What I Do When I Am Supposed to be Sleeping

Roxanne & Hat, originally uploaded by Ellen M.C..

Last night, as I was awake too late, doing things that should only be done by the crazy or the desperate (re-organizing my drawers and charity-bagging a bunch of stuff), I took a break to harass a dog.
This little collection is the result of my endeavors. Roxanne is quite the willing subject, with her surly attitude and willingness to stay still and be tortured. I plopped my hat on her head, and of course she was already wearing the vest (it is cold, the vest keeps her warm, she is not a sissy dog). I think she is styling, and probably wishing for me to stub a toe or disappear.

I bet you actually sleep when you are supposed to be sleeping, don't you? You don't know what you're missing.

And Then You Didn't Hear From Her for 12 Days

Do these folks seem a bit behind the curve to you?

Here's another thing, if you can't watch Beowulf in 3D, please don't watch it. I don't want you to tear your eyes out to stop the pain of terribleness. Seriously, in my snooty-pants opinion if it weren't for the lances and coins launching out of the screen at me (special thanks to the dorky glasses) the movie would be absolute trash. Didn't even follow the original story line. However, with the 3D, it was fairly entertaining. Would never watch it again, wouldn't be on the top 3 list of movies currently in theaters--however I don't regret seeing it. I mean it about the only-in-3D-thing though, you like your eyes too much to lose them like that.

Made It

Here is the odd thing about this whole NaBloPoMo stuff. I made it, barely...but I don't feel like I have really posted anything of substance. Part of this is because I think there may be strangers reading this, part of it is because I suck at writing regularly. I suspect with time I could force that to change...and I could become a little less abashed about my personal life.
However, I gave you folks something everyday, for a month and now I am not going to touch this keyboard for a whole weekend, unless I actually think of something to say to you.
There is a small part of me thinking "I conquered NaBloPoMo, yay me!" Because I always win.

Confession

I am a dog person. I tell people that I am a fuzzy companion person, but that is a lie. Cats are okay, but I am not terribly torn up about my boyfriend's declaration that I will never be allowed to have one. Dogs are sweet and cuddly and you can boss them around. Try that with a cat.
"Kitty, sit!" It is possible, but extraordinarily difficult to train an animal that has the ability to go feral and only sticks around for the kibble and back scratches. I trained a couple of cats once-upon-a-time and they would only do one of their tricks if there was something tangible in it for them.
I guess it comes down to the same thing everyone tells you; cats are cool and independent while dogs are sociable and dependant. I prefer the dogs.
That all being said, one day I will own a cat. Because I am stubborn. Here's my argument: children who are raised around cats are far less likely to develop severe environmental allergies as adults. However, we all know the reason is that I kind of like cats and I want one, and I tend to get what I want.

Signing off,
Spoiled Dog Lover

Bang, Bang

I learned to handle myself around guns when I was very young. I had to learn how to shoot rifles around the time I was ten or so. When you grow up in Alaska and you have a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and there are bears and wolves and mean moose to contend with you need to be able to try to save yourself. Consequently, I can shoot a rifle well enough to bruise my shoulder and save my ass.
In the last 10 years however, I haven't touched any type of gun other than to place it back in a drawer, closet, or safe. I have recently been thinking that shooting would be an interesting hobby to pick up and the self-defense factor wouldn't be too shabby, either. I don't want to shoot rifles though, they are big, and heavy, and as I said, they bruise my shoulder. I might want to shoot handguns, and especially to really figure out target shooting--and to become good at it. I would need a gun, lessons, and free time. If I rode my bike out to the shooting range, I could call myself a biathlete, which would be spiffy (if a bit of a fib).
Bang, bang--right on target!