Freshious©®™

The name of my future restaurant or hip boutique that may never happen. But just wanted to get it out there so I have a dated record of my awesome portmanteau. And I know freshious.com is registered but it doesn't seem to be hella corporate or domestic.

A quick shout-out to A&D for being there during the birthing!

The Beelzebub Bunnies

Easter is a time for rejuvenation, rebirth and new life. Hence, notoriously fertile, furry rabbits and bunnies are appropriately-invoked symbols. However, after stumbling upon these two (rabid) rabbits last year at the discount retailer HomeGoods (1/28/08 to whomever else is reportedly circulating a photo), it would do my heart some good not thinking of these two going at it like...well, you know...replenishing the Earth with 100% pure eee-vul.


Besides noticing those background hanging lights that in any other setting would indicate the mother ship touching down, I'm thoroughly convinced this demonic duo was placed to scare naughty, and good, children into submission. And the ridiculous price tag of $60 (each!) could only suggest that they were hand-crafted from the fiery pits of hell. How else to explain the male's sinister look like he's about to snatch a peripheral toddler, and the female's unsettling gaze toward what I assume is Linda Blair elevated 5 feet above the mattress.

With that said, Happy Easter!

Trash texting

He: That's so trashy that you're waiting in a casino parking lot in Vegas while your husband gambles. But oddly fitting.

She: Haha we are totally trash. Actually, trash would be [our toddler] waiting by himself in the car.

Cumy to the core?

Last week, my SUV was in the auto shop for several days on account of father backing into it. So I didn't have my usual set of keys, and therefore no attached Gold's Gym pass. I actually managed to make it to the gym last Tuesday, on account of the kitchen renovation madness coming to a close, but primarily because American Idol was postponed a night. This meant that I would have to scan in with my driver's license and finally address my last name being entered as Cumy when I renewed my membership last summer.

I already knew what was going to happen when they searched for my last name and found no record. I couldn't bring myself to pronounce it, so I just said, "Try C-u-m-y. I think someone confused the two Rs for an M. It's not my name and I wouldn't wish it on anybody," I ended playfully. The Gold's Gym associates were having none of the humor, either because they were dense, possibly naive Mormons or my best guess: they were thoroughly trained to not respond to sexual innuendos in any way, shape or form for fear of a corporate lawsuit.

"Yes, there it is. Would you like us to change it for you?" Um, yah please! It's not like I just got married. I'd like my surname to reflect my birth certificate, driver's license and passport, thank ye very much.

I had them throw away the carbon copy change slip, something I regret doing as it would have made for a lovely follow-up scan.

Later that night, I pondered the last name of Cumy. Maybe my family originated from the Cumy clan, and somewhere along the lines of ancient fanciful script, the M was mistaken for two Rs. Was I, and thus my paternal lineage, a Cumy at heart? I searched out the last name online, finding only a few references in the northern United States, but I was more intrigued with the UK 'Distribution of Cumy':


I find it very telling that in this particular distribution, one finds Cumy concentrated near the upper tip. And as I most certainly have English and Welsh blood, my theory of being a real Cumy is all the more plausible.

Riveted, I searched Facebook to see what Cumy would, er, produce. And if my distant relatives were lookers. I did find these two faceless listings, which I think make for some awesome names:

Bob Cumy
Cumy, Trey

I will forever wonder if my true fate is as a Cumy. Or as the French would pronounce it, Coom-ay.

Mark that Trade

'They trademark everything! If someone farts they trademark it. *Makes fart noise* — TM.'

Who do you think bought the pink parka?

2: 2/2

Lucy turns 2 today...

Time has flown by, though it's been a long journey--quite literally from Ava, Missouri where we found her in May 2007 at the tender age of 3 months. We bought a house with a big yard, and five days after we moved in, Lucy showed up at Salt Lake International on a rainy Saturday morning (pet adoption advocates, please withhold stones until I'm done with this post. Thanks).


Paul really didn't know what to expect, as he only grew up with cats and he didn't care much for the slobbery, dopey Basset Hounds his former roommate owned. But he quickly came around and now he and Lucy are the ultimate buddies. She knows to park between his legs when we eat dinner at the coffee table, and in the summer he's her companion for evenings and weekends in the yard, and mountain hikes.


We didn't really know what an Irish Terrier was two years ago, but after I did some research upon deciding I wanted my first very own pooch, we determined it would be a great breed. Somewhat small (Lucy's 23 pounds), pretty sporty, not terribly obnoxious, good with children, beautiful ginger coat and a non-shedder. Well, all of them but the last turned out to be true, but I put up with the hair (and the anal juice) because she's a swell girl who loves her daddies. She may occasionally jump on our fashion-conscious friends when they enter the house, but she's just excited and loves her time with the girls.


A little back story: Lucy and her sister were the last to go in their litter. They had to stay a bit longer for health checks because the litter was so big that the owners had to bottle-feed the two runts. We asked about getting her sister at the time, but she was already taken. Incidentally, her owners had to give her up last year and we came across her listing and inquired. I think her owners sent her to the highest breeding bidder. Everyone's loss! But at least we have a where-are-they-now photo update.


I suppose that's all in the past, and we have to follow LuLu's example and live in the present. So Happy Birthday, LucyBears! I wish you didn't have to bear the burden of two full-time workers, but hopefully the treats, the lunchtime walks, and your time spent playing with Oliver come close to making up for it.

I'll leave you with some pictures from Lucy's recent Christmas holiday in Montana, where the snow doth fall and the wind doth blow!