One of my brothers was willing to take the picture. The other brother was in the room and muttered, “You’re not taking pictures of yourself for Steve are you?”, shaking his head in disgust. No sir I am not doing that – I’m doing something even more astoundingly self-absorbed: I’m taking a picture of myself every day for my website. The main purpose is to display what I wear to work, although it will also have the effect of showing how fat/thin/pregnant I am over time.
The live-in butler is gone for almost two weeks so I’ll have to tkae my own pictures. It didn’t work out all that well.
If you want more Best Dog in the World pictures, I suppose I could give you some. Because you asked for them. And again, I did not take any of these photos, which supports the proposition that other people like her a lot too.
When I was in third grade this was the coolest pose in the world. During recess my friends and I would stand at the edge of the blacktop next to the building with one foot up against the wall, trying to be totally rad and yet casual and detached. “What, this? I’m just cool, it’s how I stand. You know how it is with really cool people.” I don’t know if this really was a popular pose during the 80s or not. I picture it with ripped stonewashed jeans, neon colors, and really big bangs.
I forgot to take a picture while wearing it and now I can’t find the shirt. Probably in the hamper in the laundry room.
I bought a live (ok, slowly dying) Christmas tree this year for the first time and I will be giving my immediate family and a few select others Christmas presents and today I’m baking at least one batch of Christmas cookies. This year I decided that I really do enjoy the secular parts of the holiday – which is basically everything except a midnight church service and the creche – and I really can celebrate it without being a Christian.
Are those work clothes thrown to the floor in a moment of unbridled sensual passion, perhaps? Nope, just cast aside as soon as I got home in favor of the excellent outfit below. (I’d like to add that the bed is so unmade partly because we just did laundry and got the down comforter back from the cleaners and have not reassembled the bed. The pile of blanket in the foreground is the dog bed, which always looks like that.)
I love puppies. Rat terrier puppies, specifically, or similar breeds like chihuahuas and jack russell terriers. One day I will hold an armful of sleeping puppies like I would do during my youth and I will be happy. Perhaps it has been an armful-of-puppies-shaped hole in my heart this whole time.
Recently my mother has sent me emails with pictures of puppies and of rescue rat terriers who need homes. At some point I will get another dog. I don’t know if it will be after my dog dies so that she isn’t inadvertantly cast aside because dog #2 is such a cute small fresh new puppy, or if I would like the next dog to know and learn from the one I’ve had more than half my life. For now I just look at pictures and make little squealing sounds of delight about their tiny tails and perfect triangle ear flaps and try not to get all choked up when I think about the inevitable with Kalayna. She’s 13 now and can expect another year or two of reasonably good health, and then, well… then I’m not sure what happens, but I bet it involves uncontrollable sobbing.
The picture on the right shows my living room and my dog. She’s on the couch in a fort she made of blankets. Just a single black ear is visible. (Click on it for a bigger image.) I’d like to mention that I did not take this picture of my dog – the other person who lives here did, because he adores my dog and thinks she’s funny and likes how she makes herself nests in blankets and laughs at how excited she gets about her delicious old dog arthritis medicine and especially enjoys when she comes around for pets and leans into his legs when he’s reaching down doing stretches. He likes her a whole lot, which makes me like him even more. At first she didn’t care for him, walking away when he came near and avoiding him as much as possible, and yet he was persistent and faced rejection again and again as he learned the ways of dog. (Or at least this dog, who is pretty weird and not especially representative of all of dogdom.) Two years later he’s probably her second favorite person, and he patiently listens to me talk for hours and hours about how amazing she is because, secretly, he thinks she’s pretty amazing too.