Google Wave Kinda Sucks

While I don't like to badmouth Google, as their stock has done very well for me over the past few months (search "Bing," and click the yellowish link, then close the window. repeat ad infinitum), Wave kinda sucks.

If you didn't know, Wave is kind of an email/social network service. You create a conversation, or "wave" with any number of friends...which due to wave still being under development with limited invites is very low, as if people who want me to be able to directly contact them arent't scarce enough. In this wave, anyone can edit the text in real time, add remarks, or add multimedia.

Is there some sort of desktop app for it or something? Now I have to check my gmail, my rugby email address, fantasy football, facebook, & wave? Why is it not just part of gmail?

And it fucking shows what you're typing in real time, which is by far the dumbest concept I've ever seen. I guess in like...a business setting it could be good if 50 people were editing one wave so you don't have everyone list the same thing at once, but christ, come on...how often is technology used for business, progress, or productivity? While constantly seeing people online could be confused as them using the interweb for something worthwhile, from the amount of links they send me during those hours, I am certain it is not.

Does everyone really need to know that I have no idea how to spell the vast majority of words I use, and often spend much longer than is appropriate for anyone my age, regardless of education, to spell "definitely," which always comes out as "definately," and I'm always confused as to why spellcheck doesn't recognize it, as if any letter in there is correct in my mind, that letter is the A.


But yeah...I'll be sending out invites when I get them...maybe it will be cooler if there's a ton of people "waving" or whatever the hell the verb for it is/will be. Knowing the amount of socially unacceptable filth that chain emails were obviously invented for carrying, maybe the live feed will be specfanfuckingtastacular.

"My Grandma's having her funeral tomorrow."

My Grandma died last weekend.
I think I may be pretty jaded. I haven't been upset, it's just what I expect people to do. Especially the old ones, so I'm not real into having people feel sorry for me or anything, which is why I've started phrasing my response as to why I'm not doing anything for Halloween with Grandma in the present tense, as if she is alive and well, throwing her own bash.

It also made me decide that I don't want to die in a hospital, although I can't seem to buy a DNR bracelet online. Stupid sanctity of live. Rather than being all drugged up with people taking blood samples all the time....check that, I would like to go out all drugged up...but rather than having relatives coming around to be sad, I'd rather be trapped in some cave in the wilderness, scared, desperate, cold and hungry, possibly cornered by a bear that I had attempted to befriend. Eventually I would manage to kill my brethren bear, and would attempt to crawl for safety, but I'd be too weak and die crawling up a hill, close enough to hear the traffic from a busy highway just on the other side.

Parent Clones

After 6 weeks in a cast from foot surgery and after a few weeks of being fairly hobbled, plus a break in coaching for a few days, I decided to clean the fuck out of my house.

While cleaning, I discovered not only a hairbrush containing what is obviously my mom's hair and one of my dad's wisdom teeth, which I guess they didn't dispose of as bio-waste in the 60's, as I was always fascinated by them and dismayed when I was not allowed to keep my teeth...although in retrospect, it may just be that anything coming out of me could be considered some sort of biohazard.

Anyways, it got me to thinking...what if I could somehow clone my parents and raise them as my own? Being that they raised me, my parenting would be modeled from theirs in some way, shape or form. While their environment would be different from their own childhoods, they'd be raised in the same one that I was. Would they turn out similar to their original selves, or degenerate rugby players just like any of my birth children will be?

Furthermore, would they fall in love due to genetics and spawn another me? And after breeding with their sibling, could I have them sent to some sort of correctional facility and raise my grandself? and how exponentially kick-ass would Goody/B turn out after being raised by Goody/A?

Chitown

Sean and I woke up around 1pm yesterday (we had to haggle with the indian innkeeper. When we were checking in at 6 he told us checkout time was 11 and if we wanted the room for the next day, we would have to wait until after 11 to check in.)

We drove about 4 hours to Chicago, which one slight scare where I passed a cop going 75 in a 70 and he started to back up a little.

Anyway, we arrived at Bucky's house, drank 2 beers with the neighbor and Lynnette, then headed up to my Uncle Glenn's house, were we hung out with my 4 year old cousin, delivered a bike from my other uncle, and ate several courses of chinese food. On the menu was an entire chicken, a lobster, shrimp stir fry, fried shrimp, fish, and rice. And potatoes, corn, and greenbeans (in case people from Lancaster Co. don't like rice, as apparently my grandpa doesn't eat rice.

Then we came back to Bucky's and discussed the fate of the Ursinus College Men's rugby team, and what we would have done had alumni contributed any significant amount of money to us. We decided we would have purchased a condemned house in inner city Detroit, then relocated our operations to there.

We're headed downtown to see those shiney ball things that everyone has their picture taken with while they're in Chicago (i know how to spell "shiny," but think it looks better with an "e."), maybe to the Maproom, a brewpub, ride the El, then head back on the road after dinner to begin the 16 hour trek to Colorado.

We just flew in from Pennsylvania...

and boy are the State Troopers tired of us!

After 450 miles, 9 hours, and two speeding tickets, Sean and I ended up in a cheap hotel, approximately in Toledo, OH.

Sean: "how much is it for the night?"
Indian Clerk: "50 for one bed, 55 for two"
Sean: "ok, sounds good"
Clerk: "Ok, so two rooms"
Sean: "no, just one, with two double beds...or single beds...any kind of bed"
Goody: "I just don't want to sleep in the same bed as him."
Clerk: "ok, so one room with a double bed."
Goody & Sean: "no, two beds, two beds!"

There was something else I was going to make note of last night that seemed really funny, but I can't remember it and it was probably only funny if you had been awake for 24 hours.

Alright, I'm going to see if I can rally Sean for the final 3 hours to Chicago.

It begins.

After a long day of work, and us discovering that Sean neglected to take off tomorrow, we are on our way. We plan about 4-5 hours tonight, then hit Chitown noonish tomorrow.

Roadtrip

Ok, so it's been 2 months without any actual content. If anyone checks this, sorry...writing in this blog might count as something productive, so I've been wasting my time reading emails that people for some reason forward to me, falling for phishing scams, generating angry emails to the gas station that I bought lunch from, downloading music, and otherwise wasting what little time I have away from work/coaching.

Anyways, tomorrow evening, I am departing to points west. After work, Sean and I will be traveling as far as we can towards Chicago, where we will hang out on Tues/Weds with Mr. Bucky "Fucking" Farley from Ursinus Fucking College before departing for Manitou Springs, CO, where we will spend the 21st-24th celebrating Brandon Rutt's wedding on the HIgginbotham Flats..."fishing, hiking, swimming, dancing, and loving." I refuse to fish, limp too badly to hike, and will only dance when I'm drunk...so there shall be some Imbibing in there too. At the wedding, we will rendezvous with the traveling supertramp Lex Pelger, who has been spending the last few months hitchhiking around the united states.

On the 24th, we will head 5 hours west to Mesa State University, where we will visit my college roommate Crazy Timmy, known to his students as Dr. T-Bone. I expect some hard core imbibing of some Colorado microbrews, and maybe some meathead behavior.

I'm not sure how it will work, but on the evening of Weds the 27th or the morning of the 28th, we will leave on our 15 hour drive to Iowa City to Clay. I talked to him on the phone and had to wait and listen while he shopped for handgun ammunition. I wonder if he has a job or if gradschool pays enough that you can afford handguns? We're going shooting, "like the Iowa rednecks that we are." We'll be there for Friday and Saturday, go to an all day festival with Clay & Tori on sunday.

We were going to drive home 16 hours on Sunday, drop Lex off at his boyhood homestead in an epic ending to his journey, go home and go to work the next day, but Clay assured us that after 16 hours, we wouldn't be able to go to work on monday. So I took that monday off...and then we decided to stay for the concert..and now we'll be driving home on monday and all cracked out on tuesday...but yeah, i want to keep this updated for the trip. Not sure how possible that will be, but something of this magnitude should be documented.

PS. in a nice back story, Dan Shaw will be housesitting, stealing my car, and living in Lititz. While I fear for my beer collection, I look forward to hearing about Dan's travels, navigated by the map I sketched this morning high lighting fastfood, bars, beer stores of the area while I drank a Beer Geek Breakfast Stout in bed.

somewhat accurate

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x8j4tv_the-whitest-kids-u-know-my-parents_fun

what're the kids saying these days? FML?

My employer informed us today that they were cutting 5% of everyone salaries. Effective two days ago, as there was "a last minute company wide phone conference" that my boss said she didn't think she would be able to get ahold of us. Not that she tried. And we had worked the day before and talked to my boss, who neglected to mention then that I was working for less money.

When one of my coworkers said "if that's how it is, you might be losing some employees soon," to which my boss replied, "well if you're going to quit, try to let us know beforehand so we're not screwed here."

So yeah, my career as a poolboy has pretty much drawn to it's overdue close. I'm looking for jobs, not that much is going on in that world.

Here's the real challenge...not just suddenly quitting, but quitting retroactively. Is there some way that I can undo a previous weeks' work? "Oh, I quit! and I'm talking all last week's work with me!"

26

I turned 26 friday, I think I'm officially old. When the High School girls that I coach asked how old I am, they responded with "I didn't think you were THAT old," as opposed to the "I thought you'd be older." I'm finally catching up with the 36 year old body that I was born with.

My birthday, however, turned out to be an all campus rocker for the ages. It provided long overdue inspiration to clean out my parents' room to provide a sleepover for about 30 people, as well as the basement sufficiently to host a variety of party games. It featured both UCR alumni, and a ton of current players and the classiest ladies of UC who do not normally have access to multiple cold domestic cakes due to campus policy. One dude had so much cake that he threw up on his buddy's car.

When it was all over, I laid around shaking all day sunday from all the icing, limping on a swollen knee and sore ankle, while trying not to touch anything, as I had a nice burn on one hand (blowing out candles) and a splinter in the other, along with a sore elbow, although the opposite elbow from the knee.

It was awfully crazy, I wish we had taped it.

Sweet Dreams

Well...last night I had a dream, and I know that, as stated by Always Sunny, "Dreams are like pictures, if I'm not in any of them, and no one is having sex, I don't care." However, some people are in this one.

My buddy Zach calls me up and asks if I'd be interested in going to Pittsburgh to invest in a coal mine. I agree, as I take great personal stake in the nation's coal supply. Anyways, we're driving for about two hours in the driving rain, and the turnpike starts going up these steep, unfinished mountain roads, our wheels are overhanging cliffs, it's all pure rock with gullies of rushing water. Zach repeatedly insists that we're going the right way, and that I do not remember this part of the turnpike because it's under construction.

We go for a little longer and we see this big building made of logs in the distance. Zach says pull over, this is a good place to stop. It's a gravel/dirt lot, with many mud covered pickups. The lot is lit by overhead stadium lights, and we run through the mire to a door that says "Bar" over another sign that says "General Store."

We sit down at the bar, get a couple of looks from the locals wearing cowboys hats...it's obviously the only place for miles, as the bar is very large and filled to capacity. It takes forever, but we eventually get a beer and zach asks the bartender where the closest hotel room is. He gives us directions, but I'm upset because I need to get to Pittsburgh that night so I can be home the next day in time for a party I'm throwing. Zach says it's raining too bad to head home.

We go down a hallway to the general store area, were there are about 12 teenagers wearing kilts and suspenders with dirty button down white shirts made out of some heavy fabric. They all have bad punk-rock type haircuts, randoms lengths of hair long in one area, short in others, but since they obviously have never seen internet or television to know what a punk haircut is, these are actually more authentic punk than most. They area struggling to get a 55 gallon drum of oil to the checkout.

I go get a warm soda out of the cooler, and say "excuse me" to the teens, but they ignore me and continue to struggle with the drum. I go to pay the old man for the soda at a front counter, but one of the teens is blocking the counter who says "we're in front of you, city boy."

I tell him that I'll be done before they even get to the counter, and he repeats that they were in front of me. I hand two dollars to the old man, and go to exit, where another teen has his hand on the doorknob. He goes "poor choice." I grab the doorknob and leave.

The rain has slowed, so Zach and I start walking across the big parking lot to the car to decide if we should head towards the 'burgh or head for home. I look over my shoulder, where I can see the group of teens have left the barrel outside and are slowly following us. I just finish saying "let's just get on the road and we'll decide, I don't feel like dealing with them," when I notice that the teens have gathered together and are looking towards the far end of the lot. Suddenly, someone at the far end of the lot bursts from the passenger side of the car and starts running across an open area behind the building, the teens run after him, picking up broken 2x4s, over run him and begin beating him with the 2x4's and pieces of chain.

Zach and I are both like, "Holy Shit!" but sort of hang around in disbelief, when the teens drag the dude they were beating over to the barrel of oil where they start dousing him with the oil and trying to set him on fire. At that point, Zach and I quietly roll the car out of the lot and head for home.

When we get back to my house, people are swarming the yard. Spot lights are everywhere, as a crew of men are assembling a large stage with "ANDREW WK" emblazoned across the top. I fight my way through crowds of people, some of whom I know to varying extent, to my front door, where one of the girls from the rugby team I coach is standing there in full kit.
"Coach, what's going on?" She asks, although it seems she knows more than I do.
"What're you doing here?" I ask.
"Oh, I just needed a..." she trails off, distracted by the stage.
"Why are you in full gear?"
"Oh, well I just came here to see if you had a...," again, she is looking at the stage.
"What? What do you want?" Just then my boss from England bursts out of the door.
"She wants a beer, just like every other bloody rugger!" he shouts, forcing a beer into her hand, goes back inside and slams the door.
"Why are you here?" I ask again.
"I just wanted to get, a, um, " pausing to look at the stage, "a mouthpiece!"
"It's 2 months until we start practice, I don't have any moth pieces. Besides, you have one stuck in your headband, one in your collar, and one in each sock if i'm not mistaken."
"Oh, well, then I guess I can go then," and disappeared into the crowd, beer in hand.

Andy Young, who I've seen once, maybe twice since high school, uncharacteristically tears up through my yard in a convertible cabriolet, top down with tall dune grass planted in the back.
"Well, glad to see you brough some grass to replant my yard." He hops out over the door carrying two six packs, shoves one into my arms, and goes inside without making eye contact.

I go into the house, where it is wall to wall acquaintances from high school and college engaging in behavior that will cause long term detrimental effects to my home. I try to talk to them to find out what is going on, but shredding guitar music drowns out their answers.

I mosh back to my room, where Sean is guarding the door.
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO DUDE!!!"
"what's going on here!?" I ask him.
"I don't know what we're gonna do."
"About what?" I just want to know whats going on.
"ANDREW W.K." Sean yells over the music.
"Is he here, or is that just his stage?"

Sean opens the door to reveal Andrew W.K. sprawled out on my bed, unconscious.

I don't remember what happened after that, but I can only assume I went on and partied so hard that my heart exploded out of my chest at the end of the set, and everyone cheered as they were covered in a shower of Jager flavored blood.

Blocked Number

I got a phone call today, all that came up on my screen was "blocked." I was trying to think if I had blocked any ex-girlfriend's number, or, more likely, that of one of my friends who call late at night with stupid jokes and stories.

Goody: "Hello?"
Caller: "Yo!" (at this point I'm thinking it's a coworker, as we block our cell numbers so pool owners can't bother us directly.)
Goody: "What's going on man?"
Caller: "This is Jose." (I must have not heard that right)
Goody: "Who?"
Jose: "Jose. Who's this?" (I can't possibly know anyone named Jose."
Goody: "I'm Goody."
Jose: "something something your boy from the crib." (um, I was at a house party last weekend, but don't recall anyone named Jose.)
Goody: "How do I know you?"
Jose: "You gave me your number last night." (I went to work yesterday, bought a Christmas tree, had 'lunch' at Scooter's, and came home. Could there be someone else named Goody with a similar number?)
Goody: "I think you have the wrong number."
Jose: "Jose, from the white car. Who is this?" (Did I meet anyone in a crib or a white car recently? hmm, no.)
Goody: "I'm Goody. What white car?"
Jose: "the small one." (vague. very vague. I do intentionally piss off many other motorists, but how would they get my number?)
Goody: "What number did you dial? I don't want to miss out on your illegal activity if it's something cool."
Goody: "Hello?"
Goody: "Jose?"
Dialtone: "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer"

Too Nice

My sister, Jacy, called me today from the Doctor's office. She was getting some botox shots to loosen up her arm so she can start working with it a little more and just to relax it. (She was in a car accident and her arm isn't working too hot, if you didn't' know) Anyway, the office didn't get pre-authorization, and couldn't get ahold of anyone at the insurance, so she had to sign something saying we would pay for it if insurance wouldn't cover it.

Anyway, the convo went like this:
Jacy: "Hey, we don't know if insurance will cover the shots, so we might have to sign a paper saying we'll pay for them if they don't"
Me: "Ok, we can do that."
Jacy: "Well, it's expensive...a couple thousand" (she said the exact price)
Me: "Ok, well you want the shots, right?"
Jacy: "Yeah"
Me: "Well then sign the paper, and if insurance doesn't pay for it, we will"

How it should have gone:
Jacy: "Hey, we don't know if insurance will cover the shots, so we might have to sign a paper saying we'll pay for them if they don't"
Me: "Ok, we can do that."
Jacy: "Well, it's expensive...a couple thousand" (she said the exact price)
Me: "Oh."
(Silence)
Jacy: "What should I do?"
Me: "Well you know how I want a TV that goes on the wall."
Jacy: "you could still get that, they're not that much."
Me: "yeah, but you still need another session in your leg...why don't you just pick one or another?"

and I could've kept going like that forever...lucky for her, I was busy framing windows in the basement and couldn't mess with her....maybe next time she needs something important.

Lemme Upgrade Ya

I'm sick of companies trying to sell me guarantees on products/services. I was at the post office today, and after standing in a dense line while clerks complain about their job to the old people who must be in there every day because they have enough free time to not just buy a book of stamps and mail from home, they ask me if I would like to upgrade to priority mail, and if I would like to require a signature/notification of receipt.
To put it simply, I'm paying $1.17 for this envelope to be shipped from Lititz to Western Lancaster in a timely fashion. If I pay that money, USPS does that. Why should I pay extra money to make sure it gets done? If you can't do it properly for one dollar and seventeen cents, charge more for the flat rate.
It's as if I would come to you and say, "Hey, I'll build you a doghouse for $100." Then, after we agree upon that rate, I go: "Hey, I'll be sure to do a good job of it for $125."

Apple pulled the same stunt on me. Don't get me wrong I love my laptop and phone, but they offer extended warranties for extra money, which I can understand. However, I recently had an issue with the iPhone...I don't know what it was, it was working off and on, i took it to the Apple store and they replaced it, no questions asked....awesome, great customer service, iSatisfied. However, the warranty on the replacement phone is not one year from when it was issued, but from the date of the original purchase.
If you sell a product and guarentee it for a year and it fails, shouldn't the exact same product have the exact same warantee? To make it even worse, to make a selling point, they tell me that the $80 extended warranty transfers with the phone if I ever sell it...meaning they acknowledge the fact that a waranty goes along with an individual item, not along with the person who bought it.
It's as if I build you a doghouse and as I leave I say, "Yep, I did an extra good job on this one (thanks for the extra 25 bucks), if anything happens to it in the next year, gimme a call and i'll come fix it."
364 days later, you come out and the dog house is a pile of boards in the yard. You call me, I come out and explain that I must've gotten some faulty nails, no way I could have known that, but I'm a man of my word and I'll build a brand new one just like the old one. When you ask what if this one falls apart in 364 days....well, that's not my problem, I guarenteed that first one for one year, so if this one falls apart tomorrow, I'll fix it, but after that, I have no guarentees that the work I just did will last any longer.
....but for an extra 50 bucks, I promise it will last at least 3 more weeks...

Seriously, who is stupid enough to actually pay extra money to be sure what should've been done right the first time actually gets done? Sorry if you do spend extra money on these types of things, and if you're offended, send me 5 bucks and I'll write a personal appology post. Send me $20 and it will be sincere.

Nightmares

I had a dream the other night. I was sitting in my car in a parking lot. A man came up and knocked on my window, it was my dad. My old-school dad with a mustache. I didn't recognize him at first, but it was him. I was so incredibly happy to see him. He told me it was all just a test to see how Jacy and I would do in a crisis situation and that we excelled in the test.

I asked to see mom...and he said that she died in the accident, and Jacy's injuries were real...

I woke up then. It was sad...I never thought about the massive insurance fraud that would have been committed if it were true...I was just happy to see Dad.

Sorry, it's a bit sentimental...I'll go back to drinking with Sean so I don't dream.

Mood: Angry, nauseous.

So it's a pretty low key night...reading a book by the fire until i decide to change the music, then someone IMs me, and before I know it, I went from a positive, intellectual activity to searching youtube for classic Hulk Hogan clips. Then the Undertaker. Then the Million Dollar Man...I'm not sure why, I never watched WWF. Anyway, Million Dollar man's sidebar has "Money Talks" on it, so I watch that video...and a few more sidebar clicks, and I find these:

Shakira, singing a song that I probably would be titled "Back in Black," had I no prior knowledge of AC/DC.


...she kinda looks like Dee Snider...

Shania Twain...try to block out the singing, focus on the headflips to give it some humor, assuming she's trying to headbang and not just keep the hair out of her eyes.



...Celine Dion. By far a crime against all nature...and that's my opinion of her before I saw this video. The worst part is, you can tell she thinks she is really rocking.



p.s. The only people who should be wearing heels anywhere near an AC/DC song are strippers, Gene Simmons, and, as much as I hate to mention him twice, Dee Snider.

I remember the first time I heard AC/DC. I was in Kindergarten. It was my first contact with rock music...my dad's copy of "Dirty Deeds." We used to watch a lot of "Cops," not having cable television and all, so naturally I was drawn to the blacked out faces on the cover art and the disclaimer that "only the names have been changed to protect the guilty."

But yeah, these videos really upset me. It's like finding out that someone brutally raped and slowly disfigured your childhood friend. And you know exactly who did it...and you know that not only were they paid to do it, but they're proud of their heinous crime.

Sorry, I can't get all worked up over this...if I'm going to drive a van packed full of explosives into a concert, it will be a Jimmy Buffet concert, I can't let this distract me from the reason God put me on earth.

Also, I'm afraid my quotes key will wear out if I continue with this post. and this is the most my "Dee Snider" key has been used in awhile.

Culmination!

Finally, I get to put all my acquired beer drinking skills to a good cause...well...a cause....a self serving one. Kinda. My buddy Kurt is getting married next year. He's opting to have cash bar, as most of their family members (aka Killjoys) won't drink enough to warrant the low low price of $5.75 for the first hour, $5.25 for the second, and $4.75 for the third. Why he let me see the menu, I'm not quite sure, although I did abstain from picking out entrees.
However, he has assured me that he will be picking up the tab for those in the wedding party. While this is a kind gesture, it is not my concern, as I will get drunk at Stoudt's no matter what the cost, whether I need smuggle in a flask, blow a wad of cash, lose a limb, or promise my firstborn to a life of servitude. It's everyone else that be to be intoxicated, as to make my impending words and deeds seem borderline socially acceptable.
So here's the plan. I need to prove to Kurt that it will be cheaper to pay for everyone to have open bar than it will be to pay tab. If we figure 150 people at the wedding, the hourly rates add up to $15.75 per person for three hours of open bar. That would be $1,575 dollars for 100 people, plus half of that for another 50, which is, (let's see...750 is half of 1500, and half of 75 is like...38ish...785...plus 1575...2200....carry the 1....160)....about $2360? I could use a calculator, but I like approximate mental math, and as I type what I think, there it is.
So, let's say 5 bucks a beer, 5 goes into 2 G's 400 times, into three hundred 60 times, and into sixty 12 times....so 472 beers. In 3 hours. I'm confident...and if I can only get down 400 some beers in 3 hours, i'll remind him how much of a tip he'll need to leave on 400 beers.

Ah, my first anonymous criticism on this site...take it easy...I don't want any puppy mills, as I find the vast majority of dogs incredibly annoying. They used to breed dogs on a farm behind me...they would all get each other barking...I hated that puppy mill, and all the dogs in it.
I like independent, low maintenance animals such as cats and fish. Just so long as they have food and water (especially the fish), and they wouldn't care if they never saw you. I wouldn't want a pet dog cheap, expensive, or free. If I wanted a noisy pet that drools and needs tending every few hours for exercise and to go to the bathroom I'd have a kid...or maybe a second coal stove so that I could use any puppies that might wander into the house as kindling.
Speaking of which, I left the stove burning overnight by itself for the first time, I was thinking about it so much I could barely have a good time. The party started at 8...I didn't leave until 10 so that it wouldn't be burning untended for as long. I woke up at 7am to be sure I would get home in time to take care of it....I wonder how old a kid would have to be before it could be in charge of a coal stove....

Some Puppy Mills!

...while from what I understand, Puppy Mills are bad, but I also don't want to pay premium prices for my dogs (if I did for some reason want a dog)...do you think we could reach some sort of compromise, such as some puppy mills? And does someone make a sign that represents such that I could put in my yard?

Jacy is gross. Or Dedicated.

My sister started reading my blog, so for some reason I feel ok to pick on her here because it's not behind her back...but yeah, she is all about drinking cocacola red caps to enter to win free coke and prizes. To the point where I can't buy her a case of cans, as she wants the lids.

The thing is, it's not the quantity. She drinks one bottle every 3 or 4 days, which means it must be syrup-flat. The coal stove also keeps the living room at 82-85 degrees, meaning her soda, which she likes to drink at room temp, is in the mid-eighties.

However, she has polished off about 8 in this manor, so she is getting a coupon for a free coke. Although they could just ship it to her, as she wouldn't mind it being warm from being in the mail.