If our dog wore pants, she would have a muffin top. I didn’t realize this until a recent soiree at the dog park.

Kona puppy was following her usual protocol: hogging the water when other dogs tried to drink, acting aloof when people tried to throw her a ball, jumping on unassuming women in pastels, trying to dominate me in an embarrassing show of barking and assertiveness. This is how we do.

I usually enjoy watching the other dogs and secretly think mine is much cuter than theirs, except for when the occasional striped bulldog with multiple chain collars and an unexpected orange bandanna earns my admiration for looking so badass. But this time there was another chocolate lab who looked like Kona — even with the same color collar — except she was at least 10 pounds lighter.

I would see this dog chase after a brown tennis ball, and think, “Kona is so sprightly today. She better be tired tonight!” And then I would look over to the mud puddle and see the real Kona sniffing around and licking. Don’t judge me for calling her a fatty under my breath. The skinny dog’s owner struck up conversation with me, and I found out that she is just a few weeks older than Kona, but eats 33% less than Kona does. Looks like we will be enforcing portion control.

Admittedly, the vet always says, “We’d like to see a little more waist on Kona,” as if saying she’s overweight will send Kona reeling into a distorted body image, self-doubt and depression. But I assumed that line was like the dentist’s “You need to start flossing regularly, every day.”

I do floss every day! And Kona obviously has a waist! It’s just a protruding waist that would be accentuated by tight pants.

I hate politics. I hate the heated debates, the pious opinions, the accusations and hatred that seem to bubble to the surface. But, since so few commented on my last post about politics, and more importantly, no one commented on the amazingly perceptive and ironic image that I created, we’re going in for round 2.
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My Web site is officially done! Check it out here.

Does anyone else maintain their own business site? Have any suggestions or lessons learned that you can share with a newbie? Your input is appreciated!

Here’s a status update that’s been peppered across my facebook newsfeed:

WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA – Press 1 for English. Press 2 to disconnect until you learn to speak English. And remember only two defining forces have ever offered to die for you, JESUS CHRIST. And the AMERICAN SOLDIER. One died for your soul, the other for your freedom. If you agree… copy and paste in your status.
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By many accounts, people of Haiti have cried out to Jesus, even praising God for blessings in this tragedy. Blessings like still being alive.
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This is a cute freaking dog. And I don’t even like animals.

Kona was only a few months old when this picture was taken after her first bath at our house. She’s 7 months old now, and cute in a different way. The way that makes me shower her with praise and high-pitched puppy talk when she plops down on her doggy bed and plays with a toy. When she’s not scratching at the floor to get a ball under the couch, or jumping up in a fit of unbridled energy to play, or barking at me in her jabber — vehemently chastising me for trying to sit down and relax. That’s when she’s cute.

I wore my lumber jack shirt twice in one week, to work. It’s red, flannel, plaid, comfy and surprisingly stylish with pearl snaps. I can wear this to work, because this is how they decorate the office: Animal carcasses line the walls like floorboards would at a normal place.

My attire has changed considerably since I started working, and I’m looking forward to what lies ahead. At my first job out of college, I coveted my coworker’s snappy pantsuits. They were clearly expensive, not a mere attempt at professionalism. Pinstripes, polished shoes … so this is what it’s like to be an adult.

Then at my next job, I spoke in traditional churches in the Bible belt often. My pantsuit wouldn’t quite cut it — as I learned. Not only did I need to be dressed up, but it was preferred that women wore skirts or dresses. I bought my “Republican suit” at Brooks Brothers and wore it proudly to Laura Bush’s church. At least, I told my parents that was her church when she wasn’t in D.C., but I never saw her there. The suit is very Sarah Palin, but I didn’t know it then (circa 2007).

And here we are today, where I wear jeans nearly every day. And I look dressed up compared to the bighorn sheep and birds, with signs that say, “Please do not touch.” No need to worry. … I usually avoid dead, stuffed animals, not touch them.

My last day of work here is Friday. Soon I will be working from home as a freelance writer. Hello, sweat pants and slippers! Goodbye, taxidermy.

Shhh! Don’t tell me. I haven’t seen the finale of The Biggest Loser yet. Week after week, I enjoy the workouts (last chance workout!), cringe at the product placements, fast forward through the yapping and weigh-in suspense, and tear up during the heartfelt stories and pounds shed. With 13.4 million viewers, this show has struck a chord.

That chord sounds to me like a lot of hurting people whom the church has failed.
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Well, the weather outside is … freaking freezing. There was a solid layer of ice on all surfaces. Even though the roads are plowed, I don’t trust the streets. Yesterday there were two cars who had spun out and were facing the wrong way on the highway.
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It would have been a nice day for a run, if I hadn’t had a dog attached to me.
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