Fun with household appliances.

So, the other day, when I was all, "reading trashy books is so much more virtuous than watching trashy teevee?"

Yeah. Umm ... I've been watching a lot of trashy teevee.

My Guy and I lived without TV for 6 months. It was a time of self discovery. It also coincided with the 6 months we lived without a dishwasher. Needless to say ... the beginning of our marriage was rough. Really rough.

But we bought a dishwasher. And the day it was installed, My Guy texted me a photo of the shiny new appliance with the caption, "Marriage saved!"

And it was so.

And since we agreed we couldn't possibly live without cable during football season, we got cable. So much has changed in the 6 months we didn't have cable - I feel so behind the times! Did you know there's an entire show about people who get, like, $500 worth of groceries for $5 because they spend 40 hours a week clipping coupons?

Not to be all mean about it, but ... considering that those groceries include 89 bags of croutons, and it works out to "earning" $12.50 per hour of coupon clipping? I'm not so sure the extreme couponing is worth it.

I've also discovered That Metal Show. It's 3 music geeks arguing over the merits of various heavy metal albums and interviewing hard rock musicians. The stories are great, and I can relate to wanting a forum to talk about random music trivia.

Side note: Did you know Toni Tennille from The Captain & Tennille performed on Pink Floyd's The Wall?

Anyway.

I'm taking requests - what other shows should we add to our DVR? The trashier, the better. Obviously.

All the news that's fit to print.

I should have something witty to talk about.

I could write about hosting Poochie's university railroading club at our house last weekend, and how My Guy confided that he had no idea how to properly host and relate to a bunch of train enthusiasts. "You're a computer programmer," I said. "Are you telling me you don't speak Nerd?"

"I do!" he clarified. "But theirs is a different dialect!"

So, I could write about that. Or I could bitch and mooooaaaaan about the fact that Miss Universe spent a whole 60 seconds displaying not all the national heritage costumes, but only the top 10. Like there's any other reason to watch the pageant. Shame, SHAME on you, Miss Universe!

Side note: you can see fantastic national heritage costume recaps at Tom and Lorenzo. They're fabulous and opinionated.

Or I could write about my mighty triumph at Corporate Behemoth, wherein I convinced a senior VP that no, we don't need more videos (thereby creating a shit-ton of work for yours truly), but rather, we need to leverage the other content we already have.

You can call me a savvy content strategist if you like.

However?

I don't feel savvy. I don't feel like strategizing anything. I don't feel entertaining or even remotely interesting. I feel ... depleted.

I guess unbalance in your day-to-day life doesn't go away just because you go on vacation and come up with a long-term plan. You still need those little baby steps to improve your quality of life along the way.

Also? I think we can all agree that vacationing with your in laws is not a vacation at all. It is a tour of duty.

Now, I'm going to retire to bed with my Grover Cleveland biography. And before you're all, "Pshaw ... Grover Cleveland - whatevs," let me just tell you this: Ol' Grover (known as Big Steve to his friends) looked after his BFF's widow and daughter, treating the daughter almost as his own child. Until ... her married her. The daughter. Not the widow. He married his BFF's kid.

Reading trashy things about dead people: It feels more virtuous than watching trash teevee.

I am an equestrienne.

I just got back from a 5-day Colorado vacation extravaganza with My Guy's family. As you might expect, my brain is swimming.

Let's just put it this way - I have a new life motto: You can't change people. But you can write about them.

But I need to ease into that, lest my brain explode, ka-pow style. So, let's start with the basics: I rode a horse. For the very first time ever.

Now, my grandparents were the sort that clambered upon 1 horse with 7 siblings to head to school, sans adult supervision, starting at the age of 5. Somehow, the fact that I made it to the age of 36 without ever riding a horse feels like I have failed my ancestors.

But I tried to make up for it. A group of us family vacationing fools went for a trail ride in Rocky Mountain National Park. The ride was 2 hours and involved tourism horses. You know, the horses that have been doing this same damned trail all summer and are just over it? You know, those rides that require absolutely no skill on the part of the human passenger?

Yeah.

My horse's name was Bravo. He was not pleased being the second horse. He wanted to be the first horse and so spent 2 whole hours attempting to pass the horse in front of him. Each time I corrected him with my meager horsewoman skills, he "accidentally" brushed me up against something. Like a boulder.

My common refrain during the ride: "Dude. Give me a break."

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My Guy and I compared notes and had many similar experiences during our first riding experiences. I was not alone. In fact, maybe my experience was even ... universal!

And so, I determined The 8 Stages of New Equestrianism:

1. Apprehension.
OK, I've never been on a horse. I was never one of those little girls who fantasize about ponies. I never even had a My Little Pony. But this will be a great life experience! And this horse is really pretty.

2. Terror.
This horse is pretty, but it didn't seem pleased when I stroked his nose. And he's really, really tall and the guide had to hoist my ass up to get me on the horse and now I'm sitting here and the horse is supposed to be standing still but he's moving. He's moving under my crotchal region and ohmigod I don't think I remember what I'm supposed to do with the reigns and WEAREALLGOINGTODIE!

3. Resignation.
Oh. The horse knows what to do. I just have to sit here and make peace with the fact that there's a moving animal under my crotchal region. Look how cute the guide girl is in front of us. She is so darling. Maybe I could be an outdoorsy girl.

4. Hallucination.
I'm on a horse! Outside! On a trail! In nature! Maybe I have missed my calling. Maybe I'm meant to be an outdoorsy girl, an outdoorsy girl on a horse. Maybe I'll start taking riding lessons. Maybe we'll start taking vacations where we ride horses.

5. Realization.
Fuck that shit. My knees hurt.

6. Impatience.
This is the longest 2 hours of my life. I'm covered in dust and have no feeling below my waist. The trail has a crappy view and my horse is flatulent and keeps trying to cut in line. The guide actually fwapped him in the head because he kept trying to pass her. I guess he's bored, too. I'm pretty sick of looking at the guide's back. At least she isn't farting as much as my horse.

7. Relief.
I see the barn. The end is in sight! And I almost don't even care that it takes me 3 minutes to dismount Bravo the Asshole Flatulent Horse because I'm numb and my knee is totally torqued and I can barely stand on my own. I will gladly take my place along the fence with my other wounded compatriots.

8. Sanity.
That was an interesting life experience. Let us never speak of it again.

Social media confounds me.

Or maybe I understand social media and people confound me. That's more likely.

Remember the Mean Girl who dissed me, pointedly asking my friend - but not me - to accompany her to a gathering where "all the cute and fun girls" would be?

She just asked to join my network on LinkedIn.

You won't talk to me but you want me to help you find a job? Seriously?

I also received a LinkedIn invite from a rather shy but crazy-smart analytics guy at Corporate Behemoth. He's so nice but so quiet. But so good at his job. Will I social network with you, Shy Guy? Hell yeah! I will help you find whatever job your heart desires.

But Mean Girl? Go to hell.

In other social media news, I've discovered the joys of diagnosing high school classmates with random psychological disorders based on their Facebook posts.

Case in point? One of my classmates posted about the craptasticness of her local public schools. Like, posted a lot. To the point she announced that she would be home-schooling her daughter.

OK, that's cool. Do what is best for your family.

But! But then my classmate saw Matt Damon speak about the necessity paying public school teachers better. She responded in the most effective way possible: via Facebook. And so, she posted this gem for all the world to see:

I wanted to jump through the TV screen and strangle Matt Damon for talking about giving teachers 10 year. What a load of crap!

It took me a long, long time to figure out what she was talking about: tenure.

I'm thinking borderline personality disorder with a side of anger-management issues. Thoughts?

Miss Congeniality lives here.

We are back from the beach.

Sigh. It was great.

We walked on the beach every morning. This was relaxing and exfoliated the crap out of my feet. It also meant that even though I had a bloody mary every late morning and some sort of fried fish every night, I only gained a pound.

I read four books while lounging in the shade by the pool:

• Into Thin Air
• She's Gone Country
• The First Day of the Rest of My Life
• The Financial Lives of the Poets*

There was a bar on the main drag in Clearwater that had a sign that read "Tuesday ladys nite / Weds Karaoke / $3 flu shots."

I think everybody could get a flu shot, not just "the ladys."

I renewed my love for and utter devotion to fish tacos.

We got back last night to find that Puppy Love Lisa had overfed the doxies all week. They are visibly larger. Last night, Lil' Frankfurter yakked in the bed at about 4 a.m. I caught it with my hand. Because I'm an excellent mama.

But now we're back to a house where somebody's limited potty-training skillz took a hit from a change in schedule. And there's no room service. And we have to go back to work tomorrow ... but only for 3 days. Then, we're off on a family vaca with My Guy's siblings.

I have been in a horrendous mood all day.

Lil' Frank has peed all over the house, none of which My Guy has noticed. So, I've been cleaning up pee all day. And doing laundry all day. And trying to get a jump start on my overflowing inbox at Corporate Behemoth. And dear Lord, what does a girl have to do to get some help around here?

This seems like the dark underbelly of vacation: the reentry sucks.

*Thanks Patti!

Book reporting it up.

Thanks for all of the book recommendations. Ordering books has been a nice respite from the canine oozing wounds / doggie diarrhea around my house as of late. And oh, yes, I'm blogging at 6:30 a.m. because Lil' Frankfurter jumped off the bed at 5:45 and I just *knew* something was afoot. Let's just say he tried but didn't make it all the way to the door before dropping trou.

So, because turnaround is fair play (talking books here, not pooping on the floor), here's what I've read or, more likely, listened to lately.

Role Models by John Waters
I thought this would be a book where somebody famous (yeah, it's that John Waters) interviews other famous people. But not so much. While Waters does talk about his run-ins with awesomeness like Johnny Mathis, he also tracks down folks like an overweight pothead lesbian stripper who was infamous in Baltimore in the 60s. I love the idea of finding role models in unexpected places, but I will admit I got a bit bored at the end of the book with the graphic descriptions of gay porn. I'm guessing not every reader would find that dull.

Bossypants by Tina Fey
Oooh, shocker! I loved this book! I tried to read it in bed, but my laughter kept waking My Guy up. Now, he's reading it, and laughing like a hyena. It makes me happy.

The one thing that wasn't so much a shock but more of a surprise was Fey's no-BS approach to the whole women-in-comedy / feminism thing. She's pretty much like, "Yeah, it's stupid but it's still an issue, so get over it and quit whining and just do what you're gonna do but for god's sake, don't cry at work." Which, since I've felt like crying at work lately, is a bit of tough love.

Say Her Name by Francisco Goldman
Goldman's young wife was killed in a freak accident, and this is his rumination on grief and loss. Not exactly a pick-me-up, but authentic. However, I must admit that if you're looking for first-person grief lit, I much prefer Joan Didion's Year of Magical Thinking. However, Say Her Name is more from an analytical standpoint, and is honest about, oh, fucking women who remind you of your late wife. And calling it "fucking."

Lies Chelsea Handler Told Me by a bunch of people who know Chelsea Handler
My one-word review: Ehh.

In a nutshell, Chelsea Handler is evidently a bit of a nutjob who loves to play very involved practical jokes and to mess with the heads of her family, friends, and coworkers. Working for her would stress me out - I'd always be afraid that she was going to send some e-mail from my computer to the CEO of Corporate Behemoth, telling him that I have hemorrhoids or something.

The interesting string that connects all of the tales in this book is that despite the embarrassment, shame, and general inconvenience that Chelsea's hijinks cause, every writer loves her and swears she's loyal, generous and kind. Hmm.

In addition, I'm still working my way through Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series. However, I'm a bit off ... last one I got from the library, I had this exchange at check-out:

Librarian: Have you read other books in this series?

Me: Yeah.

Librarian: Oh, so you want me to remove the last disk from this audio book?

Me: Huh?

Librarian: Well, you know how it ends, right?

Now, I like this exchange because I like my librarians with a little bit o' sass. However, it means that my worst nightmares are true: Librarians are judging me based on the crap I check out! Which brings me to another book I recently read:

This Book Is Overdue: How Librarians and Cybrarians Can Save Us All by Marilyn Johnson
This mostly entertaining but sometimes mind-numbing book talks about modern library science - it ain't just about moving the card catalog to computer, baby. Different sections of the book cover topics ranging from librarian bloggers to librarians fighting the government to protect the privacy of our library records. Also? I had no idea that people poop in libraries. Like, in the stacks. Librarians don't get paid enough. Seriously.

And that's my book report. I'd like my Pizza Hut personal pan pizza now. Thanks.

A mean mom. And broke, too.

Lil' Frankfurter typically smells like fish. This is mostly due to his nasty-ass teeth.

So, being the unreasonable mama I am, I took him to have his teeth cleaned on Thursday.

They had to pull one of his front teeth.

I'm trying to convince him that he looks like he was in a bar fight and is therefore a total bad ass. I don't think he's buying it. At least he wasn't Thursday night.

He kept listing to the side. He wouldn't just give up and go to sleep, because admitting defeat is for wusses. Instead, he kept leaning at about a 45-degree angle.Yes, it was adorable.

Cut to Friday night. I refused to give up and go to sleep, and so was barely with-it when I finally got up off the couch. As I stepped over Big Doodle, I noticed that the usual fatty tumor thing on his side was replaced by this bloody monstrosity that looks all red and veiny, like the planet Jupiter. Except where the storm is? There's a hole with gunk coming out of it.

We were back at the vet Saturday morning. Poor guy is doped up and scheduled for surgery on Thursday. But meanwhile? Meanwhile, I can hardly look at Jupiter, but I'm enthralled by it. It's so completely and utterly disgusting. We're calling our dog "Massive Side Wound Doodle." He has an open wound and is leaving blood all over our baseboards, because he keeps laying against them, applying pressure to Jupiter and causing it to goo all over.

So, just another weekend in paradise. You know.