A milestone!

I haven't talked much about it here, but back in February, I decided I was going to get healthy. I wouldn't say I was unhealthy, but I wanted to be more active. I wanted to sleep better at night and have more energy during the day. I wanted to lose a bit of weight. Not much, but some. I joined a gym for the first time and have since gone on an average of three times a week. Some weeks I fall off the wagon, some weeks I'm there every day. I did meet with a trainer, but seriously? $60 a month to see them twice? Whatever. I'm a pretty strong person, but I never know how to gauge my strength. A few years ago, I took some golf lessons with a friend, and the instructor said to me, "you really don't know how much strength you have, do you?" No, but I can tell you where I don't have strength (biceps) and where I have the most (quads, adductors, abductors). I used to be incredibly flexible, but I can't run to save my life. In fact, I hope I never have to.

So for the first six weeks, I did it on my own. I did some cardio and strength training, four times a week. While I felt slightly stronger, I never lost a single pound. I know, everyone says, "don't pay attention to the scale." Right. Let's face it, no matter what we do, most of us could still stand to lose a few. So I started counting calories. That worked, even though I'm a relatively healthy eater. Yes, I love cupcakes and real butter, but I've never been on that crazy train where people are all "what do you mean I can't eat McDonald's four times a week and not be thin?"

I got myself a subscription to Fitness magazine (thanks to MyCokeRewards, it was free) and started to get a bit more serious about my workouts. Last week, finally, I have officially lost ten pounds and 5% body fat. Now that is results! I feel good, my clothes fit better, and I am starting to notice the difference. I've added more pilates and ab work to my routine, as I need to. But now, I've decided I'm going after the one avoidance: Running.

In this issue of Fitness, there are instructions on getting yourself into 5K gear. So I'm going to follow it, and I've found two 5K races for charity that I want to run in the fall. One is the Gloria Gemma Breast Cancer 5K in Providence, and the second is the Girly Girl Parts 5K for ovarian cancer in Sandwich, MA. I've given myself plenty of time to prep, and even enough time incase I happen to fall off the wagon again. And women's cancers are issues I fully support, so I'd rather benefit charity than do a YMCA race.

Truth be told, what I'd really love to do is a Sprint Triathalon, as I am a strong swimmer and I think I could handle the biking portion well. But that requires more training than I can handle right now, so maybe next year. Until then, wish me luck!

A first: A FAIL in the kitchen.

So it's ridiculously hot here, we've only put air conditioning in the upstairs bedroom, so the kitchen is sweltering. Yet, I've felt the urge to bake something unconventional. While I was hovering around the interweb, I found a recipe that I thought would please the fam--fluffernutter cupcakes. I'm not a fan, it's the marshmallow icing. I really don't at all like marshmallows. The kidlets and Husband do, so this can't be that bad, right?

Well, I was first nervous about the recipe. Not knocking someone else's recipe writing skills, but 2 cups of brown sugar and only a teaspoon of baking powder? Oil, no butter? And so much cream of tartar? Now, first of all, it didn't tell me how many this recipe would yield, and I hate flying blind. I did seventeen cupcakes, and a 9 x 13 pan. So I've now used almost everything in my pantry.

As for how the cupcakes came out? They sucked. Forget rising, I think they receded. I know brown sugar can reduce, but this is terrible. It came out something like a lead-peanut butter brownie. And the texture was just awkward. I can't even describe it. Except for that I want to drink milk right out of the container, and I don't really like drinking milk at all.

And the frosting? I'm pretty sure I could do body work to the car with this stuff, it's consistency is something similar to Bondo. My stand mixer was even having a hard time with it. I can't even bring myself to think about how I am going to clean the bowl, I'll just let it soak overnight--like you do with the green bean casserole dish at Thanksgiving.

I'm really upset, because honestly, I don't often fail in the kitchen. Especially when I bake. I can't even think of the last time I did. And I really can't stand when it's a recipe that uses every stock item I have in the pantry (shh, don't tell the kidlets that I stole their peanut butter to make the recipe. What? I wasn't about to use my natural, organic peanut butter, would you?). On the bright side, I can actually see all the remaining items on my baking shelf now that there's significantly less marshmallows in there.

You know what this means, though, right? I'm going to have to come up with a fantastic recipe so I can continue to flex my baking muscles. And it's supposed to be just as hot tomorrow, too. Damn!

Too girly for my own good?

In a past life--before I was the Mama In Red, I was the college girl in adidas windpants--I used to be a bartender. Which is apparently a job you can never retire from. I highly enjoyed it. It was the perfect job for me at the time. But it made me way more picky about my drinks. I was never a martini gal, and if I was, it was dirty. Please don't bring any frou-frou concoction to me. Don't treat me like a little girl, I can lift a keg forchrisakes.

Fast forward to now. I'm still not a girly drinker. I don't consider Arbor Mist to actually be wine, my red wines aren't chilled, and please don't think I will ever order a cosmopolitan. I'm still set in my ways, I like a Bloody Mary that I can chew, I don't drink anything from the bottom shelf, and I still prefer Jack Daniels to most other liquors. However, I am a margarita girl. That is "my drink." I'm good at making it, and I can suck it down just the same. But then, tonight, I realized I had some PAMA Pomegranite liquor left over. And a bottle of vodka from the Husband's birthday party. So I decided to find from the rubble break out my martini glasses, which until now have only held strained margaritas. And how was it? Delicious. Next up on my list is a chocolate martini. But it may have to wait, I mean I am trying to be healthy and all. Just keep it our secret, kay?

What the HELL is going on around here?

The past few weeks have been insanely busy. I keep thinking that it'll slow down, but really, that's just a crazy thought. And I'm okay with that. I'd rather be busy than not. I've got a ton of freelance work (yay!), lots of family & friends' get-togethers, and just events in general. It gets us out of the house and wears the kidlets out, so that's good, right?

A few weeks ago is when it started happening. I was using the microwave to melt some butter for something I was cooking. I took the butter out and shut the door. And then the microwave continued to try and work. At first, I heard the clicking, but dismissed it. Then I noticed the light was flickering inside the microwave. I opened, put butter in, turned it on, and when it shut off, it was fine. It started again after I took the butter out and shut the door again. I realized that the plate on the bottom was attempting to spin, too. I decided to pretend I saw nothing and walk away.

Then the tv started. We'll be watching tv, and it will switch off. It will stay off for about five minutes and switch back on. It's random. It won't happen while the tv is on in the background (like if I've got it on a music channel), but the minute you sit down to watch something, it will start. Thank goodness for Tivo! The Husband thinks it can be fixed. I just ignore it.

This past weekend, it was the dryer. At the time, the Husband and I were debating what to do about our washing machine. There's nothing mechanically wrong with it, but it's a front loader, which I thought I would love. Turns out? I hate it. I'm not sure why, but our clothes stink. Bad. At first, we thought it was the detergent I've been making for the past year. So I went out and bought Arm & Hammer and some Bounce. I traded out detergent, stopped using vinegar, took out the dryer balls, and replaced everything with the stuff I used to use. No change. Well, slight perfumey change, but that's to be expected, right? I got some washing machine cleaner. It seemed to help at first. I clean out the door boot. So we were debating on trading it in for a top-loading machine. And the dryer started acting funky. The heat settings would constantly scroll while it's on and then it would shut off. I searched online. I tried using it anyway, but it didn't dry anything. So I ordered the $180 control panel and pulled the plug out of the wall so I didn't have to hear it beep incessantly. We decided to table the decision on the washer. This morning? I go to put some towels in as a test. Works perfectly. ARRRRGGGGGHHH! Luckily, there's a return policy.

Then, yesterday, the Tivo box wouldn't come on. I said "Screw it" and went upstairs and watched Good Morning America in the bedroom. Apparently, while we were out in Boston ALL DAY, the Tivo decided to turn itself on. Most likely, it was right after we left and was on for eight hours.

So I don't know what the hell is going on around here. Now, I know what you're thinking, we've already discussed how appliances and I don't mix. And the Mac we discussed in that posting? Died a slow and painful death. One that apparently my father's electronic genius intervention could help. But this is just not fair. I asked the same question to the Husband, and his answer was something like, "Well, you live in the house, what do you expect?" He's probably right. I must have some sort of a force field around me that causes anything electronic to freak out.

And this is precisely why I have absolutely no interest in an electric car. Can you blame me?

My Oprah List.

So I was hangin' out over at The Stiletto Mom's place, where she's been reading this Oprah nonsense about how O doesn't walk or do stairs. Which I find ironic, seeing how I just now saw a talk show with Bob (her trainer) the other day was saying he tells his clients to hit the stairs of the hotel for exercise. I wonder how she takes the rest of his advice...

Anywho, everyone's been doing this Oprah list on what they don't do. Because we're all about the Mama here, let's get started on the list of things Mama doesn't "do," shall we?

Mama doesn't do wildlife.
Mama doesn't do peas.
Mama doesn't do crummy food.
Mama doesn't dust.
Mama doesn't do tents. Or hippies in tents.
Mama doesn't do Hyundai. Or Kia. Or Toyota, with their recent tales of FAIL. (even though there was a period when I was in love with the 4Runner and some of their trucks. I firmly believe the 22R engine they made is one of the best, but apparently they chose crappy steel to build the frame. And they rot. Nice?)
Mama doesn't do screaming children. Mine or other people's.
Mama doesn't do mornings. Even though the Husband seems to think that after 31 years, I should somehow switch to mornings. (Sorry dear. Not likely to happen.)
Mama doesn't do sugar-free. I'm somewhat embarrassed by the amount of sugar I require in coffee. And don't drink my sweet tea if you don't expect to break your teeth.
Mama doesn't [like to] do yardwork. But I do the gardens, I even scooped today.
Mama doesn't do pink. Magenta? Love.  Bright, bold colors? Can't get enough of them. But pastel pink? Do not like.
Mama doesn't really do icky things. Yes, I have picked up worms, but I don't like to. I was a tomboy growing up, after all. But now that I realize I can make someone else pick that stuff up for me, that's how I roll.

I'm sure there's a ton more, but I'll just go ahead and quit so the Husband can stop rolling his eyes at me.

Have I ever told you that my Mama is famous?

Growing up, we always rescued animals. My first dog, Klinger was stolen by my mom as a puppy. His owners were not tending to their dog and it's newborn pups, so my mother climbed the fence and took two, one for her and one for the neighbor.

Then there was the dog Sunday who came home with my parents from the race track one day (guess which day of the week?). She was a large German Shepherd that was digging in trash cans. There was another shepherd named Daisy, who was being taken care of for weeks by a pit bull owned by my parents' best friend. They had no idea the pit was doing this until they caught their dog eating the cat food in the middle of the night. She was with us for a long time, too.

While I don't really remember the stories behind all the animals, I do remember when years ago, my mom told my dad she wanted a Basset Hound. And he brought home a life-sized basset hound stuffed animal. A handful of years later, she rescued her first Basset from a bad situation. He was an oversized tri-color named Charles. And so it began.

Mom always did work with Basset Hound rescue. Problem was, many of them would come to our home and never leave. The most she's had is five at once. She doesn't foster, because she can't let them go. But she travels, she transports, she donates, and she creates a stir. One of the rescues she is most active in right now is Michigan Basset Rescue. This weekend, they are to hold their Annual Great American Basset Waddle. And my mother will be performing with The Basset Houndz, a special group with a special message.

But wait, it doesn't stop there. Her Houndz have personalities, like Elder Clara who likes to eat, rules the house, and has two columns on hound-related email blasts. She also has her own cook book and a host of cooking gear to go with it. Go visit, buy a copy, support local rescues. She has Brudder Elwood, Instigator of Evil Deeds. I think he tells his tales on the Daily Drool. He has a book too, I just can't seem to find where it's available. (I have an autographed copy straight from da publisha)

I've always tried to do my part to support my mom in her endeavors, I've transported a few dogs, donated my time or dollars, and I've designed some of the goodness for MBR's Waddle. And you should, too. And now you know what it's like to have a famous Mama.

Is that horns?

Yes, this is what I thought to myself as I stepped out onto the back porch today. And then heard the Son ask, "Mama, why does The Neighbor have a goat in his yard?" Our yards are separated by a small chain link fence (his) that has some sort of plant growing through it that everyone in New England refers to as "pickies." I look over the fence, and sure as hell, there is a goat staring back at me. He looks just as confused by his new surroundings as I do.

So The Neighbor's friend is sitting in Neighbor's backyard with this goat--I have no idea if it belongs to this guy and is just visiting or if Neighbor has actually taken ownership of said goat. But when Teddy noticed this thing next door, Friend said, "Neighbor, I told you that dog would scare your goat." This goat is now scared and jumping to try and run away, but he is tied to the fence and the trash cans keep getting caught on his rope. I put Theo in the house and the Son is still at the fence, saying "I never seen a goat here before."

The Neighbor comes over with a small cooler of beer and says to the son, "You're scaring him." WHAT? My three-year-old son is scaring YOUR goat? Do you own a mirror to begin with? And this friend that arrived with this goat...did you notice that he's a little freakier than...well, most people? Yeah. I'm pretty sure this goat is freaked out because he's tied to a fence with interference. I'd go take a picture, but the guys are sitting out there with the goat.

I'm sorry, who rides around with a goat in the truck? Who visits with a goat? This thing can't be here to stay. Although, now that I'm inside and can spy without them noticing, there is a goat house there now, too. And a big food container. And his name is Alf. I never thought I'd live next door to someone with a goat. And it's not like we live on land, people. We're in an old mill neighborhood. Houses are close together (which always makes me nervous when I have to whip out my "Mama Wins" voice on the son. But apparently the other neighbors are not so worried for the same reasons).

Wait a minute, why can't I have chickens?

Dinner with the fam: The River Falls Edition.

Last night, the Husband and I decided to use a gift certificate to River Falls and go out to eat. It was Family Scribble Sunday, so kids eat free. Score! If you're not familiar, it is on the Blackstone River in Woonsocket. Claims to have beautiful river views while dining. It is in a pretty cool building, so we were excited.

We got in and were seated right away. First thing I notice: you cannot enjoy "beautiful river views of the historic Blackstone" while dining. The windows are set way too high for the tables, and across the back of the restaurant, the only windows have the fire escape directly on the other side of the glass. Now, I'm no expert, but they totally redid this building. Could they not have planned this better? Picture glass windows across the back, maybe? Or relocate the fire escape to not spit you out on the river rock?

The Husband chose to go with his old-school favorite, a fried seafood platter. Back when we were first together and lived in Virginia Beach, he used to constantly brag about New England seafood and how a platter up here "is piled high with food for about three meals" and how the shrimp "were so fresh they snapped in your mouth." Now, I'm a seafood girl, so I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of seafood. I chose a baked stuffed shrimp platter for $17.99. The menu boasts "Maryland lump crab stuffed jumbo shrimp broiled with lemon and butter." I chose a carmel glazed sweet potato and veggie of the day, which I forgot to ask what the day would bring. Veggie was butternut squash. Had I known that, I would have ordered something else. They are too similar, I think. Anywho, mouth watering, right?

So after more than 30 minutes, our meal arrives. Which I thought was quite a long time for the meals we ordered. The kidlets got chicken fingers and fries, so I thought it was about 10 minutes too long for an empty restaurant. Now, there was a function going on upstairs, but people had been coming downstairs with to-go boxes, so I'm pretty sure the kitchen wasn't backed up from that.

Imagine my surprise when my meal consisted of four medium/large sized shrimp. Yes. Four. Not the usual six. Shrimp that are sized like they would come in a 31-40 count pound. For $17.99. Still, I figured, hey, this could still be really good, right? I don't know who these New England people think they are, but lump crab means no filler, hence the name "lump." (p.s., crabcakes have filler, unless they are lump crabcakes) This was minced crab among bread stuffing. There was nothing lump about it. And I am not sure that it was Maryland blue crab, because that is much sweeter than this tasted. I didn't eat the other 3 shrimp's stuffing. It was gross. And I cannot explain to you how much I L.O.V.E. crab meat. Not just crab legs, like most people are accustomed to. This girl used to sit at the table with her neighbor as a little girl and shuck fresh blue crabs, eat them on wheat crackers with cream cheese.

The Husband's meal was okay, not overflowing as he used to claim. But edible. The scallops are usually sea scallops (the larger variety), and these were bay scallops, which are much smaller. But the shrimp did not taste very fresh, I must say.

There were a few other small things that I noticed, of our four plates, which were square and pretty cool, two of them were cracked and very chipped on the corners. Why are you serving cracked/chipped plates? Big no-no. Also, the bread was cold. It was fresh crusty italian, but cold. I don't see a reason for cold bread. Every restaurant I've worked in had bread warmers.

So overall, I was not at all pleased with this place. At all. Apparently their nightlife is supposed to be fun, but I was not impressed when we went a few weeks ago. Especially at their drink prices. $6 for a glass of wine (which was about 4 oz) that is the cheap stuff? $9 for a martini? We aren't in New York city, we're in Woonsocket, people. There's no reason for this. I've had friends say their food is decent, but the service is atrocious. But now I'm having a hard time deciding if it's the servers or the actual kitchen--which many people tend to blame slow kitchen service on the actual waiters and waitresses. I still left the waitress 20%, because she actually did fine. But I don't at all recommend this place. Save your $$ and go elsewhere, we would not have gone if we didn't have a gift card.

Spring and Summer loves.

It's the time of the year when we all start shedding our sweaters, putting the coats away, and looking forward to spring. There's a few things on my list. Being that my status hasn't changed much, I'm keeping my list to a minimum. Here's what I've got my eye on so far:

Reef Ginger flip flops in Purple:

I have always owned Reefs. I love their Ginger. I mostly do black, but two years ago, I broke and got a red pair. Which I am wearing now. I love them. But after two years of heavy use (these are my ONLY flip flops, I don't have eight pairs like most people), I need a new pair. I want these in purple. Bonus: I even have a 20% off coupon at Bob's to buy them. But I haven't yet. I'm afraid if I do, it'll snow like everyone talks about New England springs.

Some new Aquamarine/Blue Topaz earrings:
I am not a frilly jewelry wearer. My mother loves jewelry. She changes it often. I've gone through stages where I try to push myself into wearing different jewelry all the time. Which usually ends up with me changing a necklace. But my earrings are something I keep in all the time, unless we're getting fancy and I remember that I have some fancy earrings. I want a pair of 4-6mm studs to wear in my second hole. But this has dual reasons. Usually, I always wear studs in that hole. And over the past few years, I have lost everything I own. So I'm out of replacements. Here's what I'm thinking:

Now, I am aware that the list price on these is $185. Which will never happen. I'm perfectly happy buying some off ebay, because before too long, I'll lose a back and likely lose one. I'm watching a few on ebay, but I'm waiting for the right time to purchase. They're all under $10. Score!

The Coach Cross-body Op Art bag:

Alright, I am well aware that the husband is in a corner breathing into a bag clutching the checkbook somewhere, and this is something I want but likely won't buy for myself. I LOVE the new C logo—please, I am a graphic designer and Futura is one of my all-time favorite fonts. I like the size and style of this bag, it's a quick, throw-on type of bag. And lately, I am more on-the-go than ever. Sometimes I feel all mixed up with my other Coach bag on my arm, it feels to dressy for who I've become. Plus, the one I have is too big, and I prefer smaller bags. We have a coach outlet near us, so I'll likely check this place out and watch over their stock until a whole new style comes out and I find one marked down to $30. Hey, a girl can dream. 

Summer Dresses:
I've decided this summer that I want to wear more day dresses. And as I flip through the Victoria's Secret catalog, there's quite a few day dresses in there that I'd love. Because I plan on taking the kids to the pool, beach, lake, and generally having a good time. And this will allow me to wear fun, knit dresses. And while I've been going to the gym and working on counting calories, I plan on looking good in them, too. =)

A Jill-e Bag for my Camera Equipment:

I love this bag. Like I said in my previous post, I need a roomier, more versatile bag. I do love my Crumpler 4 million, and it's great for when we go random places. But like I said, I want to not have to choose between carrying a flash and carrying a lens. Especially for events and shoots. They're pricey, so I'm trying to earn points toward it. Wanna help? Click here.

That's all I've got for right now. I've tried to be realistic about our current budgets and choose accordingly. So there's a few things I know that I won't get and I'll continue to dream about. Unless anyone is feeling charitable? I'll photograph your family and bake you some cakeballs.

What's on your list?

How can you not drool over these?

So I've been on the hunt for a camera bag that can hold more than just my camera, with lens attached and either a lens or flash. I have a red Crumpler Four Million Dollar Home, which I L.O.V.E. But often, on shoots and at events, I need something larger. I need to not have to choose between a lens and a flash. I need to carry a back-up flash. I need accessories. I need a place to put my keys and wallet. And also? I hate backpacks, and would like something more stylish. Because I do infact, do events. And often, at charities, you have to keep all your gear on you, there's no place to set it down. Now, I do also love the seven and eight million dollar homes, but I kinda think I want something a little different than what I already have. Something more versatile. Enter the Jill-e bag. Observe:




How fabulous are they? Now, I considered a Kelley Moore bag, which is also beautiful, however, they are a little small for what I want. They are too narrow and tall. I want something shorter with easier access. Don't get me wrong, if a KM bag shows up at my door, I will give it a nice home. But I really want a Jill-e bag. So what do I need from you? Click the link. Browse the site. Buy accessories upon clicking my link. They even have a small purse that has a padded place for a digital point-and-shoot. Which I've considered getting for the Daughter so she can have my Canon PowerShot.

Thanks! Tell your friends! Buy one for Mama for Mother's Day!

Coordination: I [does not] has it.

So we're thirty-five minutes deep into Zumba tonight, I'm in my usual spot, front row, slightly left with my girls (The real ones, Tay, Mama J, and the other Mama J; not the girls being contained on my chest). It's juicy, the fans aren't on and we've already sweated out breakfast and most of lunch (minus the cheesecake balls I keep hiding from the kidlets). We're doing a cross step move and the instructor is all "Bigger! Yeah, you got it!" to me. Because I'm in front, and you know how the class nerd is, right? Only, we switch to this sliding move and it happens so fast, I don't even see it coming. And I'm pretty sure I did the whole scramble thing on the way down, but it was just too slippery on the very obviously fake wood floor. And it takes me a second to recover. But I jump up and get right back in step. The instructor, who was standing next to me, turns to face me (while moving) and he's all "Are you okay?" Of course, in my head, I'm all "Please, I'm the girl that tripped and fell down the stairs at my junior prom. This ish happens to me all the time." But I just utter a "yeah" and keep moving.

After all, I was the girl who also fell down a flight of stairs while seven months pregnant at my best friend's mom's house the night before her wedding. 'Cause when I do it, I do it big.

Happy 12th Birthday, Teddy!

Twelve years ago today, you were born (That would be 1998 for those of you that are math-challenged like me). You had one sister, who was named Eleanor. Apparently, your mother died in birth, and you and your sister were left on the doorstep to the Norfolk SPCA in a box, your mother in a bag next to you.

The first person to arrive for work was a woman named Dianne (if my memory serves me correctly). She worked for the SPCA for more than 20 years. Immediately, she fed the two of you. Later that evening, she took you and your sister home to raise you.

Fast forward to the first week in June. I'd been living in my first house with my first roommate just off campus since March. Coming from the house I grew up in, where we rescued animals, I missed having a dog. I'd left five at my parents' house. My boyfriend at the time was on his way to take me to lunch. Instead, we ended up at the Norfolk SPCA.

When I first saw you, you were hiding in the corner. Your sister and you were in one cage, she was all over the place. It was instantly obvious why Dianne named you Teddy, you looked just like a little teddy bear—with oversized legs and feet. I was smitten. Dianne told me the story of how you came to her, you were claimed to be a "Lab/Shepherd mix". You were six weeks old that day, and she'd decided you were ready to find a forever home. I filled out the information and brought you home to meet my roommate and her dog, Jasmine Marie (My roommate didn't have a middle name, so she gave her dog one).

The fun part began when I took you to my parents' veterinarian and he was scared to tell me (but told my mom instead) that you were Great Dane, not Shepherd. Which explained your ginormous feet. And appetite.

You tried my patients, chewing everything you could. You peed all over the carpet. And you had an affinity for expensive underwear, but normally only when we had people over. You loved rawhide bones that were bigger than you, and normally you ate them within 3 days. You loved to ride in the car. And you loved your soccer ball. You didn't care for the tide at the beach, but the first time you saw a pool, you ran and jumped right in.

Then we stayed overnight for our first Christmas at my parents' house, and my father came to get you out of my room to go outside with the gaggle of hounds. Later that morning, he said to me, "You really have a good, well-behaved dog." And then you proceeded to win over my mother by sitting at her side while she cooked, not begging, not being a nuisance. I found out later she had a pocket full of treats and was slipping them to you all day.

Now, twelve years later, you've chewed up one pair of brand new New Balance shoes (ever wonder what the real use of the "tongue" is in your shoes? Try wearing them without one), two couches, the electrical cord to a fan (that was plugged in), and one Cox Cable remote control—where the service rep informed me I "should not let my dog chew on the remote..." I told her it wasn't like I ran out of Snausages. You have caught one bird (who knew you could move so fast), one opossum (thanks for that), and somehow missed a chipmunk being in the same room as you for hours. You detest premium dog food and have always preferred the cheap stuff. You won't drink from a clean water bowl, you prefer snarfle in it. You don't like to be outside on your own, only if I'm out there. Unless you're laying on the deck in the sun. You get anxious in the car, but if someone says "wanna go for a ride?" you will push your way into the first vehicle with an open door. You have a bark that scares the beejebus out of most people but have only bitten one person. And as my mother says, you don't seem to age much, you've been in a state of shock since Avery was born.

Happy 12th birthday, Teddy Bear. Or "Theo" as Grammy refers to you. I've enjoyed you being part of my life. But you're not getting a cake because you took it upon yourself to celebrate this morning by eating a library book. And washed it down with some carpet, because apparently that's how you roll. Or was it the remainder of garlic mashed potatoes I fed you last night?

Town of Blackstone: Major FAIL.

We have lived in this small town (of 8000) for a little over three years now. We've lived in the same house since we moved up here, a half-duplex. We've had no other names, places, or anything. Just us. Here. At the same address.

For some reason, the Town of Blackstone cannot figure out their billing. Here, we get billed for water every six months--which sucks, by the way. When we first moved in, it took almost a year to get the water bill straightened out. Because we were the first owners of the house, they were billing us for the builder's portions of the water bill. We paid late fees. Many late fees. But I didn't have the time to fight with them. So we paid them.

Last week, we got a demand for payment in the mail for Excise tax on the Husband's truck. Which means there apparently was a bill before that which we did not receive. This bill stated that the tax be paid before March 17 or it would go to the collector. And we got it last week. So unless I own a time machine, we are late.

Now, this isn't the first time we've had an issue with Excise Tax bill. Previously, we've gotten blank bills, where they sent us a sheet of paper with our address on it, and we rarely get a bill on time. We always get the demand bills. So I go to Town hall to pay our late bill and bitch.

For those of you that don't know, here in Taxachusetts, apparently legislation was signed in that states if you do not receive a bill, you are still liable for all taxes, interest, and late fees. No one else shall be held responsible. The public has NO rights. This allows towns to send out bills late and purposely collect late fees without repercussion. So now, even though I believe someone did not send out our mail, I now have to pay $93.93 for a $65 Excise bill. But I actually have a longer period to pay the elevated fee than I did for any other portion of this Godforsaken process. How nice of them.

My problem? These people effing suck. Basically, I was told I am supposed to go looking for my own bill should I not get one. So you mean to tell me that these people who are paid a publicly listed salary--which essentially I am paying for--get more days off than most people and work better hours than bankers are not doing their job. Someone's job there is to send out bills to the households in Blackstone. And they are not sending them out. And please spare me the details of our mail getting lost. The postmaster knows who I am and can recall my address when I walk in the door from three years ago when we had no mailbox and I had to check my mail there every day. Mail doesn't "get lost" in this town. Quit blaming the post office. You people are overpaid to do a lousy job and simply get to collect for it. Hell, I can click print, and I know how to send out bulk mail. I'll gladly work for your salary.

The best part? The Tax Collector told me that apparently I am the only person with a problem with the town's billing. Really? Just me? Should I round up everyone that has had a problem and show up at the Town meeting so we can break up the bitching over the school budget? Because everyone I have spoken to seems to think that the Town of Blackstone can't seem to get their head out of their ass. Think I was irate after that conversation?

See, I knew we should have bought that house in Rhode Island. At least their tax issues have ties to the mafia, not because some nitwits are running this joint.