Home is the sailor, home from the sea.

I know how worried you've all been about us. Never fear, we are home safe and sound, and we didn't squander away our life savings. Lupe made it through the longest separation since she joined our lil' fam without any diarrhea and without chewing anything that had sentimental value to my parents, so our familial accord is still in tact.

I'll post pictures and descriptions later, but until then I'll leave you with this thought:

I used to look at beautiful (if immodest) little black dresses on the hanger in stores. They had pretty sequins and tiny straps and whatnot, and I'd visualize beautiful women wearing these dresses to fancy parties.

Lesson learned in Vegas: There are no beauty requirements for purchasing and then wearing into public the aforementioned little black dresses. Whoa. I'll keep my Old Navy capris and flip flops, but thanks.

Oh, and what's the deal with girls holding hands with girls and giggling to look cute?

Library trips

I'm sitting in a beautiful little home office courtesy of Patrick's boss and his wife, and just though I'd give a quite update on the Santo Jorge/Las Vegas goings on. The weather is beautiful and the trip has been fantastic. We've eaten some great food, and had a lot of fun with Paddy's coworkers.

I'm just now remembering that I forgot to take a picture of this absolutely hideous piece of, well, art?, that was in our hotel room-- not once, mind you, but twice. The exact same painting hanging in two different places in the room. Ha!

Last night we saw a truly mediocre-bordering-truly-bad rendition of 42nd Street at Tuacahn-- the company and the beautiful surroundings made up for the performance, though. (Have hotpants, Wendy? Even for a game of shuffleboard? Neither do I. Some funny memories, anyway.)

While the person I am married to has attended his work meetings, I have had a glorious time shopping, exploring, and relaxing. I blasted my way through a thoroughly engaging book, and couldn't have enjoyed myself more. Which brings me to my next thought...

I spent the majority of the day in the Santa Clara library, which just so happens to be beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out over the beautifully stark landscape of southern Utah. I love the library. I wonder sometimes why I didn't structure my life more carefully so I'd end up there more often. I love that it is brightly lit and full of books and comfortable chairs. I love that it is quiet. I love that no one thought it was weird that I sat curled up in a chair, moving only when my legs cramped beneath me. I would love to wander around through the dusty shelves. Occasionally I wonder why I didn't choose to surround myself with this all the time. I am quite certain I would have been happy and content.

No one there would yell at me over whether or not a person has the right to choose how to die. (Amazing, my job. To satisfy your curiosity without violating HIPAA privacy laws, let me say that it didn't involve a patient, or other employees, or any family members. Oh, and also apparently I lie. And smirk. Remind me that I like my job.)

I suppose the library would have been a good fit. But I would have found myself researching child abuse and terminal illnesses. I would have missed my interaction with my bright and talented clients who struggle with substance abuse. I suppose the cheesy phrase from my undergrad really is true. Social work is a calling, and unfortunately not even the draw of smell of a new book can pull me away for long.

Viva Las Vegas

I'm out of the Stone Age at work with keys to my own office and access to a computer with an internet connection that would have been awesome circa 1998. I'm still without a name badge, but that's not an all together bad thing as I don't get stopped by families in the hall; they assume I'm there to visit my own grandmother or something. Anyway, turns out that the somewhat antiquated internet connection there does boast some sort of filtration system that prevents me from signing into el blog. Thus, we're a little backlogged.

We have pictures from the trip to the zoo with Jordo and the Monk. By the by, Hogle Zoo doesn't have a hippo, a polar bear, or any lions. It's a good thing they had that kickin' white alligator to make up for it.

We also have pictures from our trip to Dog Lake with Kimmi, Indy, and the Lu. I'm not about to admit how long it's been since we actually went on that hike, but the pictures are cute.

For now, though, we're packing for our jaunt to Santo Jorge (which sounds more exotic than St. George) and Las Vegas where we are hoping to luck out and meet up with Scott and Ashley and gamble away our life savings.

I'll give a report on all of the above when we return, but you won't be able to tell when I'm lying and when I'm not. As the commercials say, what happens in Las Vegas...

"No! Stop! I didn't even say 'shake', stupid!"

Scene I.

Kris is lounging on the newly purchased Siesta Sac (which happens to be much cheaper than a Luv Sac) and is mostly paying attention to a new episode of Survivorman.

Enter Husband.

Husband: Lupe! Lupe-- sit. sit. Please sit. SIIIIT. Good dog! Ok Lupe, shake. C'mon, shake. SHAKE.

This type of dialouge continues for several minutes, punctuated with occasional sparks of laughter from a proud Husband when Lupe complies and somewhat grudgingly places her paw in his hand to receive the promised Bac'n strip snack.

Husband: Kris! Kris, watch, please! This is awesome! Lupe, shake. Shake. SHAKE.

Nothing happens.

Husband: (Groans.) I swear... just give me a minute.

Scene continues as before. Several minutes pass.

Husband: This is awesome! Wife! Watch this!

Lupe now complies readily, gobbling up her treat with great energy.

SCENE II.

A day has passed. A couple is lounging on the aforementioned Siesta Sac, commenting on how it is easily as comfortable as a Luv Sac and how someone would be silly to spend half of a thousand dollars on the latter brand just to have that cool orange and black logo tag on it. Lupe is not lounging anywhere, but is fussing around with everything trying to draw attention away from the Sac discussion and the Chargers game playing in the background.

Husband: But, but, stop Lupe. STOP. I didn't even say shake. What are you doing?! I DON'T EVEN HAVE ANY TREATS!

As the wife laughs hysterically in the background, Lupe continues pawing at any part of the Husband she can get to, trying to elicit a treat as before. At one point, she catches him off-guard and drags her paw all the way across his face, altogether quite proud of herself for her excellent "shaking" though she seems a bit confused about why no one is grabbing her leg and bouncing it up and down as before.

Husband: (forlornly) Kris, I'm a bad dad. Look at her. I should never have even taught her that stupid shaking thing. It's not even cute, and now she won't stop.

Wife continues chuckling, thinking about how hilarious life will be someday when they have real kids, and not just an adorable yellow lab.

Curtain drops.

Done and done.

Star Date 9.5.07:

Passed my boards yesterday. Am now waiting for the pretty blue piece of paper telling the world that I am

Kristin __________, CSW

No one busted me for intelligence fraud and so the charade continues. Whew.

Sigh.

Isn't life cute, what with all it's little surprises?

I sure think so. I think it's good that I can keep such a fun, positive outlook on life. Especially when I find myself googling the phrase "dog vomit smell out of carpet".

It would be down right hil-AR-ious if I was joking. Since the computer is located in the very room with the aforementioned concern, it's not the least bit humorous. Sometimes coming home from church is way more interesting than you expect.

Don't worry, though. The Lup is A-OK now. The emergency vet we took her to yesterday after she stopped responding to her own name tested her for a few things and ultimately determined she probably ate something nasty. (We learn new things about our pet every day. For example, no matter how lethargic she appears, she HATES having a Q-tip inserted, ah hem, there to get a stool sample.) Beyond having to shove an antibiotic and an anti-nausea pill down her throat a couple of times a day, we're back to having an adorable, perky little puppy around who just happens to stink a little.

Lupe: "I promise to stay nice and perky like this if you won't let that man put anything under my tail ever again."

To make the trip just a little more fun, the veterinarian had a strong southern accent. That meant that when he said "parvo" (some dog disease) it sounded a little like "parlay" from Pirates. This would not have been quite so funny if he didn't look almost exactly like this:

Ah, life.

So, back to the carpet. It's a good thing we absolutely hate it anyway. We've steam cleaned it 4 times and sprayed it with a special pet-odor treater. Now I'm dumping white vinegar all over it, to be followed with oxy clean and some febreeze. If you have any bright ideas for getting the smell out, let me know. Just don't tell me how you learned them.