Boomer

We left this morning for our annual Easter vacation cabin trip. The day was fantastic. We spent most of the morning driving slowly up the canyon while intermittently playing at the river with the dogs (my mom's dog, Boomer, and our baby, Lucy).

Two interesting things happened during this time.

1. Boomer kept frantically eating grass and throwing up in the car. We assumed he'd gotten car sick on the windy canyon road.

2. Lucy intentionally rolled in a huge pile of human feces. First of all, who takes a giant dump next to the river when there's a bathroom 100 yards away? And what kind of idiot dog rolls in it so furiously that her entire body is streaked head-to-tail with what I can only assume was a fully digested 7-layer burrito from Taco Bell.

When we finally reached the cabin, we settled in for an afternoon of sleeping, reading, and eating. The dogs rested. Lucy rested OUTSIDE. Boomer was still feeling under-the-weather.

Evening rolled around. Poor Boomer seemed to be feeling even worse. He was gagging, acting strangely, and twitching, so we started considering our options. The local vet wouldn't be open until 8am the next morning, and the closest animal ER was in Bakersfield, an hour and a half away. It was my mother's call.

In truth, Boomer is my mother's dog. She brought him home from work one afternoon, a starved, sad, little mutt of a puppy who had wandered through the school yard. My father was livid. "I don't want a dog!", he insisted over and over. "I do not want a dog."

Not soon after Boomer arrived at my parent's house, the company my father worked for was sold, and he was laid off. Nobody seemed to understand what my dad was going through better than Boomer. He laid at my father's feet while he searched the Internet for job openings, and sat patiently in his lap while he waited for phone calls. His soulful brown eyes and concerned wrinkled brow seemed to say, "I know what its like to feel unwanted and alone." Everyday during the searching an waiting, Boomer was there, and before too long, tiny cracks started to appear in my father's firm anti-dog resolve.

Days turned into weeks, and soon both Boomer and my dad began to grow restless. My mother was going crazy. "Go somewhere! Do something!" she pleaded, "Just get out of the house for a little while." So my father took Boomer to the dog park. The next day, he took him again. Pretty soon, they were regular fixtures there. They knew each dog and its owner by name. Boomer had regular playmates, and my Dad developed his own circle of dog-loving friends who looked forward to seeing him every day.

My father eventually did find a job, and by that time, Boomer was an official member of the Fowler family. Even after the most tiring of workdays, Dad always had time for Boomer, and Boomer was always waiting expectantly for my dad.

So when my mom looked at Boomer, twitching and gagging at her feet earlier tonight, she thought of my father. How could she risk the life of the dog who had so greatly enriched the life of the man she loved? She couldn't. We packed our bags and began the long journey down the canyon to Bakersfield to take Boomer to the 24 hour animal ER.

When we arrived a 10:45, the place was empty, except for a couple who'd brought in a large dog with a severe case of bloat. After a half-hour wait, a vet tech checked Boomer out and confirmed that he needed to be looked at by the doctor. Unfortunately the doctor would be in emergency surgery with the other dog for at least 3 hours. She recommended that we bring Boomer back later. Its a little after 1am, and I'm sitting here on my couch writing and waiting (and seriously considering giving Lucy ANOTHER bath) while my mom sleeps in the guest room.

More to come...

4/2
Update!
Boomer is still a little sick to his stomach, but feeling better. The ER vet didn't find anything in his trachia, which was good. Scary though. I don't have kids. All my love is spent on pets.

How Jeff Unwinds

...because there's nothing better at the end of a hard working day than candles, lavender scented bubble bath, a cold Corona, and the latest issue of Drum! Magazine. Does my man know how to unwind or what? All he needs is one of those avocado face masks and he's set!

Oh No They Didn't!

I saw this commercial today and FREAKED OUT!

Donkeys and Elephants: A Love Story

In light of recent propaganda surrounding the newly-passed health care bill, I give you the story of a forbidden love between a Democrat and a Republican. Two households, both alike in dignity...

I was raised in a conservative Christian home by conservative Republican parents who did their best to instill in me a strong sense of family values and personal responsibility. Hats off to you, Mom, and Dad. You did a great job.

Six years ago, I brought home a boy named Jeff. He was handsome, Godly, musically gifted, a lover of children and animals and me, everything I could ask for. My parents prepared the standard Fowler family spaghetti dinner. My dad told the story about how he made a hole in one the first time he played golf in 8th grade and walked away from the game because it was "too easy". Everything was going smoothly...UNTIL

Dad: So, Jeff. We might as well get down to it. Are you a Republican or a Democrat?

Jeff (innocently): Democrat

Me: Dad! I didn't know. Really! Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!

Mom: Really Jeff? Are your parents Democrats as well?

Jeff (sensing impending doom): um... y..yes

Me: Honestly guys, I had no idea. We really haven't been dating that long. His family is so nice. I mean they're Christians! I just assumed...

That night, I knew what needed to happen. My relationship with Jeff, wonderful though it was, would have to end. He was a tree-hugging baby killer.

Ironically, that night Jeff was making the same decision I was. How could he continue in a relationship with a gay-hating war-starter?

After a VERY long conversation and way too many Sonic Cheddar Poppers, we came to the conclusion that neither of us really lived up to the others negative assumptions. We decided to temporarily call off the break-up. Then we made out.

Six years later we are a happily married, politically moderate, couple, and our families get along just fine (as long as no one mentions Obama or gay/lesbian representation in movies).

Tax Returns and Pipe Dreams

Our tax return came in the mail today, and we were pleased to discover that it was significantly more than we figured when we filed. I don't know why or how, but I'm not arguing with the IRS on this one. We are so excited.

We decided that we would each make a list of 5 things we wanted to spend the money on and then compare.

Jeff's List

1. Pimp out the Malibu with some custom paint and 24 inch rims.

2. Buy the fancy 2 ply quilted toilet paper

3. Order a 20oz steak at Tahoe Joe's

4. Buy a pipe, walk around with it, and refer to everyone as "My good man" in a British accent

5. Buy a suit of armor

Becky's List

1. Have laser hair removal done on my armpits

2. Learn Kung Fu

3. Buy these boots and wear them on a night out with Jeff's parents

4. Invest in emerging markets (Just kidding!)

5. Buy one of those IRoomba vacuum robots. Glue googly eyes on it, and give it a fun name like "Vac Attack"

We'll probably pay off bills and save for summer, but it really would be nice to own a suit of armor and gold plated boots one day. That's when we'll know we've made it.

I Love Lamp

A couple of weeks ago, while playing "Would You Rather" with some friends, I drew a challenge card that said this: "For sixty seconds, explain how electricity works". I then proceeded to explain my fifth grade science fair project for which I tested the conductivity of various materials. In short - Pennies and paper clips conduct electricity. Plastic spoons and Fruit Loops do not. This is the extent of my knowledge on the subject.

Yesterday at a yard sale I bought three old lamps from a little old lady. They were beautiful... to me. I could see the potential. All Jeff could see were the frayed fifty-year-old wires and dusty cobwebs. "I'll clean them off and rewire them" I assure him as I handed the lady my ten dollar bill.

"Becky", Jeff said, "remember game night?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You're not rewiring anything. You can't even reset the breaker when the electricity goes out."

"Uh, Babe. That's why God created Google. Duh!"

Then I proudly carried my newly-acquired loot to the car.

Fast forward to this afternoon at Home Depot in the lighting section. I'm standing in front of a huge wall of wires and starting to panic.

Kevin the Irish/Scottish sales guy: Can I help you with something, Lass?

Me: Yes, I have these really old outdoor hanging lamps that I need to rewire.

Kevin: What parts would you be lookin fer then?

Me: I think I need a bulb holder screw in thing, a cord, a plug-in thingy, and whatever makes them all stay together and not explode.

Bless his heart. Kevin managed to figure out exactly what I needed, and he even gave me a quick tutorial. I left Home Depot, light kits in hand, confident and ready for an evening of fun with electricity.

It was actually much easier than I thought it would be. I wrapped wires around around a few screws and ran some cords through some holes just like Kevin had shown me, and presto, instant garden ambiance. Check it out.

I'm so proud of myself, but I have to admit that I still have absolutely no idea how electricity works.

Bow Chicka Bow Wow

Jeff and I spent the better part of today helping our friends move into their awesome new house. This made me realize how much I hate renting. I can paint, replace fixtures, and garden, but at the end if of the day, this well-decorated craphole still isn't mine. (Not that this would be my craphole of choice if I were, in fact, in the market for a home) This year, I'm asking Santa for real estate.

Now I just have to work on making the nice list.

Speaking of the nice list, my sister took me to see a comedian tonight who is most definitely NOT on it. Daniel Tosh. This guy is messed up in the head. My favorite statement of the whole night:

"Ladies, if you're not beautiful, it's okay. Don't spend your life denying it. Just face the fact that you're going to have to get through life the same way a man does: with hard work."

Fortunately I don't have to worry about that. Jeff thinks I'm pretty and doesn't want me to lift a finger. Seriously. When I got home from my night on the town, he'd cleaned the house from top to bottom. Most guys would be like, "Hey my wife's out for the night! I'm gonna have the guys over, drink beer, and watch sports!", but not my man. He decided to use his time wisely to score some major points which (judging from the fact that its almost midnight and the shower is running), he is about to cash in. Night, y'all! ;-)

Ain't No Gangsta Gonna Put My Dog on Blast

I was working in my garden this afternoon, and some kids walked through the alley by my yard. (Here in the ghetto, we have chain link fences, so we have a lovely view of the alley. nice, huh?) One of the boys had on no shirt and pants that sagged a good 18 inches below his waist. He was wearing yellow boxers, and had a matching yellow bandanna tied around his head. I stifled my laughter (for fear of getting shanked), but what I really wanted was to tell the kid to wait while I got my camera.

My dog, Lucy, was barking at him hysterically through the fence. I know it's ironic, but I think my black lab is racist. She always goes nuts around black people. Anyways, this kid with his booty hanging out is like "Hey lady, call off your dog!", and I'm thinking "You look like exactly the kind of hooligan I would want her to bark at. Pull up your pants and buy a shirt, Coolio."

I just called a kid a hooligan. Am I old?

Rats, Michael Jackson, and Conflict Resolution

We had a little bit of a rough start this morning. Our cat, Egypt, killed a rat and left him on the back steps for us. Apparently Jeff and I have different opinions about how to properly dispose of a dead rat. I felt sorry for the poor little rodent and wanted him to have a proper burial. Jeff was late for work and thought the trashcan was as dignified a resting place as a rat could expect. We compromised by putting the poor little guy in a shoebox and singing "Taps" before dumping him in the garbage. Both of us left for work upset.

After work, I spent the afternoon planting flowers in the backyard. Egypt helped. Jeff got home around seven, hungry and tired, so we settled in on the couch for bbq chicken pizza and Michael Jackson's "This is It".

Throughout the course of the movie/concert, we were both struck by the way Michael (or "MJ" as him minions called him)talked. Anytime he had an issue or wanted to make a change, MJ spoke very meekly, always careful to emphasize "The Love". It was pretty strange.

So now, in honor of Michael Jackson, I'll recount for you our rat fight from this morning in "MJ Speak".

Jeff: Nature has taken it's course and reclaimed this tiny furry creature.

Becky: So sad. I feel his spirit with us here. We must honor it.

Jeff: I'm sure he loved the trash when he was alive. Returning him to the trashcan would be the best way to show him love.

Becky: You know, on this planet all of nature is family, and we should bury him like we would a family member. The world should be full of love. L.O.V.E. Love is the only thing that matters.

Jeff: God Bless You. God Bless You.

Egypt: Are you saying I don't get to eat my rat for breakfast?

So Super Cool

"Fifi" and Other Unfortunate Monikers

Went thumbing through and old journal of mine today. I wrote in it periodically from ages 12-17. That's an interesting (and by interesting, I mean hormonally charged) time in the life of a girl.

Yes, I named my journal "FiFi", but in my defense, it was after a WWII B-29 Bomber. I know, thats not really a defense.

When I was twelve, I wrote five full pages about the various prey my cat left on the back porch (mostly gofers). At thirteen, I wrote about how evil my parents were and how readily I was awaiting the sweet release of my eventual death (pretty sure that was right after I "became a woman"). When I was fourteen, I wrote about my friends and copied recipes from the anarchist cookbook (Yes, I have the recipe for napalm. No, I will not give it to you). When I was sixteen, I wrote about boys, well, one boy. Apparently he was the end-all, be-all, only thing I would ever need for eternity...poor guy.

The most entertaining entry was a list of potential child names. And so I present, without further ado:

15-Year-Old Becky's Future Child Monikers

For a girl:

Harmony Bloom

Rosemary Harp

Teardrop Shine

Meadow Lark

Winter Bright


For a boy:

Ransom Byrd

Hansel Skye

Christian Glass

Collin North

Bracken Carter

YIKES! Is it just me, or do all these sound like great names for emo bands?

Pimpin Myself Out for Readership

I was reading online today about how to get more people to read your blog and comment on it. As of today, I only have 7 followers (And I love you, Mom, Laurel, Robin, Meghan, Jaress, Aunt Nora, and Burt).

One of the suggestions was to post nude or nearly nude pictures of yourself on your blog. In all my pale chubbiness, I can't imagine that this would work, but I figure its worth a shot, so here goes nothing!

Quick! Now leave me a comment, and go tell your friends!

Got Busted by the Fresheazy

I have to admit that Jeff and I frequently patronize the Fresh and Easy down the street. Every time we visit, we make a point of parking in the "Hybrid Only" or "Family Only" parking spots in spite of the fact that we both drive 10+ year old gas guzzlers and have zero kids. We do it because we don't think it's fair that we should have to walk farther to the store simply because we can't afford cars that aren't old, and I don't feel inclined to give birth at this time.

Today as I was leaving with my merchandise, the store manager, Ramon (I rrrrroll my "R" when I say it) confronted me about my vehicle.

RRRRRamon: "Excuse me , Mam. I noticed that You're Parrrrrrked in the Hybrrrrid only spot."

Me: "Yessiree. Is there a problem?"

RRRRRamon: "Well your vehicle doesn't appearrrrr to be a hybrrrrrid."

Me: "Oh, it's been converted to run on water. I'd lift the hood and show you, but I'm in kind of a hurry. I've got a Greenpeace meeting in like ten minutes."

RRRRRamon: I think that you are pulling my leg. (Who says that?!) Please, in the future, parrrrk your vehicle (what he meant to say was "gas guzzling ghettotank") elsewhere, Mam.

Me: "What is this world coming to when a young woman is forced by her local market to park in the back of the parking lot simply because she is poor and childless? Goodbye, Rrrrramon. Goodbye FORRRREVERRR!"

Ratio Intolerance

It's a problem I've had since I was a child. Whenever I got a bag of M&Ms or Skittles, I immediately dumped them all out and separated them into piles by color. Then I would even out the piles by eating the extras. After I had perfectly even piles, I would eat one from each pile (in rainbow order), always careful to maintain an even ratio, until all the candy was gone. I've done this for as long as I can remember, and it never seemed strange to me until I met Rick.

Rick requested that I bring a meat, cheese, and cracker tray to our small group one week. I did, and in true Becky form, there was a perfect ratio of 1 meat:1 cheese: 1 cracker. That's just good sense, right? But then Rick did the unthinkable. He made a sandwich! (cracker/meat/cheese/cracker) I didn't want to make a big deal about it, so I quickly scarfed down a piece of meat and a piece of cheese. "There", I thought, "All fixed". Then he did it again, and he wasn't the only one! I sat there all evening keeping a mental tally and trying to eat up the difference. Needless to say, by the end of the night, I was sick, and my small group was more than a little concerned.
What is wrong with me?

Attack of the Killer Tail

I brought Bug home as a three-week-old kitten
with every intention of finding her a good home
somewhere else. When our other other cat, Ellie, started carrying her around the house in her mouth and bathing her, we knew she was destined to stay. She was so adorable. We had no idea she would grow up to be the mentally unstable cat that she has since become.



This wasn't just a one-time thing that we happened to get on camera. Bug does this ALL DAY.

Jeff identifies with her a little. After
all, his mom did have to take the tail off of his Halloween costume when he was a kid. Why? Because it was super scary! Duh! Thank God nobody ever told him that lizard tails grow back.

The Little Drummer Boy

See, this is proof that Jeff was taking dangerous fashion risks long before he met me. Sorry, Honey!

Date Night Gone Awry

My dentist appointment for today got rescheduled. Whew! Glad I dodged THAT bullet! To celebrate, Jeff and I decided to go see "Alice in Wonderland". Let me preface this story by saying 1. That we are HUGE Johnny Depp fans, and 2. That Tim Burton friggin rocks.

That being said, I was mildly disturbed by Johnny's performance in this particular film. For starters, I could hardly understand anything he said the whole movie. Also I felt that he really didn't have much to work with character-wise. Come on Mr. Burton, you have one of the most brilliant character actors in the world at your disposal, and his crowning moment in your movie is a CGI-enhanced version of the hokey-pokey. Disappointing.

It wasn't all bad though. Here is the bullet list of Wonderland awesomeness:

• Costume Design
• Set Design
• The Queen of Heart's Big Fat Head
• The Cheshire Cat
• The trademark Tim Burton Forest
• Danny Elfman's Music
  
  Jeff pointed out that if Johnny Depp and I ever got together and had kids (fingers crossed), they would probably look something like this:

So after the movie, Jeff and I headed off to our favorite budget-friendly non-fast-food restaurant, Coconut Joe's. The second we walked in the door, we could tell by the faces of the other customers that something was horribly wrong, and then we heard it - the unmistakable sound of poorly amplified acoustic guitars mixed with the slightly off-pitch wailings of two 16 year-old boys. Our sunny, island-themed dinner destination was completely hidden in a dense fog of teenage angst. How did this happen?

Well, we were really hungry, so we decided to stick it out. Our server informed us that the live "music" was a new thing the restaurant was trying out and asked us how we liked it. Our response: "We never thought we could miss Don Ho so much!"

What's So Great About Tuesday?

Absolutely nothing. Then only thing that Tuesday has going for it it is that its not Monday. I hate Mondays!

When I was in fourth grade, I was coerced into competing in the impromptu category of the oral language festival. I had no idea what that was, but somebody must have told me I would get candy for doing it. That was the only reason I did anything in those days. In fact, it still is. "Chocolate? I'm in!!!!"

My ten-year-old self didn't discover what she was in for until assigned a topic question - "What is your favorite day of the week, and why?" Then I was told I had five minutes to think about it before giving a ten minute speech in front of three judges. Well five minutes isn't much time for a borderline A.D.D., sugar-starved fourth grader to organize her thoughts. I'm pretty sure I spent the first four minutes and fifty seconds contemplating the merits of Milky Way Bars. Somewhere in those last ten seconds I made a snap decision to spend my ten minutes of fame convincing an audience of three that Tuesdays were the shiznit.

My speech went something like this:

Judge: Rebekah, you may begin.

Me: Lots of people like Saturday because there's no school. Some people love Sunday because of church. Mondays are great if you like school. Fridays are fun because you can stay up late. Thursdays are almost Fridays, so they're okay. Wednesday is like a half-way point, so some people like them too, but not me. I love Tuesday. Tuesday is the day nobody appreciates. It's like Bakersfield. Everybody drives through here to get somewhere else. Just like nobody ever makes Bakersfield their destination, nobody ever looks forward to a Tuesday. I feel sorry for poor Tuesday. It must be the saddest day of the week.

Then there were 9 1/2 minutes of silence while I just stood there smiling and waiting for the timer to run out.

I still have my Participant ribbon, but for the life of me, I can't remember if I ever got my candy.

Would You Rather...

Have a see-through nose or completely white eyeballs? Risk you life in a 100 yard race against a sixth grader or an eleven-year-old dog? Be on top of a Ferris wheel in a lightning storm or an earthquake?

These were some of the pivotal questions we were forced in answer in our small group tonight. In lieu of an actual Bible study, we decided to have a game night. I learned that my sister cannot rap, I can't explain how electricity works, Paul will not let his chihuahua lick peanut butter off his nose for anything, and Rick does an incredible cat impression. Seriously...for a minute there I was like "Hey, where did Rick go, and what is this thing pouncing on my head?"

All in all, Jeff and I belong to a very wonderful, very A.D.D. small group. There's nothing quite as good as knowing that at the end of a crappy Monday, I get to go laugh my butt of for a couple hours and, on occasion, learn something. Now I just need a good reason to get through Tuesday-Friday. ;-)

Liberty! Li-Ber-Ty!

Okay, so the Oscars were great. The dresses were fantastic, especially Cameron Diaz's. Doogie Houser sang. Ben Stiller made an appearance as a low-budget Avatar. James Cameron's ex-wife stuck it to him by winning best director and best picture (among other awards) for "The Hurt Locker". Go Kathryn! And all of these great moments were overwhelmingly dwarfed by one little commercial. Props to you, Whoopie. Your career has finally come full circle. I laughed so hard, I might have "spritzed" a little. Enjoy!

Cadbury Creme Eggs Benadict?

Holy frosted goodess, Batman! I can't say I wasn't intrigued and a little disgusted. Cadbury Creme Eggs are, and forever will be, my favorite Easter treat, but this little number looks good enough, and bad enough, to put my pancreas into a coma for life.

Lets break it down, shall we?

Pound cake fried in butter
Cake Doughnuts
Brownies
Butter cream frosting
Red Sugar sprinkles
and Cadbury Creme Eggs

I dare someone to make it tell me how it turns out (if the diabetes doesn't get you first)

Oh, and for all you Weight Watchers fans, I think this is only about four points. Eat Up!

http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/03/cakespy-cadbury-creme-eggs-benedict-dessert-breakfast-recipe.html

Twilight and Fitness

Okay, so I have to confess. I'm reading the Twilight series. It started as a bet, and before I knew it, I was a little hooked. I don't have posters on my wall or a t-shirt that says "Team Edward" (I'm totally for Team Jacob!), but I've definitely become a fan. Last week I finished reading "New Moon", and decided that I wanted to see the movie. So after and entire day of pleading and bargaining, I managed to get Jeff to not only see the movie with me, but to go to the dreaded Dollar Theater on a Friday night. The movie was okay, about as good as the book. I do have to say, however, that when I read the book, my imagination did not do Jacob justice.

When we got home, I asked Jeff what he thought of the movie.


"It was stupid! Bella is annoying. Why would she go for the pale scrawny fickle vampire, when she could have Jacob, who is HOT?! By the way, do you think I should start working out?"

Fast forward a couple days. Jeff and I are being couch potatoes while watching an infomercial for P90X. Why is that always the only thing on? Apparently, if we have $120 and 90 days, we can look like this:

This may just be the total body makeover we've been waiting (since Friday) for. We're totally ordering it.

The Force

Hilarity, complements of my cousin, Micah

How Jeff Won

So I'm pretty sure that my only readers so far are my mother and my sister. In light of this sad truth (sorry Mom and Laurel), I'll keep this story delightfully PG.

I should preface this with the fact that Jeff rarely wins. When he does, I tend to pay heavily. I think its happened twice since we've been married.

This afternoon I asked Jeff what he wanted for dinner, and he suggested that we barbecue. It was a great idea, but I pointed out to him that we were out of charcoal. I knew this because I used the last of it last week. In a rather bold and uncharacteristic manner, Jeff protested.

"No, we have charcoal under the BBQ"

I knew that the empty bag was sitting there, so I told him to go out and look. If he found charcoal, I would um...do something that he really likes. ;-)

However, if the charcoal was gone, he would give me a 30 minute foot rub. (It's been a while since my last pedicure, so Jeff was taking quite a risk, or so I thought.)

Jeff readily agreed to the wager, and headed out the back door to prove me wrong. I sat in the living room waiting to hear the token expletive that would mark the moment of my victory. It never came. Instead, in marched my husband triumphantly holding our little grey cat ,"Charcoal", who often sleeps under the BBQ. Damn!