Friday, April 30, 2004
The Loudest Ten Pounds in the World
Before Sean and I got our dog three and a half years ago, we did a lot of research into breed characteristics. We objectively evaluated our lifestyle and considered what kind of dog would be a good fit with our home. When we found the toy poodle breed to be a match, we swallowed our pride, totally discounted any silly little aesthetic concerns about whether Sean would seem somewhat emasculated walking a poodle, gave up all ideas of owning a Big Dog (okay, MY pipedreams about jogging with a large canine companion) and brought Toby home to live with us. Then we embraced the obnoxiousness factor and bought him several tiny coats and coordinated leash sets.
Truthfully, Toby is a great dog and has completely surpassed our expectations. Most of the "iffy" personalty issues of the toy poodle breed simply don't apply. He is friendly almost to a fault, rugged enough to take hiking and has only had one submissive peeing incident, which happened because Sean thought it would be funny to chase him with the carpet shampooer. (Who had the last laugh there, huh?!) Also, better living through poodles means that I don't have to sweep up Sophie's rejected toddler chow after dinner: he's a vacuum AND a mop!
So, you'd think that a small dog would be a fairly unobtrusive member of the household. You would be completely incorrect. Toby achieves the noise volume of a dog 10 times his size, and has a gift for being loud when everything else is museum-quality quiet. It's like he can't stand silence and feels compelled to fill it with poodle noises. Volume-wise, he goes to 11. Frequently.
There is the licking. You might wonder how a tiny dog with a tiny tongue can lick himself loudly enough for it to be an annoying sound. Imagine trying to fall asleep after a long day, only to hear "sslppp-sslppp-sslpp...sslppp-sslppp-SWALLOW-sslppp..." coming from the foot of the bed. At some point, either Sean or I will snarl, "It's clean, leave it alone." (Use your imagination regarding the "it" in question.) Of course, always needing to have the last word, Toby's response is invariably, "Ssl---BURP! *smack smack smack*." Both the picture and the audio are most unwelcome any time of day, but particularly when they are the last thing in my mind before drifting off to sleep.
Then there is the chewing. Toby eats his food ONE KIBBLE AT A TIME, presumably to maximize the duration of the crunching noises that we're treated to hearing. He also has spare kibble strategically placed throughout the house so that if he's ever in a room that is too quiet for his tastes, he can retrieve a kibble and chomp away on it.
And the barking? GAWD, the barking! Toby is now about two inopportune barking jags away from having to wear a corrective collar. The barking heralds everything from cars pulling into our driveway to leaves falling from trees, and occurs with such vigor and stamina that I wonder exactly what kind of stimulant he's on. Are dog food manufacturers sneaking caffeine into their small dog products? Is it a misguided attempt to enhance pep and energy, or is it something much more sinister, like an evil conspiracy to perpetuate the Myth of the Small Yappy Dog? If that's the case, SOMEBODY will be getting a nasty consumer complaint the next time Toby goes bark-happy while Sophie is napping.
# posted by Amanda at 11:08 AM |
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Wednesday, April 28, 2004
The 17-year-cicada issue is totally stressing some of our potential summer guests. I can certainly understand that. The nasty things have some terrifying insect characteristics: they're loud, they're winged, and they crawl out of the ground at night.
Evidently they're also a health hazard to pets. It's not that they sting or bite, it's that they're apparently delicious but undigestible. Pets eat them like they're movie theater popcorn, and then get sick because they can't process the cicada shells.
I'm going public right now with the offer to Mr. Cheezleton that I will gladly change every one of Sophie's diapers all through cicada season in exchange for not having to clean up poodle puke containing cicada parts.
*hork*
# posted by Amanda at 4:03 PM |
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Friday, April 23, 2004
An Idle Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste
TGIF, y'all! After a week rife with sick toddler and work related drama, I think I have earned the right to say that. Yesterday was Mr. Cheezleton's last day at his old job, so he's purging the evil from his soul this weekend before starting his new, way better gig on Monday. This morning I kept saying, "Hey, know what? You're UNEMPLOYED!" and then we'd both laugh. The detox process is underway.
Other notes from today:
- The BLT Chicken Salad from Wendy's comes with something called "homestyle garlic croutons". Now, what exactly defines a crouton as "homestyle"? Are they supposedly just like the croutons Mom used to make? Dunno about you, but my mom is the queen of homemade, and I don't recall her ever having made croutons. Also, what's with the automatic assumption that people want lowfat dressings with their salads? What if the highlight of my day was to be two tablespoons of fat-filled salad dressing, and that small happiness was denied to me because of perceived calorie paranoia? For god's sake, if I'm ordering a Frosty with my salad, assume that I'm a calorie whore who might want the fattest dressing available, thankyewverymuch.
- Two different people have mentioned cicada recipes to me in the past couple weeks. Folks, cicadas are NOT the new other white meat, nor will they ever be on the menu at Cheezleton Manor. That's all.
- We're getting a rather significant tax refund this year. (Babies are awesome for tax credits. Get one. Really.) I'd like to have it spent before we even have the check in hand, so I'm currently deliberating over various home improvement projects. Most likely we will replace the basement carpet, which, yes, was already replaced just 13 months ago, before we discovered that our cat had a urinary tract problem. I'm told that there is a new pet-resistant carpet on the market. Nice, but wouldn't it be ever so much lovelier if there was a type of carpet that not only resisted pet stains, but also reached up and throttled the beast if she even got so much as an urge to pee outside her box?
- It's hotpants season again. Johnny Hotpants, that is. When I returned from lunch, there he was perched high atop a ladder in all his handyman glory. The week is ending on a high note, afterall!
# posted by Amanda at 11:30 AM |
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Thursday, April 22, 2004
If I were to assign a value to my current state of mind, using the Homeland Security Advisory System to assess it, I would be in Code Yellow: Elevated Condition. According to the DHS website:
"An Elevated Condition is declared when there is a significant risk of terrorist attacks. In addition to the Protective Measures taken in the previous Threat Conditions, Federal departments and agencies should consider the following general measures in addition to the Protective Measures that they will develop and implement:
- Increasing surveillance of critical locations;
- Coordinating emergency plans as appropriate with nearby jurisdictions;
- Assessing whether the precise characteristics of the threat require the further refinement of preplanned Protective Measures; and
Implementing, as appropriate, contingency and emergency response plans."
What that means for me is an increased focus on activities in which I'm already obsessive enough under normal circumstances: monitoring, sketching out the Worst Case Scenario and planning multiple possible responses to it, and keeping those around me who might also be affected "in the loop" with any new intel. When the military does this, as a cohesive body, it's considered proactive defensive strategy. For individuals, it's often labeled as paranoia.
One [wo]man's paranoia is another's preparedness, my friends! And we're battening down the hatches here at Cheezwerks HQ and sitting ready, just in case. It's the need for "just in case" that has attack-counterattack gameplans spooling through my brain on continuous loop.
On that front, this well-intended warning from a friend: "I think your mind might just be idle enough without this [drama du jour] thing hanging over your head that it might make your thought patterns go wonky. Not that it's a bad thing, just watch out for it."
True enough. So this has been added to my list of Amandaland Security Precautions: monitor self for bizarre thoughts. In the meantime, know that when the heightened alert phase downgrades to mere "guarded" conditions, there will be oh-so-much more story to tell.
# posted by Amanda at 4:03 PM |
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Wednesday, April 21, 2004
Ever been told that you look like a celebrity? Ever been completely mystified by that assessment?
I uploaded this photo to the Star Estimator and the results for female look-alikes included "Sandra Bullock". So I uploaded this picture for a second opinion, and once again got "Sandra Bullock".
Wha??? Everybody knows that I look like a certain essence-of-New-York actress, that I used to look like this how-very-daddy's-money actress, and that I will most likely resemble this oh-so-showtunes singer/actress by the time I hit 40. Can anyone NOT see the common trait there? So what's wrong with that stupid Star Estimator, anyway?! Piquant all-American nice girl Sandra Bullock, indeed!
I decided to submit the same photos and select "male" this time. Lo and behold, my male celebrity look-alikes include Dustin Hoffman.
Yep, that's more like it.
# posted by Amanda at 7:30 AM |
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Tuesday, April 20, 2004
It's time for "the talk".
Everyone is welcome here until you do something to bring the party down. Thus far, only one reader has been blocked for being a complete and total jackass. No one likes a jackass, so please take note of the House Rules:
(1) Don't waste my time contacting me under false pretenses.
(2) Don't hotlink any of my pictures. I will absolutely replace the image you stole with something disgusting, obscene or embarrassing---my choice, that's what makes it SO MUCH FUN!
(3) Don't hunt around on my site trying to find hidden links or other such nonsense. It's a cowardly pursuit, and a futile one, I assure you.
See, just three simple rules for being a good guest here. Can you dig it? If so, cool; stay and make yourself at home. If not, you can politely leave or I will forcibly remove you.
# posted by Amanda at 10:15 PM |
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Friday, April 16, 2004
I just received this very important email: "make yor speerm goood. veree goood"
Written by someone who is not the product of a "goood speerm", apparently.
# posted by Amanda at 10:15 PM |
0 comments
 What, did you actually think there weren't any Easter pictures? The world might cease to exist as we know it if I didn't post the standard Sophie holiday cuteness.
The Sophmeister is fairly rough-and-tumble tomboyish UNTIL she's dressed up. Then she suddenly becomes dainty little Lady McPrude. The frillier the outfit, the more persnickety she is. This year's Easter outfit was a blue-and-white toile dress with petticoat and matching bloomers and white Mary Janes with a teensy little heel. I didn't have to worry about putting a bib on her that day; SHE was freaking out over getting food on her dress. A rather abrupt change of tune for the kid who put her bowl on her head during breakfast.
We invited both sets of Sophie's grandparents to our house for Easter brunch. Sophie packed away more fruit salad and sausage brunch braid than any of the adults, and that was her SECOND meal of the day. Here is a picture of Sophie holding one of the holiday-themed stuffed animals she received for Easter. If she looks a wee bit cranky here, it's because she had just discovered a complete lack of chocolate in her Easter basket.
The basket, already emptied of all its practical, wholesome treats.
Why Easter grass and toddlers don't mix. She did a fair job of distributing it throughout the kitchen and breakfast room, so if you're in need of a cute girlchild to toss flower petals at your wedding, Lady McPrude is officially for hire.
Easter dinner (marinated leg of lamb and a dazzling array of Greek delicacies) was at a friend's place in VA. At some point during the drive down there, Sophie whipped off her shoes and proceeded to pull at a snag in the toe of her tights. Then realizing that she had ruined her tights, she spent the rest of the ride looking at the snag and crying, despite my assurances that no one would see it once she put her shoes back on. See? Persnickety! Picture the meltdown this kid might have in 15 years when she discovers a run in her hose on prom night.
Allura took this picture after dinner, while Sophie was on a short break from torturing Bert The Cat and typing 6-6-6 into Michelle's phone. Tiny toes poking out and hair disheveled, but contented with a tummy full of lamb and lemon meringue pie.
# posted by Amanda at 11:25 AM |
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Tuesday, April 13, 2004
Have you ever had a day where you've screwed up every minor choice you've made? Like opting for spearmint rather than cinnamon gum and subsequently discovering that the spearmint is completely stale and disgusting? That's how it has been today.
First there was flubbing the morning commute - which I had managed to start earlier than usual, mind you! - by allowing myself to get stuck behind a slow moving truck on a two lane road instead of passing it when I had the chance. Then there was deciding to stay in for lunch rather than go out, which seemed a very fiscally responsible decision. I was so proud of myself until I realized that the mini-yogurt I brought today wouldn't be nearly enough for lunch and I'd have to forage in my junk drawer for something else. The decision then was whether to make microwave popcorn or instant oatmeal. The popcorn won based solely on flavor appeal, so I tossed it into the microwave and sat down to eat the yogurt.
And then I promptly forgot that our office microwave is twice as hot as any other microwave I've ever encountered. It boils a cup of water in less than two minutes. I'm not sure exactly how long it takes, because I usually return to the microwave at the two minute mark only to find that my tea has boiled over and is well on its way to evaporating completely.
So, barely two minutes after sticking the popcorn in the microwave, I began to smell smoke and realized that the popcorn had stopped popping a good 20 seconds ago. With a microwave capable of cremating a chicken breast in about four minutes, that's enough time to turn popcorn with butter into fluffy charcoal in molten lava. I sprinted to the microwave, yanked out the smoldering bag and did the only thing I could think of to avoid setting off the smoke detectors: bolted out the back door and into the drizzling rain.
There I stood on the back steps, gingerly holding a smoking paper bag, worrying that the whole thing was about to catch on fire, and hoping that the HR manual didn't include any policies against dispersing the odor of burnt popcorn throughout the office. I decided to peel back the bag to get a better peek inside, which only served to allow more smoke to billow out. Doing a quick assessment of the situation and determining that something needed to be done before I found myself holding a flaming bag of popcorn, it was once again decision time: stomp the bag or fling it over the railing into the wet grass?
Just as I was winding up for the toss, I noticed a stream of rainwater spilling out of the gutter. I stuck the bag under it, thoroughly soaked the contents, balled up the whole mess and dumped it in a trashcan.
I had the instant oatmeal for lunch afterall. Slight smoky flavor, but otherwise palatable.
# posted by Amanda at 9:31 PM |
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Monday, April 12, 2004
I honestly couldn't make this stuff up if I wanted to...
It's an uncomfortably small world, which we all know. Turns out that there's far fewer than six degrees separating way too many of us through the same sick people.
During conversation over the weekend, I happened to catch someone's name and place and recognized her as an acquaintance of a former friend. Actually, she's now the former acquaintance of my former friend.
As if that connection wasn't disturbing enough, there was also the revelation that she once went to my former home under the deliberately cultivated belief that it was the home of our little mutual friend.
Creepy, but also incredibly funny. If you're going to LIE about owning a house, why choose a run-of-the-mill townhouse? Why not upgrade your home ownership lie to a nice 4-bedroom colonial?
# posted by Amanda at 10:30 PM |
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Wednesday, April 07, 2004
Hmm, ulcerative colitis or worm cocktail? Tough decision.
# posted by Amanda at 12:08 PM |
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Tuesday, April 06, 2004
For those of you who are asking what in god's name produced the gunky slithery yuck in Picture #1 below: it's drainage from a roasted chicken. Please note that the vile beast also shed its skin in the course of being carved, and I exercised considerable restraint by not posting a photo of that. Seriously, if you saw it, your poultry eating days would be over.
# posted by Amanda at 4:39 PM |
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Come Hork With Me
Dare I tempt fate by announcing that all persons at Cheezwerks HQ appear to be finally recovered from the Great Boomerang Malaise of '04? No more hacking, no more sneezing, and the wee one's nose flow has dwindled from "geyser" to "fine mist". After several weeks of wiping an oozy toddler nose, not only have I not gotten over the ick factor, anything with properties remniscent of said ooze has been added to my "avoid" list. Such as:
Meat fats and greases. Just look at that disgustingness and tell me it doesn't look infectious!
Ice cream containing a caramel swirl. It looks too much like a slimy trail. Believe me, I'm more upset about this than words can express.
Why do liquid soap dispensers always leave a gummy drip at the the tip of the pump?
Have you seen the new microwave popcorns that come with a glaze packet? DISREGARD THE GLAZE PACKET. Invariably, your hand ends up in a cold wet glaze puddle somewhere inside the bag, and the popcorn has the soggy feel of used tissues.
Also? Dehydrated noodle soups, stringy old bananas and tomato seed goop---avoid, avoid, avoid!
# posted by Amanda at 11:15 AM |
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Saturday, April 03, 2004
Marshmallow Peeps: they're snacks AND members of the Screen Actors Guild!
# posted by Amanda at 8:31 PM |
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Friday, April 02, 2004
OH. MY. GOD.
Who told Jessica Simpson that she could take Berlin's beautiful, haunting "Take My Breath Away", the very same song that will forever conjure up Tom-Cruise-in-Ray-Bans fantasies in the minds of women everywhere, and remake it into something that sounds like it shoulda been booed out of a karaoke bar? And on top of that, further sully the dignity of the song by publicly announcing that it was the backdrop for her first makeout session with Nick Lachey? *shudder*
Her record label should be pelted with a million cans of Chicken of the Sea(TM).
# posted by Amanda at 12:13 PM |
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