Apollo

When he was a young'un, he loved people so much that he would do anything he could to get near them for pets. I remember coming home with a wrenched shoulder several times because he'd yank me - once, literally off my feet - when he saw someone walking nearby. I tried to anticipate it by wrapping the leash around my back and holding it in both hands, but that resulted in me being spun like a top.

As far as Apollo is concerned, people were put on earth to play with him, to give him bellyrubs and to babytalk him. It was his god-given right to go up to each and every one so they could endow this attention on him.

Somewhere along the way, it clicked in his little head that maybe it really wasn't a good idea to yank his poor foodlady becuase it made her kinda grumpy. I'd say roughly about a year or so ago - he's five now. Now, nine out of ten times, when we go walking, he will just look at anyone outside hopefully with those big ol' brown eyes and an eager wag of tail. If the person looks like she or he would like to pet him and if I'm not in a hurry, I'll stop and let Apollo let people give him loving.

The exception to this, however, seems to be people in uniforms. Back east, cops, mailmen, UPS delivery guys, etc would almost always stop to give him some TLC - and often, they would produce a hidden biscuit or treat to give to Apollo.

Because encounters with them are infrequent, I haven't been able to teach Apollo to ignore them unless I OKay it. Which brings me to yesterday's...we shall call it The Incident.

My apartment complex has a particular mailman that comes pretty regularly. He is the only mailman I've met that is actually afraid of dogs. Because of his fear, and because he's a nice old guy, I try to avoid going to the mailbox with Apollo when he's putting mail in the boxes.

Yesterday, while returning from a walk with Apollo, I noticed that he was in the back room, doing whatever it is mailmen do back there, so I figured it was okay for me to quickly check the mail.

When I had the mailbox door open, the mailman came out from the back room. Apollo saw him, and eagerly started toward him, tail wagging. The mailman squeaked (seriously - it was loud enough I heard that), and ducked back into the back room. Apollo tried to follow.

When I go walking with Apollo, I carry my apartment keys on a carabiner, which is in turn attached to the leash. Yesterday, the mailbox key was in the lock, the keys were still attached to the carabiner, which was still attached to the leash. And when Apollo tried to follow the mailman...

I now have a bent mail key and stretched out keyring.

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Meeting the neighbors

I'm slowly starting to meet my neighbors. A pair, across the hall, plays music constantly and seem like fun guys to hang out with. What really takes the cake, though, is the guy upstairs above me.

I'd seen him a couple times since I moved in, but didn't introduce myself until today. Let me just preface this by saying, this is one interesting man.

I ran outside to grab a desk that someone was tossing out, and a man in army uniform stops me. I didn't recognize him at first because I hadn't seen him in uniform before. He smiles, asks me if that *points* is my car, did I just move here. And I answer affirmative and introduce myself.

"I'm James..." and then he started chattering at me at 90 mph. About then, I notice his gorgeous hazel-green eyes. That was distracting too. I had to stop him and ask him to slow down a bit, explaining, "I'm deaf."

Next thing I catch, he's offering to pray for me. I'm not into that, but I'm not about to tell someone about my religious beliefs (or lack of), and tell him that's okay, that I appreciate it. "Now," he adds.

"Now?"

"Yes." And still talking very fast, I manage to figure figure out that he wants me to hold his hands out, and curious, I do so. First he put his hands a couple inches above mine, and starts murmuring - praying - then he reaches out with his hands near my ears. Then (I swear, I'm not making this up) he walks around me, still praying.

When he finishes, he asks, "Can you hear any better?"

"No..."

"Well, give it 24 hours. You'll be able to hear better by tomorrow."

"OK, I'll let you know."

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Uck! Uck!

Coming home on train today, it was a little crowded - but not packed-like-sardines crowded - and I had to stand. No big deal. Bored, I looked around at the people on train, and noticed one guy sitting in one of the rows picking his nose.

No, it wasn't a shallow little scrape. The fine, upstanding gentleman was digging away with his finger up his nose, up to the first knuckle. I watched in horror as the side of his nose stretched and bulged; it reminded me of the scene from Total Recall where Arnie had to pull out a tracking device through his nose.

Then he pulled his finger out. "Good," I thought. A moment too soon. He examined his bounty, then reached out and wiped his finger clean on a woman's bulky jacket collar in front of him.

Say it with me. Uck! Uck!

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Toilet Mystery

My toilet broke - again. It was leaking into the basement. I contacted the Landlords and the husband came over to check it out Sunday. It's the seal - again. He didn't want to go out to get the parts to fix it and come back same day (grr), so he said he'd be over either Monday or Tuesday night. Fine, I said. We have a spare bathroom.

The spare bathroom - my roommates' - is disgusting. I don't like using it unless I can't help it. Monday morning, went in there to do my, y'know, thing, and then puttered around the house, getting ready for work.

Last night, came home, felt the call of the nature hit and walked into the bathroom.

The toilet seat was up.

Roommate hasn't been home. Landlord hasn't been over yet, that I know of. I'm a chick, I wouldn't leave the seat up. Nothing else has been disturbed. No intruders. So, I ask you, intrepid readers...who put the seat up?

“How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?” - Sherlock Holmes, Sign of the Four.

My money is on the landlord. Or the mice.

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Open Letters

Dear A-hole Driver,

I'm sure your SUV gives you a false sense of security, but believe me, just because you can't see me while passing me does not mean I, in my little Civic Coupe, disappeared. You came literally within an arm's length of my car. I could have reached out my window and touched your door. With ease. When I honked, you swerved back into your lane. Then, I saw your hand emerge into the window frame, giving me the one-finger salute.

I'm not sure what I did or didn't do to merit that. Did I honk too long? I promise you, it was just a tap. Should've slowed down for your highness? I'll wonder until my dying day.

Such class!
Jen
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Dear A-hole Drive Numero Dos,

I was tooling along in the left lane, passing a number of tightly packed cars, at a more-than-respectable *cough* pace. Most of the other cars were going somewhere between 65, the posted speed limit, and 70. I'm not the sort of person who can sit comfortably behind a long line of cars and decided to pass them, and did so at a fairly good clip (yet not speeding excessively). You, A-hole Dos in an ugly sedan, came from behind and started tailgating me. You were clearly unhappy that I was not going fast enough.

Well, sir, I'm sorry, but as long as I'm going fast enough to pass cars, that's fast enough. When I was able to, I did change into the right lane. And while passing me, you looked directly at me, flipped a bird, and mouthed to me, "Read between the lines!"

I have to quote Monty Python here. "I do not think it means what you think it means."

When you realized I was laughing hysterically at you, you spewed a few choice, four-lettered words and gestured wildly before speeding off at, I'd hazard to guess, about 90 mph.

Such class!
Jen
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Dear Apollo,

I'm delighted that you had a grand ol' time today. You got to run around off-leash for a bit, and even went wading into a shallow part of the river. But, darling, when you do that, please check and make sure you can feel the bottom before plunging into a muddy part of the river. You gave your mistress a heart attack when you plunged into a sinkhole. I was about a half-dozen steps into the river when you managed to scramble out, none for worse.

Apollo, one of these days, whether you like it or not, I will make you learn how to swim! For the peace of my mind.

Lots of love,
Jen

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Dear Coworker,
I'm glad that you thought Swallow Falls, MD was a gorgeous, wonderful, magical place to be. But, please, refrain from exaggerating. I came here expecting a cousin of Niagara Falls, and was sorely disappointed. One dinky little waterfall (but very pretty) and another dinkier little waterfall (somewhat pretty) does not equate "majestic."

Note to self: Next time, research the site before driving 7 hours round-trip.

Apollo has a blast though!
Jen

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The cowardly lion

Apollo is precious and holds a place in my heart. I love him, he's my big baby. But I can laugh at him. And do so often.

A couple nights ago, we went out for a walk. On our way back in, we passed the little garden in my front yard that's always humming with bumblebees - there's some plants in there that they love. When we got in the house, Apollo started to give me funny looks over his shoulder.

I noticed, but didn't think much of it. I thought he was just being silly, as he sometimes is. Then, in my bedroom, he stared at my pants intently. Definitely something up. I looked down, and saw a fat ol' bumblebee hanging onto my pants. It probably had been buzzing away all along. I looked back up to find a container to trap the bee in it, and where was Apollo?

Standing on my bed, as far away as he could get from me, with a look of horror on his face. (No, I'm not anthropomorphizing Apollo - he really did look scared.)

Snickering, I found a glass and trapped the bee in it - and checked to see if it was the stinging type - it wasn't. I tried to show it to Apollo, but he just ran to the other side of the room. My big ol' dog who sleeps through thunderstorms is scared of a fat bumblebee.

He's also afraid of cats. There're a couple outdoor cats who Apollo loves tug at the leash, bounce around and bark and bark with bravoism every time we spot them, but if they venture too close or hiss at him, where is he?

Behind me. Yep, he's my cowardly lion.

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Late Night Booty Call of Different Ilk

Apollo has something of a foot fetish. If he sees bare toes, he'll sometimes try to give them a tongue-bath. I have no idea why - it can't taste too good. I'll admit, I do let him go at them (and wash them afterwards) once in awhile, but not often. It feels too weird.

At some point last night, I had rolled onto my stomach and my feet were hanging over the edge of the bed. Once asleep, I'm very hard to wake. At some point in the night, I felt something wet slowly, stealthily slurp the sole of my foot. That weird sensation woke me up out of sound asleep. I jerked my foot away and turned to look at Apollo who was laying at the foot of bed. He grinned at me and wagged his tail a few times, looking pleased with himself.

Dork.

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Storytime

In yesterday's blog, I wrote "May you have all the luck in the world!"

That reminded me of a particular time when my car, my old Audi, broke down. It happened about two years ago and probably was one of the worst breakdowns I ever had. It's a good example of what that blessing is all about. Here's what happened.

It was a cold, wet day and I'd gone down to D.C. for a job interview and to visit a friend. When I decided to leave, my car had trouble starting so my friend pulled out a portable jump-starter and we got my car going. Thinking that the problem was probably just the rain -- my car had a history of being hard to start in wet weather -- I proceeded to drive home. The engine sounded rough, but it was running. I figured I'd just try keep my foot on the gas and drive straight to the auto shop when I got home. About 45 minutes later, I ran into some traffic...there was an accident up ahead.

I remember considering briefly to pull over and wait for the traffic to clear, but decided to stick it out. The traffic slowed to a stop. I had to slow to idle...And my car died. Shit. I was at the midpoint of my trip - nowhere near home, and my friend was almost an hour behind me.

I hit the emergency light button, got out and started looking for someone with a portable jumper. Luckily someone was willing to help out, and we got my car restarted. Just then, the traffic was starting to move and I hopped back in. At this point, I knew something was very wrong with the car. I didn't think I'd make it to the next exit, but was hoping I could keep the car from dying if I could keep my foot on the gas. The technique worked until a few minutes later, when the traffic slowed again to a stop. The car died. Again.

To make matters worse, I'd forgotten the car charger for my pager, and the battery had died too (great timing), which meant I couldn't use the AIM relay to call someone.

Out of the car into the freezing rain, I ran around asking if anyone'd help me move the car off the road onto the left shoulder and call the AAA for a tow. Luckily, a good samaritian was willing to help out and we pushed the steel car onto the shoulder.

After an hour of waiting, the tow truck finally came and he tried to start my car, and declared what I already suspected: It's the battery. Off we went to Autozone, and when we arrived, much to my dismay, it was closed. I asked the guy to take me to the Pep Boys that we'd passed on the way. We arrived just before 8 o'clock, and I ran inside and asked for a battery. Eighty bucks later, I had a battery for my car. Then the cashier asked me, "Do you have the tools to install this?"

My stunned reply: "It doesn't snap in?" I really thought it was like regular battery...just pop it in, snap it in place, and lo and behold, I had a working car. No such luck. Shit. And they were closing at eight -- we were in a tiny town and apparently noone was open past eight or nine.

The cashier told me to go auto repair section and see if anyone was still there. Luckily there was one mechanic still there, cleaning up. "Please please help!"

I could see him hesitate. "Look, I'll give you twenty bucks if you help me. It's all I have in cash right now. If you don't help, I'll be stuck sleeping in the car until the store opens in the morning. I have noone near me. Everyone I know is either in Harrisburg or in DC."

"Ok ok," he grudgingly agreed. And fifteen minutes later, he had installed the battery and refused to take my money. The car started just fine and although it was still rough, it wasn't stalling and dying whenever it idled.

Looking back, I was pretty lucky. If I had passed that midpoint and the car died before I got to Harrisburg, I'd be much worse off. There's a long stretch of highway where there are very few towns or any traffic at all. It would've been long wait for help and a long, expensive tow.

Luck was on my side; I was both lucky and unlucky that day.

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Storytime: Humongous Bird Shit

Another college story. Thanks to KR for reminding me. This story is best told when both KR and I are present because we help each others fill in the gaps in these stories. I'll do my best here in the blog, however.

This took place during the summer I stayed with KR and three other women in the tiny two-bedroom townhouse on the campus. Five women total living in a dump. Fun times.

KR and I were headed out one late morning to, I think, get taco bell for lunch -- we were dirt broke, and they had cheap eats. We walked from our townhouse toward the parking lot, chatting along, when I spotted something weird on my car. At the time, I had an old, ugly Audi that I loved, and it was normally a pretty shade of faded gray-blue.

Here's a crude drawing to illustrate it.

I ran to my car, and much to my horror, there was white stuff on the poor car. WTF? A whiff determined that it was indeed bird shit. I don't think it's easy to explain in text (or verbally) without somehow illustrating just how big this shit was. In person, this is accompanied by a fishing-story style gesture..."It was this big!" So, I'll help you.

Here's a crude drawing to illustrate it.

Some mysterious bird indeed shit on my car...and it was so enormous that it splattered all over the hood and the windshield. KR normally chimes in here; she usually says something like, "My jeep just happened to be parked next to her car that day. I ran to it to see if the bird shit splattered onto it!" accompanied by hysterical giggles. At first, we thought maybe a horde of birds had targeted the cars in the area, but all the nearby cars were fine, including KR's.

I was so pissed that my first instinct was to wash the shit off the car. Which I did. It had pretty much dried up, but the splatter suggested...that the bird had runs? I don't know.

I wish I hadn't been so impulsive to wash the car off, and took a picture first. Years later, KR and I still speculate on the source of this mysterious, humongous shit. Was it a really big bird? Did the said bird have runs? What kind of bird could create this much shit in one go??

I don't think Nancy Drew would want to solve this one.

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A Snippet of Writings

I have nothing to say...

So here's an old story I wrote a couple years ago. It's a Short Short Short Story - Less than 500 words.

"That brat" was a five-year-old little boy so full of mischief, temper, and trouble that he seemed to bring chaos everywhere he trotted. Unearthly-loud wails and howls for sweet candies and shiny toys escaped his small pair of lungs from dawn until dusk. Left to his own devices, he played pranks, sure to humiliate even the most cautious, stoic adult. The hateful refrain was oft heard in the aftermath of his presence, "Brat!" "That brat!" "Awful brat!" Even his poor haggard mother snarled, "Brat!" whenever her son caused havoc.

Somewhere in his precious heart resided a yearning for a kind word and love. At the end of the day, he crawled into his mother's lap and thrust a small bouquet of ragged daisies into her face. Her heart softening, she hugged him, kissed him, and told him, "Brat you may be, but you are my brat." Meanwhile, in the distance, someone can be heard uttering, "That brat!" upon discovering a ravaged garden.

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I. Am. Tired. Of. Reading!

Yes, I know - I'm conflicting myself by writing a post...but after reading the same six pages about a hundred times today to copyedit, I'm tired of reading!

Short (boring?) storytime.

I was thinking about my family because of the upcoming Christmas and also, one of my cousins is getting married at end of the month. She's a good kid (at least, she was when she was younger), but we've never been close. Anyway, thinking about her got me to thinking about my other cousins. One of them, an older cousin, had twins when I was about nine or so, which was a remarkable event at the time. We never had twins in our family, as far as we know, and that was absolutely fascinating to me at nine(?) years old.

For some reason, I got it into my head that twins' names had to rhyme. And I wanted twins badly because it was so, you know, awesome! So I proudly told my family that when I grew up, I would have twins and they would be named....





Wait for it.








Harry and Larry.




My family still tease me about this. Nevermind that I don't want kids now.

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Storytime

I always start reminiscing around Christmas. I'm sure I'm not the only one. But I can't remember any funny stories from when my sibs and I were younger right now. I need my siblings' help with that.

I do have a few college stories that I love to tell. A good chunk of my friends have heard these, probably because KR was there for some of them and she always prods me into telling the stories.

One of our favorites: The Jehovah Witness Story.

My sophomore year, I decided to stay up at my college and take a couple classes to try catch up with my major -- I had changed majors in middle of my freshman year, and wanted to graduate with my class. I decided to stay with a few five girls that I knew through my sorority, one of whom I had known for a long time. They had a two bedroom townhouse which was, frankly, a dump. Three girls (KR and two others) shared the bedrooms, while the remaining two - including myself - slept in the living room on the couches. As you can imagine, that was awkward at times. But I counted myself lucky...the townhouse had no air conditioning and the upstairs was always boiling hot.

Throughout the summer, we heard about a group of Jehovah Witnesses who knew sign and were wandering around the apartment complex, looking for people. They never knocked on our door until one Saturday morning in August.

It was pretty hot that day, and I was trying to sleep in. KR was hanging out on the other couch, watching TV. I remember she woke me, and said/signed, "Jenny! The Jehovah Witnesses want to talk to you!"

Still half asleep, "What?"

"They came an hour ago, and I told them you were sleeping and to come back later."

"Huh? Why didn't you just tell them to go away?"

I'm a little fuzzy on our conversation but I think she said she was nervous and didn't want to upset them.

"Uh, okay..."

Sure enough, about 10 or 15 minutes later, they started knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell. We sat there in the dark, hoping they'd take the hint and go away...But the walls were thin and they probably heard our giggles.

Finally, after about 10 minutes - yes, ten, we watched the clock, I had enough. I got up, went into the bathroom with my blanket, took my top off and wrapped the blanket around me to make it look like I was naked. Teehee. Remember, I had just woken up and my hair was a mess.

I marched to the door, swung it open and glared at the three women standing outside. "What!?"

Their eyes practically popped out and they all gaped at me.

"We wanted to talk to you about..." one of them managed to say in sign.

I interrupted and snapped, both in sign and verbally, "I'm busy!"

One of them retorted, "I can see that."

"Well, don't come back!" And I slammed the door. KR was laughing hysterically.

And that was the last time we ever saw these women. Very effective!

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