Do Beagles Fly?

I know I haven't written much about my idiot puppy, Sophie.. in fact, I'm not sure I've written about her at all, so here goes. I have a puppy. Her name is Sophie. She's cute and pretty and not very bright.

That being said, let me tell you that I love Sophie. I've had to take her to the vet's office twice now in a month, and despite her having come from the shelter and being all cute, I pray every night for God to give me patience so that I don't kill her. She's the kind of dog you can't spank without crying. Big brown eyes, apologetic manner (After she knows she's done something bad) and most of all, she's a big sweetie. Ok, she's small, but she's still sweet. The problem then arises, of the stupidity factor.

Yesterday I took Sophie on a little ride with me to drop Rae's backpack off at the dorm for her. She rode in the car, on my lap, in the back seat and eventually, went out the window. No one ever said she was bright. We were nearly home, say just less than a mile away. Deserted road, middle of the cornfields, so I rolled down the window a little bit. Enough for her head to stick through. . . apparently, though, if she can get her head through, her whole body fits. Who knew? So I'm going slow (like 30) since she's got her head out the window and everything... you know, just "in case."

Sophie decides it's a good idea to jump out the window head-first into the pavement. Of course this scares the crap out of me, I slam on the brakes, stall the car and dash out into the road, regardless of wether or not there was a truck zooming by (thank goodness there wasn't). I scoop her up and put her in the car... and then she starts shaking and crying. Now, she's part beagle (part australian blue heeler) so when she crys it's the most pitiful noise in the world. You want to cry when she crys because it's just so..... awful.

So I drive home doing 90 and screech into the garage, surprising Shane and Jason to the point that they stopped eating. That's a feat in and of itself. Still, I told them to call the vet and though the magnet is there on the refridgerator, as I pointed out, they can't even find it, let alone dial the phone. No one ever said they were bright.

I shove Sophie into someone else's arms, grab the phone, tell the vet what happened and then demand the boys drive me into town while I sit in the back seat with the stupid dog. Of course, on the way there, she bleeds (from her heels, just a little) on my jeans. No biggie.. but then she pees all over my lap so it looks like I've wet my pants. Nice. Turns out she's ok, no damage, no broken bones, nothing... but here I am in the vet's office with pee and blood all over my pants. I figure "while I'm here..." I mention to the vet that she's been dragging her butt along the carpet (another reason for daddy to threaten to shoot her) and the vet says "oh! No problem!" and gets out the latex gloves...and the lube. That's for peeing on my lap, Sophie. Apparently when a dog drags its butt along the carpet, the anal glands are full. Who knew?

Latin Ballroom I

Usually, you wouldn't picture me in a dance class. Things being as they are, however, I was one credit short and needed a quick fix. That being said, let me tell you now (ahh.. I can already hear you laughing) that I'm taking a latin ballroom dancing class. Yeah... I know... you want to come and see this one. It's true though. I took dance for a number of years in my younger days and despite losing all dexterity after I quit, I haven't lost the love to dance.

Now today was the first day I'd gone (seeing as I only have technically been enrolled for this class for a week) and let me tell you, it's much more interesting when you already know a few steps. People are still in their socks or dress shoes instead of dance shoes, but all in all, the class seems to be picking up on the idea of shaking their hips. I had to dance with a girl (as they're always short on men in these classes) for a good half-hour before one of the guys from the Advanced Ballroom class came in to try and help out. Marsha, my dance partner, decided she'd let him cut in with me, since it was my first time in class and all. She kept saying " oh you're good! You've done this before!" I didn't want to tell her that Dan and I had attempted to take this class a few years ago and had just ended up not going.

So this guy from the Advanced class cuts in and pulls me all close, so my belly (GUT ... my GUT) is brushing against his flat tummy .. and his hand goes straight to my lower back to encourage nearly-scandalous hip movement. Why did I ever let him cut in? Why? Because he in all honesty, wasn't bad looking... and he has and accent.. .oh yes.. and he CAN DANCE!

There's nothing quite like dancing with a guy who knows what he's doing.. because, as my instructor put it, "The guy's job is to make the woman look good." Simple as that. He had huge hands, fresh breath, an accent, and he could dance... and by god if I didn't feel a little light on my feet when he complimented me on my swinging my hips in a way that I was sure was going to take out innocent onlookers.

Mind you, the guy is not perfect.. he mutters (which makes the accent thicker and much harder to understand) and his teeth are... almost British-looking, but all in all, he seemed like a very nice guy. Not only that, but I must inform all you women.. he didn't seem to mind that I was sweating (in fact, he pulled me closer when I apologized for it)... he didn't care that I occasionally misstepped, and most importantly.. he smelled absolutely divine.

As I was driving home, I found myself in a Dirty Dancing-like stupor... though I couldn't quite place why. I kept trying to rationalize it to myself. I'm not a good dance and never will be. I don't have the drive to be anorexic as well as dancing around like a sexy latin (yeah right) tart. Still, my imagination was on full-blast and I was envisioning myself on stage with a nice bright red dress (the kind that looks like it's got a lobster tail) being tossed about and never breaking the almost angry-lustful eye contact with....whats-his-name from class.

Damn... what was his name? No matter!

The point is: Guys... learn how to at least waltz or something. There are very few things that can melt a girl's heart faster than a good dancer.. with a good frame, nice footwork and a stiff wrist (if you catch my drift) to hold you with. So for all you single girls out there, let me suggest a Latin Dance class.. there is bound to be a sexy latin man there (even if he DOES have Austin Powers teeth) who'll make you blush just a little bit as his hips sway with -or against- yours.

Major Drama

Much to report here... lots of things hit the fan the other day and as I know you're completely bored (judging by the fact that you're reading my journal) and need a little diversion, I'll digress for you. Wednesday was an interesting day at work. I work for the state of michigan in the vital records department (I'm sure I've complained about it before). Seeing as I'm a student -read: piss on girl-- I'm in charge of pulling and putting away the books that contain the birth records.

Yay for being a stuffy vault all day with no sunlight. Anyway, there are 2 levels to the vault. The older births (1910-1981) are in the upper level of the vault, while anything from 1981 and newer are downstairs. Now, previous to my complaining, we (the students) were hauling the newer books upstairs whenever they were needed despite the fact that there is a computer down there with which they can do what they need to do without having to take the books upstairs and whatnot. So, I complained... then my supervisor complained and eventually we all decided that we were being silly, and that the newer books would remain downstairs. Yay. So, I come in on Wednesday (after we've decided to key the books downstairs) and there's a big fat pile of books that need to go downstairs again. I complained to my boss, as well I should have... and then grabbed 4 or 5 of 'em and headed downstairs. Now, usually I'm not a complete clutz... but Wednesday I'd been dropping things all over the place. You can guess what happened.

KABOOM! I fell down a few stairs, books went everywhere and I was left with very sore shoulders and back (as the stairs are metal, of course, for safety). Here comes the funny part. Because I work for the state and I could have conceiveably sued their asses, they HAVE to file an accident report. Splendid. As if I don't already feel like a complete jackass. Not only that, but I'm told (as I'm filling out the form that has a check-box for "human bite") that they *have* to call the ambulance.

HAVE TO.

Now, I know I've mentioned this before, but I have a terrible fear of hospitals. So when I hear "Call the ambulance" I immediately thinkg "Hospital" and start shaking and crying which leads my boss to believe that I really *am* hurt despite what I was telling her 2 seconds ago. So, they call the ambulance despite my pleas and apparently the ambulance was busy somewhere.. .so what does dispatch send? A huge-ass fire truck, complete with lights and siren wailing. Great. Now I feel like a TOTAL idiot. 6 firemen come racing in with gauze and a neck collar thing... wheeling the gourney with them. GREAT! I'm sitting alone in the conference room shaking and crying because I don't want to go to the hospital.. mascara running down my cheeks (Tammy Faye Baker, anyone?), repeating over and over to myself "no hospital, no hospital." Thankfully, they decided I was OK... though not mentally stable, and made me sign a waiver saying that I refused (and that was the correct term) to be taken to the hospital.

Then I went home and took a nap. What a day.

Friday was spent at the dorms with Rae and Mel, where we had much to drink and much fun despite the drama of birthday cake being thrown everywhere and a jealous boyfriend trying to break down the door of his cheating girlfriend. Yay for broken glass in the hallway. Saturday morning while I'm feeling worse than I've felt in a very long time and that I should just jump out the window and end it all, I get a call from my mom. Odd... she never calls me, but I figure she must want me to pick something up on the way home.

Wrong again. She wants the password to my computer, but won't tell me why. Immediately, I think of all the logs I've got on the computer... oh if she reads those she'll be completely grossed out (lol I'm sure you guys can imagine). Despite my pleading, she won't tell me what's going on but she's got this scary "uber-happy" voice that I know for a fact that she gets when something catastrophic has gone on. She assures me that *I'm* not in trouble, and that everything is fine. . . but I know better.

Upon returning home, I find out that she's been fired from her job. Splendid. Apparently enrollment for the college has been down ever since the new president took over( no big surprise here, he's a complete moron) and to cover his tracks, he's firing everyone who had a hand in enrollment over the past few years. As if that's fooling anyone. Well, she's been trying to start her own consulting business, so with her severence package (full health and pay for a year) this is a good thing for her, because now she's got time to work on the company. Still, everyone is a little freaked out. Mom has never been home more than 2 days at a time and that was only if one of us kids was sick or something of that nature. Now she's going to be home ALL the time and honestly, it's more than a little odd. Yesterday we find out from one of mom's friends( her old boss, Don Collizzi ... yes, that's his real name and no, he's not a member of "the family" but he IS 2nd generation Italian) that the board of the college is meeting to try and stage a coup, to get rid of Mr. Magoo, the president because as I mentioned before, he's not fooling anyone by firing these wonderful people. There's talk of reinstating mom to her job, but that's still a big debate because if she goes back, she'd only go back to train her replacement, and she'd loose her severence package. MAJOR drama over here. I hope things are much more calm on your front. If not, I suggest a nice long shower and a good workout.

Snow

This is a rant. You had warning..

As you all know by now, I live in Michigan. One of the drawbacks (one of many) of living here is that it's cold. Thus, when the temperature dips below 32 degrees as it usually does in January, the precipitation that would normally be rain turns to snow. This rant is about snow.

Snow is not pretty, fun or neat. Snow is the devil. I shall list the ways it is the devil for you in case you're a lucky bastard and don't have to deal with 4-6 inches of snow on any given day. First let me clarify something. Snow is pretty, fun and cool on one day a year. Christmas. That's all. Next, let me say that I plan on moving as soon as finances allow, so it is not a voluntary hell that I live in.

Myth #1: "Snow is pretty" Snow is not pretty. Snow is cold, wet and white. Now, being that it's white and that Michigan has weather much like England did when "The Christmas Carol" was written. For those of you who aren't familiar with Michigan/England weather, let me clarify. It can be snowing or raining while the sun is out. It happens frequently and is not considered odd if you live or grew up in either of these places. Being that as it is, let me also mention that snow is frozen water and we all know that light bounces off water. Clarifying the situation, now, I'll tell you that there is a very good reason that sunglasses sales double in January here in Michigan. The feeling of your retinas searing out because you thought you dropped something and glanced down is not pretty, fun or neat. Also, driving is not fun when you live on a road where chances are, anyone has yet to drive through and mark up the pristine snow. Myth busted. Snow is not pretty, it is blinding and, much like a mirror, can cause permanent blindness when reflecting the sun.

Myth #2: Snow is fun Snow is fun for 3 years of your life. From ages 4 through 7, maybe a little longer if you're simple. When you suddenly and usually, very tramatically, come to the conclusion that snow can hurt and is frickin' cold, you come to my side of the fence here. Let me tell you, getting hit with a snowball is not fun. Fun is getting shitfaced and playing trivial persuit. Fun is seeing the boy down the hall in his undies and having to take a second glance because he's sex on a stick...with an accent. Fun is sex. Fun is food. Fun is friends. Fun is not getting hit in the face with something that's very cold and hard and feels pretty much like getting smacked with a sand-ball is not fun. I'm obviously not a masochist. Myth busted. Snow is not fun. It is cold, wet, hard, dangerous and slippery.

Myth #3: Snow is neat! Snow is not "neat" no matter which definition you use. It is not clean (I know, deceiving, isn't it?). You would think that because snow is rain, and rain is water, snow would be clean. No. Snow is ucky. Snow comes in many colors and the most maddening is the black snow that clings to your pantlegs and gets all up on your car so that when you lean into the door to get out of the way of a passing car while you're unlocking your door, it gets on your pretty new gray pants. Also, snow is not "Neat" in the awesome sense of the word. Driving in snow is not cool, fun or neat and I don't care who you are. I don't care if you've got a 4X4 "Driftbuster MAXXX." You will slip. You will slide. You will loose traction and, given enough time to do so, you will end up in a ditch or turned around the wrong way on your side of the street (with or without traffic is up to you). People drive like idiots in the snow. People who have lived in Michigan all their lives loose their goddamned minds when it snows. People go slamming into others, semi trucks jacknife, pedestrians decide it's safe to run across the street when they know people in the cars can't stop.

None of this is pretty, cool or neat. Myth busted. Snow is not neat, in any sense of the word. Snow is messy and causes major messes on the highways and apparently causes brains to malfunction So I guess what I'm saying is that I hate snow. I hate living in Michigan and if I won the lottery, I'd buy a fuckin' island in the bahamas, move all my friends and stuff there and never come back. I hate snow.