Screw Black Friday. There’s Something Better!

Posted on November 21, 2012 by Rhonda Rubin

Every year, people leave their Thanksgiving tables before they even have a chance to unfasten their top button and pass out on the couch, just so they can be the first in line at Walmart to get a flat screen TV, and they don’t care who they have to trample to do it.

Black Friday is the reason Thanksgiving is forgotten, and it’s the most stark representation of the hypocrisy of the Christmas season. “Get your hands off that TV! I saw it first, Buddy! Merry effin’ Christmas, douchebag!” Good will toward men, indeed. So what do we do the day after Thanksgiving? We toddle our butts over to Kroger ,and get a day-old Thanksgiving pie or two, which are now on sale, and then we pack up our pie, our pup, and sometimes our pals, and engage in the best post-Thanksgiving, alliterate tradition in the world: Pie in the Park (photos by Lindsey)!

It’s been an (almost) annual tradition, and it beats the hell out of shoving someone’s granny out of the way so you can be the first in line for a new Wii U.

Have a great Thanksgiving, and don’t forget about the little things. Those are often the best things in life.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , | 1 Comment

I’m Rich! Rich, I Tell You!

Posted on November 16, 2012 by Rhonda Rubin

If you’re like me — and if you are, you should be frightened, but that’s beside the point — you likely get spam in your email box. I seem to get about two messages a day. If I had a Viagra for every bit of spam offering cheap Viagra to me, I’d have…well, I’d have a shit ton of Viagra. I’ve also been informed, numerous times, about magic penis pills. I almost replied to one of those, because I really wanted to know about a magic penis. However, I was just content to visualize Harry Potter waving one around like a wand.

Sometimes I’m lucky enough to be offered copious amounts of money from nice princes in Nigeria who just happen to trust me with their riches and will reward me handsomely. By this point, I have to wonder if these scams still work. Do people fall for them so often that they’re still viable? At least one reverse scam site and one epic prank exist, yet these emails still show up. Today, I received such an email and was feeling saucy, so I decided to reply. Here’s the exchange.

From “The Bank”

International Settlement Dept.
Banque Internationale du Benin
24hrs VISA ATM Service
ATM Card Number: 4061730455000133

Dear Beneficiary,

Having reviewed all the obstacles and problems surrounding the transfer of Your fund ($2. 5 Million) Two Million Five Hundred United States Dollars and your inability to meet up with some charges levied against you due to the Past transfer options, we the Board of Directors, Banque Internationale du Benin (BIB) have Ordered our Foreign Payment Remittance Unit to issue you a VISA ATM CARD where Your payment will be uploaded.

Today, we got the notice that your Payment has been uploaded into this VISA ATM CARD and also have registered it with TNT INTERNATIONAL. For your information, the delivery charges have been paid and they are supposed to have shipped your packaged (ATM CARD) but they insisted that you must re-confirm to them your current delivery address to ensure accurate delivery.

MOST IMPORTANTLY: Due to the content of the package, TNT INTERNATIONAL mandated that before your package will be shipped; a Stamp Duty MUST be procured according to the new Shipping Creed on all packages leaving this Benin. The essence of such Document is to ensure a hitch-free delivery and the amount Of the Stamp Duty Fee is Ђ200 Euro. When this is done, TNT International will issue you with the tracking numbers for you to keep track of your delivery status.

Therefore reconfirm your current delivery address. Do not forget that this Ђ200 Euro is all that you should send to them, the rest of the Fees have been paid. Finally, for security reasons and considering the huge amount the ATM VISA Card contains, the Package was coded thus,Registration Ref:TNT/ATM/10. This is the code number that you will send to the courier company while contacting them.

The Information of the courier company is here-by given below, and re-confirm to them your current delivery addresses to ensure accurate delivery. 1. Your full name: 2. Your physical address: 3. Your house phone: 4. Your cell phone:

TNT INTERNATIONAL EXPRESS
Mr. Michael Dean
Email:  tnt.expressinternational2012@

yahoo.in
Email:  tntinternationalexpress@yahoo.es
TEL: +229-6807-9889
cell phone: +229-6740-3002

Please hurry now as your package might incurs demur-rage if it stays more Than 4 days with TNT Express.

Thanks,
Mrs. Patricia Ehiosun
ATM VISA CARD Department
Banque International du Benin
bbanqueinternationaldubenin@yahoo.es

My Reply

Wow…you mean a bank, with which I’ve never had contact, is loading up an ATM Visa card with $2.5 million? For me? How could I be so lucky? And you’re saying all I have to do is send roughly $250 dollars to TNT International Express within four days or my package will become demur-aged? That sounds bad. I shouldn’t let that happen. No way!

Sadly, I do not have $250 to wire across continents. However, I’m expecting an ATM Visa card loaded with $2.5 million. Please instruct the Banque International du Benin to pay this fee, which should be nominal for a bank, and then have them deduct the 200 Euros from the $2.5 million with which they are loading the card. When TNT receives this fee, please contact me for the information you need to send the ATM, now worth $2,499,750. I just can’t believe I’m this lucky!

Kisses!
J. Roger Beneficiary

I’m sure my ATM card will arrive any day now.

Posted in Uncategorized | 5 Comments

A Very Rhondsey Anniversary Trip

Posted on October 25, 2012 by Rhonda Rubin

This year, Lindsey and I have had more than our share of medical and household expenses. The amazing trip we originally planned for our anniversary had to be scrapped. Things are looking up, however, so we decided to take a long weekend getaway for our anniversary.

After much discussion, we decided on the Texas Hill Country as a destination. All we knew was we wanted to relax, take a few photos, be romantic, and get our bodies slathered in oil and rubbed down by a someone, possibly named Helga, with strong hands. The result was a combination camping and B&B weekend. Yeah, I said “camping.” Hey, now. We’re lesbians. That’s what we do. We camp. Some of us better than others.

The first part of the trip had us driving to Enchanted Rock State Park near Fredericksburg, TX. Early last week, Lindsey asked me if I wanted to stay in a hotel in Fredericksburg, or if I wanted to camp in the park. “Hmm…camp,” I thought. Bear in mind that I’m a city girl, born of European city parents. I’ve only truly camped once in my life, and on that trip, one of us wound up in the ER after attempting to stamp out the campfire while wearing wet Tevas. I know what you’re thinking. “Rhonda, you’re a dumbass.” While I’ve done some stupid things in my life, I’m happy to say, I was not the dumbass in question. Nonetheless, while I don’t mind the idea of camping, the reality of my limited exposure to it gave me mental images of one of us bursting into flames, running through the park screaming, and setting the whole thing on fire. Then I realized who I would be camping with, and how much fun our little adventures tend to be, and I knew she’d totally stop me, drop me, and roll me if I did something stupid, so let’s go sleep in nature!

We left Houston under dreary skies that cleared the farther from town we drove. That, in and of itself, had to be a sign! The weather was beautiful when we arrived at Enchanted Rock. We checked in and got our campsite, and we knew this was going to be our weekend.

Seriously? Campsite #42?

We parked the car and started lugging a few things to the campsite. And, as if the park rangers squawked into a walkie talkie, “They’re here! Ready? Cue deer!” We noticed these guys near our campsite.

Bambi was ravenous.

More important, though, was that Enchanted Freakin’ Rock was in our front yard, and we knew we had time to hike to the summit before nightfall.

Enchanted Rock, soon we will be on you!

After setting up our campsite, we grabbed our cameras and started to hike. Though I’d hiked to the summit of Enchanted Rock before, nothing looked familiar. I wasn’t worried about getting lost, though, and it wasn’t because of my impeccable sense of direction. It was because, well, it’s a giant rock surrounded by hiking trails. How lost could we get? So up we went. We hiked, we shot photos, we listened to coyotes in the distance, we shot more photos, and then we were in striking distance. The summit was about 100 yards away, up the steep, naked face of the dome.

We arrived at the summit just as the sun started to set. This kind of timing doesn’t just happen. I know that in a ranger station somewhere nearby, some guy barked an order into a walkie talkie, “Ready? Cue lighting now!”

Ready? Cue lighting now!

The sky! The sky! The sky is on fire!

The perfect day morphed into a wonderful night together, that morphed into what should have been an idyllic morning waking up together, had it not been spoiled by the shrieking child whose parents couldn’t grasp the following concepts:

  • They are not the only people on earth.
  • The few campers nearby may want to sleep later than 7:30 a.m.
  • Their parenting skills suck ass.

A hipster family with a dog and small child were one campsite from us, and even that kid was all, “Dude! You’re making us all look bad. Shut the fuck up!”

We had breakfast, and after shrieking concerto #9, we broke camp. After a last short hike, filled with photo shenanigans, we set out for Burnet, TX, home of Rainbow Hearth Sanctuary and Retreat Center.

“I can see my house from here!” Photo by Lindsey

She’s just hangin’ out.

Rainbow Hearth was nothing short of fantastic and relaxing. We were there two days with no TV or internet, and we were never bored. We started our visit with massages to work out the week’s stresses and our Enchanted Rock hikes. While Mariah, the owner and massage therapist worked on me, she told me to relax and imagine myself in a way that I was most relaxed. Apparently, I’m a puddle of mud. Seriously, y’all, as she worked on my back, I imagined a spreading black puddle with my smiling face in the middle of it. Clearly, there’s something wrong with me.

The meals served at Rainbow Hearth are created by scratch from organic, preservative-free ingredients, some of which are grown on the property. Oh, be still our hippie crunchy granola healthy eating hearts! The salad greens served at lunch and dinner were simply sprouts, but Oh. Em. Gee. They were heavenly. Also? Addicting. I added some sunflower and pumpkin seeds, some cranberries and a walnut raspberry vinaigrette, and it was amazeballs! We vow to return to learn the secret of these sprouts. Meals are served family style, so we met the other guests, and we had fun socializing and running into them throughout the weekend. After dinner, we pulled out a couple of decks of cards and played a bit of Spite and Malice, making sure that, in deference to the family of five in the room, we didn’t utter even one of the colorful jinx words developed at The Compound.

During our one full day, we took a couple of hikes on the property, both on the shore of Lake Buchanan and up the hill to Medicine Rock. The latter provided us with great views and somewhat spiritual experiences. I’ll let Lindsey describe her own. Here’s how the website describes Medicine Rock:

Thunder Ridge at Rainbow Hearth was used by indigenous Americans as a sacred ceremonial site. A sophisticated seventh-generation medicine woman described the ridge as “the most energetically supportive place” she has ever experienced—second only to the Chartres Cathedral in France. Many persons who have walked the Medicine Rock have reported life-changing insights.

The rock itself is ringed with Buddhist prayer flags. Atop the rock were three circles of rocks containing objects like antlers, other rocks, and coins.

Medicine Rock

I felt very much at peace sitting around the rock. The only spiritual experience I had was a feeling of intrusion when we approached an area adjacent to Medicine Rock. It looked a bit like a small arena, ringed by stacks of limestone. When Lindsey and I walked into it, I felt a strong feeling that I shouldn’t be there. I was anxious. I wanted to walk out. I don’t know what this means, or what this says about me or my spirit, but I refused to take photos of the place, and I went back to the rock to sit and listen to the wind in the trees and do some more imagining of myself as a smiling puddle of mud.

While our four-day weekend wasn’t the South American beach/jungle vacation we originally envisioned, we got home feeling recharged for life and for each other.
Happy anniversary to us!

Posted in Life, Mawwiage | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

The Latest Illness in Our Household

Posted on October 16, 2012 by Rhonda Rubin

In a year fraught with household and medical issues, I’ve fallen victim to a disease that only affects bikers, and the only known cure is relatively costly. Seriously, if there was an organization to help raise funds for us victims, Sally Struthers would tell you that for the price of a dozen Venti Iced Caramel Macchiatos a day, you can help a biker afflicted with (cue dramatic chord) SMAS.

SMAS, or Sudden Motorcycle Acquisition Syndrome, strikes motorcyclists without warning (hence the name), and usually manifests itself with the additional web browsing of Cycle Trader, Craigslist and various motorcycle forums. Drooling can be involved. I’d thought I’d taken all the preventative measures. I’d already decided that I couldn’t afford anything I’d want as a replacement bike. Instead, I’d outfitted the R-Honda with a trunk, which made commuting to work with a lunch and a gym bag really easy, and was cheaper than buying a bike. Then, it happened. I saw a photo. That photo lead to more photos, which led to Web surfing, which led to a short list of bikes, which led to an incredible find. I couldn’t NOT see this bike. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. I talked myself into thinking that something horrible was wrong with the bike. At this price, surely the bike was missing the engine, had been rusting in a barn for years, or required blood sacrifice instead of fuel. But it was sooooo preeeeetty. I made an appointment to see it.

I looked the bike over, but couldn’t see anything I’d call a deal breaker. Then I took a test ride. Oh sweet merciful crap, that was an amazing 20-mile test. I was so deep throes of SMAS, I had to apply the only cure known. The following Saturday, I took the R-Honda on her final ride to the dealership. Four hours later, I was almost in tears when I emptied her saddlebags and transferred the contents to the new (to me) ride.

I had a lump in my throat when I took the photo. You never forget your first.

Image

The cure for SMAS.

Sadly, unlike Chicken Pox, having SMAS does not mean I’ll never succumb to it again. It may only assure that I am more susceptible to it in the future. I need a bigger garage.

Posted in Life | Tagged , | 4 Comments

For Pitties’ Sake

Posted on September 8, 2012 by Rhonda Rubin

Lindsey and I adopted our kid five years ago. She’s now nine years old, beautiful, and smart as hell. She also has four hairy legs, a mammoth tongue, and a tail that rivals Indiana Jones’ whip with regard to painful accuracy. What? You think I was talking about a human child? Come on, people. Do you not know me at all? Do you really think a woman with purple hair should be trusted with the welfare of a real, live kid? I’d totally steal all his toys and send him crying to the mature one of his two moms, whose head is currently wrapped in Saran wrap while her hair turns pink.

I’m speaking, of course, of our pride and joy, Sugar. Simply put, she’s the best dog in the history of dogs. She kicks Lassie’s ass. As a matter of fact, she’d not only tell us Timmy is trapped in the well, she’d pull up in a jacked-up, four-wheel-drive pick-up truck, ready to get him out herself. In short? She rules.

Sugar is, to paraphrase Cher, a half breed (Aaaand…you’re welcome for that earworm). To be precise, Sugar is a boxer/pit bull mix. Unfortunately some people out there think that equates her with The Terminator, “She can’t be reasoned with. She doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And she absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead.” Um…No.

Yeah…such a killing machine.

Since adopting Sugar, Lindsey and I have been advocates of pit bulls and pittie mixes. They’re amazing dogs. They’re smart, and loyal, and affectionate, and strong. They’re also unjustly misunderstood, because they’re the latest “tough guy” dogs, owned by some who abuse their loyalty and strength, or just plain abuse them.

“Those mean people suck.”
Photo by Lindsey

Shelters are overrun with pitties and pittie mixes who have been dumped or abandoned on the streets. The unfair characterization of the breed means shelters can have a hard time finding forever homes for pitties.

Oh my GADS! Who will save this child from extreme killer dog kisses?!
Photo by Lindsey

While some shelters don’t even give them a chance and march them directly to an appointment with the dreaded pink shot, no-kill shelters take in the pitties they can and do their best to find great homes for them. Seriously, y’all, pitties are the poster children for that damned Sarah McLachlan ASPCA commercial that makes everyone cry, and disintegrate into blubbering masses, feverishly clawing to reach the TV remote. They need our help.

Sugar was lucky to find herself enrolled with one of Houston’s no-kill shelters, Friends for Life, and we adopted her a couple of weeks later. We support FFL and other no-kills, when we can, either with funds, pet food, or moral support. We’d like to do more, but since we don’t have a yard, we can’t adopt another dog, and we can’t foster dogs either.

I know what you’re thinking. “Rhonda, is there a point to this post?” There is, and it’s kind of cool.

Last month, I noticed a promotion on the Friends for Life Facebook page. One of their adopters, Sid, was so giddily happy with Axel, the pit bull he adopted from FFL, that he paid the adoption fee for every pit pull and pit bull mix adopted in the month of August. I saw every photo FFL posted of adopted pitties and their happy new families, along with a light-hearted note to Sid to pull out his checkbook again. I thought it was a brilliant idea, and as August drew to a close, with five pitties/pittie mixes adopted, I realized that, holy crap! There is nothing stopping me from making sure the Pittie Promotion continued through September. After a few email exchanges with FFL’s executive director and communications manager, the deal was done.

I’m so flippin’ proud to announce that, Oh. Em. Gee!, Lindsey and I are sponsoring every pittie and pittie mix adoption in September! It’s on Facebook, so you know it’s official. You can get your own bundle of cuddly, awesome love, and it’s on us! Do it! Hit up FFL online, or give them a call at 713-863-9835.

Rhonda’s PSA: While we support Friends for Life and Scout’s Honor Rescue here in Houston, all no-kill shelters need support, be it financial, serving as a foster, volunteering your time, or providing supplies and pet food. If I can’t talk you into adopting a cute pittie, on us, this month. I hope I can convince you to support a local shelter, and to believe that no breed is inherently bad.

Every dog, regardless of breed, deserves to be this happy. Adopt a pittie from FFL, and let us cover the adoption fee!
Photo by Lindsey

Posted in Sugar | Tagged , , , , | 6 Comments

I’m A Child with a Paycheck

Posted on August 20, 2012 by Rhonda Rubin

There are a few things with which I’ve demonstrated I cannot be trusted. For a variety of reasons, not the least of which is “Sharktapus,” the TV remote should never be left in my hands. I’ve also made a few purchases after the realization that I have a steady income, and I’m an adult not living under my parents’ roof. This explains both the motorcycle in my garage, and the fact that I owned the bike for six months before telling my parents about it. And, even then, I got them drunk first. The plain truth of the matter is that I’m basically 15 years old, and sometimes I do, or buy, stuff I couldn’t when I actually was 15 years old.

Keeping that in mind, let’s talk about my hair. Like the annoying Peanuts character, I have “naturally curly hair,” henceforth known as “the Jewfro.” Sadly, my formative years occurred during the period of feathered hair and wings. Doubly sadly, my mother took me to a hairdresser who didn’t realize that the combination of wings and curly hair meant I’d have a pair of pompoms above my eyebrows. I can safely say that my hair during my Jr. High years is the underlying reason for any and all esteem issues I have. The magnificence of my Jewfro was such that it could not be contained by a photo frame. I wore a lot of hats during my teen years. As recently as last year, and even with my shorter style, TSA believed my Jewfro was harboring a terrorist, a bomb, or a bazooka, or some substance that could endanger a planeload of people. They felt the need to have me stand, arms outstretched, as they patted down my Jewfro while Lindsey watched, and our friend Kramer giggled.

During the following years, my Jewfro and I came to an agreement of sorts, and we’ve lived in relative harmony, but I’ve always wanted to do something different to it. With age and experience, I know I can’t do anything different stylewise, but there’s always color. Since I was a young punk in high school, I’ve wanted to dye it blue, green, or crayola red. I knew at that young age that my mother would plotz if I came home with my hair a primary color, so I gave up on the idea, but still dreamed a little dream of it. Until a month ago. Aaand this is the part where childhood me, kicks adult me into realizing, once again, this paycheck thing has perks other than food and shelter.

Lindsey and I were watching the premiere of this season’s Project Runway. Shut up! I like fashion, even if I can’t pick out my own clothes! But I digress. Whatever. One of this season’s designers, Sonjia Williams, has the best. Hair. Ever. It’s black with blue highlights. I perked up. And, rather than comment on her really cool designs, I said, “I love her hair! I think I can pull that off!” Lindsey gave my noggin a critical look and agreed. I could rock that look. Fast forward to a time I’d like to call “Friday Afternoon,” when we found ourselves at Sally’s Beauty Supply. We giddily skipped down the color aisle, but were disappointed to find there was no black with blue highlights. Disappointment turned to joy when we found this:

Oh. Em. Gee. Dark Brown with Purple!

Saturday night, we carefully mixed the dye with the developer, and we shook up the bottle. After donning the latex gloves and snapping them, purely for mad scientist effect, I glooped the mixture onto my head.

No turning back now!

I sat around the bedroom for 30 minutes, periodically checking the mirror as my gloopy head became pink, then purple, then just magnificent. After a long shower and a quick gel and jooge of the hair, I was ready to be unveiled. Look at my noggin and be amazed! Well, unless you’re my mom, whose eyes are rolling while she sighs and utters a short, but pained “Oy gevalt.”

Lookie here! Purple highlights! I’m kind of in love with it.

Posted in Life, Random | Tagged , | 14 Comments

I’ve been under so much pressure the last few weeks that I’ve felt like I’m about to pop like bubble wrap. Or a zit. Yes, definitely a zit. My exploding would be the opposite of a satisfying pop of air. It would be the disgusting SPLUT of a massive forehead zit that can only illicit an “Eeew.” You know, like what you’re doing now, having just read the last sentence. But I digress. Whatever. Point being, I’ve been under enough stress, I’m surprised I haven’t done this in the office:

I’ve kept my freakouts at a minimum and in private, because I just don’t have time for them. Here’s just a peek at the outside forces simultaneously pressing against my life:

  • A major work deadline
  • Construction at home
  • Hausfrau duties at home
  • Still dealing with headaches

The major work deadline has been conflicting with my hausfrau duties. I’ve been working longish, brain-numbing hours, and then go home and do my best to make sure Lindsey gets food and rest, because she’s dealing with some health issues. If I don’t start dinner or pick something up within moments of going home, I lose the ability to escape the gravitational pull of the couch.

Hampering my cooking ability is the fact that our pantry shelves are encased in plastic, and our dining room furniture, various breakable items, and random objects from our pantry are huddled together under plastic in the middle of the dining room while our contractor Ed plugs the massive holes in the wall created by The Great Plumbing Reroute That Tried to Bankrupt Us.

SPLUT!

To be honest, I think I’ve handled the pressure fairly well. Through the last month I’ve been more like a zombie (sans the messy brain eating thing) than an angry pimple waiting to erupt. Of course, that could just be the headache meds I’ve been taking which, apparently, are primarily prescribed as antidepressants. Well played, brain doctor. Well played. Luckily I’m stocked with enough Fuckitol to keep me relatively headache free, and agreeable through my next deadline and the impending purchase of The Great A/C Replacement That’s Trying To Bankrupt Us.

SPLUT!

Posted on July 28, 2012 by Rhonda Rubin | 1 Comment

Good Intentions Can Get You Eaten

Posted on July 22, 2012 by Rhonda Rubin

Lindsey and I are big softies for rescue animals. We have a rescue dog, so we do what we can for a couple of no-kill shelters in town, and we always urge our friends who want dogs to adopt a rescue dog. Naturally, when either of us sees, or hears of, a dog in trouble, we get all super hero-y and try to help.

As I was walking Sugar one night, I saw a dog lying in the grass along our path. I scanned for its owner and, seeing no one around, realized it was a stray. We don’t have strays in our neighborhood, and I’m not saying that in a stiff-jawed, Thurston Howell accent. People in our neighborhood either walk their dogs, or let them out in their fenced yards. Strays are uncommon. This was a medium-sized, light brown dog. It was lying down, with its head up, but it only watched us. Sugar, who sometimes wigs out when she’s on a leash and sees another dog, uncharacteristically ignored it. I figured the universe was sending me a sign, so I decided not to tempt fate. I walked across the street before continuing up the block, hoping Sugar still wouldn’t see it, and that the other dog wouldn’t come to us. The universe stayed on our side, because the other dog never moved, but it did watch as we went past. It was a little creepy, actually.

On our way back, I saw the dog was still lying in the grass. I thought, for sure, it was hurt. It hadn’t moved but watched our every move. I took Sugar home, and talked to Lindsey about it.

“Honey?

“Oh God. What?” she asked, having heard the tone in my voice that basically said, “I’m about to say something really weird/random/unsettling/disturbing.”

“So, there’s this dog…”

“Oy.”

I didn’t get to finish the sentence, because Lindsey started asking the questions that a rational, sane person would ask when told that there’s a possibly sick stray dog just lying on the side of the road at 10:30 p.m. Since my only answer to the slew of questions was “I don’t know,” we decided to go back, and take it some water and a few treats to see if it would let us get close. At least that way, the dog would have a little food, and some water.

As we approached, the dog lifted its head again. We stopped and watched it, not wanting to get close yet. Then it got up, and emitted an odd growl that lasted until after it slinked its way out of the glow of the street light. Seriously, it was a weird growl. Imagine a German Shepherd growling like a Chihuahua. This was the Mike Tyson of dogs. We gave each other the “OOOOOK” look, turned around, and walked home. Hey, I’m no animal expert, but I do know when something with pointy teeth basically tells you, “Leave me the fuck alone,” you leave it the fuck alone.

As we walked, I kept thinking about the sound of that growl, the way the dog looked, its bushy tail, and the way it moved.

“Honey? This may sound a little ‘city girl’ of me, but I think that was one of the inner-city, coyotes.”

“We have inner-city coyotes?” she asked with the doubt of someone married to a smartass who may or may not have embellished a few things for laughs in the past.

“Oh yeah. There are coyotes in Memorial Park, and that was a weird sounding growl.”

I expected more skepticism. Instead, she just nonchalantly said, “Huh…I thought that growl sounded weird. You could be right.” And we continued walking home with our backs to a feral canine known to have attacked small animals in the area.

Not a dog. Photo by C.Hirsch.

So, to make this clear: One of us mistook a coyote for a poor, hurt doggie, and then we both just walked away from it with no thought about it attacking us from behind. This does not bode well for us during the apocalypse. We’ll likely die shortly after wandering into a group of flesh-eating mutants asking to borrow a can opener.

Posted in Life, Random | 6 Comments

Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself

Posted on July 14, 2012 by Rhonda Rubin

After blogging on Livejournal for a few years, and subsequently not blogging at all for about a year, I decided to get back into it. I’m sure my former readership of eight has likely decided I fell into a well so deep even Lassie can’t find me, and since people visiting blogs rarely click the “About Me” link, I’m going to be uncharacteristically polite and introduce myself to you by plagiarizing my own page:

Hi, my name is Rhonda, and I can’t help you get her out of your heart. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I totally can, but I seriously won’t. Because I hate that song, and I’m a spiteful wench. If you meet me, and you think you’re being original and witty by singing that song to me? You’ve told me everything I need to know about you. My blog tells you everything I think you need to know about me, life, philosophy, stuff, and random naked dummies thrown behind Gymboree.

I live in an undisclosed location Houston, TX with my wife Lindsey and our dog Sugar, who are the roux in the gumbo of my existence.

My Girls

My slightly lesser loves, in no particular order are cycling, softball, motorcycling, photography, random observations, inappropriate comments, and inserting my unsolicited opinions. All this and more appear within the confines of my blog. So..yeah…

All Hail Me!
Photo by Lindsey Smolensky
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a comment

‘Scuse the Mess

Posted on July 7, 2012 by Rhonda Rubin

Oh. Hey there. You’re early. This blog isn’t open for business yet. I’m still knocking out a few walls, painting, adding some art work, and maybe a tasteful pink flamingo or two.

Come back soon.

Posted in Random | Tagged | 2 Comments