Tour-de-freaks: Or online dating by and for the clueless

some HELLish blasts from the past...

2009-04-05T13:32:00.009-04:00

Sasquatch seems taken over by ennui this weekend. I have no idea what's the matter, but she hasn't been interested in the Game Show Channel, nor the Golf Channel, despite its retrospectives of past Masters Tournaments (her favorite), nor even the Crime Channel, although I'm a little relieved she doesn't want to watch that one. She prefers to spend her time in quiet contemplation, so I won't disturb her. Perhaps she's undergoing some sort of spiritual awakening, or maybe she's just reviewing past loves...Rolf, Dr G, H and A...as some kind of Spring mind catharsis. She's a complex being, not easily understood. It may be that she senses the end of the remodeling project and knows that H and A will no longer be visiting on a regular basis. In fact, A bid us farewell when he left last night, so I suspect we've seen the last of him. I shall miss him, with his light-hearted ways and those little tricks he used to play on H.

Since Sas was ignoring me, I thought I'd see what was happening in HELL. Oh my. As I've mentioned, I've been getting a lot of attention there, for whatever reason, and this visit revealed a number of messages. Some of the messages were from ones that I had not corresponded with for months, like Shih-tzu4u2u8u. He wondered if I was still in jail so I told him no, I'd gotten out with the help of a few well-placed bribes. He seemed delighted by this news and wanted to know if I'd reconsidered his offer to come over 3 or 4 times a week to help me with my "boredom" problem. I told him I had not reconsidered and invited him to crawl back under his rock. This seemed to hurt his feelings, but I'm sure he'll come sniffing around again one day.

And then there was a very interesting message from R. I don't believe I've mentioned him here before. He and I exchanged a few most pleasant messages back when I first discovered HELL. He writes an excellent message...funny, spelled and punctuated correctly, coherent, and he uses multisyllabic words! Unfortunately, he lives hundreds of miles from me, as all the interesting ones have, but he's even farther than most. When we corresponded before, we agreed that there was little possibility that either of us would ever have a reason to visit the other's city of residence and so decided further correspondence would be of little value. As a result, I was surprised to see a message from him. At first, I thought perhaps he'd gotten me confused with someone else, but then it was clear that he hadn't. He asked some questions that let me know he remembered our previous correspondence and provided some chatty news of himself. Well, I answered his questions and let it go at that, thinking I wouldn't hear anything further. But, then there was another message and so now, I guess I can have a penpal from HELL if I so desire...but I'm not so sure that I do. I have little time for that, what with working and remodeling, and perfecting recipes and blogging...Penpal from HELL...how ludicrous that sounds.

There were a couple of new gentlemen too, although gentleman is not the word for one of them. His moniker was something I cannot reveal...it had to do with an action he'd like to perform (4u) upon a vulgar word for a portion of the feminine anatomy. He was vile and it was not difficult at all to delete his message. I was a little surprised that the administrators of HELL let him use that moniker, considering how stringent they are about photos...

And then there was a message from someone who addressed me as his fair lady...well, that put me off right away. He wanted to see a picture of my face, but would not demand one yet. (!) His "hobby" was engaging in "playful banter with worthy opponents..." Ugh. And he thought, based upon my profile, which gave him "a chuckle or two" that I would be a most worthy opponent. Of course, it was not his intent to cause harm or injury, except to my "bruised ego" when he "stomped" me! I let him know, but quick, that if he's interested in engaging in banter or anything else, he'd be wise to leave off the talk of bruising egos by stomping...And so, fearing emasculation, he sent an apology immediately. I've ignored him and will continue to do so until he slinks away. Little does he know that had I decided to go along with his banter idea, he would have been the one with a bruised ego, or quite possibly worse. Stomp me indeed.

--Ina

My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color.

2009-04-05T09:20:00.016-04:00

Sasquatch reminded me of the quote by Maria, from The Twelfth Night, which I use as my title for today. It is also my purpose, and the purpose of my most charming and funny gentleman caller, with whom I hope to split huge winnings from a Derby victory, that our horse of that color makes a speedy recovery and suffers no lasting damage from his recent small setback. We remain optimistic that he will quickly regain his form and will go on to more thrilling wins in the Sport of Kings. And if not, then they can shoot him for all I care, and while I haven't discussed this possibility with my GC, I suspect he shares my sentiment. If he doesn't, I'm sure he'll let me know in no uncertain terms. (You will, won't you, honey?)

Today is a beautiful day in our city by the river and Sas and I wandered the grounds earlier, sniffing for rabbits and keeping an alert eye out for squirrels. The birds are singing and flowers are blooming and we felt revitalized with the arrival of Spring. (Of course it's supposed to snow tomorrow, but we live in the moment as much as possible and so will not let this distressing prediction cast a pall on our enjoyment of this day.)

Narcissus poeticus recurvus

This charming and very fragrant daffodil is one I found growing in the woods behind the house. I shamelessly dug up a few of the bulbs to plant in my yard, and I'm glad I did because some idiot came along and built ugly houses there and killed the daffodils! They have flourished and spread in my yard and I should cut some to take to the office tomorrow.

After our excursion outside, Sas and I settled in to await H, who was supposed to be here early to finish(!) up my floor. Well, Sas quickly tired of waiting and decided a nap was in order, and while I was tempted by the idea of a nap, I also wanted to work on a recipe I've been mulling over. And so I set to work. There's a traditional dessert in Kentucky called Derby Pie, which has walnuts and chocolate and eggs and butter and sugar, of course. It's quite rich, but delicious in small slices with whipped cream, just to gild the lily. Buford had heard of something called a Derby Pie milkshake and he and I agreed that it sounded like a wonderful thing indeed. It occurred to me that Derby Pie ice cream might be even better and so that was the recipe I set out to perfect. First, I had to make a Derby Pie, of course, but, one is not allowed to call it Derby Pie since that is a very protected trademark and the owners of the trademark have no sense of humor whatsoever. Well, I've never been a scoff-law, so I decided to call my Derby Pie Supertrifecta Pie, which conveys the racing theme and also hints at the awesomeness of the dessert. It was my idea that I'd bake the pie and when it was thoroughly cooled, I'd chop it up and mix it into the almost fully churned vanilla ice cream, thus chunks of the pie would remain intact. And that's what I did, and we have a winner! This will be a perfect dessert to take to a Derby party and I'm excited by that idea and more than a little proud of myself. Sasquatch asked vigorously to taste the ice cream and so I gave in and let her have a small spoonful...not too much because chocolate isn't good for dogs, plus 67 pounds!

She approved.

H finally arrived and I am certain he can finish the floor today. He also promises to install my new light fixtures and that cannot happen soon enough. I've been working in a dim kitchen for so long I fear my eyesight is failing. But the new serpentine ceiling fixture with halogen spotlights should provide ample task lighting, if it ever gets installed...

--Ina

yet another Sunday in HELL

2009-03-29T16:27:00.013-04:00

Sasquatch gave the barking a rest today......thank goodness. I cannot imagine what got into her yesterday, but she was a bad dog! She cannot stay bad for long though and today is back to her gentle, sweet self.

H called this morning to say he was sorry for not letting me know he would be at my house yesterday. His arrival yesterday was most unexpected and set a tone for most of the day. He was careful to tell me when he would come by today and made sure I understood. Yes, I did understand. He got here right when he said he would and after apologizing once again, and chatting for awhile, he got to work and accomplished a lot!! I was delighted! He did not bring his 2 helpers but didn't seem at all hindered by their absence. I like my new floor very much but am eager for it to be finished so I can put my house back together! As you can see, the living room is just as bad as the kitchen, plus much dustier.

So H finished up in a couple of hours and Sas wanted to watch the Game Show channel. Some old episodes of Let's Make a Deal were on and Sas gets excited about picking the door, so she was happy and wagged contentedly when I told her I was going out for awhile.

It is so cold here and I'm sick to death of winter...gray, drizzly, snowy, windy winter. A trip to someplace warm would be welcome, but I cannot leave in the middle of the remodeling project. And by the time the project is done, it should be warmer here and so a trip will unnecessary. There, I've talked myself out of spending thousands of dollars on a vacation! Still, a change of scenery might be nice...well, perhaps later in the year.

My HELL emailer of early this morning was a man of few words indeed. His message, in its entirety(punctuation intact) read: "hI nice legs" Well, those of you who know me know I'm nothing if not polite and so I did what I had to do and emailed him back: "Thanks" I thought that would be the end of it. After all, he was from Port Whatever, NY, which must be hundreds of miles from me. His name was lookin4u420. It seems like many of the men from HELL attach 420 to their monikers. I have no idea what it means and think it's just a coincidence. Lookin's photo showed him in what looked very much like a wet suit and he had a parrot perched on his finger! (I couldn't see if he had a peg leg, but wouldn't be surprised.) He's a bird lover!! Well, Paul Varjak would be excited about that. After my terse response to his succinct message, I did not believe he would write back. But he did! He said: "Hi" What?!? "Hi??" Well, if this is his idea of conversation, I don't think there's a future here at all. I have declined to respond to his last message, if you can call it that. After all, at this rate, it could go on for months before we ever got to paragraphs. So, lookin can look elsewhere. I'm sure I'm not the only babe in HELL with a nice pair of legs...

--Ina

what fresh HELL is this?

2009-03-28T10:46:00.014-04:00

Sasquatch was barking, nonstop. The radio was blaring classic rock. The shop vac was sucking mightily. What was the occasion? Oh just Saturday...a Saturday I had planned to spend in quiet reflection or if not that, then just in quiet. H and A were not expected this day, but life's full of surprises and no one knows that better than I. Especially lately. Not only had H and A shown up unexpectedly, but they had brought another member of their merry band, R, who is a charming young woman, but one whose relationship to the others is a mystery. She chipped in just like she knew what she was doing, taking doors off their hinges, moving things from one place to another, and her use of the shop vac was masterful. This girl had some experience!

Sas was very put out. Literally put out, as in outside. In her desire to be helpful, she has made a pest of herself and cannot be allowed to stay under foot. Her assistance is most unwelcome today because it is another day of laying hardwood flooring and she has a tendency to be in exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time...as do I apparently. So, she's on the deck where she can keep an eye out for looters and thugs and I have retreated to my bedroom, which is in no way far enough away but will have to do for now. She barks and I blog...seems about right to me.

I did remain downstairs long enough to oversee the moving of the china cabinet. H insisted he could move it without breaking anything and he probably could have. But I have a few pieces of Waterford that I'm ridiculously attached to and so I insisted in removing those pieces first. The rest of the stuff can break for all I care...most of it doesn't even have sentimental value.

As you can see from this photo, I have not exaggerated the chaos the remodeling project has generated. There's no point in trying to put anything away, and so it stacks up here and there waiting for the day order can be restored. And that day cannot come soon enough. So, I shouldn't complain about H and A and R showing up unexpectedly. The more they show up, the quicker all this will be done.

The painter was here earlier this week and promises to be finished in a week. Unbelievable and exciting. So good to have something to be excited about!

A check of email revealed a couple of messages from HELL...there has been an unexpected increase in activity from there lately. Unfortunately, the messages are the same old stuff from the same old men. Well, no, the men are different but they might as well be the same. I'm having some serious thoughts about whether or not to continue my HELL experience. More about that later...or earlier since that entry appears below this one.

--Ina

what to do about HELL

2009-03-27T23:07:00.021-04:00

Sasquatch has had a much improved attitude this last week. Perhaps she's becoming used to the chaos that is our home. Well, good for her. It seems to be getting worse for me. I should strive to be more like her and accept what is just because it is. As a human being though, it's hard to just accept, even though, clearly, this is exactly what we should do. My human nature makes me believe that I actually have control over things that happen and so I rebel against my circumstances sometimes. What I really believe is that what's going to happen is going to happen, no matter what I do. So, I'd be much happier just to let be what will be and I do try to do so, but...I'm imperfect, as humans are, and that's all there is to it. Perfection is perhaps an admirable goal, yet unattainable. There are so many things I wish I could change and so few I actually can. How much better to be like Sas and just live in the moment, and trust that it will work out as it should, give no thought to goals, wishes, hopes and be happy just to be...Well, all I can do is try today and forgive myself for my shortcomings.

All this brings me, in a roundabout way, to HELL.

In the last couple of weeks, I've, inexplicably, received a record number of communications from the men of HELL. Practically every day, there's a new message from one or another...rarely 2 from the same man. It's strange because I've done nothing to prompt this activity...I haven't taken any new tests or answered any questions or posted any journal entries, so I'm at a loss to explain it. Unfortunately, none of these men even remotely resemble anyone I'd ever be interested in. It's not their fault, nor is it mine. Some have seemed nice enough, but nice is, well, just nice. Others have been downright freaky, if not truly scary, so, no. Most have been just average boring guys, with their poor grammar and their misspellings and their descriptions of the things they like to do...camping, fishing, bowling, watching television!! (I'm genuinely amazed at the number of people who like to camp. I can think of little that's more unpleasant than living in the dirt, sleeping with the bugs, and exposing oneself to the elements. Give me a hotel--4-star at least please--and room service any day. But that's just me). I imagine most of them would be happy to buy me dinner and take me to a movie (or bowling!), but I wonder what we would talk about? I could feign an interest in camping, I suppose, but I'd be found out as soon as the weather gets warm enough to actually consider sleeping in the woods, so why bother? There are those who say I'm too picky and that I should get over myself, the implication being, of course, that I'm not nearly as cool as I think I am. Well, maybe. But I've had some dull relationships and I'd rather have no relationship at all. So, maybe I'm not as cool as I think I am, but I'm not settling for some Joe Don with his pickup truck and his gun rack...not for a relationship, not for a date. Joe Don is undoubtedly perfect for some woman, but that woman isn't me.

And so, I'm considering chucking it all and suspending my HELL profile. It's been almost six months, which seems like enough time. In addition, HELL has pissed me off badly by removing the most fabulous profile photo ever...my Escape photo and replacing it with another. (Well, OK, there is one other profile photo just as fabulous, which captivated me plus made me laugh! I think the owner of that photo knows who he is. And if he doesn't, he hasn't been paying attention.) This photo removal thing is beyond the pale though. Obviously, there is nothing objectionable about my Escape pic, and yet, some dope objected and just like that, photo removed. The only thing that makes me hesitate is that the HELL experience is the point of this blog and without it, there's really no reason to continue here. I have enjoyed it and am perhaps not ready to give it up yet, so we'll see. Whatever is supposed to happen will happen and that goes for this too. Something will tell me whether to stay or to go if I pay attention and stay alert. In any case, I fully expect to continue at least until remodeling is finished. Since I've brought you this far, I'll take you to the end of that.

For the Sasquatch lovers, and there are many, I've included a short video of Sasquatch being Sas...happy, goofy, adorable. Plus, it gives an indication of the sad state of our home brought about by the remodeling project.

Finally, I received a gentle reprimand from Anonymous for using the phrase "boost Buicks" in an entry from last week. Well plagarism is never attractive and I do sincerely apologize, although I believe a 2-word phrase doesn't really require attribution. Nevertheless, it is not my intention to upset anyone. And so I want the multitudes who read here to know that boost Buicks was lifted shamelessly from a comment by Anonymous and I'm sorry for not saying so. I promise to try to do better.

--Ina

a quiet Sunday in HELL

2009-03-22T16:56:00.008-04:00

Sasquatch and I got up early as usual and while I drank coffee and read the paper, she napped. I think she'd stayed up pretty late watching the Crime Channel. When I went to bed, she was engrossed in some stupid show When Good Dogs Go Bad...all about dogs who suddenly get the urge to dig up flowerbeds and boost Buicks. She seemed far too familiar with the entire concept and I wondered if she'd been corresponding with someone from the outside. I know for a fact that she sees my emails and she understands far more than she lets on. Not long ago, I found the draft of an email to our old friend Foghorn Leghorn. It was poorly spelled and the grammar was atrocious...dere fog...stoopid humn clled frm mag bar 4am an siad cal taxy but sas 2 smrt fr tht. brng treets soon...sas hngry. chuckwlry hngry. billclln hngry. bobbrkr hngry. skwerls out ther but sas caint gt out dore. chk palice stashun, see if stoopid humn in jale. probly iz.

Well, there's no way I ever called from the Mag Bar at 4 a.m. The whole thing is a fabrication and a pathetic bid for attention. I do not know what gets into her sometimes! And even if I had been at the Mag Bar at 4 a.m., if I could call Sasquatch, I could call my own taxi! So she's not as smart as she thinks she is! It's not true...not one word. Well, fortunately, she couldn't figure out how to send it, so I was at least saved that embarrassment.

H and A showed up to do some more work on the floor, but they didn't stay long and didn't really get that much accomplished. I hope to have everything put back together in time for Christmas. I really don't think a Christmas tree sitting on a plywood floor says Happy Holidays very well, so I hope it doesn't come to that.

While Sasquatch napped, I thought I'd catch up on some emails. And wouldn't you know, there was one from one of the gentlemen of HELL. This gentleman's name was spicydog4u and he said he was from INDY and explained that was a city, I assume in Indiana, but have no proof. It could be anywhere. He also explained that he was divorced (I suppose that's an improvement over the latest rash of married ones.) and that his bratty teen aged daughter lived with him and had driven off this most recent wife! He noted that I had looked at his profile (I had not) and asked what I thought. He also said that he didn't like people very much and preferred cats. Well, he was racking up quite a few strikes. He was disabled and was awaiting a big check from Social Security. He wondered what he should spend his windfall on...perhaps a hot tub?? (It seems to me, if one is disabled and cannot work, one might be wise to save any windfalls for things like paying bills and buying groceries, but that's just me.) He loves tattoos and wondered what kinds of tats I might sport. And if he was not broke, it was his intention to add to his collection of 10 tattoos on himself...mostly of Norse gods and symbolism because he was involved in some crazy heathen cult or something that seemed to be based in Scandinavia. He said he also had one over the "spiritual third eye, if you know what I mean wink" Well, I have heard of the spiritual third eye, which I believe is in the brain...some have suggested the pineal gland. Somehow, I don't think this is what he meant and I don't want to think too long about it because, well, you know, eeeewwww. So, I thought about it carefully and decided not to write back. I don't know...I'm sure he's quite appealing in his own way, but there's the cat issue and all those tattoos, but the dealbreaker was that third eye thing...

And so it will soon be time for the Derby, perhaps Kentucky's biggest claim to fame. I like horse racing quite a bit and have had some good luck in recent years with Derby bets and so have been following the prep races and doing some research. There are several promising colts this year, and even a filly or 2 who might have a shot, but I have been most captivated by one colt, whose name I will not reveal, lest the thousands who read here bet him down to ridiculously low odds. A most charming and attractive gentleman caller from HELL has also become enchanted by this colt (unless he is feigning enchantment and I don't think he is this time) and has agreed to join me in a bet to win and win only. A most romantic notion, in my book. Our horse, our bet, ours to win. Although I won't tell the colt's name, I will include a photo so you can judge for yourself. Take note of the beautiful head and the intelligence in the eyes and the remarkable color of his coat.

--Ina

Sasquatch goes all swoony-dog

2009-03-21T11:35:00.010-04:00

Sasquatch had an appointment with her physician, the very attractive Dr G. Sas loves Dr G, more than Rolf, more than H or A, more than anyone, except perhaps me. Many dogs are unhappy when they have to see the doctor, but not Sas. It could be because she's never had a serious illness...or any illness at all...and so, has never had to endure a painful treatment. But she has undergone the usual vaccines and pokes that go along with her annual physical, and still, she adores Dr G. I can sort of see it. Dr G. is very soft spoken, reassuring, and gentle. He's a very tall man and I can't help but notice what large feet he has! And if he's not classically handsome, he has a certain appeal to his visage and beautiful, kind blue eyes.

Sas's excitement was apparent as we made our way to Dr G.'s office. She knew where we were going in the same way that she knows when H and A are near. Who knows how she does it; it's enough to know that she does. We had to wait for a time in the outer office. Dr G. was very patiently explaining an injury that a cute little toy fox terrier had suffered to her front leg. He diagnosed a hyper-extended carpus and told the terrier's human that bedrest was important. Well, the human thought that was hysterically funny. Apparently Sas did too as she wagged and twirled in a circle when she heard. Of course, perhaps she was reacting to seeing Dr G. for the first time in a year. The doctor took a few minutes to wash his hands and spray the examination table with disinfectant (he's very hygenic) and then it was our turn. Sas smiled broadly and her eyes sparkled as she walked to the inner office. She was so excited! It took Dr G. and his assistant both to lift her onto the table. (She weighs 67 pounds and probably should think of joining the gym.) She got herself settled on the table then grinned and wiggled with delight as Dr G. asked her how she was, and told her she looked beautiful with her new hairdo (she's quite vain, as I think we've discussed...I cannot imagine where she gets it) and scratched her behind her ears. He rubbed his hand along her back and down her sides and she wagged fiercely. When he turned away to consult her chart, she whimpered a little to get his attention and he did not disappoint...such a good boy! All too soon, it was over. Sas was very quiet on the way home. Perhaps she was reliving the scene in her mind or maybe she was just tired from all that flirting...it can be most exhausting if one is doing it right. In any case, when we got home, she found a spot on the floor for a nap and barely looked up when H and A arrived. She was in a Dr G-induced swoon. She did manage to beat her tail weakly on the floor when H inquired about her health, but her heart wasn't in it. It had been stolen once again by the most captivating Dr G.

The arrival of H and A meant that remodeling noise would commence shortly. First, they have to tune in their radio because music keeps them energized and on task, I guess.

War, children, it's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
I tell you love, sister, it's just a kiss away
It's just a kiss away
It's just a kiss away
It's just a kiss away
It's just a kiss away
Kiss away, kiss away

So, yes, we listened to Gimme Shelter, and I like the Rolling Stones. I do. I prefer not to like them at ear-bleeding volume, but I understand how hard it is to enjoy music over the whine of the table saw and hammering of the...hammer. In any case, the remodeling is moving along apace (a slow pace, is what I mean), but it will be finished one day and if that one day comes before the day that I myself am finished, so much the better. I do love my new floor...well, what there is of it.

--Ina

Sasquatch and pizza and HELL oh my

2009-03-15T17:45:00.007-04:00

Sasquatch has been spending some time in time-out these days. Her attitude is most distressing and I cannot tolerate it. I understand she's unhappy about the remodeling project, but we simply cannot cancel it now. We have too much time and money invested in it, and besides, I can't walk forever on plywood floors! So, she has to go to her kennel, which she hates, but it's better than having her get in the way and bark and whine constantly. When I was at the office the other day, I noticed a photo of her taken when she was a mere pup. I don't know who that babe to the right is, but she's a looker! The Super Bitch sticker was given to me by Buford. He knows me too well! Look at Sas with her girlish figure! So cute! So young! So innocent!

That day at the office was an exciting one indeed. The staff had earned a reward...a pizza party! Those of you who know me know there's nothing I love more than a pizza party! And this one promised to be a doozy because we were branching out from our normal pizza supplier and trying something new! And I think we've found a new favorite. This pizza was really quite good...it had the proper oiliness and the cheese was tasty. It had sprinklings of herbs (always a good thing) and the crust, while substantial, wasn't tough or cardboardy. Plus, there were no strange toppings, like chicken. It would be an exaggeration to say that the staff was ecstatic, but they were well fed and seemed happy enough for a day at work. Of course, after all that pizza, I was not planning to cook anything at home that evening, so Sas and I sat on the couch, watching her new favorite, the Food Channel. Tonight was a retrospective of Little BigHead Cooks Italian Stuff! Sas was rapt, but I didn't care that much, so I checked to see if anyone interesting had shown up in my handbasket, and don't you know someone had! His name was grandelatte4u and he was married. But! his spouse had a medical condition. And! he didn't want a divorce. But! he had needz. What? Needz?? A grown man who spells needs with a z?? Well, perhaps his finger hit the wrong key. So, we have found out that grandelatte is married, but "deprived" and yet he's not interested in a divorce. That's probably because he loves his wife deeply and is very compassionate. (Or, as M suggested, maybe she has disability income that grandelatte doesn't wish to give up. And thanks, M, for that perspective. Without it, I might have felt sorry enough for him to have invited him to visit me in the near future. Probably not, but you never know what I might do.) Married and deprived, plus he was interested in a hot, heavin hunny who wanz to get monkey-drunk in lust and who can't get enuf of ridin the lightnin. I'm beginning to think grandelatte had been deprived of an education in spelling in addition to whatever other deprivations he suffers. Well, as romantic and charming as his profile was, (and the idea of ridin the lightnin is quite appealing!) I make it a point never to get involved with married men. It's just too complicated and I need no complications...I'm remodeling! Grandelatte4u = deleted.

--Ina

their foot shall slide in due time...

2009-03-08T13:24:00.026-04:00

Sasquatch and I are enduring the torment of remodeling everlasting. Our foot had slid (on the splintery plywood) and it seemed for sure that the day of our calamity was at hand. Well, it wasn't just a day. It has been several days, weeks, in fact, and there is no sign of the end...remodeling everlasting. Sas is depressed; I am unsettled; we are a mess. And our home! Talk about messes!! I am unable to find anything and Sasquatch is unable to find her way through the back door to the deck. I have the office as an escape, but poor Sas. I fear she may become totally unhinged before too much longer. She gives me her hand in supplication, begging for relief, but there's little I can do. Had I realized how this would affect her, I would have thought twice about this remodeling project. Oh, I would have gone ahead with it, but I definitely would have spent more time in contemplation.

The parts of our project that are finished have been most satisfying. The back door, with its blinds between the glass, rocks hard (although it is a source of endless confusion for poor Sas.). And my new sink!! It's a thing of beauty, deep and dark and spacious. And the faucet!! The lightest touch on the handle produces a cascade of sparkling water...hot or cold! Amazing. I am totally in love.

My new countertops are very nice too. They're a very pale gray and have some mottling in them to resemble stone. Quite nice, except for the island. A mix up at the fabricator produced a less-than-satisfying result with regard to the edges. H. assured me that I could send it back and make them do it over, but that would take 2 to 3 weeks and I think I can learn to live with it. I'm sure I can.

And then, there's the...oh wait, the door, the sink and the counters...that's all there is so far. Well, surely the rest cannot be far behind. Surely, I tell myself and I tell Sas and she just sniffs in disgust. Really, her attitude lately has become most unattractive. I understand what she's going through...no one understands better than I, but it's time for her to suck it up and deal. Sometimes she can be such a little bitch.

It's the noise that has been the worst I think. On Saturday, I had to retreat to my bedroom in an effort to escape it. It wasn't a very successful effort either. Sunday was worse, with some sort of whining power tool that went on endlessly. H had turned on his radio...ZZ Top, which never has been my favorite orchestra, blared from the speaker...I put Ella on in my room, but she was no match for Sharp Dressed Man...well, who is?

I thought I might distract myself by taking a trip to HELL. I got into Aubergine's account to see if there had been any activity. There had and not in a good way. She was being stalked by many of the creeps who visit me!! I guess that's not too surprising since our profiles are quite similar. Mine is superior, but Aubergine was my first attempt. I've noticed some folks revise their profiles regularly. I don't. I don't care that much. So, Aubergine...there was that disgusting dope with the freakishly abnormal "package" for one. But at least he hadn't sent her any messages...He's from some burg in Illinois called Niles, so even if he does try to contact her (or me) we should be able to avoid him pretty easily. Then there was Rickpowrful, who spends a lot of time thinking about how dominant he is and how he's looking for a good woman who will submit to his every demand and desire. Sounds like fun Rick! I'll fetch beers for you and open them with my teeth and then you can tie me up and ignore me for 3 or 4 hours while you watch some sports extravaganza on television. Perhaps you'll remember to untie me before the circulation in my wrists and ankles is completely gone. But hey! if you don't I can always get the feeling back by massaging your shoulders and walking on your back! And yes, I'd love to do your laundry. That's what we good little women do best! No, I don't mind ironing your socks, not at all. Man of my dreams! I'm yours! Rick had included a photo of himself, from the back, from the waist down. Oh, he had jeans on, but this is one time it might have been better if he'd left them off. It was just stupid...his baggy jeans and his sad flat ass. Who cares about seeing that? I certainly do not possess a perfect figure, but I also do not publish photos of my worst features. So, I feel completely okay judging Rick harshly.

As I often do, I took refuge in cooking. I'd had a hankering for spaghetti and meatballs, so that's what I did. H. had turned off the water to install my sink and thought I was crazy to attempt to cook with no water.Well, I found a bottle of club soda in the pantry that worked perfectly well for cleaning hands and parsley. I mixed up ground beef, veal and pork and added bread crumbs and an egg and some herbs. I grated some Parmigiano Reggiano and threw that in...salt, pepper. You know, meatballs. I had some cans of San Marzano tomatoes for the sauce, plus onions, mushrooms and garlic that I'd sauteed with pancetta, fresh basil, some roasted red pepper, oregano, a couple glugs of a decent Cab...you know, marinara. I browned the meatballs in the oven and put them in with the sauce to simmer. Soon, it started to smell pretty good in my house. Later, when Sas and I were ready to eat, it looked like this.

Sas had a meatball to go with her regular dog food. She wanted spaghetti too, but I didn't think that was the best idea. She did have a bite of bread, but passed on the salad and wine. It was good and we were well satisfied.

--Ina

Sas goes all disappointed-dog

2009-03-07T09:59:00.017-05:00

Sasquatch was a little depressed...She was bored with everything. You'd think she'd have been excited by the remodeling and her new boyfriends H. and A. but no, she wanted to go to work with me. She'd heard about some enlightened companies that allow, even encourage, dogs in the workplace. And she could not understand why she couldn't accompany me. It did little good to try to explain to her that da man had forbidden dogs and even cats. Sas wants what she wants...I don't know where she picked up that trait.

Actually, since the remodeling has been wreaking havoc with our domain, the office hadn't been the worst place to be...and I cannot believe I have written such a sentence.

But things at the office are familiar. Oh it may look like all is in disarray, but I know where everything is, unlike at my house. And it's quiet there. It has all the conveniences of home...coffee, ice, the Internet, lots of reference books, in case I need to look something up, like a banking law term...There's that pesky work thing, but many days that can be easily knocked out in a few hours...other days, well, other days it's more difficult. But even so, I walk on carpet or tile at the office instead of plywood and it's not that dusty and there are not men opening my drawers and closets. So I completely understand Sas's desire to be someplace relatively orderly and not dusty.

To distract her, I've shown Sas a new (to her) channel on television. The Food Channel. She likes food, a lot, and she's always interested when I cook, so I was pretty sure she would enjoy some of the simpler shows on the Food Channel...The Semi-Ho, for example. You can't get much simpler than she, with her penchant for taking convenience foods like canned icing, and transforming them into gourmet dishes like chocolate truffles. Her recipe for truffles is brilliant! Canned icing, powdered sugar and the flavoring of your choice. She uses vanilla, but shows us that we can use whatever we want, even imitation strawberry flavoring, which I'm sure is divine. All you have to do is mix everything together using a hand mixer, but do be sure to stir in the powdered sugar first before turning on the mixer, lest you find your kitchen sugared like a Viennese tort in a bakery window. You use the mixer to ensure all the little lumps of powdered sugar are pulverized and incorporated throughout the icing, and when all is a homogeneous mass, you drop teaspoonfuls of the stuff onto a white platter, being sure to swirl the top for a most pleasing effect, and dusting the whole thing with cocoa powder, platter and all. Fifteen minutes in the refrigerator, and you have the most luscious truffles you've ever put in your mouth. Well, that's what the Semi-Ho says anyway. I've never actually tried them, but I believe they'd be simple enough for Sas to make herself. And I'm sure they're
delicious...canned icing, powdered sugar and imitation strawberry flavoring...mmmmmmm. I would have garnished the white platter with a real (not imitation) strawberry and perhaps a few mint leaves, just for color. And hey! maybe a few sprinkles would be more fun than that boring cocoa powder. And if I were going to make them, I really think I'd use some bittersweet chocolate (60% cacao or better), melted with some heavy cream and chilled until they were firm enough to roll into balls, approximating the look of actual truffles, after which these confections were named. But that's just me...not creative at all.

--Ina

office hell

2009-03-03T17:37:00.011-05:00

Sasquatch works from home. Her job is to guard our home from looters, thugs, small children and squirrels...mostly squirrels. She despises those little rat bastards, as we've discussed previously. Although normally the gentlest of souls, she can get vicious when confronted with those rodents of the trees. She takes delight in meting out the most horrible tortures but only when she's dealing with squirrels...She practices with Bat!

So Sas never has to deal with the pressures of the office, and in that respect she is a lucky dog indeed...well, in all respects she's a lucky dog, but she might disagree. She believes she should be afforded many more freedoms than she gets, but, sad to say, she cannot be trusted to reliably come back home quickly if she is allowed out by herself. She resents this, but the world is full of predators, as anyone who's spent any time in HELL can tell you.

Yes, Sas is lucky she has no office to deal with. She's also lucky her employer is reasonable and generous. (I prefer to think of myself as employer/companion rather than owner...owner implies a superior position and in no way am I superior to Sasquatch.) There are some who have employers who are less than generous...even stingy! There are some who have employers who think nothing of suspending merit increases even though their employees have surely merited an increase. Oh, they blame it on the economy or unforeseen financial issues, and perhaps those issues come into play, but to fail to reward people who have done their best over the year smacks of a lack of respect for those who really do the work that makes the business go. And to announce it right before the performance appraisal cycle begins adds insult to injury. And so, the office was an especially bad place to be today. But, we can all thank our lucky stars that we have jobs and we are reminded of that daily. And perhaps we are lucky to have jobs, but sometimes I wonder if we are lucky to have the jobs we have.

--Ina

discontent in HELL...

2009-03-01T11:11:00.014-05:00

Sasquatch had been napping all morning. She seems worn out all the time lately...too many changes for her little doggy psyche to deal with I think. Frankly, I've felt a little worn out myself...perhaps there've been too many changes for my little human psyche too. I long for the change that the remodeling project will bring about, but I also long for things to get back to normal. I suppose it's the promise of Spring in the air that has made me restless and discontented. There's a feeling of anticipation that I cannot attribute to anything specific...a desire for change...for something new. I'm thinking of painting again...not the walls this time, but canvases. I see the light reflected on the ground and the trees and I want to paint it...capture the quality of the light and it doesn't matter on what. I used to be a fairly decent painter. Can I still? Beats me. In any case, I really don't have time for that...not as long as there's a house to take care of and a soul sucking (but excellent!) job to go to five days a week. So, maybe I'm not really ready for painting. If I were, I'd find a way. Undoubtedly, the notion will pass.

J&G and I went out for dinner...A belated birthday celebration...G's and mine in January and J's in February. J mentioned that she had had a good dish in New Orleans...lobster pot stickers or dumplings in a lobster butter sauce. She wanted me to recreate this dish, but was having trouble telling me what it tasted like, except that it was "good." Well, yeah, lobster and butter...how could it be anything but? So, I thought about it a little...I have made a seafood ravioli that's turned out well, so I thought perhaps I could adapt that for just lobster then make a beurre blanc for the sauce. Since I had nothing else to do (Sas was still napping and there was nothing going on in HELL...well, I don't guess there was. I didn't actually check, but it's gotten dull over there and checking seemed like too much trouble.) I thought I could do a trial recipe. So that's what I did. Well, lobster ravioli is quite a dish. I used a lobster tail, red bell pepper, shallots, portabella mushrooms, tarragon, bread crumbs...held together with a little liquid and stuffed into wonton skins. They were incredibly good, but the beurre blanc was a little too much. Before I fix the dish for my most demanding sister, I'll have to perfect another sauce. I have some ideas in mind and it won't be a hardship to work on sauces. Of course, a picture cannot convey the deliciousness...tarragon is the key, plus a little lemon zest in the filling and on top.

No, this entry has little to do with HELL, but since that's been the hook, it seems like a good idea to use it. And certainly the idea of hell is not inappropriate since Sas and I have been living in remodeling hell for awhile now. But we know the outcome will be worth it, thanks to the diligence of H and A.

--Ina

psychic Sas?

2009-03-01T06:54:00.014-05:00

Sasquatch and I were enjoying a lazy Sunday morning. Each week, we have Serious Music Sunday and we both look forward it. Sas believes, as I do, that music can provide more than just background noise. We find inspiration and solace in music and spend some of our Sundays listening to orchestral and choral works. On this morning, we were listening to John Rutter, the Cambridge Choir and the City of London Sinfonia...beautiful, soothing music for a Sunday. The gurgle of the washing machine, the hum of the dryer, a choir, dog snoring in her chair...perfect Sunday morning. Even the cats, those little rat bastards, were behaving themselves.

Sas needed a peaceful Sunday. She had had a most trying week, dealing with the changes remodeling has brought about. Dogs, while superior in every way, are creatures of habit and have problems with change. And changes have abounded at our home lately. The biggest obstacle for Sas has been the new door. H. replaced the french door that led from our family room to the deck...a door that Sas and I use every day. I had wanted the door to be hinged differently to make it more convenient for lugging out garbage and instructed H. to install a door that opened from the center, which he did. I did not take into consideration Sas's possible confusion. When she wished to go outdoors to watch for thugs or protect our home from squirrels, it had been her habit to position herself directly under the doorknob. She's a most patient being and knew that eventually, I'd notice her there and open the door. On the morning after H. had installed the new door, Sas waited where the knob had been on the old door...even though I had opened the door, she remained there until I took her by the collar and showed her the way. Poor Sas...so confused by new doors and ripped up floors. I do feel sorry for her, but it makes me laugh a little too (don't ever tell her though).

Here's something I don't understand about dogs...well, there are many things, but this is the thing I'm thinking about now...how do they know seemingly unknowable stuff? Dogs know things that they really should have no idea about. They know when the weekend is...they sleep later on the weekend, at least Sas does. Can they count and so know when Saturday is? Well, perhaps they can, but that does not explain how they know when their person is taking a vacation day. Maybe all dogs don't know, but again, Sas does. When I'm taking a vacation day, she sleeps later, just like on Saturday. And during the horror that was the ice storm, she also knew I wouldn't be going to work. How did she know that when I didn't even know myself until I had assessed the conditions. (Since the electricity was off, I didn't have the benefit of alarm clock and so slept past the usual hour...so did Sas, but on regular work days, she's awake and ready for the day when I come down the stairs. And if I happen to oversleep, she alerts me by barking until I'm up.) But here's the strangest thing...one evening last week, we were just sitting around when suddenly, Sas got up and trotted to the front door. A minute later, she came back to me and looked at me, like well, come on! I had no idea what she wanted and was engrossed in my book, so didn't pay much attention. She persisted...trotting to the door and coming back to look quizzically at me. After 3 or 4 minutes, the doorbell rang. It was H. Sas adores H. and greeted him with shameless enthusiasm. I said to him that I was surprised to see him and had not heard his truck. He explained that he had a few remodeling things to drop off, and by the way, he was driving his car since his truck was in the shop. Now, always before when Sas had anticipated H.'s arrival, I had assumed she could hear his (noisy)truck miles away and so knew when to go to the door. But on this evening, he had driven his car...he'd never driven his car to our house before, so how did she know it was H...or anybody coming to see us? And yet, clearly, she did know. Sometimes, I wish dogs could talk, but then I realize if they could, it would take away the mystique and to explain some of their powers, they'd toss off some phrase like, "Oh it's nothing...just the canine/human cerebral interface...didn't you know about that?" In much the same way as communications between men and women often have an element of mystery, so do human/dog interactions, and if you can relax and go with it, that can be part of the fun. You just have to shake your head and say, "Wow," and appreciate what you cannot understand as part of the spark that keeps things interesting.

--Ina

the hounds of HELL

2009-02-28T06:05:00.028-05:00

Sasquatch and I were just hanging out. It had been another grueling day...the office for me and dealing with remodeling changes for Sas. So we were watching the Game Show Channel. It was showing a retrospective, The Price is Right: The Bob Barker Years. It was going to be on for several days, I believe, so Sas was in heaven. She loves Bob Barker and knows what an animal lover he is, although she doesn't buy in completely with his tag line, "Remember, get your pets spayed or neutered." Sasquatch regrets never having had children. She would have been a good mother, tender and protective, but fun! Well, she has enough to do taking care of me...

I did check my HELL email while Sas was wagging over Bob. I was surprised to see that Shih-tzu2u4u8u had sent an "intimate" message. I thought I'd gotten rid of him once and for all. Perhaps you remember Shih-t...He's married, but his wife doesn't understand him at all, especially his raging sex drive. He thought HELL might provide him a little action on the side, unbeknownst to the "missus," perhaps with me 3 or 4 days a week, at my house, of course, since his house had the missus in it and she just would not approve. No, he was quite certain that she must not ever catch wind of his plan. He had asked me for my phone number so he could call me from his car on his cell phone. (He said he'd looked up "Tizzy" in the White Pages...whatta dope.) Well, no, I didn't think I'd be sharing my number with him. And told him to leave me alone. I am not interested in having him come over 3 or 4 days a week for a quick roll in the hay. I don't even know what he looks like! He may be a ringer for Marty Feldman for all I know (thanks, M, for reminding me of Marty...need to see Young Frankenstein again, stat.). I'm no beauty, but I do have my standards!!

One day, Sas snapped a picture of me as I was reading that classic novel, Slugs in Love, by Susan Pearson. The photo, taken from behind me, shows my hair, but not my face. Since it showed little that could be used to identify me, I included in my HELL profile. Shih-t has always seemed fascinated by my hair...perhaps he has a hair fetish...Is there such a thing? So, in his latest message to me, he said that my hair looked just like the hair of a woman who'd been on the news for killing her husband and wondered if she were I? Well, I don't know...I don't watch the news. I wrote him back and said that yes, I had done it, but hadn't meant too. It was an unfortunate emasculation accident. I thought this message would scare him off. But no, our Shih-t is a brave man. He sympathized with me! He called me "poor thing" and hoped I wouldn't go to jail! Damn! The thing to do, of course, would have been to just ignore him and not answer, but those of you who know me know that I cannot resist a challenge. So I answered him and said that indeed, I already was in jail, but I had assembled a team of the best legal minds in the country and was sure they'd get me the lightest possible sentence. I assured him that I had reconsidered and was now ready to meet him 3 or 4 days a week, but since the jail was not enlightened enough to allow conjugal visits, I would need some help making bail. While I awaited trial, we could meet and his every urge would be satisfied...all he had to do was withdraw several thousand dollars from his account, and send it to my favorite local attorney, AJ, who would take care of everything. (Must remember to alert AJ to the possibility of a large amount of cash arriving at his office and emphasize to him that I know where it came from; otherwise, he might keep it all for himself and I cannot allow that to happen. I have remodeling and new furniture to pay for.) I'm awaiting Shih-t's response...it's been 2 days...Either way, it's win-win for me...I've scared him off with talk of big money or he's sending big money and my financial worries are over. Sometimes, I'm a little frightened of how devious I can be. Since I learned most of it from Sas though, I in no way consider it a character flaw.

--Ina

another day in remodeling hell...

2009-02-21T12:10:00.033-05:00

Sasquatch finally got her day of beauty. She was very excited and romped with delight. I had talked her out of letting her bangs grow out, and she came home with a completely different look. I'm not sure I would have emphasized the eyebrows quite so much, but she likes it and that's all that matters. She really looks much better with a shorter 'do. If I were good with scissors, I could trim her from time to time and save an expensive salon visit, but I'm no stylist and she has had the good fortune to have found a good one, so it's worth the money. There's nothing like a day at the spa to cheer a girl right up!

It was good that she was out of the house because it was chaotic in there! Carpet and floors were being ripped up with abandon; the shop vac blared, plus the radio. You have to have it pretty loud to hear it over the shop vac! There were large male creatures who were generally in the way and it was best that she was spared the ordeal, especially after what she's been through with the winter weather and her many bad hair days. "Lucky dog" took on a whole new meaning...

While H. and A. were happily working, I decided to take a look at my handbasket from HELL, which had arrived the night before. Well, there were some interesting selections this time...interesting, not appealing. One called himself Flirty4U...He looked like Samuel L. Jackson (thanks for noticing the resemblance, M...I couldn't think who he reminded me of.) and had trouble spelling...lots of trouble. He wondered wy he didt get tons of emails sinse he was no diffrent from nobody els. He was afecshunut and compasshunut just like everone els, so wy he got few emails was hard to understand. He liked walking around the house nude, and yet the first thing folks noticed about him were his clothes. He spent a lot of time thinking about getting laid...off. Well, I've always liked men who are a little different and if he's just like everone els, then I'm just not that interested. Sory, Flirty.

There was another one...I can't remember his name...I don't remember anything about him, except he used the words "worst case cinerio" in his profile. That was enough for me. And then there was...well, his moniker is just appalling and I cannot reveal it. I'm sorry I ever saw it, but I'll tell you a little about him because its just too revolting to keep to myself. According to his self-summary, he's a very large man who is looking for a very sexual woman. He likes long kisses...he mentions his very large hands and feet, and all that they say about him! He wants to whisper sweetly to us in his "deep baritone voice." That's funny...usually the timbre of one's voice doesn't come through in whispers. Actually, he spells pretty well, but it was his picture, plus that disgusting moniker, that told me I must reject him. What was he thinking? I fail to understand what some of these men do in the hopes of finding a woman. How can he possibly think that any woman in her right mind would go all oh baby over that awful picture and his stupid description of his large hands and feet and all they imply. Well, maybe some women would, I don't pretend to know. But not this woman, not in a million years. I must not let Sas see this photo. She's far too innocent and I'm afraid she might be scarred for life. I'm thinking about turning in the key to my handbasket. If this is the best the administrators in HELL can do, then I might very well be done with the whole thing.

When Sas returned from her day of beauty, she was undone by all the changes that had taken place in her absence. She looked at me like WTF?? I tried to explain, but she just wandered around her home, sniffing and looking for familiar things...her carpet was gone, her rug where she chewed happily on bones, gone. She was bewildered, but still pumped up by her new coif and bandanna! Her stylist, knowing that Sas was tired to death of winter and snow, had given her a bright floral bandanna to remind her that Spring was near, and she wore it proudly. She paraded around, swinging her hips, to catch the eyes of her new best boyfriends, H. and A. They were appreciative and patted her head and called her beautiful. She was aglow from their attention! But the day had exhausted her and soon, she was ready for bed.

She was so tired, she refused most of her dinner, which for Sasquatch, is rare indeed. I'd spent the whole day cooking, but I didn't really mind if she wasn't hungry...she'd had a big day, and it was enough for me to see her happy and confident again. Sometimes, a day of beauty is just the thing.

--Ina

and now for something completely different...

2009-02-19T20:01:00.014-05:00

Sasquatch and I had discussed it and we came to the conclusion that we needed to remodel. We were tired of our surroundings and needed a change. We spent many hours thinking about what we'd like done and finally arrived at a plan. Now, we needed someone to carry out our vision, and I just happened to know somebody! I'd met H. when the company he worked for moved into the building where my office is. He was a very charming man with lovely manners. (You may have noticed that I'm a sucker for nice manners...) Over the course of our conversations, I learned that he did remodeling. Well, I needed remodeling done and we spoke of it and he agreed to take on the project. It was a good thing I wasn't in a hurry to have the work done...Yes, that was indeed a good thing. I was patient...extremely patient....more patient than normal for me. But I didn't want to interview a dozen contractors and he seemed most capable. So, I waited. Actually, I waited for several months. In fact, I was almost out of the notion. My patience paid off though and he came by to measure and look and figure and discuss. We arrived at a plan and a price, and suddenly, there Sas and I were in the middle of a remodeling project! How exciting and how noisy!

H. and his helper, A., (a very polite young man) came by to start ripping up stuff and generally disrupting my life. But that was their job and so I didn't mind...too much. (I was a little distressed when I heard H. say, "A., do you know how to use a nail gun?" And A. said, "No, but I'd like to learn!") Great! A nail gun neophyte in my house! Sas, on the other hand, has been a little confused by these recent developments. She isn't used to men wielding crowbars in her house...well, I'm not either, but, being slightly more sophisticated, I'm better able to hide my confusion. Sasquatch has been delighted with the prospect of other people in her house. She has danced around and generally made a fool of herself in her shameless bid for attention from attractive men. Sometimes she's such a whore! I have lectured her extensively on the dangers of throwing herself at any new man who enters her life, but she has refused to listen. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and really, who's to say she's wrong? And so, she's flirted and invited H. and A. to play and has been a pest, but H. and A. have taken it in stride, almost as if they're used to this kind of wanton behavior. I think they're being polite.

And so now our home is in disarray...well, it's usually in disarray because I'm so busy working and blogging and emailing Internet boyfriends and picking up random piles of cat throw up that I have little time for housework. What I need is a maid. And I think I might look into that. Actually, my workload would be diminished if the cats disappeared. (I'm considering asking H. if I can borrow his nail gun...to nail some stuff. No, I don't know how to use one and if an unfortunate accident were to happen involving cats, well, it it wouldn't really be my fault, being nail gun unsavvy and all. Yes, I think I must discuss this with him as soon as possible. I'm sure a nail gun is most appropriate for hanging pictures and I have many that need hanging...)

When I arrived home this evening after a grueling day at work full of corporate bullshit and incomprehensible spreadsheets, I found that H. and A. had been hard at work, taking up flooring. The racket was incredible...but one must endure unpleasantness to appreciate the good things that come from it. And now, I'm walking on plywood! It's most distressing, but will be worth it in the end. I hope. I didn't even have a chance to check with HELL to see if I had any more perfect boyfriend prospects (right). My HELL matches are a sad story, and will be discussed at length...later. There will be more to this saga of floors and countertops and light fixtures and faucets and sinks and no, I have not picked out everything yet, H., but I will. Those of you who've been reading but are bored by tales of home improvements might want to take a break for awhile. Soon...well, I'm not exactly sure how soon, but eventually, Chez Ina & Sas will be transformed!

--Ina

another kind of HELL...redux, part II

2009-02-16T16:18:00.022-05:00

Sasquatch was wild to get my attention. I was in a stupor caused by 3 days of performance appraisal writing. In fact, I was near catatonia or perhaps even cataplexy, but Sas persisted and managed to revive me by smiling broadly and pawing at my knee. She wanted to watch Hawaii 5-0 on the Crime Show Channel. She'd heard of this show, but had never seen it and was curious about Dan-o. Plus, she thought it might help her remember that Hawaii was, in fact, a state and so would improve her geography skills. Sas looks for any opportunity to enrich her education, which is an admirable goal. I still haven't figured out how she knows the television schedule, but she does. So I was brought out of my trance-like state and gradually regained my senses. Sas was dancing with desire to see Hawaii 5-0, so I found the channel and she was content.

I had spent Friday in frustration, writing reviews, dealing with corporate nonsense, and then had to go back to the office on Saturday to finish reviews and make up snow time. As an exempt employee, I didn't think I should be made to make up time, but da man saw it differently, so I did my corporate duty.

Valentine's Day at the office...five more depressing words have never been written...However, on a bright note, there were Valentine's Day Doughnuts! But wait! The box was there, but where were the doughnuts?!? It was just an empty box! Damn! No doughnuts, no Valentines, just reviews. Shit...So, I evaluated, I appraised, I typed and saved and typed some more. It was a long day...And it was only 5 hours! It's amazing how long a Saturday hour is at the office, and yet how short at home...I think its a time warp thing. Finally, I was finished. The last review had been written, saved, and sent. Whew! Mr V and B and I decided to go to lunch to celebrate...Well, Mr V and I were celebrating...B was just taking a break. I was astounded when Mr V said he was treating us to lunch! I felt like I'd gotten a Valentine! A platonic one, of course. Thanks Mr V!
Thus fortified by a delicious hamburger and some home-made chips, I went home. But first, I had to stop by the grocery because I had told J&G that I'd bring gumbo to their house for dinner and I needed bread to go with it. I shopped quickly and finally arrived home! At last! It was wonderful to be there and Sas was happy too! I checked the mailbox and guess what? Valentines! Wow! How exciting! There was this one and that one and the other one, and a couple more and surprisingly, one from Sasquatch! How could that have happened? I know too well that all her credit cards are maxxed out and she hasn't even been anywhere to shop lately. Well, she had some help...Oh, and an assorted chocolate sampler in a heart-shaped box sent through the mail and only slightly squashed (although, to tell the truth, I'd have rather had an imported shoe sampler, but I suppose that would have been too much to ask). I read my cards and put the chocolate somewhere out of sight and then finished up the gumbo, which, you may remember was supposed to be my contribution to the office pot luck. But apathy had cancelled that so I was left with a huge pot of seafood stock.

At J's house, the gumbo happily simmered and I added some frozen scallops and a bag of shrimp, which were peeled, but still had their little shrimpy tails. Well, G was appalled at the shrimp tails...it bordered on disgust! J, always the loving wife, patiently de-tailed the shrimp in G's bowl, while I looked on like WTF?!? The gumbo was extraordinarily delicious. It brimmed with shrimp and scallops and crab and andouille sausage plus onions, celery, and peppers (but don't tell G...he hates those last three things). And so, despite the office, Valentine's Day ended on a happy note. I was disappointed that HELL had not sent me a special Valentine's Day handbasket, but if recent handbaskets were any indication, it would have been a disappointment too.

--Ina

another kind of hell...redux

2009-02-12T17:56:00.023-05:00

Sasquatch was delighted to see me again this afternoon. Sometimes, I think my homecoming might be the highlight of her day. Often, when she's especially happy, Sas licks her nose. Yes, if you or I were to lick our nose in happiness, it would be weird, but for Sas, it's an expression of joy. I do not judge what I cannot understand about superior beings.

Today was exactly like yesterday...another day in performance appraisal hell. Exactly like yesterday...except possibly more frustrating. Yesterday, I had gotten off to a shaky start, but found my rhythm and blazed down the stretch...and if I faltered at the end, well, I figured that today, with a little more conditioning than yesterday, I'd be able to rate and finish strong. But something happened. Like Arazi, the odds-on favorite who finished eighth in the 1992 Derby, I had a bad day. Perhaps I was off my feed...maybe I woke up sore...it might have been that someone had tried to kill me with a poison cupcake that morning.

As the pot luck lunch had been cancelled because of apathy, it had been suggested that the leadership team might want to provide cupcakes for the staff, in celebration of Valentine's Day and as a naked plea for acceptance and respect. One editor knew of a cupcake establishment that baked superior cakes, and with the blessing of da man, she ordered cupcakes for the staff.

On the morning of the Cupcake Caper, the managers were frantically writing performance appraisals...or were frantically thinking of writing them...or were sobbing in despair over the prospect of writing 15 or 16 (it's so hard to keep up with the exact number) appraisals in the next 2 days. It was chaotic. Nerves were frayed. Tempers were short. But then, da man appeared with his box of sugary, buttery deliciousness and strolled the aisles between the cubicles, dispensing treats to one and all. I had had to go outside to get some air...all that sobbing had made me all stuffed up and I thought a few deep breaths of sub-zero air would clear things right up. And when I got back in my office, I saw it there on the desk...the red cake of death...Oh it looked innocent enough, sitting there with its wreath of white fluffy frosting and its perky red sugar sprinkles, but I knew what it was right away. Red velvet!

Those of you who were not brought up in the South may be unfamiliar with Red Velvet cake. It is an abomination. It is a cake that tastes of, well, nothing really, except sugar and a slight tang from buttermilk. It typically is dry and relies on too much sweet, greasy cream cheese icing to make it at all palatable. But the worst thing about Red Velvet cake is the source of its screaming red hue...bottles and bottles of red dye #3, the dye of death. There's enough red dye in one of these cupcakes to kill a normal human several times over. The only reason most people survive is because they cannot finish one or even take more than a bite or two before the gag reflex takes over and saves them from certain death. And this is what had been left on my desk two days before performance appraisals were due?

I was stunned. Why was I being singled out? Did upper management think my performance was so dismal that death was to be the "overall rating" on my own appraisal? Was my staff attempting a coup? I couldn't think. And I certainly couldn't work on any performance appraisals. I went to Mr V's office for advice and found him near death, choking and holding his hand to his throat. I quickly opened his cherry Coke and poured it down his gullet. I think the fizz must have worked its way through the clogged up cupcake, much like Drano works on those stubborn clogs in your kitchen sink, because he soon began to breathe normally and his color returned. When he regained his ability to speak, we talked in hushed tones about what might be going on. We called our colleague, B., who reported that since eating her own cupcake, she'd been oddly not able to have a coherent thought. It would take much deep thought and perhaps help from the outside to get to the bottom of this .

Meanwhile, another colleague, Buford, had found the top of one of the cupcake boxes and had been happily playing with it. He asked for a photo, so I obliged. It wasn't like I was getting any work done...I was touched by his childlike glee and was determined to make the best of my frightening situation. But, I also was determined to get to the bottom of the killer cupcake caper, but not today. I was tired and hungry and needed a nap. So I worked at simple things until it was time to go home to my most wise and reassuring boon companion, Sas. Perhaps I'd take a look at the Valentine's matches HELL had sent or maybe we'd just watch a little Game Show Channel. But NOT the Golf Channel, not tonight.

--Ina

another kind of hell...

2009-02-11T16:40:00.022-05:00

Sasquatch, as always, was delighted to see me when when I got home this afternoon. I was glad to see her too because I'd spent the day in hell...Not HELL. No, this was another kind of hell...one so terrible as to defy description...it was Performance Appraisal Hell. There was a time that performance appraisals didn't necessitate time in hell. There was a time, oh those halcyon days, when performance appraisals were spread out over the year rather than all being due at once. We still griped and bitched about them, but my colleagues and I had no idea what was in store. I'm a manager in an editorial office. I have a staff of 16 editors, coordinators and other associates whose work isn't easily defined. Until about 2 hours ago, I thought I had 15 on my staff...imagine my surprise to learn that I actually had one more! I should have counted myself, but when my colleague, Mr V., told me I had 15, I believed him. He's usually right, but not this time. (No, I don't call him Mr anything, but to use his first initial would be far too confusing...trust me.) Thanks V, way to confuse the hell out of me. Did you do it on purpose? You know who you are...

So, 16 performance appraisals, due Valentine's Day...How sweet. My strategy, after I got over my panic attack, was to do the easiest ones first and knock out as many as possible in one day...today. I logged into the Performance Appraisal Management System (SuckCess!...thanks B...you're way too emotional, but funny as hell.) but my password would not work. I knew what my password was. It was the same as it's always been, but it would not work...not the first time, not the second...not the 10th. I was frustrated...I was pissed. I sent the please-help-me-for-I'm-too-stupid-to-keep-up-with-my-passwords email and sat back to wait. I got coffee...I read the paper...I chatted with various associates...I answered emails from the corporate office. Sixteen appraisals to do and I'm dead in the water. This cannot be right. I work for an important corporation doing vital work. No, really. Well, it seems vital to the executives. And I am not able to do these most important appraisals because of some password glitch? I know my password! It's written down on a post-it note, stuck to my PC! Why won't it work? Oh, who knows...What was important was that I get logged into SuckCess! as soon as possible before I lost my motivation. So I did what I had to do. I sent another email. I'm sure this is strictly forbidden, but it worked and within moments, a new password had been sent.

By now, I was a little out of the notion of doing reviews, but I really had no choice, so started on the one I thought might be easiest...hoping to ease in gradually until I found my rhythm. It worked pretty well...So I wrote and evaluated...I calculated averages and ratings. I was doing reviews and I was on fire, until about 3 pm, when I felt my motivation go far away. But I got several finished...not as many as I'd hoped, but nevertheless, a good start. I can do this, and it's a good thing, since I have to do it again all day tomorrow...

And now I'm home and Sas is watching You Bet Your Life on the Game Show Channel. She loves Groucho Marx, but she really loves that stupid duck that delivers the money when a contestant says the secret word. It's a really old show, and kind of corny by today's standards, but that Groucho...he's one funny guy. We're also enduring another storm, this one wind. It reminds me of that one we had in September, but this one seems worse to me...I'm a little afraid the electricity might go away again. If so, well, I just don't know.

--Ina

for richer, for poorer...in sickness and in HELL

2009-02-10T19:10:00.013-05:00

Sasquatch is beside herself with joy now that the electricity seems to be reliably back and she can watch the Game Show Channel again. Last night, Who Wants to be a Millionaire was on. Sas has always had a little crush on Regis Philbin...I'm baffled by it, but it's harmless. And she has always hoped to be one of those "phone helpers" that the clueless call when stumped by a question like, How many states are in the United States? (Sas would not be a good answerer for that question; she always forgets Hawaii.) She's been having a little trouble seeing the television since her bangs have gotten so long. We had to postpone her day of beauty at the salon because of the ice storm. Now, she says she wants to let her bangs grow out...I hope she's not planning to pull them up into a topknot like some stupid little Yorkie at Westminster! (How odd that Sas doesn't want to watch the Westminster competition...I think she's a little sensitive because she's not a purebred.)

While Sas was enjoying her Philbin-fix, I thought I should check email in case someone from Nigeria was trying to give me a million dollars. Well, there was nothing from Nigeria. Crap! I could have used a million too. I think a piece of jewelry in diamonds and platinum would improve my outlook tremendously. But, there was an intimate message from someone in HELL!! His name was Inhuman_Being. Well, that didn't sound too promising, but I had to see what his intimate message was...Besides, his photo wasn't bad...if it was really him of course. You really can never be sure. So I opened the message and whoa! did he have a lot to say!! It was more a novelette than HELL message. First of all, he told me that he didn't expect me to reply, or even read his message...good show of self-confidence there, big boy. He yammered on about this and that...where had I lived most of my life and did I like the mid-west (I don't think I live in the mid-west....isn't that more Indiana and Iowa? I think I live in the upper south and my city certainly tries like hell to be a southern city. I think the mayor would like us to be Atlanta North.) He loved making new friends and he liked getting email and he wasn't sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life walking the dogs and his wife had no problem making new friends and getting new lovers and...wait! His wife? I read on, even though that freak light had come on and it wasn't just blinking "caution." No, it was a steady and bright beam...It turns out that his wife had helped him write his profile because she was good at profile writing and he wasn't...Well, I hadn't read his profile, but if it was anywhere near as long as his message, then I doubt the whole thing would have fit into the HELL profile form. When I finally got to the end, (Yes, I read the whole message...it was like a traffic accident...I couldn't look away.) he mentioned that I probably thought he was one of the freaks I'd cautioned not to contact me. But he wasn't, he said, really, he wasn't. And he invited me to come to his town in Indiana and have coffee with him...and his wife. And what must he do to convince me to join them for coffee, or a drink, or even dinner?? I wouldn't be sorry!!!! Oh, they weren't into swinging...no indeedy. They each had their own lovers and did not engage in threesomes, but apparently, his wife had more success in the finding-lovers department than he did.

So, what to do? Well the obvious answer is "nothing." Don't answer, don't think about it, don't look at his stupid profile...just let it go...right? So, of course, I sent him a message and asked him what he didn't understand about my admonition that freaks were not to contact me and hadn't he read the emasculation portion of my profile and did he have a death wish or what?

I expected, after that sound scolding, he'd crawl off to his corner and lick his wounds...but no! He answered and he was not contrite! He asked...no...demanded to know...what I had against married people having lovers on the side. Well I have nothing against it...I just have no interest in being a party to it. Then he wanted to know why the mid-west was so weird...how should I know? I don't live in the mid-west! He said he visited my city regularly and could not understand why people here smiled at him and said, "Hi!" and waved and gave him directions and dressed nicely for work and said "please" and "thank you" (or "no problem"...ick) and spoke to him in restaurants...what was the matter with us?!?? Well, I couldn't send him a reply. If he can't understand common courtesy and has no appreciation for genteel manners, then I have no use for him. Well, I had no use for him anyway, but for someone to complain that folks are too mannerly...that's just beyond the pale. What he doesn't understand is that those manners are what make it possible for us all to live together without wanting to kill each other like animals on a daily basis. I did ask him where he was from...Washington DC...

--Ina

HELL's kitchen...day 2

2009-02-08T09:38:00.000-05:00

When Sasquatch and I went out this morning, it smelled like Spring. Sas noticed it first, being a dog and possessing superior olfactory prowess, but it didn't take me that long to catch on. So, we sniffed and smiled and I had a little urge to skip, but my feet kept getting sucked into the soggy ground, which saved me from skipping, and thus, looking like a complete idiot.

In some cruel mistake of planning, I'm finding myself in the kitchen again today. What?? Two days in a row?? Well, there's a very important pot-luck lunch (Winterlewd 2009) coming up at the office this week, and I must begin my dish today since it takes awhile to complete. The theme of our lunch is...well, we have a number of themes from which to choose...Groundhog Day, Mardi Gras, James Lileks' Gallery of Regrettable Food (love Lileks...you should visit his website)...there are some others that I can't remember. I have chosen Mardi Gras because that theme gives me the opportunity to make seafood gumbo, and those of you who have had my seafood gumbo know that it's the stuff legends are make of. So, today, I'm stirring my roux and chopping onions, bell peppers, celery, garlic (lots) and making my seafood stock from crawfish (my supply of frozen shrimp and lobster shells for stock-making bought it in the recent power outage. Damn!). Later, I'll saute some andouille sausage and maybe a piece or 2 of chicken to enrich the whole thing...Of course, I cannot reveal the whole recipe, but the seafoods will include shrimp, scallops, crab and crawfish. Sounds tasty, no? It will provide much entertainment at the squirrel feeding station on the big day. I'm thinking some Valentine cupcakes would be a nice addition too. Well, it depends on how irritated I am with performance appraisal progress...

Speaking of Valentines, I got a nice one from an e-boyfriend. The weird thing is, I haven't heard anything from this particular one for quite some time and had thought the whole e-romance had disappeared into the cyber...so strange. Valentine's week might be interesting in HELL. The days leading up to it certainly have been. The season of romance plus the impending full moon have led to some interesting correspondence...from freaks. My HELL profile specifically states that freaks are not to contact me, and yet, they persist. One of the recent ones even referred to himself as a freak in his initial email to me! I said no freaks!! I think they've gotten together and conspired to piss me off. I suppose it's amusing for them, but it just takes up my time, reading their drivel and trying to parse it out into something that makes sense. It's my own fault for reading and trying to understand. You can usually tell within the first few sentences if he's a freak and I should stop reading when the freak light comes on. Sometimes it takes longer though...there was that one guy (PrfesrLuv) who seemed perfectly normal and charming until the day he asked if we could meet face to face and would I mind if he wore his little black dress. I thought it was a joke until he assured me it was not. I guess I'm just too old fashioned or something, but if anybody is going to wear a black dress on a date, I want it to be me. What's the point in engaging in beauty rituals if the man you're with looks prettier than you do? I guess it might make things easier...no worries about hair and makeup or even fashion...just show up in a pair of old jeans and hiking boots...and a baseball cap. Well, no, I don't think so. I'm much too much a girly girl to go for that. Besides, I like men to look like men. Is that so wrong? So I told PrfesrLuv that I really didn't think it would work out, but thanks for asking...

--Ina

HELL's kitchen...

2009-02-07T11:12:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch and I are about back to normal after our icy ordeal. Sas, of course, bounced back quicker than I did. I will spare you an account of the last couple of days in the ice. It's too painful to remember (the long cold nights, the doorknobs so cold they hurt my hands to grab...and that was inside...poor Paul Varjak, shivering on his little swing, but he did survive! Critters most often have indomitable spirits.). I must thank J&G for providing a warm place to stay that last night before Just Fair Gas & Electric Co. got the power back on in my house. I also must thank my neighbor (the nice one) for helping me with my car travails. I'm sure he won't drop in here, so as a thank you, I made him brownies, iced with ganache. I share my brownies with only a few, so he's a lucky man, although when he was out there trying to get my car unstuck from Snow Mountain, he might have disagreed.

So Sas and I decided to celebrate the weekend, lights, heat and snow melting with some big cooking. We like to cook...well, I like it better than Sas. She's really not that good in the kitchen. In fact, she kind of gets in the way, but is amiable about moving when I shout, "Move!!"

Surprisingly enough, I found some cross-cut veal shanks at the grocery, so thought osso buco might be a nice dish for a winter weekend. I have to thank a most charming gentleman caller from HELL for reminding me of this excellent dish. I'd made it a few times years ago but then veal got so hard to find, and I just forgot about it. So thanks, M., you know who you are.

Let's take a moment to talk about veal...many people will not eat veal because of the conditions in which it's raised. Other people won't eat it because they're vegetarians and I cannot relate to them at all, so there it is. Well, yes, the calves for milk-fed veal are kept in small stalls to limit movement, resulting in a more tender product. But older cattle are herded together in close conditions at feed lots...chickens are kept in small enclosures...pigs too. But they're animals destined to feed humans. That is their lot in life, like it or not. The food chain is never a pretty picture...just watch out your back window when hawk swoops down on dove and you'll see. Not pretty, but just the way it is. Cows, chickens and pigs are no less noble for fulfilling their destiny. So, yes, I eat veal...and beef and chicken and pork and shrimp and other farmed critters. Guess what? I wear leather too...and fur. So, if you don't agree, that's fine. If you see me in my fur coat, just look the other way. Those mink were going to die anyway, no matter who wears the coat. And if I invite you to dinner, you should make an excuse because animal products are going to be featured. They're tasty and I like cooking them and eating them. So, it's an emotionally charged issue for many, but happily not for me. I already have enough emotionally charged issues to think of to take on another...

For the osso buco, I sauteed some diced pancetta until it had given up its porky, delicious fat, and browned the shanks and removed them to a casserole. I cooked chopped shallot, garlic, celery and carrot until soft and added some vermouth. After the vermouth had mostly evaporated, I added some chicken stock, a squeeze of tomato paste and a very small squeeze of anchovy paste, brought it up to the boil and stirred to get all the fond. I poured this over the veal, added a couple of Italian parsley sprigs, bay leaves, the pancetta, and salt and pepper. Into a 325 degree oven it went to braise for a couple of hours. I decided on Risotto Milanese and roasted asparagus and mushrooms as sides...How odd to have had saffron in the spice cabinet! And so I stirred and roasted and grated...cooking, a very satisfying activity. For the gremolata, I used orange zest instead of lemon...A suggestion from M., although I think he suggested it for piccata...no matter, it was perfect. It added an unexpected note that lifted the dish from just good to excellent. Thanks M!...the only way it could have been better is if you had been here to share it with me and heap praise upon my head for my superior culinary skills!

I don't cook big that much just for me, but sometimes, it's just the thing to do. We'd had a hard patch, Sas and me, and we needed to do something nice for ourselves. The veal was amazing...fork tender, it had almost an unctuousness that's rare in such a lean meat. The risotto was creamy, but not mushy...the only disappointment was the asparagus, which I cooked a little too long...so what, it was but a bit player anyway.

--Ina

HELL froze over...the office

2009-02-01T08:26:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch gets no snow days. She's on the job all day and all night seven days a week. Of course, she feels free to take numerous naps, but she sleeps lightly and is ready to bark at the slightest provocation. I had set out for the office, reasoning that if Sas was working, so should I. The roads were kind of clear...well, there was one lane right in the middle that could be driven on with dubious safety. The traffic lights were out, but there weren't that many commuters, so the trip was doable, if not pleasant.

I arrived at the office, jittery from my adventure on the road, and was struck by how warm it was! It was bliss. Also, the lights were on, there was coffee...and other human beings! This was going to be great! I went to my office and settled into my chair to fire up the PC to see what I'd been missing. There were the usual emails about the usual work topics, boring on a normal day, but fascinating on this day and I read them all. I sighed with contentment...There was my office tree...my bulletin board...my calendar...a working thermostat! I decided to wander around to see who was here. It didn't take too long to determine that not that many office workers had braved the conditions, but some had and we had happy chats and swapped snow horror stories.

I did a little work...nothing seemed too urgent, then went to lunch with colleagues. It was my birthday!! And they treated me to lunch, plus there was a beautiful bouquet of roses on my desk, a bottle of wine (!) and good wishes from many.

Since my PC was right there on my desk and turned on and connected to the Internet, I thought I should check in with HELL and see what was going on. Imagine my surprise to see that I had been sent a special set of birthday matches!! How exciting! I was sure dream date would be included. After all, it was my birthday and my special birthday set! I clicked and there they were...my birthday boyfriends. The first one looked like Hitler...same stupid bangs...little dumb moustache...mean, shifty eyes. I was confused. If you kind of resemble Hitler to begin with, why would you emphasize the resemblance with hair and moustache? Unless perhaps you admire Hitler, which I feared might be all too likely...rejected.

Bachelor Number Two wasn't...a bachelor, that is. I didn't even have to open his profile to find out this fun fact. It was right there in that random snippet of information the HELL administrators use as a tease. He was married and happy most of the time, except when his raging sex drive kicked in and his wife just didn't understand (Oh she understood all right...) and he needed someone to satisfy his needs...rejected.

The third guy was my favorite. He wanted a "good woman" who had "some morals about her. " And she couldn't be even a "pound or 2 overweight" because he "cannot stand obesity." Well, those of you who know me know that I have no morals whatsoever. Plus, as a size 6 (sometimes 8, depending upon the garment), I fear I would be much too "obese" for him and so, reluctantly, I marked him rejected.

I checked my personal email to see if any e-flirters had checked in. They had! So I spent a few minutes being e-charming and e-flirtatious...what fun! Well, it was my birthday, so I felt justified in spending a few minutes on personal email. Is that so wrong?

All too soon, it was time to climb Snow Mountain to my car and steel myself for the ride home.

--Ina

HELL froze over...the long night

2009-01-31T12:16:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch and I were bound and determined to make the best of our unfortunate situation. There's no one better in an emergency than Sas...first, there's her unflagging good humor. She sees the best in everything. She can do nothing else, being a dog. That's another one of those good things about dogs...always looking on the bright side. Then, there's her dedication to duty. Instinct told her that the house and I needed special protection during this winter event, and so she took up her post on the deck and spent a large portion of the day guarding against looters and thugs. Someone suggested she looks stalwart here and I must agree....thanks B., terrific word "stalwart."

It wasn't so bad during the daylight hours. Oh, it was dull...no distractions...just empty hours filled with useless thoughts. Well, that was me...I'm sure Sas was busily working out solutions to all kinds of pressing concerns. Then the sun went down...It was still pretty warm in the house and I had bought a fake log at the grocery so we had a small fire. But the light it made was insufficient for reading and of course, no DVDs, no Hipkens or even Cole Porter. So, I made up a bed on the couch to be closer to my loved ones and the fire, dim as it was, and settled in for the night. Well, I wasn't especially sleepy, but I sure was bored, so thought insomnia wouldn't be a problem. And it wasn't...for awhile. I had covered up Paul Varjak's (Paul is a parakeet. No, he's not really mine, but it's a long story.) cage with a blanket and set him as close to the fire as possible, but sometime in the night, I woke up and thought, "Wow, it sure is cold in here. I hope Pauly doesn't freeze." But I really didn't care that much (Which reminds me of that incomparable song, The Cat Got Dead by Heywood Banks, who's no H.H. but pretty good) and so went back to sleep...until 2:14 am, when I heard a beep. I thought (hoped) I might be imagining it, but no, there it went again...beep. Beep...beep...beep. But it wasn't very loud and I knew it was a smoke detector wanting me to get in the car and find an all-night grocery, buy a battery, and install it. Well, no, I had no intention of doing that. So, once again, I went back to sleep...until 4:30 am, when an unholy screeching commenced and I was knocked from the couch. The smoke detectors had gone into full-blown panic mode. When I determined that I had not actually suffered a heart attack, I made my way in the dark and the cold through the house, disabling smoke detectors all over. I knew there was no fire...it was too freakin' cold and dark in there for the house to be burning down. Besides, Sas hardly even stirred, so I knew all was well.

There was no going back to sleep...I was afraid if I did, I'd freeze to death and not be found until Spring. I discovered that, if you have had the foresight to purchase a gas stove, you can light the burners with a match, despite the electronic ignition device. So, that's what I did and boiled water to pour through the Mr Coffee. And voila! hot delicious coffee was mine! Of course, it didn't stay hot long and I was forced to reheat it on the stove so after that first cup, it wasn't very good, but it was warm, which is more than I can say for my environment. However, if you have had the foresight to purchase a gas water heater, a hot shower is possible. Thus fortified, I decided to go to the office, and while stuck in traffic took this photo...

--Ina

HELL froze over!..no, really!

2009-01-31T09:11:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch and I have been through an ordeal.......one for the ages. The ice happened and then the electricity went away, and with it, the lights, the heat, the oven, the CD-player (and Henry Hipkens warbling about a Snow Day would have been most appropriate), the washing machine, the refrigerator, the telephone, and worst of all, the Internet and my e-boyfriends!!
When we awoke to the ice, Sas and I decided that for me to attempt the commute into the city and the office might be folly. I called various colleagues to see what their plans were and no one I spoke to thought the office was the place to be and that was good enough for me! I planned a happy day of baking and dog-romping. Sas was delighted!

So we romped a little and then I set about making a chocolate cake iced with ganache. I thought it would be nice to take a cake to my coworkers the next day when we returned to work and I have a really good recipe for a 3-layer chocolate cake...lots of butter...lots of cocoa...lots of sugar, but no milk, which is good since I had none. So I set the oven to pre-heat and buttered and cocoa-ed the pans. I mixed the cocoa with boiling water and very hot, strong coffee...creamed the butter and sugar together, added the cocoa mess and eggs and the dry ingredients and stirred it until that "batter falls in ribbons" thing happened. I was just getting ready to pour it into the pans, when the lights flickered and went out! No!! I sat down on the couch in despair, and Sas brought me her favorite toy to cheer me up, to no avail. But then, after a few minutes, the lights came back! Well, there was no reason to think they'd die again, so I re-pre-heated the oven and once again was ready to pour the batter into the pans. As you will have guessed, the lights went out and this time they stayed out. And our ordeal began in earnest.

--Ina

Sasquatch goes all sorrow-dog

2009-01-27T10:00:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch was depressed. She was distressed over the state of her hairdo. Sas has unruly hair...we can't all be blessed with perfect locks, and she is one of the unfortunates. And she's very vain for a dog...I don't know where she gets it. Well, yes, I do care about my appearance and perhaps I do spend a little too much time primping, and there are some (not many) who have mentioned that I might be a little shallow. But vain? Surely not! Why, to call me vain would imply that I spend all my time thinking of shoes and hats (HATS!) and lipstick and dresses and short-tailed skirts and scent and cashmere sweaters. Everyone who knows me knows that I spend most of my time in deep reflection about how I might best help save the world from itself. And I've come up with some pretty good ideas, but what's important now is Sas's well-being. She's been like this for several days. She's spent most of her time in her recliner, sleeping or moping. She's lost interest in saving our home from squirrels and even Chuckwoolery's kisses bore her. She doesn't call for Rolf anymore and barely notices that he's stopped stopping by. Oh, she puts on a good front when we go for our walks, but I know her too well and can see that she's deeply troubled.

This morning she refused to leave the house until her hair was covered. Fortunately, we found those red flannel panties sent by that most charming e-boyfriend and she used them as her hat (HAT!). She likes the warmth of the flannel and the lace appeals to her girly side. I'm glad she likes them because I wouldn't be caught dead in them...I do hope this particular e-boyfriend isn't reading the blog. Well, I don't think he would. I think his interests lie more in the physical rather than the intellectual pursuits. In fact, I'm pretty sure of it, if his emails are any indication, although sometimes it's a little hard to know exactly what he's writing since his spelling skills are, well, let's just say he won't be winning any bees. But there's certainly nothing wrong with that. No, indeed. This world is big enough to accommodate the brawny as well as the brainy. His photo suggests that he's brawny all right. Oh it's not one of those tacky shirtless ones. No, he's clothed, but well, it must have been a trick of the light the day the picture was taken...those shoulders...and the arms...the breadth of chest...and tall! Oh my...it's 12 degrees outside, but it seems oddly warm in here...is it just me??

Well.....so, yes, Sasquatch...I think she was concerned or depressed or unhappy or something...what was it? (that little bitch...always complaining about something. Doesn't she know I have other things to think about right now?) I seem to have become a little lost....Oh yes! her hair! That's right, she needed a salon appointment. Well, of course, I got right on the phone and made her appointment...a day of beauty at the doggie salon. Oh, she'll be a new girl! I'll be sure to post pictures so all her virtual friends can see her transformation. She'll regain the will to live, I'm sure of it. I do hope though, that she will have forgotten all about Rolf...all that calling and calling for him was getting on my nerves....

--Ina

technical difficulties in HELL...

2009-01-26T18:53:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch and I are tired of winter. Well, I'm tired of it. Sas, being a superior being, enjoys all seasons and finds special delight in cold and snow. Sometimes, I think she's a freak. Take this morning...oh go on and take it; I have no use for it. When we awoke circa 4:30 (Sas is an early riser and insists that I be one too. Sometimes, I think she might be a little selfish...), I looked out the window to survey the damage inflicted by the snowfall that had been predicted. It looked like 4-5 inches, judging from the look of the deck. When Sas and I got out in it, my estimate was confirmed. After she frolicked and sniffed and danced around for a few minutes, we came back in so I could get ready for work. I always go to work when it is a workday...well, if I can, that is. I saw no reason why today should be any different. So there was the outfit picking (jeans today in honor of the snow. I selected a semi-comfortable pair that do not fit like the very skin. They are not that flattering, but I reasoned that I'd be sitting behind my desk for most of the day, and I did pick out a nice turtleneck sweater to go with them, so folks seeing me in my office would have something nice to look at while they made their excuses for whatever it was that they'd done against the rules.) and makeup applying (default), hair styling (default), jewelry (silver hoops, default ring/watch) and fragrance (Cabochard, a green/leather chypre...notes include bergamot, mandarin, galbanum, ylang ylang, jasmine, Bulgarian rose, clove, oakmoss, tobacco, sandalwood, vetiver, leather, castoreum, patchouli and labdanum. Classic, slighty naughty, but not too naughty for work.)

So I let the car warm up for about an hour and the ice still hadn't melted...I must get a snow/ice scraper one day. I've been using a metal pancake turner (I don't make pancakes that often, so I keep my turner in the car.), but I'm sure a proper scraper would be more efficient. I set off and got to the end of the street...defeated!! That left turn just wasn't going to happen, so I turned around to wait for more clement weather.

While I was waiting, I opened email to see what surprises might be there. I had a message from HELL...new handbasket choices! But, and this is happening with distressing regularity, they were the same handbasket choices I had rejected just a few days ago. What?? So, now, not only are my handbasket residents completely inappropriate as dating material, they are the same 3 inappropriate choices time after time after time. Has the HELL handbasket software gone into a loop? That's possible, I guess. Or has HELL reached the bottom of the barrel for me? Have the gatekeepers of HELL decided that since I'm so picky, they won't even try to dredge up any new handbasket choices for me? Well, I AM picky. What's wrong with that? Should I settle for someone like DrCliffphd and spend the rest of my days seeking honky tonks and doing the electric slide? I think not. (I visited HELL over the weekend and saw that DrCliffphd had stalked me! I was struck dumb with terror! But, he hasn't sent me anymore messages, so perhaps he was just taking a walk down memory lane.) So, if HELL won't provide appropriate men for me, I guess I'll be forced to find them on my own. What a bummer...

--Ina

another hot date from HELL...part II

2009-01-23T18:04:00.000-05:00

I finally got off the phone...oh, it wasn't anybody cool. Just that lady from the DAV who calls every couple of months. You've talked to her before...she wants to know if you have any clothes, shoes, blankets, toys, small children, small appliances, goldfish, lamps, prosthetic limbs, handbags (or as she says, pocketbooks...so cute), bags of money, candles, books, scratch paper, gently used DVDs, or anything else they can get for free and resell to the public. Well, I didn't have any of those things...oh, okay, I did have some of those things but to get them together by her drop dead date was more than I was willing to take on right now. So, I rejoined Sasquatch on the couch and went back to my email from the charming Shih-tzu2u4u8u.

(Sas's attitude had improved greatly since she'd gotten her way about that stupid Concentration retrospective. I don't know why she likes it so much; it's not like she has a long enough attention span to really play the game effectively.)

Shih-t wanted to say "Hi!!" and asked if I remembered him from his previous message. But, if I didn't, he included the text of it plus my reply. How thoughtful! He reminded me that he was available 3 or 4 days a week, in case I had found any empty hours that needed filling. He said he liked my hair and he was willing to bet that I was good looking...Well, I corrected that mistaken assumption immediately. Oddly, he didn't ask for a photo. He assured me that many people had told him he was good looking. I can see it now, folks walking up to him, saying, "Hey Shih-t! You're good looking!!" Right...I was curious enough to look at his profile...Oh stop it. I was bored with that dumb Game Show Channel. I looked at his profile, but there wasn't anything there. No picture, no essays, no sidebar information...nothing...at all, except his stupid moniker and location. I didn't think the administrators in HELL allowed a no-profile profile. Well, who can figure them out.

He messaged a few more times, and I answered...I was bored and had nothing better to do. Hugh Downs was really bumming me out too. (Sas loves him though. Sometimes, I have serious reservations about her taste in men...) So, Shih-t's messages served as a distraction. I mentioned to him that his HELL profile was a little...vague. He said he didn't anyone to know it was him. Well, I can certainly understand that...I didn't want anyone to know it was me either, for reasons previously discussed.

He sent some more messages, saying, well, nothing really. Just that he liked my hair, which I thought had already been established, but whatever. He still revealed nothing about himself though and I was getting a little bored. I asked about his moniker, thinking he must be interested in the Shih Tzu breed of dog...although, it's kind of a frou-frou dog and made me wonder a little about his masculinity...He didn't answer and pressed me for a time we could "get together." Well, I'm not getting together with anyone who won't tell me anything about himself. Besides, I was getting the impression he was only after "one thing," and we all know what that one thing is...not that there's anything wrong with that one thing, but I like to know at least a little something about someone before I just fall into bed with him. (I've been told that I'm too picky, but so be it.) So I wandered off to do important chores like sweeping up bushels of dog hair and cleaning up cat throw up...When I returned to my laptop several hours later, there was another message from Shih-t...a revelation from him, in fact. He reminded me that he was married what?? and that his wife was done with "..." what?? Well, this was the first I'd heard about any wife and her lack of interest in ... (and if he can't even type the word in a message, then I doubt that his skills in the bedroom are all that hot, not that I had any intention of finding out.)

He insisted that he had told me about his wife and her aversion to ... but I would have remembered something like that. And really, I'm not interested in helping some man cheat on his wife. So I messaged him back and suggested counseling... I've had no more messages from Shih-tzu2u4u8u.

--Ina

another hot date from Hell

2009-01-22T17:16:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch and I were sitting there on the couch, arguing. She was getting a little assertive, as this photo reveals.
She wanted to watch the Game Show Channel. Concentration--The Early Years, hosted by Hugh Downs, was on and she was dying to see it. I wanted to listen to my Henry Hipkens CDs. I have just discovered Henry and I adore him. There are only 2 CDs, and he needs to get busy making another. His website says he's hibernating. I can only hope this is songwriter code for writing more songs, gargling and tuning the guitar. If the 2 of you who read this on a semi-regular basis would all send him an email, perhaps he would be inspired to get off his lazy ass and get that CD done...the rest of y'all who've just stumbled in while looking for something titillating on the web get a pass on the Henry email thing. So, I was getting ready to get in the car to listen to my CDs so Sas could watch her stupid Concentration retrospective when she looked pointedly at my laptop. I knew from experience that this meant new mail!

When I opened email, I saw that I had an intimate communication from HELL! How exciting! It was from someone named Shih-tzu2u4u8u. What?? Wait a minute! I had gotten mail from this guy before. He emailed a few weeks ago and asked if I needed help filling my empty days. Well, I told him then in no uncertain terms that my days were far from empty. There's my most fulfilling and important job that takes up most of my time. It's wonderful to work for one of America's most worker-friendly and compassionate corporations. I could never ask for a more satisfying work experience! And such vital work! No, it's not a cure for cancer or the answer to third world hunger, but important nonetheless. And the rewards! The bags of money I have just sitting around the house are just amazing. I should really start a scholarship fund...I do hate paperwork and I imagine there's quite a lot to deal with, working with Harvard or other Ivy League universities. Perhaps I'll get around to it one day. In the meantime, while I'm waiting to get around to it, I think I'll purchase these shoes. Aren't they beautiful? Christian Louboutin...

with the signature red soles...so pretty and only $995!! Well, yes, $995 seems a little excessive for a pair of shoes...but just imagine...those shoes, my perfect little black dress...and dream date! First, dinner at Applebee's? Perhaps the blackened chicken with a double loaded baked potato (extra Bac'Os) and veg o' day. Then what? The possibilities are endless...bowling? well, I'd hate to take off my Louboutins to put on bowling shoes...if we got the early bird special at Applebee's, we might have time to get to Kart Kountry for a wild go-cart ride before dark. And then, since we'd be in Buford County anyway, we might as well take advantage of all those remote spots for parking! Sooo exciting...
Wait!! Is that the phone?!?

--Ina

totally fiction...mostly

2009-01-18T08:08:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch and I were sitting there on the couch watching the Game Show Channel. Dating Game was on and it makes Sas a little uneasy. I think she just doesn't get all the sexual innuendo, which isn't surprising given her innocence. Anyway, Bob had just asked couple number one where was the craziest place they'd ever made whoopie, when Sas whimpered a little under her breath. Well, I knew it couldn't be Bob's question...she'd heard that hundreds, no thousands, of times before. So I asked, "What's the matter, girl? Is Timmy out in the garage smoking crack again?" She looked pointedly at my laptop...I saw we had a new message from our friend from HELL, Foghorn Leghorn in Walmart TN. (How does Sas always know when new messages come?) Fog is a terrific guy...completely crazy...but harmless and pretty nice....writes a good email. Oh of course his name isn't Foghorn Leghorn, but that's really pretty close. Fog and I had been emailing for a while and I always read his messages to Sas. I always read everybody's messages to Sas...we have no secrets.
So I began to read Fog's message and Sas was really wagging. WTF? I mean her tail was on fire. It was just a normal Fog message...disjointed, wildly funny...regular stuff. But Sasquatch seemed oddly excited. A little while later, she wondered if we could take a few photos. Well, Sas is nothing if not a ham, so I thought nothing of it. I snapped her picture; the result is here...
Then it really got weird. She kind of moped around and acted like she couldn't get comfortable...not normal Sas behavior at all. Finally, I got it out of her...she wanted to send her photo to Fog! He had sent her a special email greeting of love a few days before...just goofing around, but evidently, she took it more seriously than he had intended. Uh oh. On the sly I sent Foghorn a message telling him what was up, and as I expected, he was totally nice about it. He said to send the pic and he'd play along and act all flirty with her. We figured she'd forget all about it soon. Well, no.
Over the course of the next few days. Fog made a few half-hearted promises to Sas, thinking she'd lose her nerve. But THAT didn't happen. She had me read those emails to her over and over and well, her behavior was just...wanton! Sas was in love! Why, you can just see the happiness on her face in this pic...
So what to do?? I talked it over with Fog, and he was clueless, as I knew he'd be. But he seemed oddly captivated by Sas too, and I was just a little bit pissed, to tell the truth. I thought I might have kind of a live one in Fog. Oh sure, he lived in Tennessee, but that's not that far. Now that gas has come down in price, it was completely conceivable that we might be able to set up some meetings on a fairly regular basis. And he's kind of a country mouse, while I'm more of a city mouse, but that doesn't seem insurmountable to me. But if I was reading this situation right, it was entirely possible that I might lose him to my DOG!?! What humiliation! But I've discovered that e-flirtations are often about humiliation and rejection, so this one was no different.

But then, a couple of days ago, Sas was sitting at the back door, wagging like crazy. I looked out and saw that schnauzer from down the street. He sometimes escapes and I see him running madly through the neighborhood. But now, he was sitting outside my back door and it was obvious that he and Sas had made a love connection. Isn't he cute? Sasquatch loves a man with facial hair and bushy eyebrows...His name is Rolf, and I heard Sas calling him the other day...or maybe she was just barking.

--Ina

from HELL to Dilbertville

2009-01-17T08:37:00.000-05:00

Our corporate father,

which art at headquarters,

The Man be thy name.

Thy bonus come,

thy will be done,

at satellite offices, as it is at corporate.

Give us this day our daily task,

And forgive us our slackerness, as we forgive you your $400 haircut.

And lead us not into the conference room, but deliver us from busywork.

For thine is the strategic plan and the powerpoint presentation and the budgeting cycle for ever and ever and ever and ever and ever.....

Each morning when I arrive at the office, before I check email, before I check voice mail, I offer up this little prayer to remind myself how lucky I am to have a job. I really shouldn't have to remind myself, since I hear on a daily basis how lucky I am to have a job, but still, like Sasquatch, I am a creature of habit, and so spend a moment in quiet reflection each morning, counting my corporate blessings. Let's see, there's my office, which really is quite fabulous, being a corner office, with many windows. And if it gets stifling hot in the summer, and drafty cold in the winter, well, at least I have an office and do not have to sit in a cubicle! And there's my desk, which I believe to be an antique, at least by the look of some of the detritus at the bottoms of the drawers. (As you can see from this photo, I'm a very busy person and can multi-task with the best of them.) I'm also thankful for the many trinkets I've accumulated over the years, which are valuable for their ability to distract me when I've had a busy morning of thinking strategically and my brain is tired.

But most of all, I'm thankful for my coworkers, most of whom I like very much and I think they like me too. I'm especially thankful for those few colleagues upon whom I've come to rely to keep me grounded, to listen to my whining without judging, to make me laugh, to be there when corporate foolishness threatens to take my sanity, to be my friends. You know who you are and without you, I wouldn't last a day in Dilbertville. Of all my corporate blessings, you are by far the greatest.

--Ina

a cold day in HELL

2009-01-16T13:27:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, when Sasquatch and I got up, the temperature was minus 1, the wind chill minus 14. It was a cold-ass day for Kentucky. Sas enjoys a short walk in the mornings before dawn. She raises her nose in search of new smells that have arrived overnight, she listens for rabbits trembling in the brush, she looks around dimly for anything that might be out of place, she seeks out her favorite place for a morning pee. Like all dogs, she experiences and enjoys...mostly enjoys.

I wasn't looking forward to a walk yesterday morning, even a very short one, but I couldn't disappoint Sas. She was excited, as she always is...wagging and smiling and tossing her head. Happy-dog. So, I got as bundled up as possible, but I couldn't find my warm scarf. Where could it be? Beats me...

It wasn't too bad until we got around the corner of the house and the wind hit us in the face. I gasped and muttered under my breath every ugly word I know. It was so cold, it hurt to breathe...my eyes watered...my nose was instantly numb. I wanted nothing more than to get back inside as soon as possible. Sas was standing there at the end of the driveway...her nose up. I said her name to get her attention so she'd follow me back to the house without a lot of leash tugging. When she looked around at me, the she had this expression on her face that said, "Wow! How cool is this?!? This is not like in the house! This is exhilarating! This is cold! This is fun!" And then she took off, leaping and shuffling, prancing around, delighting in the otherness of the cold. It was funny and I would have laughed, but my face was frozen and refused to move in any kind of meaningful way. So we gamboled for a few minutes, (well, she gamboled; I mostly plodded. I think my gamboling days might be over, although every now and then I do get an urge to skip, but almost never when wearing fuck-me pumps.) and then I really could not stand it anymore, and she reluctantly followed me back to the house.

Since I hadn't taken my camera outside, and it probably wouldn't have worked under such extreme conditions even if I had, when we got back inside and when my fingers thawed enough, I did a little rough sketch of Sas gamboling. Think of it as animation, except not animated.

And then, since the morning couldn't get any stranger, I logged into HELL for a minute...It was pretty cold in there too...no new handbasket residents...no new messages...no new stalkers...whatever.

Those of you who have been paying attention know that I believe strongly that people should strive to be more like dogs in attitude. Sas's morning in the bitter cold is just one more example. She didn't complain about it nor even seem distressed about it. She saw it as something different to be experienced and enjoyed...mostly enjoyed. She didn't stand there huddled with her back to the wind (like I did). She leaped and played and made the most of it. We can learn a lot from dogs, and I'm doing just that...albeit slowly.

--Ina

deliver me from HELL

2009-01-15T15:04:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch was engrossed in a new show on the Game Show Channel...some Japanese game show, involving young women sitting on fake horses and hitting each other with cream pies. I couldn't figure it out, but Sas was intrigued. So, just for fun, I thought I'd get into Aubergine's email account. I hadn't checked it for several days, so was excited about what I might find.

Well, what I found was Dick Cheney in Aubergine's handbasket. Oh okay, he wasn't really Dick Cheney (I don't guess, although Dick is going to have some time on his hands here in a few days, so who knows) but he looked just like him! His moniker was charliedaniels443322, which is kinda long as monikers go, so I'll call him charlie. Charlie claimed to be from Squatrock KY. I don't know where that is, but it was 142 miles from Louisville. However, charlie said he was working in Belgium. He didn't specify if it was the Belgium in Europe or perhaps some little burg in southern Indiana, so I don't know.

It will come as no surprise to you that charlie was a little strange...so many of HELL's men are strange in some way. And some are strange in very nice ways. Not charlie, though. It's hard to describe his strangeness. It wasn't so much what he said, but the way he phrased things. He was desperate for a girlfriend. That's what he said. "Desparate for a grilfeind is what I am." He wanted her to have a "sence of humour" because he was very very funny. Well, yeah, you got that right, charlie. He wanted a grilfeind to dance with, "neck to neck, ear to shoulder, slowly but with time to the music." Well, I don't know. Is that ear to shoulder thing even physically possible...maybe but who specifies something like that? And what if the music is spritely, charlie? Are you going to insist on dancing slowly then?

He also wanted to stay home and watch movies and snuggle on the couch and cook together and blah, blah, blah...just like so many others. The lack of imagination in HELL is troubling...I did get the impression that English was not charlie's first language, so perhaps he really was in the European Belgium. But if that's the case, why did he say he was from Squatrock? Why am I even speculating. It's not like I'm going to contact charlie, even though he was the most promising of Aubergine's handbasket set.
One of Ina's e-boyfriends had sent her a pair of red flannel panties. It was a joke! Shut up! Well, Sas loves those panties and wants to wear them on her head constantly. So here she is, adorned.
Looks jaunty, like a fleece headband!
--Ina

what the HELL...

2009-01-10T11:00:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch was pretty disgusted with the Game Show Channel. Its whole schedule has been switched around in some kind of freaky new year's joke, and she can't find any of her favorite shows. The ones she really likes are probably on during the day while I'm at my fascinating and financially rewarding job. I have forbidden her to watch television during the day because I'm afraid it would distract her from her job...Guarding the House...she does a little counter surfing on the side, but not enough to interfere with that guarding gig. So anyway, she's been moping around, all disgusted-dog...Kinda like me. My recent experiences in HELL have left me moping around too, all disgusted-babe. (I AM too a babe. You've never seen me so shut up.) Oh, that photo up there? Well, yeah, that's me but it's too small for you to make anything out, plus, I was 3. I look lots different today, but just as appealing. (Is it just me or is that paperweight on the left oddly phallic? I don't know...I got a little quivery when I looked at it just now.)

So my recent experiences in HELL...well, I'm not sure I can write about them right now. Suffice to say, "bitter disappointment" doesn't even begin to cover it. I'm sure I'll carry on, but whether or not it will be in HELL is up for debate. For now, if you want to talk to me, you'll have to look in the corner there behind the chair, where I'll be all huddled in a knot, my arms around Sas, sobbing into her fur. She's already got a very large wet spot on her shoulder

that's threatening to go all mildewy...

--Ina

more HELL'S handbasket

2009-01-07T17:15:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch was busy munching a yummy bone and suggested that I check HELL for possible true loves. I had to look at her like WTF?!? Because, well, had there been any true loves yet? Had there even been any good matches in my handbasket? Heck no! But she was busy and I was bored, plus ever optimistic (as those of you who know me in real life can attest!) so, I logged on and looked at my handbasket contents, and let me tell you, I had some doozies this time.

There he was...dream date! Or maybe not...His moniker was 2funy4u. Funy? He was one who illustrates why taking a shirtless photo of yourself in front of the bathroom mirror is not a good idea. There he stood...camera sort of off to the side, but not far enough away that the flash wasn't reflected, which probably was good since it distracted me from his fish-belly white, well belly. He had this hang-dog look on his face...it was obvious he knew that standing there in the bathroom, half naked, taking his own picture was a really dumb idea. So why would he attach this awful photo to his profile, which presumably, he was using to try to attract women? Well, who knows...and what's more, who cares? And 2funy? Well, not if his profile was any indication. In fact, I didn't see anything funy, but as everyone knows, I am humor-impaired. However, I did learn that the six things that he cannot live without are: 1. Air, 2. Food, 3. House, 4. His truck, 5. Water, and 6. A good woman. What? I can't believe he put his house and his truck before water! Everybody knows the human body cannot survive, well very long, without water! So, I'm thinking 2funy4u is a pretty literal minded guy, if not really all that bright. And not really all that funy either. And not really all that imaginative either. And not really all that good looking either, although I'd have been willing to overlook that if there had been anything at all appealing about him. Rejected!
Another handbasket resident was pattynme4u...Pattynme4u was a married man who was looking for...what? A girlfriend? Was this another one of those polyamorous freaks? He and his wife, Patty, wanted a friend to hang out with...and he's looking for one in HELL?!? Why not walk across the street and talk to your neighbor? Or perhaps he and Patty could find a friend at church because according to his profile (yes, go ahead and judge me, I looked at his profile) they were big church goers...Sundays AND Wednesdays. Well, no, Pattynme4u, I do not want to be your special friend. I do not want to hang out. I do not want to have anything at all to do with you. Rejected!

And my other handbasket person? Well, perhaps I'll tell you about him...perhaps not. So grim....

So Sas and I will probably finish Slugs in Love tonight. I've grown to love those madcap little slugs, Herbie and Mary Ann.
--Ina

HELL'S handbasket...

2009-01-01T16:02:00.000-05:00

There's this little feature that HELL likes to call your "handbasket." It works like this: every few days, they go through their files of potential matches and send 3 of them to you. This is your handbasket. You can look at the profiles of these 3 and choose to either accept them or reject them. heh. Now, I don't know how they go about picking these 3...When they send them they say, "We think these 3 matches would be perfect for you!!!" But, based on what is what I'd like to know. Most of the ones they've sent me are men I would never in a million years consider as a plain friend, much less a boyfriend. Oh, some seem fairly nice, if you like religious fanatics and lunatics. Others are just plain weird. Polyboy from Indiana was one, and the less said about him, the better. Then there was campinfanatic. He loved the great outdoors and was never happier than when he was in his tent, sharing his sleeping bag with his "little" woman. In fact, it seems that camping and sleeping bags were the only things he was interested in. Hmm. I defy anyone to find even one tiny place in my profile where I say anything about liking to camp or even that I would consider ever, EVER going camping again in my life. Furthermore, I defy anyone to find a single question I've answered or test I've taken that hints even slightly that camping is something I do. Nope, you won't find it, and yet, some arcane algorithm in HELL determined that campinfanatic and I were perfect for each other. For awhile, I thought they were basing their handbasket picks on proximity...you know, if you lived within 100 miles of each other, you matched. But upon further reflection, I decided that couldn't be right. I had discovered through browsing that there were several men who closely "matched" me and were within 100 miles, and yet, they never have shown up in my handbasket. Well, you say, they will. Well, no, I don't think they will because if so, why haven't they yet? Campinfanatic shows up every couple of weeks and Polyboy has shown up more than once. But has cartwheelguy shown up? No, even though he and I get 79% on the match scale and 87% on the friend scale, plus we live 89 miles from each other. Sasquatch says HELL is just yankin' my chain. Sas is a wise dog...
Cartwheelguy and I have had some really nice email conversations, but neither seems to be willing to drive the 89 miles necessary to actually meet the other. Well, email is easy and driving is hard.
Email is safe and meeting is fraught with danger. Email is faceless and seeing each other face to face is, well, seeing each other face to face, which could spell disaster. So, for now, I suppose we'll email and see if one or the other gets bored first...or gets brave first. It could be interesting...but I freakin' doubt it.

--Ina

recapping Christmas--part III

2008-12-31T20:00:00.000-05:00

When I got home from J's, I could have sworn Sasquatch had been in the eggnog. The first clue was that empty carton on the kitchen floor. How did she get the refrigerator open?? She's a dog of many talents...but still. The second clue was her general unkemptness...Sas is generally quite vain and always strives for good grooming and stylish accessories. But, is this the picture of a well turned out dog? And finally, the brandy bottle seemed, well, not as heavy as it had just the day before. But could she have gotten the top off, lacking opposable thumbs? Who knows what Sas is capable of...

No, she's decidedly unkempt in appearance and do you notice how she's listing to the right? She did that the rest of the night, even when she attempted to walk. I'm pretty sure Sas was soused...Well, she'd have a headache in the morning and it would serve her right.

Dinner at J's went pretty smoothly...except as you might have guessed from my previous entry, my jello salad that I had lovingly prepared earlier in the day was nowhere to be seen. And why? Well, I don't want to embarrass anyone, especially my sister...Another salad was mysteriously missing also. The cole slaw, which as far as I could tell was the only responsibility of G's sister in law, L, had been forgotten. (Thanks, L., thanks a lot. You know who you are and how you can live with yourself is beyond me.) So no healthy salads for us, and I really hope our general health doesn't suffer. We are, after all, not getting any younger.

Look at that poor little girl looking longingly at the empty cole slaw bowl, her Christmas dreams shattered. (I have no idea who she was. I think she came to the door, lost, and J graciously invited her in to have some dinner before trying to find her parents. I don't know if she was reunited with her family, but I hope so because she was a sweet little thing, even in her disappointment.) So after the various disappointments of dinner, we went on to presents! I won't bore you with who got what and what their reactions, because frankly, it was not that interesting. It was just a bunch of stupid gifts and you just knew everybody planned to take theirs back the next day...or they would try. From the looks of some of them, I suspect they were "regifts."

So, it was the usual family Christmas, no different from Christmas anywhere in America. In fact, if you'll think back to the heartwarming Christmas classic, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, you'll have a pretty clear picture of the whole freakin' day. However, no cats were electrocuted, as far as we know right now. Still, that beep had to indicate something...And a beep is never good.

This Christmas was different in one way. And that was the preponderance of dogs present. I am a dog lover. Who could question that after reading my entries here. But, I believe dogs have their place, and the middle of presents-opening is not it. All that butt sniffing and panting and drooling and begging and wandering around in circles and just generally being under foot. It is just unseemly and wrong.

So, Sas and I say good-bye to Christmas 2008, and we're not that sorry to see it go. Tonight we also say good-bye (and good riddance) to the whole freakin' year 2008. And we are delighted.

--Ina

recapping Christmas--part II

2008-12-30T18:07:00.001-05:00

Sasquatch and I took it easy most of Christmas day. The Game Show Channel was a total bore, but there was a good Leave It to Beaver marathon on ComedyLand, so Sas was content. She loves Jerry Mathers and Hugh Beaumont (and stoutly refuses to believe that he is dead). So after 5 or 6 hours of drooling and wagging for her LITB boys, she went all sleepy-dog. Actually, I think she was more in a stupor...you can see her little pink tongue sticking out a bit and her eyes are glazed over...Well, Hugh has that effect on her. She is also not tempted by Bat, so obviously was not really herself...

I took advantage of this quiet time to pay a Christmas visit to my mother in law. If my husband is dead, is she still my mother in law? Seems like there should be a special title for that...Anyway, we had a nice short visit. Perfect for Christmas.

Later that afternoon, J was having a little get together for her in laws and graciously invited me to join in, as long as I promised to bring some shrimp and whatever else I wanted to whip up. Well, who could refuse?? So I peeled shrimp until my fingers bled a little and fixed some other Yuletide treats and set out. It was kinda weird not picking Mom up...

When I got to J's. I could tell something was strange.....Why were the over-fridge cabinet and the refrigerator door open when company was there? (And would you look at that mess up there) What were they looking at? Where could I put my jello salad so it wouldn't be forgotten when it was time to eat? (I don't know...where could we put it J? Somewhere where we'd be sure to remember it...like out in the GARAGE maybe??) Then, I heard it...beep...So I looked at J like WTF? And she said, "Did you hear that?" Well, yeah I heard it. Why do you think I'm looking at you like WTF?? She said they'd been hearing it for about an hour. beep And it was driving them crazy. They couldn't figure out where it was coming from. If you stood in the kitchen, it sounded like it was coming from inside the wall...if you stood in the living room, it sounded beep like it was coming from the dining room. If you stood upstairs or in the basement or in the attic, you couldn't hear it at all. Huh. beep So, I let them let them look for the beep and just kept on sticking picks through those 10 million shrimp. beep

Well, after awhile, it began to get on my beep nerves. Plus, G kept wandering through the house with the ladder and I was afraid he'd upset the Christmas tree. And J kept opening cabinets and asking if it sounded any different beep when this one was open. Or how about when the dishwasher was open...was beep it any louder? I remarked that perhaps it was Mom trying to get our attention. J smirked and G looked at me like WTF...so I didn't pursue it. But it beep might have been. How do we know she doesn't miss us just as much as we miss her? Anyway, once the house filled up and J turned up Johnny Mathis on the stereo, we beep didn't notice the beep so much.

On Christmas, which was the only time J let us come over, Mom always sat in the same spot at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. This year, J put a picture of her there on the counter in her spot, and G put an upside down martini glass next to it. It was kinda sweet and kinda funny and it made me feel kinda nostalgic...

We miss you, Mom, and not just at Christmas.

--Ina

recapping Christmas...

2008-12-29T19:12:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch and I were kinda happy Christmas was over. Oh we're not all Bah! Humbug! but when most of your family is dead, well, it takes some of the joy out of the holidays. Plus, the Game Show Channel shows all these stupid holiday episodes, and who really wants to see Phyllis Diller in a Santa hat? Still, Sas and I managed to have a pretty good time, as evidenced by Sas's favorite holiday photo of herself...Look how cute she looks in her little ribbon hat!

In years past, my family had always celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve...we'd have a big dinner and open presents, and although the venue would change, it was still the same tradition. In recent years, we'd had Christmas Eve at my sister, J's , house. I'd go pick up Mom and we'd drive over there and Mom would alway talk about the Christmas lights and how pretty they were...And we'd have country ham and baked brie and too much of everything, especially martinis! J's husband, G, has mad martini-making skills and he likes nothing better than to show off, so we always had enough to drink.

Since Mom had died in the summer, on Christmas Eve this year, we decided to break with tradition and go out to dinner. J made reservations at a pretty nice restaurant and we were going to meet friends, Walt and Arlene, there. (Now Arlene normally takes medication for well, a little "thinking" problem, but was not currently taking her pills because they had run out and to get the prescription renewed, she'd have to have a stress test and she was afraid if she had one, she'd have a heart attack and die.) So, we were seated pretty quickly (which was strange for this particular restaurant) and it seemed like everything was going to be great. And it was...mostly. Throughout the meal, Walt would, from time to time, exclaim, "Balzac!!" and when he did, Arlene would punch him on the arm and then they'd both dissolve into hysterical laughter. This happened repeatedly...Balzac...punch...laugh. I was confused...I couldn't understand what Arlene thought was so funny about her husband screaming out the name of some dead French guy, whose books weren't even all that amusing. J and G just kinda ignored it, so I thought I should too. And then...I guess Walt enunciated more clearly or I was listening more carefully or something because I suddenly realized that he wasn't saying "Balzac" at all. What he really was saying was, "Ball sack!!" And I admit, ball sack is a lot funnier than Balzac, but I'm still unsure of the context and maybe it's just a private joke between Walt and Arlene...

Arlene had a bad cough. She said it was allergies...it sounded more like pneumonia to me, but I'm no doctor. Every few minutes throughout dinner, she'd be overcome with a coughing fit...and these were not little delicate coughs. No, that girl could cough! And when she'd recover from one, she'd mention that it felt like her uterus was going to fall out...Well, OK...I'm not sure if such a thing can happen, but if that's how she felt...And it was OK, while we were sitting there at the table. But then...We'd finished dinner and we were standing around trying to get our coats on and sure enough, Arlene had another big one...the mother of all coughing fits. And when she got her breath back, she said, "OH MY GOD!!! I'M COUGHING SO HARD I FEEL LIKE MY FUCKING UTERUS IS GOING TO FALL OUT AND FLOP AROUND ON THE FLOOR LIKE A CATFISH ON THE BANK!!!!!" Well, I think I mentioned that this was a pretty nice restaurant and people were looking at us , and not in a friendly way. So what could we do other than try to get Arlene out of the restaurant and into the car before somebody called somebody...Well, most of us were doing that. Walt was doubled over laughing hysterically...I guess he's used to it. But he picked up the check, so gets a pass...this time.

--Ina

there's no place like HELL for the holidays

2008-12-24T08:25:00.000-05:00

As I was telling Sasquatch this morning, HELL's a mighty strange place during the holidays. (Just look how attentive she is! Ever since I put Bat in the closet, she's been behaving better. Oh don't worry, I'll let her kill him for awhile this evening as a holiday treat.)

Well, it's pretty strange other times too, (HELL, that is, for those of you who haven't been paying close attention) but especially so this time of year. Most of the "normal" men seem to have gone home to their wives, leaving only the grouchy and the disgruntled. Well, and the freaks... there are always plenty of those. There's this one guy from Minnesota who wants me to put on a Mrs Claus outfit and beat him with a large stick! Now, I ask you, why would anyone don a Mrs Claus outfit for that kind of activity? He didn't want me to actually come to Minnesota...no, he wanted to conduct the whole thing over the phone. Which come to think of it, how would he know if I was wearing that outfit or not? Dang! I should have said I'd do it! I could have worn my normal clothes and he wouldn't have been the wiser. I could have made his Christmas wish come true. Well, there may still be a chance...he usually sends about 20 messages a day, begging.

As for the grouchy, well, they seem worse than normal. The other day, I posted something to my HELL journal page and some nut from Ohio berated me for it! I mean, it's my own journal, so why shouldn't I post anything I want to without any lip from from some dumbass in Dayton?? He didn't HAVE to read it, after all. I suppose he's suffering from pent up sexual frustration plus the normal stress of the holidays, so I should be kinder. He seems a little, well, stupid too, so I really, really should be kinder. Oh enough about him...

For your viewing pleasure, I'm including some favorite holiday pics...

Sas and I wish all y'all the happiest of holidays...and don't overdo the eggnog or you'll be sorry tomorrow.

--Ina

intermission...three stooges

2008-12-21T13:15:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch and I reluctantly share our home with three stooges...I mean cats. I have nothing against cats. I like them in fact, one at a time. Three at a time is two too many. I say "reluctantly" because, much like Alaknanda Shivapunjabharikrishnavishnurama, with her arranged marriage to Mr Shivapunjabharikrishnavishnurama, I had no say in the selection process. No, I inherited these three cats. The first, Bobbarker, is my son's cat. When he moved in with his girlfriend, he said his apartment wouldn't allow pets. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that it's his girlfriend that won't allow pets...The second, Billcullen, was my mother's cat. I tried to get my sister to take it after our mother moved into assisted living, but she said that she didn't want a cat throwing up on her rugs. I guess a cat throwing up on my rugs is perfectly acceptable. Well, my rugs are certainly cheaper and therefore, more throwupable, I suppose. The third cat, Chuckwoolery, was my husband's cat. He brought it home from work one day to save it from a fate worse than death, which I won't go into here...too gruesome. After he died, the cat just sort of stayed around. So, three cats...two too many.

Bobbarker is a geriatric cat. Which means he's cranky and he tries to sit on me every time I sit down. He also insists upon drinking from my glass of water. Yes, he has water of his own. No, he doesn't drink his own water; he wants mine. Is it annoying? Absolutely. He'll even go so far as to get his head stuck in the glass if the water level has gotten sufficiently low, thus flinging the glass and its contents to the floor. He's also the preeminent thrower up. No, he's not sick. He eats too fast because he figures if he eats fast enough, there won't be any cat food for the other two and they will dry up and blow away, ensuring that he will get ALL the catfood.

As the most junior member of the cat herd although chronologically as old as Bobbarker, almost, Billcullen is still trying to find his place in the pecking order. He already knows he will forever be at the bottom of the pack among the other cats, so he tries to bully Sas. Poor Sas, she has only love in her heart for all living things (except squirrels) and she cannot understand why Billcullen hisses at her and slaps her every chance he gets. It hurts her feelings, as you can see from her pic at the top. Bill tried that hissing thing with me once. Just once...

Chuckwoolery is the most pleasant and agreeable of the trio. He's also the youngest, which might explain it. He doesn't throw up; he doesn't hiss or slap. Mostly he minds his own business, which is exactly what a cat should do. Sometimes, he even licks Sas on the head and rubs his head upon hers, marking her as his very own. She loves that shit and goes all goofy-dog every time he does it. A most agreeable cat indeed.

What with all the hissing, and fighting, the throwing up and the slapping, there's never a dull moment around here for Sas and me. Especially when there's one running around with a glass stuck on his head...which is almost as amusing as putting Scotch tape on their little cat feet. I don't let Sas do that much anymore though because, well, it's just not right and it annoys the shit out of the little cat bastards.

--Ina

more denizens...the flip side...part II

2008-12-19T13:20:00.000-05:00

As I've said, Aubergine seemed to attract the freakiest of the freakies. DrCliffphd was another. DrCliffphd (Rabidfox TN) was, well, a little bit out there in so many ways. His main goal in life seemed to be finding a "good" woman to take with him on his quest for honky tonks. (Why oh why do so many of them say they're looking for a "good" woman? Is it conceivable that any of them would be looking for a "bad" woman? A naughty woman, sure...a slut, even...but really bad, I doubt it. It creeps me out a little and leaves me wondering, "Am I good enough?" I don't wonder that very long though...) He would quit his job, and he and his good woman would travel across the United States looking in small towns and rural areas for undiscovered honky tonks where real music was still played, preferably by live musicians, but a good sound system would work in a pinch.

Anyway, DrCliffphd seemed to have a lot of unresolved anger. He was mad that he had all these advanced degrees and yet could only find work as a security guard. (Really, Cliffphd? You have multiple PhDs, and all you can do is guard big box stores in the middle of the night? Really? OK, yeah. I believe you) With the DrCliffphd types, it seems better to be agreeable, at least until you're sure you've actually gotten rid of them. Cliffyphd also wanted to eviscerate all bar owners and bar tenders because, well Cliffphd was a dancer and he could not find any good honky tonks that played the good old country music his feet were all ripe for dancin' to because all the bars had gone to karaoke.
So far, we've learned that Cliffphd had dancin', evisceratin' and good woman findin' on his mind. Sounds perfect! In the section of HELL entitled, "what people notice about me first," Cliffphd had written that people most often noticed that he never smiled. His photo bore this out...Well, I guess the doctor didn't really have all that much to smile about, being a frustrated dancer, eviscerator, good-woman-finder and advanced-degree-job-holder to boot. Nevertheless, all this did not seem to add up to a high datable-potential score. I almost felt a little sorry for Cliffphd, although by no means sorry enough to ever in a million years contact him back. It just didn't seem prudent. He is possibly a most charming and kind man, but if so, he really should take look at his profile and ask himself why it screams demented serial eviscerator.

DrCliffphd = [deleted]

--Ina

more denizens...the flip side

2008-12-18T23:06:00.000-05:00

Well, Sasquatch has gone bat-shit crazy over her new stuffed squirrel. She's barely let it out of her sight, kinda like myhartstrue&ifUleavemeillstalkUtilUdie!, if you remember him from awhile back. (I do hope I've spelled his name correctly, but when your name has more than 25 letters, you shouldn't be disappointed if people screw it up.) Anyway, that squirrel must have been sewn by an expert because she's tossed it over her head, gnawed on its tail, pulled its head and asked me on more than on occasion to help her play tug o' war with it and still no white stuffing bits in sight. I could not even get her to sit down for a repeat of last year's Master's Tournament on the Golf Channel this evening. (And you know how she loves Zach Johnson!) It was just as well she was occupied with Bat, the squirrel, because they'd only played a few holes when I got all jittery, like I'd had way too many triple espressos, and kinda clammy too. Golf does that to me...So, I turned it to the America's Auction Network for some hot auction action, but they were doing Parade of Tanzanite, and there's nothing more boring than a bunch of blue jewelry. Well, some of the men who've contacted me in HELL have been more boring, that's true.

I thought I might take a walk down memory lane via my HELL inbox. I could clean things up by deleting a few poor saps...forever.

While Nick was charming and smart and funny and all that stuff girls like (cute too, seriously cute in that kind of dark young Elvis way, but not exactly), there have been many others who have been all that stuff girls hate.
Like Bruce. Bruce was the very first man to contact Aubergine. His message went something like this: "Send pic. Maybe we can have lunch. I'll pay. Pic first." Aubergine got the impression he wanted to know what she looked like before he committed to an all expenses paid lunch. Well, she's nothing if not a rogue dater, so she sent a message back: "I'll send pic if you do." Oddly enough, Bruce seemed reluctant to reply! But then a couple of days later, there was a message from him, picture attached. There he was, old Bruce, slumped on the couch, watching something on television, I guess. It looked as if someone, perhaps a bitter ex-wife, had snapped him in a postprandial stupor. It was a really bad photo, depicting him all slack-jawed and glassy-eyed. There was an odd reflection of light at the corner of his mouth, as if a little pool of spittle was starting to form there. So, Aubergine did what she had to do; she sent a really bad photo back. It wasn't too long before Bruce sent another email. Evidently, Aubergine had passed his looks test because he said: "When lunch?" Which was his very charming way of inviting Aubergine to join him for a most elegant and paid-for repast. Our Bruce was a man of few words, necessitating a read between the lines...Aubergine was just a little put off by Bruce and his whole attitude, so she let him cool his heels for a couple of days before letting him down gently, with a succinct but dead-on reply:"No thanks."

Bruce = [deleted]
I really wish I could post Bruce's picture so you could judge for yourself if Aubergine was too harsh in her own assessment of it, but that standards thing is still in play...

--Ina

sasquatch goes happy-dog

2008-12-18T12:13:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch got a new toy today and she's gone completely happy-dog over it! (She doesn't look all that delighted in this pic because I insisted on taking a picture and she really wanted to get back to her toy.) I believe I've mentioned Sas's ongoing bataille de écureuil. She really despises those little rat-like bastards. Well, her new toy is a stuffed squirrel (Thanks B!, you know who you are. And Sas sends you a big sloppy dog kiss.) and she's having a wonderful time killing it. (Sas is normally totally anti-violence, but when it comes to squirrels, well, we all have our triggers.) I tried to interest her in the Game Show Channel (Family Feud tonight) so she wouldn't totally de-stuff the squirrel the very first time she played with it, but she just looked at me like WTF?? She has christened it "bâtard de rat," or "Bat" for short.
I'm unsure of Sas's history...she was a shelter dog. But she seems quite cosmopolitan and may have lived in France or at least Quebec...maybe Paris KY. (Perhaps she has some Briard in her lineage. See photo at right. Resembles Sas, no?) She certainly understands "bâtard." We have this little game where, when Richard Dawson says something incredibly lame to a contestant on FF, I shout out, "Bâtard stupide!!" and Sas wags enthusiastically. She loves that game. But then she loves most games. That's another thing I like about dogs...they're so easy to please. We humans should emulate dogs whenever possible. OK, maybe not that drooling thing and certainly not the endless sniffing, but in most other ways.
While Sas was happily engaged with Bat, I checked email to see if I had messages from any of my far flung boyfriends. Sadly, no...No?? No. Well, this was a disturbing development indeed, but it brings to mind something I've been thinking of. And that is this: Why is it that you're going along having a perfectly nice email relationship with some guy from HELL and then, he suddenly stops emailing back? I mean, what's up with that shit?? Gentlemen of HELL, if you've found a local girlfriend, well good for you! You should share that information so I can say "best wishes." If you've grown tired of emailing, you should say that too, so I don't sit around and wonder if my last email made it to its destination (It IS the Internet, after all, and I don't entirely trust it. Well, I don't trust it at all, and it's easy for me to think of my emails just bouncing around out there in cyberland forever, never reaching their intended inbox...). But the ones I really don't understand are the ones who seem all hot for ya, then just like that, disappear. There have been a couple of those and I just do not get it...at. all.
Perhaps I am too polite...I'd never just stop emailing without giving a reason (except for trickery, as in the case of the Engineer, and he deserved it.)

I guess the point is, let us know what's going on. Oh I know, it can be uncomfortable to give a reason, and often, a reason might not even be needed. You can just say that you've decided not to email anymore. It's only polite and one day, you might be sitting around wondering too...

--Ina

the denizens of HELL

2008-12-17T19:17:00.000-05:00

Aubergine's profile didn't garner that much attention...part of it was that I'd written it that way. I had fully expected to be the one to do the contacting...But part was, I think because I didn't post a photo. Men are pretty shallow (no. really. just like women.) and want to know if you look acceptable before they take it upon themselves to write something because writing's hard and not something to be undertaken lightly, unlike sex, which is easy and something to be undertaken whenever the fuck it can...Do I sound bitter? Well, maybe a little. The Internet is a mean place...not for the thin skinned or gentle. That's not to say I haven't encountered some really sweet and interesting men (although to find both those traits in the same man has been...rare.)

There have been some memorable characters to be sure. One of my favorites was...what can I call him? maybe Nick. Nick's profile in HELL was the funniest thing I've ever read, no exaggeration. I started laughing with his summary...the first thing you see...and I didn't stop until long after I'd finished the whole thing (and it was LONG. Nicky has a lot to say!) It had a kind of Monty Python ridiculousness about it that was irresistible to me. So I did what I had to do...I sent him an email complimenting him on it.
Nick emailed me back and we began a series of messages trying to outdo each other on the funny. He lives in a large city up North and has worked at several different jobs, all in creative fields. He's brilliant...scarily so. We'd never meet, but that was really OK with me. I was afraid if we met face to face, I wouldn't be able to keep up with him, intellect-wise. That's the good thing about email...you can seem smarter than you really are because you can take your time posting, not like conversation where you look like a moron if you take more than a few seconds to formulate your response. So, in person, we wouldn't have been so good, but as email friends, we were golden.
After the first few conversations, we stopped trying so hard to be funny and began to talk more about things that really matter...like movie stars of long ago and what made them beautiful! We had a fairly serious disagreement about this one star, who shall remain nameless, even though she's been dead for years. Nicky went on and on about her beauty and, well, he was just mistaken. He was right though, when he said that the stars of yesterday were more beautiful than stars of today. He couldn't explain it (one of the few times Nick was stumped), nor can I, but nevertheless, it is undeniably true.
After awhile, our emails just kinda stopped, a phenomenon not uncommon in my experience and about which, more later...

--Ina

reflections on HELL

2008-12-16T17:20:00.000-05:00

It was a so-so day. Then Mr. V stopped by my office and gave me influenza. Oh wait.........wrong blog.

There we were, Sasquatch and I...You know where. The Game Show Channel was airing a retrospective of This. Is. JEOPARDY! With your host, Alex TREBEK! Sas isn't that crazy about Jeopardy. It makes her feel stupid. I've told her it makes me feel stupid too; however, she's very sensitive about her intellect and cares little about mine, whether because of indifference or because her adoration of me is complete, I don't know. But she was watching with one eye. What she really was concentrating on was mauling her new Christmas toy. She was blissed out, gnawing on Rudolph's antler. She did look up when I snapped her pic because, well, ham. Later, I'd have to read a chapter in Slugs in Love, but for now, she was engaged. Thanks K., for Slugs in Love...you know who you are.

It gave me a chance to reflect upon my journey through HELL.

My first profile, I'll call her Aubergine, attracted a lot of freaks. I mean real freaks, not the good ol' boy freaks who contact Ina. Maybe it was because Aubergine identified herself as a widow. Dunno. Anyway, let's think about a couple of those freakitty freaks...

The freakiest was oh, let's call him polyboy from Bodiddly IN. He wanted Aubergine to join his polyamorous family. He had a partner, a woman he identified as his "primary" partner. He wanted Aubergine to be his secondary partner, because his primary partner already had a primary partner (a woman)and polyboy was her (primary partner's) secondary partner (I don't know what his relationship was to his primary partner's primary...maybe none.) Confused yet? Yeah, me too. Anyway, he wanted us all to go on a kayak (do they make 4-person kayaks? Perhaps he meant for me to bring my own kayak. Yeah, right.) trip in a cold stream, and he emphasized "cold," but what else could it be in the middle of November? So after the kayak adventure, he thought we could all take a shower together, to get warm I guess. And then, well, this part is truly unbelievable. He had stated that ideally, I would be a Lesbian (I'm not sure why he thought I might be a Lesbian. There was nothing in my profile to indicate that; maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part.) because he had quite a good record of "transitioning" Lesbians into "hetero-Lesbians" (I believe most people call folks of this orientation "bisexual" but whatever.) Anyway, he would transition me by means of his extraordinarily massive "equipment." Oh he was a most considerate and gentle lover, he assured me, and no woman could resist the unparalleled charms of his freakishly large, well, stuff. Then after my transition I guess I would just get up and go home. He didn't really specify. Well, call me a prude, but no. I'm not going to be anyone's secondary partner especially if he already has a primary partner who has a primary partner. I mean, that would put me at absolutely the very bottom of the pecking order...not a good place to be. But then, in HELL, as Aubergine, I often felt like I wasn't in a real good place...I think that was part of the appeal of the Engineer...he seemed so normal.

Then there was the guy who wanted to "comfort" me in my grief over my husband's death. I've forgotten his "name" and in any case, I wouldn't use it here, but it was something like "goodlovin4u4ever." He told me that after his wife died, he was as lost as a "throwed ball in high weeds" and that I COULD survive, but only if I really wanted to and that a good man could help. And guess what? He was that very man! Yes! With his "good lovin" I could regain the will to live! He'd help me get over my "greif" and we could even talk about it, in between sessions of good lovin. Well I don't know. Perhaps I misunderstood him. Maybe English was not his first language and what he was really proposing was a discussion of quantum theory. Is "greif" the word for "string theory" in, perhaps Albanian? Once again I dunno. It seems that I've been spending lot of time scratching my head lately and I'm pretty sure it's not because Sas has given me fleas. (Sas would NEVER tolerate fleas. Believe me.)

--Ina

just another evening in HELL...

2008-12-15T09:24:00.001-05:00

Sasquatch was tired. The squirrels have been busy gathering the hickory nuts from the backyard to save for the hard times ahead. Sometimes, though, they climb up to the deck out back to prance around and see if they can make Sas lose her mind. They're pretty successful at that particular endeavor. She hates those little fuzzy-tailed bastards and considers it her true calling in life to rid the world of them. She'd spent all afternoon at the back door, quivering with rage everytime one of those little scamps set foot on the deck. So, she wanted nothing more than a nap. No Game Show Channel for our girl this evening...What could I do with this unexpected free time? Oh I know, I'll check in with the boys from HELL.

As I've hinted to you, my profile in HELL is a little, well squirrelly. When you use the word "emasculation" in your profile, it should be obvious to everyone that you're looking for a special kind of man...and not one who spent his formative years in special ed. It should be obvious, but like everything else in HELL, the obvious becomes the obscure and vice versa. I'd gotten some messages from men who wanted to know just what kind of a ball-bustin' bitch I was and why didn't I just crawl away and let them get on with their happy little tea party? Others seemed quite eager to be emasculated and those, well, I didn't get back to any of them. When I wrote my profile, I thought I'd set a sarcastic enough tone that guys would realize that I was just goofing around. And some have, bless their hearts. These are the men I'm interested in! These few non-humor-impaired guys who have had enough confidence to contact a girl who said she was good at emasculation are the ones I want to get to know. They are few and far between though, so if I want to talk to anyone I usually have to make the first move, and gently enough that they aren't scared out of their minds...

--Ina

intermission...

2008-12-14T09:27:00.001-05:00

So why a blog? And why now? This online dating thing is very new to me...unexplored territory and I think there are some valuable lessons to be learned about human nature to be sure, but also about my own nature. I don't want to forget what I've learned and I also don't want to forget the men I've met on the web site. Blogging is pretty immediate plus easy to do (who knew?!?). So this blog is a personal record mostly...a diary if you will. If anyone stumbles across it and gets a little chuckle, I'm glad. If you HAVE stumbled in here, first, I'm delighted and second, you really should read it chronologically; (bottom up in blog land, as upside down as online dating!) otherwise, it won' t make any sense whatsoever. Some of this blog is obviously fiction, (What'sMy Line isn't Sasquatch's favorite show. $10,000 Pyramid is.) but it's based on my experiences. Some of the men I'll talk about are composites; others are very much real. And while I may say uncomplimentary things, I really am careful to conceal identities.
A very nice man on HELL's counterpart suggested the blog's title, Tour de Freaks. Thanks T, you know who you are...

--Ina

the Plan...how it played out

2008-12-14T08:35:00.000-05:00

Sas and I were sitting on the couch. The Game Show Channel was showing Hollywood Squares and Sas cannot abide Phyllis Diller, so I let her watch the Golf Channel. I was reading the latest email from the Engineer, the one I wasn't sure I was going to answer. I wanted to get through it before the Golf Channel made me all jittery.

We'd exchanged a few emails. If you remember, the plan was that I'd lure him in and get him all burning with desire then drop him like a hot rock. In the end though, I couldn't do it. I had been flirtatious, but a little hard to get this go round. And while Dave seemed interested, he wasn't as eager as he'd been with my alter-ego. Maybe he'd been telling the truth when he'd said it wasn't all about the chase for him...He'd sent his phone number (call anytime!!) but I'd said I spent most most of my work day on the phone and would rather stay with email for now. He didn't really pursue it. In this latest email, he'd asked for a photo. I'd already trolled the web looking for the perfect picture and I thought I'd found her. A cool blonde, dressed casually in white, outdoors watching some sporting event I'd imagine. The picture was indistinct enough that I could probably find another pic of a similar-looking woman if he asked for another.

But the more I thought about it, the more I thought I'd just let it go...not respond to this email and let him think, well, whatever he was going to think. I just didn't have the heart to go through to the end-game. And the reason? Well, it was pretty simple, really. For a little over 2 weeks, he'd made me feel really special. I'd felt wooed, courted...I'd felt like there was someone thinking of me with a smile on his face. I know what you're thinking..."WTF, lady, it was only 2 freakin' weeks!" But, what an intense 2 weeks, and you don't know what I'd been through the last several years. I'd put myself last because there were other people who needed me to put them first. I'd helped my husband as he marched, then crawled toward his date with death. It wasn't easy...in fact, it was the hardest thing I'd ever done. I was exhausted all the time from taking care of him (you haven't lived until you've cleaned out someone's feeding tube hole) and working full time and doing all the household chores and cooking meals for my mother. It was grueling! And he hadn't been dead too long before my mother started to decline, which brought a whole new set of circumstances. My sister dealt the most with my mother though and it was a good thing, because I wasn't sure I could do it so soon after my husband. Thanks J., you know who you are...
For over 3 years, I'd felt tired and heart sick and unattractive. So Dave's ardor was something different, something fun and it made me feel desirable for the first time in many years. That's a powerful feeling. And that's the reason I couldn't go through with it. Even though he probably deserves it, it won't come from me. Maybe some other girl can do what I ended up being too soft-hearted to do. Part of me hopes so...
Dave will be in that big warehouse in my mind where all the other characters from my life reside...the family members gone too soon, the childhood friends, beloved pets, old lovers, enemies even...Dave will be in that little alcove, the one between the friends' room and the lovers' room. Because he was more than one, but not quite the other. He'll appear now and then. When I hear a gruff voice say, "Ahhm fahn." Or when someone mentions our favorite movie. He'll flicker past behind my eyes, and it will be okay.

--Ina

detour...possible danger ahead

2008-12-13T11:39:00.000-05:00

As I've mentioned, Dave had an unusual style of writing. Stream of consciousness is the best way I can describe it. It was like he couldn't be bothered with grammar, spelling or punctuation...he just had to get his thoughts out there as quickly as possible. And it makes sense for him. Dave's a pretty intense guy...quick-witted, passionate, a thinker. In other words, Dave's no dummy. That's one of the things that attracted me because I'm no dummy either. So, he had this unmistakable style of writing...he also had this funny little thing he'd use to end his messages. We'll call it "ideas."
So an email from him might go like this:

Hey Ina!!!!!!!!!!!
Hw ya..........yeah fiNe too......miSsss ya... calllll you ..........or me?

ideas...........
D.

You get the picture. So I'm just browsing around HELL one day and I see this guy who looks interesting...we'll call him cheeryguy. When I opened up his profile, the first thing I thought was Dave. The writing style was exactly the same. Not the actual content, which was very different from Dave's profile, but that unmistakable style. Plus, cheeryguy ended his summary with ideas................Coincidence? Beats me...but interesting to think about. Cheeryguy has never checked Inatizzy's profile. Maybe because he already knows what he'll find there?

--Ina

the Plan...in action

2008-12-13T11:18:00.001-05:00

By now, inatizzy was sitting happily out on the Hello!Eros web site. And she was attracting some attention. HELL has this feature that allows you to see who's been looking at your profile. Pretty handy. If someone cool has looked, you can send him a message and start something. If someone creepy has looked, well, you probably want to ignore him. Every now and then, I'd check to see who'd viewed Ina, and as I said before, there've been some interesting guys. And Ina, being who she is, had flirted with some them and it was fun. But, we all know who Ina was really interested in...and then one day, there it was. Dave had looked...he hadn't messaged, but he'd looked and that was enough.

Inatizzy put on her thinking cap and came up with the perfect message to make ol' Dave some sniffing around. She was fun!...she was flirtatious!...she was slightly naughty! And Dave, as we all knew he would, took the bait. When that message hit his mailbox, why, he didn't even take the time to write a message back. He Instant Messaged! Well, Ina was a little taken aback. She certainly didn't want to get into some fast, off the cuff conversation with him. That could have been disastrous. No, email was much better for her purposes. So, she ignored him. Best possible strategy she could have come up with too. It wasn't long before an email showed up. And guess what? It was just like the first one Dave had sent to Ina's alter-ego...sweet, funny, eager, written just as though the thoughts flowed right from his twisted little brain onto the screen. Seems like Dave might be lacking in imagination, or perhaps he's learned not to mess with success. Anyway, he also included that weird little sign-off. And we're going to take a little detour here, so hang on...

--Ina

the Plan...

2008-12-12T19:12:00.000-05:00

Sasquatch and I were sitting on the couch, watching the What's My Line marathon on the Game Show Channel (Sas loves Bennett Cerf. She has good taste and always prefers intellect over looks.) and I was thinking about my plan. It was simple, really. I'd go to HELL and create a false profile to see if I could lure Dave back into my web, suck the life out of him, then cut him loose like the big ugly cockroach he is. Oh sure, I know all profiles are basically false...except those totally sincere and icky ones like the guy who called himself "myhartistrue&ifUleavmeillstalkUtilUdie."**** His moniker is kind of hard to parse out, but it can be done, if you're patient. He's actually one of the freakiest of the freaks, despite his apparent sincerity. He wants to "be with you night and day...every moment! I'll never let you out of my site (sic). I'll awaken you in the morning with licks all over your body until you can't stand it anymore (Ina--I'll bet!) and you beg, no! plead with me to stop. (Ina--no kidding.) Then, I'll bring you breakfast in bed...toast and jam or oatmeal or a bowl of hot Cream O' Wheat." Yeah, whatever, myhartisetcetcetc, just what every girl wants...a full-body lick followed by some Cream O' Wheat!
Back to the plan...I was going to go with the full-on humor approach...cynical, sarcastic, a little mean...all those things I'd discovered were a kind of a turn on for Dave. Plus, I was going to turn up the kink factor a little because from a couple of things he'd said, I thought Dave might appreciate a little kink...I've learned that, at least in my experience, this is probably true for most men, even myhartisetcetcetc, not that I've had any personal experience with that gentleman, thank god.
So while Sas was engrossed in WML, slobbering over Bennett, her tail wagging a mile a minute, I filled out my profile and inatizzy was born. And she's actually attracted some very interesting guys. Guys who can appreciate the humor and aren't scared away by the cynicism. Nice, funny guys and I hope she'll continue to attract them because I've grown to like her way more than that other profile. Well, why not, she's me...

****Not his real moniker, so all you girls looking for hot Cream O' Wheat action will just have to keep looking.

--Ina

the Engineer...last time

2008-12-12T18:46:00.000-05:00

I sent him an email on Monday, attaching some new photos and telling him how much I had enjoyed our conversation the day before. I checked that account several times that day...nuttin'. When I still hadn't heard from him by the next evening, I called him (call anytime!!). His voice mail picked up and I left a short message asking him to call me. As you've guessed (especially since I've already clued you in that we talked no more) he hadn't called back by the next evening either. I left one last voice message...
He'd mentioned several times that he wasn't bothered by rejection. Well, I guess not! When you're always the rejector and never the rejectee, it's easy to be cavalier about rejection. I, on the other hand, don't take well to rejection. You've heard that cliche about a woman scorned. Well, it's a cliche for a reason.

I began to think...

While I thought, Sasquatch and I still sat on the couch watching the Game Show Channel. Sas especially likes What's My Line reruns. As it happened, the Game Show Channel was having a What's My Line marathon during those first post-Engineer days, so Sas was happy and content. Of course, Sas was always happy and content. That's another thing I like about dogs. They're usually happy and content as long as their most basic needs are met. We humans should strive to be more like dogs. A lot more...

So, I thought and thought and pretty soon, a plan began to take shape. I talked over my plan with Nigel, a lovely man I'd met in HELL...he was in no way relationship material, but we had a good email friendship nevertheless. When Nigel heard of the plan, he urged me to do it and laughed maniacally...Bwahahahahaha. Thanks Nigel, you know who you are...

--Ina

the Engineer...more stuff

2008-12-12T17:29:00.000-05:00

There were more phone calls, more emails. The whole thing lasted only a little over 2 weeks, but we did LOTS of talking and the more we talked, the more I began to feel that I could believe what he said.

We agreed that we needed to meet face to face, and so we made plans. We'd meet in a city about half way between us and we decided on a date. It's hard to say exactly how I felt about these plans. I'd never done any online dating before and wasn't sure how to act. I was a little apprehensive, but excited and happy. I felt breathless and nervous, but nervous in a good way.

But then there was the first time I sent him an email and he failed to reply.

One night, we were on the phone and something was said about HELL. He said, "Oh, I don't get on there anymore. Why should I? I've found you." Awwwww. But I couldn't help but think about that email that he had failed to respond to. And I started to think too much. A night or 2 later, I couldn't stand it anymore. I logged into HELL, and of course, there he was. Hmmmmm. What to think? I rationalized it away, sort of. Well, he was just taking tests or answering questions. But it nagged. Then a couple days later, he called and said a client was being a jerk and he was having to work pretty much around the clock to keep this guy satisifed. He thought it might be better if we postponed our meeting. Oh, if I really wanted to, we could still go, but he was sure he'd have to spend some time with his nose in his computer. I agreed that we should postpone and he said he'd call.

Well, from ardent to indifferent at the speed of sound? Had I been blown off? I figured if he called again, then he probably was telling the truth. So, I waited. And sure enough, a couple of days later, he called and we had a perfectly normal and happy conversation. Then came the Thanksgiving holiday and I didn't hear from him for 3 days...a record for us. He called the Sunday after Thanksgiving...we flirted and teased each other. We talked about silly and serious stuff, bounced quotes from our favorite movie off each other, laughed and just enjoyed each other thoroughly... it was one our best conversations. It also was our last...

--Ina

the Engineer...still on the first phone call

2008-12-12T17:03:00.001-05:00

Yes, I was charmed. He had spoken of intimacy and what it meant to him and no he didn't think it was all about sex. (Well, that's what he said, but can you really trust someone you've just met on a dating web site? That remains to be seen.) He had spoken of his love for animals and his work with an animal shelter. He had spoken of how he wasn't one of those men for whom the chase is the main thing. He didn't like to chase, he said. He couldn't date more than one woman at a time; had no desire to. (I hope you've paid attention to this part because it will come into play later.) He was smart; he was funny; he was polite, but with an irreverent sense of humor; he was handsome. I had asked him why a man as handsome as himself was unattached, and he said he was very selective. Well, that's OK, so am I, so no problems here. I guess. In short, our conversation was sweet and funny and interesting and we discovered that we had lots in common. So, yeah, I was charmed. I told him so in an email the next day and he professed to having been charmed also. Up until now, he hadn't asked for a photograph. I was impressed by that. Most of these bozos asked first crack out of the hat, so they could be sure that your looks met their exacting standards. And since each and every one was a George Clooney clone (no), well, they were perfectly within their rights, they thought. But he did ask for a pic in this latest email. So, I had to scramble to get one. Thanks Bufe, you know who you are... He also asked if he could call again that night, but I said I was busy. I wasn't but that's how you play...

--Ina

the Engineer...first phone call continued

2008-12-12T09:27:00.001-05:00

Or was it? All good, I mean. An are went by and then 2 and Sas and I were getting pretty fucking sick of the fucking Game Show Channel and we even changed to the Golf Channel for awhile, but I got jittery and had to turn it off. I was pissed. I'd been had...played...tricked. And I didn't like it, not one bit. Then the phone rang and Sas and I looked at each other like WTF? Because by now, we'd written off the Engineer so this was totally unexpected. Sure enough, 404...Atlanta, the Engineer. I answered playing it cool because well, you know why. And he was so apologetic and launched into this long explanation of how the restaurant, which is never crowded on Thursday nights was inexplicably crowded this very Thursday night and he and Kathy had had to wait a really long time to get their dinners and he was so nervous that he was standing out on his front porch smoking a cigarette, which he never did anymore, except for those really stressful times and he hoped I wasn't mad and he was so, so sorry and he'd had a couple of glasses of wine and hoped he didn't sound tipsy because he really wasn't, just a little bit pleasantly buzzed and how he'd worried that I wouldn't answer the phone but he'd also worried that I would and he was so glad that I had and .......... "Hair (how are) you, Miss Ina? Fahn, I hope and not angry?" Well, Miss Ina had been a little pissed to be sure, but now, after this huge apology, she was entranced...in a good way. Of course, there was no way I was going to let him know that. At least, not yet.
And so we talked...for about 45 minutes, which is about 40 minutes longer than I usually like to talk on the phone. Well, mostly, he talked and I listened. He talked about his daughter and his 2 failed marriages, and his business that he and his partners were starting up, and how he felt about politics and religion (same as me!). Oh he asked me questions and I answered. I even made some germane comments about stuff he was talking about. And what might have been a wearisome conversation...wasn't. At all. It was like he wanted get everything out there and get me to know him and it couldn't happen fast enough for him. He seemed so eager, so enthusiastic about life. I was charmed...

--Ina

the Engineer...first phone call

2008-12-12T08:48:00.000-05:00

And then, the phone rang. Sas and I looked at each other like WTF? We didn't get that many calls on the cell back then and the ring tone sounded alien. So, I got up off the couch and went digging in my bag for the cell...found it and saw that the call was from the 404 area code. The Engineer...I was a little anxious. After all, this was a guy who looked, if not like Adonis, then still pretty hot (if that picture he sent was really a likeness of him and not just some pic he'd snagged from the Smokin' Hot Men website. You think there's not such a site? Google it, if you dare.) Anyway, I managed to answer it before it clicked over to voice mail, and this gruff voice drawled, "Haaahhh (drawl-speak for hi), it's Day-ave (drawl for Dave). This Ina?" Well, the voice wasn't what I'd expected. You know how you hear somebody on the radio and form a mental picture? Same deal with email and photos...you hear his voice in your head, but then, when you hear it for real, sometimes it doesn't match up. So the gruff thing was unexpected, but the drawl drew me in. So I said "Hi" back and managed to ask him how he was, and he was fahn (fine). And then he told me he had comp'ny (company) and he needed to take her to dinner and could he call me back? What?? Was he telling me he was about to go out on a date?

He explained that she and her husband(!) were old friends of the faaamly (family) and she was in town from Bumin'hayum (Birmingham) for an antique show and she was tard (tired) and hungry and if it was OK, he'd cawl (call) me back in an are (hour). Sounded reasonable to me (uh oh) and I said, "Sure." So, we hung up and I went back to Sas and the couch and the Game Show Channel. WOF was over, but there was a favorite episode of Match Game coming up. And the Engineer was going to cawl back in an are after he'd fed his comp'ny. It was all good...

--Ina

the Engineer

2008-12-12T07:26:00.000-05:00

Dave replied promptly to my email and sent a picture of his daughter! That seemed, well, if not strange, then a little out of the ordinary. But, I thought, "He must just be a proud papa. Isn't that sweet." And she was beautiful. (if it really was his daughter and not just some photo he trolled off the web) He also sent his phone number and told me to call anytime!! (He put those 2 exclamation points in his email. He's an enthusiastic guy.) Well, I'm an old-fashioned girl and I'm not making the first call. So I sent him my cell number (it IS the Internet and you can't be too careful, so there's no way I'm sending my home number) and told him to call me. He replied that he'd call that very night! Well, this seemed to be moving along at a spritely pace indeed.
So, Sasquatch and I were sitting on the couch watching the Game Show Channel. Sas wanted to watch the Golf Channel, but golf makes me jittery. Besides, an episode of Wheel of Fortune from the 90s was on. Back when Pat Sajak looked kinda hot, in that goofy boy-next-door way. And it was the episode with that lady in the red plaid blouse and the jet black mall hair and those really thin drawn-on eyebrows. Remember her? She spun the wheel and landed on a big-money space and asked Pat if she could have an "R." Vanna turned over 2 "Rs!!" So the board looked like this
R_ _ _ _ _ _ R
Then, she asked for a "D" and Vanna turned over a "D."
R _ _ _ D _ _ R
Then she asked for an "N" and Vanna did that thing she does so well.
R _ _ ND _ _ R.
She asked Pat could she buy a vowel, and Pat said, "Sure!!!!!!" Because Pat's nothing if not enthusiastic...just like Dave. So she bought an "E" and Vanna did it again...3 times!
RE_NDEER
And then, incredibly, amazingly, she asked to buy another vowel. WTF!! What is so freakin' obvious to you and to me is lost on red-plaid lady. Can it be that she doesn't recognize the word? Can she not spell? (And if not, she should have picked a game show other than WOF. Maybe Jeopardy.) Can it possibly be that she's that mind-bogglingly stupid?? Or wait...maybe she's just being cautious, like those of us in HELL are. Uh, no...because she asked for an "O!" An "O!!??" Lady, what are you thinking? Are you so dazed by the bright TV lights that you've completely taken leave of your senses? WTF is wrong with you? Pat looked at her like he thought surely she must be joking, but she'd bought that "O" and there's a no returns, no refunds policy at the Buy-A-Vowel store. Bummer for her, for sure. So Pat said, "Oh!!!!! I'm sorry! No "O!!" And the turn passed to the guy with the handlebar mustache and bad toupee on red-plaid lady's left. And then, the phone rang...

RE_NDEER

--Ina

First encounter...some more about it

2008-12-12T05:42:00.000-05:00

He lives in Atlanta and he's an engineer. Well, no, he isn't an engineer, but I won't reveal his occupation, his name or anything else that could be used to identify him. Yeah, he's a rat bastard...but I'm not. Anyway, his first message was charming, if a little stream-of-consciousness, writing-wise. He told me he loved my profile...that he thought it was amusing. Well, amusing was exactly what I was going for when I wrote it so I thought, "This guy gets me!" He'd sent me his personal email address in case I'd like to chat outside the realm of HELL. Well, of course I wanted to chat outside the realm of HELL! Who wouldn't want to get out of HELL? So, I sent him an email. He responded immediately with a photo! And wow, when I opened that photo, well, let's just say, rat bastard or not, he's a fine looking man...if it was really him in that pic...who knows? (I really wish I could post his photo here so you could judge for yourself, but I do have my standards.) I wrote him back, telling him I thought his photo was attractive and that his emails were charming, (which they were, but that stream-of-consciousness writing was a little hard to decipher and he used a weird sign off...I won't say what it was, but it was just a little strange and one I hadn't encountered before, anywhere) and indicating that I was interested in corresponding. His name was Dave...oh, of course his name isn't Dave, but if I'm going to tell about him, I have to call him something, so Dave it is.

--Ina

First encounter...

2008-12-12T05:11:00.000-05:00

I've taken a little detour to give some friendly advice to the men of HELL, so let's recap a little.
I'd written my profile and posted it. It wasn't the best profile ever, but I really did put some thought into it. I didn't reveal that much about myself, because, hey, it's the Internet and keeping some secrets is prudent. But I told some things and I tried to make up for my lack of transparency with humor.
I spent some time browsing the men within 100 miles of my home and frankly, was pretty disappointed. I began to wonder if, in fact, all the good men in KY really were already taken...living in domestic bliss with their beautiful wives. Or it could be that all the good available men just hadn't heard of HELL yet. I really didn't know and still don't. So, my expectations were low.
And then, I got a message! I was surprised. I hadn't expected someone to contact me. I had thought I'd be doing all the selecting, but nevertheless, I felt flattered. But as I read his message, I realized that he didn't live all that close to me. In fact, he lived in Atlanta. What? Atlanta? Why would someone in Atlanta be contacting me? So, I did the only reasonable thing...I asked him why.
And his response was charming...he asked, "Why not?" I was delighted and intrigued. And thus, we began our all too brief correspondence...

--Ina

Parade of Freaks, part III

2008-12-12T04:35:00.000-05:00

If you're still with me, gentlemen, let's talk about the section in HELL called "I spend a lot of time thinking about..." Your answer really shouldn't be "sex." And it really, really shouldn't be "sex sex sex sex sex sex." We've already established that you're in HELL to attract women, right? Well, women don't need to be reminded that you spend a lot of time thinking about sex. Unless we're very young or very inexperienced, we've already discovered that fact about men. Your profile in HELL isn't about stating the obvious. No, what you should be doing is making yourself sound as charming, as interesting as possible. So, put some thought into it. Surely there's something interesting that you think about, so tell us about it.
Finally...your photo. If you've chosen to post a photo... and personally, I don't think it's mandatory if you can write an interesting profile, but it's your choice certainly...but if you DO choose to post one, please, please don't post a shirtless pic.***** Because HELL has at least a few standards, you're forbidden to post pics of certain body parts...you know which ones I mean. (For once, HELL has done something right in making this rule.) But keep your shirt on. If we want to see your bare chest, we'll see it. Until then, let us use our imaginations. Imagination is the sexiest thing ever, so take advantage of it.
Next up...that first encounter.

*****Upon further reflection, I've decided to revise this rule. I've seen a couple of pics where the shirtless thing actually worked. So, if you're on a boat or in the pool or in some other situation where shirtlessness is appropriate, then yeah, go ahead and post that pic. On the other hand, if you're standing at the bathroom mirror, camera in hand, taking your own picture, put your shirt back on. Thx
--Ina

Parade of Freaks, part II

2008-12-11T17:47:00.000-05:00

So, to pick up where we left off, your goal, men of HELL, is to attract women. Now, pay attention...get that beer bottle out of you mouth and turn off the TV.
As I was saying, your goal is to attract women. If you were trying to find a fishing buddy or some guy to go to the NASCAR race, it would be different. But we're talking women here, so let's think about your profiles...If in your summary of yourself, you say that you can't think of anything to write, is that interesting? Hell, no! Women want to be intrigued. If there's really nothing interesting about yourself, then MAKE SOMETHING UP! How are we going to know any different? If we should actually meet each other, surely by then you will have thought of something that makes you different from every other Joe Schmo (excellent show, BTW).
Point 2: In the 6-things-I-cannot-live-without portion of your profile, never list your truck as number 1. And for god's sake, do not list it as number one and also as number 6. I'm sure there are some women who love trucks as much as you do, but, and trust me on this, most women do not, and if they say they do, they're playin' ya. Other things to not mention in this section include your shotgun, your huntin' dogs, NASCAR, food, water, shelter, your Mom, your wife, and my personal favorite, air. And calling air "oxygen" doesn't make you look smart.

--Ina

Parade of Freaks

2008-12-11T17:09:00.000-05:00

So, what I thought was that I'd post this profile and then I'd just look at all the men, pick out my favorite and live happily ever after. Well, those weren't my exact thoughts, but kinda close. So, I commenced browsing...Oh. My. God. You have to set up parameters for your searches, like how many miles from your house, for example. Well, I thought, the closer, the better. Uh, no. I set it up to search for matches within 100 miles of my town because I'd have to think long and hard about driving over 100 miles for a date! (I might make an exception for George Clooney, but running across George in HELL is a remote possibility at best.) I know now that was a terrible decision...
If I may, I'm going to speak directly to the men of HELL right now. The ones within a 100 mile radius of Hee Haw KY.
Gentlemen, presumably, you joined this service to find a woman of refinement and taste with whom you could spend some romantic moments. Or, to put it in terms you might understand more readily, you are searching the web for a hot chick. Or to make it unmistakably clear, yer trollin' the net to score some pussy... because to actually change your socks and comb your hair and go out someplace where women congregate sounds like way too much trouble.
Now think about it gentlemen...your ultimate goal is to get in her pants. There's no reason to deny what we all know to be the truth. And there's really nothing wrong with that goal. In many cases, that's our goal too. Really. Well, our goal would be more about getting in your pants, eventually, not our own. But, in most--not all--but most cases, there will be at least a few preliminary activities that take place before that happy and most satisfying coupling. That's what we need to discuss...

--Ina

How it began, the sequel...continued

2008-12-11T16:49:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure exactly what I expected when I signed up for HELL, but I know I didn't expect to find myself standing on Broadway watching the Parade of the Freaks. I filled out my profile, which included a summary of "me," and wrote some things in boxes that asked stuff like: I spend a lot of time thinking about...and Six things I cannot live without are...and What I'm doing with my life right now...I took some tests and answered some questions (I think the tests and questions are what the HELL geeks use to "match" you up with people they think you're, well, a good match with. Certainly, they do not take your actual profile into consideration.) What I did not do was post a photo. Call me paranoid, but I can't imagine having an actual photo on one of these web sites can possibly be a good idea. Once, when I was browsing, I recognized a photo of a man who had once worked for me. His name was disguised, of course, but there was no mistaking his picture. When I read his profile, I thought, "God! What a pathetic loser! How could I have been disappointed when this sad, empty shell of a man quit our company to go to work for the government? What had I been thinking??" And I didn't want someone recognizing me and thinking those same things. Because no matter how together you are, there's always going to be somebody who thinks you're a loser...And nowhere is that sad fact more apparent than on an online dating site. People will usually be pretty nice when you're standing there right in front of them, but when you're just a profile...just an idea...they can get pretty nasty. Yeah, the Internet brings out the worst in us for sure. That it may also bring out the best in us is a concept to be explored...But not yet.

--Ina

How it began, the sequel

2008-12-10T18:02:00.000-05:00

My husband had been dead ...
(not passed away, not gone over. No, he was dead. I know this because when he died, the nurses at the hospital insisted that I spend some quality time with his body. Oh I could have refused, but that seemed crass. After all my husband had just died! I stayed there in that hospital room with his absolutely dead body for about an hour [and wow! was it quiet in there] until I found enough courage to seek out someone to ask WTF was I supposed to do now? Nobody tells you these things!)
... for about 18 months and I felt like it was time to find a suitable male companion. I like men. No, really. I find them endearing and besides, if you give them a wink and a promise, they'll usually do at least some of those things you don't want to do, like answer the door on Halloween. Living in Hee Haw country, I'd found it hard to find a suitable companion. Some people I knew had had some small success with online dating, so I thought, "Why not me?" And so, I signed on with a free service, which probably should remain nameless like those slacker employees. Let's just call it Hello!Eros or HELL for short.
Before I knew it, I'd filled out a profile and there it was... actually on the HELL web site! I was pretty excited. It wasn't long before I got my first encounter.

--Ina

How it began...

2008-12-10T17:40:00.000-05:00

It was a couple of days before Halloween. I was dreading it. Oh I like children, don't get me wrong. I mean who doesn't like seeing all the tiny Cinderellas, the wee Spidermen, the ghosts, the goblins and the dear little Margaret Thatchers? No, I like all that just fine. ..You could die from the cuteness of it all! What I don't like and what my dog, Sasquatch, especially doesn't like is all that doorbell ringing! Poor Sas. She practically has a coronary every time the doorbell rings. She takes her vow to protect me very seriously and she's hell bent on keeping any and all intruders from my door...just look at how sincere and alert she looks in her pic. That's what I like about dogs. Give them a job and they're delighted. They do it, no complaints, everyday, unlike some (many) employees I know but will refrain from mentioning by name...they know who they are.
So it was a couple of days before Halloween and I got to thinking, "If only I had a man in my life, he could answer the door and give out treats to the Spidermen and the sweet little Margaret Thatchers, and Sas and I could sit on the couch watching the Game Show Channel and life would be sweet."
And that's how it began.

--Ina