Good morning! Wait. Oh.
What’s that terrible feeling?
Weekend is over.

I love Mondays, yes!
I love them more than ice cream.
Just kidding. I don’t.

Starbucks? Sounds real good.
Starbucks on my way to work?
Let’s scrap the “work” part.

Please send your Monday haikus to me in the comments section for publication on this prestigious blog.

There’s been a lot of talk amongst my friends recently about the documentary “Grizzly Man” by Werner Herzog. One thing we enjoy asking one another is, “Do you think that guy Timothy Treadwell maybe deserved to get eaten by a grizzly bear?”

I know. I’m going to hell. One is not supposed to contemplate whether any human being deserves to be eaten by a grizzly bear, or any ferocious, man-eating animal. I hear you. But have you seen this film?

In the IMDB synopsis, “Grizzly Man” is described as a “A devastating and heartrending take on grizzly bear activists Timothy Treadwell and Amie Huguenard, who were killed in October of 2003 while living among grizzlies in Alaska.”

Hmmm. One heartrending part occurs when Treadwell, who has named all his wildlife friends, discovers that Mr. Fox has stolen his hat. What begins as a gentle game of chase between the two soon turns into a threatening competition between man and beast, with Treadwell shouting things like, “Mr. Fox! I swear to fucking God if you don’t give me back my hat you’ll be sorry!”

So, so sweet, he is. Don’t get me wrong, the guy loves the animals and I know he never would’ve hurt Mr. Fox. He would have never hurt any of the bears, like Mr. Chocolate or Booble. He loved them, he really did and if you see the film there’s just no doubt about this. Treadwell loved the bears so much that you kind of almost understand it when he spends, like, a really long time lambasting the US Government and all for not protecting the grizzlies. Oh, did I mention he’s hanging out with these bears while camping at a bear sanctuary? Which was, you know, probably created by the government.

I don’t know. In just writing this I feel bad. Questioning whether or not someone deserved to be eaten by a bear! Of course he didn’t. Well. Watch it. You decide. You’ll get a kick out of it no matter what you think. Especially entertaining is the song an airline pilot sings at the end of the documentary - a brillant move by Herzog. It’s goes boooo-yooooo boooo-yooooo booooooooo. Booooo do boooooo yoooooo booooooo yoooooooo dooooooo.

You’ll be singing it for days, believe me. Just remember that you’re singing a song from a movie about a man who died because he was eaten by a grizzly bear when you start humming cheerfully, ok? It’s hard. But try.

I hope that my darling husband won’t mind my stealing his blog idea for one post. I drove to work today under blue skies listening to radio DJs make predictions for the upcoming basketball tournament and couldn’t help but think, “Damnit. Life is grand.” I shook off the grumpy mood I’d allowed myself to succumb to this morning (after asking J in a typical whiny tone, “Why is it that our mail is always all over the house and never organized in a nice, organized fashion?” The challenges we face!) and started thinking about, not only what a fabulous life this is, but what a fabulous day I had ahead. Thursday. In North Carolina. Near springtime. Basketball. The fact that my giving up sweets for Lent does not, I decided, include 5,000-calorie coffee drinks. I can still have those.

Here are some other things I like.

The Ricky Gervais show podcast, which you can learn more about here. Not only is this podcast, created by the team that produced “The Office” (the British version, my favorite show of all times) hysterically funny, but I get to feel cool and hip, because I’m downloading and listening to podcasts - by their very nature modern and technological. Never mind the fact that I download them and burn them onto CDs instead of the ipod shuffle we have. Because I don’t know how to do that. Also, I can’t get the headphones to stay in my ears.

Four-year-old Mina. This year Mina has developed behavior so precious that I dare even the most fervent dog-hater to resist her. She’s developed tactics performed, mind you, to get our hearts to melt so that we might open the refrigerator and let her have at it. But I don’t care. She may be wily, but she is also ten-pounds and has a curly tail. In the morning Mina likes to pop up between J and I. Sometimes she places her body against my chest and rolls onto her back looking up at me with smiling eyes and placing her paw gently on my nose. At times like this I have to remember certain events, like yesterday when I came home and the heavy, metal trashcan had been knocked to the floor, the contents carried to all corners of the room so the dogs could enjoy every last scrap properly. I know this was Mina’s doing as she is the miscreant in our household. I have to remember moments like these, or else when she snuggles her body against mine like that, I would probably give her all my money and my car out of pure love. Incidentally, I think that’s her ultimate goal.

Taco Bell. Should any of you choose to question my choice of this fast food establishment, don’t tell me passing Taco Bell doesn’t give you a barely supressible urge to stop by the drive-thru and buy several items. For, like, two dollars. Don’t lie to me. I know you think it’s great, if only secretly.

J’s sudden fascination with Harry Potter. Because there is nothing like waking up in the morning, lying in bed for a while and hearing another conspiracy theory about what really went down in the sixth book…the dogs awaiting a run in the back yard, tails wagging frantically (”They’re awake!”), in a house with mail all over the place because all we want to do is sit together and watch a movie at the end of the day…just lying there, having your husband pretend to cure any aches or pains you may have with some kind of spell he learned through reading about lessons at Hogwarts. It’s a wonder that I ever make it out of bed.

Jen wisely told me while we were sitting at the bar the other day that everyone would notice the burst capillary on my nose if I told everyone about it.

So I continued to tell everyone, when asked how I was doing, “Well, I have a burst capillary on my nose,” and then point it out.

It’s a small-ish red dot. If you think I’m crazy enough to post a picture of it here, you’re wrong. I took one. But that was to send to my parents, so they could feel sorry for me.

In real life - when not magnified my the photo lens pointing directly at the imperfection - it’s not that noticeable. To other people anyway. I notice it when I look at it in the mirror 10 - 30 times a day though, that’s for sure.

I decided to visit the dermatologist, a rather pleasant experience (clean office, great magazines such as the Britney Spears issue of “People,” and a friendly staff) except when I was told, “Yeah, nothing to worry about, but those tend not to go away.”

That is precisely what I was afraid I’d have to worry about.

They sent me home with some literature about laser surgery, my best option. I’m pretty sure I’ll schedule the removal of this new “character-building” flaw (thanks for the advice, friends, but my character was built up plenty with the braces for four years and the plastic pink granny glasses). That will be that, I figured.

When I was checking out my spot this morning, however, the spot that I was told that will not change or go away most likely - and which I was checking to see if maybe it had changed or gone away - I noticed small veins on the side of my nose. You know, the kind people get on their body when they get on in their years. And when I say “years” I never mean the age that I am. I mean, you know, 50 or 98. Just small. Just a few. But they were there. I thought maybe I should heed Jen’s warning and just forget about them. Just not mention them. But then I thought it might be better to write about them on my blog and ensure the next time I see anyone who reads this they’ll be looking at me, judging.

I immediately retreated to the computer to share the unbelievable news with my mother as well as explain that I wouldn’t be leaving the house, and that I was extremely depressed. “Well, at least I’ve scored a husband,” I thought, trying, at least, to think of something positive. My mother wrote back quickly. I thought maybe she’d share in my misery but, as always, she was pragmatic and I quickly realized she was right. Because what are you going to do? Plus, there are always clean dermatologist offices with good magazines and laser options and everyone has their weaknesses but luckily, their strengths, too.

From: Kathleen Rotondaro
To: Cara Rotondaro
Date: Mar 3, 2006 10:28 AM
Subject: RE: going downhill

Probably inherited but on the other hand you have inherited a tendency not to get
wrinkles.

“Maybe meat? I’ve given up meat before. But meat can be important. For iron?”

“Don’t give up meat. What if I gave up reading Harry Potter?”

“There’s no way. That would be torture.”

“What if I gave up bird watching?”

“You’re not going to give up bird watching. What if I gave up holding Mina?”

“I’m going to give up taking the dogs out in the morning.”

“Right. I was going to give up alcohol, but that won’t hold up.”

“I’m going to give up coffee. No more coffee.”

“There’s no way I’m giving up coffee. I’m going to give up sweets. Is that a good one?”

“That’s a good one.”

“I love Lent.”