Pricey haircut

Dr. Moo is just coming off an incredibly busy time owing to being the only person available to work in a five-person practice. She was on call 24 hours a day, every day, for two straight weeks. Every emergency was her responsibility. (As was every non-emergency.)

Unfortunately, not all the fahmahs in Vermont understand the meaning of the word "emergency." Like, for example, the older gentleman who called because the tail of one of his cows was brushing the ground.

In case you didn't know, cow tails have hair at the end of them. It's kind of like people hair. It can be cut without hurting the cow. So Dr. Moo drove out to the farm, got out her scissors, and served as a bovine beautician.

The true emergency revealed itself as Dr. Moo was getting ready to drive off. She was prevented from doing by the farmer, who leaned on her sideview mirror and talked about his health problems for 20 minutes.

Here's hoping

Just bought two boxes of hair color in two shades of light blond for three bucks. That's a buck-fifty a box. Will this be a testament to my ability to look durn tootin' on a budget? Or am I headed down the hooker hair highway?

TV of the future

I've been watching a lot of the on-demand free stuff offered by my cable company lately. I really like being able to pause programs and I extra really like not having to watch commercials. Plus there's almost nothing fun to watch on regular TV anymore, except for Real Housewives, 30 Rock and The Office - which conveniently are all on one night but at different times.

I don't really "get" my taste in television programming. I'm bored by nearly everything. I'd say it's because it's all crap but Frontline's not even cutting it for me anymore-although that's due more to my not being able to stomach sadness.

In other McPolack news, my friend L, who is moving to France, returned the stuffed kitty I lent her when she was lonely. So I put the stuffed kitty next to my kitty and my kitty started sniffing the stuffed kitty. She passed her schnoz all all over it. And by all I mean she hopped up on a chair behind the stuffed kitty, bent down, and sniffed its butt.

Crotchtastic

Yoga pose I did today:

Lay on your tummy.
Roll to one side.
Make a fist with one hand and wrap your other hand around it.
Straighten out your arms so your fist sandwich is directly on top of your crotch.
Now roll onto your fist sandwich.

But wait! There's more.

Press your crotch into your fist sandwich and your fist sandwich into your crotch. This will hurt a lot!
Now, lift your legs as far up as you can.
Then lift your torso.
Balance yourself on your fist sandwich.
Don't forget to breathe!

Namaste.

Backlog

Due to large amount of actual life being lived, I'm on a bit of a story backlog. Pic above is of the 15 different nibbly bits I identified in the bar snack mix JoyceFrances and I tried not to gorge ourselves on after listening to Deepak Chopra talk for nearly three motherf*&ing hours, complete with hard-to-decipher PowerPoint slides.

Interestingly many of the other people at the Chopra event, which was part of a yoga conference, were there just for him. The talk, which pretty well and good summed up my own view of spirituality, including how quantum physics fits in there, very neatly ended by noting a really great way to get what Deepak was selling was by doing yoga. Nice job marketing, D! Later McMumsy told me D had claimed responsibility for an earthquake due to his powerful meditating. To which I say absolute power corrupts absolutely, but becoming a new age superstar will turn the sanest of men into fruitcakes.

Despite a hint of fruitcakiness, D did have a lot of important, powerful things to say, and I also got to meditate with a roomful of strangers and it was lovely.

You know what else was lovely? Picking up that napkin in the above photo, pouring all 15 assorted nibbly bits in my mouth, and washing them down with fizzy water and lime. Dee-lish.

Gahdenin'

Going to be getting my butt over to the McPolack homestead at some point in May so's I can help PolackPappy plant veggies. He wants to expand the tomato patch and move the squash and...who knows? I for one would like to plant potatoes. Oh and onions. And maybe garlic. And Brussels sprouts.

Here in the 'ville they have a program where, for the cost of materials (which is apparently around 200 bucks) volunteers will come help you make a raised bed garden. Unfortunately the yard space here is tiny, shaded, and the property of the downstairs tenant's dog.

In other plant news, my street geranium (as in I picked it up off the sidewalk; it even had a note attached to it) finally bloomed. It's got one magenta flower clump. I am very proud.

Lilac time

My extreme busyness continues unabated. To counteract the nasty bitch that is starting to emerge when people call me up and ask me for things such as some of my almost nonexistent free time, I have been spending five minutes a day thinking about what I'm grateful for. Here's a sampling:

1. Whilst walking from one office to another at the large 'n fancy university, I got to meet, for the second time, Nelson the corgi. And give him a biscuit. It was because I have a window in my office that I even knew Nelson was outside, and I am grateful for that, too.

2. On that same walk, I saw a lilac bush just beginning to bloom. I performed my first lilac snorfle of 2010. It was quick but great.

3. Last night I had a delightful time babysitting D, who is now 5. It has been a joy watching her turn from bump in her mama's belly into a fully realized kid. We made a runway for her Polly Pockets, then decided the runway needed to be over an ocean, so we made one of those, too. I let her stay up late. When she went to bed I watched a documentary about Vogue magazine and it was awesome.

4. Next month I will be visiting a friend in Cooperstown. We're going to go to some historical museums (sorry, baseball fans, prolly not the one it's known for) and do some target practice with her Pop's many guns, per my request. Good times!

It's wiener time! Again.

I was annoyed at how much they charged for a three-pack of S/M/L penis cookie cutters when I picked some up back in December for Dr. Moo's bachelorette party. And here it is not six months later and I'm whipping them out again. My German friend is getting married soon and we're hanging out in a room at a spa on Saturday while she gets treatments done, and doing fun things in between her treatments.

In other McPolack news, I remain incredibly busy, and tired. I haven't been able to see a lot of friends recently because my days consist of getting up, making out with my kitty, exercising, traveling to office one, working, traveling to office two, working some more, coming home and working some more, making sure clothes and lunch are set so I can do it all over again the next day, then laying on the couch and watching old episodes of The Tudors, which features a whole lotta buttocks.

Just wondering...

...what it says about me that whenever I come across Transporter 2, I stop, hit mute, and watch that bald fellow kick one ass after another. Mostly this is during commercial breaks. I mute the sound because I'm sensitive to loud noises like explosions and gunshots and grunts and screams. And that's most of what you hear in this movie. Bald guy isn't there to be listened to. He's there to be admired visually. And admire him I do.

In other McPolack news, I am bussssssssssssy. I worked from 9 to 9 today, on three different projects in two different locations. Getting up tomorrow and doing some more. Gots to bake some more penis cookies for another bride-to-be at some point, too.

The Whizzard

Recently in Vermont, at night, it thundered.

Jimberly James the Horrible Hound is frightened of thunder. Verrrry frightened. He was howling and crying and crying and howling, loudly, as only a hound can do. Dr. Moo managed to convince Mr. Moo to let JJ the HH get in bed with them, because it was the only way to shut him up.

It had the desired effect. Unfortunately, there wasn't room for everyone, so Dr. Moo took the couch for the night. The next morning, she went to check in on the men in her life. The two-legged one commented that perhaps they shouldn't have left the window open all night, because he woke up in a wet bed.

The four-legged one, who had in fact peed the bed, said nothing.

High art

I went to a baby shower yesterday; the mother-to-be owns three cats. As we were headed upstairs a lady in her 50s joyfully shouted "Another cat lady!" and accompanied us upstairs. No biggie-I myself yell things like "Corgi!" and, recently when I was alone in my car, "Possum!"

Once we'd met the kitties, who were being very kitty-like and refusing to let us pat them, the fellow cat-lover and I chatted about work. She'd been a freelancer for 30 years (!) before becoming a painter, and she looked well-dressed and with it.

Then she told me she knows a lady who "Owns 25 cats, and eight dogs. And 12 rabbits! And did you know when you rescue rabbits they often have companion guinea pigs?" (no) "So she has six guinea pigs. She's an artist, too, and an amazing one. She even makes art out of the rabbits' turds!"

The part about the turd-art was relayed in the same tone of voice as the rest of the tale: totally and completely seriously.

Dobranoc, kocham Cię

I clicked over to the evening news after my DVD ended and found out about the plane crash; they were filming outside the Polish church in Dorcester where PolackPappy went as a child. And while Pp enjoys a good Polack joke as much of the next guy, he once told me something I've never forgotten: the Polish people are very, very tough. They've gone through a lot of shit. Epic shit. And they keep on keepin' on. Pp also told me he sees that in me.

When I was living with the Babcia, she attempted to teach me many things: how to play the piano; how to make my bed; how to say good night, I love you in Polish. One of those things stuck.

The ants go marching two by two...

...and they continue to march despite my plugging up any hole I can find in my apartment. Of course I am plugging the holes with cut-up glow-in-the-dark frog pajamas misted with organic non-toxic insecticidal soap. They're probably just squeezing through anyways and getting a bath in the process.

At least they're not bedbugs.

I just flew in from Cambridge and boy are my wings tired

Today on the train, somewhere past Porter Square, I noticed a fat fuzzy bumblebee bumbling and buzzing above the head of the person seated in the furthest seat back on the right. Other people noticed, too, but nobody freaked out. Nobody swatted the bee. Nobody even said anything. I think it was because he was very lovable-looking. A yellowjacket wouldn't have lasted 30 seconds.

I felt bad for the bee as we passed over the salt-and-pepper bridge; he was buzzing especially close to the window at that point. If I'd had an empty plastic container with a lid, I would have captured him and set him free.

But I didn't. So instead I imagined he really meant to skip visiting the Charles and get off somewhere past JFK to spend time by the sea.

Booth holay

Hiked my first mountains of the season Saturday with Dr. & Mr. Moo and cousin B of the tiny lungs, the diabeetus, and the incredibly generous heart. Jimberly James the horrible hound was our mascot. Unfortunately for the males of the party, JJ the hh had an infected anal gland, which they discovered when a curious and powerful fishy-assy smell assaulted their noses. It made its way in short order to the front seat and while we all gagged, JJ the hh helpfully began licking his butt so as to share the joy with those seated at his intake and exhaust valves.

It turned out Dr. Moo feeds JJ the hh fish pills so he will have a shiny coat. Thankfully, it also turned out that Dr. Moo is the MacGyver of anal gland expressing. "Does anyone have any gloves?" she asked. Cousin B did, in his first-aid kit. "What about lube?" she continued.

Nobody had any of that.

But no matter! Because Dr. Moo had a tube of minty-fresh lip balm. When we arrived at the base of the mountain, she led JJ the hh over to a sandy spot, donned her gloves, squirted on some lip balm, and went to work. Cousin B videotaped it. Later, JJ the hh ended up with some pine needles stuck in an interesting place. And we all ended up with a great story to tell our grandkids.