What the HECK happened to July?  I can't believe it's been since the 10th that I posted-- what a freakin' blur!  For crying out loud, we haven't even had time to give the dogs a second bath yet, and the generally accepted months of summer are almost gone!  And we've only gotten out the kiddie pool for the dogs once so far!  (Yes, we bought them a kiddie pool; no, they won't go in that, either.  Don't get me started.)

Let's see: Necon was a blast, and I am bit by bit getting picture links and pictures on the Necon site.  Look for more actual photos there by the end of the week, thanks to a few great people who've donated and/or agreed to let me swipe their images.  It's a good thing that old American Indian legend about having your soul stolen by the camera's image isn't true, because the Necon folk would, indeed, be zombies by now.  There's likely some question about that being true in and of itself, but I won't go there.  Nope, I won't.

What else?  I am unsupervised as once again The Husband (westonochse) is bouncing all over the country on business.  So little me, so many Chippendales.  Okay, just kidding.  Really.

Work is... well, work.  The Super Secret Squirrel Project is not progressing very well, being pushed back in favor of other stuff.  But as always, I have great plans for it.  My in-laws came and went, having found and bought their own, exceptionally beautiful (covetcovetcovet) home not very far from us.  We all went to Kartchner Caverns last Sunday, and it was quiet spectacular.

Kudos to faustfatale, who won an IAMTW Award (the first year they've been given out), for her book, Snakes on a Plane.  Excellent!

And finally, at the end of this month, I will return to the world of martial arts, at least for a long weekend.  I have missed it, a lot, since moving away from Chicago and the Degerberg in September of 2002.  The one place I tried here was too heavy on throwing, and my back made it quickly and loudly known it was unhappy about throwing in such quantity.  I've tried to at least keep in shape, and about a week or so ago, I saw a flyer for a Martial Arts Instructors Training Camp in Grand Junction, Colorado, headed by an instructor under whom I was lucky enough to study numerous times.  This is my chance to refresh my memory (and break my body, ha ha) on all the good stuff I haven't had in five years.  With this coming up, I'm trying to cram in as many workouts as I can.  Ow...

And, of course, we must have images.  As always, click for close-ups.  So:


Okay, it's way toooooo late.  Must sleeeeeep....

After this morning started as a beautiful day, low-eighties and kind of hazy/overcast, we had another incident of TFW this afternoon.  It came on suddenly and viciously, blowing metal chairs over, trying to destroy my fragile tomato and herb plants. and hellbent on beating the palms to death.  We ran around like crazy trying to tie up plants, stop the pool cover from blowing away, moving portable plants to more shielded locations, etc.  Spitting and blinking away the dust, trying to keep our balance, etc.  For those who are not familar with it, TFW stands for THAT F***ING WIND, although lately I'm starting to think of it as TFLSW (THAT F***ING LIFE-SUCKING WIND), since it sucks the moisture and life out of everything in every direction.  It also makes The Husband (westonochse) extremely crabby.  He's not the only one, but I tend to view it with a sense of surrender, since as with so many things birthed by Mother Nature, there's absolutely nothing I can do about it but clean up the mess afterward.

So, because we need to be a bit cheerier here, I invite you to another one of Goblin's infamous Movie Moments, this one titled THE QUACKER.  It was filmed sometime ago, but that Quacker just never, at least to me (and Goblin) loses its hilarity:

Does this really need an introduction? We think not:

We had a pretty good weekend, saw The Messengers at the movie theater. I'd been dying to go, and I will say that this was quite the edge-of-your-seat flick. Not recommended for those who hear noises in the dark... unless, of course, you're like me and enjoy that sort of creepy thing. There were several times when I jumped. We then did a little bit of clothes shopping and we are now both making serious efforts with diet and exercise. I think that statement speaks for itself.

We're back at work (bleh) after a comp day off on Friday. The Husband (westonochse ) had to spend his comp day flitting about the country in a futile quest for a new-job polygraph that was ultimately canceled... after he flew 1,900 miles to take it. But I digress. We had fabulous curry and red pepper chicken in roasted squash with mango salsa couscous and fresh mango and avocado slices (oh, yuuuuum) for Sunday dinner (as always, thank you, Wes). Tonight we had diet TV dinners (gaaaawk). I worked out today, so did Wes. I am now sore and tired. Thus is the report of our exciting lives. Wes did, however, get a great box of books Wednesday after work (okay, so I've gone back a bit farther than just the weekend) containing primo contributor copies of Recalled to Life. Excellent! I've also made it through the first chunk (of eight chunks) in Level 1 of Rosetta Stone Latin America Spanish. Although it's fun and captivating while I'm doing it, and I think I'm doing okay, I despair of my brain actually remembering these words a half hour after I shut down the program-- this after I've made myself retake the first lessons at least three times on three different occasions. Right now I can remember how to say cat, jumping, and purple. Somehow I think I should be doing better.

Poor baby Ghost-- it seems Goblin's Toes (he of the overly loud snoring right now) outclassed her and only one person commented on her cute and prickly chin. If only everyone could feel her joyfully snuffling against their cheeks with her scratchy little whiskers. Let's see if she can win a few hearts with a soulful look instead:

For folks in the HWA who've not yet voted in the Stokers, please give some consideration to The Husband's story, The Secret Lives of Heroes   (westonochse), which appeared in Horror Garage #11.  There's a link up on the recs page so you can read it if you haven't already.  Voting ends on the 10th, so the time come neareth.  Thanks!

The weather here seems to have finally broken for the better.  It was in the mid-60s today, and I think we're talking only mid-30s for the night's low.  It's far too late for the totem pole cactus in the front yard; it's black and dead and will have to be dug up and returned to Home Depot (thank you, 1-year warranty and the ability to find receipts).  Also to be returned are 5 utterly dead Bird of Paradise bushes.  In the meantime, The Husband ( westonochse  ) has refused to give up on the three baby palm trees in the backyard, no matter how completely destroyed they look.  We have very little time left on the warranty for those, plus they would be a son-of-a-gun to dig up, so if they are truly dead, we'll just eat the cost.

Having gone through too many Chicago winters, I truly feel for the people trapped inside the deep freezes going on around the country right now.  My Chicago time left me over-sensitive to not just cold, but cool-- I truly can't tolerate it when the temperature drops.  I'd rather have heat, and if I have to deal with humidity to get it, so be it.  When going to a Monday night reading at the Red Lion one summer, I met a friend in the downstairs area who said to me, "You look positively radiant, and I could just die, I'm so hot and miserable!"  She'd had a 20-minute drive through city streets in an air-conditioned vehicle to get there and could've passed out in the 95 degrees and 90% humidity temperatures.  I'd just come from a one hour and forty-minute bumper-to-bumper "expressway" drive from the suburbs and-- you guessed it-- I never turned on my air-conditioning because I hate it.  I just rolled down the windows and sat in the heat.  Chicago winters have left me with permanent frostbite damage between the toes of one foot and a complete abhorrence of anything vaguely winterlike.  I think of my tiny, 90-year-old second cousin in her Chicago apartment off Clark Street and I shiver for her.

On a lighter note, just because I can, I give you...

So The Husband (westonochse) has posted a video on his LJ, and since it involves Yours Truly, I stole it to put it here and He Can't Stop Me So There.  Besides, I'm mad at him.  He told me all sorts of bullocks (can you tell we watched V for Vendetta tonight?) to woo me and get me to move down here to southern Arizona.  "It's warm," he said.  "Lovely climate," he said.  Just for the record, when my Dad left to go home after the movie, Wes brought an object into the house.  He then made me step out onto the front patio and he hit me with it.

It was a (*&#$(*&@#($& snowball.




The music is Sean Paul, Temperature.

How fitting.

So this "landscaping project" in the backyard is actually a pool. I've been in denial because I have mixed feelings about it (which have to do mostly with the unfrackingbelievable COST), but no, oh no, we won't go into that. It's there, and it's finished, and Saturday morning we put the solar cover on it (which is supposed to raise the temperature of the water by 10-15 degrees and also cut down on dirt and evaporation) and so there you go.

Which is exactly what Goblin did, somehow, on Saturday afternoon when Wes turned his back.

Wes heard a ::SPLASH!:: and whirled around to find Goblin floudering at one end, between the cover and the edge. I looked out the kitchen window in time to see Wes with his hands under Goblin's armpits (yes, dawgs have armpits) hauling our 150+ pound boy out of the water. It was quite the sight. We think that in running, he cut a corner a little too close (perhaps because the cover looks almost solid compared to just "bare" water) and tumbled in. We dried him off, tied him on the patio for an hour or so to finish drying, and just like a boy who fell in a mud puddle, he's none the worse for wear. My guess is when it's hot and we're in the pool this summer, he'll probably come crashing in, especially once he realizes there are concrete steps at one end and he can climb in and out at will. In fact, we opted for the sand filter rather than fiberglass because it thumbs its filtery nose at dog hair.

Ah, but poor little Lily.

Yesterday we put the pooches into the backyard for a romp and watering (big fresh water bucket on the patio). A few-- maximum five-- minutes later I hear Wes yelling "Von-- get out here now!" I rushed out (from the bathroom-- isn't that always the way??) in time to see him running toward Lily, who was, oh yes, in the pool and clinging for dear life to the edge by her front paws and her chin. Goblin fell at the 3 1/2 foot end, she opted for the center, which is the maximum 5 feet deep (stairs are at the other end, which is also 3 1/2 feet). She was on her hind legs and you never saw a more tragic and I just know I'm doomed! expression on a poor dog's face. I don't know how long she was in there-- if either dog would just freakin' bark we'd know something was wrong!-- but she was completely traumatized. We hauled her out and dried her much heavier fur as best we could, then brought her inside, where she crouched on the carpet and trembled off and on for the next two hours. When I could get her to walk, she wouldn't put weight on her right front leg, but there was no swelling and she wasn't howling. I finally gave her a little sedative, one left over from the $400.00 dog toy incident not quite two years ago, and she calmed a bit. I knew she was okay when she ate her entire bowl of food without any problem. After that I gave her two yummy muscle anti-inflammatories (those left over from Goblin's $900.00 shoulder incident a year ago) and she finally calmed down enough to sleep through the night. I put her out a couple of times in the front yard to go potty (away from the Evil Pool) but she wouldn't go off the front porch until Goblin came out with her. She kept that pathetically hurt and insulted expression all last evening. Seeing as how one of the training tools for a Deaf Dane is a squirt bottle, she must've been convinced she somehow did the worst wrong something of her life and got thrown into a giant bathtub of I done wrong! as punishment.

Oh, and did I mention that when we pulled her out of the pool, Goblin was hiding behind the eucalyptus tree?

Oh yeah. We think he probably stuck his nose into her unmentionable area when she wasn't expecting it and goosed her right into the water.

::sigh::

It's 9:48 a.m. and, except for a 5-minute bowl of cereal, this is the first I've sat down since I got up (6:40 a.m.). I've been cleaning, painting, preparing for more projects, organizing, and generally going non-stop. In the course of touch-up painting in the kitchen (a to-do item that predictably grew to "I must use up this whole jar of paint!" proportions) and reaching up toward wood trim by the patio door, I discovered dried dog food and goo stains... on the ceiling.

You just gotta love life with two Great Danes.

A man must always have a remote within easy reach.



And, of course, our Christmas Lily (Okay, so I'm late with the picture. Whatever.):

Life with a couple of Great Danes is always interesting, but a deaf one definitely adds a little pizzazz. It took Lily about 8 months of coaxing before she would drink from the bathroom sink faucet like Goblin (he loves water and will chase after you in the yard when you try to water the plants), but she's been doing it for, oh, maybe 2 months now. Deaf Danes are often trained with squirt guns, which is a great way-- okay, the only way-- to get their attention fast from across the room. Because of that, Lily (who minds wonderfully, thanks to Deaf Dane Rescue) took some convincing to come near the faucet. Anyway, Deaf Danes are not particularly fond of things that change in their world, and since Lily also has a little bit of vision deficiency, she is also never particularly happy about things over her head. Well, this morning, in the midst of a little sip of water at the sink, she suddenly noticed the bathroom light fixutre.

Woof! Woof! Woof!

::hee hee::

We've been through this in particular with ceiling fans, of which we have a lot (we live in Arizona, after all). One of the funniest times, however, was not long after we got her in January 2003. I call this story "Lily and The Evil Muffin Monster." On a Thursday morning she became convinced that a plastic-wrapped chocolate muffin on the counter (which had been there for two days, figure that out) was the Evil Muffin Monster and she wouldn't stop barking at it, even when I offered it to her for personal investigation. I finally just put it in my bag to take to work; when I went back into the bathroom to finish getting dressed, she pulled the bag onto the floor, dug out the muffin and pulled it to the center of the floor, and started barking at it again. One has to appreciate a dog that will protect you against the evils of the universe.

I have the day off today, in honor of our wonderful U.S. Veterans. I have to keep reminding myself that it's Friday, not Saturday. I'm going to Home Depot. That will teach my husband to leave me unsupervised.