Let My Love Open the (Dog) Door

I haven't published any posts related to my 101 Things list lately, but that doesn't mean I haven't accomplished anything in that time. Most notably, I have helped George lose weight and taught him how to use a doggy door. Neither of these tasks were simple. Above is a photo of us trying to coax George to come inside for a treat. He wants to so badly...if only he knew how to get back in the house!

There have been some changes in our household recently: George has gone to stay with my mom. George is a sweet boy, but he requires special care and I was concerned that his needs wouldn't be met while I'm so focused on caring for a newborn.

Having George is like having a "Forever Puppy".

For reasons which remain a mystery, it's as if his mind never developed past about four months of age. Just as I wouldn't adopt a puppy at this juncture, I can't devote the time to George that he deserves and needs.

Besides, staying at my mom's house must be like going to a Sandals Resort. She sprinkles the yummy canned food on top of his dry dog food, she walks him twice a day, and he gets to snuggle. What more could George want? We miss him, but hopefully he'll be back soon.

One of These Things is Not Like the Other...

Let's try again...

...that's better.

My little stud muffin is one month old!

I'm In Love with the 10 lb. Meatloaf That Rules My World

I'm loving this little chapter of life I've found myself in, even if I'm too worn out to know what day it is sometimes. Everybody says the newborn phase goes by super quickly and to enjoy every second. I'm taking that advice and living by it. Sure, I'm losing sleep, but it's only temporary-ish. And besides, what I'm giving up in zzz's I'm more than making up for in simple precious moments with just my baby and me.

I know I'm spoiled because I have a mellow, happy baby, but I don't take for granted for one moment how lucky I am to have a child whose needs are so basic and simple that a four ounce bottle of formula is the solution to 75% of his problems. When I look at him, he's just so perfect. He doesn't have stitches in his forehead from falling out of bed (me, age 5) or a blown-out knee from a career-ending basketball injury (Steve, age 18). He cries, but it's not from pain, disappointment or hurt feelings. Years from now, I'll long for the days where a baby bottle is all it takes to dry the tears and make him feel better.

Before I know it, this little baby will be growing up and living his own life. He'll have his own schedule, his own social life. He'll ask me to stop calling him "peanut" in public. And all of those things will happen before he enters Kindergarten. Years will pass, and he'll meet somebody whose opinion and advice he seeks above mine. He'll be all grown up. Never again will I get to experience quietly feeding him and rocking him to sleep in my arms. I may not be able to slow the hands of time, but I can enjoy the time I have. He's a full-time job, but he's by far my greatest joy.

Sorry, that was mushy. That's not what my blog is known for. To balance out this post, here is a video from 2007 of Britney Spears stoned and eating chicken fingers with Kevin Federline. It's a classic.

A Fairytale Post Script

Well, color me smug. You remember my evil ex-boss Ursula, don't you? Trick got fired!

As much as I loathe being spiteful, I have to say that this couldn't have happened to a more deserving person. I'm impressed by the speed with which she was unceremoniously thrown out on her caboose. I worked for that corporation for quite some time, and they generally give management ample rope to hang themselves with before making a move. Getting canned in under three months is all at once astonishing and extremely validating. I'd like to celebrate with a song and dance. I can't use the song I want. Stinkin' copyright infringement...but you know it anyway:

She's gone where the goblins go below,

Below, below, yo-ho

Let's open up and sing

and ring the bells out

Ding-dong the merry-oh

sing it high, sing it low

Let them know the wicked witch is dead!

...picture me struttin' that ass to this song.

I don't know who delivered the fatal blow. I'm assuming it was my Fairy Godmother. I'd like to send her a singing telegram from The Lullaby League and The Lollipop Guild, for she will be a bust, be a bust, be a bust in the Hall of Fame!

I can't say I'm loving this vindictive streak I'm experiencing. I'm not one to wish harm upon people. I have always hated the expression, "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." Don't you find it off-putting? Undoubtedly, whenever somebody uses that expression, they are referring to things that are truly horrible, like cancer, house fires, and dead puppies. You wouldn't wish that on your worst enemy? REALLY?! Sure, I can be a salty bitch when needed, but even I don't use that expression or wish things on my enemies. Ok, maybe I'd wish a few things on my enemies:

1. I've wished for them to get fat.

2. I've wished for them to be audited by the IRS.

3. I've wished for them to lose their job or for their business to fail.

There, I said it. Feel free to judge me. I'm still flying high on the news of Ursula's demise.

Crazy in Alabama

Here in Texas, we like our firearms, but this is a little ridiculous. I hope Jarred realizes that any email he sends me related to his crazy, dysfunctional co-workers is subject to publishing on this blog:

Overheard a conversation between my boss, his youngest son, and his wife. This is a direct transcript to the best of my recollection. My boss has undiagnosed OCD/Tourette's so the repetition was not embellished.

Andy: Got a notice today that a house was broken into down the street.

Boss: You need to get a shotgun.

Andy: It said no one was home but they took the TV and computers.

Boss: Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun

Andy: Well I was thinking about an alarm

Boss: shotgun, shotgun, shotgun, shotgun

Andy: I don't know if that'd help, I went to my friends house and he has a loaded gun in the kitchen drawer, several guns in a safe, and a loaded gun on his nightstand that he puts on top of his Bible every night.

Boss: No, shotgun, shotgun, don't get a pistol. You get a pistol and you will shoot yourself in the leg or the gut. No one ever shoots themself with a shotgun.

Jarred: Tell that to Kurt Cobain.

Boss: And if you get a pistol a robber will just steal it.

Wife: Why would the robber steal a pistol but not a shotgun?

Boss: Nah he needs a shotgun. shotgun, shotgun

I considered myself a pretty conservative person before i started working here. a straight forward republican. but this conversation made my skin crawl. made me want to drive a hybrid. made me want to vote for Ralph Nader. made me want to live in a tree in Berkley, CA. this place is turning me into a bleeding heart liberal!

A Day In the Life

What have I been doing, besides not blogging? Babies keep strange hours that aren't conducive to a productive, functioning adult lifestyle. Sort of like Lindsay Lohan. Because we live on a 24-hour baby care schedule, my days are running together and I often can't account for how I spent my time. Let's see if this helps jog my memory:

1:00 AM: Robinson wakes me to be fed. We watch Cheaters. I wonder where this show has been all my life. It's like Masterpiece Theatre meets Jerry Springer. I laugh so hard I startle the baby.

1:30 AM: After an impressive burp, Robinson spits up all over himself, all over me, and all over the couch, and then promptly falls asleep in his own baby puke. I quickly wipe up the couch as best I can, and then take him to his room, where I sponge bathe him, change his diaper, change his clothes, and swaddle him. Better make it a double-swaddle, he's a sqirmy little nugget. I put him down in his bassinet and change my pajamas.

2:00 AM: Unable to sleep, I research treatments for baby acne on the internet. My beautiful, perfect baby cannot have a rash on his face. While doing this, I watch Amazing Cakes and recall how much I used to love looking at wedding cakes in Martha Stewart Weddings.

3:15 AM: I finally fall asleep.

3:30 AM: Robinson wakes me to be fed. An infomercial for some skincare line endorsed by the Kardashians is on. While watching the sisters Kardashian sell zit cream, I remember that I am currently wearing the Belly Bandit, a post-pregnancy compression garment endorsed by Kourtney Kardashian, and that yesterday I ran across ads for Quick Trim diet pills starring a couple of Kardashians in my Us Weekly. I change the channel and wonder if the Kardashians would take a dump in a box and sell that if it would make them enough money to pay for laser hair removal.

4:00 AM: Robinson is wide awake and doesn't want to be put back in his bassinet. We watch Married...With Children. I realize what an underrated sitcom this is. Unlike other sitcoms of yesteryear, it really stands the test of time. I also consider the possibility of dressing as Peg Bundy for Halloween. I already have the perfect belt and shoes...

4:30 AM: Now enjoying a peaceful slumber, I slowly set Robinson down in his bassinet. This time, I have no trouble falling asleep.

6:30 AM: Robinson wakes me to be fed. Steve's awake and getting ready for work, the dogs are awake and frolicking through the house. Everybody is awake and morning is upon us. I try to watch the news and the Today show, but I'm unable to pay attention to much beyond the baby bottle. After a good burp, I change his diaper and dress Robinson for the day.

7:30 AM: Operating on less than four hours of sleep isn't optimal, so I decide to nap while Robinson naps.

9:30 AM: Mom calls

10:00 AM: Robinson is hungry. Hoda Kotb and Kathie Lee Gifford are drinking wine at 10:00 AM. I discover that I like Kathie Lee a whole lot more than I thought I did. I also realize that every time I see her, I get that Carnival Cruise Line jingle stuck in my head. The one she used to sing when she was their spokesperson, like 20 years ago.



11:00 AM: Comfortably situated in his bouncy seat under the watchful eye of Laney, I do the dishes, the laundry, fold Robinson's clothes, burp cloths, and receiving blankets and put them away.

12:00 PM: Robinson is dozed off in his bouncy chair. If I don't shower now, I may never get the chance. I move Robinson and his bouncy seat to the bathroom. After doing hair and makeup, I change into some clean loungewear. You can wear pajamas all day long, as long as you call it "loungewear". Write that down.

1:30 PM: Feed and change Robinson.

2:00 PM: Put Robinson in his bassinet. Pick him up again. Snuggle with him. Stare at him as he sleeps. Notice he's holding my index finger. Then he makes a funny pose with his hands. Take a picture and send it to my brother at work.

4:00 PM: Feed and change Robinson.

6:00 PM: Start cooking dinner. Remember that I have dogs. Feed the dogs.

7:00 PM: Feed and change Robinson

7:30 PM: Steve gets home from work, we eat dinner. I propose a no-feeding-Robinson-in-the-bed policy to prevent spit-up in our bed.

8:00 PM: Steve feeds Robinson. In our bed.

10:00 PM: I watch Chelsea Lately. Robinson is hungry again. Exhausted, I feed him in the bed, breaking our rule...

10:10 PM: Robinson projectile vomits all over the sheets, bed frame, carpet, and me. I strip the bed, clean the carpet, change my clothes. Surprisingly, Robinson escaped unscathed.

11:00 PM: Without spare sheets to put on our bed, Steve settles in on the couch, and Robinson and I relocate to the guest bedroom.

11:30 PM: Since Robinson spit-up most of the last bottle, he's already hungry again. I feed him and try not to fall asleep sitting up.

The Tool Awards: Jada Pinkett Smith as "Christina Hawthorne"

Picture me rolling my eyes. I watch a lot of TNT, because they know drama. If you've ever been unemployed, you know that daytime television leaves a lot to be desired, ever since:

1. John and Marlena were written off Days of Our Lives
2. Sherri Sheppard joined the ladies of The View
3. The E! Network has Kardashian coverage on a 24-hour feed
4. VH1's programming is geared towards a target audience that couldn't pass the GED exam. Or a syphillis exam.

Part of the drag of watching daytime television is the endless, repetitious promotion of their evening programming, most of which I don't give a toot about. (I'm trying out the word "toot", as I feel my sailor-like use of profanity is both unladylike and not baby-friendly.)

So, TNT is home to a medical drama called HawthoRNe. Isn't that clever? The title character is named Christina Hawthorne, and she's a Registered Nurse- RN. Get it? (Read that with a dollop of sarcasm.) It's about a feisty nurse who is so devoted to her patients that she isn't afraid to start a ruckus if that's what it takes to get the job done. You know the type, she's not afraid to be unpopular and take on "The Man". Yeah, it's a fresh new take on the medical drama. Let's allow TNT to describe this profoundly complex character for you (TNT prefers "dynamic" and "layered"):

"Christina Hawthorne is the kind of woman who always finds that extra something when it seems there’s nothing left to give. She is a woman of fiery passion when it comes to her patients, never being satisfied with doing something halfway. In her new role at James River, she’s not about to let another hospital slip into oblivion. On the homefront, she is trying to move on after her husband’s death, flirting with the possibility of a relationship with Dr. Wakefield. She tries to keep her teenage daughter in line while at the same time realizing she is growing into a young woman. "

Jada's performance of the trite dialogue is so heavy-handed that I can't help but laugh. This week's episode promises to show us Christina as we've never seen her before (read this with a deep, dramatic television announcer's voice): "Secrets...Surprises...and Marc Anthony!"

I hear the same soundbytes of dialogue in these promotional spots for the show so many times, I've taken to quoting her to Steve:

Christina Hawthorne: Is this the Ethics Department? Because I have an ethics COMPLAINT!

Nurse ObviouslyDoesn'tCareAsMuchAsChristinaHawthorne: Unfortunately, that's how the system works.
Christina Hawthorne: Unfortunately, the system isn't WORKING!

Christina Hawthorne: I may have lost the battle, but I won't lose the war.

Christina Hawthorne: There's no storm strong enough to keep me off my game. I'm Christina Hawthorne, and I run this.

Dr. Michael Vartan: You're out of bounds, Christina.
Christina Hawthorne: No, you're the one who's out of bounds.

Cops: You're under arrest.
Christina Hawthorne: Get off of me! I'm a nurse!

Sad Asian Kid: Is she gonna die?
Christina Hawthorne: Not on my watch.

Christina Hawthorne: I've gotta go slay the dragon, in his lair.

Head Doc In Charge: I need the names of six nurses you're willing to fire by the end of the day.
Christina Hawthorne: Are their cameras in here? Because I feel like I'm being punk'd.

This is like the medical drama equivalent of Natural Light beer. It's made of the recirculated stuff that wasn't deemed eligible to be in the quality stuff. In other words, I'd love it...if I'm already drunk.

iPhone 4 vs. HTC EVO

I'm a T-Mobile gal, so I've felt the sting of embarrassment for not being able to jump on the cool kids bandwagon and have an iPhone of my very own, so this little viral video gave me a chuckle.



Thanks, Steve (via Sabo)!

The One Where Libby Gets Snipped

Libby is getting spayed today. Libby is three. Considering that my earliest childhood dreams were to either:

A. Be one of Barker's Beauties like my first redhead icon, Holly Hallstrom, or

B. Meet Bob Barker in Contestant's Row, play Plinko, spin $1.00 on the Big Wheel, and win the Showcase Showdown

...you'd think I'd heed Bob's sage advice to help control the pet population by having my pets spayed and neutered. So why isn't Libby spayed already? Funny story (not really).

When George ran away in October 2007, my job as a Mortgage Consultant at Countrywide Home Loans was circling the drain. It was the beginning of the subprime mortgage crisis. Everyday I came to work, the guidelines were stricter, the loan options were fewer, and layoffs were happening at any and every moment. We worked in a cube farm on the sixth floor of this office building, and at various points throughout my final weeks at work, the Vice President would walk towards our corner of the cube farm, and begin pointing at people all around me and canning them right then and there. It was like a corporate version of Nintendo's Duck Hunt and I was just trying not to get shot.

Since I was devastated that George was missing, and sitting in a cubicle waiting to be fired was stressful, and having to tell potential borrowers all day long that I can't help them get a loan was depressing, I spent a lot of time on the internet looking for George. Yeah, that was a fruitless search, but it's where I found Libby. She was staying in a shelter in Gainesville, some 75 miles from where I live. When I called the shelter and learned that the only requirements for adoption were a photocopy of my drivers license and an $85 adoption fee, I decided I was meant to save her. I promptly quit my job and withdrew $85 from the nearest ATM. That's the flimsiest adoption process I've ever heard of, and I didn't want just any old hack to take her. When I adopted Laney, the fee was $250, and I had to fill out lengthy paperwork, pass a home inspection, give a veterinary reference, and take a blood oath to give that puppy the kind of life that other puppies only read about in fairytales.

Libby was not doing so hot when I met her. Her mother was a stray who delivered a litter of puppies in a random barn on a farm. The farmer's wife discovered the mom and the puppies. When she returned a couple days later to collect them to take to the shelter, the mother was gone. Now, four months later, all of Libby's sisters had been adopted and Libby had developed kennel cough, so she had a major case of the sads. The vet tech at the shelter told me that all she needed was "love". And a course of antibiotics. The $85 adoption fee included her vaccinations, her kennel cough medicine, her spay surgery, and a microchip. I was told the microchip had not yet been implanted because Libby hasn't been feeling well, but that I was welcome to drive the 150 mile round trip to return to the pound and have it implanted once she was feeling better. Thanks, but no thanks. Libby sat in my lap as I drove home, and we lived happily ever after...

Until seven months later when somebody got her period in my bed. I was horrified! I went through my records, found the documentation stating she'd been spayed, and called the shelter. Oops, there must have been a clerical error! They spayed all of her sisters, but not Libby because she was sick. They meant to go back and spay her later, but then this nice lady adopted her...

That's when panic set in. Libby has been sharing a crate with George, who by this time has returned to our home but is still not neutered. What if they made puppies? What if Libby is knocked up? My vet offers to x-ray Libby to see if there are puppies so we can know whether or not to have her spayed just yet. You see, puppy abortion is not on my list of things to do. After the vet has a chance to review Libby's x-ray, they determine that there are no puppies in her womb, but that her intestines are full of poo and the vet tech complained that Libby passed some stinky farts during the x-ray process. Thanks a lot. I didn't need an $85 x-ray to tell me that my mutt is stinky and full of shit.

My vet would spay her for $350. Steve and I have a friend who is close friends with a local vet, and Steve was of the belief that this vet may spay Libby in exchange for golf balls. Since I would rather pay in golf balls than dollar bills, I asked Steve to broker that little deal. Two years later...

I'm sitting on my couch, holding my newborn son, when Mom says to me, "Uh oh. I see blood drops on the tile. One of the dogs must have hurt themselves. We need to check all of their paws." I don't say anything, but in my head I'm all Catherine Willows from CSI.

I'm saying to myself, "Is it blood drops or blood smears? If it's not a smear, it didn't come from their paws, and if it's a drop, then it came from...Libby's vajayjay!" I didn't want to think about it. Please don't let Libby be in heat.

Not to be outdone by me and the arrival of my baby, Libby proved that I was not the only bitch in the house capable of reproducing. She would not allow me to hog the spotlight. Neither would Gus. After two weeks in my home, where Gus largely ignored Libby, he suddenly wanted to ride her like a pony. Then, in front of Mom, Robinson, and me, Gus began to hump Libby's face. "Libby, Libby, make him  buy you dinner first!" I joked. Mom's not amused.

So here we are. Libby will be snipped by supper, thus closing the book on the Libby's Vajayjay Chronicles.

That's What Misty Said

My sleeping newborn hasn't provided much in the way of blogging material, and he takes up 100% of my time.  The brother emailed me this nugget so I have something to post. Thanks, Jarred!

Misty: Jay is it disperse? or disberse?
Jarred: Like to spread something around? disperse, I'm afraid disberse isn't a word.
Misty: Are you sayin 'perse? or 'berse?
Jarred: dis' like you diss your homies, and 'perse like the bag you keep your keys in

Misty then boasted that she could fit 6 minature Snickers bars in her mouth. I overheard such quotes as:

"I'm not doing it until I see how big they are."

"Yeah, I want to put them all in my mouth at once."

"I really had to struggle to pry it out of my mouth."

"Choking on it was not an option."

PS. She did get all 6 in there right as my boss was walking back in, she ran to the bathroom and spit them all out. It was a major disappointment.

Mommy's Little Quarterback

This is a 12-month-old size onesie, but his papa really wanted him to wear his jersey to watch the game last night!

That's Just the Epidural Talking

I've just about mined the topic of pregnancy and childbirth for all the blogging material possible. I have one, maybe two of these posts left in me. I apparently made a few colorful remarks during my time with the epidural. I'm not sure you can attribute it to the actual epidural.  You can decide for yourself:

To the Nurse Anesthesist administering my epidural, who asked me to describe the sensation of a needle in my spine as "sharp" or "pressure":

"It feels like...you're all UP in my spine!"

To the Labor and Delivery Nurse, who gave me kudos for being a real trooper:

"I'm just trying really hard not to be a punk."

To my second Labor and Delivery Nurse, who asked me to describe how I was feeling after I indicated that I was in severe pain during hour ten or eleven of labor:

"I feel like my body has betrayed me."

[Blogger's Note: That nurse was at least 40 years old, and claimed that nobody had ever said that to her before.]

To my mom, who, after about an hour of watching me struggle through the pushing process, sweetly asks if I'd like her to pull my long hair into a ponytail:

"Absolutely not."

[Blogger's Note: by the time I was actually out of surgery and holding my baby, it was so late that most everybody had already gone home and I was too out-of-it to think of taking pictures, but I was told that my hair looked awesome. They even let me wear my hair down for my c-section instead of stuffing it into one of those blue caps!]

We watched 6 movies during my labor:
1. Forgetting Sarah Marshall
2. Napoleon Dynamite
3. Old School (Frank's wedding reception featuring The Dan Band's performance of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" was playing while my epidural was being administered)
4. Mean Girls
5. Anchor Man
6. Sweet Home Alabama

As it became time to push, Sweet Home Alabama was ending. The nurse thought this was weird, but I needed background noise and distraction and so I insisted Steve put on another DVD, and I didn't care what it was. His choice: Drop Dead Gorgeous, an indie flick/mockumentary/black comedy about a small-town beauty pageant starring Kirsten Dunst, Kirstie Alley, Ellen Barkin, Denise Richards, Brittany Murphy, and a then-unknown Amy Adams. So between pushes, I was being asked questions such as: "Is that Amy Adams?! Oh my God!"

To Steve, who, between pushes is watching Drop Dead Gorgeous and asks, "Is that Denise Richards?":

"Yes, this is Denise's finest work, and today we celebrate it!"

To the Labor and Delivery Nurse who, between pushes, strongly urges Steve to look (at you-know-what), despite Steve repeatedly declining her offer:

"Steve has expressed his wishes not to look, and I support that!"

[Blogger's Note: this statement is met with a look of gratitude from Steve, because it finally shut the nurse up]

Forward it Like it's Hot

I hate email forwards, but Jarred sent this to me last week and it made me laugh so hard that I woke the baby (worth it). If you know this email to be fake or that it's been circulating the internet since the Clinton Administration, don't tell me.

These are emails between Shannon the secretary to her co-worker David Thorne in regards to her missing cat. READ FROM THE TOP DOWN!

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 9.15am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Poster

Hi
I opened the screen door yesterday and my cat got out and has been missing since then so I was wondering if you are not to busy you could make a poster for me. It has to be A4 and I will photocopy it and put it around my suburb this afternoon.

This is the only photo of her I have she answers to the name Missy and is black and white and about 8 months old. missing on Harper street and my phone number.

Thanks Shan.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 9.26am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Poster

Dear Shannon,

That is shocking news. Luckily I was sitting down when I read your email and not half way up a ladder or tree. How are you holding up? I am surprised you managed to attend work at all what with thinking about Missy out there cold, frightened and alone... possibly lying on the side of the road, her back legs squashed by a vehicle, calling out "Shannon, where are you?"

Although I have two clients expecting completed work this afternoon, I will, of course, drop everything and do whatever it takes to facilitate the speedy return of Missy.

Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 9.37am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Poster

yeah ok thanks. I know you dont like cats but I am really worried about mine. I have to leave at 1pm today.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.17am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Poster

Dear Shannon,

I never said I don't like cats. Once, having been invited to a party, I went clothes shopping beforehand and bought a pair of expensive G-Star boots. They were two sizes too small but I wanted them so badly I figured I could just wear them without socks and cut my toenails very short. As the party was only a few blocks from my place, I decided to walk. After the first block, I lost all feeling in my feet. Arriving at the party, I stumbled into a guy named Steven, spilling Malibu & coke onto his white Wham 'Choose Life' t-shirt, and he punched me. An hour or so after the incident, Steven sat down in a chair already occupied by a cat. The surprised cat clawed and snarled causing Steven to leap out of the chair, slip on a rug and strike his forehead onto the corner of a speaker; resulting in a two inch open gash. In its shock, the cat also defecated, leaving Steven with a foul stain down the back of his beige cargo pants. I liked that cat.

Attached poster as requested.

Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.24am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

yeah thats not what I was looking for at all. it looks like a movie and how come the photo of Missy is so small?

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.28am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

Dear Shannon,

It's a design thing. The cat is lost in the negative space.

Regards, David.


From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.33am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

Thats just stupid. Can you do it properly please? I am extremely emotional over this and was up all night in tears. you seem to think it is funny. Can you make the photo bigger please and fix the text and do it in colour please. Thanks.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.46am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

Dear Shannon,

Having worked with designers for a few years now, I would have assumed you understood, despite our vague suggestions otherwise, we do not welcome constructive criticism. I don't come downstairs and tell you how to send text messages, log onto Facebook and look out of the window. I am willing to overlook this faux pas due to you no doubt being preoccupied with thoughts of Missy attempting to make her way home across busy intersections or being trapped in a drain as it slowly fills with water. I spent three days down a well once but that was just for fun.

I have amended and attached the poster as per your instructions.

Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 10.59am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

This is worse than the other one. can you make it so it shows the whole photo of Missy and delete the stupid text that says missing missy off it? I just want it to say Lost.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.14am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.21am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Poster

yeah can you do the poster or not? I just want a photo and the word lost and the telephone number and when and where she was lost and her name. Not like a movie poster or anything stupid. I have to leave early today. If it was your cat I would help you. Thanks.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.32am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Awww

Dear Shannon,

I don't have a cat. I once agreed to look after a friend's cat for a week but after he dropped it off at my apartment and explained the concept of kitty litter, I kept the cat in a closed cardboard box in the shed and forgot about it. If I wanted to feed something and clean faeces, I wouldn't have put my mother in that home after her stroke. A week later, when my friend came to collect his cat, I pretended that I was not home and mailed the box to him. Apparently I failed to put enough stamps on the package and he had to collect it from the post office and pay eighteen dollars. He still goes on about that sometimes, people need to learn to let go.

I have attached the amended version of your poster as per your detailed instructions.

Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.47am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Awww

Thats not my cat. where did you get that picture from? That cat is orange. I gave you a photo of my cat.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 11.58am
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Awww

I know, but that one is cute. As Missy has quite possibly met any one of several violent ends, it is possible you might get a better cat out of this. If anybody calls and says "I haven't seen your orange cat but I did find a black and white one with its hind legs run over by a car, do you want it?" you can politely decline and save yourself a costly veterinarian bill.

I knew someone who had a basset hound that had its hind legs removed after an accident and it had to walk around with one of those little buggies with wheels. If it had been my dog I would have asked for all its legs to be removed and replaced with wheels and had a remote control installed. I could charge neighbourhood kids for rides and enter it in races. If I did the same with a horse I could drive it to work. I would call it Steven.

Regards, David.

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.07pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Awww

Please just use the photo I gave you.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.22pm
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.34pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

I didnt say there was a reward. I dont have $2000 dollars. What did you even put that there for? Apart from that it is perfect can you please remove the reward bit. Thanks Shan.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.42pm
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.51pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

Can you just please take the reward bit off altogether? I have to leave in ten minutes and I still have to make photocopies of it.

From: David Thorne
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 12.56pm
To: Shannon Walkley
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

From: Shannon Walkley
Date: Monday 21 June 2010 1.03pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Awww

Fine. That will have to do.

Tardy for the Party...Oops, I Meant To Say "Office"

Remember Jarred's crazy co-worker Misty? Well, she's running late this morning. Here's why:

"Misty will be 15 minutes late because her daughter was looking at Justin Bieber on the internet this morning."

Yeah, that's the actual excuse she gave, and Jarred had to send this e-mail to his boss...and all of his co-workers.

Happy Friday!

Labor and Delivery By The Numbers

This is neither creative, nor writing, but I have to ease back into this blogging thing. So much has transpired in the past two weeks that if I devoted the time to writing real posts about everything, it would take forever to get caught up. "By the Numbers" was a little feature in Maxim, a magazine I used to read until Steve allowed his subscription to lapse in 2003. This will tell you in a nutshell about my experience with labor, delivery, and post partum without sharing too much information! Spoiler alert: childbirth is messy business.

Days past my due date: 5
Hours of sleep I got the night before the induction: 4.5
Hours of labor: 13.5
Hours of labor before asking for the epidural: 4
Attempts to administer the epidural: 2
Times I suggested booking the OR for a C-Section: 4
Labor and Delivery nurses assigned to me (due to shift changes): 3
Labor and Delivery nurses I expected to have assigned to me: 1
Movies watched during labor and delivery: 7
Cups of apple juice consumed: 5
Cups of apple juice consumed during the last 20 years (outside a hospital): 0
People I allowed to be present for the delivery: 3
Days I was required to go without eating: 2
Days I expected to go without eating: 0
Days spent in hospital: 4.5
Most consecutive hours of sleep since July 22: 3.5
Robinson's birth weight: 9lbs, 9oz
Number of pounds I've lost since the birth due to fluid retention: 10

When Laney Met Robinson