Wake Me When It's Over

Seriously, I think my Dad's nervousness about the election is getting to me. I'm practically unable to get my full 23 hours of sleep most days, what with all the hand-wringing and the constant yelling at the T.V.

I do my best to try, though.

They say that dogs dream in black & white. I know that I do.

And for all you blogger-types out there...

"Mermaid In My Backyard", by Roxanne Murtagh

Random thoughts from Courtney Lane…

I’m in the middle of watching the final of the three Presidential debates and I realize that I may have made a mistake by deciding to throw back a Kamikaze every time John McCain calls us his "his friends". Time will tell if I also made an error by pledging to down the whole pitcher if he says "my fellow prisoners" again…

Being female is the only thing that’s adequately prepared me for the way the Mets keep disappointing me…

I feel I have enough foreign policy experience to be Vice President because I can watch Cricket matches while sunning myself on our new patio…

Is it wrong to love your Oncologist?

Congratulations MoJo Shepancy! (They know who they are)…

I came up with a cool, trendy name for Sarah Palin’s future grandchild – Shotgun!

The difference between a pit bull and a hockey mom? A pit bull is smart enough not to indulge their kids by allowing them to pick a sport that requires their parents to buy a freakishly large Yukon XLT just to lug all that soon-to-be-outgrown and never-used-again equipment which, by the way, is too heavy for their kids to even carry themselves. Forget this overly expensive, unbelievably time-consuming "sport" -- throw a ball, teach them to bring it back to you, give them a cookie. Problem solved.

I’m giving up on McCain and "my friends", he’s only said it twice. I’m going with "Joe the Plumber" now. I need this to end soon and twenty six shots ought to be enough to put me out of my misery.

How many Libertarians does it take to organize a rally?
(Don’t answer that… Libertarians organizing is just too obvious a premise for a joke. Sorry.)

Final thought… A dog shouldn’t talk about being put out of it’s own misery. I know, crazy, right?

Pit Bull Mauls Baby

Faithful readers of my blog also know of my YouTube videos. I always appreciate whenever you guys follow the links to check out my latest entries. It warms my heart. Really.
However, like all great media whores, I lusted after more recognition than I was getting from just my core fan base. I was completely jealous when the video I posted of my friend from Coney Island got way more "hits" than any of my videos. More than all of my videos combined, actually. I went into a funk. I followed that up with a downward spiral, first into a deep well of self-pity, followed quickly by full immersion into a steaming vat of self-loathing. (Crazy, right?)
Luckily, my therapist, "MC", got me to understand that the problem wasn’t with me at all. "Let’s be honest", she opined, "you’re as bitchin’ as you’ve always been!" "True", I thought, but what was it, then? Why "Coney Island Dog Throws Up" and not "Roxanne Goes For A Ride"?
The answer was staring me in the face. Let’s set the scene, shall we…?

INTERIOR: SEMI-FINISHED BASEMENT, CONVERTED TO BEDROOM - DAY
Disheveled twenty-something dude sits at juvenile-furniture-style desk in front of a flickering computer screen. Red Bull cans litter the room. Sun-faded Farah Fawcett poster hangs on the wall above. An obviously newly-purchased Fantastic Four Silver Surfer action figure prominently displayed so as to be seen in webcam’s viewfinder. Warrant’s "Cherry Pie" blasts from his earbuds…
WEB SURFER DUDE
(mutters to himself)
"Let’s see… "How To Build a Pipe Bomb", nah. "Reverend Wright and The White Devil", who’s that? "Roxanne Goes For A Ride", booooring… "Coney Island Dog Throws Up", yo, dude, CHECK IT OUT!"


I’d found the answer. I quickly changed some of the titles of my videos. I abandoned the cutesy "Roxanne…" theme in favor of the more crowd pleasing "Pit Bull…" motif. "Roxanne and Her Chicken" became "Pit Bull Mauls Chicken". "Roxanne and Her Baby"? You guessed it—"Pit Bull Mauls Baby"!
Some of you are groaning right about now. That’s OK. I understand. But oh, my! how the number of hits has skyrocketed! "Roxanne and Her Baby" had 50 hits, tops. "Pit Bull Mauls Baby" – over 3 THOUSAND hits and counting! I know, you think it’s wrong to mislead those poor troglodytes who while away long hours in their parents’ basements surfing for a good mauling, but screw them, baby! I’m gettin’ hits!!
It’s interesting to read some of the comments posted to the newly re-named videos, too. Guys who’d found my videos ONLY because they’d searched using "Pit Bull Mauls…" as a keyphrase are leaving comments about how wrong it is for me to eat a baby’s face…
C’mon everyone. Say it with me. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way…
Ready… One… Two… Three…
"… I LOVE THE INTERNET!!!"

(No Actual Babies Were Harmed For This Post)

ARC of the Covenant (and By-Laws)

Most everyone who’s ever met me knows that I’m really quite a sweet girl. A lot of people who don’t know me but just see me walking down the street tend to cross to the other side just to avoid me. I guess I’m OK with that. I mean, the "visual deterrent" aspect of being a pit bull does come in handy as Dad pretends to restrain me from attacking a group of young hoodlems every now and again.
If I were vicious, though, I think I’d save up my unbridled rage and unleash my 1500 lbs. per-square-inch-strong jaws in the direction of the Architectural Review Committee (ARC) and the Board of Trustees here where we live.
Mom and Dad had their hearing with the Board to appeal the decision of the ARC to enforce their arbitrary rule against window boxes. They’d been going back and forth (by letter) for quite some time, but this was their big face to face showdown. Dad prepared a presentation pointing out the inconsistencies of their rules manual (the boxes were only "prohibited" after we put them up) and used their own mission statement to point out how window boxes "enhanced amenities and preserved property values" and "contributed to making our community a more pleasant" place. Mom was optimistic about the hearing. She knew that the ARC was a misguided group of anal retentive, power-obsessed, student-council-president-wanna-be’s (think Tracy Flick in Election) but she also knew that our argument was iron clad. The presentation included pictures of our beautiful boxes (in bloom, of course) and even showed a window box on a house like ours from another Renaissance community.
Going in, Mom thought that any reasonable group of people who’d been elected to make rational, reasoned, informed decisions for the entire community would see the error of the ARC’s ways and rule in our favor. Dad, on the other hand, didn’t share her optimism. He’d been dealing with this situation for a while and hadn’t told Mom of the bad feeling he had. The storm clouds were gathering thicker every time he’d spoken to the Community Manager, Tyler. Tyler was in agreement with us but is basically just the office manager for the community. He’s also responsible for sending out the violation letters. He’d been sharing some inside dirt on the workings of the Board, about how they’re inherently lazy and how they let the ARC do all the work. In exchange, the Board basically rubber-stamps decisions made by the ARC.
I’m BORING you, right? I know. Sorry. I'll stop now...

All I know is, the hearing put my Mom in the hospital!

To be continued…

Happy Birthday To Me!

I celebrated my birthday this past Sunday, Mother's Day. It's the day Mom & Dad have "designated" as my special day. They've assigned Mother's Day to me because, as you know, they found me on the street (in front of a PetSmart, actually) and nobody knows when my real birthday is.

The adoption papers went through pretty near Mother's Day in 2002 and I was also really saggy after having pumped out a bunch of puppies, so the Mother's Day commemoration seemed a good tie-in.


This year's celebration was kinda special for me. It was about a year ago that I began showing the symptoms of what would eventually turn out to be my malignant melanoma. Untreated, I wouldn't have made it to my Dad's birthday in July of last year, statistically speaking. I knew I would, though. I just love birthdays!

I got to eat a Frosty Paws, which is an ice cream-like concoction for dogs. Yum! This video doesn't really capture the essence of my joy, but it'll do.


How old am I, you ask? Shame on you. A lady never reveals her age.


Besides, how the hell should I know!?!?

Happy St. Patty's Day!

Spring is nigh! Green pee in the mornin' ta ya!