Two dog-related posts in a row is probably inexcusable, but you all have to accept that she is the centre of our universe because we are old and boring. If Ellie socialises well with others at doggy day care tomorrow, she gets to stay here while we are in America in December. For some reason I am nervous about this trial run thing. I am scared she will be too lovingly exuberant and be shunned by some snooty congenitally bored purebreds for wanting to be their bestest bud. Hmmm... project much there, Danielle? :)

UPDATE: It's Friday at noon and I just got a call from the kennel. Ellie is 'not suitable for social kennels' apparently - she's only half-heartedly playing with other dogs and is so stressed out by the whole removal-from-us experience that she is hyperventilating and making circuits of the place trying to escape! My poor baby! We will have to board her in a traditional run-and-kennel based place, I suppose...

The vast majority of the time, this is what my dog looks like.

She sleeps. She dozes. She relaxes. She rests her dumb little head on your knee and gazes devotedly into your eyes. She fetches things you throw across the lawn and hangs out with you in silent adoration. She's a joy, basically. So here's my question: why, therefore, does the arrival of anyone, known to her or not, cause her to spaz out like Judy Garland? Siobhan came over today for ten minutes and I was driven to locking Ellie in the bedroom (I may love my dog, but I don't force other people to endure her. I'm not a canine fascist!). I opened the bedroom door for 30 seconds at Siobhan's request and the whole interaction was ridiculous. The wriggling! The licking! The flailing! The whining! The taking of uppers and downers sewn into the hem of her frock! (Oh no, wait, that *is* Judy Garland.) And unless the someone else who has arrived owns or has owned a boisterous dog, it's very hard to explain that no, she's not completely mad like this all the time, and only visitors seem to inspire her to these excesses. As pet owners, we have clearly failed in some crucial socialising technique. Sigh.

The unknown virus is receding, by the way. Whew. I still feel a bit iffy, but bless codeine.

On a more cheerful note, I like Asian grocery shops.

OK, scratch that. According to the results of my blood and urine tests, I *don't* have a urinary tract infection. I have a viral infection of unknown origin which is causing fever, waves of stomach pain, nausea, and 857 trips to the loo a day (number ones only, for those keeping score at home). But it can't be treated with more miraculous antibiotic horse pills, because no one knows what it is.

I am starting to get to the whiney and pathetic stage. I feel sick, I don't want to eat, I can't sit, stand or lie down comfortably, and I'm constantly full-bladdered and lightheaded. I suppose I just have to lie in bed for about three days straight, taking anti-nausea medication and panadeine, hoping that it goes away.

Please go away, you viral bastard.

Please.

In case any of you were wondering, urinary tract infections suck. I don't recommend having one.

The video for The Streets' 'Dry Your Eyes' is very, very sad. Oh, poor little Mike Skinner, wandering the stadiums and supermarkets and spacey machines with his wee staffy dog! Watching his telly sadly by his fake coal electric heater with his cup of tea, all alone except for his canine compadre! Sniffle...

Songs on John Lennon's jukebox. Unsurprisingly, dude had great taste.

I am doing some overtime at work tonight (a long story involving a hairline fracture, double time and a taxi chit. Is that a country song?). It's amazing how after twelve straight hours or so you can get a sort of manic second wind and actually achieve a lot. I think I'm about to collapse now, though.

There is a Big Day Out Pixies rumour. Ohpleasepleaseplease... ('let me, let me, let me get what I want this time'.) I have wanted to see them for *14 years*!

Siobhan's homecoming: T minus 36 hours! Woo! Danni's homecoming: T minus, erm, 12 months minimum! (Sigh.)

For the past few weeks the Destiny Church has been getting a lot of play in the New Zealand media. They're a fundamentalist crackpot outfit modelled on some of the grossest examples from the USA, complete with an early morning TV witnessing programme and a requirement to tithe 10 percent of your income to the organisation. Their leader, Pastor Brian Tamaki, looks like a cross between George Hamilton and Tom Jones. I've never seen anyone quite so orange in New Zealand before! Anyway, they've been kicking up a stink about the Civil Unions Bill and the legalisation of prostitution, releasing statements and marching on Parliament and what-have-you. Obviously I find this both horrifying (where did all these overly religious pricks come from? Kiwis aren't supposed to care about this shit! We are mostly a nation of agnostics and Anglicans! I suppose he must be getting a lot of support from the Pasifika community, the group who can least afford to give away 10 percent of their income. Nice.) and hilarious (much like the telly preachers we used to watch in Texas and howl with laughter). This campaign of Destiny's has been called 'Enough is Enough'. There are tshirts and various other things centred around this slogan. For the past few weeks I've been feeling that I should be laughing at this for some reason, but it took the bitchy joy of my workmate Anton for me to finally appreciate the gleeful irony of naming a homophobic movement after one of the old-school gay community's biggest anthems. Pastor Brian, are you a big fan of Donna Summer and Barbra Streisand?

Baptist Lobo.

Blah. Blogger has a fault and cuts off my postings half way through a sentence.

I'm trying to think of something positive which will happen if Dubya wins. So far, the best I can do is this: the US dollar will probably fall quite sharply if he does, and our dollar will rise against it. At the moment, we are fairly steady at 66 US cents per New Zealand dollar. Could we get up to 75 cents before our trip? That would do wonders for our spending money!

Sigh.