This weekend I experienced a first. My first trip to the dog park. Ladies and gents if you have not yet visited a bona fid(o) dog park, you don't know what you are missing. If Paris Hilton were writing this blog, she would say this place was "hot."
The sun was shining. The weather was fine. And I went with Jess and her mini Schnauzer doggy named Daisy. Daisy is crazy. She's not a very big dog, but you wouldn't know it by her b
ehavior at the dog park. She was chasing down fellow canines that were at least twice her size. Retrievers, Labs, Bulldogs . . . she would take all comers leaping into the air, sniffing butts, frolicking about. Look how cute she is! You can't resist her furry little face.
This particular dog park has to be one of Minneapolis's finest. We entered a chain link gate and immediately took Daisy off her own chain. She went berzerk. The other dogs also seemed to be enjoying themselves. As a non-dog owner, I was a little out of my element. But I did have fun watching the madness. Although we didn't walk the whole 4 acres, it was a nice hike surrounded by trees on one side and the Mississippi River on the other. We headed down to the river and Daisy dabbled in the surf but only momentarily. Many owners played fetch throwing sticks and balls into the water only to have them returned by the strong swimmers. Daisy was having none of this. Jess thinks she has a fear of the water after suffering from some sort of near drowning as a pup. I don't think Daisy missed it much. She was having a blast just running down other dogs and generally forgetting any possible cares she might have had. Needless to say, Daisy got dirty. By the time we left, she was filthy and stinky. Jess tried to rinse her off with the hose at home but Daisy didn't care for that. No sir. Dogs, apparently, love to be dirty and stinky. After the wash-off attempt, Daisy would just run around the backyard rubbing her whole body in the grass as furioiusly as she could.
According to Jess, a trip to the dog park wears little Daisy out. All that excitement tuckers her out. I'm sure this dog park trip is, to Daisy, like a trip to doggy heaven.
Going to the dog park made me, in some small way, wish I was a dog. Among these exploring hounds, there was no vanity, no pretense, no worries and no fears. Well, maybe the very tiniest dogs have fears about getting beaten up by the bully dogs, but I really didn't see any of that. It was all glorious, rambunctious, off the chain fun. Dogs. I'm officially jealous.
Saw the movie Wanted on Friday. Very entertaining flick. I'm becoming a fan of James McAvoy from Adaptation and Last King of Scotland fame. This kid's got talent. In Wanted he plays Wesley Gibson -- anxiety attack prone accountant who sits in his cubicle and laments his tortured and mundane existence. It is all very Matrix like (ala mild mannered nobody becomes the hero) as Gibson suddenly realizes his father was a deadly assassin and he has inherited good old dad's gifts of making time slow down, bending bullets around walls and other murderously delicious talents. Angelina Jolie is Fox, the lady assassin who generally kicks ass and trains Gibson to take up the mantle of his now deceased father. He joins the band of unruly hooligans and the madness ensues. The action is stellar. The plot, although somewhat half-baked, has enough going for it to keep it interesting. This is a summer must-see people. Get out of the house and buy yourself that tub of popcorn and Enjoy!
This movie got me thinking about my own slightly boring life as an office dweller in cubicle land. I think the theme of the movie is something that so many can relate to these days. The relative monotony of modern life can bring you down and sometimes the days just seem to string together in a long haze of repetitious acts of waking, work, tv, sleep and back to start it all over again. I don't mean to sound to defeatist or harsh, but a person can get stuck in a rut. I know. I've been there. Maybe I have some secret assassin power that I'm not even aware of? Could I read minds? Go back in time? Kill an enemy with a sneeze or fart? Probably not. My rut involves inactivity and the vortex of my sofa. It sucks me into its web of comfort and relaxation and I'm unable to break free from its clutches. Damn you vile overstuffed furniture. I curse you and will one day avenge myself by killing you with a single fart.
Whilst waiting for the movie to begin, I got to partake in one my favorite movie going rituals -- the previews. I love the previews. Among the teasers was one for the new X-Files movies. Talk about scrumptious. I cannot wait to see this one. July 25th baby! For those who knew me when, you will attest to my love (dare I say obsession) with the X-Files tv show. Oh, Mulder why did you leave us hanging?
And speaking of summer extravaganzas . . . this summer could find the Oz's moving. Sick of the clutter and chaos of tiny casa del Oz, I've engaged in communication with the realtor today. Also got ourselves a storage unit and will be renting a truck next week to transport said clutter to said storage unit. By God, the mere thought of ditching some of the crap (at least momentarily) makes me giddy with excitment. Small furniture, wedding gifts, boxes of clothes and miscellaneous stuff will all be loaded and stored. We need to get the place in tip-top shape and put it on the market. Good times. While I'm looking forward to the prospect of a new place, a larger place, the notion of the whole selling and buying process does not totally thrill me. Any advice for the would-be real estate dabblers?
While I'm waiting for input from y'all, I'm going to keep looking for my super, secret power. I'll practice my death ray stare and see if I can control my heart rate with my mind. Wish me luck.
Poodle sent this to me tonight:
Cookie Lady
It made me laugh out loud and hard. This chic is all about getting her cookie and it makes her HAPPPPPPYYYYYYYYY! I wish I was that overtly crazy about something, anything.
Well, I suppose you could argue that I did get a wee bit crazy when I saw Coldplay on the Daily Show.
Oh my. Chris Martin is stinkin adorable. I love his shy little, awkwardly geeky, bouncy, melodic, witty, British ways. We downloaded their new release and it would definitely fit under the heading of My Best. Loving it. You'll probably recognize the title track from the recent IPod commercial where little Chris is boppin and hopping about. It is incredibly catchy and I can't help but get the line "Roman Catholic choirs are singing" trapped in my head each time I hear it. In a recent review, the Vancouver Sun wrote "Coldplay's latest effort is nothing more than a cross between The Beatles, U2 and Radiohead." While I will admit to catching some similarities, particulary in the composition and production (supplied by ambient music pionneer Brian Eno), this is far from a rip-off. This is Coldplay with some added layers of lushness and tranquil overtones.
I purchased tickets to see the lads from the UK on July 8 in St. Paul. A birthday present for Mr. Oz. Sadly, they postponed their date to Nov. 12. Wha!?! I'm not sure I can wait that long. Oh Chris, you need to be-bop and bang your piano keys westward to my door. Puhleease. I'm like the crazy cookie lady . . . . Coldplay makes me HHAAAAAAAAPPPPPYYYYYYYYY!
I've decided I really need to take better care of myself. While I like to think of myself as this ageless, ever youthful, perpetually nimble and spry gal, let's face it . . . I'm no spring chicken! In about 6 months I'm going to be closer to 40 than I am to 30. That fact alone should be enough to strike a little fear in my heart (still beating, not yet dysfunctional heart). In November of last year I took a pretty big step toward healthier living. I enlisted a personal trainer. Her name is Meghan and she's very nice but really knows how to kick my butt. She comes to my house once a week. For a few months, she was coming twice a week. Wedding preparations, you might say. Her routine is what you would call Boot Camp. I was doing all sorts of jumping jacks, leap frogs, mountain climbers, twists and push-ups. She had me running up and down my stairs, lifting weights, etc. Now, I'm not saying these activities are "My Best." In fact, you could often hear me complaining, whining and heavy breathing my way through most of it. But, I will say, that with the exception of about a 4 year period in high school when I was on the basketball and volleyball teams, I am in decent shape. Not superior, smoking hot bod shape. No. I have plenty of weight to lose. BUT, I did notice a reduction of a few inches and my clothes did seem to fit me better.
Since the wedding, I have been a slacker. My level of exercise has severely diminished. I have rarely made it to the gym and my muscles feel atrophied. This is, quite frankly, lame. I've spent a fair amount on a trainer, gym membership and have put in some time working my way up to the point where I don't breathe like an 20 year, 3 pack a day smoker when I climb a flight of stairs. That said, I'm back at it people. I went to the gym on Sunday and got back on that darn elliptical machine. Meghan came over tonight and put me through my paces. It was rough. I'm not gonna lie. But, when I made it through I felt pretty gosh darn good. I'm not going claim that exercise will ever be "My Best." It just won't be. But, I'm going to keep at it and see what I can achieve for my health and well being. I'll keep you posted blog fans.
I have a secret. Sshhhh. I really want to share it with all of you, my dear blog readers (o.k., my sister, my husband and a couple of my coolest friends). What is it, you ask? Well, I have a secret obsession. I have a bit of a bad, reality t.v. addiction. Yes. It is true. In fact one of my favorite shows is Intervention on A&E and I might just be in need of my own intervention to stop my reality t.v. watching madness. I can't really explain what it is about these shows that makes me tune in. Sometimes the hook is a topic that I just really dig. Like Top Chef which is this season long cooki
ng competition filled with gourmet dishes and celebrity chef judges and lots of high spirited high jinks. There are always cats on there that you love to hate. Like Steven Aspirino from Season 1 and then this wolverine looking dude named Marcel from Season 2. Who was it last year . . . . I forget. Oh, but this year it was this grimmaced faced chic named Lisa. Too bad she had to go and ruin the Lisa name for the rest of us. Hiss.
Oh and I must admit that I do have a the teeniest crush on head judge, chef Tom Collichio. Grrrrr. The dude has hot baldness going on and it is working for him. Now that is yummy. But I digress.
Well, my two latest forays into the debauched underbelly of reality entertainment are very difficult for me to admit. One, well, is understandably a draw due to the crass and vicious humor. I am speaking, of course, of Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D List. People, this show is hilarious. Kathy is mean and nasty. She rips on everyone but reserves her harshest and most biting snarkiness for her A-List star counterparts. I stinkin love it, every deliciously venomous barb. Am I an evil person? Do I like to partake in the suffering of others? Well, maybe just a little. I can't help it. It is like someone bakes a warm and gooey chocolate cake and then leaves it out on the counter. You see it there and it is incredibly tempting. You just want to grab a hunk and gobble it up. This is how reality tv is to me. Like cake for the famished. Like water for the thirsty.
The second show that I am ashamed to admit watching is the zany episodic adventures of Denise Richards. I know. I know. This is the same Denise Richards who went through a scandalous divorce from bad boy Charlie Sheen and then supposedly broke up the marriage of Heather Locklear and Richie Sambora. I say supposedly because this is all tabloid hearsay and rumor. There is no proof as Denise will attest to on her show. She is misunderstood. As the show will reveal, Denise is just a sweet, single mom who only cares about her family and spending time with her gazillion pet animals on her ranch house. OK, maybe this too is a bunch of crap, but after watching five back-to-back episodes recorded by my TIVO yesterday, I have to say that I was rooting for her by show three.
Again, I'm not sure why I feel so compelled to watch these shows. I guess there is something intriguing by sneaking a peek into the lives of others -- others who may have more problems than I do, more fame and fortune and more mystery and complications. With the explosion of user-generated content, the You Tube and the blogosphere, it is only a matter of time before we all have our own reality shows. Would you watch me typing on my Mac and eating crackers? What about watching me do the laundry? Fun stuff. When we all get to the point where we record ourselves and upload it online for everyone to watch, what will they call it? Oh yeah, wait. I guess that is called LIFE. Life on display. No thanks. I'll keep my stuff to myself and just watch all the angst and self-loathing on my t.v. like the rest of the world. I like my feelings of unworthiness and shame to remain bottled up inside thankyouverymuch.
Friday night found the newlyweds on a date of sorts. [Sidebar question, do married couples go on dates? I mean, can you really call it a date if you are married? Talk amongst yourselves . . . ]
Mr. Oz and I partook in an ancient and time-honored ritual. We brewed our own beer! For Valentine's Day, I gave Mr. Oz a gift certificate to Vine Park Brewery and this was the weekend to redeem said gift certificate. We hit the brewery and had our very own brew coach walk us through the steps. They had a wide list of beer options and after some deliberating, we landed on a high gravity (that's brew-speak for high alcohol content) libation called Rattlesnake Lager. Here's the description from the beer menu: "The rich dark amber color and high alcohol puts it in the Doppelbock category. Even a relatively healthy dose of hops fails to diminish its malty sweetness." Sounds delicious doesn't it? The brewing experience was cool. I wasn't exactly sure what to expect, but the process involved a very hot aluminum and copper kettle and a big rubber glove that you had to wear when handling the kettle (protection people, protection). We measured and poured all sorts of liquid barley potions into boiling water, added precisely measured hops, threw in some glucose (i.e. sugar) and finished er off with some yeast. It took us about 2 hours. Our batch spends a week fermenting and then another week chilling in the cold room. Then we come back and bottle it all up. In the end, we will have six cases of our very own beer . . .
In the middle of our brewing, we met some folks who were there bottling their beer. They were a friendly bunch who had been coming to Vine Park for many years now. We were able to sample a bit of their mix and it was yummy. Although the brewing was fun, I think the bottling is where its at. Your friends can join you. They encourage you to bring in snacks and try your beer whilst bottling it up. Fun. I'll post more about our brewing adventure later and will include some pics of us enjoying the fruits of our labor.
All that beer making caused us to build up a powerful thirst. So, we grabbed our pal AKH (otherwise known as poodle) and headed over to St. Paul watering hole Sweeney's. They have a great patio and it was a perfect summer night. I do have some sad news to report, however. On the way in we encountered a very dead and very disgusting mr. squirrel. I tried to take a photo with my phone, but it was too dark and I couldn't get the shot. I thought my buddy over at Hollow Squirrel might appreciate a last commemorative photo of a fallen brethren. Probably for the best as the image was not pretty. Oh, poor little squirrel. I hope your last days were filled with sunshine and happiness and I hope your passing was swift and painless. Know that I was thinking of you as I hoisted a frosty cold one in your honor. And let this be a lesson to all you other squirrels out there. Look both ways before you cross the street and be careful leaping from tree branch to tree branch. It is a dangerous world out there.
I have been remiss and my blogging has been sorely slacking and lacking. Lo Siento. My apologies senior and senioritas. You might be wondering why all of this Spanglish infused in my usually non-Spanglish free posting? One of my new BESTS has got to be the Mexican Riviera. For reals. If I hadn't been filled with the theological ideals of angels with wings playing harps on puffy clouds by pearly gates, I might actually believe that my Mexican honeyoom destination WAS heaven. It was heavenly. Hot and heavenly. We spent a week at the El Dorado Royale Spa Resort which is about 20 miles from Cancun. If you are looking for a relaxing, refreshing, gourmet, all-inclusive, classy type joint with gorgeous white sand beaches, jewel blue Caribbean waters and those fun swim up bars where the margaritas flow free and the guacamole is fresh -- well, my friends, this place is calling your name. We stayed in an ocean view junior suite with a jacuzzi. Oh Yeah baby. It looked like this:
Now, this isn't actually OUR exact room, but it looks amazingly close to it. I must admit, we did not have the fresh fruit bowl on the desk like the image above, but one day the maid put a cute towel swan on our bed. I loves me some towel animals. A lovely swimming pool was located a mere 5 feet from our patio. We spent many an hour sunning ourselves there. Then about 20 yards beyond that was the ocean. Nothing to do. No appointments. No emails. No work. Just a lot of nothingness. Again, I must repeat. It was HEAVEN. I want to go back. Does anyone want to go?
Now, Mr. Oz and I had a fantastic time. We really did. I would say one of the highlights was our candlelight dinner on the beach. Very romantic. We did comment that it would be a great place to go with friends. Not friends on our honeymoon, but maybe a different time. Who's in???
One word of warning. We left the resort once to go on a day long tour of some Mayan ruins. Good fun but DON'T drink or eat anything off the resort. You are just rolling the dice and, let me tell you, the dice could come up snake eyes -- poopy snake eyes. I was sick for a week. I finally had to go to the doctor and get some antibiotics. Some sort of Mexican buggy done crawled up in me and was attempting to set up house. Naughty Mexico.
ehavior at the dog park. She was chasing down fellow canines that were at least twice her size. Retrievers, Labs, Bulldogs . . . she would take all comers leaping into the air, sniffing butts, frolicking about. Look how cute she is! You can't resist her furry little face. 
