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NCIS… NCIS:LA…. my night for imaginary sex.
My mother used to tell me stories the circumstances her parents faced when they first emigrated from Italy. Signs on buildings stated, “Italians not allowed”. Job postings contained the added words, “Italians need not apply”. So when I moved to Barrow and heard stories from friends there about the days, not that long past, when Natives and dogs were both banned from certain establishments, I thought I had a frame of reference that allowed me to understand their pain. But I didn’t, not really.
I’m not sure anyone can have a true frame of reference for what Alaska Natives faced
Today someone took their stuff OUT of my garage instead of moving more stuff in. Are you listening, Bob?
I wake up in the morning surrounded by dogs and stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. Carm must quietly bring every toy to bed after I’ve fallen asleep. Santa is there of course. Kept close so that BuddaBubba doesn’t try to steal him. Then there’s his rawhide chew. And his lip toy. And his chicken toy. And his ball…. OMG! And on top of it all is the fact the Carm only falls asleep when he is finally too exhausted to stay awake and guard his stuff from BB – a BB, may I add, who could not care less
Let the snow fall. And for all you Anchorage drivers waiting for that first snowfall before putting your snow tires on, please remember that snow is still slippery this year just like it was last year so drive slowly to the garage to get your snow tires put on after the first fall.

The only thing wrong with this picture is that Aunt Judy did not make room for Dodger in her lap. Where the hell are her priorities? Oh that’s right. At her age it’s hard to remember things like that, especially when you become a great auntie twice over in less than four days. It’s not nice to mess with an old lady’s mind.
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She bought the red stuffed Santa doll that has now become Carm’s obsession. It must always be in his mouth or by his side. As I lay in bed last night giving him his goodnight pats, he sat bolt upright with Santa in his mouth, unable to lay down and relax with the pats because to do so would have meant putting Santa down and then BuddhaBubba might get him. So there he sat, trying desperately to keep his eyes opened, holding tightly to Santa, until finally sleep overwhelmed him and Santa dropped from his mouth as his head drooped
There is apparently a new study out that shows that women who routinely eat chocolate tend to be thinner than those who don’t. Why the hell didn’t my body get that memo?
Although I find myself on the cusp of Romney’s 47% in that I’ve worked my whole life and paid taxes but now do indeed draw a government pension and use Medicare, I can’t shake the feeling that I would fall on the distaff side of his equation. It’s probably best I do. That’s where I’m most comfortable.
The other feeling I can’t shake is that Mitt Romney’s 47% comment itself doesn’t bother me as much as the context in which he made it. There he stood, speaking in front of people for whom $50,000 is an evening’s meal as opposed