Bad mommy

Anthony and I are enablers.

Grace just got the news that she has to undergo orthopedic surgery next week because we didn’t keep her calm enough during the healing process. Her little hind leg is swelling and the bone is healing crooked. I am confident that all the jumping, stair-climbing, and walking/running she has done in the weeks since that naughty horse broke her leg is the primary reason for such a piss-poor healing process.

Granted, it is hard to keep an energetic dog down, but we have decided that the following measures may work:

a. Never ever leave home until she is healed. No work, no school, no walking out to the fire escape to water the plants. This should keep her from having to greet us with all that excited moaning and her famed (and enthusiastic) jackknife kick to the crotch.

b. Keep the conehead on 24/7. Mom, if you remember what that sweater did to Pookie, you will know exactly how Grace acts with the plastic guard on her head. The only difference is that Grace’s conehead is heart-breaking. (Except when she does that whole walking-into-walls thing – now that’s funny.)

c. Hook Grace up to a pee bag. Akoua has her red pee bucket (can I get a “Woot Woot!” for the Peace Corps?) and now Grace can have her own catheter. This should prevent us from having to confront the stairs or walking or running at potty time.

d. In lieu of the conehead but in collaboration with the catheter, strap Grace down to the bed and commence total belly rubbing for hours on end. So long as Animal Control doesn’t hear about this, we should be totally set.

e. When all else fails, dope her.

Grace zero, horse one

What with the whole grad school semester starting and all, I have failed to inform you of the lastest trials and tribulations of dog ownership. Last weekend, my dearest, darlingest, Grace(less) traveled with Anthony to the mountains in the North of North Carolina where his friend Doug's family owns an one-hundred acre farm. Being the city dog that she is, she gets such a kick out of wide open fields and all the grass she can roll around on.

But then, THEN!, Grace discovered the three horses that roam the farm, keeping the grass low (seriously folks, the horses have no other reason for living; No one rides them or gawks at them or nothin'). So she jumped four feet off the ground adn through the barbed wire fence (she has the cuts and scrapes to prove it) to investigate. And she went nuts, zipping through their legs, biting at their hooves, carving out donuts around them. Anthony tries calling her, but she doesn't listen. He takes out his gun and shoots three shots into the ground, in a mad attempt to scare off the horse or get Grace's attention. It doesn't work.

Of course, the horses don't much like this pesky little dog so they start kicking at her. Grace dodges, she weaves, she misses a couple dozen kicks.

But not that last one. No, she got stuck in the corner of the fence, with nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, and that thousand pound beast made contact with Grace's back left leg, fracturing it in several places and throwing her about fifteen feet in the process. Our little pup jumps back up to chase the horse again but quickly realizes that she cannot put any weight on her back leg and falls over. She begins that heart-rending whimper that breaks the heart of all animal lovers.

Needless to say, it took all of Anthony's self-control not to shoot the horse in the face - after all, Grace is daddy's little girl (any of you who have seen how they act around each other can testify to that). He and Doug rushed her to the vet hospital and they bandaged her up. They take x-rays to prove that she has no internal bleeding and wrap her in those adorably pastel wrappings you seen in the picture above.

I have spent the last week trying to keep Grace resting - which is tough for a pup that likes to run and play. Our vet here in DC gave us more pain meds that are supposed to help both with the pain and with the extra energy - they are supposed to make her a little drowsy. I feel bad for her, but she is already bouncing back, bounding up stairs at breakneck speeds and jumping all over the neighbors. If it weren't for the cast, you wouldn't know she had been hurt.

The worst part of the whole incident is the plastic guard the vet gave me to put on her when I am not around. Grace doesn't much like the cast so she tears all the gauze out when I am not looking. Which means that she gets to be a miserable little conehead when I am not home. (I have to admit that in the deepest, darkest corners of my coal black heart, I find the conehead look highly amusing.) If I remember, I may take a picture of Grace's haute conehead look and post it.

In the meantime, Anthony returns from his last trip with the Detail tomorrow. He has spent Grace's first week of recuperation in Hawaii (the bastard!) and starts training for his Peru post in a couple of weeks. He will be stateside for the next ten months or so, which means that I now have a really sexy cook, maid, chauffer, and dog-walker to take care of the little things around the house while I focus on my graduate studies. It is good to be me - starting tomorrow.

Comcast redux

I nearly forgot to tell you the end of the Comcast saga. To review, Comcast’s unbeatable service included sending the wrong guy to work on a customized job, two no-shows, one late guy, and then finally some technician from the Customized Job Office (as I like to call it) showed up. He was in the condo for all of five and a half seconds before declaring to Anthony that the job would be no problem.
Then, said technician departed. He was only authorized to authorize the job.

So then we make another appointment and we start the cycle of Customer Service Hell (I think that’s the official title) all over again. The first guy is late but we had already left, the second guy showed up but didn’t call me (and I was home), then Comcast refused to deal with me because Anthony and I don’t have the same last name and he’s the main contact on the account, then Anthony did a little higher-management ass-kicking, somehow my name became the primary contact information for the account (I got a really great phone call when I was on vacation in Portland at 6AM to confirm that Comcast was scheduled to be at the house sometime between 1PM and 4PM), and then FINALLY two more technicians showed up.

Let’s take a little break here to take stock of the situation: there were eight, count ‘em, EIGHT, appointments made with Comcast to fish some wire through my wall and cut out a hole for a new outlet. Please keep that in mind as…

The two technicians begin to explain to me the work that goes into putting a cable outlet in a new wall, “See, we cut these holes in the wall and…well, there are these pieces of wood at regular intervals both horizontally and vertically….” Me: “Those are called studs, yes.” (Please insert the amount of sarcasm you have come to know and love from me.) “Yes, well, we have to drill holes through them so the wires can be fished through, from this wall, to this wall.” Me: “Yes…?” “You understand that we don’t patch the holes we’d have to create in the wall either…” The look on my face said clearly, “Do go on” (in my best Jon Stewart imitation of course). “Well, this job is actually too customized for us. Comcast does not authorize this kind of work.”

You can imagine my disappointment.

When Anthony got home and verbally abused Comcast again, they gave us a whole $50 for our troubles. Because that totally makes up for it.

Now we’re back to the whole problem of getting DC contractors to return our phone calls. We have the number for a reliable audio-visual guy who charges reasonable rates. If you can get him to show up. So it’s off to play slap-and-tickle with another company so we can eventually set up our 40” television where I’m no longer sitting three feet away from the screen and getting motion sickness every time I pop in my next Netflix movie.

Atención!

Mi novio, Anthony, recibe una noticia que le dice que va a ir a Lima, Peru! Vamos a ir a Lima en abril o mayo 2008. Invitamos todos de nuestros amigos y familia a visitar nosotros!!!

(There is clearly room for improvement with my Spanish and I will definitely be working on it over the next few months!)

Three days in Seattle

Our time in Seattle was short-lived. I wish I could say I was more awake for it, but I had spent such long days in Portland, walking and hiking and walking some more, that I was quite worn out by the time we arrived at the Amtrak station a good thirty to forty minutes after we were expected.

Michelle and Tom picked us up and dropped us off at the Green Tortoise Hostel. It was incredibly nice of them to chauffer us around, but I'm afraid I was so out of it that I didn't thank them a quarter as much as they deserved. Especially considering that Tom had been in Seattle for six weeks and was going to spend his first weekend off listening to our inane prattle and trying to ignore our silly suggestions (such as donning a tea cozy a la Dobby in the Harry Potter series or stopping at the Kwik E Mart so we could investigate whether or not Apu was working behind the counter).

My body had not yet adjusted to the vigors of the Northwest coast so I was also beginning a low level sinus infection that weekend. Boy, was I ever LAME. (Although not quite as lame as the kid who sat diagonally from us on the train for the five hour ride from Portland to Seattle. When we were getting off the train, he was regaling his seat partner about an invention of his that would suck all the oxygen out of the earth's atmosphere. All he said he needed was about $10 million in government funding. Yes, he was totally serious. And no, I don't think he knew the guy sitting next to him. But the seats on the train were assigned and that poor guy just couldn't get away – he was assigned to the window seat.)

Our first night in Seattle offered us all the comparison we needed to differentiate it from Portland. I've been told that Portland is exactly like Seattle was about 10-15 years ago but it is hard to imagine that much transformation in so little a period of time. Portland is extremely quiet. Most of the stores and cafes close down by 6PM every night. There were never a lot of people out on the streets, whether it was a Saturday night or a Tuesday morning, and, unless you staid downtown, many of the storefronts were vacant. Although I am willing to concede that we may have missed some of the more vibrant corners of Portland, none of these descriptions even begin to apply to Seattle.

Seattle is far more cosmopolitan. The streets pulsed with the bustle and movement of people, something I've grown accustomed to associating with city streets. On the Thursday night we arrived, the sidewalks were still full of young twenty- and thirty-somethings, all dressed up for a night at the local club, bar, or restaurant. There were also the requisite homeless people (largely gathered in the waterfront park at the north end of Pike's Place Market) and gobs of tourists.

We quickly caught sight of what appeared to be a fire dancer, entertaining a crowd on a rooftop deck a block or two away from the water and tracked him down to The Pink Door, an interesting blend of Italian restaurant and cabaret. It turned out that the night's entertainment was a juggler (apparently he juggles fire), but The Pink Door is renowned for its trapeze artists that swing above the diners. The restaurant gave me more of a sense of a circus than a cabaret, but that was probably due to the juggler and the staff member who looked like one of those old-time circus strong men. As a contrast, the bar staff was dressed up in their best Tour de France uniforms.

Martha and I ordered some tea and coffee to help us stay awake long enough to enjoy our first few hours in Washington. Two seats down the juggler kept at his whiskey, occasionally moving to another part of the restaurant or deck to perform.

Eventually we wandered back to the hostel, window-shopping all the way. We saw a good number of the Pigs on Parade during our travels and probably dreamed sweet dreams of happy cow-pigs or bumble-pigs or even bronze pigs…

Our Friday in Seattle was actually spent in Snoqualmie and North Bend, WA. After rudely awakening Michelle (and probably Tom), we drove out to the Salish Lodge for breakfast. The food was quite filling and totally necessary for the day we had planned. I ate the Railroad Avenue; Martha, who was apparently on a eat-anything-that-looks-like-oats diet all week, got the Bircher-Brenner Muësli; and Michelle got the Dungeness Crab Almaviva. If I remember correctly, I did eat off of everyone's plate and therefore can fully recommend the Lodge to any passersby who are looking for a good meal. It's a bit pricey, but you can easily fill up your hollow leg with the size of their meals.

To keep from falling into a sweet, sweet nap, we went on a quick, one-mile hike across the street from the Lodge. We sort of pretended it was a warm-up for what lay ahead. Although what lay ahead did not have quite so many banana slugs.

The big event of the day was our 8-mile roundtrip Mount Si hike, also known as Twin Peaks as per that 1990s television show. I can't even begin to tell you how exhausting that was. Martha claimed to be really slow so we let her lead us up. But by "lead us up," I mean that she sprinted up, leaving me to slowly amble my gasping way to the top. I brought up the rear with such panache.

The hike was beautiful, of course. At the top, we experienced clear skies and an excellent view of Mount Rainier along with other mountains in the Cascades. We even glimpsed a forbidden-city-in-the-sky view of downtown Seattle. But mostly, we congratulated ourselves on surviving the hike and celebrated with a round of dried fruit.

The trek back was long, painful, and led by a nearly sprinting Michelle. Guess who lagged behind...again? That would be me, the sole reason it took us five hours from start to finish. If Martha or Michelle had their way - i.e. kept their pace - it probably would only have taken three and a half hours.

Our victory dinner was at Twede's, also apparently made famous by Twin Peaks. It was the only time all week that I saw Martha do anything so unhealthy - she ate a burger AND a sundae!

Saturday was spent mostly wandering around. Other than the Market, I can't tell you all the places I've been! Tom chauffered us everywhere (including the flagship REI which, incidentally, has a little coffee cart set up outside where you can get the most amazing Toffeefay ever!) like the good little boyfriend of Michelle's that he is. I hardly knew where we were half of the time.

Before I knew it, Sunday arrived and our last moments together were spent at the Crumpet Shoppe, Martha chowing down on her groats and me scarfing all the crumpets I could find...

On stalking Martha...

As many of you already know, I vacationed in the Northwest in July. I flew to Portland, Oregon to experience an increasingly rare thing: time with Martha. For those of you who don't know who Martha is, the explanation is simple: Martha was one of my famed roommates from the University of Pennsylvania and, more importantly, one of my closest friends. After obtaining her undergraduate degree in Spanish from Penn and her masters in Spanish from UVA, she is going to attend the University of St. Louis for her second bachelors degree: a BSN. However, it's not really St. Louis she's after; she will spend the next two years in Madrid, working towards her nursing degree at St. Louis University's sister school. When she completes her schooling, she will be licensed to practice in both the U.S. and the E.U.

With all these accomplishments under her belt, it's really no wonder why I would stalk Martha to the far Northwest reaches of the States. Since she was traveling to Portland for an oncology massage class, it made perfect sense for me to climb into her suitcase and travel with her. (Boy, was she ever surprised to see that, instead of clothes, she had only packed me! Talk about taking stalking to a whole new level!!!)

Anyway, I was on the ground in Portland for about six days and six nights. My first night in the city gave me an awful first impression that thankfully did not hold true for the rest of my stay. I arrived at my hostel to discover that they had mistakenly booked me for Saturday night instead of Friday night. As it was already late at night, I booked at the hotel where Martha and I would be staying for the rest of the week for an ungodly rate. The cab driver thought I took the upset quite well (surprisingly well, one could say) so you'll have to take his word on the matter. I managed to smile and partake of pleasant conversation even while being royally screwed. I think they call that "poise" in the pageant circuit.

The next morning did not start any better when I realized that they had canceled Martha's week-long reservation when they booked my room the night before. It took some work, and a little bit of Martha's happiness, but in the end, things got sorted out.

Most of the week was spent as an individual tourist, as Martha's class lasted from about 9AM to 5PM every day. My days were spent in pursuit of all things uniquely Portland, while my nights were spent hanging out with Martha and experiencing the culinary delights of this foodies' haven.

If you ever make it out to Portland, here is a nice convenient list of my impressions, recommendations, suggestions, and thoughts, served up Andrew-style (aka in numbered format):

1. Places worth the visit: International Rose Test Garden; Japanese Garden; Colombia River Gorge (even if, like me, you manage to accidentally delete all your pictures); Pioneer Square (just randomly visit at different times of day to see what the city's residents are up to – I managed to catch a transvestite show one day); Saturday Market; Powell's bookstore (basically, heaven on earth for the literate); Chinese Garden.
2. Places not so worth the visit: Marquam State Park; the OHSU air tram; walking along the waterfront; getting a pedicure at Spa Sasse (can I say "Ow!"??? The pedicurist tried to treat my toes like a wishbone! Not relaxing at all…); every single coffee shop and café that closed their doors by 6PM.

3. Dining experiences that make Portland a culinary destination: Mother's Bistro (my all-time favorite); Half and Half; Sin Ju; Fratelli; Tea Chai Te; Pazzo's; and Mio Gelato. I am convinced there are more, but there was only so much I could eat in six days! (And, seeing as I spent at least one meal a day at Mom's (read: Mother's Bistro), there weren't a lot of places I tried.)
4. Dining experiences to avoid: even though we only tried dessert and coffee here, Martha refused to drink both the tea and coffee she ordered. My profiterole was only middling. This does not bode well for such an expensive place, supposedly renowned for its quality Northwest cuisine. The Heathman Bar and Restaurant wins the Tastes Like Butt award.
5. Random commentary: If at all possible, do not walk around Chinatown or Skidmore. The only reason to be in either of these places is to see the Chinese Garden or to experience the jeering and come-ons of homeless people. Although, if you are with Martha, it IS worth it. Then you get to watch as the jet-propulsion engine that is apparently stowed in her butt comes to life and she zooms across the street and down the block before you can say, "Scary homeless person!"
6. Totally necessary comment on the weather: The weather in July is absolutely exquisite. There really is no other word for it. Temperatures top out in the mid-eighties, but there is no humidity and you can comfortably wear a long-sleeve shirt all day. I returned home to 100+ degree weather, where the air had a viscous quality to it and immediately began planning my life out in the Northwest. If there is any weather condition that makes life unbearable, it's humidity.
7. The people: two things about Portland's population immediately jump out at you. First, there is a disproportionate amount of homeless people on the streets. The appeal of Portland is its temperate weather and the number of services it offers the poor and homeless. The city therefore attracts a lot of young runaways and older homeless people. Since there aren't a lot of people out on the streets at any given time of day, the homeless population becomes quite conspicuous. The second generalization about Portland's people that I could make very easily is that the city appears to attract a lot of society's outsiders. There are a significant amount of goth kids, heavily tattooed and pierced people, and grunge kids loitering about the streets. You leave the city with the impression that much of the rebellious fads pursued by teens in the 1990s never quite died out with the new millennium. A little less obvious, but still quite prevalent is the attitude of the people of Portland. They can be very Southern. By that I mean that asking a simple yes or no question will never give you a simple yes or no answer. Northwesterners are more likely to give you their life story before even getting around to your question. So be prepared for incredibly friendly people to chat, and chat, and chat, and…

If anything could burn in hell, Comcast would

I have five reasons to loathe Comcast now:
1) Their low-wage customer service employee processed the wrong work order and sent the wrong guy to the condo for the first appointment;
2) The second Comcast service dude did not show up;
3) The third Comcast service dude did not show up;
4) The only thing Comcast could do to make up to us for all this crappy service was to offer us a $40 credit on our bill, despite the fact that we cut out of work for at least a combined eight hours. My time off of work is worth well over $40;
5) The fourth Comcast service dude did show up, but called Anthony’s cell phone to be let inside. Anthony was in Ghana. Needless to say, he did not answer. So I cut out of work early yet again for no reason. And then I called to complain and they told me they could not help me because I am not an authorized user of the account.

My loathing of Comcast is growing in leaps and bounds.

And what, pray tell, do I want them to do? Anthony and I paid a contractor to build a nice flat wall in our condo just so we could hook up our t.v. and other electronics right there. So we need a cable wall plate installed. That’s it. I would imagine it might take someone two hours to finish said job, if s/he were to patch up all the holes in the wall that would be needed to move the wires. Yet Comcast insists on two visits – the first to conduct a survey of the work needed to be done, and the second to actually do it. And we can’t even get the surveyor to appear.

Grumble, grumble.