Oh Bear, I love you!!

This commercial makes me so very, very happy.

Oh SNAP!!!

Back in my college days, I got along with almost every member of the faculty in my department. Truth be told, I didn't just get along with them, they lurved me. They enjoyed having me in their classes, appreciated the work that I did, etc. I had very good relationships with all of them... except one. This particular teacher taught a subject that I didn't much care for with a technique that I thought was absolute hogwash. Not only that but because she was extraordinarily pushy, she somehow managed to wrangle her way into teaching several of the classes I had to take to graduate with my degree. She, of course, brought the aforementioned hogwash technique to every class she taught regardless of whether or not it was relevant. I gave her an honest to god shot, I promise. I went into her first class thinking "Ok, what can I learn from you, what can I take from this class?" What I learned and what I took away was that teachers who teach because they've failed in this business are mean, spiteful, petty and generally tend to take whatever "talent" I possess as a personal affront. This woman became a constant thorn in my side. She tried to give me low grades for ridiculous things like not wearing appropriate clothing to class (Umm...I'm pretty sure I was there in my yoga pants just like everybody else.) or not being thorough enough in my writers notebook. (How thorough can one be about breathing?!) Most of the time I just tried to handle her with grace and class but one day, oh, one day she asked for it.

Let me interject here with a couple of facts about myself: The first is that I am fiercely protective of the ones I love. Yes, sometimes this love is misplaced, but the fact remains that if someone I love is hurt or made to look foolish at the hands of another person, woe be unto that person. Do and say whatever you want to me, but tread carefully around my friends and loved ones. (A/N: Q has an excellent story about me yelling, I mean YELLING, at a boy that screwed her over and then had the audacity to try to make her feel bad for not acknowledging his existence.) Secondly, and this has a bit to do with the misplaced love I mentioned earlier, I was somewhat volatile in those days. I'd spent the better part of a year learning how to fight dirty from the best of the best and he'd taught me very well. My fuse was about the length of matchstick.

So one day, I'm in class with this professor and she makes some nasty remarks about the level of ability and talent of the fella I was dating, who also happened to be in that very class. Now granted, she wasn't wrong in what she said about him, but it's nasty and unprofessional to attack a student like that in front of his classmates. I, of course, made a pointed remark to her that landed me in her office after class. I think she tried to scold me which just pissed me off more and I proceeded to put this woman on blast. I called her teaching techniques in to question, I insulted her methods and her own abilities, I believed I may have even mentioned something about how no one liked or or her classes and that none of us ever learned anything because she was a joke and her classes were a waste of our time and money. By the end of the entire tirade, she was crying and I was storming out of her office. I almost felt really bad about the whole thing...almost.

Today, I'm sitting at work and my boss wanders over to my desk to let me know that she's hired a teacher to come teach some classes in the fall and spring. She hands me a resume and whose name is at the top? That's right, dear readers, my old arch nemesis professor.

Uh-oh.

So, supposedly on the set of some movie, a crew member raised the question: "What's the scariest thing you can think of?" Another person immediately replied "A person with a bag on their head staring in your window!"

My immediate response to this (which is the premise of a movie called, unbelievably, Baghead) is "Ha! That's funny!"

And then I thought about it...

It's pretty effing scary. Imagine, if you will, that you're home alone one night making a pizza or a grilled cheese sandwich or something and you look up to see this out side your window:



I'd probably throw up, shit my pants, have a heart attack or some combination of the three.

Woof.

I was going to title this post "Reasons why my dog is awesomer than your dog" but that felt a bit nasty and not really in the spirit of how I'm living life right now. Plus, many of the dogs I know are rad as well. So instead, I'll discuss some awesome things about Mr. O and if you, loyal readers, have dog stories you'd like to share, feel free to do so. We can revel in our collective dog awesomeness! Cool?

First off, here's how life has changed at Casa Earhart since bringing Mr. O home:

-I have actually found the one thing that will make me, without fail, get out of bed every morning and throw on my sweats and sneakers and hit the trails. And it's a 52lb. pound dog. Who lurves hills. Together, we're getting it tight and right.

-I now watch The Dog Whisperer religiously. The man has a gift and he's using it to rehabilitate dogs and train people. Tsst!

-I also now regularly cry during The Dog Whisperer. Oh god. I'm such a pussy. But c'mon, the other day there was this dog who had been in one of those animal testing facilities and he was scared of the two lovely people who adopted him. *Sob* I'm not made of stone, people!

-I also cry during the Cesar brand dog food commercials. Once again: C'mon people!

-Oh jeez, this one is embarrassing. Ok, I am now that person who reads dog magazines. (A/N: I need you all to imagine me burying my face in my hands out of sheer and utter humilation at the disclosure of this fact.) Look effers, my dog is of a certain breed and to help him be the best dog he can be, I need to understand him and his lineage and what he is capable of, if left to his own devices. I mean, I don't subscribe to any of them but, yes, I will occasionally pick up an issue of Bully Breeds or something.

I can feel your look!

-I am now at a point where I witness the destructive things that O does and instead of being pissed, I kind of just marvel at his ingenuity. The other day he figured out how to unravel the carpet in my living room. WTF? I have that nubby carpet that will come apart like a zipper if you tug on a loose end. I guess O found that loose end and gave it a good pull. It's just a little two foot strip, but really? The carpet? What even made that occur to him?

Awesome things about my dog:

-He's the best alarm clock I've ever had. Every morning at about 6:30 Owen decides that it's time to start the day. And every day, without fail, he does this by hurling his 50+ lbs of solid muscle at my face. I finally realized that if I let him climb up on to the bed with me, he'll let me sleep another hour before trying to launch himself at my head again.


-O is a really smart dog and sometimes, just sometimes, I think he does stuff to my mom just to mess with her. The other day she had given him this long lasting chew toy that he decided was so rad that he had to hide it. My mom and I kept finding it tucked into the couch cushions and stuff and each time we'd take it out and place it in his crate. Well, the next thing we know, we hear this total ruckus coming from my mom's office. We run in there to see O perched on this chair where my mom had stacked her bills, papers, mail, etc. Apparently he saw this chair and decided that was exactly the hiding spot for his new treasure. So he's digging away at the chair, my mother's papers and stuff are flying all over the place and my mom throws her little hands up in the air and yells "Mis papeles!!" (Look it up if you can't figure out what that means.) O got a very stern talking to after that little incident but he really only looked miffed that he had to find yet another hiding spot for his bully stick.

-He's got the pain tolerance of a brick wall. Seriously! I was trying to put him into the car one day and I had opened the rear door but it hadn't opened all the way. Before I knew it, O had launched himself at the tiny little opening and he slammed into the door going full throttle. He hit the door so hard that he fell back out of the car and landed in the driveway with this look like "I fell. I'm not sure what happened but I'm pretty sure I fell." And he just shook the whole thing off like it never happened. He didn't even yelp when he fell out of the car. I, of course, started crying.

-In addition to waking me up by jumping on my head, he also really likes to say "Hello" by launching himself at my face...with an open mouth. To date, I have received two minor black eyes from my dog "greeting" me and crashing into my face. And we all know that you're not having a good time until you get a bloody nose or a black eye!

Alright, I gotta go watch today's episode of The Dog Whisperer. Somebody get me some kleenex.

To Answer Your Question:

For the fella (or lady) who stumbled upon my blog because you were seeking an answer to the question of whether or not it is ok for a man to wax:

It is my humble opinion that if you feel that you (or your gentleman friend) have some hair in places where there should perhaps not be any hair, then by all means rip that stuff right off.

However, and this is a big however, it has been my experience that the majority of dudes have nowhere near the level of pain tolerance necessary to get through an entire waxing. I'm just saying. You guys are great for lifting heavy things and killing scary bugs and even other painful things like breaking a finger but when it comes to having warm wax spread on your hairy bits and then abruptly ripped out, you fellas are, well, kinda weenies. But if you think you can hang here's a few pointers!

- Exfoliate, exfoliate, exfoliate! Make your loofa your new best friend.

- When dealing with unruly eyebrows, be careful to not go overboard with the grooming. Few things look scarier that a guy with girlish brows. You want to clean up any hair that's hanging out where it shouldn't be, i.e. your brows go all the way up into your hairline.

- Get a recommendation from any chicks you may know that wax. A good waxer can make the whole ordeal fairly quick and less painful than a bad one. A bad one can make you pray for death to end your suffering. This is especially true if you're looking to wax the ol' undercarriage. You want to make sure before the waxing starts that your waxer absolutely knows what she is doing.

- If you're waxing because some chick told you that back hair was a turn off, consider finding a gal who digs that fur sweater. I happen to know and love several gals that find body hair quite fetching. I say this because once that first strip comes off, if you're not doing it for yourself there ain't no way in hell you'll get out of there alive.

- Sometimes it helps take the sting out if you pop a few Advil a few minutes before your appointment. It doesn't make it not hurt, but it does take some of the edge off.

-It's a good idea to trim your shit up before heading to the waxer. Hair should be about 1/4 of an inch long. NO SHORTER! But don't go in there with your hair like an inch long. It'll just make it hurt worse, I promise.

- Be prepared for the tweezing.

Ok! I have no idea whether New Brunswick, New Jersey will ever stumble back onto my blog, but if you do Jersey, I hope I gave you some info and the confidence to take that first step to the land of the hairless. Vaya con dios, my friend, vaya con dios.

Things Long Forgotten

Before I had this blog I had a blog over at Diaryland. Every now and then I'll go back and re-read some of those old entries just to remember what life was like back then. I've spent some time this morning doing that instead of working because really? I could give a fuck all about this job.

Regardless of my feelings for my current employment situation, I spent some time with the me of a few years ago. Several of the entries I read made me laugh, some of them made me a bit sad, some of them made me miss folks who are no longer in my life. Do you ever meet someone and from the get go the two of you click? You get each others jokes and energy, you know just what to do to make each other laugh really hard, all that good stuff. You're what Anne Shirley would refer to as "Friends of Adam": people cut from the same cloth. Whether the relationship is romantic or platonic in nature is unimportant because when you meet these folks, it's such a shiny and special and new time that everything just sort of glows...

When I look back at these old entries and I remember people that have drifted out of my life, I'm over come with the desire to get in touch with them, write them, call them and say "Hey, remember how we used to be pals? Remember that we used to have a shit load of fun together? Do you ever miss that? Because I do, I really do. And if you ever want to call and say 'hello' or tell me something funny that happened to you today or drudge up some long forgotten inside joke, I'd really like that."

But I try not to do those things because, you know, if these folks that I miss missed me too than they'd be the ones to call or write or whatever, right?

Losing folks whose company I truly enjoy is like forgetting where that really great little hole in the wall restaurant is. I remember what made that place great, I want so badly to get back there but I haven't the foggiest idea of how to do that. All I can do is dive in circles and think "Eff! I know that this place has incredible burgers, that the menus are large lamenated sheets of cream colored paper with burgandy writing, that my favorite table is the back corner booth. How the fuck do I get there?"

Lil' Bit sent me a message today saying that I'd showed up in her dreams three times in the last week or so. She thought it meant that she should touch base with me. I've been having these dreams where this guy that I knew, like, a lifetime ago makes an appearance. I haven't talked to or laid eyes on this guy in about 4 or 5 years but every now and then he'll make a guest appearance in my dreams. It's always so good to see him because stuff is just nice and easy like it was when we were pals before things got messy. Anyway, I always wonder why he decides to pop up in my dreamscapes. Maybe I should ask him the next time I see him? (I've just very recently been able to inform myself that I'm dreaming and it's definitely adding a new demention to my nightly adventures.) Yeah, maybe I'll do that.

Ok, this entire dicussion is a little too heavy for me to deal with on an empty stomach. I'm gonna go eat some lunch and be thankful for the super cool folks that are still in my life!

I'm so glad this show is back on.