Good news, bad news and just news: An update.

I've been away too long, folks, and if there are any readers left to wonder, I've been so incredibly busy at work. In fact, I'm still busy, which is why I feel guilty for posting when I should be working on some seriously deadline-sensitive stuff.

Those of you who've e-mailed me to make sure I still have a pulse, thanks. I mean it!

On to the news ...

Hornsby has made a full recovery, and much to our delight he doesn't mind being at the veterinary office, probably because he's already spent so much time there. We took all of the little bastards to the vet last month, which cost us almost $500. Everyone's healthy, and Dawsey surprised us by losing a pound (that's a lot to a cat!), though she needs to lose one more. You can do it, girl!

Speaking of weight loss, I've dropped a pants size! Finally I can go to a department store and look at single-digit pants! Now, I'll probably never be a size 4 or 5, but an 8 is great when you've been a 10 or larger for most of your life. My goal is to get down to a size 6, but that may not happen considering my insanely huge child-bearing hips. DAMNITALLTOHELL!!!

In yoga related news, I'm killing my inversions. I did a wall-supported scorpion last week. It looks like this, but my feet were against a wall, which kept me from falling over myself:



We're painting the yoga room this weekend, which will be fun because after the trip we took to St. Louis I got the most awesome idea for one of the walls, which was to paint large cirlces that represent lily pads on the wall and hang enlargements of some of the water lily photos I took at the Missouri Botanical Gardens on our trip! Should be fun!

Also, if you're wondering how awesome our trip was, check out our photos here. Just to be a tease, here's a sample:


a shot of Dave from his best side:



We're planning a trip to NYC, Boston and Chicago next year, so that's probably the last bit of traveling we'll be doint until then.

Also, Dave and I took my twin sisters and my brother in law Brent to the State Fair of Texas, which was a blast! We walked around, rode a few rides and ate tons of great food (and by great, I mean fried cheesecake, Fletchers corny dogs, fried guacamole and Cuban sandwiches!).

Anywho, there's been a lot more than that, but that's all I have time for, for now at least!

Update soon

Things are slowing down, and I really will update as soon as I can! Until then, admire the incredibly cute photos of the kitties!!!

Lazy Day

My brain is still fuzzy from the 3-day weekend. Yesterday was Labor Day, but it was raining through midday, so instead of just hanging about like we had planned, we cleaned the house. Bummer. The cats did this:



And this:



And this:



In case you couldn't tell, they love the new chair. Later that evening we went to Rangers Ballpark in Arlington to watch the Rangers get pummeled by the Kansas City Royals.





And now, I'm back at work... :(

Backyard trim

I've had my hair cut in a salon only a handful of times. The kitchen, now that's where business is done. I can remember the times I've spent training my eyes on my mother's tchotchke-clad walls easily. Her accosting me to stay still even though I had bits of hair in my nose, in my eyes and wedged between the cutting cape and my irritated neck. Only once has anyone besides my sister Kara and my mother cut my hair, and it was a disaster.

I was still living in College Station, waiting tables at Kerri's Stacked Enchiladas. I was poor (waiting tables does that to you) and one of my closest friends was also the spawn of a hairdresser. Her mom cut her hair, and it was cute enough, so I decided that just getting my bangs trimmed would be safe. So my friend and I stopped into the salon where her mother worked just for a sec or two and I left so incredibly upset, though I couldn't tell my friend because I didn't want to seem ungrateful for the butcher job her mom did on my hair. I swore after that that I would never again get my hair cut by anyone besides my mother or my sister.

Fast forward to 2007 -- I hadn't had a hair cut since February when my sister Kara came to visit, so I asked my mother to bring her scissors when she came up last weekend. My hair had become an unmanageable mop, my bangs were beginning to graze my lips and I had 3-inch long split ends. These are the perils of swearing off salons. But Sunday, just hours before my parents and I were to leave for brunch and their departure, my mother set up a station of sorts in the back yard on our deck and went to work on my tresses. The birds were singing and it was a rather pleasant summer morning, so I'd have to say that it was one of the more enjoyable hair cuts I've had. Maybe more salons should be outdoors...

Of course I'm balanced!

I'm a Balanced Yogi!

A Balanced Yogi You love your friends unconditionally and accept them for who they are no matter what their yoga style preference, religious beliefs, or spending habits. You focus on the good in people and would never try to change them. Almost everyone feels comfortable in your presence. You live your yoga. You are an inspiration to yoga students everywhere!

Take the Yoga Journal Yoga Snob Quiz!

A visit all too short!

Sorry about my absence. Liv is right, things have been kinda crazy at the House of England. Besides trying to go to all of the home games possible before the Rangers' season ends (like hell they'll make it to October), we've been burning the candle at both ends, taking puppies to the veterinarian, getting $650 tires for Dave's Jeep, working around the house and cooking, though not as much as I'd like. We're still figuring a lot out about this homeowner stuff.

Though, through all the hectic days, it was nice to take a breather when my parents came up to Dallas last weekend. They are so great, except when my father and I talk politics. As long as there is red wine, single-malt scotch and good food, we're a complacent bunch.

Mom and Dad mainly ventured up here to drop off an antique dining table that I'd been pining for. It's a low-back, hand carved mahogany dream, and fully expanded will sit around 10 people! It'll take some cleaning and dressing up, but it's a fine piece! We also got Dave an armchair this weekend, a nice plush, deep-seated job. I've been inhabiting it for the most part!

We had an awesome time going to a minor league ball game, having brunch at our favorite little cafe, and checking out some of our regular haunts. Dad might be up here for a spell this weekend, he's gotta pick up a rifle being delivered in Fort Worth.

I'd post pictures, but I'm a moron and forgot to put a card in my camera, so this weekend was stored on the internal memory, and I've no connector cord with me. But I'm alive, and well, and really freakin' tired if you were wondering!

I'll never leave home!

It is beginning to take so long to take care of everything and get out the door in the morning that I'm beginning to think that the house would rather have me there! Not that I'd mind, you know, staying home and tending house, freelancing when I can, but as long as I have to commute this is beginning to become very cumbersome.

Dave picked up Hornsby from his progress check-up at the Vet yesterday, and they prescribed him ANOTHER treatment. The myriad pills, creams and drops are killing me, and taking a toll in the morning which is when I have to:

-Make coffee
-Water the plants/lawn
-let the dogs out
-feed the dogs/cats
-get dressed
-do my hair/makeup
-pack my lunch
-give Hornsby whatever eye drops/ear medicine/pills the vet prescribes

IT'S ALL TOO MUCH!

Pupdate

So, Hornsby is a real mess right now. I'll have to take pictures of his mutilated eye. It's incredi-gross. He had surgery yesterday on his eye and he was neutered at the same time. Poor guy. He's getting along OK. We had to put the E-collar back on, which means that he can't navigate the house for shit. He takes more medication than a retiree.

They shaved his eye and he has some stitches around it, which doesn't look too appealing, but overall he's doing OK.

As far as I can tell he had some kind of kennel cough that has cleared up since I last hyperventhilated about it. He's out of the cough medicine and we finish the antibiotics tonight so we'll see what happens. It doesn't look as though Fitzgerald caught whatever he had, so I guess we're lucky in that respect.

Now, this past weekend I went to Houston to spend some quality time with my dear sister Sara for her birthday. She shares a birthday with her twin, Kara, who was vacationing with our brother and sister-in-law in the Rocky Mountains. So, I couldn't leave Sara to party without some kind of family representation. Boy am I glad I decided to come along! It was a blast. From hanging out with some of her good friends and people I knew like, forever ago, it was just a fantastic time! The copious beer didn't hurt either!

Bump in the road

Hornsby was due for his eye surgery/neuter yesterday, but it seems that he may have developed a case of Kennel Cough. Worst Case Scenario: Canine Distemper.

We're really hoping it's just Kennel Cough, though we're taking every precaution, keeping Hornsby quarantined to the guest room and crated throughout the day. This is especially hard because he's a puppy, and puppies don't like to be isolated, therefore we are getting very little sleep.

Hornsby isn't a fan of the crate, like, at all, and no matter how many treats/toys/hugs we give him, every time we put him back in the crate he freaks out and starts crying for like an hour. Imagine that you put him up after taking him out for his evening potty break at 8 p.m., you're in bed by 11:30, he's gotta go to the bathroom at 3:30 a.m., and you don't get back to sleep until 4:30 a.m. to wake back up at 6:30 to get ready for work... it's a nightmare!

We're just praying that he gets over this and we can move on. I'm getting to the point where I just want to get back to everyday life, get back into a routine that I can rely on to ground me throughout the rest of the day. Because things are unpredictable at home, work has becom more strained. I'm trying to meet deadlines and tie up loose ends on projects but I feel like I'm grasping a straws, as if I'm climbing a mile-high mountain with no toe-holds for the first 20 feet.

Here's hoping I can get some momentum...

Turning double plays...

If you didn't see it, Hornsby was featured on www.readlarrypowell.com yesterday! If you need to reaffirm your belief that there are genuinely good, caring, outstanding people on this earth, go to that site and read a few bars.

In other Hornsby-related news, the pupster is doing good, getting along well with the kitties and Fitzgerald! He's doing great with the housebreaking, learning the ropes with the crate. He's enjoying his bed and new family, as far as I can tell. You be the judge!

Face-licking good!

So, I think we're pretty set on keeping the puppy, who we've named Hornsby. Doesn't ring a bell, strike a chord?



His namesake is Rogers Hornsby, arguably the best secondbaseman in history with a .358 career batting average, the highest of any righty and only 9 points behind Ty Cobb. Born in Winters, Texas, Rogers Hornsby was twice a National League MVP and led the league in RBIs and home runs.

(This is all gleaned from Dave, the walking baseball encyclopedia. He can remember all this junk but forgets to do the dishes... peculiar.)

Hornsby (the dog) is still in recovery. He isn't putting much weight on his bum leg, hopefully he'll re-learn how to use it. He's on pain pills and muscle relaxers, and he's back at the vet this morning for a progress report. Hopefully he'll get to keep his leg. Not that three-legged dogs aren't cute, but I'd much rather him be a happy, four-legged puppy that can run, play and live a long life with his mom and dad!

And now, to the main event:

Pupskerdoo Number Two!

I have been hounding Dave about getting another dog (Get it? HOUNDING?), and we've talked about getting a larger one this time, adopting a retired greyhound or something. But Dave took a crash course with fate yesterday and stopped on his way to work to help two women who were huddled around a puppy that had been hit by a car. Dave said the poor dear was slouched and shivvering despite the 90-degree heat, the pup was scared out of his mind. The three of them ushered the little boy into a carrier and escorted him to a nearby veterinary hospital.

Dave called and was in hysterics. He'd stopped to save the dog and ended up at work an hour and a half late. After visiting the hospital later once they had done x-rays, he reported that the chap had a broken leg and would need surgery immediately. Of course, we're suckers, and he's just a puppy, so we OK'd the surgery knowing that we'd be dealing with a short future of poverty: The bill could be as large as $1,300.

I made a b-line to the vet hospital after work yesterday to meet the poorbaby and I'll admit it here that I really fell in love with the guy (he was heavily sedated, so it was easy). Poorbaby's on an IV with a broken rear right leg. He's got the look of a Saint Bernard to him with a little Great Pyrenees. He's about 6 months old, they think, and weighs about 33 lbs. He's got the biggest ol feet, so I think he'll be a sizeable kid!

Anywho, we're running through names right now. I like Leonard, Dave likes Salinger. Both abbreviate well (Lenny and Sal).

Opinions?

New zip code, same old bullshit

I am not moving again for a very long time. Very long. Like a decade. About a week into packing up all of our belongings, which by the way seem to multiply exponentially while we're not looking, I was ready to quit and hire a pack of movers to finish the job. And there is truth to adage that "real friends are the ones that help you move." This is a shout-out to my sister Kara, her boytoy Veeeektor, my brother-in-law Marcus and the illustrious Vicki and Bobby, the mom-and-dad-in-law super duo. Thanks bunches!

So, after too much takeout and lots of cleaning/painting/unpacking, we're finally settling in. I've made bread at the new house, which I think is a pretty decent indicator that we're moved in (if I'm unpacked enough to bake then we're at least technically moved in!).

We've already been to IKEA twice, which I have to say, is arguably the best furniture store on the planet. I know there are going to be folks that would disagree with this, esp. Liv and Matt, who beyond all their virtues are still British (love ya, I swear!). Why do I have a thing for IKEA? I'm disorganized. Bad. Every time I waste the money to drive up the Dallas North Tollway to Frisco and run screaming like a Beatles fan into that big blue box I always leave hoping to recant my messy ways. Storage boxes, closet organizers, dressing chests, a new bed, glass-door book cases, a TV bench, a new coffee table: all of it is going to make me more organized, less cluttered and substantially easier to deal with. I just know it.

The worst thing about IKEA? The late-night assembly marathon. Dave's parents stuck around until after midnight on Saturday/Sunday to get our chest of drawers and bed put together. It was an awesome experience, mostly because Dave's dad is really handy with a Phillips-head screwdriver and without his help I would have never gotten that damn bed put together. Seriously.

Another highlight: Dave's mom, Vicki, who is an absolute saint, said "Shit!" when she couldn't get the attic fan to turn off in the new house -- she thought she broke it. A-W-E-S-O-M-E! Dave started hyperventhilating, half-yelling at Vicki for turning the fan on in the first place, when Bobby sternly announced, "IF YOU TWO DON'T QUIT THAT YELLING I'LL SEND YOU BOTH TO CHURCH TOMORROW -- TOGETHER!" That got everyone to chill the fuck out!

Now, this marks the greatest difference between Dave's family and mine: You can put money on the fact that someone will drop an f-bomb at a family gathering, whether mom, dad or the Jemison brood. We're extremely laid-back. We drink on all occaisions we are together, even when they aren't technically occaisions. Expect a good 15-year-old scotch to be poured when I'm in town. Cigars may be smoked, but scotch will definitely be consumed. You can also rest assured that meat in some form will be charred over an open fire, someone will fall asleep in a recliner and that a person that no one likes will be referred to as a "cunt." That's just how we roll. (That's also why Brent, my sister's Scottish husband, fits in with our family so well!)

Also, tragedy struck our house not long before we moved. My computer, which I purchased the summer of 2001, went kaput. We're now trying to replace the old bastard, but it's not looking good. Then, shortly after we moved, Dave's battery for his old ThinkPad went on the fritz. Seriously, when it rains, it motherfucking pours. I may only be able to blog intermittently because of the difficulties at home. I hope that this mini treatise holds you folks over until I can post again!

Much love from the 75228, suckers!

Hacking it

I look around the perimeters of my cubicle into the windows of coworkers offices. It's depressing. As my higher-ups meet in secret, I always wonder if they talk about me, and I think back to what I might have done lately to upset the delicate balance in the office politics equilibrium.

Who hates me and would throw me under a bus at a moments notice? Who would go to bat for me when they aren't sure if I'm as right as I say I am? Who's on my side, or working in an interest that will keep me in the black?

I bet a lot of people think that working as a journalist (even though I am really not a journalist yet, although I secretly wish that people would consider me as one) that office politics and backstabbing would be less of an issue, if not marginal. I'm afraid that it's even moreso a problem. We operate in a public sphere, so perception is everything. I've found that there are some people that idolize the way others perceive them, and would sacrifice another person to that idol if necessary. That's just the way it is.

But even more discouraging is that I am uncertain whether or not I have the talent to do this. I don't know anymore. Am I leaning on my deaf ear more because I just can't produce? Am I making excuses for myself? Can I hack it?

I must've used the word "fair" around 40 kajillion times yesterday. "I'd rather be fair than want people to like me," I said. But that's not totally true. I've been careless. I've said things to people before I've had time to take them to heart, an advantage you have on the page but not socially. I've unintentionally singed a few bridges. If only I had the opportunity to proof my conversations prior to publication... alas.

All I can say is I'm sorry, but what's going unsaid is that I lack faith in myself. I make quick decisions every day that I constantly doubt. There is a three-person-deep backstop behind me that should absorb my crashes, but it fails me. Who do I have to blame but myself?

(sorry for being so cryptic, but that's just how it is.)

Family bonding

Last night as we finished dinner, which is consumed in front of the TV most days, the orange kitty snuck up into Dave's lap and perched on his stomach. Then, as if not wanting to be the odd-doggie-out, Fitzgerald sandwiched himself between Dave and I, and then began sniffing and nuzzling Orange, who shut his eyes tightly and pretended not to mind for the sake of his parents.

Dawsey, the other cat you don't see much of, has been reclining in various strange spots throughout the house. Last night she camped out to the side of the stove, lately she's been spotted in the shower, on the bathroom floor, in my closet, under the desk and behind the chairs in the living area. I suggested that it's because she's taking naps in all the places that she had been wanting to before we moved. Logical enough, right?

What lovely kids we have! Below are a couple of photos of our sole non-reclusive kitty, Mr. Orange.

And all I cooked was this cake.

It was a balls-to-the wall weekend for me and my sweetie pie. I made Angelfood cake in record time, despite my mother's skepticism. See for yourself:





I took that gorgeous, spongy creation to dinner at one of our friends' homes with some white wine macerated fruit. The lesser half of the spousal pair had made dinner, at great lengths, too. He made falafel, hummus, eggplant relish, an antipasti plate, tabbouleh and served it up with warm pita bread. Very tasty!

After dinner and conversation, which was repeatedly interrupted by an enormous and hyperactive border collie named Billy, we went home and crashed.

Saturday morning (i.e. mid afternoon) was a blur. We walked down to the local storefronts in Lakewood. Green Living is this great little shop that sells environmentally sustainable goods. We went to the local hardware store and bought two unfinished Adirondack chairs and some red enamel paint for them.

Then it twas off to the Rangers game against the Brewers. After a spectacular rally in the 9th inning, I practically bolted for the car so I could get home and catch up on my reading some more, and Dave wanted to pack for our move (WHAT A FREAK!).

Sunday was sedated, Dave went for a matinee movie and I took the dog out for a run, which he made halfway through before he petered out. I had to walk him home, and when I got back Dave had returned from the movies, so we both went out and ran together, which made me so freakin' hungry and tired. We were both starving, but we decided to go out to Home Depot and check out stuff for the new house.

By that time we were both about ready to consume each other. So we headed in the direction of Kalachandji's, which was open. Dave said that he didn't want to go into the restaurant all grubby after our run, so we went home and changed and went back to the restaurant. Best. Indian food. Ever. (at least in Dallas).

We came home in food comas, I pulled the linens off the drying line and Dave packed some more (FREAK!). Productive weekend, no?

Utterly embarassing

A lot of kids yearn to make a difference in the world, to have one of those rare opportunities to be heard by a global leader, to be understood by someone who has real power to affect change. I wonder how painful it is to be completely disregarded by that powerful leader. Want to know what it looks like? Here you go.

I have a lot of respect for Tony Blair, and although I'm unfamiliar with a lot of the intricacies of why he is so hated in Britain, he sure beats the hell out of President Bush. At least Tony Blair appears to care what the youth in this screwed up world have to say. At least he's not intently studying the nutrition facts on the back of a bag of candy. At least he looks like he's taking notes, instead of making sideways glaces at a girl who's pouring out her concerns and dreads as the state of the world she will inherit lies before her in ruin.

Only 600 more days until we elect a new president. I hope that we get it right this time.

while on the subject of food...

... I have to gush about the most perfect foods I've found lately:

1) Almond Breeze Unsweetened Vanilla almond milk: I love soymilk, and this is better WITH LESS THAN HALF THE CALORIES!








2) Fiber One Cereal: Lightly sweet, mixes with Almond Breeze or fat free yogurt for the perfect breakfast/snack!









3) Quaker 90 calories granola bars, Chocolate chunk: All the yumminess of a regular granola bar in a crazy-good snack-size bar, with chocolate chunks all over the place!

The perfect burrito bol

I don't get out much during the workday. I'm pretty much anchored to my desk, reading email and wasting my youth. So, on the rare occaison that I do take lunch, I make an insanely huge deal about it. I tell everyone on staff that I'll be out to lunch, and then I ask them if they want anything.

Originally, I was going to trot a short distance to a Subway sandwich shop and grab a low-cal, tasty sammich (6" turkey breast on wheat all the way with mustard). But then a co-worker asked if I wanted to go with her and her husband to Chipotle, which is a bit further, but not much.

Chipotle, which most people don't know is owned by McDonald's, has become the worldwide ambassador of the oversized burrito. Before Chipotle's genesis, though, Freebirds World Burrito dominated the Tex-Mex wrap-em-up market. Freebirds originated in College Station, Texas, home of Texas A&M University, my alma mater. Needless to say, I've always been a big Freebirds fan, and I guess I always will. But Chipotle has won me over where Freebirds couldn't: The Burrito Bol.

Now, the worst part of a burrito (at least the part that's worst for you) is the tortilla. The most fun thing about Freebirds is their selection of tasty tortillas, which are loaded with fat. This version of a burrito is best for those like me and my coworker that still dream of actually looking good in a swim suit.

How to build the perfect Chipotle Burrito Bol:

-Start with Rice. Always get the rice.
-Next, get both black and pinto beans.
-AVOID MEAT AT ALL COSTS!
-Then, add red salsa (just a smidge for the weenies).
-After that, pile on the pico de gallo (for those who don't know, it's a mixture of chopped tomato, onion and cilantro with lemon juice and black pepper).
-Then add lettuce and cheese.

You can add the fajita veggies insubstitution for one of the kinds of beans, but then you're missing out on lots of fiber and protein.

Anywho, this combination is filling, tastes AWESOME and has fewer fat and calories than any other selection on the menu. Take that!

Coo-kie? Me want Cookie!

Since the beginning of this year I've started to reform my commuting habits. I'm rising earlier to get to work in a timely fashion, and in order to do something good for the environment (and head off the unsightly sagging of my derrier) I'm taking the stairs up four floors to our offices every morning and descending them every afternoon.

For the past two weeks, though, it's been kind of a game of will. At the foot of the stairs there has been a massive chunk of a partially eaten cookie (oatmeal raisin from my observation). I know now that the stairs are serviced by our janitorial crew twice a month at most, because just this Monday the cookie had vanished. Either that or someone skipped breakfast and was desperate on their way up the stairs one morning (SWEAR TO GOD IT WASN'T ME!).

But really, the cookie's not the half of it. There's also a Ritz cracker sitting on top of an electrical box in the stairway, another victim of a misplaced, half-eaten stairway snack.

I guess eating while climbing stairs is just as bad as chewing gum while walking.