With a face like that, who wouldn’t love this dog?
At that moment, I didn’t. The little punk had just bitten me on the thigh while I was trying to get him a chew toy. That “smile” on his face is really just him trying to bite my phone while I was trying to take his picture.
However, when all is said and done, Conrad is still my favorite small dog out of the group.
Not until much later did it come to my attention that I’d bestowed an Irish name upon my dog: Murphy Parker.
The irony of that one? His bloodline came from Britain and Canada.
My submission for the guest host spot on Be The Marriage:
Blondes may have more fun, but I enjoy having dark hair. Not only is it a color that goths and indie kids strive for, but it makes almost any hair accessory stand out vividly.
The downside of having things stand out with dark hair? White hair. It’s always a nasty surprise to see one stand out amongst my locks. And since I am temporarily without a dog, it means that those white hairs do indeed belong to me.
Yesterday I caught sight of one while washing my hands at work. I went ahead and plucked it out, only to be shocked at what I saw: only the bottom half of the strand was white.
This strand was probably eight inches long, so four of those inches were stark white. The rest on up were black as the Ace of Spades. Which got me thinking: “What the hell happened to me where I stressed out enough to have white hair?”
Really good hair growth is about an inch a month. My hair grows fast, so I figure that strand was about eight months of history. And where the white starts would have been around November. Four months before November would have been July. And July was pretty damn stressful: Murphy had passed away in June, my first-grade desk neighbor drowned in Panama, depression medication dosage was increased, the office had to be packed up for Feng Shui renovations, and I dinged my car in the parking garage. That’s enough to make hair go white and take four months to go back to normal.
Anyone else have this happen to them? I’ve even had the occasional black, white, and black strand pop up.
For the most part, I hate being short and stumpy. (I’d add pasty to that list, but that’s my own fault. There are no windows in my office and I rarely make it outside during the weekends.)
It’s weird how certain genes take over and certain genes don’t. Most of the time it seems that the undesirable genes are dominant and the ones you’d kill babies for are deeply embedded into your genetic structure and would only appear if a nuclear disaster happened (i.e., I’d have extra arms, but I can hope for that willowy frame I’ve always wanted).
For example, take my parents: two completely different body shapes and heights. My dad’s side is supposedly on the tall side (I’ve never met them and they’re all in Japan) and my mom’s side has your typical short and squat Japanese build. At one point they thought I would take after my dad since I was a good deal taller than my cousins and most of the kids in my class. It seemed like a fair trade: instead of having my grandma’s long neck, I’d at least have height.
Then my reproductive system kicked in super early and decided I was tall enough. Basically, I reached full height after 7th grade.
When I was younger, I definitely looked like my dad. Nowadays I’m starting to take after my mom, but there’s still a good hint of my dad in my face.
However, my biggest complaint: where the hell did my grandma’s features go?
Author’s note: This is kind of a touchy subject amongst guys since it deals with the menstruation cycle. Jamison, who has been around me for at least seven years, was horrified when I told him about the Diva Cup. If you hate reading about periods and/or vaginal insertions, you’d better skip this entry. Or if you really can’t stand to hear what a gay man and a flame dame have to say to each other during a casual encounter.
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I got a surprise call from my long-time crush the other night. We haven’t talked over the phone in a year, and I was pleasantly surprised.
The problem with this crush? It’s completely influenced my taste in the appareance of men I want to be with:
I guess it really isn’t that much of a problem, but when you start a crush at 16 and continue it, it has an effect on your love life.
The entry was accidentally erased, but I’m sure quite a few of you recall that I was without a car for almost a week. On a warm MLK weekend, my engine overheated and my car ceased to function (this is also the weekend where I mailed off my final car payment). A call to AAA proved that it was more than just a dead battery, so I had to have my car towed to the Volkswagen in Santa Monica. To my horror, my car had a warped piece of metal in the engine, which was going to cost me $2300. (Yes, it’s a lot of money, but the guy made it sound like it was either that or get another car. And with this economy, I just don’t have the kind of cash available for another used Beetle.) I also needed tires and an oil change, so my grand total came out to $3200.
I must have missed the memo on this one because one of the secretaries in Sales has been wearing some non-Business attire.
See, I usually come to work dressed like this:
Edit:I wonder if my co-worker was pulled aside, because she’s dressing a bit more conservatively today.
It’s been a long time since a weekend has drained me so completely. I owe it to the amount of driving I had to do and the crazy summer-like weather.
I had cancelled my ukulele lesson for Saturday, which left me with a LOT of time on my hands. That’s fine, I can do laundry and watch the rest of The L Word.
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