The Zoo over Ambuscade Street

Surge, that marvelous drink that on at least one occasion allowed me to stay up for 96 hours straight (I had a lot of work to do - it was production week, our Director collapsed, our AD and main character had something that resembled a nervous breakdown, and the poor producer (guess who) was left holding the bag. But I digress) has returned. As far as I can determine, it is completely unchanged, but now called "Vault," marketed as an energy drink, and only available in South Carolina. I'm hoping that it's just a limited test market sort of thing, and that there will be a wider release soon.

It is wonderful. And I don't even like soda all that much.

Woohoo! Netflix has finally broken - I should have the first volume of Gunslinger Girl by Thursday. Yay!

Picture this: I'm sitting in my office, attempting to enjoy some quiet time after a long day of work, winding-down in preparation for another long day at work. Enter the dog, stage right, at a dead run, followed closely by my husband. Dog proceeds to hide in the "corner" - the space between the bookshelf on the wall, the desk, and my left leg. Husband follows to continue torment of dog. Said torment takes place in small space to the left of my leg, shattering peace and quiet.

I am not one to take this lying down - I pick up the nearest handy object that doesn't belong where it is (a shirt, sitting in the corner for at least three weeks), and shove the dog into it, hoping to distract both into Leaving Me The Hell Alone. Plan works...temporarily. Husband finally releases dog from shirtly torment when she gets one paw through the collar, causing her to gimp around. Husband then proceeds to throw shirt into corner.

Painful Retribution follows.

See - of the two of us, Erik is the better fighter, hands down. This wasn't always the case - before he started the police academy I could best him two times out of three. I don't even come close to matching him in mass or muscle, but I've had enough martial arts training to compensate. Then the police academy kind of tipped the balance the other way.

But I'm still the only one who's had martial arts weapons training.

I take said shirt, and proceed to whip him about the house. His futile attempt to put the kitchen island between us to cease the well-deserved retribution ended in a complete failure, when I managed to leap the island to his side. A quick reevaluation of his strategy caused him to sprint towards "his" room...with the pool table, a much more substantial barrier.

His plan is only partially sucessful - he managed to slow, but not stop, the barrage of blows. His next strategem, a cue stick, gave him the advantage of reach. A much better plan overall.

Until I take the shirt, twist it around the cue stick, and yank it out of his hands. Zing! Erik is totally routed. His futile protestations of victory are quickly silenced.

I think we both watch too damn many kung-fu flicks.