Maya Chicken-Bits Buttreeks, this is your life.

So I understand that if I do have any regular readers at this point they will probably groan "auugghhh, another dog birthday blog?" but frankly, my sister would be very disappointed if I left out the birthday photo montage for our little two year old, Maya.

Ahhh. I remember the first day we told Midas that he would be getting a little sister.



And now, our little Maya turns two today. She's celebrating in true Maya fashion- curled up on a bed with multiple blankets and a chunk of carrot that she refuses to eat, but refuses to let go of. The story of Maya is a nice bed time kind of story with a happy ending. You see, we were living in Florida, and I was working at Harcourt where I spent the majority of my day on the internet. I came across Maya's adorable little picture on a website and emailed it to my husband with a note saying: "aww, look how cute."
To my surprise, Mike wrote me back and said: "That's our baby girl." This is really not like Mike, but he loved her from that one little photo. We didn't even have any intention of getting another pug... but Mike just knew we had to have her. The timing couldn't have been better since Mike had just been on the recieving end of a fifteen car pile up on I-4 and we no longer were a two car family. My mom and dad had generously offered to GIVE us their truck and so we had plans to fly to Michigan to drive it back... which just happened to be where little Maya (formerly known as Munchkin,) was residing.

We started making calls and were very excited to be going to pick her up, but as we arrived, the breeders that were selling her started showing hesitation. They really didn't seem to want to get rid of her telling us that some other people were coming to look at her all of a sudden and telling us that we probably wouldn't be able to drive back with her in the truck.... and some other weird things that I won't get into here. Anyway, push came to shove and we went out there and got her. She fit right in immediately, peeing on mike's leg right off the bat.



Maya was an adorable little wall-eyed puppy. She was the runt of the litter-- infact, she was the litter. The only puppy born from her little mommy. From day one, Maya knew only a life of priveledge. She never had to fight for food and often had it specially prepared. She slept in the bed with the breeder who had fallen in love with her and was sad to let her go. She had all the toys and playtime she could have wanted and didn't even have to set foot out in the cold to use the bathroom. When she left she was given toys, food, and hand-made blankets to accompany her on her trip home. The constant love and attention she received made for an obvious difference in personality over Midas who didn't have it as easy at his birthplace. Midas, terrified of abandonment, has never gotten over his bumpy start in life where Maya has no fear at all,knowing that someone will feed her, someone will protect her, and someone will love her always.




Knowing she has no worldly concerns or worries of any kind, Maya has spent her two years honing her skills and perfecting her true talents. Such talents include power sleeping, finding the ultimate comfort spots, and zeroing in on available laps to occupy.


Here my mom learns that, just because she is on vacation doesn't mean that she won't be a slave to Maya's wants, whims and comforts of all kinds. Here, she has beat out Midas for the ultimate lap spot.




Why just sleep on a king size pillow top bed when you can sleep on a pile of pillows on top of a king size, pillow top, bed.




Here we are packing for the big move to Texas. Midas is somewhere standing around nervously as we pack boxes containing things he may or may not need. Maya helps by lounging on an extra fluffy bed pillow and chewing a bone.





Without missing a beat, Maya is back into her old routine as we unpack here in Texas. Towels used to wrap breakables were tossed into a laundry pile that Maya burrowed into for the ultimate sleep destination. Can you find her?





She truly is the Comfort Queen.


While Maya knows how to live it up and has a life of priveledge, it isn't all glitz and glamour. Maya has seen her share of hard times, too.



Any "bath" indications have Maya headed for the hills with a straightened tail and ears back. If you aren't quick enough after removing her collar, its a two person job to peal her out from under the far corner of the bed.




Sometimes known as the "cutie with da booty," the junk in Maya's trunk has been known to keep her from getting onto the couch where an empty lap surely awaits her. It can be torturous.





People have been known to take advantage of her cuteness.





WAITING for treats is definately not her style.



The Dreaded CONE.


Through it all, though, she is still quite the character. She loves to be a funny girl and make everyone laugh. She also love a good laugh herself.






Mostly, however, its a princess' life for "Pea" and if you need her, she'll be celebrating it up like a true princess on this, her second birthday. Pug kisses to you all from Maya. Our little Smia Pea.
Princess Life:


Soaking up the rays poolside.





Eating LOTS of pizza.



Playing with your big brother



Power Sleeping...




Getting fanned



... And being top dog.
Happy Birthday, Maya!!!

Choppy, Choppy Little Pinky

It is black Friday. I just found out today that it means this is when the stores gain the profits to keep them in the "black" and out of the "red." I thought it just ment that if you worked retail... today really... REALLY sucks.

Case in point: I found myself numbling driving to work at my new job, contemplating whether I really needed the $12.50 I would likely earn today and it wasn't even 4:30 in the morning. It was supposed to be a grueling eight and a half hours of explaining why the ad that just came out containing a 20% off coupon featured all of the items in which you could not use the coupon with. Fortuntely, the God's smiled on me and someone called in for their evening shift, allowing me to go home at 7:30am with a heartfelt promise that I would return at 5:00 to close. You can't imagine my joy when that person later called and agreed to go in afterall and I got the rest of the day off!

Now I'm back at home and looking forward to a clean house when it happens. I took a nice slice out of my pinky finger with a bread knife. After knowing me for seven years, when Mike hears the words: "Mike, I'm bleeding," he instinctively prepares for a trip to the hospital. After the whole 5 digit kidney stone experience, however, I decided that I was probably better off to just lose the finger.

Once things were back under control Mike finally asked the question that he asks everytime I end up in a situation like this: "Why can't you be more careful?"
I tried to explain to him my tradition of injuries dated back to well before I knew him but he wasn't buying it. Frankly, I knew it was just a matter of time before something happened, now that I have a nice knife set. I figured it would be much worse. I fully anticipated the day that I would somehow manage to get a carving knife wedged into my cornea. This was nothing. Infact, its almost a tradition. The first time I have hacked at important limbs (are there limbs that aren't important?) was all the way back in the second grade when we were making applesauce and we were actually given knives to cut the apples with. Is it just me, or does this spell disaster no matter how you "slice" it with a group of second graders? Anyway, I was the lucky winner that peeled apart a finger and the rest is a blurry haze of hysteria.

I'm pretty sure that this happens because my mom never let me play with enough sharp objects as a kid. I'm still getting used to them. Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving.

The Hummer of the Produce Aisle.

Have you ever experienced a densley packed highway at rush hour, where you creep along and sometimes it just seems like the bigger cars are taking more space than they probably deserve? You fight your way through traffic-- which lets face it, is a bloodsport-- to get to the grocery store and then you fight for a space in the same zipcode as the store you wish to visit. WAIT-- before you click away to some internet porn site because you've heard it all before-- I actually have something new to complain about! Sure the stores are just as crowded and personal space is at an all time low and I too am wondering what happened to the days where I could shut my brain off at the door and mindlessly wander about to find the things I need. There's nothing new there. What is fairly new are the Hum-Vs of shopping carts. Have you ever been trying to manuever through the produce section of the grocery store just to be blind-sided by a soccer mom pushing a cart big enough to hold all of the groceries a family of 6 could want and need AND two kids in a makeshift plastic, colorful vehicle. They now have little shopping dune buggies that can fit a family of 9 and they take up 2/3 of the aisle.

I know some people may be reading this and wondering what the crap I am talking about. Don't worry, I have been searching the vast void of the internet to find a picture-- but while I was looking, I found an article that someone else had written about this very same situation. So, lets take a look at what this mommy has to say and we'll see if we can get to the bottom of the problem here. Hmmm?

A grocery store is a mom's biggest nightmare. I would really like to know who designed the check-out aisles vs. the grocery carts. Some stores offer carts that seat more than one child. Great! You think, untill checkout time....

We are all aware that the evil candy companies strategically place candy at the check out. Right within a child's grasp. But why in the heck do they design carts that are too wide to fit down the check-out aisle? There you are, a screaming 5 month old, tantrum throwing 3 year old, cart full of groceries, and a skinny aisle that is impossible to navigate through.

Okay now. This woman is elated that there are stores out there that feature grocery carts that seat more than one kid... but she's furious that she now can't fit her super cart down the aisles. Exactly how many kids do you expect to stack in there and still be able to manuever through the store? I also think that there is a slight chance that grocery stores place impulse purchase items near the registers that have nothing to do with kids, shopping carts, or housewives. Maybe I just really have no idea, but I have from time to time seen well behaved kids? I mean, if you can train dogs, can't you train kids?

Anyway, the point is that these monster shopping carts are a menace to everyone around. Combine this with the motorized carts for the elderly or just plain overweight individuals and your average consumer doesn't stand a chance.

Below is a picture of a shopping cart cover. No wonder kids today grow up as weak, pathetic, puffballs.

Here's another one. Suck it all in:

This is a SHOPPING CART:

As is this:

and this:


And do you know that some of these monstrositys come with LCD TVs in them?

Now, I am not a parent and therefore have no idea what its really like... but if your kid isn't entertained for every single waking moment of his or her life will they just spontaneously explode or something? What happens when this same kid who can't not grab candy and throw cigarettes all over doesn't want to leave his Cart O' Joy?

And what about seatbelts? How long will we have to wait before housewives get into head on collisions? Do these things need insurance? Hey, I'm just waiting for the first lawsuit. I'm taking bets right now as to whether it comes before or after some disaster with the "roller shoes."

Biggest Loser

I recently found myself in an uncomfortable second floor office at the local Linen's 'N' Things. I really hope that if I ever find myself there again, its because I have been shoplifting.

As I heard the words: "Here we do it all. We don't have a janitorial staff-- per se... so associates may work on registers, but they may plunge toilets," my attention shifted from the fact that my toenails were still neon orange colored from Halloween, to the fact that I had voluntarily applied for this a job in which I could have the distinct honor of turd wrestling....

Well, I did waste the time out of my day to go to the interview... I felt I may as well swallow the disdain and the cynicism deep into the shallow end of my intestinal track where maybe, before the day is done, one of the associates can plunge it out of a toilet.
As I answered the mundane text book questions they ask you at all jobs that require little to no brain power, yet the patience of a pack mule, I had to force myself to tear my eyes from the wall or floor or ceiling to focus them on the face of my soon-to-be mentor. A mental image of him walking from the bathroom with a newspaper tucked under his arm and me headed in after him in my red LNT apron, wielding a plunger danced in my head.

"Now Jennifer, sell yourself to me. Tell me in your own words why I should hire you."

Brain says:
"Well, sir. You should hire me because I'm just stupid enough to apply for a job where I may get to plunge toilets for minimum wage. I would much prefer to unclog crap from toilets here at Linen's 'N' Things than at Rudy's Barbecue where I would be making three dollars more an hour. But hey, where's the the class in shoveling pork? Aside from my low sense of self-worth, I am skilled at avoiding your customers on the floor by blending in with my surroundings. As a short person, I can duck behind items and weave my way in and out of aisles without being noticed so that I never have to talk to a single person during my whole shift! I am a fast and accurate cashier, though, I would hate to be unavailable should a mountain of feces need tackling in the men's room. I can spell my own name and tie my own shoes and don't let that expensive Bachelor's degree fool you-- I can fold towels in three different styles for showcasing excellence. Finally, though I am clearly going to dread coming to work for you, I will make up little games in my head to pass the time and my 20 hours a week will just fly by. I am also prepared for you to completely abuse my part time status by working me on the worst possible days such as weekends and holidays."

Mouth says:
"Well, sir, I am a fast learner and experienced with your customer base as well as your merchandise. I have been trained to run a register as a cashier as well as a Front End Supervisor who handles the training of the other front end staff, the book work, and the cash deposits. I have worked in receiving and damages as well as on the floor and I am certain that I would adapt quickly to your policies. I have open availability including weekends and holidays, I am well-mannered and punctual, and apparently I'll work for seven dollars an hour.

Oops that last sentence was supposed to go into column A.

So. Get this. They take my name and social security number and tell me that barring any unforeseen criminal background incidents, they would like to start me on Friday.

As I walked to my car, I tried not to bust out into a hip hop dance at the idea of comparing vegetable peelers for old ladies, explaining what the expiration date on the coupons mean, and of course-- plunging shit. But before we can truly celebrate this momentous detour backwards in my life, I get a phone call saying that they would like me to come in for a second interview?

What?

Let me paraphrase this for you.
Seven dollar an hour job... poopy toilets.... Bachelor's degree.

They need to interview me... again? Really? Am I not going to fit in with the 14 year old pregnant girl, the manager whose belly hangs out of her button down shirt and the male cheerleader fluffing the bed linens? Do you have serious doubts as to my ability to up sell blender attachments?
As much as this is a painful moment in my life, I don't feel like I'm too good to work a job like this... I don't feel like it's beneath me... I do feel like I am plenty qualified, Bachelor's degree or not. I'm not taking this job because I can't get a job in my field, I just turned one down... (yes, I turned down a job making several multiples above the $7/hr mark so that I could prove myself to some guy who goes home and watches reruns of the Jeff Foxworthy show.) In fact, I don't even need this job. I have a loving husband who has begged me NOT to work during this time. But I'm in the middle of a certification program that requires all my focus and I just wanted to be doing a little bit, just a small fraction of earning power to bring to the table until it is done. I wasn't excited about it... who would be... but this is ridiculous. I do have enough self-esteem to tell them exactly where to put the plunger.

So, to recap: I am currently the biggest loser. I will plunge for less than a ten spot.

Here's to all of your success and gainful employment.