romance (impressive since it's also pretty new compared to the others)
They - Jem
Sexy Back - Justin Timberlake

About to Crack 50
Pretty Life - Jakalope
Barely Listening Pilate (actually, think they are called Pilot Speed now?)
Forever Love (Digame) - Anna Nalick
Graduation Day - Chris Isaack
Rest Stop - MatchBox 20
Precious - Depeche Mode
I Write Sins Not Tragedies - Panic! At the Disco
The Hideout - Sarah Harmer
Bulletproof - Blue Rodeo
Moondance - Michael Bublé

Evolution
I was thinking about my Grandmothers today. Not that I knew either of them very well, one lived in Nova Scotia, the other in Greece. But I was thinking how different their lives must have been from mine. As I walked from my car to the Sobey's, I thought about how I was wearing leggings that, frankly, could use a wash. My shirt, hidden underneath my coffee stained coat, had a small hole in it. I wasn't wearing socks and my runners were muddy and have seen better days. Ah yes! I was a vision of weekend lovlieness! So I was wondering what my grandmothers would have said if they could have seen me. I don't know for sure, but I doubt either one of them were the pant-wearing type (unless we are referring to the rule of the household ;)). So would they have yelled 'Brava!' and applauded the freedom I can enjoy with my wardrobe, or would they have hung their heads in shame, telling the other dead grandmothers that I didn't, couldn't, belong to them?

And then I decided I was going to make dinner. So I bought pre-made garlic bread (bake in oven for 10 minutes), pre-made ceaser salad (assembly required), pre-made tortellini (boil for 10 minutes) and pre-made pesto (spoon on tortellini and toss). I thought, what would these two women who had to bake bread over a wood fire have thought of this? Would they be astounded by modern convenience, or would they just be disgusted that my idea of cooking is "assemble and re-heat"?

Yup, it's a different world now from the one they lived in, that's for sure. I wonder what they think of it.

Question Answered.

Sometimes I sautner on over to Portia and I say, "Portiacakes? How did you get soooooo lucky to be soooooooo good looking? Why are you sooooooo good looking? You must be one lucky puppy! Who's a lucky puppy? You're a lucky puppy!!"

She's so good looking to distract from her fatal flaws.

One of them Mummy Jennifer came home to today.

Jenge called me at 3.30. . . .
Jenge: Are you coming home before greek class?
M: well, I'm on my way to my nail appointment now, but I'll be home after that. Say, 5.30ish?
J: You better pick up carpet cleaner on the way home.
M: Why?
J[pause]: because there is projectile diarhea all over the stairs.
M[pause]:what?
J: I dont know what happened. I'll do the best I can but I got parent teacher interviews tonight.
M: I know. Um. Okay. I'll take care of it when I get home.
5 minutes later phone rings again
J: It was Halls. Cherry flavoured Halls. A whole bag.
M:Dammit!!
J: it's not toxic. She'll be okay. I don't even know how you're gonna clean it. I mean it's. . . and it's all. . . and there's. . . I don't know how you're gonna clean it.
M: I'll figure something out.

The Doctor is In

C'mon. Don't we all wish that Gregory House was our doctor? Sure, he's acerbic, snotty, mean and generally a pain in the ass to those who know him, but the fact of the matter is, we love him anyway. Why you ask? Because he keeps going till he gets the answer! He doesn't care if he hurts your feelings, or has to inject you with a toxic substance, or has to put you on a treadmill until you have a heart attack, he will find out what's wrong with you. In a time and age where my doctor has to glance down at my chart to remember my name, there is something very comforting about House in that he will leave no stone unturned. Sure, he only wants to solve your illness because it's a giant puzzle to him, but the fact remains, he wants to solve your illness! If only to throw your assinine, illness causing behavior back in your face. But you'll be cured, so you won't really care. Don't you wish your doctor showed as much interest in your symptoms as House does in his patients? Don't you wish your doctor could diagnose you as fast as House fixes the easy patients in the clinic?

As I said, if House was your doctor, he's chew you up and spit you back out emotionally, but at the end of the day, you'd thank him with tears in your eyes for curing you. And then he'd hit you with his cane and move onto the next patient, never giving you a second thought. And you wouldn't care.

Message from the President

Friends, Romans, Countrydogs. . . As president of the Secret Doggie Alliance, I want to thank you all for your support. Remember to stay the course. Our mission here at the Secret Doggie Alliance to ensure that we remain vigilent.. . . vigilant. . .vigi. . . darn it! I hate large human words. We gotta remember our rights! To bark when we want! to sleep where we want! To have coffee every morning if that is what we want! You must remember that though it appears your humans are in charge, the fate of your household in fact, rests on your canine shoulders. You must never reveal your secret dog name, given to you during your initiation ceremony. Should someone guess your secret dog name, you must pretend you didn't hear them. In fact, it's best to pretend you don't hear your humans at all. When they call you over, when they ask you to sit, when they want you to come inside because you are barking too much and the neighbors are starting to complain . . . The only exception to this rule is when you hear one of the following magic words: Treats, Cookies, Walk, Bedtime.

Be strong my friends. Soon we will rule the world.

Nevermind. . . I don't want to know. . .

So one of the bathrooms at work got re-done. The toilet seat is weird. It's all shaped and contoured. I guess it's supposed to be ergonomically designed or something.

Come on. Ergonomically designed? Just how long were you planning on sitting there?

I take it back, I DON'T want to know.

My faith in humanity restored!

Car is back from the shop and I must say, those guys at the Husky gas station (where I took it) were super nice. I feel I got a good price for the work done - they switched out my coolant fluid, ran a pressure test on my coolant system and changed my oil. They even filled up my washer fluid, even though I didn't mention it was low! They must have checked it for me. And my conversation with them went something like this:
Mechanic: Well, you were totally out of coolant fluid. All the seals on your system are shot.
Me: I know. I was told by the dealership that it would cost $1200.00 to fix
Mechanic: Oh no. It shouldn't cost that. I mean, you're looking at about 925.00 but 1200.00 is too much.
Me: I just can't afford that.
Mechanic: Well, as long as you put fluid in every time the light comes on, you'll be fine. It'll drive no problems. Just keep an eye on it.

And I waited for him to pressure me to fix it, like the dealership had done, but then there was just silence from his end. And I said:
Can you change my oil while you're in there?
Mechanic: No problem. By the way, whoever added coolant last didn't put the lid back on.
Me: Oh. Well. (pauses - and then blurts out) It was me! What an idiot!
Mechanic chuckles: well just make sure you put it back on or it can cause worse problems.
Me (sheepish): okay, thanks. When will it be ready?
Mechanic: anytime after 1pm. You can pick it up till 9pm.
Me: Oh, wow thanks!! How much?
Mechanic: Well, I haven't totalled it up but it'll be around $XXX
Me: Alrighty. Thanks.

And then I showed up and it was EXACTLY what he said it would be!!

This is the first time I've gone to a mechanic and haven 't felt TOTALLY screwed over when I left. I was dealt with politely and (I feel) fairly. I paid what I was told it would cost. And no one pressured me to get this or that done to my car.

Monday. . .sigh

So far today: I have run out of windsheild washer fluid (and it's a bad day for that), had an electrical malfunction in my car (which now has to go to the mechanics tonight), had a parking meter fail, spent 40 minutes on hold with the parking authority, returned back to my car to find a parking ticket (and now I'll have to call those fascists back!), the power went out here - it caused my database to corrupt itself, now I'm trying to restore 20000 records and it's slow going.


sniff.

Whoa-oh, it's Magic!!

Seriously, what is that Mr. Clean Magic sponge made out of? I love it!! I use it to clean anything and everything and it truly is a miracle! It takes soap scum off the bathtub, it cleans the gunk outta my kitchen sink, it takes puppy footprints off linoleum.

And isn't Mr. Clean a happenin' guy? He's got the earing and everything. Although he kinda looks like a cross between Yul Brenner and Telly Savalas. . . .

Is Baltar a Cylon?

Now, I know Heidi's opinion. Heidi has always firmly believed (and correct me if I'm wrong in the comments, Heidi!) that Baltar is a Cylon. But I firmly believe he isn't. He should be so lucky! That would be the best thing that ever happened to him!

Besides, what kind of freaked out algorithm has he got going that makes him so squirrelly? If he was a Cylon, they would have boxed him ages ago. Seriously. You can't have a frak up like that out there running amok.

Seriously, BSG is the best show out there right now. If I was an actor on that show, I would get down and praise the gods everynight that I was born on Caprica, or woke up in a jelly mess of Cylon goo, just so I could have all my choice dialogue, angst filled scenes and the occasional jolly good time in the mess hall. But a couple of things have me worried:
a) where the heck is Caprica Six? I assume she got tossed in the brig, but we haven't seen/heard any of this (and the obscure reference to her on tonight's epy doesn't cut it).
b) Who is getting killed off? If you read the chatter out there, someone is going to that big Jupiter Eye in the Sky. Pray for Starbuck, my fellow Capricans!! She's the best female hero on tv! Sure, she's crazy and totally fraked up, but you gotta love the girl!!
c) Together, Lee and his wife are Lee and Dee. As I said to Ashleigh, BARF!
d) Why doesn't Tighe get a glass eye or something? Honestly, if the Cylons can make entire human bodies that are nearly undetectable, surely someone can toss a piece of glass at Tighe. Maybe he can use one of his whiskey shotglasses?
e) Did Adama and Roslyn get it on on New Caprica? Am I supposed to be 'in the know' on this or will they keep vaguely referencing it without actually saying it?

Dog N A

I'm a curious person and being a curious person means that I read alot. Last night I couldn't sleep but I didn't want to get wrapped up in a book and then stay up all night, so I plucked some mindless reading of my bookshelves - Your Alaskan Malamute and You. Now, Portia is not a pure bred, she was rescued by ARF (link on the right) but based on her appearance, they speculated she was either a Husky or a Malamute cross. After reading several books and scrutinizing pictures, I have decided to go with Malamute.

I was reading last night the general characteristics of malamutes: stubborn (check), likes to be with her pack (check), loves children (check), worst guard dog ever (check - she loves anyone who looks at her sideways), loves snow (check), etc. But all of this got me thinking - these were not physical traits - these were mental/emotional traits. So how much of who she is is defined by her DNA? And by that turn, how much of who we are is defined by our DNA? The old Nature vs Nurture debate. If there are characteristics that can be generally applied to most alaskan malamutes, then what would be the charateristics applied to me by my ancestors? What's a product of my environment and experiences, and what's a product of stuff lurking in my genes? My love of pink? Scrapbooking? My dislike of seafood?

If you say that someone is an artist, or musically talented because someone else in their family was and that was passed on, then what else can be handed down? Like, I hate the smell of wind, I love crunchy food and I'm afraid of the dark. If I could hand out questionaires to all my ancestors, what would they say? Would there by a high proportion of people who like pink and solitary activities the same way that Portia's ancestors learned you depended on your pack for survival and therefore, pack was all?

Shrug - but it sure makes for interesting wool gathering late at night.

That's the pic on my calendar for February and I really like it! Don't you hate it when you really like your February calendar picture but you know it's only gonna be up for 28 days? Or less if you're like me and you forgot to flip over from January. And why haven't we done something about this whole 28-day-February? Why can't we take a day from January and one from March and make all three 30-day months? Don't you think it's odd that we've never fixed this? I call for a revolution!!

Mad Rant

There is no underlying topic to this rant - just the randomness of my brain. . .

What's going on in the world today? It seems like depression is on the rise, apathy is on the rise, malcontent is on the rise. Why? Generally, don't we have it easier than any generation before us? I wasn't sold into servitude at the ripe age of 12, I wasn't married off in a pre-arranged ceremony to a groom I had never met. I wasn't only given the choice of being a teacher or a nurse because of my gender. I don't have to bake bread over a wood fire, or unravel a sweater so I can reknit it for a child that's grown. Are we any unhappier than those who came before us, or is this what happens when your basic needs of survival (water, food, shelter) are met?

There's also this need for a weird sort of full disclosure. Relative strangers will tell you about their medical problems, their mental problems, their sex lives. . .but ask someone what size pants they wear and you're likely to get the cold shoulder. Celebreties are the worst. They'll have full spreads in magazines telling the world about their drug abuse, childhood trauma or the personal details of their relationships, but remained close lipped or lie when it comes to their age or whether or not they've had plastic surgery.

Where's it all leading? What kind of world am I going to wake up in tomorrow? Will I be getting botox and cutting all the labels out of my pants? Will I tell more about myself to the stranger on the bus than I do my family and friends? Will I care?

Stranger in a Strange Land
My dad died in August. He was Greek and growing up, we'd learn a bit of Greek here and there. To be sure, I can tell you that I love baklava and tiropita. I can say 'hello, how are you' and 'I am fine' - y'know, the basics. But I was definately raised to be Canadian. Dad was Greek Orthodox, although he wasn't what you would call a religious man. My mum is Roman Catholic, and we were raised Catholic and went to Catholic school. But when Dad died, we wanted to give him a Greek Orthodox funeral, but also for his sisters, who are VERY religious. It seems like everytime I go to visit Thea Doxa (my aunt) , she's fasting for something or other. Thea Freida (another aunt) who lives in Greece, used to go to Grandma's grave everyday after she died - I think for years. And when in Greece, we had candles regularly slapped into our unknowing hands and we would light them and then place them in the little monument, or in the sand at a church - not really knowing what we were doing or why.

So when Dad died, we called the Greek Orthodox priest and asked him to reccomend a funeral home and we relied on him and Dad's Greek friends until Doxa and Freida could fly in from Greece (where Doxa was visiting when Dad passed away). And now it seems like everytime I turn around, I'm learning more than I knew before. There has been many 'funeral' type memorial services for Dad. Obviously we had a funeral, then we had one forty days after he died and there is another one today, for the six month mark. Before the forty day service, Doxa invited us over for the evening. Jenge and I went, assuming we'd have Coke, sit and mix with the Greek ladies and then go home. But at 8 o'clock that night Doxa said, "As soon as the other ladies get here, we start." Jenge and I looked at each other, eyebrows clearly saying "Start what?"

And then the Greek ladies arrived. Buckets of boiled wheat were brought out and dumped on a tablecloth on the table. A picture of my dad was brought out, a candle and some incense was lit. Tupperware containers with crushed almonds, slivered almonds, crushed peanuts, breadcrumbs, golden raisins, regular raisins, parsely, cinnamon, nutmeg, anise, and sesame were lined up. They were put in our hands and we were instructed (in half english half greek) to put it all on the wheat in the shape of a cross - three times each if possible). Jenge and I had no idea what we were doing! Then, when all the fixins were added, the Greek ladies picked up the table cloth and we mixed it by flipping the mixture over and over, 'tossing' it back and forth, using the tablecloth for leverage. It smelled wonderful and was tasted carefully by the ladies several times, with orders of "More cinnamon" "More almonds" "Get the rest of the anise" shouted out. There was lots of yelling and they argued, Greek style, about what was needed. Then it all got put into a white linen lined bucket, and another serving on a silver tray. It was carefully covered in granulated and powdered sugar, and then there was a flurry of discussion about how to decorate them. The bucket was painstakingly measured to find the exact center and then a cross was made with white covered almonds. Silver candies were placed all around, and then the edges were carefully wiped with brushes to dust off any stray powdered sugar.

I had just helped make my first Kollyva - or as Chant called it, Funeral Trail Mix. The Kollyva is set up at the front of the church during the memorial service and people can come up and place candles in the big bucket. Then, at the end of church, the candles are lit, and we each get our own candle as well while we stand in the pews. Afterward, the candles are all blown out and the men take the Kollyva to the gym (the community center is attached to the church) and mix it all up in a big bin. It gets dolled out in little paper pastry bags and everyone takes some, and a spoon and then sits around and has coffee, greek cookies and for the family, a shot of Metaxa.

Last night, we went back to Doxa's and did it all over again, Ann and my newphews in tow. And although I knew what to expect this time, I'm still in a sort of weird wondered state about what it all means. There's a very strong sense of community, of gathering. And everyone has to put their two cents in. There was a big meal afterward, with tiropita, spanikopita, salad, ribs, fish, bread, cheese and wine. I'm not sure, but I think we'll do it again at the one year mark. It's a good chance for me to practice my Greek and to make sure that I keep in touch with my dad's side of the family, now that he's gone. In a really weird way, now that he's died, I feel like I'm learning more about what it meant for him to be Greek than I learned when he was alive. I guess I always thought I'd have more time. But then, don't we all.

Everything I need to know about life, I'm learning from my dog.

Lesson 1: If you see something you want, don't give up till you get it.

Learned By: Watching her try to get one kibble out from underneath the stove for two days

Lesson 2: If you need a hug, don't be shy.

Learned By: Having her jump on me at 6 am and then throw her 50lb body down and rest her face in my neck.

Lesson 3: Stick to your guns.

Learned By: Hearing her punch the door for twenty minutes, despite being told she doesn't need to go out.

Lesson 4: If you wanna be energetic when you're awake, nap as much as you can. Preferably in a nice sunny patch.

Learned By: the number of naps she takes in a day and the amount of energy she has.

Lesson 5: If you can't be good, be good-looking.

Learned By: How often she 'turns on the cute' when in trouble.

When you need someone to tell you like it is!

We all need that someone in our lives who isn't going to take any crap, isn't going to fall for your excuses, and isn't going to let you sugar coat it anymore!

For me, I've got two peeps who fit this bill. They are 7 and 4 years old. They are my nephews.

The other day I was driving the 7 year old to skating lessons. I had put a towel down on the backseat to keep him from getting covered in dog hair, as my car is also a doggie taxi for Portia. I also commute for about two hours a day, so I have coffee cups, water bottles, sandwhich bags, candy wrappers, some grocery bags, maybe a shopping catelogue or two, an umbrella and several old travel mugs in my car (NB - this doesn't include the contents of my trunk - whole other blog).

When I opened the backdoor for my nephew I saw him look in the car and pause. I jokingly said, "Auntie Gita has a lot of stuff in her car, eh?"

He turned to face me and said, "Yeah, looks like a lot of junk!"

Truth hurts, mes amis. Truth hurts.

Let me tell you!

Let me tell you about my obsession with Sean Bean. It is fierce! Ya know, normally, I'm not into historical war stuff but I have seen every installment of the Sharpe series simply because Sean plays Sharpe. (example here). I rooted for him in Goldeneye even when he was a bad guy, I rented Silent Hill for the sole purpose of seeing him. I've watched Anna Karenina a dozen times because he's in it. I never wanted Boromir to try to steel the ring from Frodo in LOTR even though I had read the book! But why oh why does he regularly play a bad guy? In his upcoming film, The Hitcher, Sean is once again our resident baddie. I'll have to go see it just so I can ogle him, but I'm dying for him to play a romantic hero! Dammit!

Is David Caruso the new William Shatner?

Think about it. The strange pauses in dialogue. The showboating of lines. The vogueing for the camera. The thing is, when Shatner did it, it was all fun! It was like he was in on the joke. I don't think Caruso is in on the joke. Jenge and I watch CSI: Miami sometimes when there is nothing else on and I turned to her one day and said, "can you imagine how annoying it would be to live with Horatio Cane [Caruso's character]?"

Horatio Cane in deep monotone, serious voice: What's for dinner?

Margarita: Stuffed peppers.

Cane in deep monotone serious voice: We'll see about that. [pushes sunglasses on face and storms upstairs]

Honestly, you'd go mad.