Independence...and Stealing from Small Children

Today is the 4th of July. I’m sure that means something. Independence. Freedom. Gratitude for all we have in the United States of America. The pure luck of being born in a place without all the oppression and complete rule our founding fathers sailed thousands of miles to escape.  Wait...sailed?  They didn't just get on a plane?  No, and they didn't sail on luxury cruise lines, either.  This was a big deal.  They sailed thousands of miles without a GPS or an open bar or on-ship entertainment.  That's how pissed off they were.

And so we celebrate. We gather with friends and family to swim, boat, eat hot dogs, hamburgers, and wait for dark to set off fireworks.

Fireworks. That’s how we celebrate the great sacrifice of many men and women for our independence. We light a small piece of string on fire that causes an explosion that makes a noise and sends a momentary spark of color into the sky, hoping against hope that we don’t set a tree or the house on fire in the process. Hoping that the guy in charge of lighting said string doesn’t get his face blown off.

Do I sound jaded? Sorry.

I enjoy fireworks very much. I think they are pretty. I enjoy listening to the reaction of small children, the reaction of complete wonder and excitement when they see that spark of color in the sky, wondering how daddy made that happen, and can he do it again and again?

Pepsi and I loved little naps.

I rarely go out see fireworks anymore, though. This is a choice. My childhood dog, Pepsi, was terrified of fireworks. Indeed, she was terrified of all things that made noise – thunder, lightening, a car backfiring, an explosion on the television. This has made me a little cynical, and a lot overprotective.

I housesit, and am almost always doing so on holidays, including the 4th of July. I choose to not go anywhere on the night they set off fireworks (rarely on the actual fourth in the town I live in). I prefer to stay and make sure the dogs are not going to go into complete panic meltdown, like Pepsi used to. I would rather make sure they are okay and well taken care of. Luckily, I can usually see them from where I am staying, either in the front or backyard.

As usual, I am housesitting on this holiday. I have three Yorkies in my care, and my dog, Spencer Bean, is with me. Last night was the fireworks show. Once I felt comfortable that all the dogs were okay with the noise that was happening outside, I took them to the backyard to watch. As they were running around playing as if nothing was happening above us to the west, I began to think of Pepsi. I always think of her on occasions like this, even in thunderstorms. It is a weird feeling of loss, sadness, happiness, and gratitude that is hard to define.

My Spencer Bean

As I was sitting on the step looking up, thinking of the dog that was such a part of my life, my own dog, Spencer Bean, stopped running to come over and sit next to me. He didn’t announce his presence, didn’t make a big “I’m a beagle and here I am!!!” entrance. He simply walked over and sat down to my left. He sat there looking up at the fireworks with me, and didn’t move until I got up.

This was the most incredible experience. As I watched him out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that from time to time he would turn his head toward me, and then back up at the sky. He knew, as dogs do, that I was feeling something. And he did, as dogs tend to do, take care of me by standing beside me.

A friend, who knows about this, called me a little while later to see how I was doing.

There is something to celebrate. Freedom and love. Gratitude and hope. And the knowledge that all our friends, even the furry ones, are here to protect and love us, and we them. Take care of yourselves and your loved ones today and everyday.

Maybe I’m not so jaded after all…

Oh, and one more thing.  I overheard the most wonderful thing from a child's mouth. A neighbor kid, who, from the sound of her voice, I would guess to be about four, said with all the excitement her little body could handle:
"Daddy! What's that word you say when something is so pretty it makes you happy all over?"
Her dad responded, "The word is cool."
And she yelled back, in a voice that led me to believe she was about fall face forward into the pavement from excitement, "YES! COOL! I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THAT WORD!!!"

Ladies and gentelmen, a future writer lives next door to where I am housesitting.  Don't you just love that description?  "...so pretty it makes you happy all over"  I hope she remembers that and puts it in a book someday.  Truth be told, I hope to beat her to it.  I love it.  I just stole from a child.

D is for Spencer Bean the Wonder Beagle

Okay, that's a little much.

D is for Dog.

Way back in May of 2010, I told you about my dog, Pepsi. And that I was going to get a tattoo of her on my left side. Way back in September of 2010, I did it. A beautiful picture of my childhood dog, now with me forever. And, as I had hoped, it truly brought more healing to the pain of her death some seventeen years prior.

Somethings I have a hard time letting go of. Pepsi is one of those things. I don't know that I ever will, completely. However, it was time for me to begin the work so I could finally have another dog of my own. I have been looking on rescue sites for years, visiting the humane societies in my area, going to pet adoptions at stores in my town. I would never walk away with a dog, though, only a broken heart.

Tattoo in place, and Pepsi always with me, I began the work. I began to journal. I began to do serious research on breeds and sizes and temperaments. I began to formulate and ask questions and find answers.

Pepsi. With me forever.

I was ready to find my little male dog, the one whose name would be Emmett.

In short, I got serious.

In February, I found him. I found the perfect dog. I saw a picture of him online and knew he was mine. All I needed was that one look in his eyes on my computer screen. I don't know how I knew, I just did. I could feel something, something I hadn't felt about any of the other dogs I had looked at in pictures or in person.

The description was Beagle mix. His shelter name: Pinto (stupid).

I called the shelter he was in and asked them to please hold him until the weekend when I could come up to meet him. I would need to bring my roommate's dog along to ensure they were compatible. No matter how selfish and how much I wanted this dog, I knew the animals in my home had to get along, or it wouldn't be pretty. That was the only obstacle I could think of. Saturday morning, Chloe in tow, I drove two hours to the shelter. All the way there, begging Chloe to love this dog. Not that she cared what I was saying. The radio was on and the windows were down. She was happy.



I got to the shelter and got out Pinto (stupid). I walked him around a little on my own before going to get Chloe. He was so happy. He was peeing on everything and smelling even more. He was licking me and peeing again. SWEET FREEDOM! Once I got Chloe out of the car, it was like magic. This boxer and this beagle walked side by side, in tandem for the entire time they were together. Sure, they smelled each others' butts, but that was it.



It was decided. I got him. I had to leave him to get his shots, and fixed (because his previous owners were lame), and be microchipped.

I went shopping. Crate. Dog food. Treats. Toys. Blankets. Leash. Collar. This dog is going to have a whole new life. A life better than ever. His story is that his previous owner, the lame one, left him tied to a tree on a rope for 14 or more hours a day. Animal Control took him away. None of that crap in my house.



Spencer Bean coming home.



I kept thinking that he didn't look like an Emmett. I would have to figure out a new name. Even though I have always planned on naming my dog Emmett, I couldn't do it if it didn't fit. And it didn't fit. I thought he kind of looked like a Spencer. And, in honor of the shelter for rescuing him, I made his middle name Bean (because Pinto is stupid).

A week later, I drove another two hours to get my dog. Kelly went with me. Spencer Bean is better than I could have hoped for. Those eyes told most of the story, but not all. He is completely and totally the love of my life.

He isn't a Beagle mix.  He is a Beagle.  A Bluetick Beagle.  All that means is he has the ticks on his white fur, which you can see in the picture.  In all my life, I never thought I would have a full-breed dog, because I am an adopter. 

He is brilliant. I have had him since March 1st. In that time, he has learned sit, stay, lay down, come (though that one is still in progress, he does well), up, bed, and he sits down and waits patiently while I get his food ready and doesn't eat until I tell him to. He has gone hiking once. Him and Chloe get along like old friends. We stay at a friend's house a lot and he and her Beagle/Rottweiler mix are the best of friends. He stayed with my dad last Sunday and had a great time, my sister brought her two yorkies over and they played all day. Every person and dog he has met is his friend. He is not angry or aggressive, does not bark or anything. He has only pooped in the house once. Completely (and surprisingly) house-trained, he has not had to be in the crate at all.  He has only got in the trash once.

Spencer Bean, Chloe the Boxer, and Maggie Mae the Beagle/Rotweiller.
Two littles and a big.

When I got him, he would sleep in bed with me, but at the bottom of the bed and over. Now, as his trust is growing and he knows this is where he belongs, he sleeps right up against me or between my knees.

I know it took a long time for me to get to the point where I was ready for a dog of my own again. I think it was worth the wait. I think I could not have done any better. Spencer Bean is my personality. We are a perfect match. I am so thrilled to have him. I know, I just do, that Pepsi would agree and she would love him, too.

Running!  Oh Sweet Freedom!

Unconditional Puppy Love

Yes, I KNOW it's been a while. Nearly three months, in fact. And I apologize. Life got away from me and so did my writing.

I got a journal for Christmas. And I've been using it. Does that count? No, it really doesn't. Journalling is a whole different kind of writing.
I've been up to a lot and up to nothing. Life just happened, and things got lost. One thing that was lost was this blog. I'm not going to recap, not right now.  Today I need to write.
Just know that as in all times - times of writing and times of not writing - life has had good moments and bad ones since we last read together.

Why am I back? What has pulled me into the blogosphere? Sadness. Deep, painful sadness that I cannot express otherwise. I cannot journal about this. Yet. It's even hard to cry.

As some of you know, I am a dog person. I even have a little motto "puppies before people". I would rather hang out with your dog than with you. If you call me and tell me you need something dog-related, I will abandon my life.
I have always been a dog person. It's in me. It's my nature. There is something in me that attracts them to me and me to them. A friend calls me the 'dog whisperer'. They just come up to me and lay down and say, "Pet me, because I know you want to".  And I do.  Because, in fact, I want to.
As a housesitter, I have the good fortune to 'own' many dogs. I take care of them when their owners are out of town or having super busy days. Within minutes, these dogs become mine. I consider them to be my pets, my children, mine.
As a housesitter, I have also lost dogs. No, not lost as in they ran away. That would make me a very bad housesitter. Lost as in end of life. And it crushes me beyond belief.

Today is one of those days. One of my dogs is being put to sleep. He has had cancer for some time now, and it's time. He is no longer comfortable. He is losing weight by the day. The tumors are spreading faster and faster.

Max knows all my secrets and my joys and my pain from the last four years. He has been there for many relationships starting and ending. He lays next to me when I'm sick or sad. He has seen me bat-shit crazy. He has been there for some of the happiest times of my life. We have watched television and movies together, and meditated in the silence of music. We have been together through countless books, and he has laid quietly and encouragingly beside me while I stressed over homework.
I went to see him last night. I just sat on the living room floor and rubbed his back, his belly, his head. I didn't cry. I wanted to be with him. We talked a little. But mainly we just held on.

I am more than sad about this. I am more than crushed at the realization that I will never pet him or lay next to him or feed him again. There's a part of me that cannot believe that I will never call his name again.

But there's something bigger.

I am very grateful he was in my life. He was a kind-hearted soul who just wanted to be next to me when I was around. He always seemed to want to know that I approved - when he came in from going to the bathroom, he would look at me before going in the house; when it was time for bed, he would look at me to make sure I wanted him next to me; when he was done eating, he would come up to me so I knew he had finished. He laid at my feet in the living room as I sat or laid on the couch. He would lift his head every so often so I could pet him and take a break from what I was doing.   His eyes seemed to always tell me of the love he had in his heart for his surrroundings. 

These are traits humans can only dream of having.

I will miss him. So very much. But I am happy there is no more pain. I am happy to have had the opportunity to consider him mine. I am so very happy to love and be loved. I love you, Max.

52 years ago today, the music died.  I think it is very symbolic that my Max goes out on such a day as this...

In order to see me, you must...

...floss.  At least once.  EVERYDAY.
...bathe.  At least once.  EVERYDAY.
...like music.  On the regular.  And live.
...be responsible for yourself.
...read.  Not just know how, but enjoy it.

...love dogs.  They will always be around.

...NOT have small children.  Or an ex-wife who has been an ex- for less than two years.

...NOT drink to the point of stupidity. 

...like to hike.  But I do not camp.

...not be some psycho-jealous-everyone-I-hug-or-kiss-on-the-cheek-is-a-threat-to-you type. 

...be goal-oriented.

...like to socialize.  With my friends, your friends, all people.

...like to just hang out in silence.

...be smart.

...eat healthy.

...enjoy junkfood.  Sporatically.

...like sports.  Playing and watching.

...be an adult. In actions.

...enjoy goofing off.

...like adventure.
...respect my independence. 

I'm making this list.  This is the beginning of it.  I've decided that it would be a fun little experiment to join a dating site.  Instead of filling out the "About Me" section, I'm going to make it "About You".  About all the things YOU, potential dater, should be.  And if YOU happen to be all these things (and more, of course!), I may consider going to meet you for coffee.  Oh, there's another thing...Must respect and enjoy coffee.  Both inside and outside of the home.  Because I am fiercly addicted to Starbucks.

I think this could be a fun time.  I will first ask the potential (as that is what I have decided to term these un-named, faceless men) to read this list.  If they find a few things on here that are them, they can move on.  If they find themself in every line, then, yes, definitely contact me.  I am tired of wasting my time with people who I want to change, who want me to change them, who are in no way compatible with me, who believe that flossing is not important (notice where it is on the list?  It is important!).

I haven't decided which dating site to attack yet, but that's my next step.  For now, I'm trying to add to this list, I want it to be as complete as possible, I am not wasting anymore time. 

On a sidebar, I am not negative or bitter.  I am just completely at a loss as to why there are so many great guys out there that are great for other people.  I am intensely picky.  And I spend a lot of time in relationships trying to fix things I knew about going into the relationship, and that should not be the case.  I want flaws to be cute and small.  Not big and glaring. 

Whether this works or not, we shall see.  But I'm going to give it a go.  I think the best part of all this is knowing that I'll know if they are lying right away and can get up and leave.  And if they aren't lying, I'll meet some cool people who I have a lot in common with.

My oldest and dearest friend. And my soon-to-be-new tattoo.

I miss my dog.

I feel this way a lot.

She came to live with us when I was maybe four or five. She was kind of a town dog, I think she belonged to a friend of ours, but I don't really know. I may have even stolen her. I would stand on a corner and yell, “PPPPPPPPEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPSSSSSSSSSSSSIIIIII!”, and she would come running from wherever she was. Yes, I had a big mouth, but we also lived in a very small town.

So we took her. Adopted her. Stole her. It's all just words, the end result is I was made for that dog, and she was made for me. She slept in my bed at night. She played in the yard with me. She took naps with me. She sat on the floor and watched tv with me.  She knew all my secrets.

I don't know what happened to her, but she was deathly afraid of noise. Anything – thunder, the 4th of July, would send her running to the closet for safety. My mom says someone tied her up and threw firecrackers at her. That makes me so mad. And makes me want to cry.

We were robbed when I was young and she was there. The men were wearing baseball hats, and were mean to her and locked her in the bathroom. I'll never know what they did to my dog, but I do know that every time she saw anyone in a baseball hat, she would turn from this playful, loving creature into an attacking bitch, barking and going straight up bat-shit crazy. The minute the hat came off the head, she was loving and ready to play.

We moved when I was almost ten, and took her with us. Maybe that is where the stealing comes in. I don't care. I wasn't leaving town without her.

This dog was my best friend. In my darkest times, she was there. She was my confidant when I felt I had no one. She was my joy. She always had a smile on the ready for me. She taught me about selflessness – because everyday, when I would come in the door, she would stop what she was doing and come running to me.

Pepsi died when I was 16. She had cancer and we had to put her to sleep. I didn't deal with it well. I didn't cry. I just turned around and walked away. At 16, I was too selfish and adolescent to comprehend that she didn't leave me on purpose. She was old, probably fourteen or fifteen herself. And she was sick. Looking back, I know it was the best thing for her.

So, why, 17 years later, am I writing about this? Well, a couple reasons.

First, I have not had a dog of my own since. I have lived with people who had dogs. I housesit for people and take care of their dogs. I have taken these dogs into my heart and they are all mine. I am a very fortunate dog-lover – I have many dogs of all shapes, sizes, and breeds that I can call my own. Each one of them has taught me lessons about love, patience, selflessness. The look on their face when I walk in the door makes my heart jump and brings a smile to my face. Within them, they hold my secrets and my truth, as they have seen it.

Second, I am getting a dog soon. I am moving in July to a place where I can have a dog. I am so very excited! I find myself looking at dogs for adoption on the internet. I wonder what breed I should get. I know the dog I get will not be a pure-bred, as I only want to adopt or go to the humane society, but I do need to be picky. Still, I find myself looking mostly at labs.

Pepsi was a lab. My beautiful black lab. With a red collar.

But here's the thing. I find myself feeling guilty about wanting a dog. I feel like that will hinder her memory. Even though all the dogs I currently have in my heart haven't moved her from the number 1 spot, I somehow feel that getting a dog of my own – one that will sleep with me, hike with me, watch tv with me and know all my secrets – isn't right. As much as I want my own dog, as much as I need my own dog, I still feel bad.

Maybe it is because I haven't mourned properly. I didn't do anything to toast the life she lived and the impact she had on mine.

So I'm going to.

I am getting a tattoo. I'm getting a tattoo of a black lab with a red collar on my hip, right where she came up to when we were both standing up. That way, both of my dogs will always be with me always.

I have dove into all the photo albums for pictures to take with me. I have found three good ones and I will take them all. In every one of them, I see her love and remember her big brown eyes and loving smile, just as I remember it in my head. I'm grateful my memory hasn't failed me.

Writing this has brought tears to my eyes more than once. It's good. I feel her with me.

I love you, Pepsi.

Dating 101...or How NOT to get a second date with me

So I recently went on a "date".  Many of you who know me know that I do not use "quotes" often.  (I especially hate them, except when they are there for actual "quotes" as in, something someone said. And I extra-especially hate “finger quotes”. But this post isn't about my grammar-superstar status. We'll talk about that another time.) But I use “quotes” here because, well, I'm trying to convince you that though it was technically a date, I would hope I never have a date like that again.
So, back to my evening of, um, my evening of...
I don't even know where to begin here. So I'll just make a list of key pointers, in the event that potential future daters read this and want a leg up in my book.

1. Do NOT tell me about your sword collection. It is not a good way to start off. It does not impress the ladies. It would be better to ask me to join your D&D squad or whatever D&D groups are called. At least that is fictional violence.  I do not like violence.  Of any kind.  Even if it is hanging on the wall.  Or is a collection.  (It seems to me that the word collection should have been in quotes.)
Estimated time of second date: The year 2063.  (I'll be 87, and probably won't remember you have them.)

2. Do NOT tell me that you believe animals were meant to be outside. We live in the city.
Oh, and don't try to explain to me about farm animals, farm dogs, and small town dogs. Don't tell me about living in that life, I'm from a town of 300 people in Nebraska. I get it. I don't need your expertise. I have my own. 
We live in the city. Dogs, cats, pets do NOT belong outside here. Oh, on this note, do NOT tell me that you are a cat person. Date. Over.
Estimated time till second date: The year 2064.  (I'll be 88 and incapable of taking myself to the bathroom, much less a dog.)

3. Do NOT ask me if I have/want kids on the first date. And when I tell you no, I do not have them, do NOT answer “That's impressive.” Based on that statement, these are my questions for you (in no particular order):

* Is it impressive because I am know this about myself and do not care what people think about it?

* Is it impressive that I have a brain that knows how to accomplish what I want (i.e. no kids)?

* Is it impressive that I am this old and have yet to succumb to the tick of some inner-time-bomb-type noise that is in all women, except, apparently, me?
No, none of these points are impressive.  They are facts.  They are the way responsible women who do NOT want kids avoid such a fate. 

And when I tell you I do not want them, do NOT answer “I want a lot of kids.”  Estimated time till second date: The year 2065.  (I'll be 89 and probably incapable of child-bearing.  Therefore, no longer an issue.)


4. Do NOT be an adult and not have a driver's license. I am not a chauffeur or a soccer mom. I will not be dragging your ass around.
Estimated time till second date: The year 2066.  (I'll hit the big 9-0 that year, and probably be too blind to drive.  We'll hire that nice teenager down the street to drive us to the pharmacy and to various doctor appointments, and say embarrassing things to him, such as, "When I was your age, car backseats were bigger and easier to make out in!")

These are just pointers, of course. If you'll excuse me, I must go home and peacefully protest, let the inside dog out, and count my birth control as I praise Jesus for the freedom of being an independent woman in the 21st Century.

I’d like to thank all the little people…oh yeah, I am the littlest person in the room!

I’m pretty new here. I am still learning my way around, constantly adding and deleting to my layout, and still cannot fix the formatting in my comments.

In spite of my newness (or perhaps because of it), I have been given an award! My long-lost dear friend, Olivia has bestowed a blog award upon me. Honored. I am truly honored.

However, in order to be deserving of said reward, I must do two things.

First, I must pass it along to seven fellow bloggers. That is the easy part.

I feel nervous about the second task. I must reveal seven truths about myself. All at once. For all the world (okay, for the very few of you who read my ramblings) to see. Since I am trying my best to take the fear road of Face Everything And Recover, instead of F&%# Everything And Run, I’m going to put seven truths out there. Maybe you’ll respect me tomorrow anyway. Maybe not. Either way, it was a fun night, eh?

1. Is Ivy Bliss my real name? This is the easy one. Yes. Ivy Bliss, in all its bad-ass-ness is, in fact, my real name. I am not famous, nor do I possess the self-confidence it would take to change my name to something that cool. First name, Ivy. Middle name, Bliss. Last name, irrelevant, unless you are my doctor, work at the DMV, or the bank. My last name is irrelevant because you will not be able to pronounce it or spell it. And it just isn’t as cool.

Buddy Hackett. He is how I got my first name. His daughter’s name was Ivy and my parents met them when they worked at a ski resort in Colorado. Apparently, they had the Lorraine McFly moment, “Ivy, what a nice name.” (okay, she said Marty, but we are talking about me here)

A waitress. That’s where my middle name came from. I am adopted. My parents were on the way to the agency to pick me up and they stopped to eat. Because, the kid can wait, we're hungry! Whatever, mom. Thanks for making me lay in that crib in the orphanage while you noshed on some grub. Back to the story, they had already settled on Ivy, but had yet to come up with a middle name, and their waitress’s name at said restaurant was…yep, you guessed it…Bliss.

So there you go. My name. 

2. I am deeply attached to notebooks and pens. They are my tools for writing. I find it difficult to be creative if I am not hunched over a one subject, wide rule, spiral bound notebook with my medium blue papermate flexigrip pen (the one with the cap, not the clicker) in my hand.  (And usually a cigarette in the other.)

I handwrite all my blogs, then type them in. I hand-wrote every paper I wrote for school, even the ten-pagers. I type later.

Yes, this takes a lot of time. But, it is how I work. I love scratching out mistakes. I love the hurried feeling I get in my wrist when I am in the middle of a great flow. But most of all, I love how my handwriting changes as the words go on.

In spite of all this, I love my computer and wish more people and companies in the world would be paperless. What a friggin’ oxymoron I am!

3. I love to take pictures.  I struggle to find the time to find beauty in my life.  I tend to be hyper-obsessively-focused on my life.  And that makes this difficult.  When I am behind a camera, I feel free.  I have made a committment to myself to take pictures of at least one beautiful thing a month this year.  And by one beautiful thing, I mean a roadtrip (even if just for a day) to see a place I have not seen before, or a place I have been, but not appreciated.

4. I love dogs. I feel more comfortable around dogs than I do most people. I am fortunate to be a house sitter for many people and their dogs. I appreciate the loyalty and unconditional love dogs give and strive to be more like that.  (Yep, that's my dog and me!)

5. I am shy and reserved. All my friends are loud and out-spoken. I am fiercely attracted to outgoing people. I suck at small talk. My theory is that they compensate for me, and others, in turn, think I am great at conversation. As long as I am not responsible for the small talk, I can play along. I feel amped up and more alive when I am with these types of people. It is easier to be social.

I prefer deep conversations, and they come as a result of the small talk sometimes, and that is good.

6. I believe in music and that it heals. In many ways, I believe it has saved me over and over again. The power of music feeds my soul and reinforces my life every day. It brings me to a place I am still hesitant to put into words, but I can feel the sound on my insides, and I internalize the words. 

7. I used to love to write. This blog is my attempt to get that feeling again. So far, it’s working.

Well, I guess that wasn’t so bad. Thanks again, Olivia. You are everything I want to be when I grow up! (If that should ever really happen!) To all the bloggers I bestow this award upon, don’t forget your list and thank you for encouraging me to write on!

Guess I should start typing!

And now for the awards!

http://thatrebelwithablog.blogspot.com/ - My inspiration for starting and continuing this blog. I am glad you are back. We will make time for each other.

http://gentlysaid.blogspot.com/ - Thank you for all your good words. I think we share humor in many ways.

http://murrbrewster.blogspot.com/ - You are funny and wonderful. Thank you for your support and comments.

http://psychedelicsister.blogspot.com/ - Your pictures inspire me to take more of my own and see things others don’t.

http://lizzysends.blogspot.com/ - I have just found you, but I like your style.

http://www.ratherbeblogging.com/ - I love the Fonz, too! ;)

http://jkoyanagi.com/ - You are an amazing talent, and I enjoy every sentence!

Whiten my teeth with Google Gadgets? Nah, I'll just floss.

Again, I spent some time today reading about how to make this blog great. Today, it wasn't set-up and content and pizzazz. Instead, I was reading about all the dim-witted things Google has to offer.

Really, this started as a search to fix my comment box, which I have to admit, I still can’t figure out. I went through the entire list of gadgets. First of all , that is not a gadget. I love gadgets. I love computers and cell phones and anything techie. I can keep myself entertained with a gadget for hours. These gadgets, these Google gadgets, well, let’s say, I was done in ten minutes.

Here are some of my top picks for ridiculous-ness.

Penguins – cute, little waddling penguins for your homepage. Um, WHAT? Why would I want waddling penguins on my blog???

Chris Brown Clock – has been removed. I had no comment before I read that it had been removed. But, being that it has been removed, I feel a little better about the morals of god Google. My finger is still scratching my head wondering if I would trust Chris Brown to tell me what time it is. And, if I do trust him, why wouldn’t I just look at 1. My wrist, 2. The clock on my desk, or (possibly the one that makes the most sense) 3. The bottom right-hand corner of my computer screen???

Fish – hungry little fish that swim toward your mouse hoping you’ll drop a few flakes of food. So now I have to double-click around fish? Hmmm...No way.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets Quotes – Random quotes from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I love Harry Potter. So, for those of you who don’t know, Chamber of Secrets is in no way current. And the only thing (other than the revelation of Tom), the only quote that comes to mind is “Mummy, have you seen my jumpa?” (Zoom in on big, embarrassed Ginny-eyes...)

The Daily Puppy – A cute puppy picture each and every day. I love dogs. I love love love dogs! Trust me. No one loves dogs like me. BUT, I don’t want a picture of a stranger’s dog on my computer screen each and every day. This just seems weird.

Latest Avril Lavine Quotes – Um, no thank you.

I have saved the best for last. Seriously, the best.

Teeth Whitening – Daily tips to help brighten your smile.

Here’s a tip. Brush. Floss.

For god’s sake, just brush and floss! Holy god. How many days can you see brush and floss?

I am personally obsessed with flossing. Obsessed.  I have floss stashed everywhere.  I have floss.  I have softsticks.  I have flosspicks.  I have toothbrushes and more toothbrushes.  Yep, I even have a toothpaste dispenser (see right).  (Thanks, Pam!  Best present EVER!)

Ask me why you should floss.  Ask me what it prevents.  And ask me what happens if you don't.  But don't ask if you don't want to know.  Because I will tell you.  And you might not like it.

I do have questions from time to time about my teeth. Do I turn to a blog gadget? No. I call a professional. For crying out loud, people. The buried treasure is only $3.59 at Walgreens, and it isn’t even buried.

If I may, I’d recommend the cinnamon flavor. It rocks!

You’ll hear more about my adventures in flossing in another blog, I’m sure. It makes me so happy.

No, I didn’t find the answer to my comment issue. Check it out. If you know how to make the code go away and the punctuation just show up, let me know. If not, I’ll forgive you. Just remember that Google gadgets are weird and dental floss is the only true way to happy, healthy, WHITE teeth.