On Tap for Today

A fun loving, inspired living blog


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Today: Not now, Atlantic puffin.

[tweetmeme source=”elizabethev” only_single=false]Earlier this year I went on a puffin expedition with every intention of spotting that little clay guy from Elf.  Needless to say, that didn’t happen.  Also needless to say, I need to brush up on wildlife.  While in Maine, Nick and I joined his parents aboard The Pink Lady at Pier 7.  We had cameras, binos (short for binoculars… learned that one from Whale Wars, obvi), sunscreen and snacks.  And a plan to see some puffins.

Not now, arctic puffin!

[Photo source]

Buddy the Elf had Arctic puffins, but it turns out the ones in Boothbay Harbor are Atlantic puffins.  Because, um, one lives in the Arctic and the other in the Atlantic.  Once I realized I knew nothing about (really anything) puffins, it was a lot easier to learn from the naturalist on board The Pink Lady.  It turns out that Eastern Egg Rock, located about 10 miles off the Maine coast, is the first restored puffin colony in the world.  The puffin community there was depleted in the late 1800’s by hunters collecting eggs and feathers (for sassy old lady fashions).  Young puffins were brought from New Foundland to Egg Rock by the Audubon Society.  Naturalists hoped that they could imprint the location in the pufflings memory so that the birds would later return to Egg Rock to breed.

Yes!  Baby puffins are called pufflings!

It took several years, but eventually the puffins returned to Eastern Egg Rock and started having pufflings of their own.  And the rest, as they say, is history.  As we cruised out of the harbor, I wondered if we’d actually see any of these little cuties.  Boothbay itself is full of puffin imagery, but the way the naturalist was talking, real, live sightings weren’t guaranteed.

We must have good puffin karma, however, because as we approached the Egg, the captain spotted a puffin flying across the bow.  And soon there was another.  And another.  And an entire raft of puffins on the port side!  (While I looked for an actual raft, covered with puffins, everyone else took photos of a group of puffins, floating on the ocean’s surface.)   In addition to two new vocab words (puffling and raft), I learned that puffins are quite small.  And that a zoom lens would have helped quite a bit.

Live and learn.  And take a puffin tour.

Also On Tap for Today:

Learned anything new lately?


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Today: Some days you’re the bug.

[tweetmeme source=”elizabethev” only_single=false]Some days you’re the bug, and some days you’re the windshield. Splat.

I probably should have warned you about this.

[Photo source]

Yesterday, I was running late, which seems to be the theme of the week, and was just about to make the bed and dash out the door, when our dog barfed all over our freshly laundered duvet cover.  Bugs are always going somewhere, are likely adverse to the odor of dogvom (aren’t we all?), they’re short and they eat weird stuff.  So.  Yesterday (and most days), I was the bug.  I broke not one, but two fingernails.  I paid $42.09 to gas up my tiny car.  I cried when I saw a homeless man’s shoelace break.  I got a paper cut from a Bed Bath & Beyond flier I was attempting to recycle.  I worked a 10 hour day and then had to host a 2 hour meeting. I was too lazy to run.  I had a stomach ache that could upend a cow.  I don’t even know what that means, but I am not going to delete it.

Yep, I was a big ol’ bug.

And then my sister reminded me (via gchat, from a law library not so far away) that I can control a bad day.  She suggested I listen to Mandy Moore’s “Candy.”  I didn’t, mostly because I try to maintain an atmosphere of professionalism.  I did, however, get her point.  With so much to be grateful for, it’s rather a waste to sit around moping (it’s okay to sit around mopping, though, that’s how floors get cleaned) about a few bumps in the proverbial road.

So today, even though I am wearing pantyhose (I’d like to schedule some face time with the person who decided these things were a good idea), I am going to check my attitude, swipe on some lip gloss, and pretend to be the windshield.  Except that hopefully I won’t unintentionally kill anyone/thing.

Also On Tap for Today:

Are you feeling like the bug or the windshield today?


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Today: Seven in the rain.

[tweetmeme source=”elizabethev” only_single=false]For the first time, and likely last time,  ever I outran Nick this weekend… um, but only because he got injured at last week’s soccer game.  We planned to stay close to our little team’s home base at the South Boston Running Emporium due to the drizzly weather and his busted hamstring.  We ran side-by-side (awww) until I complete ate sh-t on D Street (owww) and watched Nick continue to motor on, unaware that I was face down on the sidewalk.  What can I say, when he’s in the zone, he’s in the zone.

[Photo source]

After I dusted myself off (and spit on the offending slippery grate for good measure… just kidding, I’m a lady), I tried and failed to catch up to my speedy boyfriend.  When he looked back, I was already up and running, so he assumed I had simply slowed down and wanted to run my own run.  That’s often how I roll.

[Photo source]

I saw him run one way at the Sugar Bowl, so I ran the other way expecting to meeting him head-on at the halfway point.  Unfortunately, he had turned back for the store, while I tried to hunt him down, asking strangers if they had binoculars or overhead satellite access.  In the meantime, I ran a bunch more miles.

[Photo source]

I eventually made my own way back to the store, covered in sea spray, a bit bruised and cut up, but proud of myself for sticking with it.  It’s not every day that you wipe out less than a mile into your run, but I suppose that any day you get to run is a good one.  Those seven miles were character-building for sure.  Speaking of characters and Wipeout!, I really want to be on that show.

Also On Tap for Today:

Have you taken a trip lately?  Or enjoyed a lovely fall perhaps?


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Today: My dog is The Biggest Loser.

[tweetmeme source=”elizabethev” only_single=false]

He’s down three whole pounds this year.  That’s 10% of his furry body weight.  He has not fallen below the yellow line.  He is The Biggest Loser.  I, on the other hand, am just a plain old loser.

Despite the Frenchie facial expression, no dogs were harmed in the staging of this glamor shot.

If you follow me on Twitter, you may have caught my impromptu Tweets from the Vet series between 5:30-7:30 PM EST yesterday.  Clark has been feeling a little under the weather lately, so we made a trip to our friendly, neighborhood vet for a check-up.  When the little dude hopped on the scale, it read 27lbs.  Just six months ago, he was an even 30lbs.  His secret: less food, more exercise.  Not much of secret.

And then the appointment went somewhere strange.

When Dr. KC was examining Clark’s abdomen, his belly was making very loud crackling noises.  I though maybe he had eaten a bottle of hairspray.  Nope.  It was a giant bubble of gas, or as Dr. KC put it, “Clark has a giant fart brewing.”  Never.  Never.  Never in a million years did I think this would be my life: Standing in a vet’s office, talking about giant farts brewing.  Inside my dog.

To give you some perspective, this potential fart is so big, it showed up on Clark’s first x-ray.  What I thought was his lung (I fainted in ninth grade biology, probably on the day that we were learning where body parts are located), was actually an extremely distended small intestine.  Since I caught him eating a Q-tip on Monday and several days earlier he threw up a clump of fur (if he ate a chipmunk I will be soooo mad), the vet thought it best to take another x-ray to be sure there was no, like, blockage.  It took over an hour to get a clean picture, so I found myself sitting alone in a very small room, wondering if I was claustrophobic, feeling pretty certain I was claustrophobic, and reading about flea infestations.  And wanting to die, a little.

Don't bother looking for the fart. This is an old photo from when Clark was a brand new dog. Getting x-rays is sort of a hobby for us.

When Clark was finally brought back to me (from where ever dog x-rays happen), and the doctor was confident there was no blockage (or at least nothing super obvious), we were free to go home.  And by home, I mean to B.Y.O.D. where I bought him a stuffed sperm whale (I don’t know, I just don’t), some salmon, an antler and a raw bone in an effort to speed along the farting process.  Seriously, this is what my life has become.

Should I call some sort of environmental agency and warn them of a potential blast of noxious gas, soon to take place in a small dog crate in South Boston?  Or should I just play it cool?

BREAKING (WIND) NEWS: Thursday, 3/17 9PM. It, um… happened I think.  And we all survived.  Poor little guy does not feel good.

Also On Tap for Today:

What was the weirdest thing you experienced yesterday?


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Today: This isn’t Jeopardy!

It’s my living room.

This is me taking the online test to be a contestant on Jeopardy! a few weeks ago, with a head cold and skeleton-like hands.

Pew-pa-pew-pew-pew! Daily Double!

I figured if I put my hood up, none of my brain power could escape, and I’d be able to perform at my best.  I knew some of the answers (or in Jeopardy! speak, questions) straight away.  For others, I typed in random things like “Bette Davis eyes.”  Apparently, anyone who took the test (and actually knew what they were doing) may be contacted within a year for a second test, interview and practice Jeopardy! game.  In other words, I could be less than 12 months away from touching Alex Trebek.  Highly unlikely, but a nerd can dream.

He’s so Canadian.  I just love him.

In the meantime, I’m going to try and figure out how to Watsonize my brain.  Wish me luck.

Also On Tap for Today:

  • Some real gems from Red Sox Photo Day at Ft. Meyers
  • Recovering from a 14 hour workday on Wednesday (I like giving myself an ulcer for my birthday)
  • Busting out my brand new TRX (Thanks Nick!)

Have you ever taken the Jeopardy! test?  Are you a Watson hater or lover?


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Today: You’re invited to a pity party.

[tweetmeme source=”elizabethev” only_single=false] Please bring the pita chips.

Remember when my face nearly fell off from the sheer excitement of attending The Martha Stewart Show, with my dog and my boyfriend?  Well, I had to scrape that very same freckled face off the floor last week or the week before (I’ve been wallowing for so long, I’ve lost track of time) when my BlackBerry alerted me to an email from the show.

  • My first thought: That blinking red light thing is so annoying.
  • My second thought: I love when Martha emails me just to say “Hi, girl!”  She’s so cute.
  • My third thought: Maybe the show’s producers Facebooked me and were like, “Now this is a creature to behold.  We should probably have her perched on Martha’s arm throughout the entirety of the episode.”

And then I read the actual message.

Bam! Head on desk.  The taping had been rescheduled… for the same day as a major work event.  When you’re the boss lady, you kind of need to be at those things.  In other words:

I know there are 50 million worse things that could happen to a girl, but I have to bring it real talk, people.  I was super disappointed.  Meanwhile, Boyfriend of the Year was busy emailing the Martha Stewart Show, behind my back, and begging them to help.  You can imagine my surprise when my BlackBerry was ringing and the caller ID showed a Manhattan exchange (I used to have a 917- number… I’m very cosmopolitan, but not cosmo enough to have had a 212-).  It was a show employee calling to offer me tickets for the original taping, sans Frenchie (because it was no longer a dog show).

I was an awkward mumbler and sort of blacked out, so I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to call or email someone to confirm this time around.  But I do remember saying “yes.”  So my disappointment turned to an optimistic confusion.  My confusion turned to “You emailed Martha Stewart?!” and sincere appreciation.  I thanked Nick the only way I could think of, with a Martha Stewart ribbon (heinously photographed by the aforementioned BlackBerry).

I do Martha a disservice by posting this photo, but trust me. Like all of her products, her message ribbons are top notch. And every girl should have several spools just floating around in her handbag.

Then, a few days later, I got another 917- call.  The taping had been canceled altogether (i.e. no dog show, and no human show).  I did receive an invitation to attend a taping when I’m free, though.  Which according to my day planner is in 2017.  The ladies at MSLO were really, really nice.  And I really appreciate Nick going out of his way to try and remedy the situation.   And Clark doesn’t speak English, so he could care less.

So, folks.  I hope you still like me and Clark, even though we’re not going to be famous (this month), after all.

Also On Tap for Today:

What’s your favorite depressing song?  I’ll add it to my iPod immediately.  Just kidding… or am I?