American Idol I.

Since we were on the road for the better part of the day yesterday, I was only able to complete half of the picture page for our American Idol's weekend. I still have to add pictures of Tyler's, Elliot's, Catherine's and Chris's performances. I also have a few seconds of video of Chris, Catherine and Taylor.

I'm playing catch up at work today, so I won't have much time to write about what all went down, but at least you can enjoy the pictures in the meantime. I'll say this - I had an absolute BLAST! I have so much to write about, so much to tell, but you'll just have to wait!

Click HERE for my American Idol Pics (remember to click on the banner to zoom in so you can see all of the pictures).

Extra Extra.

I haven't written a blog in quite some time, so I thought I'd chime in about some recent happenings in my life. I know you guys and gals sit in front of your computer monitors 24/7 just waiting for me to churn out another of my marvelous blog entries. Wait no more, my friends, I'm back, and I'm fierce!

"Unfortch" (word shamelessly stolen from Pink is the New Blog), going forward this entry will pale in comparison to my magnificent opening paragraph, but at least I hooked you in the beginning.

On with it...

So, this past Saturday was my 10 year high school reunion. That's shocking for two reasons: 1) I can't believe I'm already old enough to be attending a 10 year high school reunion and 2) I can't believe I'm already old enough to be attending a 10 year high school reunion. I was quite surprised at how great a time I had. With the exception of feeling awkward for most of the night, Joe and I really enjoyed ourselves. It was nice to see some of my old friends and to catch up on our lives. The only issue I had was the constant series of obligatory questions that everyone asked:

- "How have you been?"
- "Where do you live now?"
- "How many children do you have?"

The third question got me the most. By the end of the night, I was almost apologetic for not having a gaggle of children. I was one of only three couples there who were childless, and two of those couples were newlyweds.

So, where does that leave me? Let's just say I'm starting to feel some pressure. I'm 28 and a few months old, I still have no desire to have children and I'm not really sure if I will ever want a child. Houston, we have a problem! Or do we? Who says you have to have a houseful of snot-nosed children to be happy in life? Who says that? If you can find me the person who says that I'll give you a $100 reward and a stick of gum - sugar-free gum for all you dieters out there.

Maybe I'll change my mind over the next few years. I know my mom's praying for that, and I'm sure Joe is praying for that as well. He's still on the fence about the child issue - his fence separates daddy-hood from corvette/camaro-hood. Methinks he'll choose the car, but I could be wrong.

So, aside from my child issues, I had an excellent time at my reunion. There were a few awkward moments throughout the night, but it was all bearable. I did find it shocking that half of the hard-bodied jocks of my class put on about 10,000 lbs. collectively.

Next...

Joe and I are off to Houston on Friday for the American Idol concert (Sat. night). I'm really looking forward to just getting out of town for a few days. Hopefully I'll be able to score some awesome pictures like my friend Jill did (check out her slideshow). We have third row seats, so I'm hoping to get some great shots. With our luck, we'll be behind a 7', one-ton man and only get to see the show from the big screens on stage. Isn't that always the case?

On a lighter note, one of my cats is crapping outside of the litter box now.

That is all.

A Beagle, A Lottery Ticket and a Dream.

I am kind of anxious and excited right now - I'll tell you why.

Yesterday, on my way home from work, I saw a beagle running up and down one of the busiest streets in my area. It was quite evident that the dog was someone's beloved pet, so I turned my car around just in time to see it almost get hit. I knew at that point - 100 that I had to get the dog out of that situation. I'm always a bit apprehensive in dog rescue situations because I'm never sure of the dog's temperament or how I will handle the situation once I actually have the animal in my car - what if I can't find its owners, what if I can't find someone to adopt it, etc.

So, throwing caution to the wind (this is the first time I've used that phrase in a sentence - I like it), I pulled on a side street and used my best "call dog" voice possible "Come here, baby, come here darlin'!" Like a pro, the little dog turned around and ran over to me like we'd been pals for years. What a cute, cute beagle (one of my favorite breeds)! So, I picked the dog up and put her in my car. Actually, I opened my car door, and she jumped right in. At that point I KNEW she was someone's pet - also the huge dog tag dangling from her neck was a good indication.

So, first thing's first - what's her name? Gypsy. Cute. It's obvious from her running away shenanigans that the name suits her pefectly. Is there a phone number? YES! So, I nervously dialed the number from my cell phone hoping that her owner would pick up. Answering machine. DAMN! Ok, so I left a message. On to the next number. Within a second Gypsy's owner answered the phone. I explained to him that I had his dog and that she was running around on a busy street. He and a friend had been out looking for her. She must've turned into David Copperfield for a second and escaped without a trace.

So, we made plans to meet at my office b/c he lived down a nearby street and was out and about anyway. I get to my office and he's already there waiting for me. He's super excited that he found his dog and extremely grateful. He kept calling me a "good samaritan" and telling me "you done good, girl". I was very happy to be able to facilite a reunion with his dog. I could tell that she was well taken care of. I went home and kind of forgot about the whole situation.

Fast forward to today.

I get back from having lunch with my co-workers, and one of my other co-workers tells me that the man brought by a card for me and told her about what had happened. Up until this point, I hadn't told the story to anyone because I didn't really think they'd care. So, I explained everything to them. They know how much of an animal fanatic I am, so it came as no surprise to them.

Well, I was quite surprised! When I opened the card the man gave me, 5 lottery tickets fell out. I'm not much for the lotto - Joe and I will buy one or two tickets every once in a while, but I never pay it too much mind. I do have to admit, though, now I'm kind of excited to see how this pans out. It's kind of like the "pay it forward" principle. If you haven't seen the movie, go out and rent it tonight. Does one good deed really transpire into more good deeds? What if these lottery tickets are actually worth something? How crazy would that be? I will have to keep you posted.

Dead Zones.

I do what I can to stay sharp mentally - I always keep up with the latest celebrity news and gossip, I watch tons of informative TV shows like Cops and Reno 911, I spend countless hours playing computer Solitaire and Free Cell, you know, all the stuff that keeps our brains in tip-top shape. ;) However, as I age, I've noticed something that's somewhat alarming...

...my "dead zones" are starting to occur more frequently.

What are dead zones, you may ask?

Come along, and I'll explain.

Have you ever been approached by an old high school chum, you know, your best bud with whom you shared many happy memories? As you two catch up on the good ol' days, you sit back and try to jog your memory to keep up with the stories your friend is spewing out. There's one problem, though - half of the stories you're hearing about mustn't have involved you because surely you'd remember them, right? Your friend swears up and down that you were there, you did play an active role in the situation, and that s/he can't believe you don't remember - how dare you!

This, my friend, is a dead zone.

Legal definition of dead zone: periods of time that your brain has mis-filed into some arbitrary filing cabinet that's buried and stored away from the rest of the useless data that our brain retains. Some dead zone cabinets contain small file folders of data, mine contains at least 2 tons of data (perhaps more).

Dead zones aren't always about stories from our past. Dead zones can also include the following:

1) Forgetting how to spell simple words like cat or dog
2) Forgetting when your own birthday is and how old you really are (although sometimes this is intentional)
3) Forgetting how to form a complete
4) Sentence
5) Forgetting the name of your first born, or, on a lesser scale, your husband.

The list goes on and on; however, I'm experiencing a dead zone right now and can't remember what else should be on the list.

In all seriousness, I have noticed a pretty serious decline in my mental capacity. I read papers that I wrote while I was in college, and I'm truly amazed that I was able to articulate my thoughts onto paper so well (sorry if that sounds like I'm bragging). Now I find that I have a hard time writing a complete sentence much less a 20 page paper on King Lear.

My fear is that this decline will keep happening and I won't be able to tie my shoes by the time I'm 40. What if that happens? What if Joe won't tie my shoes for me? I guess I'll have to purchase velcro shoes like I had when I was in the first grade. They were very sexy shoes - gray velvet with pink velcro straps.

Please tell me how I can remember that useless bit of information but I can't remember my senior prom?

Oy vey!

My Dog Ate My Ipod.

Oh, the joys of pet ownership.

Although Cosmo is gradually moving away from his bad puppy/adolescent phase of development, he still reverts back to his old ways sometimes. Case in point - the other day I heard him chewing something under the bed. This is a fairly common occurrence since he likes to hide out under the bed while I'm getting ready in the mornings. He usually brings his toys under the bed and chews them for a while; however, sometimes he'll find something "chewable" in our closet (unbeknownst to me) and go to town. I usually catch him before he inflicts too much damage on the object of choice.

So, just like every other day, it went down like this:

1) I see Cosmo's butt partially sticking out from under the bed. My first thought - hmm, he's chewing something.
2) I stand quietly and listen for a second - yep, he's eating something alright (I can hear his giant teeth crunching down very hard).
3) I decide to quit being lazy and just bend down to see what he has in his mouth.
4) I'm on all fours trying to see what's going on under the bed. It's dark, it's scary, and its dangerous.
5) I catch a glimpse of something white - something hard, plastic-y and white - something Ipod'ish in nature.
6) Cosmo looks at me and is scared. He immediately drops the object from his mouth and runs for cover.
7) I reach under the bed and clumsily feel around for the object.
8) When my hand finally comes into contact with the object I realize that it's not a credit card, a clothes pin, a shoe, a piece of sticky tape that gets cat/dog hair off of clothing, a hair clip, a rubber band or any of the other thousands of items that Cosmo eats on a daily basis. It's my little Ipod...my Shuffle. My free gift (I won it at Joe's Christmas party). My source of entertainment during my daily jogs. My life.

Ok, that was a bit too dramatic, but I was pissed off nonetheless. What's equally as upsetting is that the Ipod wasn't even out in plain site of the dog. The furry bastard actually went into my purse, dug to the bottom of it with his wet dog nose and pulled it out with his teeth - all the while I'm totally clueless all this is going down.

So, now I have no Ipod.

I still have a dog, though. Anyone want a mixed mutt w/ expensive taste in doggy toys?

The Old Man Next Door.

My company re-located offices to a very old and quaint area of town right before Katrina hit. We're in a beautiful, old building that's situated in a residential area. I love it here because our office space feels very home-y, and the neighbors and neighborhood are just wonderful.

A few months ago I noticed an older gentleman who lives in the house next to our office. He waves to me every morning. He's usually outside in the mornings with his little dog. I never really understood what he was doing outside because he would just stand around staring off into space. My first thought was that he was an Alzheimer's patient, but after watching him one morning, I saw him get on a bus. I always wondered where he was going and what he was doing.

My co-worker's grandfather was recently in a car accident and has since had his car keys taken away from him. Old age is cruel, unfair and inevitable. I can't imagine being stripped of my independence, but when your inability to think quickly and see clearly starts affecting your ability to drive, there's no other option. I digress. After the car accident, my co-worker walked over and started talking to the old man next door. She found out that the bus brings him to a local community center where seniors get to engage in all sorts of fun activities - line dancing, bingo, aerobics classes, etc. I think this is a fantastic program!

Since she first talked to him, they've become friends of sorts. He's opened up about his life to her, and she relays all of this information to me. Today she told me that the little dog he played with every day and took on hour long walks had to be put to sleep a few weeks ago. This just broke my heart. I know he's lonely. His wife passed away, he never sees his children, no one is ever over there with him - I imagine his dog was his only companion (besides the friends he has at the community center). I just feel like running over there and giving him a big hug. My heart is connected to this man for some reason.

I'm not sure why I posted this here. I guess I just need to collect my thoughts. When she told me about his dog I started crying (like an idiot). I just feel so sorry for him. I just wish that there was something I could do for him. I can't imagine being lonely at that stage of your life - everything and everyone you love is dying around you and you're just standing there watching it happen.

Mailbox.

Yes, we've been hit - hit by a mailbox smasher. You know the type - the pubescent, zit-faced loser kids who think it's funny to go around denting up and ripping off people's mailboxes. It's an epidemic in our area. Countless mailboxes have been beaten to a bloody pulp with no hope for survival. No matter how beefy the box, it's no match for a baseball bat (or whatever object of destruction is popular these days with the kiddies).

It started about a mile down the highway from our house. Since many of the residents on the highway have mailboxes across the street from their homes in tight sections of 10 or more boxes, it's an easy 1. 2. 3. punch for the little bastards. I'm sure they can take out 10 or more boxes with one quick whip of the bat. After the first batch of boxes were taken out, a new batch of brand new boxes appeared the next day. A day later, the new boxes were gone, too. It's disgusting!

We figured that since we live in a neighborhood off of the main highway, we were immune to this stupid prank. No such luck, amigos. Joe calls me at work this morning to tell me that our neighborhood has fallen pray to the zit tards aka the mailbox smashers. What's even more astounding to me is that Joe and I were outside this morning for at least 15 minutes, and we didn't notice that our mailbox had been knocked down. How observant are we? Obviously not very!

So, a few of our other neighbors were also the target of the tards, and now everyone is up in a tizzy (rightfully so). I think it's such a terrible crime to deface someone else's property, and these little asswads should feel very relieved that I didn't create the laws in our area.

NATALIE'S LAW
Crime: Mailbox smashing
Punishment: Death

OK, maybe not so severe (well, maybe). Anyhoo, Joe is already trying to fix the mailbox as best as he can. I guess we'll just have to be more vigilant with these bastards and hopefully one of us will be able to catch them. I would personally dance a jig of glee if they were caught, and that's saying a lot because 1) I can't dance and 2) I'm not sure what a jig is. Nevermind, I looked it up - it's a hop or a skip - I can hop and skip. No problem!

Oh, and wouldn't you assume that a metal baseball bat (or whatever instrument they used) hitting a metal mailbox at brute force would create a noise loud enough to at least wake up the dog? Nope, not our dog. Joe and I are both deep sleepers, but our dog is such a light sleeper that he will bark when someone walks down the street in front of our house. How did he not hear that? Was he high? Drunk?