Journey, Snow, Cops & 'Hypocrite of the Year' Awards

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"Who are you people, and why am I here?"

"Who are you people, and why am I here?"

Journey has spent the last two weeks ‘trying out’ her new retirement family, Matt and Kat of Toronto. She returned to us yesterday so she could be spayed by our veterinarian, and will go back to her new forever family tomorrow or later this week.

Rather than the joyful, “oh I missed you” homecoming we might have been hoping for, Journey moped into the house with a look that clearly said “Why the hell am I back HERE again?”. She was almost as unthrilled to see us as she was her four legged family, who gave her an olfactory once over that clearly said “Where have you been, and what have you been eating/doing/meeting?”. Journey hunched her back, looked miserable and curled up on the dog bed, occasionally shooting us murderous looks that we interpreted to mean “Take me back to my REAL mommy and daddy now, please”.

While it’s nice to see she’s fitting in well with her new parents, it was rather disappointing to learn that not only weren’t we at all missed, we weren’t even remember overly fondly. Today, she’s at the vet clinic, which I’m certain has only solidified her opinion of me as a dog tormenting jerk, and will serve to make her even more grateful to escape our clutches.

French Bulldogs are ingrates, I tell you. They’ve made trading up into a breed characteristic. No other dog breed I know is as happy to leave their lifelong home behind for a new set of people, without even a backwards glance.

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This and that and other stuff…

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I had a hellish week. Hellish, I tell you. I am not going to go into it at the moment, but suffice to say – sulphur, brimstone, the works. Thank God for the weekend.

I got a sudden impulse last week to re do my entire web design website from html to CMS. What was I thinking? Who knows, but never being one to let a good impulse go to waste, I instantly dove right into it, thinking to myself “This is going to take a few hours”. Fast forward to the next day, where it’s 3 in the morning and I am over caffeinated, sleep deprived, and hallucinating header.php code. I crawled into bed at about 3:30, and I dreamed about re designing my website.

Seriously. I dreamed I was editing widgets and hand writing html, all in mind numbing detail. At one point, I bolted awake thinking “I can’t edit that Logo text – it will throw off the alignment of the entire menu!”. I think Sean smacked me in the head with a pillow until I stopped whimpering and went back to sleep. Check out the new look – http://www.frogdogdesign.com

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Peta STILL Kills Animals, and Tessa Goes to Dagestan

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(A note: I am completely bogged down with work at the moment (and happily so, since nothing makes me more gleeful than new websites to muck around with!), so I am going to be blogging lightly and answering email tardily for the next week or so)

Looks like 2008 was another great year for animal murdering over at Peta HQ! Peta, who managed to adopt out 17 animals in 2007, have pushed that number down to just 7 in 2008.  Way to go, Peta! That’s an extra ten animals ‘saved’ from a life of servitude as a human companion!

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Zombies, Ice Cubes and Babushkas

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What I want for Christmas - Shaun of the Dead Action Figure (with sound!!)

What I want for Christmas - Shaun of the Dead Action Figure (with sound!!)

Sean and I were watching one of our favorite movies last night, Shaun of the Dead, when I asked him to promise to chop my head if I ever get zombified. It’s just one of those things I’d like to know I’ve prepared for, in much the same way that I’ve made him promise never to leave me languishing in an iron lung for decades.

I’m not sure if they still use iron lungs, but ever since I read about some polio patient who lived inside one for like, a decade, I’ve had a dread of being stuck inside one. Ditto zombies, only not stuck inside one, of course, but rather eaten by a ravaging pack of them, which I suppose would eventually end up with me inside one, but not in quite the same way.

Sean instantly said he’d NEVER cut my head off, which I thought was very touching.

Instead, he said he’d chain me in the pool house with a stove and a well stocked pantry, in hopes my motor skill memories would kick in and I’d just start baking stuff out of force of habit. I told him that, in that case, I’d make damn sure to get bitten before him, so I could toss him to the first zombie horde I ran into and watch him get divvied up like chum at a shark feeding frenzy.

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