WanderingAmylessly 2.0

The dog was lying on the floor beside her bed this morning, looking forlornly at the green cushion but making no move to get in. My husband walks by and says, "Oh Maggie, what's in your bed? Let's get that out of there for you." And he pulls out a folded piece of paper (the directions for H's Whack-A-Mole game, but that's not crucial information for the story...face it, there's no crucial info for this story), tossing it aside so Maggie can crawl in and curl up. I roll my eyes. Me: Oh good grief, she's a dog. Tim: Would you want to lay on paper? Me: Well, no. But she's a dog. She drinks muddy water from the downspouts and licks her butt. Apparently there's comfort, and then there's comfort.

Thanks Crystal! Made me laugh. Hard. She just pointed out that the ad box on the top of my blog has been saying the following: IHOP Coupons IHOP coupons for your next visit. Limited Promotions. Terms Apply. Whatever you do, DON'T CLICK!!!!!!

I'll post the whole Time.com story here, so you can read for yourself. But if you want to get at the heart of the matter...Mitt strapped his dog to the top of the family car and drove 12 hours. Are you as appalled as I am? As everyone should be?? Wednesday, Jun. 27, 2007 Romney's Cruel Canine Vacation By ANA MARIE COX The reporter intended the anecdote that opened part four of the Boston Globe's profile of Mitt Romney to illustrate, as the story said, "emotion-free crisis management": Father deals with minor — but gross — incident during a 1983 family vacation, and saves the day. But the details of the event are more than unseemly — they may, in fact, be illegal. The incident: dog excrement found on the roof and windows of the Romney station wagon. How it got there: Romney strapped a dog carrier — with the family dog Seamus, an Irish Setter, in it — to the roof of the family station wagon for a twelve hour drive from Boston to Ontario, which the family apparently

Brianne, babe, how come your My Space claims you live in Overland Park.... Alabama ? I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto.

A year ago, I started a group therapy called STEPPS (Systems Training for Emotional Predictability and Problem Solving), designed as a treatment program for Borderline Personality Disorder -- one of the lovely little ickies from which my brain suffers. The program is supposed to help me learn skills to battle episodes of emotional intensity and fight the automatic negative thoughts constantly running through my head. These thoughts are my inner voice saying, "You're no good. You're not important. You're stupid and fat and ugly and untalented and worthless." Everyone has run-ins with negative thoughts. Mine are the soundtrack to a motion picture of my life. The 24-week program did me a world of good. I learned a lot. I dealt head-on with issues surrounding my unhappiness at work and tension at home, and it eventually led me to quit my job and dive into freelance writing full time. But like anything that takes dedication and practice, STEPPS fundamentals begin to fa

Three years ago today, we said goodbye to our sweet Ansel. Maggie's terrific. But it's just not the same. We miss you, A-Dog. We think of you often.

I caught the lead to a story on the news this morning: Six Flags Inc. shares may be volatile Friday after an accident at the company's Louisville, Ky., amusement park. Gee. You think? The "accident" involved a young girl getting her LEGS SEVERED. I'd say that might be bad for business. I guess things could've been worse at the IHOP. Food poisoning or flesh-eating bacteria or the like. Count those blessings. Beware the thrill rides.

When you ask Henry what his mommy does for a job: "She writes." When you ask Henry what his daddy does for a job: "He's a picture-takin' guy." And the other day, when I found H flipping through my dictionary on our coffee table: "Mommy, you copy-edid'in today?" It's quite possible that H could simply be cute for a living. He's worth more than a billion bucks, as far as I'm concerned.

I promise this will be the last IHOP-related blog entry on my site. But I couldn't resist. I Googled "boycott IHOP." And got the following: Results 1 - 10 of about 55,200 for boycott IHOP Reading down the first few, I discovered the following: Two lesbians were kicked out of an IHOP in Kansas City for giving each other a kiss in the restaurant. An IHOP in Massachusetts required photo ID from one customer before they would SEAT him. (On a comment page related to this, one person wrote, "I'm surprised they are still in business. Perhaps customers should boycott IHOP for treating them like criminals.") Someone on a MySpace page revealed a shocking discovery: "IHOP no longer serves waffles. I don't know if this is just the case with the one in Harvard Square, or with IHOPs everywhere. Nevertheless, this is bullshit and I won't stand for it. You're the International House Of Pancakes. Waffles are the tried and true brother of pancakes, standing s

I just got off the phone with the not-so-friendly general manager of our local IHOP, who called to talk about the complaint I filed. So I launched into the tale, becoming more anxious and emotional by the moment. By the time I got to the part where the police called, I was practically spewing bile. The man listened to me rant, then agreed that "if indeed" we had that kind of service, it was not acceptable. Sensing a "but" in here? This is what he said: "If it were my family, if it had been me, I would have demanded to see the manager and stood up at the cash register until I saw him. I'm sure he would've made everything right, with a discount or something." So apparently, calmly asking the waitress three times (THREE TIMES) to see the manager was where we went wrong in this situation. We should've thrown a holy-Mother-of-God fit in the middle of the restaurant, maybe with some stomping and yelling and cursing and pounding fists on the table. De

And one other thing. This is proof that there's no truth in advertising and that corporate visions, values, mission statements and the like are complete bullshit. IHOP's tagline: Come hungry. Leave Happy. IHOP's Customer Focus (Vision & Values): We are always focused on satisfying the needs of our customers and guests. IHOP's Pursuit of Excellence (Vision & Values) We are passionate about excellence - we continually strive to be the best.

Tim went a few rounds, verbally, with the IHOP manager on Sunday and ended up getting our meal for half price. He still had to pay, though. I do not think that these people understand the severity of their incompetence. Or perhaps they just do not care. Someone commented to us that perhaps we should tell the IHOP folks what happened to the last restaurant that did us wrong. Recall the lactating masses who came out in support of us when we were booted from Hoover House restaurant in West Branch because I refused to breastfeed my baby in the bathroom? Remember the stories that ran in every newspaper and on every TV news show in the state -- and beyond? I'd like to point out that the Hoover House (which interestingly enough doubled as a venue for wet T-shirt contests on weekends) went out of business after our little incident. And for those of you who were befuddled and wondering how the police got involved on Sunday...someone from IHOP took the time to run out and write down our lice

I had about 24 hours as a legal, law-abiding citizen, after passing my driver's written exam yesterday (I only missed ONE of 35 questions!). Then we had an "incident" this morning at the IHOP. The following is a complaint I just filed with the Better Business Bureau. Filed against : IHOP James Street Coralville IA 52241 Complaint Description: I was taking my husband out for father's day breakfast at the new IHOP in Coralville. I understand it is a new restaurant, but it's been open for several weeks and I was appalled at the hideous service and other unprofessional behavior we experienced there. It was 15 minutes before anyone waited on us at our table. Another 45 minutes or so before we got any food. Everyone around us came in after us and had gotten their orders. We have a 3 year old who was so hungry, people around us felt so sorry for us they were offering us some of their food. Then food was brought to us...but it wasn't our order. So we waited some more

I have been living during the past six months...as a criminal. And I didn't even know it. If I had known it, I could've acted tougher...like Tony Soprano or a Hell's Angel or something. I could've gotten myself a tattoo and started saying "fuggeddaboudit." Who knows how long my life of crime might've lasted, if I hadn't been caught red-handed at the bank this morning while we were signing some family paperwork in front of the notary public. There it was. In black and white. (Along with another blatant lie that involved my weight, but who doesn't lie about that. Really.) My driver's license had expired. On my birthday. Last year. I laughed. Tim laughed. The notary public laughed as she said, "Oh wow. I bet you're going to have to take the driving test." Aaaaaagh!!!!! It's bad enough to go to the DMV when all you have to do is read the eye chart and get another monstrously bad picture of yourself taken that must serve as your pr

We just enrolled our son in his first semi-organized sport. He's built like a linebacker (an incredibly, unbelievably SHORT linebacker, but still...) and he has all the grace of a chicken with its knees tied together, but he is now a proud, preschool... GYMNAST. I have no illusions that he will become addicted to scissor kicks on the pommel horse or will dream of Olympic gold doing an Iron Cross on the rings. I'll just be happy if we can get through the summer with no major injuries. I really hope he understands that he is not allowed to do flips off the furniture or cartwheel down the staircase. And I'm so very happy that he is a boy. If he were a girl, he'd be obsessed with having a closet full of sequined leotards and shiny matching hair scrunchies. Most days, I'm not sure he's aware that he has clothes on at all. His grungy t-shirts and sweat shorts will do just fine. We watched his first class. There were only two students -- H and the boy Tim and I have ta

You'd think the boy sucks back water like a sponge, the way he desperately needs to pee SEVEN times after getting in bed. I'm not kidding. He doesn't actually urinate every time he makes the trek from his room to the toilet, but he certainly makes a production out of it. KID: "Mommeeee, Daddeeee, gotta go potteeeeeee." US: Sigh. "You know where it is." KID: Stomps like King Kong thru the city streets, muttering in a smart-ass, whispered falsetto, "Youuu know where it isssss." US: Bigger sigh. "You have five minutes." KID: "Okaaaayyyyy" loud enough for the neighbors three houses over with their air conditioner on since February to hear. Then he pulls down his SpongeBob Square Pants underwear, wiggling them off one leg at a time, then flipping them off his foot high into the air with much bravado and shuffles and bangs around doing God-only-knows-what before stomping up the little wooden steps and slapping his butt down on the