A Rambling Buble'less Whine.

Alas, although I have the newly released Buble' CD, I remain Buble'less! Counting my portables, I have six CD Players. Because none are currently functional I whined about being Buble'less for several days before I broke down and finally purchased #7. It's a nice little shelf-top model with an iPod docking station. I've barely traded in my 8-tracks and vinyl, and am iPod-less so I should have gone with the portable, iPod-dock-less, boom-box, but #7 has a timer and remote control. I really like remotes. In fact, I'm quite the collector of remotes. I have more remotes than CD Players. I currently have remotes for three TVs, a Converter, two tower fans, a tower heater, two car lock remotes, (I almost had the remote engine start-installed on my SUV as well), CD Player #3, and a couple of unidentified remotes. I think they reproduced. They all require different size batteries, so I've decided to invest in battery stock since my 401K has been an underachiever for the past few years. Anyway, when I learn a product has a remote, I suddenly develop an insatiable need for said product. Please don't share this information with telemarketers or salespeeps of your acquaintance or lineage as this knowledge gives them an unfair advantage over me. But I digress...I hooked up #7, popped in the newly released Buble' CD, pressed "play," picked up my Diet Dr Pepper, sat back in my favorite recliner, and prepared to be transported to Heaven while I listen to strains of Buble' wafting over the airwaves. Silence wafted. The instructions for #7 don't have a trouble shooting page. Technology has not been my friend today: the computers at work were down; Clear--my Internet provider--disconnects every late night, early morning, and anytime it rains; the cursor on my laptop jumps helter-skelter from line to line; my Mac doesn't have a word processing program so I have to type all documents in email to spell check--and I haven't figured out how to add the accent to the end of "Buble"; the Face Book Wall character-counter is a harsh, unrelenting editor; #7 remains silent; and when I hit "snooze" this morning it somehow changed my wake-up time from 05:45 to 06:45 (which means for the next 6-months every time I hit the snooze button I will have one eye open and not be able to fully relish the additional 4 minutes per snooze hit--this sort of defeats the purpose of setting the wake-up time early enough to be able to hit snooze 5-16 times before stumbling out of bed). But again I digress. Back to #7: I've decided not to deal with technology tonight, so #7 and it's remote have been repacked. Buble' has returned to the remote-less CD Player in the SUV, and I'm going for a drive.

Surprise!!!

Had a wonderful time at Bills surprise B-day party. As usualy Alicia did a great job organizing everything. Bill thought his friends were going to do something to him at dinner, so he dressed up in his best Bermuda shorts, knee-high socks, and greyed his hair. (Being the master of subtle understatement, I would have added sandals, a cane, glasses, and a megaphone--but then I am so much more subtle than my friends. Right.) Anyway, nothing happened at dinner and it is reported that Bill started feeling foolish. John lured him to the Rock-n-Bowl where 80 or so of Bills friends awaited. The Zydeco band was stellar, the food yummy, and the cake HUGE. (Alicia also does things over-the-top.) The only thing that sucked was the bowling-actually, the only thing that sucked was MY bowling. Its a good thing that I have fun when I bowl, because I didn't break 100 as usual. :~) However, this time something was different: I only bowled two games, yet two days later my forearm and elbow are still on fire! Sad. Very sad. You would think I was the oldster--not Bill! Happy Birthday Bill!

Intro to Bandit (originally posted on MySpace 07/10/2007)

The "Mother's Curse" found me after all. You know the one--all Mother's curse their offspring with it when they are totally frustrated: "I hope your children are 'just like you'!" Yep. It found me when my (then) 2 year old Chinese Crested and I took an Agility class a couple of years ago. (Think doggie obsticle course.) Since I have no kidos of my own, I thought I had successfully dodged the "Mommy Curse." But it found me--thanks to the aforementioned teenager--"Bandit."

Some days Bandit LOVED class and would do just about anything I asked him to do. Other days he had a mind of his own (two years later, he still is quite stubborn). Such was the case the night I realized the "Mother Curse" had finally found me. Before class, Bandit went through the "chute" (barrel with a collapsed tarp "windsock" attached). Not only did he go through it, he did it perfectly. I was so pleased! I got all puffed-up and "mama-proud." Bandit was going to rock! This was HUGE--our first class his tail was tucked between his hind legs until the very last thing we did. He was so timid and shy. So there I was, proud Mama, gonna show off--and what did my little precious do? He sat. He refused to budge. Not for anything. Not for his favorite smelly treat. Not for a toy. Not for praise. Nada!

This was not just passive-aggressive, it was PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE to the max! You see, Bandit is somewhat "prissy"--he refuses to sit or lie down in the dirt or on the grass without a physical struggle. By-the-way, If Bandit is any indication, 15 pound dogs can be very strong (as well as strong-willed)!

So,there we were--Bandit was performing well and I was in show-off mode. I gave the "chute" command and Bandit executed it (not as well as before class, but I was still feeling pretty good about our progress). Then we went to the tire jump (a tire/ring/hoop suspended by a couple of chains) and I gave the "tire" command. Bandit "anointed" it mid-stream (pun intended--it's kind of hard to pee mid-jump, but the Bald Boy's got talent). I stopped laughing long enough to grab the "OdoBan" (scent neutralizer in which I should have stock--as often as I clear out the shelves at WalMart). I proceeded to clean the tire. (I also reguiarly cleaned the tunnel, the jump, the barn door, the...you name it--when Bandit and I were taking the class, the obstacles were the cleanest in Texas). When we arrived at a regular jump (bar jump, 8-12 inches high). I gave the "over" command, and my beloved teen promptly sat--in the dirt! Then he proceeded to look at me with the most haughty look a bald dog with Don King Hair can muster. He actually smiled at me, and I CLEARLY heard him say, "Aint gonna happen, and you can't make me!" And I didn't. Yep, the "Mother Curse" finally caught up with me that night!

When I told my Mama--she roared with laughter! Quite frankly, I failed to see the humor. But growing up I also learned something from my Mama--perseverance.

Bandit now sits and lies down on comand--even outside in the dirt/on the grass (well, most of the time anyway)! We're still working on his tendency to pee-on-the-fly.