Hot stuff

Rob enjoys spicy food. When asked at Thai restaurants how spicy, he says, “Max it out.”

Saturday, in celebration of his birthday, a Vancouver Thai restaurant gave him yellow curry that he said was the spiciest he’d ever had. I think that means he liked it. Especially since he wanted to take the doggy bag back to our hotel fridge and then back home the next day, even though it would sit in our car for several hours while we visited the Body Worlds 3 exhibit. Although, since he didn’t take it to work with him yesterday, I think we’ve passed the point at which he will eat leftover food. 48 hours is about his limit.

Among my very romantic gifts to him was a bottle of “Ass Blaster” hot sauce. It has a donkey and an outhouse on the label. He was delighted and wanted to test it last night on tacos. (Even though we’d driven through Taco Time the night before. He loves tacos.)

He distributed the Ass Blaster liberally on his carne asada, and … you see where this is going right? … proceeded to actually die from the hotness. Water made it worse. He drank milk straight from the gallon container, but a few minutes later the burn returned.

This, he said, was the hottest thing he had ever tasted. Then he read the ingredients, which included the main ingredient in pepper spray. Who knew that was even edible?

Rob said, “I have been defeated.”

He decided to take the bottle with him to work today and dare his coworkers to try it. If I weren’t a strong believer in the 8th Amendment, I’d suggest he sprinkle it on some of the juvenile offenders’ trays. Actually, I did suggest it. But I was kidding.

Home entertainment

Yeah, we’ve rented some movies lately. We had to turn off “Lady in the Water” after 40 minutes because it was so stupid.

We really enjoyed “Talladega Nights,” which is high praise, considering there isn’t a lot that’s more entertaining than watching Isis run around with a ball in her mouth, chasing another ball.

She’ll drop one so she can pick up the other. Then she’ll push the first one around with her nose or bat it with her paw.

Element of surprise

Why do I think it’s necessary for birthday/Christmas presents to be a surprise?

Several weeks ago, Rob saw a book in a used bookstore that he wasn’t sure if he owned. He went home and discovered he did not and he wanted it. Wouldn’t it be neat to get it for him for Christmas, I thought. It would have, if I’d remembered which book it was.

Back at the store, I picked out a book that could have been it and bought it, because I didn’t want to spoil Christmas by asking him which one it was. No no, it’s much more fun for him to unwrap a book he already has two copies of (for reasons unknown), which I could have discovered on my own, if I’d been patient enough not to buy the book that day, but to go home and give our bookshelves a cursory glance.

Fortunately, I also got him some of those energy-efficient light bulbs and a lamp shaped like the Egyptian goddess Isis, so Christmas wasn’t completely ruined. But I did feel like an idiot, especially since I threw away the receipt.

Today, conveniently one day before his birthday, Rob showed me the cover of a similar book to the one he wanted. So I took back the first book, which cost $15, and was all set to beg to trade it for the correct book, or resort to paying for the new book, if they wouldn’t take back the original book. I debated whether to go to the counter first and ask if I could exchange it, or run the risk of the sales lady not believing that I didn’t slip the book off the shelf into my plastic grocery bag. I didn’t even want to get into it though, if they didn’t have the right book.

Very quickly, I spotted the book on the shelf that Rob had showed me earlier, it was next to a similar book. Even though I have about 8 minutes on my cell phone to last me another 5 days, I called him.

“Is it ‘Jeet Kune Do: Kickboxing’?”
“Uh, I think so. What is the one I showed you earlier?”
“‘Jeet Kune Do: The Textbook.'”
Sheesh, if he can’t remember, how am I supposed to?
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Thanks.” Click. 14 seconds. Too bad Cingular counts that as a full minute.

The new book cost $6.95, and miraculously, the lady not only took back the first book, but gave me change. She paid me for my mistake.

And Rob will get what he wants for his birthday.

News alert

Isis weighs 30.6 pounds.

The vet wondered how big she’s going to get. Shall we start a betting pool? I won’t be impressed unless she’s at least 100 pounds…but I guess 60-80 is typical for a female German shepherd. No way she’s already half her weight at 3.5 months.

She met a 130-pound Newfoundland at the vet. And a 2-pound Chihuahua.

So Retro

I love my Rolodex! I’ve never had one before, you know, and never woulda thought to ask for one, because, like everyone in my generation I use Google instead of a phonebook.

But I was handed a new one that actually rotates all the way around, and has plastic slots where I can alphabetize business cards or just handwrite names and numbers. It’s so handy, especially when our network goes down, as it did yesterday, causing an officewide paralysis. And by officewide, I mean me and two other people.

It hailed today.

You’re wondering why you bother to read this blog, aren’t you?

A napkin would be nice

So I’m sitting in the theater, waiting for Dreamgirls to start, when a lady pokes me in the skull with the corner of her cardboard refreshment tray. I cringe and say something like, “ow,” just to let her know she made contact.

She says, “I’m sorry,” and then spills some of her drink on my head.

“You just poured your drink on my head!” I exclaim with a laugh in my voice, because these things happen.

“I said I was sorry!” she huffs.

“Just letting you know,” I retort, ‘cus what else is there to say? I know she didn’t mean to pour her drink on my head, and there was no real harm done. But why did she think saying she was sorry was sufficient? What’s wrong with, “Oh, my goodness, I’m sorry. Are you all right?” I didn’t think the pouring of the drink on my head was nearly as rude as “I said I was sorry,” like how dare I be offended by such a thing.

Anyway. Happy New Year. And go see Dreamgirls. And Rocky Balboa. If you’re into musicals and/or inspirational boxing movies.

YBB, yeah you know me

I’m totally not exaggerating when I say that Yoga Booty Ballet is the most fun video workout. EVER. I should like, write a review on Amazon.

And I’m something of an afficionado of video workouts. Starting with Cindy Crawford’s workout circa 1992. I’ve got bellydancing and pilates and kickboxing and cardio salsa…

But I tend to get bored, and over the past few years have started missing step aerobics. I used to go to a 7 am class in Studio City. I liked the choreography and I seem to remember being able to get through 45 minutes of cardio without dying. Last night, on the other hand, I found it difficult to get my feet high enough up off the ground to jump rope for two minutes.

Anyway, these Booty Ballet chicks are so hot and cute and fun and they really get nutty as they do their funky aerobic dances. I love the “hey” and “huh!” and “yeahs” they interject. (I don’t necessarily “hey” and “huh” while dancing in my living room, although I did receive the award for “best sounds” when I was on the drill team in the 9th grade.)

I’m sure you’re wondering where my dog is during all of this merriment, and I’ll tell you, sometimes I gotta put her in the crate, because she wants to nip at my feet while I dance. It’s the best when I whip out the yoga mat, though. The first time, she sat on the mat with me, and I adjusted the poses accordingly. The next few times, she tried to chew on my hair, and it was a little distracting.

Today, she managed to get through my whole workout without being banished to the box, but she did crawl on top of my back at one point. I just kept on going and she actually rolled from my upper back all the way down my body to my feet.

Can’t wait to try that when she’s full grown.

Take your daughter to work day

Who’s the best doggie in the whole wide world?

She’s been at work with me all day, and aside from knocking over her water dish a bunch of times, essentially washing my carpet, she’s been an angel. She even sat through a 1/2 hour phone conversation with my boss and didn’t make a peep.

She’s 3 months old today.

And I think she has an eye stye. Did I give it to her?

Cows are bad for the environment

The New York Times says:

“Consider these numbers. Global livestock grazing and feed production use ’30 percent of the land surface of the planet.’ Livestock — which consume more food than they yield — also compete directly with humans for water. And the drive to expand grazing land destroys more biologically sensitive terrain, rain forests especially, than anything else.

“But what is even more striking, and alarming, is that livestock are responsible for about 18 percent of the global warming effect, more than transportation’s contribution. The culprits are methane — the natural result of bovine digestion — and the nitrogen emitted by manure. Deforestation of grazing land adds to the effect.”

Ergo, I do not need to feel guilty that Rob and I drive two cars to our martial arts class, just so we can hang a banner between them. And that we took both of those cars to his parents’ house last night afterwards.