My current obsession, let me share it with you.

It’s been so long that Miz Shoes doesn’t remember when it happened, but at some point in January or December, the faithful big-screen hi-def TV blew a component which rendered it unwatchable. (The color wheel fried its bearings or some such nonsense, and it screams like a banshee. The picture is still perfect.) Here at the Casita des Zapatos we missed the Superbowl (quel horror!) and more importantly, the ads. This week we missed the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, which, as faithful readers know, is Miz Shoes favorite thing in the world. We sit on the sofa, the dogs and I, and read aloud from our AKC book of dogs as the breeds go by. One of our neighbors took pity on us, so we did get to see the second night and best in show awards. How about that Irish Deerhound, huh? Ain’t she a beauty? First time in 135 years that one took BIS. The PBGV was lovely in the hound group, and we all agreed that the Doberman couldn’t hold a candle to our own Miss Rosie the Pony.

In any event, there is no television in the house, which means no movies. No streaming movies, no dvds. Nada. Miz Shoes is suffering from severe withdrawal. Miz Shoes has often said that she’ll watch anything with sprocket holes, and not having Netflix is killing her. The RLA has vowed to fix this his own self, downloading pages and pages of instructions and an hour of video how-tos. It remains to be seen.

On the other hand, there has been an decided increase in studio time and productivity, as is evidenced by this entry and the fact that my little Etsy shop is getting updated tonight. Closets have been cleaned. Cooking has been done. Feh. I’d rather bee watching Farscape.

Ahem. A little Doberman haiku.

Rosie’s tail is short,

So she chases her hind leg.

She catches it, too.

Miz Shoes was obliged to go for some blood tests this week, and advised the snarly young woman who was doing the blood draw that the best bet for getting blood from this particular stone would be a butterfly. The sullen tart didn’t argue and proceeded to stab Miz Shoes in her inner elbow. Repeatedly. Poking around trying to get a vein that didn’t roll. After a minute or two of this, Miz Shoes suggested that the vein in her wrist, although she knew it would hurt like a motherfucker, might be a better option, as having been tied off for several minutes now, it was standing out like a rope.

The nurse-like blood taker was happy to abandon the useless elbow, and WIPED OFF THE NEEDLE WITH AN ALCOHOL PAD AND JAMMED IT INTO MIZ SHOES WRIST! The same fucking needle. The next day I called my doctor’s office to suggest a review of policies and procedures, not to mention universal precautions. Sometimes, it is hard to remember that I do not live in a third-world country, where needles are a precious commodity. I did point out to the office manager when she apologized for any inconvenience Miz Shoes may have suffered, that we weren’t talking about inconveniences, we were talking about health-care regulations. Blood-draw needles are not, Miz Shoes pointed out, made of gold-plated latinum. The reference went way over the office manager’s head, but the veiled threats about regulations and laws didn’t.

Mix Shoes has had a few rough days at work, at physical therapy, at life. Tonight, upon leaving work late, and having worked straight through lunch, I made a stop at the bodega on the ground floor of my office building. They’re new, and they sell wine and beer, which means they may last longer than the usual six months that restaurants in that particular space last. It was with little hope that I stopped in on my way to the train.

I don’t suppose you’d sell me a glass of wine to go, in a styrofoam coffee cup with a lid, would you? Well, bless Miz Shoes soul, they did. I had a lovely ride home, sucking down my generic red plonk through the sippy lid. For an added treat, the RLA took me to the Middle Eastern joint for supper, where I indulged in carbohydrates, to wit: gaymeh and tardig.

I am now thoroughly fuzzy brained, and thoroughly happy.

Tomorrow night we will be dining with cousins who have escaped the current snowpocalypse. They insisted on Joe’s over on South Beach. I am probably the only person in Miami who would rather not eat there. Yeah, the food is good, but damn. I have no patience for the pretentiousness. Or the monstrous waits. Well, there is always the bar.

Miz Shoes is terribly sorry about letting this blog languish unloved, unread and unupdated for so long. Things have been in flux around the Casita des Zappatos for months now, and it has had a negative impact on this blog.

Around September Miz Shoes decided that she had had enough of her bad self, and went on a diet. Miz Shoes has lost 35 pounds, and the clothes that were once destined for Mild Burning Symptoms sale have come back to the closet and her fat clothes will be sold off. Also, shoes. Miz Shoes is determined to thin the herd there, as well.

In October, we lost the Noble Dog Nails, only to gain Rosie the Pony. Rosie (or Rosalita, to be formal) is a red Doberman and it is hard to remember that this is just a puppy when her paws are like demi-tasse cups and she weighs close to 60 pounds. But a puppy she is, so shoes have been eaten, hats have been eaten and Jojo, the Dog of Very Little Brain, has been terrorized. Rosie tries very hard to be good, but she’s still a lot of rambunctious puppy.

Next, Miz Shoes was given a lateral transfer at work, meaning that there is actual work to be done most days, and those heady times of hanging around updating my blog and knitting while at the office are long gone. The good news is that Miz Shoes is enjoying it.

In December, we took our vacation with the Girl Cousin, who may now be known as SisterCousin, because it sounds funnier and has an unhealthy closeness to our actual familial tree, itself somewhat intertwined in ways that are illegal in most states. Those relationships occurred in the Old Country, where life in the shtetl made choices slimmer. She refused to indulge my lust for the pink Minnie ears, despite them sporting BOTH a tiara and a princess veil. We had to make do with matching picture frames.

Over in the studio, Miz Shoes bought, stained and assembled The Mysterious Miss Cherry Blossom, an Ashford Country Spinner on which to make art yarn. Sadly, there has been little time to indulge on her.

And that, dear readers, brings you up to date on Miz Shoes life and hard times. She promises to do better in the coming months.