A couple of weeks ago I posted this in the hopes that I might get selected to be Will’s fill-in on Be The Marriage. Being one who hates suspense, I thought I’d wait ’til after the show to find out who the winner was. Unfortunately, a night of dinner with my parents, followed by a Korean soap opera, wasn’t too thrilling, so I caught the last 30 minutes.
I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I was the runner-up for the show.
Some of you might say, “But you didn’t win! How is that good?”
I say to the some of you: being a runner-up is a pretty damn good thing. Look at the list of American Idols. A lot of times we forget who won, but we usually remember who the runner-up was.
I only met him once, and spent only a few hours with him, but I have to say that this was one of the sweetest dogs I’ve ever come across:
Working in hospitality, you never know who will be on the other end of the line. I’ve received all kinds of bizarre calls, but today’s caller takes the cake.
A pilot staying at the hotel was disturbed by a housekeeper today, despite the fact that he had a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. I apologized for the disturbance and told him that I’d let our Director of Housekeeping follow up with him (I can’t really scold Housekeeping; they’d think I was trying to act high and mighty). The pilot asked me what I was going to do about it, and I repeated that I’d let our Director of Housekeeping follow up with him.
He proceeded to tell me that he could call the FAA because he hadn’t rested properly, and that if ended up crashing a plane with 200 passengers, the blood would be on my hands. The news media would come up to me and ask why I let the situation go by so casually.
Usually I’d be plenty sore after a stupid comment like that, but this one cracks me up. I’d be pissed as well if housekeeping woke me up, but hey…it’s not kosher to say that I’m responsible for the possible death of lots of people (although the thought of having that kind of power without actually committing the deed is kind of neat).
Let’s hope for his sake I don’t end up in a car accident on the way home. Then you all can blame him for sending bad vibes that caused me to get hurt.
…when you answer the phone around 22:30 PST (01:30 EST) because one of your best friends in NYC calls and you think someone’s died.
Or because (and I know Will can appreciate this) your best friend thinks she has a mouse living in her kitchen.
Due to the fact that my roommate goes to bed on the early side, I am now used to things shutting down around the house by 9:30 at the latest on weekdays. Anything that happens afterwards has me thinking that either someone died or I’m required to rush to a hospital. Which is why I panicked when my phone rang.
To kind of ease her fear on hearing that little scratch-scratch in walls, I shared some bits on how Will came across a mouse in his kitchen and nearly died* and my own unsuccessful attempts to get my lab to at least scare the mice in the house. I also warned her not to get those poisoned food pellets, because the mice will always die in inconvenient places (such as in the wall close-enough-but-not-at-the-vent; nothing’s worse than smelling rotten mouse for two weeks).
We ended with the conclusion that she should borrow a friend’s cat and that eventually she should switch out the cat with a chihuahua.
*I don’t know if Will nearly died, but it seemed pretty damn sure that he was close to having a heart attack.
I miss you lots, but please stop leaving dog hair on my clothing. We’ve vacuumed the house twice already and you’ve been gone for nine months. I put some in your box as a keepsake, so there’s no need to add more.
And don’t try to blame the dogs from Bill Foundation, ’cause no one in the puppy room is that white with straight hairs.
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.
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.