There is always something new going on around us. I was reading this site before I started writing on here. While reading Carrie's blog, I read something about a new book series called The Twilight Saga. Apparently, it is already a best seller. Shortly after reading Carrie's blog, I was on the phone with my postal friend Barry talking about today's Denver Broncos game.

During our conversation, I asked Barry if his wife Brittany had ever heard of The Twilight series. Barry didn't need to ask. Apparently, these books were one of the birthday presents that he bought for her last July!! I could hear Brittany talking in the background, "What rock has Mark been hiding under!" Okay, I'm sold! - I am going to buy The Twilight series after work tomorrow because I like to read good books. I will have to add "reading good books" on my updated profile when I finish this blog.

After reading Carrie's blog, I am also picturing a postmaster who would get upset if someone removed a mouse corpse from the breakroom. Does her drunken boyfriend  smell like this and she has grown accustomed to the stench? Sometimes you can put lipstick on a postmaster but........I forgot about this one! That line has already been used.

I am sure everyone on this site heard about the flack Obama received over using the line "you can put lipstick on a pig - but it is still a pig."

I am not an Obama fan, but I truly don't believe he made that remark as an insult to Sarah Palin. However, given that Obama has made other remarks that some people think were poorly thought out, - (such as when he said if one of his daughters made a mistake and got pregnant out of wedlock, he wouldn't want her to be punished with a child) -  I do think he should have realized that such a comment would be taken as an insult to Palin... simply because of the timing and coincidence with the comment she made during her speech at the GOP convention.

For me, I'm not up in arms thinking he insulted her, I'm bothered that he repeatedly shows poor judgement in choosing his words and seems to speak without thinking things through and he has a knack for not admitting his mistakes. This sounds like someone else we all know - George W. Bush.

If Obama is about change... then perhaps he should give us something to believe in by doing something very simple..........to think before he speaks and admitting his mistakes.

Perhaps this why I am missing out on the fun things out in the world. I am too focused on the wrong things. Someone will ask me if I have the latest song by "so-and-so." I have to reply back that I never heard of that singer or group. I know of Leona Lewis, Jason Mraz, Jordin Sparks and all of the Waynes - Lil Wayne, Jimmy Wayne, John Wayne (how'd he get in there?) Last week, someone asked me if I liked the new Kardinal Offishall song.

Um, no......who is that?

When they told me what song it was, I recognized the song but I thought it was by Akon. I was close! Apparently the song features Akon. I am a child of the 1980s. We didn't have all of these songs performed by a group featuring someone else. 80s group either excelled on their own God given talent or were caught in lip synching scandals like Milli Vannili. Of course, now you can lip synch in big auditoriums. I remember listening to those fun '80's songs in my first car. It was a 1968 Mercury Cougar (an 18 year old klunker at that time.). After saving my money from after school jobs, I bought my own 16th birthday present for the large sum of $300!! After putting a $500 stereo inside my ride was good to go.

Being an eccentric postal clerk living in the foothills, I still have that car 22 years later. I normally keep it garaged and rarely drive it to work. When I first bought that car, it had cancer (Louisiana rust) on the fenders, a torn-up driver's seat and a front quarterpanel that had a slighly different color. Over time, I have spent a large chunk of change painting and restoring "My Cat."

Last winter, one of my co-workers asked me if I still had my Cougar. Of course, I told him "yes" and that I keep it stashed at home during the wintertime. Someone else chimed in, "No wonder Mark looks so tired this morning, he has a Cougar stashed up in his house during the winter." My co-workers started laughing.

Um........I missed something there. What was so funny?

I was told that a "Cougar" is an older woman that dates younger men. Once again, I have been living under that darn rock too long.

I'm going to crawl back in my cave now to watch the Broncos kick the Chargers ass. Maybe I just enjoy living under this rock with my dogs and enjoying the simpler things. I will just relax and take life as it comes.

Unless, of course,  there is a knock on my door from a Cougar.

My master is late coming home today. I worry when I don't hear his car roaring up the hill before two in the afternoon. Diablo and I always meet our master in kitchen before he goes to work. His goodbyes aren't so painful because we know he is going to say "I'm home from work!" later in the day.

Hi folks, my name is Joanie and I am Mark's faithful sharpei. I am saddled here with my younger chihuahua brother Diablo. Diablo is such a wimp! Last night, our master gave as a bath and Diablo starts shivering and whining. My master should tell Diablo that the couch isn't a face towel and to quit hiding under blankets on the couch. When guests come over, people accidently sit on him. Diablo is still immature. When I was a young pup, I used to bark at the letter carriers but I eventually matured.  Diablo does not bark at you letter carriers out there - he actually barks at the garbageman. If there was someway to let Diablo know that the trashman isn't stealing our stuff....

After my master went to work this morning, I jumped back on his bed to get some sleep. In another room, I heard the sound of "click, click, click." My canine instincts were aroused and I followed the "click, click, click" noise. It was the "clicking of the keyboard and I caught Diablo watching doggie porn, reading PlayDog and spying pics of Anita's pug off of this website with lustful eyes. Bad Diablo!!!! Even worse, Diablo has met another chihuahua off of the website MyDoggieSpace and I can tell you, this girl dog is psycho!!

Diablo is five years younger than I am, so I suppose he is sowing  his wild oats. Diablo wasn't even born yet when our country was terrorized on September 11, 2001. A day we have now renamed Patriots Day. I was a very small puppy living with my master in a tiny condo in Downtown Denver but I still remember it. A real sign to our mortality on earth is watching a fire engine pull up to someone's house. On that day there were hundreds of those big red trucks.

Even though I was a small puppy back then, I realize that humans have their own ways of remembering 9/11. My master said that they were going to have a moment of silence at his workplace at 6:46 AM. Later in the day, my master and his other co-workers were going to have a potluck and cook hot dogs while others would pitch in on American apple pies at the local store to celebrate Patriot's Day. Perhaps, my master is stuck with the cleanup and he is late getting home from work.

Because I want to go to doggie heaven someday, I will pray to God for those 2,976 victims that died at the hands of those terrorists and all of those dogs and cats that won't see their masters come home from work ever again.

By the way, God........are there letter carriers in heaven? If there are, will I have to apologize?

Joanie ("") ("") - loving pawprints.

For those of you have have talked to me or read my blogs since I started posting last January, you will notice that this latest blog was something I wrote back on March 11th. It was a blog called "Frank's Art Gallery" There is a method to my madness for posting it on here again. If you have read this before and you find this blog too boring, just scroll down below the dotted lines to the last 2 paragraphs. If you not read this before, it is tale worth telling:

Frank Miller will be calling it quits soon after carrying mail in Littleton for 33 years. He began carrying various routes as a PTF in 1975 before making regular. In 1978, Frank delivered the mail for the folks on Route 2304. 30 years later, Frank still carries route 2304, but will be retiring in May.

Frank is exercising good timing in leaving the post office in his mind. Not only is the age factor part of his reason - the post office has internally changed since 1975. He has seen his start time pushed back from 7 AM to 9 AM and he knows that Route 2304 will be abolished when he retires. With routes being cut and consolidated - the smaller routes in Littleton will be gone forever and junior carriers will be excessed to Denver or Colorado Springs.

Frank has a lot of stories about his 33 years in the P.O.  but one stands out in my mind. It doesn't involve saving a life on the route or delivering mail in three feet of snow.

This story revolves around this poorly drawn crayon drawing that has been hanging on Frank's case since I've been working here. There was a little girl that lived on the route that was always outside playing. One day, this girl walked up to his vehicle and saw a partial box of donuts inside. The girl asked Frank if she could have one and he joked , "It'll cost you just a nickel." Almost everyday this girl was playing in the front lawn and would greet Frank saying "Hi, Mr. M. - what do you have for me today." He also wondered why this girl was outside and not in school. "Mommy says were on vacation." she said.

One day, Frank said he was rushing to get his route done early and ran into this girl again. The girl said, "Hi, Mr. M." and he just handed her the mail and said that he was too busy to talk today. Several weeks went by and he didn't see this girl playing outside so he walked to the house and rang the bell. The girl's mother answered the door and noticed that it was their letter carrier. The mother said, "I know who you are Mr. M., my daughter Ashley spoke of you so much. I hope I didn't allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance - please except my apologies." Frank told her that she was a delightful child and wondered why she wasn't outside anymore. The mom said, "Didn't Ashley tell you? She had leukemia and died last week. By the way, Mr. M., she wanted you to have this."

The girl's mom handed Frank a smeared envelope with Mr. M. in bold crayon letters. Inside was the drawing with "It'll cost you just a nickel." written on the bottom. Frank says that it was the only time in 30 years that he lost his emotions and hugged and cried with this mother.

Ashley is gone but her drawing still lives. Frank left the drawing on his case as a reminder to him that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other.

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I received a phone this morning that Frank Miller ("Mr. M") passed away yesterday afternoon while fishing on his small boat in Chatfield Reservoir. His wife, Cindy, whom I have known as long as I have known Frank, told me that a park ranger found him in his boat still holding on to his fishing pole. Apparently, his heart just stopped beating and rigormortis set in. A park ranger found Frank on his boat in the early evening hours when his boat was drifting too close to other boats on the lake. Frank only had the chance to enjoy 4 months of retirement after 33 years in the Postal Service.

Mr. M's wife, Cindy, wants me to co-ordinate his party after the funeral. Morbid, you say......perhaps....Frank's last wishes were simply, "when I die, throw a party." I suppose you had to know him personally to understand that request. He had asked me go fishing with him after his retirement and now I regret never going out on his boat and swapping beers, stories and lies with our former #1 seniority carrier. Frank was a happy go lucky soul who never took his job too seriously, yet; he was a hard-worker. You can't buy something like Frank's personality and work ethic for any price.

Not even for a nickel.

I just finished writing a blog about the large amount of mail that was piled up here over the Labor Day weekend and around the same time, the Postal Service decided to hire that obsessive-compulsive detective Adrian Monk to conduct the mail count audit. Mr. Monk would observe, "Route #1 has four flat tubs, Route #2 has ten flat tubs and Route #3 has seven flat tubs. Why don't all three routes have seven equal tubs with 100 pieces of mail in them? While the postmaster would be explaining the situation to him, our detective friend hears not a word and responds, "Did you know you have lipstick on your collar plus your fly is unzipped? I think I need to wash my hands again."

The entire blog was wrong on more levels than one. First of all, EVERYONE reading this site today got dumped with a ton of mail and a long line of customers yesterday. Secondly, large volumes of mail and an auditor NEVER occur on the same day EVER! Also, as neurotic as Adrian Monk, I think he would view the Postal Service as psychotic.

I have quickly scrapped that blog and have decided write some more deeper into the theater of the absurd. I have decided that it is time to clean out the disorganized underwear drawer of my brain. This is the part of head that thinks idiotic thoughts that I keep to myself so my co-workers won't know how insane I have become. This diseased area of my cerebellum that has weird comebacks to management's straight lines that I keep mum before a phone call to the EAP is made. And now, on to the underwear drawer.........

I think an excellent novel would be where a bunch of guys are on a boat fishing for Ol' Charley, that 20 pound bass that eludes every fishing lure and hook. These men fish everyday for a week. But you know what? They never find him. And you know why they never find him? It doesn't say. The author leaves it up to you, the reader, to decide. Then, at the end, there's a page you can lick and it tastes like Kool-Aid.

Was there ever an episode on the Man From U.N.C.L.E. where an evil agent from THRUSH gave Napoleon Solo a wedgie until he said the name of the organization he worked for?

Have you ever thought about going up to the postmaster and say, "Is that a spot on your tie?' and boop him on the nose? I thought about doing that to Spauldo's dog Biscuit - but he might bite me.

Many people never stop to realize that a tree is a glorious living thing. Not that much different than a tall leafy clerk at the hot case that has roots and is very quiet.

Would you rather see a movie starring Jack Black with music by Jack White, or see a movie starring Jack White with music by Jack Black? Discuss.

I don't think God put me on this planet to judge others and to talk about them behind their backs. I think he put me on this planet to gather specimens and take them back to my home planet.

Today I saw a snail near the loading dock at the post office. And I thought, I too am like that snail. I have built a defensive wall around myself, a 'shell' if you will. But my shell isn't made out of a hard, protective substance. Mine is made out of tinfoil. (Beth knows what I mean.) 

Fortunes in fortune cookies are fun to Photoshop, but I would never take advice from a real fortune cookie. Fortune cookies taste terrible so I would not listen to someone that can't get their own act together. Girl Scout Cookies - now there's a cookie I would listen to. Between you and me, if a Girl Scout cookie told me to put a condom over my body and run around work yelling "I'm a squid!" Bygawd, I would do it.

To the makers of those Postal calendar/TSP magnets that get sent to us in the mail every year. Could you please make them at least 1/8th of an inch thicker. Everytime I walk by my fridge, I am attacked by a flying barrage of recipes and pizza coupons. I understand that you are trying to convey that the Postal Service deeply cares about its employees, however............scrap that idea, I just read what I wrote.....

I am tired of hearing management spouting, "Ask not what DOIS can do for you - ask what you can do for DOIS." What is it with people making those kind of off-the-wall remarks?

That's my job!!

Last Friday, I received a strange text message on my cellphone that read "hison." First of all, what is a hison? Secondly, it was sent from my mom who has never sent me a text message in her life. Five minutes later, my mom sent me this message: "howdoimakespacesandquestionmarks" Now I know what 'hison' means. I texted the words "call me" back at her.

Apparently, my mom's long time friend Vicki was teaching her how to send text messages in case the worst were to happen during Hurricane Gustav. Besides playing Mah-Jong with my mom, Vicki is an interesting character. She has operated an art gallery in the French Quarter for close to 40 years and lives in an apartment just above her shop on Bienville Street. Vicki looks like an old hippie-chick with long flowing gray hair down to her waist covered by a leather hat. Vicki dresses like a teenager sometimes and always wears sandals. She has lived in the Quarter for a long time and has never made evacuation plans. Because she rode out Katrina she plans on riding out Gustav. Vicki is always warm and speaks affectionately of her friends and neighbors. Most of us think of the Quarter as the rowdy part of town filled with bars and strip joints. For Vicki, it is her neighborhood and her whole life revolves around her art gallery, seafood and red wine.

While I was talking with my mom on the phone, she was telling me that dad was boarding up the house and getting the dog ready for the trip up to Monroe Louisiana. My parents were going to the same motel that they stayed at during Katrina.

Even after Katrina, my parents still ask me to move back down there. I have grown to love Colorado and it is now my home. I would rather remember the New Orleans from my childhood. Riding bikes and fishing with my childhood friends, coming home in the humid Louisiana air that would be perfumed with the aroma of barbecue or the smell of dinner on the neighbor's stoves with open doors. In those days, the Gangster Disciples or The Latin Kings weren't lurking in neighborhoods.

One of the crazier things from the past was a hurricane ritual that several people, including my parents, used to participate in. Scores of neighbors would be outside pounding plywood over their windows and loading up their cars with irreplacable papers. But this was no evacuation. Back then, this hurricane ritual, like so much in New Orleans, was accompanied with a party. People would meet at a home on higher ground where pots of gumbo were cooked. Beer and Hurricane drinks were slammed down during these hurricane parties that defied logic and nature. My parents always escaped. They had survived hurricanes Audrey, Hilda, Betsy and Camille. But they sensed something wrong with Katrina and this time there was no bravado. My parents evacuated for the first time in a hurricane. With the news of Gustav being the "mother of all storms" there was no more anxiety in my mom's voice but total dread. Feeling absolutely vulnerable, Katrina took away the idea of the hurricane party and something else that most us of take for granted - a home. Even something as simple as the phone call I received early this morning from my dad is something I have taken for granted.

They are doing fine.

Dad says that they won't get a chance to see what damage was done to their newly rebuilt home for a few days. From what he has been able to find out, their neighborhood sustain minor wind damage and little flooding. They are surviving on restaurant food, sparse phone calls and the prayers of total strangers.

Hopefully, they can get back home and move on with their lives. Perhaps, they can throw a party after the hurricane. They could invite Vicki over and I'm sure she will be toting her bottle of red wine.

I need to respond back to a text message, "iloveyouson" ........Yes, mom ,I love you too.