Sunday, August 31, 2003

Okay, apparently, I am like, the only person on the planet who thought My Boss's Daughter was good. The reviews have been brutal. Apparently Ashton thought it was so bad that it was shelved for 2 years and now that it's out, he refused to do any press related to it.

Today, two of my new favorite Sunday activities: Brunch with Big at Aunt Sarah's Pancake House, and 5:30 Mass at St. Mike's. Father John told me afterwards that he was glad I was going to Mass in the first place as well as coming to Mike's rather than my family's parish, which we both agree is rather stuffy.

For a while I was turned off to going to Mass. My ex had been so involved, and he got me going on a regular basis. Now that he's splitsville, I realize that I can make Mass into what I want. Big isn't Catholic, and he isn't really interested in any church right now, (which is groovy with me) but he knows how involved both I and my ex were in the church, and he never seems grumped out that I reserve that hour every Sunday. PLus, it's not a bad healing tool. Helps put a lot of things in perspective.

Saturday, August 30, 2003

Big and I took in The Boss' Daughter. I hadn't heard much about it, and the only incentive was that Ashton was in it. Big and I were prepared to chuckle lightly at yet another unfunny romantic comedy.

What we got was a knock-down, drag out snarffest. It was probably the third best movie I've seen all summer, Pirates being 1, Nemo coming in second. The movie was directed by David Zucker, and it had the perfect combo of schtick and very funny jokes.
I highly recommend it.

Friday, August 29, 2003

Here is my official 2 cents on the Britney/Madonna/Christina scandalous kissin' show last night on the VMA:

I've done worse in public.
Just ask the Baheads.

Go ahead...I'll wait. [You can find them at Micah and Megan's new house! :)]

Oh, back so soon? Okay, well, then.

What is that, you ask?

No, I, unfortunately, am not at Micah and Megan's big movingpalooza. My boss asked me to help out this weekend, performing some visits. The nice part is, I get Labor Day off.

Also, Feefer's been a bit of a pissant lately. I think she's pissed at me that I am not around a whole lot this week...we've been slammed with referrals, and I've acquired four new patients, bringing me to a whopping total of 11. It's been a lot of nine hour days, and a lot of staff temporary meltdowns. Mine occured today. Now I am tired. I put on my Nick and Nora Lamb PJs the minute I got home, grabbed a bowl of Golden Grahams and did something I've been wanting to do all day...sit my arse down and not get up.

Also, I figured the last thing FiFi would dig is a hurl-inducing ride in the car to a strange house where she has open pee season on Uncle Micah and Aunt Megan's brand new floors.

Tuesday, August 26, 2003

I've been invited as the guest of Mr. Big at a wedding that is scheduled to take place in September. I went to Ann Taylor and found a nice grey suit, which I paired with a mauve top to femme it up a bit, also in order not to look like the former host of "The Weakest Link." I then had the suit evaluated by a team of experts; Marian, Megan and Ramos said it looked great, and the baheads didn't seem pissed that I interrupted the D&D game with a fashion show.

Monday, August 25, 2003

FiFiSaurus Rex is almost ready for the fair! Yay!

Today we have a very nice letter:

Dear Fifi,

I think you should enter a spelling bee. One bark for
A, two for B, three for C. Okay, it could take a
while, but it'd be worth it, I think.


FiFi replies:

Woof, woof, woof...(C)
Woof woof...(B)

I spelled the word "c-a-b"! Thank you for writing such a nice letter, Marian.

I do like to spell, but I also like to read. I am getting ready to go to Miss Becca's puppy school, and I would like to learn more words. In fact, yesterday, I too read the article in Mommie's People Magazine on the spelling bee stage parents. That is, before I took the cover, ripped it off, and chewed on it. I read that some of the mommies and daddies get so mad when their kids spell wrong, they yell at them! Although I do not think Mommie would be mad or yell at me if I spelled a word wrong, I would be scared of the other mommies and daddies. I think that they would feel my p-r-e-s-e-n-c-e at the spelling bee would d-i-s-c-o-u-r-a-g-e their kids, and thus my poor Mommie would have to listen to a group of b-u-f-f-o-o-n-s yammer about how a puppy entering a spelling bee would a-f-f-e-c-t their children's self e-s-t-e-e-m and their c-o-n-c-e-n-t-r-a-t-i-o-n. Plus, having to spell all of these big words by barking really makes me very tired, more tired than playing with Squeaky B-e-a-r. Whew! I am now going to take a
n-a-p. Thanks for writing, and I hope to see you soon!


Sunday, August 24, 2003

FYI. I know I don't have a comments section, but if you have something to say, just click on WRITE TO FIFI, and if it's presentable, I will post it here. Kind of like Dear Abby. Or Strong Bad's Emails.

For once, it actually feels good outside. Feefer and I sat out for a while today. I did my nails and read mags. FiFi attempted to eat pine cones. We brought out my portable CD player and blasted Madonna, Barenaked Ladies, and The Beta Band. Big and I discussed the important anthropological information we obtained via People Magazine- why celebrities have plastic surgery and that Oprah can indeed make her nose appear smaller with makeup. Our discussion led to another article about stage parents. Did you know that Lil Miss pageant costumes can run up to $3,000 a year? And that there are people out there who name their kids "Celie" and "Savannah?" And that stage parents run rampant everywhere, even in a Spelling Bee situation? There is simply no stopping them!


Also, there was an article about a device, priced at $120 dollars, that claims it can translate a dog's bark into English, so that you know what your dog is saying. I don't need a $120 device to translate FiFiBonics into English. She's pretty straight forward, only barking when it's obvious to both of us that I am distracted with something and am ignoring her. That's her pet peeve (pardon the pun). We are going to start puppy school in September. I think she'll be great...I'm worried about me. Will I be structured enough to follow through with her learning and homework? Will I be able to live up to the pressure of helping mold her little mind to comprehend such commands as "Come," and "No!" It's a big job, but someone has to do it. I am just not going to be a stage parent. I know that much.

Saturday, August 23, 2003

I, like so many of my generation (X, is how they used to refer to it), grew up watching Disney fairy tales. You know, the ones pre-Little Mermaid, where the heroines were ten shades of pathetic. I mean, how big of a moron is Snow White? The dwarves friggin told her, "don't open the door for anyone!" much less a scary looking crone who just happens to be her jealous psycho homicidal stepmom in cognito. "Just take a bite of the apple," my big fat arse. She had it coming. I watch it all the time on my limited edition Snow While DVD. I have the facts straight.

Anyhoo, most of these movies feature...a prince. Usually, the prince shows up, has little personality, delivers a smooch and reverses all the damage endured by the heroine for the last 90 minutes. And many of us Generation Xers grew up looking for our own princes in daily life. I can say, I think I've found mine.

But, unlike these animated duds of yesteryear, my prince is rather different. My prince's physical presentation is more t-shirt and jeans than shining armor. He hasn't really had an opportunity to slay any dragons or villians (although he's willing to lay some smack down on my ex), and he doesn't yodel about meeting me once upon a dream, mainly because he has been my best friend for years, and has put up with me through all my moods, and he knows better to yodel around me, because he knows I'll laugh my arse off at him.

What he does do is hold doors open for me. He says he won't cheat on me. He loves my dog. He shares my obliviousness that we elicit stares from young college frat types at Aunt Sarah's Pancake House because we're loudly and happily yammering away for the eightieth time about how much of a genius John Belushi is. And what really seals it is when he looks deep into my eyes and utters some obscure movie/TV/radio/Eddie Izzard/ Park quote, then pauses so that I will finish it:

BIG: Cartman, what are you talking about? You weren't in 'Nam.
ME: (impersonating Cartman) Yes I was. Shh. If you listen closely, you can hear Charley in the trees.

Much laughter then ensues. And, if we're at Aunt Sarah's Pancake House, more stares from the young college frat types.

I love you Ozzy. Love, Sharon.

Okay...last night totally reverted back to grade school. I had a date with a boy! Well, really it was me, Big, Marian and Heath going out to eat and seeing Finding Nemo. Yep. We ate at Phil's on Grove, one of Richmond's best kept very reasonably priced secrets, and then we spent a bit of time at a nearby Barnes and was our main grown-up activity of the night, other than sharing a couple of pitchers of brown ale at Phil's and watching Conan O'Brien for a bit after the show.

We caught the 9:40 show, so there were no kids, which definately enhanced my enjoyment of the movie. The script was sharply written, the pixar excellent, and all in all the actors really delivered their lines well. Ellen DeGeneres shines. Plus, the plot appealed to me because fish are really cool and I love stuff about the ocean and marine biology. The only thing was, I left feeling a bit reserved about taking up scuba diving, since there is a scene where the fish are freaked out by scuba diving fish collectors, and I was worried I would scare the fish if I did scuba. But all in all, I think the real message is that fish need a lot of space. All hail, the mighty fish.

Thursday, August 21, 2003

Thank God tonight is pub night. Or else my head would explode. Work has totally owned me these last two weeks. I am so ready to just get out and have a nice glass of whatever.

I've recently remade a new/old friend. Friend, if you are reading this, know I am praying for you during these tough times. I hope all goes well for you. Really.

Wednesday, August 20, 2003

Right now I am watching Florence Nightingale, on the True Stories Channel. And I am getting vahklempt. It really sucked to be her. I mean, dealing with today's doctors is bad enough. But back in the Crimean War times, they were so friggin up themselves that it makes me more ill than having to smell bowel contents. Plus the fact that no women figures in her life had her back, since nursing was considered a whore's job back then. And she didn't have a nice little dog to take all the pain away at the end of a shitty day. She just had some farty general breathing down her neck. But soon, the men speak of her in hushed tones, as if she is an angel. Men kissed her shadow as she passed, this lady with a lamp. (The movie is peppered with these kind of cheesy phrases, but it works) And she teaches the doctors soon enough that she doesn't take any crap from anyone. And she saves the world. Just because she had a calling. She made her mom proud.

FiFi is running about batting Lammie around the room, despite my attempts to have her study one of her namesakes. I don't think the whole pet therapy thing may pan out for FeeferDog.

Tuesday, August 19, 2003

After a long day at work, it was nice to come home to the little Fluff Ball that is the center of my new life. It's rather fun: I come through the door, she wags her tail, and chances are, Grammy has stopped by to play with her after work, so she is not in the puppy pen, so she can run over to me to greet me. Grammy and I laugh about it, then Grammy leaves. We play a few rounds of "Throw and Fetch Squeaky Bear" and blast music and dance around to Madonna, pretending we're her dancers/background vocalists. (oh, like you've NEVER done that) Around 7, we sit on the bed, where I type/write/blog/knit/read/watch TV, and FiFi sleeps. Around 10, she gets her second wind, and Squeaky Bear gets tossed around a bit more. Then Feefer either falls asleep on the bed or goes into her puppy pen, whatever she's in the mood for. Tonight I have a feeling that she's going to stay on the bed since she is sprawled out on my pillow with her eyes closed.

And I think I have writer's block. Damn it.

Monday, August 18, 2003

Today I had my 90 day eval from work. Basically, it was good. Brenda said I was an excellent clinician, and that if I work hard, the counseling involved with hospice nursing will come with time. So I'm pretty stoked.

Last night was the first time I went back to St. Mike's for Mass. I saw Father in the vestibule right before Mass, and I went up to him. He gave me a hug, asked how I was, told me I looked great. I sat with my friends from CRHP, and realized I was home again, despite the messiness that might ensue if I happen to run into my ex. I have a feeling which Mass he will go to, so I will avoid that one like the plague.

FiFi and I took this month's Cosmo Quiz: How Fabulous Are You? and we scored within the Fabulous Range.

Sunday, August 17, 2003

On call this weekend. Waiting around, kind of like a fireman, for someone to need me. It's a great excuse to loaf around the house, eat cereal for lunch, watch some good movies as well as my new DVD of the first season of Will And Grace.

Meantime, FiFi has enjoyed having her mommie around about 95% of the weekend. And I've actually been catching up on my sleep.

Tuesday, August 12, 2003

My life for the past five days:
Work, work, work, FiFi, work, work, saw Pirates of The Carribean, work, work, saw Freddy vs. Jason, work, buried 2 of my patients.

Tonight: My grandmother's 78th birthday. Seafood dinner. Bond with FiFi, who now has a thing for barking at my stuffed animals and chewing on my shoes.

Other news: Squeaky Bear no longer squeaks. He is now just Bear. If FiFi keeps smacking him around like she does, he will end up being Lump O' Fleece.

Wednesday, August 06, 2003



FIFI'S GLAM-O-RAMA FOTO GALLERY! (Courtesy of the Bahead's Yahoo Website.)

I can now die a happy woman. Although, I really wouldn't wanna die. Because then, I would not be able to have buku fun with my new digital camera, taking pictures of Feeferdog and slapping them on the internet as well as emailing them to unsuspecting family and friends. More fotos to follow!!!

Uh-oh. I think I've become one of THOSE parents...

BREAKING NEWS: Arnold Schwartzenegger is running for Governor of California.

Do not go see American Wedding. For the love of Jehovah. Don't do it.

Coming very very soon: FiFi's Glam-O-Rama Foto Gallery.

Saturday, August 02, 2003

Vacation Video Rental Reviews:
1) Hope Floats: Rrr. There is nothing like a hot stallion named Justin Matisse making his way across a room in a Stetson and tight jeans, and he wants to dance Nice speech by Sandy Bullock to her cheatin' ex at climactic scene.
2) Committed. Heather Graham is a scored spouse who seeks out her no-good hubby after he abandons her shortly after the wedding (can you see what theme we are going for here, folks?). Great performance by Alfonso Arau, the director of Like Water for Chocolate, also known as El Guapo from Three Amigos.
3) Laurel Canyon. Frances McDormand is my homegirl. She plays Jane, a fortyish rock-in-roll record producer who hosts her conservative psychiatrist son and his lab rat of a fiancee for the summer. Many hillarious hijinks insue. The plot is a bit predictable, but the movie is easy to watch.
4) Blow Dry. My FAVORITE of the movies I've seen this week. A small town gets it's chance for glory by hosting the British Hair Competition, where stylists compete for fame and fortune. Cutey Josh Harnett (the other guy in Pearl Harbor, or as it is known here, Ben Affleck's Chest) slaps on a pretty respectible accent to play a young barber yearning for stardom. Alan Rickman is absolutely adorable, as only Alan Rickman can be. Also stellar performances from Six Feet Under 's Rachel Griffiths, and Dame Actress Extraordinare, Miranda Richardson. So in love I am with this flick I almost wanna propose "Glamour Puss Movie Day" for the Baheads, where we watch this flick, as well as Drop Dead Gorgeous, which stars Kirstie Alley, Denise Richards, and Kirsten Dunst as small-town pageant-heads, but I have a feeling most of the Ba-boys will stay away for fear the girls will chase them around and try to paint their toenails in various shades of puce and pink. So, rent it on your own. Unless, guys, you WANT us to chase you around waving around Revlon Color No. 88: VIXEN in an attempt to polish your peds. It's up to you.

Things I have learned on vaca:
1) Jimmy Buffet never gets old. No matter how many times you listen.
2) Romance that is somewhat imperfect can still make a lasting impact on your life (Thanks for last night, Biggs. You made my millenium!)
3) Not having a computer sucks arse.
4) You should always try not to judge. Especially when it comes to a store called Try My Nuts.
5) My family kicks arse.
6) My dog kicks arse.
7) Sharon Osbourne kicks arse.
8) SPF 30 is all you really need.
9) Peanut butter sandwiches taste best after long walks on the beach.
10) Everything is going to be alright, ghetto blaster.

I've discovered Mecca, in the form of Outer Barks, a li'l shop nearby that is all about dog. I found FiFi's ultimate piece of bling-bling: It's a pink, Chanel-inspired dog carrier that is, apparently, featured in the movie Legally Blonde 2 (known on Pooh Corner as Bruiser Movie 2). But don't worry everyone, "no matter how many rocks that" she got, she's still, she's still FiFi from the block. Everyone sing it J-Lo Style. Come on, you know you love it, Be-atches!

Hey! I just noticed something: Holy Shiz-nit! It's August??? Already???

Friday, August 01, 2003

I was making my way down the basement, site of Dad's computer, to blog, check email, what have you...when I saw my cousin Bridget, age 6, standing at one of the picture windows. She looked up and smiled at me, greeted me warmly.

"I'm telling my dream to God." Aww. Little kids and their God moments. How cute.

"Oh, would you like some privacy?" I asked.

"Yes, please."
As I turned, I could hear her softly speaking, and I tuned it out for her behalf. Later on, she yelled that it was okay to come back down, she was done. I may want to add at this point that Bridge is not a huge fan of going to church. Whenever I flash her a peace sign, she tells me "Don't say that word. That is a 'church word' and I don't like church. It's boring."

"Wanna hear about my dream?" She asks as she watchs me log on


She tells it in a way only a 6-year-old can:
"The Lord came to me and told me that laughing, joking and playing is not for this world and that we could not do it, unless we wanted to go to jail. I tried to tell Him, 'Oh Lord, we must laugh and joke and play.' But He caught me and Gene (her younger brother) and took us to jail. Angels were everywhere, fighting, and finally, good conquered evil, and we were told we could play again." That is the short version of the story.

Damn, yo.

At age 6, my nightmare was about losing my dog and my Strawberry Shortcake dollie. Not the armageddon. I wonder if she is coming to this on her own. As I said before, she is not a huge fan of organized religion. But it also makes me wonder if some trusted adult in her world who just happens to be a fanatic is telling her this crap. I don't think it's a member of our fam, as when it comes to morals of gambling, and drink, we're very liberal, despite our perfect attendance record at Mass. We ain't perfect, and we sure as hell ain't saints, but I think that as a whole, we're a kick-arse group of people who just happen to share genetic components.

That being said, I can kind of see Bridge's 6-year-old philosophical point. For the past month or so, I've been struggling with church as well. I was very involved. But now my motivation at St. Mike's has dropped. My ex is still there, still active. I'm not keen on the idea of receiving communion from him or worse, if he brings his new girlfriend in an attempt to get her to go to Mass. Sure, the church is big enough for the both of us, but, simply put, the thought of running into him makes me wiggy, so I have kept an extremely low profile. It's a bummer since I love Father John very much and can't really discuss this with him, as well as the retreat I am helping to organize is about a week away, and I am chomping at the bit to get out now, despite that I feel like a sh*t for trying to get out of it.

Also, another thing is that our Bishop is going to retire soon. Wally Sullivan has his knucklehead moments, but all in all, he's the most powerful advocate for social justice. This includes such groundbreaking stuff such as sexual minorities as well as the Richmond AIDS ministry. The diocese is very involved in all of these ministries. The Richmond Diocese is one of the most liberal in the nation. Unfortunately, when the new bishop takes over, there is no grandfather clause as to what goes and what stays when it comes to cutting programs that are, shall we say, "not in sync with Mother Church in Rome." And given the Vatican's latest bee-in-the-bonnet with gay marriages, and given the fact that we could get a bishop that is a 180 from Wally, I have a feeling the first thing to get the ax would be the sexual minorites programs, despite how essential they are, and how popular they are, and how ethical they are. Who knows.

It's amazing what a 6-year-old will inspire you to think sometimes.

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