The Happiest Place on Earth!

...is definitely NOT Disneyland. (Sticky kids, long lines, desparate parents) It is the DOG BEACH in Huntington Beach! Before you roll your eyes in "Dog Blog" boredom, hear me out. Mostly, the dogs are all happy, doing what dogs do...the herders are herding, the retreivers are retreiving, the water dogs are in the water, and everyone is sniffing each others' butts. Well, the dogs are anyway. When allowed to be off the leash and in a natural environment, they even form packs, and play until they are exhausted.

So naturally, when Rick asked me if I wanted to forgo Stater Brothers on a beautiful Sunday afternoon to go to Dog Beach I said YES! I do love the freak show that is my neighborhood StaBros (WHERE do these people live?) however, sandy snouts, happy, wagging tails, and every dog breed imaginable in one place trumps the narrow aisles, overpriced produce, and rude cart-pushers at Staters. (Did you just meet me, or something? Of course you know this.)

At the beach
Rex: "throw the squirrel*, Mommy!! throw it throw it throw it! Ooohh! I'll get it!!!! THROW IT AGAIN...THROW. IT. AGAAAIIINNN!!!" This is pretty much his inner dialogue for the duration. Nothing else really matters to him.

Ruby: (with crazy yellow dialated pupil eyes) "ball. ball. ball. ball. ball. infinity....

Me: Dogs EVERYWHERE!!!! Happeeeeeee!!!

Rick: "Im going to go sit on the towell and enjoy this beautiful day, sweetie. Oh, hi big doggy, you're a good boy."

Big Fat Old Yellow Lab: Hi mister. You're nice. (lifting leg) peeeeeeee.....

Rick: #%!!@#**

Me: (hysterical, can't speak.)

Well,it was the Happiest Place on Earth to three-fourths of us. Still beats Stater Brothers.
Dawn

*Squirrel=Flying Squirrel dog toy, frisbee-like, neon orange, most beloved of all Rex's possessions.
**Huge bonus points to Rick for being a TOTALLY good sport about being peed on by a lumbering, geriatric, pookie-bear, of a dog.

Defending Adam

Dear Haters (Mischa)
If by "like" Adam Lambert, you mean that I appreciate his creativity? His "dare to be different" bravado in the white bread mediocrity that is popular music? Do you mean that I "like" his gorgeous eyes and hair, and that he has more looks than Giselle Bundchen?* Ok, you got me. I like Adam Lambert. So much so that if I were 16 years old, I would probably wallpaper my room with smouldering images of him....Adam as a quasi-fem Elvis, Adam with a boa constrictor, Adam as Ziggy Stardust....I don't care. I love him. Judge me. Bring it.

just Dawn
*how do you make an umlaut?

By the Way....

.... Dawn likes Adam Lambert.

Please direct all hate mail to only her.

(Dawn, I just wanted to spark some good dialogue. You're welcome.)

Love, Mischa

Because I Want to see my Nieces and Nephews More than I Want to Write for our Blog...

*Side note (yes, at the beginning of a post. So, not really an official side note.): This is how easily distracted I [Michelle] am: I'm overhearing a conversation in which the whole thing is being spoken in spanish, so, no, I don't understand it (thanks, 5 years of spanish class. What was the point?), and yet, I CANNOT block out the conversation and focus on anything else. Weird. And aggravating. That's it on that topic.*

Okay, kiddies. I'm (Michelle) informing you all that you won't be hearing from me for a few days. I'll be in OR. basking in the goodness that is Oregon weather and Oregon politics. Not really. Instead, I think I'll bask in the wonder of my nieces and nephews and their humor, and in the joy of spending time with my family. That sounds much better. I'll be there to celebrate my niece Tori Minyi's 2nd birthday, but first birthday with her new family. (A post for later: I'll tell you the story of my brother and sister-in-law adopting this truly amazing, smart, beautiful, funny little person from China. She took my heart and got her little tiny grip on it the minute I saw her. And I'm certainly okay with that.)

Anyway, it's a pretty big deal for our family, so I wanted to be a part of it. Don't worry - I'll come back with stories to blog about. In the meantime.... Dawn? You wanna pick it up from here? I won't even bring up how many subjects/jokes of yours/witty comments you've said that I've suggested you turn into a blog post. (Monkey piss being one. Please explain that one to the good people.)

See you in a few days....

Your Subliminal Messages Don't Work Here

Obvious product placement-slash-product plugging in reality t.v. shows is a pet peeve of mine. (One of many. MANY. Seriously, I have so many pet peeves I should do a "Pet Peeve Post per Week." And obviously, alliteration is not a pet peeve of mine.)

Back to what started this post - the irritating use of product placement in reality t.v. shows, specifically those involving competition of some kind. (Which makes me wonder, now that I think of it, why there isn't product placement/plugging in The Real Housewives of....any city. There's more brutal competition between those women than there is between bulls in Pamplona and the idiots running from them. Although, and I'm guessing here since I can't stomach an episode, there's inadvertent product placement with the shoes and the clothes and the cars and the restaurants and the cosmetic surgeons....)

It's that most obvious of camera scans and close-ups on whatever product is sponsoring said show that makes me roll my eyes until I can see what my pretty little brain looks like. They do it in such a non-subtle way, but still with the impression that they think they're being subtle, which only ends up seeming condescending. As if us viewers are just dumb suckers who won't notice you holding the bright yellow box of Glad (trademark) garbage bags up by your face a la Price is Right, while you give the chefs their next challenge, Padma Lakshmi.

And I will not be made to look like a sucker. (All credit goes to Dad on that life lesson.)

So go ahead, reality t.v. competition shows. Keep placing your products and plugging your sponsors. But next time you pause the camera for 34 seconds on the Harry Winston ring box when the Bachelor* is proposing, I, and any other non-sucker, will not be buying what you're selling. (Mostly because I really, really don't want to have to buy my own engagement ring.)

*Aw, jeez, Michelle. I just outed myself with that whole "I watch The Bachelor" thing, didn't I?Current score is, Ridiculous & Shameful Show: 1. Sucker (me): 0. (I owe my dad an apology.)

Let's do a Little Reminiscing...

So, there's this Justin Bieber (am I spelling that right? Wait. I remembered I don't care.) kid who has managed to BURST onto the scene and explode all over everyone, whether we like it or not....similar to what his pubescent boy zits probably do when he gets his mandatory pre-show facials. (Where he also gets his pretty hair literally swept into place. With a very pint sized broom.) This kid is like the Dalai Lama: loved and adored because we're not allowed to NOT love and adore him, and we're also scared to hurt his feelings. (They both just seem so fragile.)

But may I remind us of a time, not too long ago, when there was another phenomenon that wriggled their way into our hearts, minds and wardrobe choices. Yes, Kriss Kross was yet another unexplainable fame magnet. Beyond our better judgement, we loved that little 14 year old duo, making us jump around all crazy-like, wearing our overalls the wrong way. And we lapped that up like pack of alley cats suckling at mama alley cat.

I just thought I'd do us all a service and help us, as the pop culture junkie of a society that we are, to bring us down from our Bieber high and get us through rehab so we never take another hit and trick ourselves into thinking, "you know what? That little guy's got talent. I see him going really far in his career. And no! It has nothing to do with him making a bargain with the devil, otherwise known as Usher."

We'll get through this and past this. Together. We'd better. Because this nonsense is just wiggity wiggity wack.

(Dawn, am I right here? Tell me this isn't like Invasion of the Body Snatchers where I find out you're one of them and I have to run from our friendship screaming, "NO!!! Not you TOO!!!" Although, our friendship has survived Lady Gaga's interference, sooo....I think we're good.)

I'd Like to Think I'm Lethal Now.

I need someone's face in front of me so I can elbow it. Tonight Dawn was nice (and persuasive) enough to teach me and some other girls in a self defense class. Actually, I've always wanted to take a self defense course, so I was excited to see what it was all about.

For those of you who don't know (or who haven't been paying attention), Dawn is, among other things, a Tae Kwon Do instructor. She and her husband Rick teach anyone who wants to learn the "art" of Tae Kwon Do, and they're very good at what they do. Plus, it just makes the two of them that much cooler. (I'll attempt to get Dawn to tell the story of Rick stealthily taking down some purse snatcher in the canned food aisle of Ralphs like he was plucking lint off his pants. Oh look. I just told the story.) Anyway, Dawn is always talking about her muscle memory and how at any time, she has about 13 moves she can use to make you involuntarily burst your bladder. And that's exactly what I want to do: some bladder bursting.

Enter Dawn and her self defense class. Let's just say, Dawn wasn't wrong all those times she told me I'm scrappy. Hitting, punching, kicking and eyeball gouging is just plain fun (when is it NOT?), but learning to do it with technique and control makes it just....addictive. I now want one of those kicking/punching bag things to practice with. And I guess I'd need the person behind it holding the bag and being irrelevant in every other way.

So, thank you "Mrs. Maestas" (your students are a hell of a lot more respectful than I would be if you were my teacher) for being so skilled and for sharing some of that skill and strength with me. (But I'm most appreciative of the fact that I feel justthismuch more confident that I can shatter the bones in some guy's foot, snap his knee, and then elbow him in the groin. With class.)

Like a Duck on a June Bug

Last night, while trying to relax, cook, and Facebook stalk, my beautiful and smart chocolate lab, Rex kept pestering me to go out. I let him out, in, out, in, out and in before I realized what all of the excitement was about. Our back deck, sliding door screen, and beyond were covered in these obnoxious little brown bugs. They are beetley, kind of, and worst of all they can fly! Not quite normal bug flying, but drunken dipping and lurching through the air. They look very much like Sugar Babies. Well apparently they are also delicious like Sugar Babies. I caught my (well fed!) Rex out on the deck leaping and twisting to devour them in-flight, and snuffling in every corner like a prize-winning truffle hunting sow! I don't know how many he ate before I caught him, but found myself shreiking, "We no eat bugs! We no eat bugs!", (which is NOT the strangest thing my neighbors have heard me instruct to my dogs, now that I think about it). Anyway, these little flying Sugar Babies are plentiful and disgusting, and anyone who has had the pleasure of me regaling them with a detailed description of the aftermath of Rex's delicate digestive system, knows what I am certainly in for later. Sigh.

I'll Take Some Smooth Soft Rock Sophistication, Please.

I'm (Michelle) just going to get this post started, but I'm trusting Dawn (not Michelle) will pick this up and run with it. Or, sail with it, as is more appropriate for this post.

I'd like to take a moment to draw attention to what is either a gift or a curse - depending on your musical preferences. (And how long you can handle it before you puncture your ear drum and experience the warm and calming sound of silence that results.) Welcome....Yacht Rock.

If you happen to have owned a yacht or tramped it up as a yacht owner's accessory with your feathered and frosted hair and heels-with-bikini outfit during the late 1970s to late 80s, then you're probably aware of Yacht Rock. And you probably spent your yacht-trolling days listening to the likes of The Doobie Brothers, Kenny Loggins, Hall & Oats, Ambrosia, Toto, Christopher Cross, anything from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, and the eponymous song, "Sailing."

There are countless other Yacht Rockers to mention, but I'm going to leave that to Dawn or any readers who would like to add the name of your favorite soft rocking, linen wearing, gold investing musician to the list.

Mmmm...lunch time. I've got Hungry Eyes.

....Part Two

#1. So, what, about this (insert your favorite image of Lady Gaga in a horrid, frightening and "hell has broken loose" outfit) makes you say, "Damn, that Lady Gaga is so cool. Look at what an artist she is?!" http://www.radaronline.com/photos/image/69588/2010/06/lady-gaga-attends-sisters-graduation

Here’s why…As I mentioned before, I grew up in Las Vegas. In the 1970s and 80s. I also went to college and majored in fine art, real art, God bless us, in a city filled with Dice Clocks, Elvis on Black Velvet and Dogs Playing Poker paintings. The Art (and Drama and Theater) Departments were worlds away from the nice up-and-coming Hotel Management Majors and Tark’s World Famous Runnin’ Rebels Basketball program. The UNLV Art Department was a four year freak show. We had pink hair, ripped fishnets, and vinyl hot pants. We welded and did performance art. I once went to a student event where an “artist” built a sweet catapult and launched a pig’s head across the gallery while patrons noshed on cheese and crackers. So you see, we were raised in tacky. We created outrageous. The soundtrack of our childhood was lounge music and the jangling of slot machines. This was our norm. Lady Gaga makes catchy tunes, yes, but why I love her is why most people love apple pie and backyard summer barbeques….she’s just like a little slice of home.
#2. When you worked with old people, what was the single most disgusting and/or inappropriate medical-related malady you heard about...among your many options.
I love this question. Hmmmm….is it the detailed blow by blow of the colonoscopy? (They put cameras all up in there now, y’all..) Is it the inflammations and intricacies of Diverticulitis? Oooh! Crohns Disease!! (Google it…I dare you.) Bedsores? Glaucoma? Hip replacement surgery? I think the better question is: “At what age to we decide that explosive diarrhea, open, infected wounds, and inflamed intestinal tracts are conversations to be had in polite (or ANY) company?” I don’t want to get there. If you ever come up to me and say, “Hey Dawn, how’s it going?”, and I launch into a myriad of gynecological issues, information, or procedural details, I give you permission to kill me…Just make sure you describe my death to everyone within earshot in gruesome, bloody Technicolor!

3. If you could live on any reality t.v. show, which one would it be, and why. i.e., to be a part of a family (the Kardashians?), or to have the chance to verbally and/or physically fight whomever you wanted to (Jersey Shore mascot, Snookie? In her case, this would be if you wanted to help her with her hair...and everything else.)
This one is easy, though to preface, I don’t watch much TV at all. I’ve never seen most of the shows that are hugely (and I’m sure disgustingly) popular. Like Jersey Shore. I watched The Kardashians once because Bruce Jenner used to be a huge fan of Godiva before he made his face all weird and married into a freaky family, and, I confess to being a little obsessed with Kim Kardashian. But I digress. If I could be in any reality show I would be a judge on RuPaul’s Drag Race!!!! (Again, I know you haven’t seen it…Google it!) I‘ve seen it once. It is a drag queen rip off of Project Runway. RuPaul=Heidi Klum. My favorite lines from the show: You know how when someone gets voted off of PR Heidi goes, “One day you are in, the next day you are OUT. Auf Wiedersehen! *kiss kiss*” RuPaul says, “SASHAY… AWAY!” to the dejected, voted-off drag queen. Amazing. 2nd favorite quote from RPDR: “Girl…Are you getting’ FIERCE with me?!” OMGsh. Indescribable. Please watch.

4.I'm glad we agree on the fact that Aerosmith are true rock icons who are ACTUALLY lyrically and musically talented, and I love that we have a secret solidarity in agreeing on Steve Tyler's hotness. (That should spark some controversy.) But, tell me why exactly you scoff at, in your words, "indy-wimp musicians" that I happen to enjoy? We agree to disagree here, I'm aware, but I just ask out of curiosity. Not at all out of a desire to correct your misguided opinion.

Oh Misch...you answered the question with the question. Do you really want a dissertation on why Steven Tyler and his ilk are iconic compared to the Whitebread Ben Folds and Death Cab for Bleah Cutie? I‘ll give you the short version with just a couple of poignant examples. Compare/contrast. Aerosmith, Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, Guns N Roses: 25 year career of ROCKING 3 generations of asses off. *Ben Folds, She and Him, The Arctic Monkeys, and the aforementioned DCFC: responsible for the pussification of the modern rock genre. I will give exception to a few Indie Rockers who actually rock. These bands are exempt from my contempt: Shiny Toy Guns, The Strokes, The Raconteurs, and Babyshambles. Dear Followers, if you hate my answer please refer back to Question #1 where I explain that I am from a culture of tacky and trash. Viva Las Vegas and Long Live Rock …

* For the record, I (michelle) really, really hate Ben Folds's music. (Putting Ben Folds in the same category as Death Cab for Cutie will get you shanked, Dawn.) And I really like Shiny Toy Guns. And also, Dawn, I didn't know you knew She and Him. I'm impressed. Very, very impressed.

Getting to Know Us, Getting to Know All About Us (Part 1)*

*That title is from the musical, The King and I, for those of you who don't (care to) know about musicals. Or, who might actually detest them - which is the category I thought Dawn fell into until I was pleasantly surprised to learn that Dawn has a special place in her heart for this song, in particular. I suppose you can ask her the reason why, if you're that curious.



Now is when we play the interview game so you all can get to know us better. Most likely, the only things you'll come to learn will be unnecessary, trivial, but no doubt entertaining bits of trivia. Which will take you nowhere in life. (Which, by coincidence, have also taken us nowhere.)



First contestant today? Me. (Michelle/Mischa) I will be answering Dawn's questions, and in Part 2 (insert anxious anticipation!), we'll switch places. And we're off....



Donald Trump, Hulk Hogan, Dog the Bounty Hunter , or JLo for U.S. Senate? Why/why not?

What's this "U.S. Senate"? Okay, well, you'd think right off the bat it would be Donald Trump for reasons obvious to anyone as to why he'd make a great politician. (Such as, messy marriages and divorces, excessive focus paid to his hair, etc.) Then, you've got JLo which makes sense with the whole "I want to have my hand in everything, even if it's not my specialty" thing. (Acting) But, I'm going with Dog, the Bounty Hunter. At least we'd know he'd get the job done. Whatever that job is, it would be rounded up, intimidated, cussed at, and thrown into an SUV. Done and done.



You are from the great (debatable) state of Oregon. What are the top 3 myths about OR, Oregonians, or anything Pacific Northwest, and how do you debunk them?

There are no myths. Everything you've heard is proabably true. I make no claims that I'll defend Oregon. Never have.



If there were a movie made of your life, who would most accurately play you? Who would be the most outrageous actor to play you? In your life story, who would play me?

Way to bring it back to you, Dawn. Nicely done. So, let's start with your actor. The obvious answer is Chelsea Handler; you both have a dry, take it or leave it kind of wit about you. But, as you've said before, you guys would be best friends if she knew you. So I think you should stay friends instead of having Chelsea try and portray you. Here's the thing, Dawn: you don't fit into a mold, and actresses nowadays are all just mold-y and unoriginal. I might need some suggestions from our reader(s). Guys? Who has a really smart sense of humor, is gorgeous, but also really tough (in a good way)? I'm going to disappoint you and ask you to let me think on it... *Update: It just came to me who should play you, Dawn! Lauren Graham, most famously known for playing the extra, super sarcastic, good with words, well dressed, pretty, and so-cool-that-everyone-wants-to-be-her-friend character in "Gilmore Girls." I like her a lot - she seems like she's perpetually a teenager (the fun kind, not the kind that makes you want to remove your uterus with whatever tool you have lying around). So, I hope you think of that as a compliment, Dawn. Because I most definitely do.*
Who would play me, huh? Well, you know that James (names not changed to protect privacy) calls me Lemon after Liz Lemon/Tina Fey because apparently I do and say things that remind him of Liz Lemon....excluding stealing babies, eating bags of Mexican cheese snacks, wanting to marry an astronaut, and stapling my bra. (I've only done one of those.) But, saying Tina Fey would play me is too much of a dubious honor for me to accept. So, I don't know. Diane Keaton? I might say Jenna Elfman. (I realize she's very tall, folks). She's quirky, imperfect, talks with her hands, and makes crying look cute. The most outrageous? Also Jenna Elfman - this time because of the enormous and ridiculous difference in height.

All super heros have a super power. Superman can fly, Spiderman can make webs or something, Wonder Woman has a golden lasso that makes people tell the truth. What super hero are you and what is your super power?
I've actually been asked this and have asked it of other people, and each time I give my answer, I'm mocked. But, I think it would come in extremely handy. I. Would like. The power of knowing every language in existence. Hear me out. How helpful would it be to know how to communicate no matter where you went in the world?! You'd sound cool, you would be able to negotiate with terrorists and world leaders, AND you could get away with not looking so much like a tourist when you traveled to France where they hate American tourists. (Or, just Americans.) Maybe it's that I love other languages and am always impressed when people are bi-lingual or multi-lingual. Because it's not easy for me to learn languages. So that's what I'd want. Which, I guess, would make me "SUPER LINGUIST!"

Next up: Dawn....

That's for Damn Sure

Regarding our blog, I thought I'd pass on the challenge that Dawn e-mailed me yesterday.

"Let's get famous. We can handle it."

(One of us, though, has already experienced a life of fame. No one's bidding on my wrestling action figures on e-bay....or, can find herself all over YouTube....or, can claim to have been on about 12 episodes of Family Feud. In character (oh, Lady Godiva). Using the British accent. Competing against male wrestlers. The Phil Donahue show, however.....No. That didn't happen to me either.)

Leadership is Overdone.

See how it says "Followers: 1"? That's me, you guys. I'm following my own blog. Please help end the shame and embarrassment by adding your name to the "Followers" list. You don't even have to read it. Just pretend.

Dreams, Dates & Dawn - A Love Letter to Alliteration

My wish has come true - Dawn started a blog. And it didn't even require too much persuading, pleading, crying, bribing, (falsely) admitting that Lady Gaga is a true musical artist, or letting Dawn yell at me, "Dance, monkey! Dance!" Which I would have done. Gladly.

The only catch in seeing my dream come to fruition is that I write the blog with Dawn. So, because I believed with all my soul that the world (or, our immediate circle of people we know) MUST have the chance to know the clever, witty, brilliantly sarcastic, Queen of quick (and usually mocking) one liners, amazing, interesting, hilarious, lovely, super fun, loyal, grace-filled, authentic, unique, rare person that is Dawn Maestas. (Did you read her post?! Come on! After that, I have to prove that I'm "the writer", as Dawn claims? And she "just draws stuff?" Now I feel like I can't write OR draw stuff.)

And now, let me explain why our first post is called Me n Misch. During one conversation with Dawn, she told me, "Michelle, you'd probably date a lot more if your name was something exotic like Mischa." And since that moment, I've been Mischa to Dawn. (Poor thing probably doesn't know that her theory hasn't worked worth a puddle of piss because NO ONE CALLS ME MISCHA EXCEPT DAWN. And I have yet to go out on a date with Dawn, sooo...theory fail.)

So, yes. Here is our blog. Most likely you'll be seeing clever and well written posts, laced with sarcasm from Dawn....and one line posts from me taken right off of my Facebook status updates. Or, unnecessarily long posts like this one, for example. Because I'm wordy. Very, very wordy.

Thank you for making my dreams come true, Dawn. Now that all (three. Hi, Mom.) of our readers see me writing this blog along with you, I feel like a much cooler person knowing people will know me as your friend. Next post from me? Lighter, less "ode to Dawn", and actually about pop culture of some kind. Such as, "Why our culture is obsessed with Lady Gaga." I have thoughts on this. Dawn knows my feeling: You can't spell Lady Gaga without "gag."

Me n Misch

Ok, this is our Maiden post. The purpose of this blog (everything Must. Have. Purpose...) is simply our occasionally brilliant, often witty, take on all things pop culture, relationships, life. We promise to be: 1. Pretty 2. Smart. Just not necessarily in that order or at the same time.

About us
We are diametric opposites from 2 different worlds who have managed to come together in sisterhood and sarcasm, due to the grace we extend each other, mutual respect and admiration, and, frankly, that we love dogs and each other. (GOOD people love dogs. And us.)

Dawn
Middle-aged, married, mom of 1 mean-ager. Ex professional wrestler, artist, science teacher, bartender. I KNOW, huh?! I am a 3rd degree blackbelt and I love my husband, who is crazy. More about him later. Son, 18, John. Labradors, Rex 9, Ruby 4. MUCH more about them later.

Misch
She will tell you. She is much more erudite than I. (This is me, setting the bar high for her vocabulary. You see, she is the writer. I can draw stuff.)

Culture, American-Style
This is America people. USA. This is not Europe. Africa. Egypt. I am a child of a cultureless culture. We have cheese-flavored dog food. We have Barbie. We have (had) Heavy Metal. We. have. Kardashians!!! We revere instant gratification, celebrities, and gluttony!!! Don't get me wrong....I'm not hatin'....Do I sometimes wish we were artistically cultured? That we valued our history? Our old people? That we contributed to the woven tapestry of ancient civilizations?...ok, sometimes, but not really. I was raised in Las Vegas. If we want a pyramid, we build one. We're Americans!! My favorite pop culture icons: Elvis, Hair Bands, Pop Tarts, Mork and Mindy, Snoopy, Pro Wrestling Fans (yes, sorry), Diet Coke, Lady Gaga (heehee...that one will PISS Mischa off!!) All things Kennedy, and a certain Megachurch Pastor whom I adore. This is the kind of stuff on which we will comment. We welcome your comments, opinions, and rebuttals...