Goldieversary!

All up in my business
Originally uploaded by suebobdavis

Eight years ago today, I picked this mutt up from the Agoura Animal Shelter. The whole story is here.

Paid $32 and walked her out to the car, where she jumped right in - but not before standing up and putting her paws on the shoulders of the shelter volunteer on duty and giving her a big goodbye smooch.

She's my pal and my companion, my lovely friend who takes me on walks every day. Just last night she chased a rat up my leg at the beach. (I'm not kidding. I'm still shuddering).

Happy Goldieversary, dog. At age 15, I'm not sure how many more we'll have. But one thing you've taught me - it's all about being right here, right now. No looking back and no worrying. Look for the fun, run on ahead. And take a nap when you get tired.

In which I get trapped

I took a 12-week class at church and last night was our final session. It was to be a lovely celebration of our togetherness and our newfound wisdom, capped by a potluck dinner and the presentation of our final projects. It was...different.

Can you sense where I am going with this? Hint: it does not end with me feeling Oneness With The Source of All Good.

The potluck was great. Unlike many modern potlucks, people had actually cooked. Food. From scratch. There was a shrimp in dill sauce thing, a rustic pear tart, a vegan cheesecake made with coconut milk, a bounteous salad. I made my famous traditional Pico de Gallo, which is not a raw salsa, but a refreshing salad with jicama, oranges and cucumbers.

I had just dished up my whole plate when a lady from my class walked up to the salad table, plate already a-brimming. She stood there, surveyed the offerings, opened her mouth wide and produced three or four loud, percussive coughs.

All over the food. She didn't even attempt to cover her face or do a Dracula-cough thing. Nope. She just let her phlegm flag fly.

Have I ever mentioned that I am a bit of a germaphobe? Like maybe 1000 times or so? Yeah.

My soul shriveled up into a little black cinder ball of meanness and hate. If I hadn't already had my food on my plate, I would not have eaten. I was stunned.

Then it was time for final projects. The rules were pretty loose - anything you feel like creating that expresses what you got from this class. People poured their hearts into this. They wrote poetry, songs, gave speeches full of depth and passion.

Me, I did a powerpoint. No, there weren't bullet points involved. Or charts. I took some of my photos and put things I had learned from class on them as text and voila. I are computer jeenius.

During the presentations, I was sitting on a loveseat. Coughing Lady was sitting in a chair next to me. She put her wadded up bunch of damp tissues on the arm of the loveseat, where it tumbled down and rested damply against my leg.

Oh yeah, baby. There I was. A germaphobe. With a polluted wad of tissues resting on my body. Completely unable to do anything about it. I couldn't touch the infected germwad with my hand. I couldn't stand up and move, because we were in the middle of our Deep, Touching and Meaningful final project presentations.

All I could do was sit there and feel the dampness of her evil germy body fluids soaking into my pants. Every nerve in my body was jumping up and down screaming.

The irony is not lost on me. I come to this spiritual class to learn about my divine nature and I end up stewing in a pot of my own fears, prejudices and obsessions. Very funny, God. Very damned funny.

Finally, during one of the songs, I used my lyrics sheet - when I was supposed to be singing along - to flip the germwad onto the floor quick as a wink when no one was looking. (Yes, I cleaned it up later. Yeesh, people).

So my spiritual advancement seems to have stalled somewhere between "Horking all over the food" and "Allowing your germy tissues to get loose and visit other people." I may just go join a cult. A non-coughing kind of cult.

Maradona! Or, how to drive your readers away by yammering on ceaselessly about the World Cup

First, I am shocked and saddened that so few people wanted to play Erin Poopy Bingo. It is a tragic day when people don't want to bet when a grown woman will take a poop after surgery. What a world.

Second, I wonder why World Cup has possessed my brain. I mean, other than the gorgeous men running about in shorts.

I never liked futbol before. But suddenly it truly is The Beautiful Game to me. People complain about the lack of scoring. I LOVE the lack of scoring. It is all about the technique, the speed, the plays...and every so often, the goal.

That being said, it was a crappy weekend for a USA/Mexico fan. A lose/lose proposition, as it were.

On Saturday, I watched the USA/Ghana game at the local pub. I know that most of you were as riveted as I was, but in the very slight chance that you didn't watch, let me give you a brief recap: Ghana scored, USA scored, and then it remained tied til it went into overtime.

In OT, Ghana scored. Boo. The scorer did THE MOST AMAZING booty dance down by the goal, causing me to hoot.

Which caused me to get the Death Glare from a German fan who was sitting near me. Because apparently, losing is such serious business that one must not hoot, even if a fit young Ghanan is shaking it like Tina Turner after a handful of espresso beans.

Lighten up, Klaus. Go eat a weisswurst.

I spent part of the weekend when I wasn't watching the game watching Maradona, the "squat little man" who happens to be the greatest player who ever lived (yeah, yeah, Pele, yada yada).

I know, I know, there is something wrong with me. But LOOK AT THIS:


Thus my new exclamation for everything amazing or unbelievable - "Maradona!"

Erin Poopy Bingo

STOP THE PRESSES - the eagle has landed. I repeat, the eagle has landed.

Ok, kids, Erin - Queen of Spain - has to take a poop to be released from the hospital after colon/gall bladder surgery.

Everyone knows how much I HATE to talk about poop (comes from growing up with a mom who was constipation-obsessed, I suppose - honestly, her first question whenever any of us were ailing with anything from a headache to hives was "Are you constipated?") but for Erin I will break my poo-silence.

She neither suggested nor endorsed this activity but I'm fairly sure she will be on board. Laughing, I hope.

Let's play Erin Poop Bingo. $5 gets you a guess. Date, hour, minute. Winner gets half, the other half gets donated to Erin's son's charter school. In the event of a tie, it will be luck of the draw. You can guess in the comments or email me at suebobdavis@gmail.com

Good luck

Am I Taking This World Cup Thing Too Seriously?

This made me cry like a baby:


What can I say? I'm menopausal, a Cancerian, and have a patriotic streak a mile wide. The combination of a World Cup win, people cheering and chanting USA just sent me over the edge. The kid in the basement KILLED me. So cute.

I continue to post the day's matches - complete with little flag logos if I have time to draw them, though my lack of a yellow marker is hindering me a bit for Spain - and real-time score updates on my whiteboard. People stop by and either speculate on games or tell me how they can't stand soccer.

Since I can't watch the games (work!), I keep the www.fifa.com "Matchcast" on in the background to keep up with the minute-by-minute progress.

The other day when the USA won, I couldn't yell or anything because I was in the cube farm with people on conference calls all around me. My co-worker, Tai, came rushing in late with his hair all askew.

"Did you see it?" I asked.

"I heard it while I was on the freeway and I almost drove off the road," he said.

I ran out to the security desk, where we have two Nigerian guards who are futbol-obsessed. They know I'm following, too.

We all jumped around and pumped our arms in the air and stage-whispered "USA! USA! USA!" just happy to share the moment with someone.