About a month ago, the DC Roomie adopted a second dog from the Washington Animal Rescue League. Little Zeke is a pure-breed Jack Russell Terrier that was rescued from a puppy mill (she get’s Oprah’s seal of approval). Little Zeke has settled in great and is on the calm side for JRTs. His big sister, Miss Daisy acts like a bratty older sister but secretly adores him.

While discussing getting Zeke, we joked about starting a dog blog. It was meant to be a satire on baby blogs. I love seeing cute pictures of babies, but some people go way over the top with details about poop, throw-up or breast feeding. I want to remain ignorant of the gross details until I have kids. (For the record, I think Vol Abroad does a great job writing about Buddy).

DC Roomie started www.DaisyandZeke.com and began covering all of Zeke’s “firsts.” We thought it was hilarious. Everyone else just thought DC Roomie was a crazy dog owner. Then she found out that WARL is giving the link to new pet owners. It’s gotten slightly more educational now but then not everyone gets satires.

Longtime readers may remember that Daisy and Zeke are hardly the first ones to dogblog. Coco, the dog from the South, briefly had a blog several years ago in order to obtain a gmail account. (Amazing isn’t it, that a dog needed email?) However, like most things that Border Collies do, he quickly lost interest. He also found it hard to type without opposable thumbs.

Actually, I forgot that it was Hallmark’s second biggest holiday until someone randomly wished me a Happy Valentine’s Day in the elevator. My second thought was, “Oh no! I forgot to mail McGuyver Dad’s birthday card!”

Sorry Dad. You should have one arriving later this week.

No, I’m not a bad daughter. Dad is the hardest person that I know to shop for. He only likes practical gifts like socks or new blades for his table saw. It just feels wrong to wrap a package of socks and pay postage to mail them.

This year, I though ahead. Maven Mom and I went in together and bought Dad some LSU National Championship gear. He would have never bought it for himself, but it’s something that we knew he would love.

Now the Vols need to just win the 2008 National Championship, so I have something to get him next year.

Friday I learned the hard way that Uggs aren’t meant for running.

It was 8:40 a.m. when I stepped off the Metro. I wanted to check my email before a 9 a.m. meeting, so I was booking it to the office. Like most Washingtonians, I was scooting up the escalator at a brisk clip and dodging the odd person standing on the left. Since it’s cold outside, I usually commute in my black Uggs. They may not be pretty, but they’re comfortable and warm. (And not as ugly as Crocs.)

Near the top, my Ugg got caught on the step and down I went on all fours. People were nice and helped me up. Embarrassed, I pulled myself together, grabbed the ubiquitous black handbag that all women in DC carry and checked to see if my jeans were bloodied or torn. Ignoring the pain in both my knees, I plowed through the turnstile thinking, “A, no one ever needs to know about that.”

It wasn’t until 3 p.m. that I realized my cell phone was gone. I looked around my cube. It wasn’t there.

I emptied the entire contents of the ubiquitous black handbag. Umbrella, wallet, checkbook, make-up, hairbrush, static cling spray, first aid kit, dayplanner, notepad, pens, iPod, keys, scarf, gloves, lip gloss, breath mints, book and journal. No cell phone. I was set for everything except calling people.

I sat there confused for a few minutes since I distinctly remember putting my cell phone in my bag that morning.

I called my cell phone. No Rocky Top played.

The roommate was taking a sick day, so I IMed her. She called my cell phone. No Rocky Top. She searched the apartment. No cell phone.

“Damn.” I thought. I really like that cell phone.

The roommate suggested that I go through my bag again. After all, she’s seen how big it is.

Once again: umbrella, wallet, checkbook, make-up, hairbrush, static cling spray, first aid kit, dayplanner, notepad, pens, iPod, keys, scarf, gloves, lip gloss, breathe mints, book and journal.

Again, no cell phone.

“!$#@”

Mentally retracing my steps, I realized that the phone must have fallen out of my bag when I tumbled on the escalator. A cell phone dropped in the Metro during morning rush hour was going to be long gone.

One of the craziest afternoons ever then proceeded, and I stayed at work until 8 p.m. By the time I arrived home an hour later, I was exhausted, frustrated and in pain. My knees were swollen and bruised, my bad wrist ached, and it hurt to walk.

At that moment, I just wanted to call someone and cry. The combination of exhaustion, frustration and pain do that to you. I pulled out our old-fashioned land line and realized something. I had no phone numbers. I haven’t memorized a phone number since I first got a cell phone at 17. Nearly a decade has passed since I was required to remember one.

“Damn,” I thought again.

A few numbers did stick out. Aside from my parents current number and the number at their old house, I had McGuyver Dad’s old office number, Beka’s parents and LF’s parents. I opted for home and left a tearful message on their answering machine. Sometimes you just need to cry to someone, even if that someone is a machine.

Maven Mom called back a little while later. Apparently she had flashbacks to fifth grade when I came home from school crying everyday. Fifth grade really sucked…

She cheered me up and helped sort through the Verizon account. The prospect of a new gadget was making me happy. Saturday, I scoped out the cell phones and Verizon and did some online research. This afternoon, I decided on a new LG enV. It had a 2 megapixel camera, a full keyboard and the most important feature–it came in orange. Between an upgrade credit on the account and in-store sale, I got the phone, bluetooth headset and car charger for only $60. I wasn’t happy about spending $60 outside of my budget but losing one cell phone in 10 years isn’t a bad track record.

Two lessons here:
1) Back up your cell phone numbers and memorize the important ones. I went from about 200 numbers to six. If you know me in the real world, please shoot me an email or Facebook message with your number.
2) Don’t run up escalators in Uggs, especially during rush hour. Checking my email before work wasn’t worth losing my cell phone.

The good news is that I have a shiny orange cell phone that matches my Rocky Top ringtone.

Purple will never be as pretty as my beloved UT orange, but Geaux Tigers! Tonight I’m thrilled that the university where I first called home won the 2008 National Championship! If it were UT, the parties would be starting right now. Since it’s LSU, fans have been partying since yesterday morning. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine that I’m drinking a Hurricane at Pat O’Briens.

Ironically, one of the reasons the parents encouraged me to go to UT were that the Vols played better football. We got that one wrong. Thank goodness I didn’t choose my college based on school colors or football.

When will the rest of the country learn that you can’t touch the awesomeness of SEC football? It’s not really football in other conferences.

Now we enter the bleak period of the year with no college football. Sadness until next August. Basketball is just a weak distraction.

Congrats to Maven Mom, McGuvyer Dad and the rest of the LSU contingent in GFTS family. The Vols will return one day.

It’s my first day back in DC after a wonderful fortnight in Chattanooga. Honestly, it gets harder to leave Tennessee each time I go back. The cost of living is cheaper, people are nicer and the pace is slower. Not to mention that I miss seeing mountains every day.

Saturday, I drove up to Knoxville for a short visit with Mrs. M on the way back to the District. It’s always pleasant to visit her domestic bliss. Not only was she married at 24, but the Ms own a house! A house with 4 bedrooms and yard! Those things are unheard of in DC. She lives in an alternate universe.

I also met up with John Brown and Piho for dinner. Of course John wasted no time at all in calling me a “cosmopolitan conservative.” (Thanks Kleinheider. John didn’t have enough dirt on me from college to fuel his mockery. He needed new material. Although that is a good idea for a blog name.) It’s also sad how our group in Knoxville gets smaller each year as we spread out around the world. Soon there aren’t going to be any College Republican veterans from my era at UT.

The rest of the trip is a blur of shopping with mom, visiting friends, driving around the Scenic City and enjoying the holidays. On Christmas Eve, I sprained my ankle. The next week was primarily spent watching a lot of TLC since I could barely stand up. TLC’s programming now only consists of gastric bypasses and documentaries of families with lots of kids. It’s the same themes over and over, but they suck you in.

During my convalescence, I noted how the commercials changed from Christmas-oriented, buy this car/diamond ring, and they’ll love you forever” ads to weight-loss programs. Around the 28th, Nutri-System alone must have taken out several million in ad buys. There seemed to be a lot more quick fix products than exercise programs, which is sad. If people are going to start exercising, it seems like the new year would be the time to advertise.

I heart my Honda! I drove the new car up here yesterday on ONE tank of gas. How awesome is that? Seeing that it took me over 10 hours to fly home before Christmas, it’s much better to drive. $45 spent on gas versus $300 for a plane ticket is a strong argument for driving. Having a working vehicle will make life so much better here. Plus, I can take off for long weekends now. This means that the Girl from the South will get to be in the South much more often!

The family from the South has Christmas traditions in troves to the point that we spend most of the holidays trying to fulfill those traditions.

Every year, we get a live tree for the den and showcase a lifetime of GFTS craft projects. Maven Mom starts out with strings of cranberries and popcorn, and every year tries to outsmart Coco, the dog from the South, from eating the popcorn off the strings and leaving the cranberries.

This year Coco got an added bonus. Mom found a craft project that turned Little Debbie gingerbread men into ornaments:

Maven Mom:I made the gingerbread boys this morning for the tree. I tied ribbons on them and put hooks and hung them on the tree. They are getting too much moisture in the house for some reason and keep dropping off of the tree. The dog is standing watch by the tree and not moving so that he can catch them when they fall.
GFTS: [Mentally pictures the Gingerbread Man from Shrek falling off the tree and a greedy Border Collie running over, gobbling the cookie while the Gingerbread man shrieks in his little Gingerbread Man voice.] LOL. That’s so funny!
MM: I carefully hung them above Coco height too.
GFTS: I can so imagine that. Coco’s just standing there, looking up, and it’s raining gingerbread men.
MM: Yes.
GFTS: It’s raining (gingerbread) men. Hallelujah! It’s raining men. [Yeah, I’ve watched Bridget Jones too many times.]
MM: A miracle. LOL. The whole Christmas is a disaster.
GFTS: Why?
MM: The popcorn is gone from the bottom of the tree.
GFTS: But it is every year.
MM: He is eating all of my decorations.
GFTS: Don’t complain. Be happy that at 15, he’s still mischievous enough to wait for gingerbread men to fall.
MM: They are all dropping one at a time. I don’t know what to do to stop it.
GFTS: At least he’s not binging then.
MM: They are dropping about 10 minutes apart. I think that is binging.
GFTS: Do you have any left on the tree?
MM: I put over 32 on there.
GFTS: That’s a lot of Little Debbie’s for one border collie.
MM: He will refuse to sleep upstairs tonight. Should I take them all off of the tree?
GFTS: Not before you record this.
MM: He is grabbing them and running outside now. I’m afraid he will be sick.
GFTS: He eats aluminum cans.
MM: A total Little Debbie diet isn’t good for an old dog.
GFTS: It isn’t good for anyone.

This morning, I got an update:
MM: Dad blocked off the den, and and Coco is trying nervously to get in.
GFTS: No more snack tree?
MM: He is going back and forth trying to find a way to the tree.
GFTS: LOL.
MM: Dad said that the first thing that Coco did this morning was try and get to the tree, and it was blocked. He said Coco looked up at him confused.
GFTS: Poor Coco. Probably confused and betrayed.
MM: He is a strong-willed dog because he is pacing back and forth trying to find an opening.
GFTS: How many gingerbread men did he eat?
MM: I think around 12. Or maybe more. I don’t know how he didn’t get a stomach ache.
GFTS: He eats metal!
MM: I can’t believe a dog ate a can. Only the rim was left.

Enjoy the ornaments. Some of them date back to GFTS’s preschool days.

Sigh. I miss my family. Laughing at Coco is more interesting than pondering Huckabee’s rise in the polls, which is actually what I did last night. Judging by the posts in my reader, I’m not the only one.

Tonight is the greatest night of the year for football–the SEC Championship. No one plays football like the SEC.

It was a rough road, and there will probably be a lot of Georgia fans crying over their beer tonight, but bwahahaha!

I just pray that it won’t be a repeat of 2002 when LSU kicked our butts over the SEC title. That was a painful night. I was at a party watching it with friends while my voicemail filled up with messages from the LSU fans in my family. Lots of love that night.

In honor of my LSU heritage and parentals from the South:

GEAUX VOLS!!!!!!

One of the highlights of being home this weekend was watching the UT game with McGuyver Dad just like we did when I lived in-state. What a game! After sitting through four overtime periods, I’m fairly certain that God is a Vol fan. ATL here we come!

Now the difficult family rivalry emerges. GFTS is the black sheep of the family who opted to attend UT over LSU. This is the ONLY time that Maven Mom takes a passing interest in football, and McGuyver Dad is faced with the difficult decision of which team to support. But as Maven Mom put it today, “The only thing UT got from your father and I was tuition money.”

I wish we could go to the game in Atlanta. I’d even sit in the LSU section. The atmosphere would be more entertaining there. Drunk Cajuns are always funny, and the food would be good. They would probably even have jambalaya.

GEAUX VOLS!!!

Had Beka not put up a Facebook message about my trip home next week, I would have forgotten that I’m flying out of here on Tuesday.

Despite the hopes of some liberals, I haven’t fallen off the face of the planet. Work has just be supremely busy. I mean busy in an incredibly serious manner, and not my usual melodramatic exaggerations. I’m sure all my co-workers who read this blog now (thanks to Facebook or the WaPo Express), would back me up. A few days went by when I actually forgot that I had a blog.

It’s all good though. When I enjoy it, I don’t mind being a workaholic.

I’m pretty psyched to get home. It’s been about 4 months since I saw the family and Chattabuddies. Coco, the dog from the South has forgotten my existence, and I’m looking forward to a brief respite from the Beltway. The thought of shopping at Wal-mart makes me happy!

This weekend, I must have felt college nostalgia. Saturday, I wore an a Volunteer orange polo shirt with a Tennessee zip-up hoodie. Since I never get to pull out the Vol wear, I paired it with my Power T scarf, gloves and purse. (The Crocs stayed home.) Of course I ended up running into my friend Sarah from college. She’s now in an SIS grad program at American, and laughed at my Vol fever. It did look like I was leaving Neyland Stadium sans alcoholic beverage.

Sunday, John stopped by from a visit on his way home from New York. It was great to catch up with him and hang out. We ended up taking the Monument March of Death late Sunday night. My two favorite times to see DC are at night and when it snows. The WWII monument is breathtaking at night. The lighting and fountains are amazing. It’s my favorite monument.

All the college friends are so spread out now that I don’t get to see everyone very often. John, come back and visit, and Nathan–I’m expecting a visit sometime soon. Philadelphia isn’t that far from here.

Tonight, I received a fall care package from Maven Mom with special pumpkin spice soap. I wish that we could send smells over the web. This smells better than a pumpkin spice frappachino. When is she going to start selling this stuff? If I walked into Lush, this bar of soap would have cost at least $10. Maven Mom soap is the best in the world. Who else has a mother who makes organic, homemade soap?

Can you tell that I haven’t read the news or checked my email lately? All I have tonight are updates from GFTS world. At least I’m alive and checking in with the blogosphere. My next post may not be until Chattanooga…

Today I turned 26. Unlike previous years, I didn’t have elaborate countdowns to my birthday or expect a grand celebration. Actually, Maven Mom noted that you can tell when you’re a grown-up because you’re too busy to fuss for a week-long extravaganza. Yesterday, I forgot all about my birthday until my roommate reminded me, so I’m guessing I’m an official bill-paying grown up.

On Facebook this morning, I questioned if 26 was still considered mid-twenties. Everyone agreed that 26 was in the mid-range, but there was some disagreement at what defined late-20s or late-whatever. Is it 27, 28, or 47 or 48? At what point to you enter the late part of the decade? Is the 7th or 8th year of a decade? Furthermore, at what point do you enter the mid years? is the 4th or 5th? This question plagued me all day.

This morning, I talked to Maven Mom, and she offered her official greetings:

Maven Mom: Happy Birthday!
Me: Thanks!
Maven Mom: Enjoy turning 25!
Me: What?
Maven Mom: You’re 25 today. Happy Birthday.
Me: Mom, today I turn 26.
Maven Mom: You’re 26? (shock in her voice)
Me: Yep. You were there.
Maven Mom: Hmmm…I forgot.

If I came from a large family, this would make sense. However, I am the parentals from the South’s only offspring. Someone will be getting some ginseng supplements for Christmas.