Canine Bootie Shorts April 2013

I've always made fun of those people who dress their dogs up, cook them special meals, and take them to the vet to get their teeth brushed. I'm a hypocrite. Just weeks ago I resorted to a canine version of "bootie shorts" with Depends stuck in them to keep my two dogs from peeing on my couch, my pool table leg, my rug...and anything else that might seem like an appealing urinal for these mutts. If it weren't for my daughter Charli's strong attachments to Max and D'Marcus, I'd have blessed two other lucky families with an old, grouchy, neurotic Schnauzer and a sweet, adorable, dumb-as-a-rock long-haired doxie. They are making me crazy. Max was the perfect dog for almost 9 years--never pooped or peed in the house--unless he ate a carton of chocolate coverd almonds from Trader Joe's, for instance. Then we adopted D'Marcus from the shelter. Max's testosterone kicked in and he decided to show everyone who the alpha male around our house was. He pees on purpose. D'Marcus, on the other hand, pees submissively. If he thinks you're mad or disappointed with him, he flips over and turns on the spout. So we have to reprimand him in a syrupy sweet quiet voice...."D'Marcus baby, get off the table please. Put the steak down for mommy...good boy." My son said, "I'm gonna try that. Next time you're mad at me, I'm just gonna flip over and pee."

I have become the person I've always made fun of, only worse. A dog in a tutu beats a dog wearing bootie shorts with Depends stuffed inside anyday.

Night Before Christmas: The Real Scoop

T’was the night before Christmas when all through the townhouse Were strewn Legos and Cheerios and laundry all about

If Santa thinks the house isn’t quite clean enough

He can do it himself when he drops off the stuff

There were Pillsbury slice and bake cookies prepared

Will St. Nick be impressed?  Probably not, but who cares

The kids were at last in their IKEA bunks for the night

Following a small skirmish—OK a big fight!

“The shepherds and wise men should stand in a neat line

Facing Mary and Jesus with Joseph tucked behind.”

“He’s the Lord!” screamed the middle child, “A circle’s the thing

With Christ in the center so all can see the baby king”

Each yelled in his turn where the Prince of Peace should lay

And lo the nativity scene went flying in the midst of the fray

“Up to bed—NOW!” was my gentle request

“This really is no time to get PMS.”

I drug myself up the stairs to the bed

Dove in and pulled the covers up over my head

I had just dozed off when I heard a big crash

Probably those big rats again in the trash

So I nudged my hubby to go see what was up

“Not tonight, dear,” he mumbled, “Four kids is enough.”

I said, “I’ll go check,” as he continued to snore

So I went downstairs and looked out the back door.

The sight that I saw caught me quite by surprise

Not rats at all, but St. Nick in disguise

He wore navy Dockers and top siders for shoes

And a Tommy Hilfiger polo in green and blue hues

There he was sprawled out on his back

I knew it was Santa because of his sack

I cracked open the door and stuck out my head

“I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” he said.

“I fear I must do something I really do hate

It seems I’ve been injured…I must litigate.”

There was no jolly suit all done up in red

No, his suit was to be filed in court instead

“I have a good lawyer, and he’ll fight for me.

After all, it was at work I sustained injury.

This Tonka truck you left right here in my path

Caused the tumble which seriously injured my back.”

We heard a loud engine and both turned to see

His eyes filled with panic as he looked toward the street

“That’s my hummer you’re towing…you don’t know who I am!”

And despite his bad back, he jumped right up and ran.

“Where’s your sleigh?” I called, thinking this was quite shady

“Come on, get real.  This is Southern Cal lady.”

So away flew Santa on this warm Christmas night

Chasing his hummer as it was towed out of sight.

The moral of this story is easy to spot

This Christmas be thankful for all that you’ve got

Be patient with the kiddoes in spite of their mess

And go get some pills for that wicked PMS.

How to Offend Major People Groups

I don't try to be offensive or ignorant. Sometimes it just happens. A few years ago, I went to speak and sing at a local MOPS (Mothers of Pre-schoolers) group. I shared an autobiographical little number I wrote called The Vasectomy Song. Only after the meeting did it occur to me...this was a Catholic church. Most of the moms present were Catholic. Could I be more insensitive? Maybe I could offer to bring in a big pot roast for their Good Friday mass. Or tell one of my Catholic friends they have a big smudge on their forehead on Ash Wednesday. Oh, wait. I already did that.

Another time I was speaking at a moms group a couple of hours from home. I was in the process of making a plate of food (ALL moms groups worth their weight in craft supplies have a breakfast potluck), when I noticed all the meat dishes were gone. No sausage casserole, no bacon, no ham and cheese quiche. I offhandedly remarked to one of the ladies something like, "Wow, I guess the meat dishes are the first to go, huh." Later that day I was relating all the details of the morning to my husband.  "Lisa," he said in amazement, "that moms group meets right in the heart of a famous vegetarian community--you really asked them where the sausage casserole was?"

Yesterday I came to my senses about two seconds before asking the gentleman behind the Persian Market meat counter if he had pork butt. Only after noticing the Hallal certification (a strict Islamic code regarding meat processing) on the wall behind the counter did it occur to me that, in the name of propriety, I should not inquire as to the whereabouts of his pork butt, pork chops, or anything else swine-related.

I apologize for any potentially offensive remarks I've ever made in ignorance, incoherence or uncconsciousness toward any people group, endangered species, Disney channel pop star or telemarketing firm.

I suppose you could read my post "Top Ten Ways to Know If Your Daddy Is a Redneck" and be offended. But if you are one of us, you will simply stick another cold one in the koozie and watch a rerun of Walker Texas Ranger.

Changing My Name to L!$a

Apparently the key to success is a unique name. Lisa is just plain boring. I'm switching to L!$a. It seems to work for P!nk and Ke$ha. Prince hasn't been so lucky with his unpronouncable name expressed as a symbol. I tried that once, but the receptionist at the dentist office could never find my chart. PDiddy has just created confusion with his moniker flip-flopping--is it Puff, Puff-Daddy, Puff the Magic Dragon, P-Diddy, P-shooter, Sean Combs, Sean Puffy Combs, Puffy Paints?

I won't set myself up for failure like that. I will notify COSTCO, the PTA, our primary care physician, the mailman and all our friends and family of my new improved name and stick with it for life. Soon I will be eating success for breakfast, and the world will never be the same. Still, there's got to be a way to make that unpronouncable thing work...hmmmm.