Vaguely Urban

Friday Flotsam XXI

Henpecked, indeed!  The people were not chickenshit about dissing chickenshit!  I get it, fowl is foul is fowl is foul.  No fresh eggs for my vaguely urban yard.  No realized vision of scattered chicken feed.  No yolks the color of Geoge Hamilton's skin.

It's cool though.  Poop is gross.

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You know what else is gross?  Paying $70.13 to fill up my gas tank.  Mebbe I should have gotten that Prius.  Mebbe I'm going to make friends with the pretty, pretty bus.

Yep.  Me and Keanu, keeping it above 55 mph in SaMo.

 

 

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Also potential poop gross?  I have jury doody on Monday.  The thing is, were my time my own, I would LOVE to sit on a jury.  And if I didn't have to make up the hours of work I would miss (bye-bye nights and weekends), I would actively lobby to be on the jury.  As it stands, though, I'll be praying for a peremptory challenge, just like everyone else.

My new friend Mr. Ho, got his fine ass out of jury duty by employing a strategy he calls "assholery."  Much as it sounds, this involves demonstrating one's more-strident side.  A sample exchange:

Lawyer:  Does anyone here have any negative impressions about big corporations?  Mr. Ho, how about you?

Ho:  (sneering voice) No. 

Lawyer:  That's good.  It sounds like you can be fair.

Ho:  YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!!! 

Lawyer:  The defense would like to thank and excuse Juror Number 4.

Ho: Bye-bye!

***

I don't know if I can pull off the assholery technique.  I couldn't even get a chicken.  And I'm the dillhole who paid 70 bucks to gas up her car.  Fortunately, I'm going to see Mr. Ho tomorrow for dinner/cocktails/SATC movie, so I can pick his brain for more assholery tips.  Indeed, we're carpooling to Hollywood together in my car, so he totally owes me at least that.

I think it's rather brave, actually.

I've been campaigning for chickens.  Dave is resistant, but I have this glorious vision of fluffy, fat, happy, cage-free laying hens strutting and clucking around our wee backyard.  Of course the vision includes me stepping out onto the back steps and scattering handfuls of chicken scratch pulled up from the gathered folds of my skirts.  And petticoats and and pinafore, etc.

Dave raised the dual concerns of (1) the smell of chicken poop; and (2) the very real possibility that the Little Ninja would make sport of chasing down and slaughtering the hens.

I countered with promises of farm fresh eggs to enhance his cooking.  I postulated that Ginger could be taught to love her feathered buddies.  I researched urban coops and obtained useful ideals from trusted poultry counsel.

I thought I was making headway.  And then yesterday we were listening to the local LA NPR food show (GOOD FOOD, which we adore and which must certainly be the model for Delicious Dish.)

Host Evan Kleiman had a guest who spoke of the glories of raising chickens in her Eagle Rock/South Pasadena backyard. 

AHA!  I did a jubilant boogie.  I had Dave now - we were going to learn just how easy it was to raise chickens in LA, and just how rewarding a pursuit it would be.

And while we did learn those very things, victory ultimately eluded me.  See, the chicken lady laid (no pun intended) out the city rules for backyard chickens.  Turns out, they have to be at least 20 feet from your house, and a minimum of 40 feet from any neighbor's house.  That aforementioned wee yard?  Just doesn't provide sufficient distance for legal birds.  So sad.

I thought about just going for it and keeping ordnance-violating hens, but I'm just too

(wait for it)

chicken.

BAWK BAWK!

Friday Flotsam XX

I know it's the weakest, most played-out excuse in the history of human relationships, but work has been kicking my asshole lately and keeping me away from posting.  But the awesome news is that today my gnarliest, most soul-crushing case settled.  This means that I won't be going to trial on July 7, which means that I get a big chunk of my life back, and will be able to reallocate that time to more pleasurable pursuits.  Such as attempting to write a halfway decent post.

This is not that post.  As soon as I got word of the settlement, I whoop-de-do'd for about 38 seconds and then buckled down to write the settlement agreement.  And then I had to bust out of the office to go see/hear REM for the first time in 12 years.  I love REM.  I also love my friend Han Solo for procuring the tickets and then further procuring platters of sushi and a bakery box of cream puffs (seriously) for us to enjoy at the Hollywood Bowl.  Sorry, ladies, he's married.

And now the weekend holds the promise of loving friend times and no working at the desk times.  So life is back to good.  Too bad the Little Ninja can't say the same.  She has her annual Well Woman exam at the vet tomorrow.  Bummer drag for her.  Maybe I'll take pictures and try to work them up into that elusive halfway decent post.

Friday Flotsam XIX

I'm all wrungs out from a grueling work week that ain't over yet, but am thinking ahead in an Pollyanna-ish (hi, Mom!) manner about the good friendsy times that await me over the approaching long weekend.  The best part?  Tasterspoon's a-comin' to town, and we're going to tear it up like it was 1999.  Which is when we lived together.  See? I have some friends that I didn't make on the internets!

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Also, we are totally doing a pub crawl in Venice Beach on Saturday afternoon.  Would you like to attend?  YOU CAN!  It's a secret to everyone!  Send me an email or comment and I'll send the deets.

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I will need some drinks this weekend, both to get over the craptastic work week and because my lease on my precious Ella ended yesterday and I had to say goodbye FOREVER.  I did not prostrate myself across the hood and weep pathetic tears like I wanted to.  But I did tell the lease return agent that she could only resell the car to a good home.  Dave assured me that Ella was sold to a farm in upstate New York and is doing donuts and popping wheelies in green pastures. 

***

Hope you all have long, restful Memorial Day weekends!  KIT BFFs 4-Ever!

Where Did I Come From?

The DNA results are in.  If you thought that you'd be getting a definitive formula for how to make a Little Ninja (24% Bulldog, 8% Dalmatian, etc.) you would be a little disappointed.  But! If you thought that the results would reveal some heretofore unknown, rare British breeds with a distinct resemblance to my darling beast, you would be stoked.

The paperwork included a lot of mumbo jumbo about dog genotypes and something called the "15-N population results" as well as a composite of Ginger's ancestral population (70% hunter, 24% wolf-like, 2.9%herder, 2.7% mastiff).  Whatever that means.

The results also included a log-in ID and password for me to use on their apparently-evolving database.  This database suggested some likely breed mixes, each a two-breed hybrid.

I soon noted that the database doesn't appear to include a profile for a Chihuahua, the dog to which Ginger bears the most obvious resemblance.  This makes me a little dubious about the results generally.  The web site encourages me to check back frequently, so if they get a bead on the Taco Bell dog, maybe Ginger's stats will be updated.

The coolest thing about the results was the strong suggestion that Ginger is, in some non-insignificant part, a Lancashire Heeler. 

Lancashire Heeler

Mystery Mutt:

IT'S UNCANNY!  I mean, other than the totally opposite coloring.  Which could be explained by the Cocker Spaniel suggested by the Dog DNA place as a likely component part.  Other top nominees include German Shorthair Pointer (like Pearl from the Spenser novels!) and Chow Chow.  Which... WHAT? 

Ultimately, I remain on the cranky side of impressed.  I think the DNA matching process needs a little fine-tuning, and certainly a few more key breed profiles.  Like the Chihuahua, which I believe is the source of Ginger's hypnotic love crumb eyes.  And the Dachshund, which I hold responsible for the hunchback poop stance:

And with respect to the Lancashire Heeler.... there's still that niggling doubt that there just aren't too many representatives of the obscure UK heeling breeds running around the mean streets of San Pedro, whence the little ninja was rescued.  But, the silhouette is definitely similar.  And, as Dave points out, it only takes one...

Patience Rewarded!

This morning's mail contained an official-looking envelope from the Dog DNA vet!  AT LONG FREAKING LAST!!!  Model wife that I am, I am waiting until I get home to open with Dave (it was his Valentine's Day present, after all). 

Stay tuned for results!  Also in the works: A recap of our visit to Chicago - land of deep dish pizza, couture cocktails, and fabulous public art installations.

Friday Flotsam XVIII

This weekend, Team SoCal is heading to Chicago to visit my beloved SearceMaster K and her dashing Mr. Bell Tower.  We will be attending a Cubs game, dining at Blackbird (as featured on Top Chef - eeee!), and generally seeing the windy city through the eyes of two of our dearest friends.

***

And don't even think about burglarizing my house while I'm gone.  The joint will be full of people much more bad-ass, and MUCH better looking, than me and Dave:

Not content with us hiring a dog walker (and yes, thanks to that previous Flotsam post, we got a FABULOUS one!), Ginger has retained a couple of hot lesbians to tend to her needs for the weekend.  The little dog is very, very happy with her choice of attendants, expecting that these two will be particularly generous with the jubgina rubs. (Her favorite thing.)

***

I don't know why I'm so excited about this, but I had my end of lease inspection for my car on Wednesday and I aced it!  No damage charges!  I *can* keep my things nice!  It only took 32 years to hone the skill.  My mom and dad have never been so proud!

***

Happy Friday, sweet readers.  I hope the weekend bears leisure and delight for each of you!

Report From The Desert

This past weekend was my beautiful friend KHJ's bachelorette party in Las Vegas.  I didn't know many of the other girls before this weekend, but after two plus solid days of drinking, lounging, and dancing, I sure do now.  And my life is totally the better for it.  These girls were SUPREMELY fun. 

Not only did I have awesome girl-bonding time, I also learned a lot.  Allow me to share the take-aways from my education:

• Getting a cabana or two at the Venetian pool is a genius plan.  The people-watching, the boobalicious butler-babe, the chilled fruit plate, the respite from the sun --- so divine.  Pricey, yes, but for a special occasion: worth it.
• NOT worth it, on the other hand, is The Bank at the Bellagio.  I'm talking, not even worth it when getting escorted into the VIP area, gratis.  It may be the latest thing, but it's packed full to the gills with obese geriatrics (like, twice as old as me; and I'm old); toothless, camera-bag toting idiots; and dickish staff.  Seriously bad.  Though if you persevere, you can throw a damn fine dance party with your own posse in a side hallway.

• You can discover marvelous new product options from girls you have known for mere hours.  Simply neglect to bring along your usual bar of Dove, and be generously loaned (and instantly addicted to) Kiehl's cleansing milk.  Skin like a newborn silkworm.  Or steal some spritzes of Freeman alcohol-free spray gel from the girl with the high-gloss mane and get piecey texture our of your day-old blow out.
• A 9mm Glock is a fearsome thing, and commands respect when you hold it in the palm of your hand.  Even with the magazine taken out.  Everything a handgun symbolizes adds to the surprising heft.  Sight along the barrel, and feel powerful and a little shakey all at once. 
• Some people, when they say they are allergic to or otherwise intolerant of dairy?  They are not lying.

Friday Flotsam XVII

At the risk of spoiling the ending of Melati's eventual (ahem) recap of this year's Tequila Stakes Croquet tournament... let's just say that California did itself proud.

The little Ninja didn't know her dad was such a croquet MASTER.

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Watching America's Next Top Model this week, Dave asked if Cover Girl was the worst of the drugstore make up brands.  Oh, Dave.  It's not that simple.  My feeling is that, although better than Rimmel and Wet-n-Wild, Cover Girl is inferior to Neutrogena, L'Oreal, and probably Revlon, too.  On par with Maybelline, is my understanding.  Do you agree?

Not that I'm knocking drugstore cosmetics.  I love Maybelline mascara - Lash Discovery, Full-n-Soft, and of course Great Lash - though for a big night out it's got to be Yves Saint Laurent Effet Faux Cils.  And I have this one midnight blue Cover Girl eyeshadow with a little super fine-milled silver shot through it.  It makes an outstanding powder eyeliner.  Not so much for work, of course.  It's not that kind of firm.  L'Oreal Lineur Intense is a fabulous gateway liquid liner for those interested in exploring the wet side.  Oh, and speaking of wet, Wet-n-Wild lipliner #666, a.k.a. Satan Stick is a great punched-up nude.  For 99 cents!

Those are my best drugstore recommendations.  What are yours?  Gentlemen?

***
I'll be rocking the YSL mascara and midnight blue liner, along with a faceload of other makeup, this weekend at a bachelorette party in Vegas.  I'm stoked because this is finally a bachelorette party that I didn't organize, so I can just show up, bring my biggest energy, and have fun without worrying about executing. 

Clever Dave was extremely liberal in the amount of Vegas naughtiness he said was tolerable.  So of course that takes all the fun out of naughtiness, and now I'll be tamer than I would have been if he attempted to impose restrictions.  Darn you, reverse psychology!!! 

***

Happy Mother's Day to moms across the land, but especially mine.  I love you, Mama.

Or He Could Get A Trapper Keeper

Dave's new job, like lots of jobs, requires him to keep track of many different projects.  In the span of one meeting, he might get comments and instruction on 10 different deals.  This is a far cry from the law firm model, where an associate typically go into a meeting for one case only.  In a law firm, you have the luxury of a separate legal pad (so that's why they're called that!) for each case, and grab the right one as you head into any given meeting. 

Dave can't really bring 10 legal pads and flip among them during his multi-project meetings, so he's trying to figure out how to keep his notes on separate projects straight. 

Perhaps it wasn't the most helpful idea, but I suggested he go to a trusty old school Pee Chee folder.

Bonus:  If the legal team is asked to provide arithmetical support, he can refer to the multiplication table on the inside pocket.

He rejected my Pee Chee idea.

I'm not sure what Dave's been doing for notes, actually.  But he's probably appreciate any ideas, if you're willing to share.