A typical Conehead moment.

He brought me a bouquet of bananas.

Craft project!

So my favorite Weird Engineer stopped by my desk the other day, and we broke out some coloring projects. He took this paper doll -


- and colored it as a dead hooker.


I've cut it out, but now I'm not sure how to proceed.
Dead hooker puppet, perhaps make more for a dead hooker kick line?
Or a dead hooker mobile?

Choices, choices.

I miss my Lola.

But she looks so happy.


See? As happy as ........... well ............ me!

And that's the largest unit of happiness I am acquainted with, so I couldn't wish her more.

Ain't love grand?

They were given, not earned. Just wanted to make that clear.

Sarah Smile - *walks past the break room, (relatively) normally attired*

Pair of Coworkers - *drink coffee*

Sarah Smile - *walks back by, wearing elaborate Mardi Gras beads*

Pair of Coworkers - "Wait. What happened to you?"

Sarah Smile - "[Conehead]."

Pair of Coworkers - "Oh. Of course."



We look forward to more Conehead stories here, although we hold out hope of Conehead getting his own blog.

Milk

I always forget how much I like drinking it, until I am.

You know, like exercising, or listening to Vanessa Carlton.

White Houses by Vanessa Carlton

It's ART, people.

My Nick - *out of the blue, excited* "Hey. Luca's asleep. Let's write on him!"

Sarah Smile - "Ha! I love you."

My Nick - "Let's draw a penis. On his penis."

Sarah Smile - "Did you swallow the chloraseptic spray?"

Rudolf loves Luca

Monologue

*walks out of the bathroom in a robe*

"Ok, that was one of the weirder experiences of my life. So I just used my new Mandarin Lime BodyWash/BubbleBath in my bath. It didn't occur to me that taking what is essentially an orange oil and heating it up would make me smell so much like a Panda Express. Not to mention that soaking in an oil while in a round tub with a slight incline is probably the closest a human being will come to experiencing what it would be like to have no bones. I couldn't even sit up without my butt sliding out from under me. At one point, I actually thought I was going to go down the drain.

I am a piece of boneless orange chicken."

I was 17 before I learned you're supposed to spit out toothpaste too.

Sarah Smile - "Here. I wasn't sure what to get you for your sore throat. Is this good?"

My Nick - "Sure, thanks." *reads the instructions on the side of the bottle* "Ok, so I just spray it in the back of my mouth, then spit it out...."

Sarah Smile - "You're supposed to spit it out??"

My Nick - "That's what it says."

Sarah Smile - "Maybe this is what's wrong with me."

I'm totally digging my Myspace page today.

(Which you can see here.)

For one thing, My Homie in Sales told me that in this picture, I look like I'm about to "steal some high ticket items."
Which is exactly the look I was going for! Yay! (That only sounds like sarcasm, it isn't.)


And while I have no idea what the Scythian Empire is/was, I love that someone was moved enough by it to write a song about it. A prettypretty, dose of happy song.

Scythian Empire by Andrew Bird.

I'm mostly decorative. Like the topless mermaids carved onto the prow of the ship.

Sarah Smile - *holding arms across stomach gingerly* ".... and this is for the courier who'll be here at four-thirty. I think thats everything. Thanks so much for covering, I'm gonna go home and die* in the privacy of my own bathroom now."

My New and Lovely Backup - "No problem girl. Get outta here and get some rest."

Sarah Smile - "If anything comes up, you can call me on my cell."

My New and Lovely Backup - "It'll be fine, I'm sure."

Sarah Smile - "I know, I know. I'm just trying to seem more vital than I am. Don't blow my secret."

My New and Lovely Backup - "It's safe with me."

*Obviously I didn't actually die. I had a migraine and the meds for it made me nauseous. So I left work early yesterday. I'm ok now.

Why didn't y'all tell me?

Cops rocks!

The show, Cops, it's the best show ever!
I never knew that!
I'd never watched it before.

But sweet Jesus, it's the best thing ever!
And that's not blasphemy, I genuinely think Jesus must have had something to do with the creation of this show.

There is only one thing I don't understand.
How come none of these wonderful crazies have spin-offs?

I would PAY to see more of "Steven," that retarded drag queen* who steals balloons.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find if anyone sells the seasons collections.
*shakes head* Who knew there was so much delightful crazy all in one place!



*I'm not implying there is any connection between being a drag queen and being mentally disabled. Steven just happened to be both. Also, I'm not suggesting either of these things are connected to him being a balloon thief. He just happened to be that too.

Time for me to bore you with more pictures of my pets.

Poor Mau couldn't figure out how to finish this puzzle of Mount Rushmore.

It didn't even look right from this angle.

And he knows I'm gonna blog this.

Who missed Nick more? Me or Luca?

Tough to say.
Also, who did Nick miss more, me or Luca? In Nick's own words, "I missed you too of course, but you're not a puppy."

At any rate, on Sunday we went up to the last stage of the Tour of California race in Long Beach, to spare ourselves those last agonizing hours of Nick-less-ness.

On a whim, I stopped off to see my Gramie Darlin' and her dog Roxy. Gramie and Roxy are the perfect pair (next to Luca and Nick of course). They're both adorable, tiny, and charmingly ornery.

As we got to LA* it started to rain and the traffic slowed. Partly because it's LA and gridlock is it's natural state, and partly because no one here knows how to drive in the rain, and I passed a total of three accidents before the traffic thinned out.



I amused myself by taking pictures of myself in the rear view mirror with the flash on, so that I look shiny.
See?


And then I amused myself by filming this very boring vlog. No really, it's shaky and toward the end I actually bore myself, but my hair looks good, and I figure there can never be too much public footage of that.



Once we got up there, there aren't many pictures, mostly because I promptly plastered myself to My Nick's side, so close that any pictures I tried to take of him would have come out blurry. But I do have this picture, taken while Nick was taking down the booth, of Luca and I. I was trying to get him to stand up and put his head there behind the cut-out, but he was having none of it. So I tried to stand on my toes and take a shot, while Luca rolls his eyes at me.


After all, he is a teenager.



*I should specify that I have a rather liberal interpretation of the geographical term LA.
Pretty much everything from past San Diego, north to Bakersfield, is LA in my mind.

Oh Gwynie.

Our love will never die.

He really does, though.

*lying in bed*

My Nick - *out of the darkness* "Why is my ass so hot?"

Sarah Smile - *sleepy murmur* "Diet and exercise? Genetics?"

My Nick - "No, I mean, literally. It feels as if-"

Sarah Smile - "You'd rolled over on my heating pad and hit the on button?"

My Nick - "Yeah. So I'm going to guess that, then."

Little Brown Book

I keep a little leather bound pocket sized notebook with me at all times. When something strikes me as funny or bloggable, I jot it down.
Because in my whirlwind head, it's hard to call the ideas back up at will. I can tell you what year Ohio became a state off the top of my head,* but not something even remotely useful, like my own blog ideas.


So, I have the book. And the notes I take are just designed to jog my memory, it consists of a strange blend of shorthand, keywords and phrases.

I can picture someone finding it and wondering what the hell it was.
I intend to release it as a book of modern poetry after my death.

Today's entry -

Onions
Criticism
Which is sadder?

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to read that dramatically at a poetry reading.




*1803. Mind you, I've never BEEN to Ohio, but of course this fact I remember with no trouble at all.

More valuable a lesson than how to touch my foot to my ear. From three different angles.

Although I don't want to underestimate the worth of that lesson. At all. It's served me very well over the years.

But the most valuable thing I learned in all those years of ballet was how to take criticism.

Taking criticism comes about as naturally to me as having hips that face my kneecaps out as sideways as my ears. I sure as hell wasn't born with it, it took a lot of work to get that ability, but it stayed with me.

*flashback effect ripples across the screen*

I was nine years old, and bawling my eyes out, swearing I would NEVER go back to that class. It's funny how certain you can be of the word "NEVER" when you're nine. As you get older I think you learn not to use that word so much, that you'll be surprised how often you'll have to take it back, except that then as age thirty looms in the distance, it's beginning to slip back into my vocabulary, mostly in reference to certain types of liquor.

But I was CERTAIN then, with all the hormonal fuel of encroaching puberty. Miss Hatch was so hard on me, I could never get the steps right, there was ALWAYS something to fix, my fingers were too stiff, my chin was tilted wrong, my grand jetes were sloppy. NOBODY got as much criticism as me. I must be the worst dancer, and this was her way of telling me.

That week in the mail I got a card from my teacher. On the front was a beautiful sketch of a ballerina. Inside Miss Hatch told me that this was her favorite stationary, which she only used for her favorite ballerinas, because the drawing was of one of idols. A dancer who was very good and very famous, but not PERFECT. Because NOBODY was perfect. So I was in good company, she said.

And she went on to explain that she pushed me because she saw promise in me. Promise which she tactfully and roundaboutly implied she didn't see in just everyone. Suddenly pieces of the picture fell into a completely different layout. She thought I was GOOD, not hopeless.


It was then that I realized that in much the same way ballerinas practice in front of a mirror to get better, constructive criticism was someone's way of holding up a mirror to you and say, "I think you can do better." If they didn't see that potential in you, they wouldn't waste their time.
With a little nudge from someone who gives you that picture of yourself, you can stretch yourself in all sorts of way. Foot to ear, even.

And I keep that card, even to this day, displayed on the bookcase in the living room.
Because unlike the ass I had then, so firm you could bounce quarters off of it, this lesson is something I never want to loose.

Which is sadder?

The person who requires legal action to realize they have to leave me alone, or the person who is actually jealous of said legal action?

I can't decide, try as hard as I can. And of course by "try" I mean "laugh."

Mystery solved!

Now, we all know that Luca has an extra dose of cuteness.
But I figured out where he keeps that little dash of special.

In his cheeks, like a squirrel!

Which is why when you pet his cheeks, or he lays on them and they get all squished, the cuteness just squeezes out of him, and make your heart explode.

See?

I also had a spoon behind my ear.

Sarah Smile - *arrives at desk and starts unloading four bowls of chili and a cup of soda from various perches on her body*

Salesguy - "Wow."

Sarah Smile - *dramatically pulls a cookie from her pocket*

Salesguy - *tone gets reverent* "WOW."

Oops.

I think my neighbor is worried for my well-being.

Ok, so it happened like this. I was just sitting at home, chopping up a pile of onions, crying a river over the fumes, watching Scrubs, and there was a knock at the door.

As I opened the door, still weeping, it occurred to me that I prolly should have set my big chopping knife down.
My neighbor looked at me, and stepped back, eyes wide.

"Oh, oh no. I was just chopping onions."

The look on his face said he didn't believe me.
After a brief question about the trash pickup, he practically ran back to his house, no doubt to call county mental health.
Damn it.
This is as bad as the time that a small error in the school office led to my being called in for a suicide intervention.

I reek of onions.

Every part of me seems to waft the onion smell.

But I'm sorry. It was brought to my attention that I've been rather cryptic about the onions, and what their purpose is. I'm sorry about that. We here at the Que Sarah, Sarah Circus believe in openness and honestly.

They're for work.

Dear Colsy,

I'm so sorry. If I'd know you had to pay to receive my text messages, I would have made them sexier.

-Sarah

Meet Winston!

Despite the fact that he says "Cricket" I find that he looks more like this.

And I must say, I was sorely disappointed to find that none of the ring tones on it are an actual cricket noise. That would have rocked.

Ok, so because this is a new phone, it's a new number. No, I know you think you have my latest number, but you don't. Trust me. That one you think is my current one? It isn't.

And since I can't seem to get the charger on my old phone to work, I can't get your number out of it. So I don't have your number either.

Please, email me your number. Even if you're certain I have it. Trust me, I don't, I only have like four numbers in Winston, and they're like Nick and the vets office. If I die in traffic on the way home tonight, the medical examiner will think I'm such a lame-o.

And then I'll email you my new number and life can go back to the way it was, when I wasn't calling you because I AM a lame-o who never remembers to call anyone back.
But I'll text you. Pinky swear. Waaaaay more than you'd like, prolly.
GAWD I love the text messaging.

PB, J and Conditioner sandwich, anyone?

The hazards of thinking about your handsome boyfriend coming home while unpacking the groceries aren't always apparent until you realize you can't find the conditioner anywhere.
Until you try the fridge that is.
Right next to all those onions.

I miss him.

They're less suspicious when I buy nothing but a jumbo pack of toilet paper.

So then I said to the clerk, "I swear, there IS a reason I'm buying all these onions."

"I'd like to watch a forklift lift a crate of forks. It'd be so damn literal!" - Mitch Hedburg

Sarah Smile - *walking toward the lobby door*

French Executive - *also walking toward the lobby door*
"Good morning."

Sarah Smile - "Good morning!"
*looks down into purse to find electronic key card for the door*

French Executive - *reaches the door first*
*waves his wallet in front of the card reader*

Door - "Beep!"
*opens*

Sarah Smile - "Wow. I've heard of using your wallet to open doors, but I've never seen it happen quite so literally before."

Nothing like yellow carnations to brighten up a grey day.

Must be something in the soil.

Engineer - "What is that?

Sarah Smile - "It's a tangello."

Engineer - "Oh. Weird. Where would you get such a 'tangello'?"

Sarah Smile - "Actually, this was grown on the same piece of property I grew up on."

Engineer - "Huh."

Sarah Smile - "So you might say that the apple, or tangello rather, doesn't fall far from the tree."

Engineer - "Weird."

Sarah Smile - "Exactly."

Past the halfway mark.

Only four more days until my Knickers gets back from the Tour of California race.

*folds arms over chest*

Hmmmmmmmph!

I don't like this away thing, of him being away for so long.
It's like a game of suck and blow, without all the fun of pseudo kissing, but with all the sucky-ness and blowy-ness left in.

The Jesse Discount.

It's hard to explain HOW the Jesse Discount works. I've seen it negotiated right in front of me and I'm still not sure exactly how it works.

But there is no question of it's existence. My brother Jesse gets a discount on ........... well, life, I think.

Equally difficult to describe is my brother himself. To say he's particular would imply he's annoying. And he really isn't. He knows exactly what he wants, but he'll pay extra or wait longer for it, with an undisturbed pleasant attitude.
People are always happy to do business with him again, even if they're giving him a deal they'd probably hesitate to give their own mother.


After observing him closely, I've gleaned the following tips, small formulas that make up the alchemy that is The Jesse Discount.

Jesse never appears to be in a hurry. How he manages that while never being late, I don't know. But Jesse always gives himself time to talk to the salesperson, owner, manager, chef, and learn about their job. Perhaps he gets the equivalent of the employee discount simply because he knows what magic number that IS. Jesse has more friends at his bank than I have in the entire world. He could have his own desk there, but he doesn't need it, since anyone there is willing to let him use theirs. He remembers names, kids, their last vacation, what their hair looked like before they cut it. He's not gushy, just pleasant and very attentive.
He'll talk to you for as long or short a time as you want.

Jesse never lies or manipulates. It's just not in him. I told him once that while he doesn't lack for depth, he doesn't have layers. There is no conscious, subconscious, ego, id, underlaying motive, etc. His thought process exists on one plane. And his frankness comes across when you talk to him.

Jesse knows exactly what he wants when he walks in the door. And exactly what he'll spend to get it. Negotiating doesn't meet in the middle, it consists of Jesse repeating exactly what he'd like, until you realize he means it, and let him know if you can or cannot accommodate him. And he taught me to explain that THAT is what's its worth to YOU, not a reflection of it's actual worth, so that they can let it go cheaply while still saving face.

Jesse is just stubborn enough to get what he wants, but not so stubborn as to inconvenience him much. This is a delicate balance, I know.

Jesse speaks body language fluently. Jesse might simply say hello, but meanwhile his body says, "I AM VERY IMPORTANT. YOU LIKE ME VERY MUCH. A FREE UPGRADE IS IN ORDER. NOW YOU ARE IMPORTANT BY ASSOCIATION. BRING ME A FREE DRINK (no ice, please) AND TELL ME EVERYTHING ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS."

One of the few qualities Jesse and I share is what I call the Tour Guide gene. We LOVE to tell what we know. Love it, love it. Jesse is never stingy with tips or helpful info. And since he soaks up information like a sponge (or a palm pilot) he's always got something.

Jesse dearly loves to be remembered. He tends to find his favorite of something, restaurant, airline reservation counter, taco stand in Ensenada Mexico, etc. People love to give discounts to repeat customers, and if they've memorized the way you like your steak, there's less chance of a mistake. Usually the first thing he'll do when entering any place of business is to ask for someone by name. Even if that person is not available, the person you're speaking with will wonder what information the person you asked for told you, or what discount they promised you, and tend to give you the benefit of the doubt.


So there you go. Of the magic show that is The Jesse Discount, those are the tricks I understand and can explain. The rest, you just have to sit back and enjoy the show, even, perhaps especially because you don't know how it's done.

It may have GPS, but does it have googley eyes?

Favorite Salesguy - "Afternoon, Peaches. How are you?"

Sarah Smile - "I'm good. [Conehead, who chose this blog name himself] was just showing me his new phone. It's very fancy. And I showed him mine. It's like the most basic model. I mean, if my phone needs personality, hello, I have glue, I have feathers."

Favorite Salesguy - "What else do you need, really?"

Sarah Smile - "You understand."

What's a day without pictures of Luca?

He's good company. And that's a good dog.

Yesterday, 'Mookie asked me what my theme music would be.

What should play when you walk into the room?

And of course it's a hard question to answer.
I mean, are we talking about the theme to my life in general?
My life lately?
My year?
This week?
Right this minute?

But if I had to pick something, I'd say the banjo solo from Maggie May.



What do you think? Is it me?

I GET it, already.

I shouldn't have teased Salesguy K about getting a Glamor magazine addressed to him, here at work.
Not that it wasn't funny, but now he's signing up for all these other magazines to compensate. Cars, scantily clad ladies, hunting, etc.

Finally today, as I handed him a magazine on fishing, I said, "Ok. I'm sorry. I get now. You're a big ole manly man. You've made your point, quite heavily. No, literally heavily. These magazines really add up. Sheesh."

Like Moses or Martin Luther King Jr.

"Be right back, I gotta go deliver the mail. FROM OPPRESSION."

'Rezzie asked me for a list of lame-except-that-they're-really-kinda-cool things to do on a Tuesday night.

And then I realized it's Mardi Gras.
Which doesn't mean much to me, personally. I have a puppy to get home to, and with Nick out of town, so what little indulgent or naughty revelry I might have gotten into is out. Maybe instead of my usual glass of wine nightcap, I'll spice it up with a Midori Sour.

What? I've never claimed to have a crazy life in a Paris Hilton sense.
I claimed to have a crazy, somewhat surreal, fun in unusual ways/times/locations kinda life, but that's different. I mean, from another perspective, you could say I have a very ordinary sort of life. Office job, house in the suburbs, a popular model of car, no major vices, unless you count coloring books or caffiene.

But anyhoo.
Here's the various things I'm thinking of doing tonight.


Make chicken and rice burritos.

Sing Rod Steward songs. Loudly. "Maggie, I think I got something to say to you..." "She give me love, love, love, love, crazy love...." "... love until your heart break...."

Wear a dress and earrings, even just around the house, even if no one is around. But no shoes.

Make a mobile out of pictures, glitter, odd earrings and seashells.

Pratice my swing dancing to whatever music comes on the tv, from commercials or tv show themes.


Feel free to join me, in spirit.

It IS her own hair. Let her shave it if she wants.

Before I go on, I should clarify that I do think Britney is having a meltdown, and I do think she's acting like she needs help and she's having trouble asking with words. That seems quite clear.

But of all the odd things she's done, shaving her head doesn't seem so odd. When she said she was tired of people touching it, I had a sudden flash of sympathy. I mean, in the two hours it took to do my hair on Sat, I got sick of it. And she's dealt with it, what, almost daily, since she was what? Nine? How old was she when she started on the Mickey Mouse club?
At any rate, it's been a long time.

And she has a pretty shaved head, as shaved heads go.

I think it's a not so subtle statement, of starting over. That's not so bad a statement, either.

Meanwhile on the All Luca, all the time channel....

I know he seems a bit hyper here. He'd been inside all day, and other than to pee, he wouldn't go outside, so we had some playtime indoors. Afterwards, he crawled up on the couch and snuggled with me.

The Eternal Debate.

Do I or do I not like Disneyland?
I can never decide.

I like the Jungle Cruise ride. I hate the gift shops. I like hugging the characters in costume. I hate that I like hugging the characters in costume. The movies are fun. I don't think most of the characters in Disney movies are good role models.
It's soooooooooo cheesy. Is that always a bad thing?

Some days I think it's innocent fun, and other days I think its soulless and wrong.


Why can't someone create a NarniaLand? With no gift shop. I'd be so much less conflicted. And think of the rides!

That state of mind? I don't just live there, I designed the state flag.

Coworker T - "I'm in the weirdest mood today. I'm just all giggly and giddy and I can't seem to give anyone a straight answer."

Sarah Smile - "You've come to the right place."

Coworker T - "I figured YOU would understand."

Sarah Smile - "Welcome to my world. It's nice here."

I'm through putting up with this.

Dear Devin Allmon (and a few other of you psychos need to pay attention because I have folders for you too),

Per the advice of the police and my lawyer, this is your very own official notice. If you need to read it again to figure out all the big words, you'll also find a copy in your email and your mail box. I put it here because seem desperate for the attention. So here you go. Attention. Oh and witnesses.

Every comment you leave is saved in a file titled "Harassment Log" with the date, time and the IP address of the computer, in your house, that you sent it from.
If you weren't smart enough to listen all the other times I said "nobody is anonymous here" maybe you'll figure it out when the police show up at your door.
If you don't stop, you will face the legal consequences of your actions.
If you want a harassment charge, libel lawsuit and a restraining order on your record, keep it up.
I would enjoy spending your money. On pets and sparkly things.


Sincerely,
Sarah Barrick

How you know your dog is spoiled.

When you find yourself outside in the rain standing over your rain-averse dog to shield him while he does his business.
That's when you know he's spoiled.

But that's ok.

I wouldn't want to pee in the rain either, I guess.
And I defy anyone to resist dat widdle face.

(photo credit to Nick)

Reindeer fly their messages to other parts of the world.

Ikey!: i'm going to Ottawa at the beginning of next week!!!

Sarah Smile: Ooooo, fun. What's in Ottawa?

Ikey!: it's our nations capital!

Sarah Smile: Oh.
Right.

Ikey!: hehe

Sarah Smile: I knew that.
*shifty eyes*

Ikey!: the 6th coldest capital in the world, actually

Sarah Smile: I believe it.

Ikey!: it's actually a good time to be going, because our national parliamentary igloo is melting early this year, so they're going to have to move caucus meetings outside.
global warming et cetera

Sarah Smile: Hee.
I almost believe that.

Ikey!: no, it's true! here is our prime minister with his party.

Sarah Smile: Hee.
I see.
*nods solemnly*

Ikey!: hahaha.

Sarah Smile: Is there a penguin guard?
That marches back and forth with a rifle?

Ikey!: i watched a tv show once where a comedian...yes, there are many penguins the sizes of lions...went into the states and brought this to the attention of the american people. you wouldn't believe how many fell for it.

Sarah Smile: Hahahahahahaha!
I certainly believe that.

When I grow up, I wanna be just like Bunny.

*in line at the movies, watching a screen showing a promo for Dirty Jobs, where a man gets bit by a snake*

Bunny - "Oh, I always hated that, my mom would have to take me in for all those shots every time I got bit by a snake."

Sarah Smile - "I have never been bit by a snake."

Bunny - "Really? Never?"

Sarah Smile - "Nope. Never."

Bunny - "Well, I was that kid that always tried to catch them when I saw them."

Sarah Smile - "Yeah. I was not that kid."

Yeah, my hands are shaking a little.

A crazy man called, demanding our janitor. He was yelling and rude. He identified himself only as Dave and that he was "from your electrical repair company" And when I couldn't get a hold of our janitor to put him on the line and offered to take a message, he got even louder.
I asked him to stop yelling.
He said "YOU'RE MAKING ME YELL!!!!!!!!
I WANNA STRANGLE YOU *muffled, either the word "THROUGH" or "WITH"* THE PHONE CORD!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


So yeah. My first official death threat.

The VP is trying to figure out who this guy is. I'm just nervous that he'd show up here, since he would know where we are if he really has subcontracted here. And while I don't want to be over dramatic, something in his voice makes me wanna take him seriously.

Anybody wanna sleep over at my place tonight?

Luca and I learn us some culture.

Luca was fascinated by the didgeridoo, until he got too close. I think since he can hear tones we can't, that it was starting to hurt his ears. When we got too close he started to shake his head as if he was trying to shake something out.
So we moved on, walking through San-Diego-in-February's version of snow, cherry blossoms.
We sat on a bench and ate a fruit bowl. I liked the pineapple, Luca liked the honeydew melon. Then we went to look at the fish, and Luca was so excited I think he was about to jump in to play with them. I don't think he would hurt them, but I figured it would be generally frowned upon if he were to chase them. I caught him before he got more than one paw in. He's heavy.
We went over to the organ pavillion to wait for the concert to start. We split a banana and a roast beef sandwich. Luca played gargoyle.
He fell off the pedestal and I caught him. He's very heavy.

Luca loves children. And everybody loves Luca. Every book I read about Great Danes told us to expect a lot of attention when walking a Great Dane, but I had no idea how right it was. I spent most of the day explaining what breed he was, how old, what his color pattern is called, his wonderful temperament, how much he eats, a detailed history of the breed, and a quick lesson in genetics. My inner tour guide was on cloud nine.
During all that, Luca would bond with the little faces right at his level. Parents would marvel at how gentle and soft he is. No, literally soft. His ears are like velvet.
It was like walking a celebrity on a leash.
The concerts in the Balboa Park organ pavillion are one of my favorite things to do in San Diego. (You might remember this time that Nick and I went.)
Luca couldn't figure out quite where the music was coming from at first, since the pipe organ is SOOOOOO big and sounds like it's coming from everywhere at once.
He seemed to enjoy it.
But after awhile he started shaking his head again like his ears hurt, so we went to Old Town and greeted more people. And then we went home, fell on the couch and snuggled Rudolf.

I might have cut my hair.

And I might have had it dyed strawberry blond.


Because the cats wouldn't hold still in the chair so it had to be me.





Oh, and don't tell Nick yet. Hee.