The Death of Polite Society

I’m chubby, and because of that, most guys don’t ever take the time to see past my extra inches to find out who I am beneath the extra pounds. And I’m okay with that – most of the time.

I am also okay with the fact that most of my friends are more attractive than me. Pita is an adorable, sassy little thing who guys always find attractive. PL oozes sex appeal. And JoJo, well JoJo is a drop-dead stunner. But it’s when I go out with one of them somewhere that it really starts to bug me.

Last Friday night, Pita and I went out to DC for some fun. Well, fun was eluding us, so we headed back to Arlington to one of Pita’s favorite haunts – Guarapo’s. Guarapo’s is a neat place because they always have a good DJ upstairs, the drinks are nice and strong (although pricey), and unlike most bars in the area, there are usually more guys than girls.

It took about 10 minutes before the first guy started circling us, preparing to make his move. He positioned himself between Pita and me (with his back to me) and started chatting her up. I was left standing there totally bored – and annoyed.

It didn’t take Pita long to get over this guy, and we moved a table, where three more guys were already sitting. Within 5 minutes, they were all chatting with her and not one of them said a single thing to me. Not one word.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not looking to hook up with any of these guys. I’m not the kind of girl who meets a guy while drinking and takes him home for a little fun. But would it freaking kill them to just acknowledge my presence? Just because they say hi doesn’t mean I’m going to fall in love with them and start following them around like a little dark cloud. Is that what they are afraid of? To guys, since I am not their target, I am an obstacle to be avoided at all costs.

I am left asking myself this: “what happened to the basic rules of polite society?” When did it become acceptable practice to ignore someone who is standing right next to you? Someone whose conversation you just interrupted? I don’t mind if guys hit on Pita – or PL or JoJo (who are both engaged). And I don’t mind if they don’t hit on me. What I do mind is being completely ignored.

So guys, a little piece of advice – if a girl across the room catches your eye, don’t ignore her less attractive friend who is standing right next to her. Say hello. Introduce yourself to both of them. Engage both of them in conversation. And then, as the opportunity presents itself, make your intentions clear to the object of your affection. But don’t leave the homelier half of the dynamic duo standing there with her thumb up her ass. Trust me – that girl is likely going to have some say in whether or not you get to go home with her friend. And if you’re an ass to her, no matter how much of a connection you think you have formed with her friend, your efforts may be all for naught.

I don't watch the Oscars, or any awards shows for that matter. What's the point in wasting 3 or 4 hours watching a bunch of self-important celebrities pat each other on the back. Besides, all of the winners are posted on the internet the next day, and the show's highlights are talked about ad nauseum and are always available on YouTube within hours.

Add to the boredom factor the somewhat depressing fact that I generally haven't seen most of the movies that have been nominated. This year was no exception.

There Will Be Blood. No Country For Old Men. La Vie En Rose. Juno. Michael Clayton. I have not seen any of these movies. Don't get me wrong - all of these are (and have been) on my must-see list. (Well, except for Ma Vie En Rose, because, quite frankly, I don't know who Edith Piaf is, and I don't really care.)

What I do care about is the fact that all of the "best of" awards for acting went to foreign nationals. And, no, I don't think that is a bad thing.

For so many American actors & actresses, it's not about the art, it's about the celebrity - the money, big houses, fancy cars, and designer duds. They cannot truly appreciate the award because they don't really value anything, and are generally devoid of any true talent. (I know there will be those of you who will come up with some exceptions to this, but this is intended to refer to the overall Hollywood community, not everyone specifically.)

But when I saw Marion Cotillard sobbing with job on Forrest Whitaker's shoulder after she won her award, I knew that she really appreciated and deserved it. And Daniel Day-Lewis is a seasoned actor who has been responsible for some of my favorite movies - including Last of the Mohicans and In the Name of the Father. Javier Bardem? Just the previews of No Country scared me so badly that I was afraid that I'd no longer be able to find him sexy. (No worries - I got over it rather quickly.) Don't forget Tilda Swinton, God bless her ugly little self. She is such an amazing actress that she has repeatedly convinced me that there is no woman more beautiful than she - now THAT, my friends, is talent.

So until our American actors learn that making a crapload of dough doing something they love is a blessing, and until they stop cranking out more mindless, heartless crap, I hope that the awards will continue to go overseas.

Until that time, I will enjoy every minute of Javier, Daniel, Tilda, (and probably not Marion unless she makes a new movie soon).

Money Well Spent

Please forgive me for the shameless product endorsement you are about to read.

I know it's not exactly the most sound financial move in the world, but I am one of those people who claims zero deductions on my federal withholding so that I can be guaranteed a nice, fat tax return every year. I like to think of it as my government-sponsored savings account.

And every year, as soon as I receive my W-2, I file my taxes.

In my younger years, the extra money always came in handy for catching up or getting a little ahead on my bills. But in the last few years, I've used the money toward some sort of luxury. In 2006, it was a tropical vacation to beautiful Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic. Last year, it was a clothes shopping spree and a new digital camera. This year, it was a Dyson DC15 Absolute Animal.

Now, I know that a lot of people would question the wisdom of spending $500.00 on a vacuum. I was one such person. I researched them thoroughly - talking to people to owned them, reading online reviews from customers, using my mom's while I was home for Christmas, and even subscribing to the ever-trustworthy Consumer Reports. And except for a few detractors, the feedback was positive, so I decided to go ahead and buy the Dyson and therefore do my part to help boost the sagging US economy.

My initial reaction? My new vacuum sucks. I mean it REALLY sucks.

Smelly the Wonder Dog, although short-haired, sheds like a monkey with the mange. Add to that her extremely dry skin, and Ship's fair-haired kitty, and you've got a house full of pet hair and dander. My first test for my new Dyson was the 10 x 12 area rug in our living room. (*Before I go on, I feel the need to explain that, while I won't be winning any Good Housekeeping awards any time soon, I DO vacuum on a fairly regular basis - in fact the house had been vacuumed in it's entirety just 5 days earlier.)

Two and a half. That's how many times I filled my Dyson from just that one rug. I was dumbfounded. I was awe struck. I was - disgusted. How was that possible? My rug was, quite literally, a different color. And I didn't sneeze once, unlike when I used my old Hoover Wind Tunnel. There is an attachment for just about every conceivable purpose, and there is none of that awkward fumbling with the poles that you have to put together. It's bagless, but unlike most of the bagless vacs I've used in the past, when you empty it, the dust and dirt don't fly back up in your face and get all over your hands.

My complaints? It doesn't have a light. I didn't think it would be a big deal, but you don't realize how handy a headlight is until you don't have one. Also, how hard is it to put a retractable cord on an upright vacuum? My final complaint - it whistles. It's like this high-pitched noise that kind of gets under my skin, but not enough to turn it off. These gripes, however, are far outweighed by the sheer joy I get everytime I turn that little beauty on.

If I had it to do all over again, I would GLADLY plunk down the $500.00 without a moment's hesitatiion. If you need a new vacuum, definitely give the Dyson a nice, long look. It's reputation is not just a lot of hype - it really is that damned good.

What About Bob?

With the writer's strike now officially over, couch potatoes across America are finally able to let out a collective sigh of relief. Things are starting to get back in gear on some of our favorite shows, while others will have to wait until next fall or (GASP!) January.

But there is one question that I've been asking since November - What about Bob?

You know Bob - he's the guy behind the scenes. He's a production assistant, or a key grip, or gaffer, or works for craft services. he is the guy who lives with a few buddies from film school so that he can afford his ridiculously high LA rent. He's the guy who was already working a second job handing out fliers for Mr. Cluck's in an itchy, smelly chicken costume. What happened to him?

The actors were out in full force supporting the writers. We saw the faces of all of our favorite stars (and some we loathe) on the picket lines. But these are people who have amassed huge fortunes over the years - making 7-figure salaries for movies and up to 6-figure salaries for each episode of a long-running TV series. I don't mean to detract from their support - it's great that they showed solidarity - but trust me on this: it's a lot easier to be "noble" when you've got a couple million bucks in your bank account.

Don't get me wrong - I understand the importance of the unions and striking; they are a powerful tool to help keep the big, bad corporations and media conglomerates from taking advantage of the little guys. But during all of this, who was watching out for Bob?

And now that everything is getting rolling again, does Bob even have a job anymore? Are our favorite shows going to be staffed by the same good folks who've been working behind the scenes all along?

I don't suppose there is much that we as viewers can do to make sure that Bob still has a job. (After all, picketing is so over-done right now.) But the next time you catch yourself complaining about how "Lost" is only 8 episodes, or how you don't know how you can wait another 10 months for your Jack Bauer fix, take a few seconds to think about Bob. I can guarantee that the strike has been a hell of a lot harder on him.

It's Already the Middle of February? WTF?!

I had lofty aspirations of blogging my brains out this year. It wasn't necessarily a New Years resolution, but I felt like I could really benefit from having a creative outlet. Well, it's now officially into the second half of February, and this is my first blog post of the year. Pretty sad.

This is a breakdown of what's going on with and around me of late:

• Work still sucks (don't bother asking me if I'm looking for a new job, because I'm not)
• My baby cousin got locked up for buying crack cocaine (and is starting an in-patient detox program tomorrow)
• Ship and C-Reg are now "just friends" (yeah, right)
• I made a new friend, Jay-Emz, who represents everything good about human beings (but who unfortunately lives in the incestuous hell-hole known as Reston)
• I rearranged by bedroom furniture and now I feel like I live in a new place
• I've decided that I want to learn to speak another language (I'm thinking French)
• My friend Kimmah is no longer single (we're both very happy about this)
• I have curbed my shopping and have been dumbfounded at how much money I have managed to save (in related news, Lane Bryant stock prices have plummeted)
• My parents remodeled their kitchen (finally)
• I'm heading off for an early camping trip in Mid-March and fully intend to freeze my arse off (Smelly will be staying home in the warmth)
• I miss my JoZaff because we never get to see each other anymore and that makes me very, very sad

Unfortunately, that's about it. No new adventures in dating, no exciting forays into international intrigue, and (thankfully) no utterly heartbreaking losses.

Until next time . . .

Helen

The Return of Helen Skor

I have been absent for quite a while now, but I'm going to resume posting in the New Year. I've realized lately that I have been absolutely starving for a creative outlet. Work has had me totally bummed, and I'm ready to break out of the monotony of 10 hour days and high blood pressure and get back into life. Real life, not this vague pretense thereof.

So, with that being said, I am heading off on a weekend trip to celebrate the New Year, and I have vowed to do something different. You see, there is this guy that I'm interested in. (The first real crush I've had in years . . . but the word "crush" doesn't really do it justice.) And I've decided to stop letting life slip by . . . I going to make a move. And if he's not interested, I will be slightly heartbroken and probably a little down on myself, but I'll survive. I'm just tired of always playing it safe. Wish me luck.

Smelly the Beast Dog and I wish you all a very HAPPY NEW YEAR!

My Parents Are Getting Old

It has now really sunk in that my parents are getting older. Actually, we all are, but the reality that they won't be around forever really smacked me in the face recently.

My dad had what was first thought to be a mini-stroke about 2 weeks ago. When I spoke to my mom, she sort of brushed off the significance of this "event" by saying that he was fine. When I got a call from my aunt later that night, I started to panic. As it turns out, my dad wasn't really "fine." He had been acting a little weird, and my aunt wanted me to come home and make my own personal assessment of the situation. (And since my aunt was a nurse for 40 years, I thought I should heed her advice.)

So last weekend I went home. And my dad seemed okay, but not great. He slept a lot while I was there, and didn't have much to say. Of course, this isn't really all that unusual for him. There was definitely something off, but I can't really define it. When my 7 month old cousin, Aidan, fell over and hit his head right in front of my dad, my dad didn't seem to register what had happened even though Aidan was screaming his head off. Nothing. His facial expression didn't change, he didn't make a move to help, nothing. Even though he was the only one in the room at the time. That scares me. Now, my dad isn't exactly a huge fan of babies, in fact I think he is a bit frightened of them, but I just don't understand why there was no response.

To make matters worse, when he went back to the doctor, they told him there was no sign that he had actually had a stroke. So what the hell does that mean? What really happened to him? At first I thought that maybe he'd had a panic attack, but he insists that wasn't what it was. I guess we'll have to wait and see what the doctor says. For now, I'm just keeping my fingers crossed and my cell phone close.

I also worry about my mom. Since my dad won't take care of himself, she tries to do it for him . . . doling out his medications, making sure he eats okay, trying to keep him active. But that puts a lot of stress on her. My mom turned 60 last December, and she looks damn good for her age, but I know that all of this has to be hard on her. After all, my parents, after 39 years of marriage, are best friends. When my dad travels with the Red Cross emergency relief team, he calls my mom about 10 times a day, and they talk in hushed tones like a couple of teenagers. Quite frankly, I don't know what either of them would do if something happened to the other.

For now, I am keeping my fingers crossed that what happened is just an anomaly, a fluke. But in the back of my mind, I know that it's not. And it scares the crap out of me.

Helen Skor Lives . . .

Yes, I know I've been MIA, but I'm still alive. I would say alive and kicking, but alive and twitching is more like it.

Ah, the perils of being a financial analyst. It's budget season. That means long hours, major headaches, and a total lack of work-life balance. Smelly the Wonder Dog has forgotten what I look like, my bedroom looks like a bomb dropped, and their are Smelly hairballs drifting down the hall like tumbleweeds through a deserted town.

So tonight I am going to clean. Nope. Screw that. Tonight . . . I'm going to happy hour.

Her Holiness, Helen, Has Spoken . . .

The Vatican, apparently thinking that they have nothing better to do, has issued the “Drivers’ Ten Commandments.”

After reading them, I thought to myself, “Wow, Self, that must have been issued by the Vatican’s Department of Redundancy Department.” Being the self-important American that I am, I decided that I could do better than his Holiness and came up with my very own list:

1. If someone is nice enough to use a turn signal, be nice enough to let them merge.
2. If you are driving in the left lane and someone is gaining on you, move over and let them pass.
3. If you realize that you are in the left turn lane and need to be going straight, don’t hold up a leading-green lane trying to move over. Go down the street and make a U-turn.
4. If an emergency vehicle is coming up behind you, get the hell out of its way. They are trying to save lives.
5. If you get pulled over by the cops, it’s probably because you were doing something illegal. Take your lumps like a grown-up and don’t give the cop a bunch of lip.
6. If you are being tailgated, don’t slam on your brakes to scare the person. Just move over (if you can), because the jerk tailgating you is probably already having a crappy day, and pissing him off further isn’t going to help anything.
7. If you see a person pulled over with a flat tire and no clue how to change it and no cell phone (don’t worry these people are easy to spot), offer to help. This is especially true if you see a woman with small children or a dog.
8. If you hit someone’s car, leave a note that 1) apologizes for your carelessness and 2) gives the owner any information he needs to get in touch with you.
9. If you are in a parking lot or garage, park BETWEEN the lines, not on them.
10. If you can’t remember the first 9 rules, remember this: “DO UNTO OTHERS AS YOU’D HAVE DONE UNTO YOUR MOTHER.” (This of course assumes that you like your mother. If you don’t, then substitute someone else’s name there, even if it’s your own.)

Now, please, if you live in the DC Metro area, please try to remember these simple rules. Learn them. Live them. Love them. Because if we were all just a little nicer in traffic, I'm convinced that the domestic violence, alcoholism, drug abuse, and asshole rates in our area would all drop dramatically.

Drive safely.

Helen

Effing Budgets . . .

So, as some of my loyal readers (yes, both of you) have probably noticed, I've been a little absent from the blogging world lately. And I have my job to thank for that.

For the past three weeks, we have been gearing up for the beginning of the 2008 Fiscal Year, which starts on October 1st. Because I work in Finance, I have been working LONG hours trying to get everything done. The first iteration of our budget was due last Thursday, but then they extended that to Friday, which was then extended until today. Oh, and now it's been extended until tomorrow.

I don't mind working hard, and putting in long hours isn't something that normally would get to me, but the last few weeks have required me to do the following:

1. Cancel dinner with my friend Beaver.
2. Cancel dinner with my friend Beaver again.
3. Get in an argument with my new boss because we were both in horrible moods.
4. Cry at work three times in one day.
5. Cancel a trip to visit my dad (who I haven't seen since Christmas) for Father's Day.
6. Cancel dinner with Beaver for a third time.
7. Come into work on scheduled days off for the 6th and 7th times since March.
8. Be late getting home on Ship's birthday.
9. Not spend enough quality time with my dog.

There have been other things too, but they are mostly trivial compared to these things. Not that any of these is a major deal, but I'm starting to see a pattern develop of me effing over my friends and family because of work, and I don't like it.

Is it too early to retire?

Happy Anniversary, Mom & Dad!

Today is my parents' anniversary. Ma and Pa Skor have been married for a long, long time. A REALLY long time. I'm not exactly sure, but I think this is their 39th anniversary.

But I wanted to give them a shout out and tell them happy anniversary. I have the greatest parents in the world. Seriously. My mom is a few miracles shy of sainthood, and despite some rocky times in the past, my dad is the one man in this world that I will always trust.

These two managed to survive not only the ups and downs of every marriage, but a slew of other rough times and tragedies. There were the temperamental mood-swings of a teenage girl, the son who blew up the engine in the family van on a spring break road trip, the daughter who dropped out of college (but eventually went back), the break-up of one child's marriage, the death of all 4 parents plus a step-father, various health problems, the passing of two much-loved family dogs (and countless fish and hamsters), vacations with the extended family, and my dad's relentless snoring. They have even survived a 3-legged dog with a propensity for breaking into fits of howling in the middle of the night, and both children moving far away from home.

As I get older, I realize more and more how important it is to find that person who compliments you. (And not in the "your butt looks great in those jeans" kind of way.) I'm talking about the chocolate wafer to your cream filling. The point to your counter-point. The Eddie Haskell to your Wally Cleaver.

I have also realized by watching my parents that marriage isn't easy. It takes compromise, patience, communication, and respect. And it takes forgiveness. There is no such thing as a charmed life. We all have our ups and downs. But if we're lucky, we find someone to enjoy the ups with, and who makes the downs seem not so low.

So, to my parents, congratulations and thank you for never giving up on one another, or your children. I love you.

Why Oh Why Couldn't I Be Obscenely Wealthy . . .

Not rich, but wealthy. Wealth implies a certain level of class that is lacking with the rich. That's what I want. Old money. The kind that requires a certain level of respect and awe, even though it's not always deserved.

This desire has been fueled lately by a growing irritation with my job and the stress that it causes. Yes, everyone has stress, and most of us have a job (sometimes several). And I don't mind working. In fact, I kind of like it. But the last few weeks have been exceptionally bad for me. This is not the result of extended hours or other such annoyances. In fact, I've been working shorter days (less than 9 hours) recently than I have been in quite a while.

It's the frenzied nature of work that is wearing me down. I was knocked flat on my arse a few weeks ago with what I assume was the flu. I started feeling bad late on a Sunday night, and by Monday morning, I was a shivering, stuffy-headed mess. Despite the fact that everyone knew I was sick, my cell phone rang non-stop with work-related questions. I eventually turned it off.

For the next 10 days, I came in to work with a lingering cough and runny nose. And it wasn't until I took an extended, 4-day holiday weekend that I finally started feeling better. That's why I'm counting down the hours until I get to escape from this place, and head out for camping in the George Washington National Forest with some friends.

That's also why I want to be wealthy. I want to be able to take off whenever I want and go to exotic locations around the world (and here in our great country). I want to go to Germany, Austria, Italy, Spain, Greece, and Portugal. I want to visit Egypt, Russia, and Australia. I want to take a fly-fishing trip with Ship to Patagonia. I want to take Pita to Morocco. I want to go on a Safari with Jo. And I wish that I was with Yogi in Zambia right now. And I really want to go visit my brother in Aspen whenever I feel like it.

More importantly, I want to feel like my presence here on Earth counts for something. Something significant. I would want to do humanitarian work of some description. I don't know if I have the "intestinal fortitude" to work in Darfur, but there are a lot of needy people out there, even in our own country. I think I would have to work with kids. I would be the chubby Angelina Jolie . . . taking in underprivileged children. But I don't think I would want to adopt them all. That seems kind of selfish. Maybe I could take in foster children to provide them with a stable environment until they could be adopted by a good family. I would make it my personal goal to keep siblings together. That would be my contribution to the world. So thirty years from now, a brother and sister could be having Christmas dinner together with their spouses and children, and they would know that it was all possible because I cared enough to make it my mission.

Sorry. I'm rambling today.

Have a great weekend.

Thank you, Captain Obvious!

"Now THAT's a big girl."

With those words, my evening took a turn from pretty darned enjoyable to just plain shitty.

At first, I didn't really want to write about this, because it exposes me in a way that I'm really not comfortable with. But then I decided to share it as a lesson to all of those people out there who comment on the appearances of others while drinking in a "quiet voice" that the entire world can hear.

After we went for the screening of our movie from the 48-hour film festival, we all went to meet C-Reg and Ship at the Crystal City Restaurant for a little dinner and stripping. You see, C-Reg loves strippers. Don't get me wrong though . . . I've never met anyone straighter than C-Reg. She doesn't want to make out with other chicks or anything like that. I think it has to do with her ability to recognize the athleticism and dedication it takes to be able to be a good stripper. It's not just about being skinny with big boobs . . . it really does require a certain aptitude that most people lack.

Anyway, we were at CCR enjoying the sights, and, naturally, we were surrounded by mostly men. There were your typical strip-club regulars: the military guys, the dirty old men, the rednecks, the biker dudes, and the guys there for a pre-bachelor party (it was a Thursday after all!). The few women there looked like they were dancers themselves who were just hanging out off-duty or possibly paid escorts (for the bachelor and his friends).

Well, I had been holding the urge to pee for half the night for fear of missing something, and I finally couldn't hold it any longer. So I excused myself from the table and walked toward the back where the bathrooms are. To my right, just a short distance from the stage, was a table with three guys. They looked a little worse for the wear. The redneck types that you generally don't see in Northern Virginia . . . at least inside the Beltway. But here there were. And, if you've ever had the pleasure of knowing any rednecks (and I mean REAL rednecks), you know that if they THINK it they SAY it. The are missing that little internal dialog filter that most of us, as members of polite society, rely on to keep us from saying something offensive and cruel.

And then, BAM . . . there it was. "Now THAT's a big girl." It wasn't one of those, "WIDE LOAD COMING THROUGH" comments that are intended to cause emotional pain. It was just an observation. And that made it all the more horrific. Here was this guy with dirty, scraggly hair, bad teeth, and jailhouse tattoos looking down on me based solely on my appearance. Well, that's basically what I just did when I described him, but at least I had the decency not to point out his physical flaws directly to him as he had done to me. But I kept my chin up, went to the restroom, regained my composure, and fought with all my might the urge to go back out there and knock the rest of his yellowed teeth out of his mouth. And I succeeded. After all, I have class.

I went back to my table, sat down in stunned silence, and didn't tell anyone what had happened. And what had been a wonderful evening turned to shit in less than 30 seconds. I sat there for a while before someone finally figured out something was wrong . . . after all, it's not like me to sit in silence for long! And I just let it out. I told them every horrifying detail of what had happened. Even though I was there with some friends from work who I had never really spent a lot of time with outside of the office. Sharing that with them was as utterly degrading as the words themselves. In fact, I think it was worse.

About an hour later, I had to go to the bathroom again. So, as I got up to go, Ship stood. When I looked at him, he told me that he was going to follow me to the bathroom in case they said anything else. Now, Ship and I have been roommates for 7 months, and we've been friends for much longer than that. But I have never felt as close to him as I did at that moment. He wasn't just my friend anymore, he was my brother, the defender of my honor, and my hero.

As I was standing in the shower the next morning, tears pouring down my cheeks as I thought again about what had happened, my mind flashed to the memory of Ship's eyes the night before. They weren't full of rage. And more importantly, they weren't full of pity. They were full of the confidence and righteousness that people have when they are protecting someone they care about, whether that person is a lover, a friend, or a sister. Thanks, Ship. You gave me further proof that every cloud has a silver lining.

I've Been Neglectful . . .

The last few weeks have been rather chaotic for a series of reasons, but I just wanted to let you know I haven't completely abandoned you!

Just a quick re-cap of what's been going on:

• First, and foremost, the 48-hour Film Festival was a blast! We successfully entered our movie on schedule and got to view it (and other short films from the competition) on Thursday night at the AFI Silver Theater in Silver Springs, along with a group of other filmmakers. The good news is that everyone laughed when they were supposed to. And there really isn't any bad news . . . except for maybe my acting. Let's just suffice it to say that drama queen doesn't necessarily translate into screen queen! I plan to tell you more about the competition later, so stay tuned for details!
• Ship, his brother, and one of their friends competed in an adventure race a few weeks ago and took third place. And yes, there were more than three teams (far more)! It was their first race of the season. Unfortunately, it rained cats and dogs and was pretty chilly, but that didn't seem to phase the "Squirrels Gone Wild!" Congrats, guys!
• C-Reg competed in her first half-marathon last weekend and came in second. This is especially impressive given the fact that this was a TRAIL run, not a street race! Good job, C-Reg!
• Jo, C-Reg, and Smelly the Wonder Dog all had birthdays this weekend. Needless to say, it was an entertaining weekend which started on Thursday! Jo is 26, C-Reg is 24, and Smelly turned 3 (or 21 in dog years). And no, Smelly didn't get any beer for the special occasion, but she did get a new dog bed.

Anyway, this is a brief recap of a few of the things that have been going on lately. I hope to be able to post more regularly in the coming weeks. I've been so swamped that I haven't even had time to keep up with my gossip!

The 48-Hour Film Project Is Here!

The madness begins tonight at 7 PM.

PL Catlady will be representing "A Likely Story Film Production" for the selection of our genre, prop, character name, and line of dialogue.

The rest of the team will be waiting at base camp in nervous anticipation, ready to bang out a cinematic masterpiece. And I don't think most of us will get to sleep a wink until Sunday when this whole thing is over!

Wish us luck!