My favorite week of the year

That's right, it is Denver Restaurant Week! Yippee. We were supposed to cut back this year, but the stars aligned and I will not be doing any business travel this week. And I cashed in all my OpenTable points to cover a couple dinners. At least in theory, problem is I can't resist trying out the wine as well. Here's the lineup:

Red Square with Sarah, Laura, Ivory, Jill, Barry & Jess, Jill and Shane. I was not impressed, but we had a large group and it was the best I could manage on the busiest night of the week. At least the vodka was great
Elway's Downtown with Cook. It was even better than the Cherry Creek location, which I'm fond of
Opus It was nice, but not as nice as they think it is...their everyday pricing is astronomical. No need to drive to Littleton when Fruition is a few blocks away and half the price
Gabriel's
Restaurant Kevin Taylor
Oceanaire with Ivory and Jamie.

My goal this year was to try all new restaurants, the only exception being Restaurant Kevin Taylor. It is the exception because I think RKT is the best value during restaurant week. They don't treat you like DR weekers, they don't pick the cheapest things off their menu (Opus = guilty), and last year we got a coupon for another $52.80 meal anytime during 2008.

In case you haven't made any DRW reservations, there is still time! Most of the restaurants extended the special through Friday March 6, I'm being a good girl and only made one more reservation. Only because the other three places I really wanted to hit didn't extend the special. Mike is thanking heaven for that.

Happy Birthday Sarah!

Can't wait to celebrate with you tonight! I also vote for a continuation....Sunday brunch? And in the event you meet a cute guy tonight and want to seduce him with your awesome caps skills, I have a case of Key light at my house. Hope your day is fabulous.

My Favorite Article Ever

I was cleaning my office and came across the print version of this article. Thank heavens, the Onion archives their articles. I now present a column that could've been written by my dog Marley.*

I'm Not Proud Of Some Of The Things I've Done

By Tuffy
Excerpted From The Confessions Of St. Tuffy
September 18, 2002 | Issue 38•34

Can it be true that my years in this world already number 12? Though mine is but a dog's life, I have always tried to live it well. Early on, I made it my mission to explore the neighborhood beyond my own yard, to appreciate nature and its many wonderful smells. I've thirsted for knowledge, learning in excess of 10 tricks and committing to memory the location of every rabbit hole within a quarter mile. I have minded to comport myself with dignity, keeping my coat shiny and clean through a daily regimen of rigorous licking.

But, alas, I am not proud of some of the things I have done. I have willfully disobeyed orders. I have, at times, been too quick to bark, and I have whimpered needlessly. I have gnawed upon things I never should have gnawed. Yes, I have even bitten others in anger. Not often, and only when I felt I had to, but now I see that turning to the tooth never solves anything.

I have been a bad boy.

What springs to mind now, though it pains me to recall, is the garbage-can incident. My owner had been gone for hours. I was restless. Perhaps I was even a little angry over being left alone. At any rate, I nudged the kitchen-cupboard door open and overturned the garbage can. I was drunk with the ecstasy of my ill-gotten power and, suddenly, there was garbage everywhere. As if some evil force had taken hold of me, I chewed apart an empty bacon package right on top of the good blue couch. When I heard the car pull into the garage, it was as if I had awakened from a dream. Oh, the shame! I retreated to the basement and cowered next to the dryer in the hopes of evading the vigorous shoe-whacking I knew I richly deserved.

This is not my only transgression. My lust for table food has driven me to commit many a gluttonous act. There was the time I ate two pounds of raw hamburger meat left to thaw on top of the basement deep freeze. That was wrong. Worse still was the time I chewed right through that wrapped box under the Christmas tree to get at the cheese-and-sausage party-pak that lay inside. At the time, I viewed it as a bold and wholly justified act of defiance—I was weary of Science Diet and felt deserving of more treats. But in my heart I knew. I knew.

It has always been a battle to suppress the demon urges welling up inside me. Even as I slid from my mother's womb into the cardboard box in the tool shed, I was already not without sin. Yea, I sucked greedily at my mother's teat, trampling my six brothers and sisters in my milklust. I burdened my master with my youthful exuberance, repeatedly scampering out of the box and forcing him to chase me down. I used my tender age as an excuse to live with abandon, jumping on anyone, nipping wantonly, licking those who did not want to be licked. I arrogantly believed I had no need to learn the word "down."

Greater still were the sins committed upon reaching adulthood, for they could not be dismissed as the indiscretions of youth. At nine months, I knew full well when to sit, when to stay, which chairs were off limits, and yet I still broke the House Rules. I drank from the toilet. I snatched the choicest-smelling items from the laundry basket. Oh, the things upon which I chewed! Belts, shoes, newspapers, telephone cords, chair legs, and, one terrible day, the video-game controller. These foul acts—all the work of this bewhiskered mouth!

I also regret my indolence. My purpose in life is to protect my master's home, yet all too often I let sloth chase this sense of duty from me. So many afternoons I spent stretched out on the sunlit floor, my eyes blinking heavily until I drifted off into dreams of giant rawhide strips and bouncing rubber balls. Then, the knock of the UPS man or the thud of the evening paper on the steps would jolt me awake, the harsh sound castigating me for my negligence.

If only it were true that my only sin was that of omission! No, the abuse of free will has led me to commit the most vulgar of deeds. Repeatedly, I have succumbed to temptations of the flesh. There was no spaniel, no beagle-lab mix I did not see as my rightful property, with which I was free to have my way. Last summer, in my most depraved moment of carnality, only the blast of water from a cold hose was sufficient to separate me from my shameful congress with Duchess, the West Highland terrier next door.

In these dozen years, I have experienced misery—the ear infection, my head getting slammed in the car door, the time I walked through that wet tar—but nothing equals the pain I feel when I think of the shameful disobedience I have shown my master.

O, Tyler Gregory, my benevolent keeper, my guide and my provider—you have been nothing but generous to me in spite of my hateful nature. You have loved me unconditionally, but without undue passion. You have corrected my errant ways, but with a gentle hand. You have been strong, but you have been fair.

It sickens me to look upon these four paws knowing they have committed such misdeeds in the face of your loving grace. I would gladly cut them off in penance—lay them across the very same railroad tracks that took the tail of the cat next door. But I know that such an act would only cause you pain, so true and selfless is your love for me.

My beloved master, great and giving one, my sole purpose on this Earth is but to follow at your heels, to come when you call. I beg not for a snack treat, but for something far sweeter and more satisfying: your forgiveness.

*I hope I didn't break any laws by posting this, but it's online and available to all at
http://www.theonion.com/content/node/33196

I did not ask for a new haircut

But I got one. My conversation with my hair stylist last weekend went something like this:

Rocco: So, did you finally get married? I need to cut off all of this hair.
Me: Yes! No! Have you seen how fat I've gotten? I can't have short hair with a face this round!
Rocc: Oh, good point. Didn't notice that at first. *sigh* Start jogging, we'll cut it off next time.
Me: Deal.

Apparently he and I have different opinions of short. I really like Rocco and we tend to talk a lot during the appointment. And he also turns me away from the mirror so you don't see the end results until he is completely done. Obviously I knew he was cutting bangs, but he cuts bangs every session and every day I just swoop them to the side and forget they exist. Not this time.

Yes, this is a bad picture. I don't have on eye makeup and I'm making a funny face. But my face is not the point, it's the hair. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't use a flat iron. Nor do I use a hair dryer very often. I was scared. These bangs don't swoop to the side.

Early Tuesday morning I have to dry my new hair. Since I'm not a morning person and I needed to catch an 8 am flight, not a lot of effort was put into attempt number one. It's that length that hits your shoulder and flips out. I looked like a newscaster. My account manager, whom I travel with almost every week, walked right past me at the airport. Yikes. Fortunately, attempt number two, which really shouldn't be called an attempt since I forgot to pack my hair brushes and just let it air dry, turned out better. I almost like it!
At the very least, I am relieved that I can let it air dry. And as you can see by the clutter in this picture, my recent travels have left my house in a state of disarray. I plan to clean all weekend. Right after I catch a movie (and popcorn! yum!!) with Ivory. And hopefully squeeze in some yoga and brunch with Jilly on Sunday. I'm very much looking forward to both.

Bad Dogs.

We've had an expensive week. Last Sunday, we arrived home after our trip to Chicago tired and ready to sack out on the couch. That was not to be. Our cute puppy promptly puked his dinner on the living room rug. Hmm, we thought, he must have eaten his dinner too fast. We gave him a little more, metering the portion to him. He puked that up 5 minutes later. Then he threw up the water he drank. Finally, when void of food and water, he started throwing up little black pieces of plastic. Oh no, I think, flashing back to Marley's $4500 surgery to remove a ball from his small intestine. After some investigation, turns out Enzo had been in his crate since his babysitters left at noon. With a tennis ball.

When we got home at 6:30 pm the only sign of the tennis ball was a small scrap of fuzz. Several hours and hundreds of dollars later, we head back home with these pictures:

The white snake in these x-rays is a chewed up tennis ball in our puppy's colon. Fortunately he passed all the rubber and fuzz without requiring surgery. Enzo is fine.

Flash forward to yesterday. We leave the house at 9:15 am for puppy kindergarten. After that session and a leisurely trip through Petsmart, we walk in the house at 11:45 am to find a chewed up, empty Rimadyl bottle on the floor. Rimadyl is Peekay's anti-inflammatory drug for his arthritis. It tastes good. Marley is always mad that he doesn't get one. So he climbed on the counter, bypassing three separate bags of harmless, yummy dog treats, to get at that red bottle. Turns out that Rimadyl in high doses causes gastric bleeding, liver and/or kidney failure and is potentially fatal. Labs are particularly sensitive to the drug.

Since we didn't know whether or not Fly and Peekay got a piece of the action, we had to take all three in to get their stomachs pumped. Marley was the lone culprit, and I spent a weepy afernoon at the emergency clinic. Though he's still being monitored and on IV fluids, he should be fine and we're hoping he gets discharged tonight. I must admit, spending a couple hours fearing your dog is going to die softens the blow of the vet bill. Somewhat.