. . . that England doesn't really exist. After all, I've never seen it.

Someone just made it up. That's all.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 08:15 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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ICANN says no, one more time. James Joyner points out that this thwarts "the hope that pornography could find its way to the Internet."

Yup.

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Tammy Bruce has up-to-the-minute coverage, and points out that cat owners need to be just as careful as dog owners. She has a listing of the affected sub-brands under the Menu umbrella.

I'm glad that my mother buys the Mandy-chow at specialty stores, and is watching the situation closely. Of course, if her stomach were as strong as her jaws, we wouldn't have much to worry about: she can destroy an expensive pet toy in ten minutes flat.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 05:14 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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"the strangest thing happened."

"Strange, you say?" A the H is intrigued.

"Yes. I was in the kitchen, having an intense discussion with a friend on the phone, and after you passed by I moved my head. A styrofoam cup fell onto the counter."

"Why were you wearing a styrofoam cup indoors?"

"'Cause I can't wear it outside; the wind would take it off. Come on: why did you put a disposable coffee cup on top of my snow hat?"

"You think I did that?"

"There wasn't anyone else in the kitchen, and I didn't put it there myself."

"So this relationship has devolved into finger-pointing now? That's sad."

"Oh. You think it would be healthier to wipe the slate clean and discuss this incident only from the moment that you left the kitchen with a coffee cup balanced upside-down on top of my head?"

"Or maybe from the time it fell off. I'll bet that was funny."

Posted by: Attila Girl at 04:30 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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She crept into my mother's house in the middle of the night last night via the dog door, went into her room, and licked her hand.

I've got maybe half of the flyers torn down; I'll get the rest of them taken down tomorrow.

I'm very happy now, but I wonder what that dog got into during her 36 hours on the lam: she smells awful.

Stupid dog: she gave us a heck of a fright. I've been punishing her by feeding her treats and petting her and throwing an oversized tennis ball for her to fetch.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:09 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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We go out to grab a late lunch, or an early supper, or whatever one wants to call it.

I'm with the mom at Panera, which I love for the good food and the free WiFi.

Mom goes to the loo; I check my e-mail. When she returns, she sees that my laptop is open, and says, "there's a sign over there that says 'high-speed internet.'"

I look up at her, over my glasses.

"Oh. Is that what you're using now?"

"Yes, indeed."

"You don't have a cable hooked up, or anything."

I say nothing, because to get annoyed would mean that I naively expected she was listening to me all the times I've told her how convenient WiFi is, etc. etc., and how I only take a cable with me when I travel, in case the WiFi doesn't work.

And I do not want to appear naive.

Fortunately, the waiter shows up with my onion soup, and I realize quickly that the most magnificent thing in the world is onion soup without an excessive amount of cheese in it. Onion soup in which one can really taste the onion. And I'm too much in love with this long-overdue interpretation of the dish to care much one way or another just how often it is that my mother really does listen to the things I say.

But who knows if I'll be hanging on her every word after this . . .

Posted by: Attila Girl at 04:13 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Or, perhaps, until my mother's dog does.

If you live near LAX, please be on the lookout for a beautiful black pit bull wearing a purple collar.

I tried not to spazz out about it when Mandy went missing yesterday evening, but it rained today, which means that all the flyers I distributed in Westchester this afternoon (Tuesday afternoon, that is) have been ruined.

More importantly, it means that Mandy's sense of smell won't help her to get back home.

If she's still alive, that is: there are big, busy boulevards near my mother's house, and Mandy never seemed to get the idea of what a street was: most of what she does she does very quickly, very exuberently. The odds may not be that good that she's still alive.

I choose to have hope, which means my new hobby is producing flyers and placing them on lamp posts and trees near my mother's house. (My mother is 70 years old, and recovering from a hurt knee. Furthermore, I want someone to be at the house to greet the dog, should she come home.)

Therefore, you'll strictly get what I need to write in order to wind down—for the next several days, or until the heartache I feel subsides to a dull sort of thumpety-thump I can ignore.

If you can bring yourself to pray for a sweet, spirited fourteen-month-old puppy, please do so.

I just want my my mother's dog back. Other than that, I'm pretty much going through the motions right now. Working, doing housework. And thinking about my dog.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:09 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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The good news: I've recovered from producing the monthly newsletter for Ye Olde Nonprofit. It also looks like I'll finally be getting some help with some of the management work I do for them as a staffer.

In our monthly meeting yesterday morning the Chairman remarked that it was perfectly obvious I was overloaded with responsibilities, and that other people needed to start pulling their weight. And for a split second I felt offended—angry that he would insult me by suggesting I couldn't handle the extreme load I was carrying. Fortunately, I kept my mouth shut and allowed myself to be treated as if I were a human being rather than a sort of robotic super-heroine.

Are all women like this, or does it have to do with the way I was raised? It's so pathological, it's funny. Sort of.

So I'm taking it easy today: no politics. Light human-interest blogging if the spirit strikes.

Mostly I intend to work on my fiction, go to the party, and finish consuming the delicious Ellery Queen mystery I have my nose in right now.

A shout-out to Darrell: I got your writing prompt, and have a first draft of a short story based on same. I'm not sure if I'll be presenting it at the reading party today, though. It clearly isn't finished. I might just cop out and read another chapter excerpt there.

And I'll either post the story—about the woman with the mis-matched socks—or send it to you. Once it's finished, of course.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 07:14 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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. . . has meeting rooms with names like the Felicity Room, the Serenity Room, the Harmony Room, and the Prosperity Room. And the Room of Rainbows and Cute Kittens.

Okay: I made that last one up.

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traffic.

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"You stopped over in Vegas on the way home? You should have hit a casino or two. You could have made out with enough to cover your CPAC trip! Or at least you could have checked out the Star Trek exhibit at the Hilton—help maintain your geek cred."

"My geek cred isn't hurting," she replied. "And there wasn't time to leave the airport. I skipped the video poker in the waiting area, since I'm too broke and too compulsive for that. But I did take advantage of the free WiFi, which in my mind makes up for any flaws the Las Vegas airport may have.

"I am still, for the record, very annoyed with both BWI and the people at U.S. Air."

Posted by: Attila Girl at 05:55 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I'm at Johns Hopkins, outside Professor Purkinje's office—where Dr. P is working before we head out to lunch and send me to my plane. He introduces me to one of his employees: "Joy writes murder mysteries."

"Oh," replies the nice young researcher. "Are you in science also?"

"No," I tell him. "Just a writer."

Though it occurs to me that had I known what I'd end up doing, studying a little forensic science would have come in darn handy.

At the very least, I should have taken the precaution of failing human physiology in high school, so I could take it again. That way, I would remember it all better in ripe middle age.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 08:39 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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