Photo Caption Contest

I wrote before about the puggles’ Pentapus.

We replaced it with a whole new Octopus, and in a short while, it too has become a Pentapus. One of its severed tentacles is floating around the house just like before. Apparently, this is the natural state of things.

In honor of the MegaPuggles’ triumph over the Giant Octopus, I have a special treat.

This picture needs a caption:

That’s one of those stuffingless foxes underneath the evil brown one. They love those too, but nothing really compares to being able to rip the innards out of your prey.

To see the innards ripped out of domesticated dog prey, check out this post by Kimberliah. It’s funny.

By the way, that scratched-up dilapidated piece of furniture they’re on used to be the pretty red leather ottoman that folds out into a cot that I bought when I was single and living alone in my awesome apartment in Hoboken. The cot part was functional, but not too comfortable. The ottoman was my favorite place to sit though. It was soft, the leather was smooth and beautiful. It was where I used to sit to meditate.

*sigh*

Okay, back to the contest. I am offering a fabulous prize to the winner: your very own (used once) DVD copy of Mega Shark Versus Giant Octopus. Can you believe it? Wow! This is. . . some movie.

Leave your captions in the comments section below. Contest is open through midnight EST, July 7, 2011 and I’ll pick a winner and announce Friday, July 8.

Street Legal Puggles

You know what’s cheap and easy?

(Are you done? Can I move on? Thanks.)

Getting a dog license.

To get a dog license you don’t have to prove yourself a responsible pet owner. All you need is proof of the rabies vaccination. Not distemper or bordetella. You don’t have to prove that you’re not making them subsist on Twinkies. The town officials don’t inspect the dog, they don’t ask it about its home life; your dog doesn’t have to perform tricks or do higher order mathematics. A copy of the vaccination record and, in my town, eight dollars and twenty cents is all you need.

Our puppies got the rabies shot as soon as they were old enough, but the vaccination record. That damn piece of paper sat in The Pile so long. . . let’s just say it’s a good thing it’s a three-year vaccine.

The task of getting the dogs licensed became something I remembered only when I was taking them for a walk, and, once I thought of it, I was filled with a certainty that they were going to be ticketed and flatbedded away at any moment.

notlikethat — What's the problem, officer?

mindingourown — This isn't what it looks like

casey — What kind of dog do you think I am?

In my defense (I’m starting to notice just how often I say that, and it seems to only be in relation to parenting or otherwise managing the household), I did go to the office that handles these things back in December, with the eight dollars (and twenty cents, per dog) and the damn piece of paper. The lady told me I should probably wait until January because I’d just have to do it all over again. Check that out: an actual town official, actively encouraging my procrastination. It may have been because I interrupted her lunch break.

For the record? This is the same office I had to go to for my marriage license.

I knew if they got busted, my coercion defense wouldn’t make any difference to the arresting officer. I’d end up have to get them a lawyer. It would be a legal nightmare.

Luckily I have experience in such matters.

pokey — Can't we just settle this between us?

CC finally took care of it last week. What a relief. Street Legal Puggles.

What have you had on your to-do list the longest?

Blessings and Tonys and Zombies

My sister is here for a visit this weekend, with Tiny Nephew and Slightly-Larger Nephew. It’s excellent to have them here. CC and all the kids are thrilled because they haven’t met Tiny Nephew before, and we don’t get to see most of my family more than once a year, tops. I’m happy to report that Tiny Nephew still has itty bitty feet.

The Puggle and the Fuggle are fascinated by the sounds Tiny Nephew makes. They like that he’s small, and smells like milk and poop. They’ve found a kindred spirit.

CC and I both had to work two shows yesterday right after they got here, but my sister kept me updated with pictures. This is the one that broke my heart:

The clown, the baby of our family, bacon-crazed, never-serious #5, with Tiny Nephew, sitting up straight, being responsible, resting his hand on the baby’s belly. I showed it to someone at work and she asked, “When did he grow up?” and I said, “Apparently, right then, when he had someone to be older than.”

Yes, they keep asking for a baby. No, we’re not going to have one.

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CC and I have a party to go tonight for his work.

We both have pretty cool jobs. Speaking for myself only, the fact that I have this job is proof of some benevolent force working in the universe because if I had the job I deserve, it would likely involve cleaning up after an exploding whale.

Last night a man came up to me at the end of the show and insisted that my main speakers hadn’t been on all night. He had an English accent so he already sounded smarter than me. I told him I’d check it out, but I think he was looking for a different answer, because he wouldn’t leave.

English dude: You must believe me. I’ve seen it three times. Your speakers weren’t on.

Me:

Because really, I’ve got nothing for that. Nothing at all.

The Tony awards, the reason for tonight’s party, don’t mean much to anyone except to the people that work in theater. Okay, let’s be honest: Theater doesn’t mean much to anyone, unless they work in theater. There is a small and mighty cross section of die-hard fans across the globe, small being the key word.

When CC was touring with Phantom in the 80’s, the crew once exchanged house seats for tickets to a Space Shuttle Launch. That’s badass. By the time I got on the road, it didn’t matter how big or high-profile the show was, nobody had heard of it.

I toured with Aida (the musical written by Elton John and Tim Rice) and largely, if people recognized the name, they thought it was the opera (by Verdi). If they saw the commercial, they thought it was about interracial love.

*sigh*

Loading out the Hairspray tour in Providence, sun coming up near the end of a twenty-two hour work day, a minivan pulls into the alley and flags me down.

Me: Yes?

Woman in Van: Are you with the Wiggles?

*sigh*

It ain’t rock’n’roll, that’s for sure. But once a year we get a shot on prime time TV. Broadway has some ridiculously talented people and you should tune in tonight, CBS at 8pm EST, and check some of them out. You won’t get to see the stagehands though, unless something goes horribly, horribly wrong.

CC’s show is up for practically every award tonight. I’m stupidly excited for them.

The first Tony for Sound Design was given in 2008. My two very favorite sound designers are up for the award tonight, my designer (Steve Kennedy) and CC’s (Brian Ronan). I have a million people to be grateful for, but I am deeply, deeply indebted to these two men. Without them, all this would have been a very different story.

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Last night I dreamt of zombies. It was one of those dreams where you look around and you gradually see that the situation is worse than you first thought, and you realize that you’re the only one who knows it, and you keep looking around and all of these very normal seeming people are actually all zombies and they get more and more zombie looking and therefore more dangerous every second, and one, who had been holding my hand was suddenly grabbing my wrist and he twitched and I recognized him for what he was and started punching the crap out of him.

CC, springing straight up in bed: Jesus Christ!! WHY ARE YOU PUNCHING ME?

Me: ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE!!!!

CC: STOP PUNCHING ME!

Me: I HAVE TO, YOU’RE A ZOMBIE!!!

CC: STOP! I’M NOT A ZOMBIE! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?

Me:

Because I had nothing for that, either.

And now, I have to go see if I fit into any of my party dresses.

Tell me about your blessings, theater opinions, or zombie experiences.