The scene:Dawg and I are watching Friday Night Smackdown. Jack Swagger, one of the wrestlers I hate theeeeeee moooooooooost in the world, is talking on and on and on for a solid 15 minutes. He is telling the Buffalo, New York crowd about his lifetime achievements. Why? We do not know. Nor do we fucking care. And yet he continues. He whips out his National Scrabble Championship trophy, which is fake, but the following conversation is not.
Dawg: You know that’s real. Poppy: What? That championship? Or Swagger winning it. Dawg: The championship. Poppy: I know! I!!!… Dawg: They have groups all across the country. I read a biography about it! Poppy: I watched a documentary about it!!! One of the guys goes to Mexico and has sex with prostitutes before his matches! Dawg: He was in the biography. Poppy: Are you that guy from the documentary?! Dawg: (pause) No, I don’t play Scrabble. Poppy: Because THAT’S the more important part to clear up! Dawg: I don’t go to Mexico and have sex with prostitutes. I don’t have sex with prostitutes, period! Poppy: *giggle* Dawg: But you have to admit that was really funny. Poppy and Dawg: *high five* Dawg: You should blog this. I’m a treasure trove. I’m full of gold.
“Smart impresses me; strength of character impresses me. But most of all, I’m impressed by kindness. Kindness, I think, comes from learning hard lessons well, from falling and picking yourself up. It comes from surviving failure and loss. It implies an understanding of the human condition, forgives its many flaws and quirks. When I see that in someone, it fills me with admiration.” — Ridley, lead character in Lisa Unger’s Beautiful Lies
I’m not sure I’ve ever read a more perfect passage in a piece of fiction not based on someone’s life. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be the only great part of this particular New York Time’s Bestseller, but whatevs. These words are my words. I might as well have written them, because they precisely state who I am as a person. If you need to know how I think about human beings, how I’m able to show the compassion I have for other people, these words tell you how I am programmed to think, to feel.
In completely unrelated news, I ordered my Halloween costume from a company that really wants the person who is indicated on the SHIP TO label to actually sign for the US Postal Service package that arrives, but I foolishly put my own name on the SHIP TO of Mama Dawg’s house. I tracked the package yesterday and realized that the USPS had indeed tried to get a signature for the package on (Saturday? I don’t recall, a day I wasn’t sitting on the bench outside the house waiting for a package to arrive in my name, anyway) but left a slip that said “pick up your package at the post office, LADY.” Well, fat chance of that happening considering my Manhattan-bound status during the week, and I actually have to *gasp* work this coming Saturday so everyone devised the plan that I would sign the slip then Hollywood would take it to the post office on Monday and say that I just married into the family (I did not) and that I am his daughter-in-law (well, ya know, I think I am despite the lack of legality, but I don’t think the USPS would necessarily agree), and that I live with him and please oh please give me her package cuz, look, she wrote down the same address as is on my license!
This morning Dawg called me at work… in the morning… on a MONDAY… a very rare occasion, having now happened all of ONE TIME.
Poppy: (cheery but inquisitive voice) Hey, Babe!
Dawg: (serious, stern voice) Hey Babe. Listen. I just got off the phone with my mom and I have to head down to the 104th precinct. My dad went to pick up your package and got arrested…
Poppy: (thinking in my head, “now why would it be the 104? I didn’t go to the 104 when my car got broken into on their block…” and then “OH HOLY FUCK SHIT DAMN I GOT DAD ARRESTED!”)
Poppy (continued): “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!??!!?!??!?!”
Dawg: (chuckling) Yes, he got the package. I’ll pick it up on the way home.
Poppy: (hysterically laughing but pissed) You know if that REALLY happened I would have to exit all aspects of your life out of complete embarrassment.
Dawg: (continuing to laugh)
Poppy: *sigh* Good one, though.
The Scene: Dawg and I are in the kitchen talking. Ripley is draped on me with her back feet in my hands purring away.
Poppy: You’re awesome. Dawg: I’m not awesome. I’m okay. You’re awesome. Poppy: No, you’re awesome! Ripley swats Dawg in the face with her tail. Dawg raises an eyebrow, we both laugh. Poppy: Ripley’s an extension of me. Try that again. Dawg: You’re awesome, I’m just okay. Nothing happens. Poppy issues the executive order to Ripley through her mind. Ripley swats Dawg in the face with her tail. Poppy: See? *smile* Dawg: You’re right. Poppy: It just got all Twilight Zone in here. Dawg: Yes it did…
Way back when I lived in Vermont I used to post to this blog about 4 billion times a day and respond to EVERY comment that anyone ever left me, because I was so bored with my entire daily life of non-challenge and both personal and professional/bureaucratic apathy that I had the time to do so.
Now I am lucky to have the time, gumption, and something I consider worth posting about each day. And all that time I used to have for responding to comments is now spent working at a job that actually requires my brain power on a minutely basis or I’m underground where I don’t have access to the interwebs. So when I do have time for blogs I tend to read my friends’ and family members’ blogs and leave comments there instead.
I used to feel bad about my inability to respond to your comments anymore, but then I finally let my mind freestyle for a bit and came to the realization, which I just semi-defended-by-just-passingly-mentioning-on-Sarcastica’s-blog, that I am the one who initiates a conversation here and you, my dear friends, are the responders! And it’s your choice to read what I say here and leave me a comment, so it needs to be my choice as well to have anything witty or responsive to say to you in return.
I hope I just expanded your thought on the matter, or helped you realize that I am singing in your same chorus.
If you don’t agree, feel free to leave me a comment saying so! (Sneaky, aren’t I?)
Today is the big day! We fly to Santa Fe (not San Jose) today! I am this excited!
But I’m still protecting my nuts.
If you’re there too join us at the Santa Fe Brewing Company TONIGHT at 8pm for BEERHER! We’s gonna drink beeah. See the rest of you for tequila TOMORROW!
WOW, that was a long but effortlessly flying by hour and 45 minutes of Lick. Slam. Suck. thanks to BEERHER, the lovely Robin, and the immeasurably entertaining Adam Avitable. We hope you’ll make every effort to attend TequilaCon this year, and to pre-party with us at BEERHER the night before! Bring your bikinis and kegs!
I am up way past my bedtime. Happy Tuesday! And Happy Birthday to Brad!!!
The lovely and vivacious Sheila interviewed me! Because I asked her to! Because I think she’s fascinating so I figured her asking me questions would continue the fascinating streak! And it did! Why am I exclamating? ! Shouldn’t that be exclaiming? ! Whatever!
1. I have noticed that you have a couple of babies but I can’t seem to keep up with them. How many do you have and what are there names?
This is Allie, who is almost 12:
This is Ripley, who is 7:
This is Georgie, who is 4:
My childhood cat Little Kitty is cremated and sits in a box in my floating end table drawer.
I claim ownership over many other cats when I am in their physical presence, but I’m not technically their mama.
2. Was Dawg always a cat person or was that one of those things that he just had to learn to love? As in “Love Me, Love My Kitties”.
Dawg was always a cat person, and had cats growing up. If he had hated my cats it would have been a deal breaker because that would have meant he hated a part of me. The girls are my kids. Honestly, though, I was very surprised to learn he is a cat person because I totally pegged him as a dog person.
3. How is the adjustment going as far as living in New York versus Vermont?
I love living in New York, although I think part of the reason is because I love having the craziness of Manhattan as my work life and the quiet solitude (yes, really) of Queens as my personal life. I also really enjoy making loose plans but not necessarily keeping them because then my OCD can’t kick in when we’re five minutes late for anything. I do miss my family and friends, but when I lived in Vermont I didn’t keep in touch with them as well as I do now, so it’s one of those “blessing in disguise” things. Also, I love riding the subway and I LOVE living with Dawg. Who knew living with someone could be so much fun?!???!!!!??!!!!!
4. How did your family react when you said you were moving there to be with a guy you met online?
My dad:
My mom:
My brother was shocked but then he saw videos of me and Dawg on Cereal Wednesday and he realized how absolutely in love I am with that man.
I told Break Boy during one of our Guitar Hero jams at the new datacenter. He was shocked and really sad that I wouldn’t be staying. He asked if I was happy. I showed him this video:
He knew I was happy. His wife Knitting Girl and their kids EZA, and LLA were very sad I was leaving but were content that I’d be visiting on occasion. (I do when there isn’t an effing snowstorm!!!)
PiC and da Bomb were their version of sad to see me go, but they knew it was a very good thing considering how things at work were going from bad to much, much worse.
I dunno how anyone else felt about the matter because I didn’t bother asking. I don’t really like dealing with goodbyes.
It sucks to miss people, but that’s life.
5. Do you guys ever have to battle over who gets the blog fodder when something insane happens to the two of you?
I like surprises and he knows that, so I generally don’t know what’s being posted to his blog until everyone else knows too. The only time I know what Dawg is blogging about is when he asks me to read his post before it launches or he has a great idea and tells it to me before he gets a chance to write it down. If we both have an experience it’s fair game for us both to blog it because we each have a very different perspective on any given event. We also have different readers. And we also each consider writing on our blogs as a way of sorting through the mess in our minds, so being able to write anything down is therapeutic.
Ok, that was beyond fun. I still owe one person her interview questions, which means I suck. Sorry!!! If you want to interview me please let me know, if you want me to interview you please let me know. And, again, the idea and offer still stands — if you have any interview questions for Dawg please let me know so I can interview him on camera. We got a few questions, but I’d rather have a bunch more. I just don’t believe there aren’t people out there dying to ask the tough questions of NYC Watchdog.
I have not played Guitar Hero since moving to New York. I mentioned this to Dawg last night after I saw (a tweet, I think) that someone else was playing. He then instructed me to play today, as something I need to accomplish before he gets home.
Borrowing from Neil, I will start off by saying that this is 10% dramatization, 90% truth. I’ll let you figure out which 10% isn’t quite the truth.
The scene: Poppy’s brother has forced her to have birthday lunch with him and Poppy’s dad. Poppy arrives and is asked how life is going. Poppy mentions that she got a raise (which she did) and got a security certification (which she did). And then conversation turns to The Future:
Dad: You have any news?
Because me getting a raise and a security certification is not news to my dad, apparently.
Poppy: I’ll be unemployed and homeless at the end of the month! Dad: *mouth agape* Poppy: Yup, it’ll be great! *smile* Dad: *mouth agape* Poppy: I’m really excited about it! Dad: Are you serious? Poppy: Yes! Dad: What’s your goal? Poppy: *blank stare* Dad: What’s your goal in New York? Big Brother: (coming to my rescue) To be happy. Poppy: Yes, that! Dad: So, you’re not going to work? Poppy and Big Brother: *blank stare* Poppy: Yes, that’s exactly why I just told you that I got a raise and a certification, because I plan to sit at home. Dad: I mean, to take care of children. Poppy: I have a career! I don’t have children! Dad: But, when you do, you’re staying home…?
Allow me to clarify: I am not With Child. This conversation is completely random. But apparently my only goal that is acceptable to my father is if I have babies he won’t ever see because he won’t ever come to New York City (his words, not mine). Apparently me having a really kickass information security career is out of his comfort zone. Apparently I am supposed to be home barefoot and pregnant.
Poppy: No, Dad. I’m the meal ticket! Dawg’s following me wherever my career takes me! Dad: But, you’re staying home with the kids, right? Big Brother: (under his breath) Just give up. Just say yes. Make him stop. Poppy: Yes. I’m staying home to take care of 10 babies. Better? Dad: Yes, all better. Poppy: Glad I could please you. Hate to break up the party, but I hafta go resign now.
Last night I was talking on the phone with Dawg* about how I might not post anything at all today to which he replied “Poppy CEDES” (he actually called me that) then lectured me about not posting. I thought that was adorable.
That was the tell portion. Here’s the show portion:
That’s my desktop photo. :love:
Yes, I am fully aware that I’m a dork. Donut care.
*Anyone who recalls correctly knows that I hate the phone. I just find it awkward because I’m a very visual person and there’s nothing for me to look at while on the phone except things that distract me away from paying attention to the person I’m talking to. But… well, duh, for him I make an exception. And only for him.
