See? I Can Post...

Andrew (just scroll down to the M's) gets so upset when I don't post every day that I feel this overwhelming need to write fairly often, and if I don't, Andrew is sure to email me and whine about actually having to work those two minutes a day it would take him to read my Blog. So this boring mass of an entry is dedicated to you, Andrew.

I must admit it is hard to compose something really brilliant to say when your life consists of laundry and grocery shopping and keeping my menopausal mother happy by taking the dogs for a walk at noon and five p.m. each day so she can avoid the humidity like the plague (can anyone say "hot flashes?"). I'm not like Erin, who has something to say about everything. Hell, if it weren't for the fact that the television is on the news at the gym when my lazy arse is on the treadmill at six in the morning, I don't think I'd even know what was going on in my back yard. (Sincerely, I would try to be more involved if I could believe in my heart that the American news media - both television and print - is unbiased and unsensationalistic; I mean really, when did the comings and goings of Brittany Spears become important to CNN?)

In any case, I have no hot topic of conversation to lay out for you. I'm just a boring, boring, BORING woman who just happens to be planning her fourth move in less than a year. The biggest news I've had all week is that one of the temp agencies I've applied at has found me something to do for the next three weeks. At least those few hundred dollars in my bank account will have some friends soon.

I'm not sure I mentioned it, but Anthony and I are also planning on providing my mother with a grandchild - of the four-legged variety anyway. Once we get settled in D.C., we're going to get a Doberman Pinscher pup. The big debate right now is what to name her. Everything we come up with, my mother hates. It's gotten so bad that our conversations sound like this:

"Please don't name her Mathilda. If this is going to be my only grandchild, I don't want to call her Mathilda."

"Mother, why don't you take this up with Anthony? It's HIS dog after all."

"I hate the name Mattie. I'm not calling her Mattie."

"Then call her Tillie."

"Well, Tillie's okay. How about Ida? Or Boobie?" (YES, THE WOMAN SAID BOOBIE.)

[reaches one hand out as if to grab the chest of an over-developed teenage cheerleader] "Yeah, I can just see it now - Boobie, sit! Boobie, stay! Boobie, come here!!! The neighbors will love it."

This of course is followed by another round of dozens of completely inappropriate names. Not that any of you are surprised. This is, after all, the woman who told Kevin over the telephone that she was sprouting nipple hairs - the better for men to floss with, she said! Such a delightful woman. (And now you all know where I came from...)

We are now thinking of names like Anca (which is elvish for "jaws") and Suka (which is Polish for "bitch"). Anthony is not too keen on the latter, but I think his stepdad, who happens to be Polish, will find it highly amusing. And who else will know Polish anyway?

Anyway, it's a lot easier than, "Mathilda, attack balls!" (which is the one command I want my baby girl to have down like a pro - it will come in quite handy while we're traveling the world).

At the same time we get the dog from a breeder, we plan on adopting a kitty from an animal shelter. I've been cruising the net for humane societies in the D.C. area and have decided that it is going to be very difficult for me not to adopt a handful of kitties while I'm there! Anthony insists on a kitten, but how can your heart not go out to the older kitties who are considered special needs because no one wants to adopt an older pet - everyone just wants the flashy, new model! There was a Petco in NYC that had kitties in cages at the front of the store, on loan from a local humane society, and I fell in love with this great one-eyed cat. Really, how can you not want to open up your home to a little furry creature that has no other hope? It's like starving Somali babies, really. Except that animals don't have a choice, like humans do. Domesticated animals rely on us for food, water, shelter, and love. They have been bred to live in houses, not street corners. They need us to make the decision to spade and neuter, and not to get rid of them just because we're moving or don't want to deal with a pet anymore.

In any case, it's just terrible. And I'm going to want to adopt a whole HOUSEFUL of kitties, Mr. Anthony. Here's to beating him down with my arguments.

Other items up for discussion: travel. Two exciting tidbits lately, one being Las Vegas and one being Russia. Although I don't find Las Vegas even remotely interesting in and of itself, the fact that about 8 of my friends from college may all be heading out there this November to crash and burn makes it all that much more appealing. It's one of those East meets West kind of thing, although it's nowhere near the middle. With any kind of luck, I'll be employed in D.C. by then and be able to afford to travel with my agent, one Ms. Mel, and all the other East-coasters. Only time will tell.

As for Russia, my mom's friend Denis, who is a Russian by birth, recently got married and coincidentally got his greencard. Which means he can visit home again and host another ceremony in Moscow with his family in attendance. Which means that my mom and I can crash the party. YAY! We expect the bride to be making her plans for sometime next spring or summer and will be relentless in our pursuit of an invitation. You'll have to stay tuned to see if this one pans out.

Other than that, I am still waking up at 5:30AM to hit the gym and wishing that the construction workers at my mom's housing community would stop staring at me like they'd never seen a walking vagina before (one of the supervisors stopped by the house yesterday to check our vents and my mother felt the need to be my bodyguard and stand between him and I for his entire visit - I am highly amused, as if he didn't actually have five grandchildren, and as if I haven't been trained to kill any man who tries any of that funny business with me!) .