Lethal Dose

For the fourth day in a row I’ve been awoken by multiple chainsaws. The school nearby has been “tree trimming” but not the usual holiday style. By today, I was so enraged that I called the police, apologetically, because I can’t stand when people bother cops for stuff like that. I made sure to call the non-emergency number, where the Officer on duty told me that he was sorry, but tree-trimming is not illegal, unless on Sundays. I guess it’s just fine to employ three men with chainsaws when you’re on vacation, because you won’t hear them.

Last night, enjoying the quiet, we had a brown-out. All of the lights went dim, and the tv turned off. It stayed that way for a few hours, which was sort of interesting, actually, because the little string of blue xmas lights we have running over the bookcases dimmed down to the smallest blue glow. Mr. Lethal and the pup went out for their nightly walk and I admonished them to be careful. I was thinking of traffic.

On their return, Mr. L told me they had been invited to a swinger party. I assumed he was making an odd sort of joke, probably based on the recent “Life on Mars” episode. I mean, a guy walking a pit bull in the dark?

No joke. He was greeted on one of our leafy suburban streets with one of those “Hi-neighbor-i’ve-seen-you-around” that led to a “I’m having a big Christmas party tomorrow night” (?) that will consist of “lots of hot chicks.” If you could see the neighborhood it only makes it stranger. These houses are classic angeleno-surburban-upscale, with that only-in-LA-tasteful/overdone Christmas light displays in a land that has never seen snow. And with the brownout, it was pitch black. Mr Lethal demurred, citing Mrs Lethal at home.
“Oh, you can bring her!” Mr Neighbor enthused. Another man stood nearby. Mr L says that Neighbor reminded him of Burt Reynolds in Boogie Nights, which makes perfect sense. Jack Horner around the corner!

I really want to go and peep in the windows, or at least park nearby to see the party guests.

“lots of hot chicks!”

bet you didn’t know eggnog came from udders! heck, neither did i! thanks to n&j for sending me this from the amazing “Food Party” blog.

Now this is a Cake even Princess Luciana would approve! Read about them here.

What’s Christmas without the Yule Log?

If you get tired of that, be sure to check out the
Creepy Christmas Flickr Pool.

Surprisingly, I’d never heard of this game until I came across it on a site that sells old board games:

I was doing downward-facing dog when my upward-facing pit bull head butted me. There’s something hilarious to him about a human in downward facing dog, and god only knows what it translates to in his language. Whatever it means, it’s “headbutt Mommy!” time.

Now, I’ve learned to integrate my pup into my yoga. In NY, you can take your dog to class with you. I don’t think that would work with mine, but instead of working against, I work with. Talk about focus! Try your balancing series with an 85-lb four legged critter who wants to join in and you’ll have a new appreciation for the remarkableness of your own two feet. And I’m a klutz! But doing yoga with my dog teaches me focus, is remarkable for balance - he’s great to lean on - and integration.

Sun Salutations: These are usually okay until the downward-facing-dog. I prepare for headbutt by asking Mr. Lethal to distract the pup, or just work with it. Standing forward bend is another head-butter.

Wheel: be sure you aren’t wearing hair clips or pins of any kind. When you are on your crown and upside down, be prepared for slobbery kisses all over your face. Try and come out of the pose gently … although “gently” and “pit bull” don’t go together too well.

Seated spinal twist: This is a good one to work them into. Usually he’ll sit alongside me, and I can use one hand to steady, or pet him.

Triangle: Pup will look up at your hand to see what you are pointing at. Be sure not to twist your neck!

Shoulder stand: shoulders supported on folded blanket, one arm to side of spine, one arm on dog. Pet continuously but try not to turn your head. When you fold over into plow, be prepared for him to wedge his giant head in between your head and your shins (if that’s where you’re at in your practice) and slobber you with kisses.

Sivasana: His favorite one. He may not go for any under the knee support, but he will gladly lay alongside you. Try and visualize his snoring as “ujaaii” breath.

Post yoga:

Oh Princess Luciana! I can’t find out any info if you are alive or dead, but then again, does it really matter? I can just consult one of your books for an answer to my most pressing problems.

“Dear P.L.,

With the holiday season here, I feel just horrible! I am working out harder than ever, but I can feel those pesky pounds piling on. What’s a duchess to do?”

Let’s turn to page 61 of “The Beautiful People’s Diet Book, chapter “Exit Fat City.”

“One of the major difficulties, i suppose, in losing weight in normal life* is that the whole process is such a bore. On the other hand, so is being fat. It is not heroid to stop eating too much; on the contrary, I would say it is common sense, and while the initial phase of stringent dieting takes willpower, once you have redimensioned our attitude towards food, you body will redimension itself. The basic line of attack is not on spare tire, fat bottom, and pot belly; instead you first come to grips with faulty thinking - you get the right amount and the right kind of food on the brain. I have listed various drastic, limited, or tedious reducing techniques more for their shock value than for practical results. It does not matter how the message gets to the mind as long as it gets there: totting up calories with the satisfaction of Donald Duck’s Uncle Scrooge counting his dollars; the drama and suspense of fatsing; special injections and intravenous feedings; the total elimination of certain foods for the compensation of eating to satiety on others … depending on the way your mind fucntions, you choose whatever convinces you that less is more.

If you are really desperate, you can even turn to the last-ditch therapies of shock treatment or surgery - the latter for reducing specific body areas and the former, as far as I can see, for reducing the brain.”

Well, I am desperate … but if I’m lobotomized, will I care if I need to lose 5 lbs?

*That would be us - the common people. P.L. is not bothered by such problems, but thankfully has volunteered to graciously share her secrets with us - sort of a charity.

P.L. ponders the boredom of other people’s weight loss.

P.L. after leaving a luncheon where she refrained from all forms of food.

Canada Post suspending delivery, changing response system

Ottawa police have launched an investigation after a complaint that at least 10 Ottawa children have received letters from Santa Claus containing demeaning or insulting language.

Ottawa police Const. Alain Boucher confirmed Thursday that police are looking into the problem flagged by Canada Post’s Santa letter program.

Volunteers for the program, who are current or former Canada Post employees, respond to letters addressed to Santa Claus at the North Pole. The response includes a standard printed message and a personalized note that refers back to the individual child’s own letter.

Program manager Cindy Daoust said the content that sparked complaints ranged from “inappropriate language and observations about the child’s letter to Santa to more disturbing comments.”

She said some of the letters were sent to younger children whose parents opened the letters, but a few were opened by the children themselves.

“We’ve spoken to a lot of these parents and expressed our dismay,” she said. “We are devastated over this.”

Driving down Fountain Avenue today I watched the cops busting a man - looked like a domestic dispute as chubby latina stood nearby. Man was facing wall and as cops cuffed him I saw the back of his t-shirt, which read: BAD FAMILY TREE.

Yesterday a friend of mine in NY emailed: A drunk black man just walked up to me outside and made fists. He smiled and shouted “My name is Friendly and I like to fight!” I started laughing at him and he walked away.

Email from my mother: “How cruel you are.”

Another friend, upon reading this, writes:

In a sort of unofficial sequel to the above, I was headed home on the subway recently when a young - obviously distraught - black couple entered the car in mid-argument. “I SAID I was sorry!,” enunciated the lady. “I SAID I was sorry!!!,” mimicked her male companion with nasty albeit surprising accuracy. “That don’t make it right! I don’t know HOW you could have done that. What the fuck were you thinking?!!! Do I KNOW you?!!!” By now everyone on the train would have paid plenty to hear what she had done. With that prologue, it had better involved Al-Qada, or, at the very least, Heather Mills McCartney’s leg - preferably both. Anyway, the woman, on the verge of tears, bit her lip, grit her teeth, and whispered with a vengeance, “WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY OR DO?” “You already done that, haven’t you?!!” Dead silence until the train reached it’s next stop. The door opens, the dude storms out - his arms waving over his head. “You must be taking blonde pills!” She followed, and with perfect timing, the doors shut like a curtain going down, and off we went. Me and about 150 commuters will probably always be wondering what she had done - if she was naked, did they get back together, could it have involved the Geico cavemen getting their own series…the possibilities are endless. I settled for bursting out laughing.

Mr Lethal: “But honey, you laugh at tards.”