Your Kindest Attention Most Honored Sir or Madam

It's a very exciting day at my house. Today Lolita got his first 419 scam letter. The phone has been listed under his name (well, one of his nicknames) for many. many years now. Sadly it has taken this long for him to be recognized in all the flowery, over the top, grammar grandeur he deserves. One of his unknown relatives has passed away and he has the chance to make quite a bit of money by getting a fax machine, opening a bank account and contacting this high powered estate manager in London that sends 'official' letters on cheap copy paper with a yahoo email address.

Sadly, Lolita can be suckered. Not for money. But if this man was willing to fly to California, pet Lolita a bit and maybe let him run around in the yard for awhile, I bet my bank accounts, retirement plan savings and mutual funds would be liquidated in no time.

Actually, I'm going to go shred that letter now. That cat has turned on the computer before, with much less to gain.

Sunday Afternoon Photo Essay

Fresh sheets and the same, stale pet fight

Sugarlicious

I don't want to bore you to tears, but life at the HR Farm is very busy. Crazy sometimes. And not in ways that get you involved in top secret projects that may change the very face of HR and perhaps life itself. No, not that. Mainly, repeating the same 30 minute dumb speech to otherwise smart customers. And there are meetings. You might suddenly find yourself in the women's lounge at Bloomingdale, eating a creme puff from Beard Papa, trying to prepare for a training session. The beauty of the creme puff does not last, and neither does the sugar high. Soon you are almost asleep in front of a group of people trying to present something or other to them for some reason or other.

That session went badly. I tried to recover by giving a review of the new Dolly Parton album and discussing my dog's upcoming quinceanera. When all else fails, bring up the chihuahua. And this is for a customer you actually like. There are other customers, that you want to like, but they make it veryveryveryveryhard for you to do so. Imagine for a minute how those meetings are going. There aren't enough creme puffs in the world to make up for that pain.

Yes, this too will pass. But it ain't passed yet.

Middle Management

Snitch!

Fondue has decided that entry level jobs are for lesser dogs and she is strictly management material. The other day, while I was in Modesto, she was at my Aunt's house supervising their yard work. My aunt and her girlfriend were working hard and Fondue kept tabs on them to made sure they didn't f it up. She would lounge in the sun, then go over and check out what they were doing, then go back to lounging. So dedicated!

Last night, late last night, maybe it was early this morning, she tested her management skills out on the cats. So, around 1:00 am Fondue starts barking. I was happy with the sleeping, so I'm a tad upset. She then jumps out of bed and acts like if she doesn't get outside that second the world will end. I am upset, but figure it is a dog related emergency and let her out. And there on the other side of the door is Galileo. Then I realized I had opened the window without the screen in error. So, I guess the cats saw their freedom chance and Fondue got upset and here we are at 1:00 am. I let Galileo in and then notice I'm still a cat short. Luckily, Fondue is on it. She is in the yard, trying to corral Lolita back inside (kitties are indoor kitties, everyone knows that; everyone except Lolita). Fondue runs up to me, leads me straight to Lolita and then blocks him on one side, so I can scoop him from the other.

Fondue would like you to know that if you are on break, you should be clocked out and if you aren't on a break you shouldn't just be standing around like that. Also, she would like you to know she isn't paying you to read this blog all day, she is paying you to work. Also, she can only pay you in kisses. Also, you are lucky to even get them as lazy as you are, so stop complaining.

Lolita Says: Chihuahuas suck

Five a Day

I'm not the biggest fan of Modesto. Or the Central Valley in general. The fact that I have to drive five million hours to get there does not help (the 580 to the 205 to the 5 to the 120 to the 99, oh my) Still, Modesto has manged to fall short of the low expectations I have for it.

At the very least, Modesto should be able to provide me with the following:

1) Kick ass Mexican food
2) Tons of vegetables and fruits everywhere
3) Good quality, fresh meth

So, number three isn't a real requirement. I really don't have the time or energy to become an addict right now. Plus, with my shitty teeth, meth would be the worst choice I could possibly make. No way could I afford the drug addiction and the escalating dental bills. So, that leaves Modesto with only two things to provide me with.

My first day at the hospital, I had chicken tacos brought in. Seriously, I've had better Mexican food in France.

Next day, I went with a sandwich. My avocado and cucumber sandwich comes back to me from Togo's with ONE slice of mealy tomato and TWO half wedges of cucumber. Seriously? You grow the vegetables out here, but can't manage to keep one or two for your own community before putting them on the trucks?

So now I bring my own salads with me. I think about how those vegetables have to travel from the Central Valley to get to me, and then I buy them and take them back to their birth place.

Time is Brain

My cousin had a horrific car crash the other week. It is maddening to sit around and wait to see how she will be when she pulls through. I don't do well with waiting, with the in between. I require direct communication. I like the facts. I like the action. I don't handle silence or ambiguity with any grace what-so-ever. So, these days, I drive to Modesto, and sit in a hospital NICU waiting room with my family. And sit. And wait.

It's amazing how much time and energy waiting can take up. Sitting in the small room, trying to get the air conditioning right, changing the tv channel without the remote, running out of small talk. I stare at the sign in the waiting room that tells you how to recognize the signs of a stroke. The sign is in English and in Spanish. The English version lacks the grace of the Spanish version. At one point it talks about how one sign that a person may have suffered a stroke is that they don't make sense when they speak. Then the sign ends with the following phrase in a 40 pt font: 'Time is Brain'. ?? I have decided that as soon as that phrase seems logical to me. It is time to call in the doctor and get me evaluated.

I don't go in and talk to Tiffanie. I don't know why. It feels too hectic for me. I sit in the room, I pull apples and carrots out of my bag hour after hour. I wait and wait and wait.