Dogs Die in Hot Cars, Asshole

This was supposed to be yesterday's post, copied from The Stranger, a weekly alternative newsrag here in Seattle. The column is called I, Anonymous, and people get to rant about things that really piss them off, and they get 15 seconds of fame and free air time for their grievances.

"Every summer, every single animal welfare organization from here to Outer Mongolia warns people not to lock their pets in their cars. DON'T YOU LISTEN?!? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!? Those two dogs that you carried down to the edge of Green Lake on Saturday evening to try to cool down looked more dead than alive. They were so pitiful, lying there like limp noodles and panting so hard you'd have thought their lungs would burst right out of their ribcages. And they don't get that bad after only two minutes, so we all know you were lying out your ass. We were begging you to get them to the mergency vet on Stone Way, and you kept saying, "I think they're getting better" when they hardly had the strength to lift their heads off the ground. Hopefully next time some kindhearted, responsible soul will break all of your car's windows and take them away from you!"

On the Road Again

Greetings from Toad Mountain coffee house in Bellingham. Like my dear friend Janeen, I am obsessive about finding a high-speed Internet coffee house in every town, village, and hamlet of the Pac NW where I travel. I justify it in the name of work. This is my job! I drove 320 copies of CityDog magazine up for this weekend's dog festivities, where I'll have a booth selling my wares, or rather, my ware. It felt really good to drive a significant distance again, to remind myself I actually enjoy doing it, as I really gear up for writing the next book, the new edition of Moon Handbooks WA. Sadly, the chocolate brioche, which looked so tempting in the bakery case, is dry and tasteless.

As a writer, I fantasize that one of my made-up words will actually make into Webster's someday, or better yet, into the global vernacular. Today, I introduce a new feature of my blog, the IWOW (invented word of the week).

IWOW: Knockkopf: to rap on one's head in the hope it will avoid invoking the bad luck of tempting fate. Derives from common English, knock, and the German word for head, Kopf. Comes in handy because there often isn't wood around for the traditional "knock wood" or "touch wood."

QUOD: Why do dogs lick the water off their owners legs' after showering or bathing?

Home Neat Home

I find it sad that Husby and I are doing all this work to fix up and beautify our house for sale to someone else, when we've rarely done it for ourselves so that we could enjoy the fruits of our labors. Speaking of fruits, I tried to make my famous plum jam this year, and two batches just wouldn't gel. It's as though the tree knows I'm leaving, and is pissed at me. We've had such a great symbiosis going...I've made anywhere from 24 to 60 jars of jam a year in the past, as the tree has thrived.

Impending Doom

QUOD: What's the worst part about approaching your 40s? It could be the slowing metabolism or the fact that you can't drink like a fish and dance 'til the sun comes up any more without paying a horrible price. Perhaps it's the spider veins or the realization that no one is going to card you anymore. I submit it's the chin hairs. Long, spiky, tough as nails. Then, as your eyesight fades, you have two choices: 1) ignore them because you can't see them and wonder why teenagers call you m'am and children recoil from you in horror, 2) buy one of those 100x, lighted magnifying mirrors that makes the surface of your skin look like those dust mites you saw in science class under the electron microscope.

I suspect my husby might say it's the nose and ear hairs. We met a man named Stan who looks like he's wearing homegrown ear muffs.

Oh Happy Day

I have an Author Appearance, a.k.a. Book Signing today at Elliott Bay Books, which is thrilling because it's THE bookstore in town with the best reputation, on par with Tattered Cover in Denver and Powell's in Portland. They want me to bring the Wonder Wieners with, so husby is coming to wrangle. I'm reading a true story about the first time the pups and I set up camp, which, had it been videoed, would have been a lock for the grand prize on AFV. When I went into REI to buy my first tent, ever, I told them I wanted an Insta-tent: pull the pin and it blows itself up. You can practice setting up the tent inside the store, and because they don't have stakes or ground to put them in, they have velcro stakes, sticking to the carpeted floor. Now, THAT's my idea of camping.
QUOD: How many licks does it take for a dog to get to the center of an ice cube?
A: Don't know, but it sure is funny when he pads up to you, asking for help when the ice cube gets stuck to his lower lip.

From Fear to Empowerment

OK, so, we're selling our home. Not because we want to, but because we can no longer afford mortgage payments and our debt load. A private investor has come forward to buy the house, and last night, he made me feel about 12 years old. He kept spouting off these financing terms I don't understand, and when I asked for clarification, he really didn't explain, he repeated himself. My first instinct was to tell him to bug off, and go back to the realtor who helped us buy the house. But, we really need to rake in some cash to make this work, and I'd rather save the 4-6% in realtor fees. I cried a little bit, and this morning, I started to do things do inform and protect us. I found some pamphlets that explain escrow and the costs of buying/selling, I ordered our free credit reports to find out exactly where we stand (on shaky ground, I already know that), I asked a friend in the know for advice on how to estimate the market value of our home, and I contacted an attorney!

QUOD: How do you find a family lawyer to represent you in a broad range of personal interests?
A: Get hired to write a tagline, postcard, and some web copy for a law firm, and get to know them just well enough in client meetings to make a connection, and feel like you could trust them. Coe Law: Counsel for life and your life's work. For the first time ever, I may "retain" an attorney. Big step. This from a woman who doesn't feel like a grown up because she doesn't have a bed frame for her mattress, and whose husband still keeps his underwear and socks in milk crates on a shelf.

Fuel for an Adrenalin Junky

Having a tough time coming down from the high of Tuesday, when I had both an interview with Greg Copeland of Northwest Cable News and a successful book signing at Third Place Books. I fill the void with sugar, trying to keep the buzz going. I did get a great little boost yesterday from a power lunch with a colleague Jeanne, whom I hadn't seen in about four years, and my brilliant networking friend Sheryl. I learned more about Jeanne at lunch yesterday than I did in months of working with her.

Question of the Day (which henceforth will be noted as QUOD:)
QUOD: What's the biggest downside of a hyper personality? I vote for lifelong insomnia, to one degree or another. On the upside, lack of sleep is probably the main reason I'm a writer today. As a child, the only thing I was allowed to do all night was read, so that I wouldn't keep the rest of the family awake. I even had my own bedroom in the basement while Mom, Dad, Sis, and Bro all slept upstairs. Sounds like a cruel Cindarella story, but I loved the freedom.

Shiny and New

This is my earliest memory of my father. I'm two years old. A 6'-tall, giant bald man with big ears lays on the floor and puts a pillow on his face, and fakes a snore. I snatch the pillow and wobble away as fast as I can. He casually puts out an arm and pulls me in. I squeal with glee. He roars like a lion and tickles me until I can put the pillow back on his face, or rather, until he helps me put the pillow back on his face. We play the lion-tickle game until I can no longer breathe.

This is my earliest memory of my mother. I'm three years old. My mother sits in a dark room, crying. I ask, "Why are you crying, Mommy?" She tells me she is only crying because she is happy. I know, even then, this is not true. When she goes away for days, no one will tell me where she is. When she returns, she is very quiet, and will stand in the middle of a room for hours, doing nothing.

This is the genesis of why I am addicted to fun.