And we start the year off right. We're tied 1-1 going into March. That's one migraine and now one menstruation. 0-0 is, of course, ideal, but even isn't as bad as the 2-1 ratio of last year.

Let's keep it up!

Here's an excerpt from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets:

Page 126, third paragraph:

"Name ... Harry Potter. Crime ..."
"It was only a bit of mud!" said Harry.
"It's only a bit of mud to you, boy, but to me it's an extra hour of scrubbing!" shouted Filch, a drip shivering unpleasantly at the end of his bulbous nose. "Crime ... befouling the castle ... suggested sentence ..."

A couple days ago, Kris was sitting next to me on the couch. At the top of his lungs, he yells, "Crime?!" Startled, I looked over at him.

"Befouling the castle!"

What?

And then he let one rip.

Now, if you've never been in the presence of one of Kris' farts, let me warn you that they are quite, um, odorous. When I hear one, I flee.

Fast.

Of course, I can't say mine smell any better. I'm just used to my smells.

So, our new word for "Flee for your life if you wish to avoid the smells emanating from my butt!" is "Crime?" yelled at the top of one's lungs. The proper way to finish the warning is, of course, "Befouling the castle!"

It's quite entertaining.

Only eight more years to go. Eight more years. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Eight.

I am so tired of:

• the barking
• the whining
• getting pushed out of bed by a dog
• being unable to have sex in my own bed because there's a dog between the two of us
• the licking sounds (there's nothing in your crotch, dog!)
• the open wound on the leg
• the whining
• the hovering whenever I'm in the kitchen
• the staring while I'm sitting in the bathroom
• butt wipes on my brand spanking new rug
• being unable to head out of town on a whim because we have to find someone to take care of them
• imposing on friends to take care of them
• the whining
• the upturned trashcans
• the $400 a month dog food bills
• the emergency room runs
• the $300 a month veterinary bills
• finding dog hairs in my underwear
• finding dogs eating my underwear

I know Kris loves these dogs, but they are driving me insane. He's not home with these monsters 22 hours a day. Dog, shut the fuck up!

Here's a picture of me and Kris. In this picture, I am very, very happy to be here:

Here? What does "here" mean?

Well, at that moment, here meant at my house, sitting with Kris, dogs at the feet, television on, doing not much on a Wednesday night. The heat was on in the house, laundry running in the garage, computers humming in the office, tivo recording who knows what, Alias playing on the DVD player.

And why was I so happy?

Because 10 minutes before that, I was choking and unable to breathe.

A piece of ginger that I was eating with my sushi, unfolded the wrong way and covered the top of my windpipe as I was chewing away. I tried to inhale, and realized I couldn't.

And then, I forgot how to breathe.

It was a very surreal moment. My thought were something along the lines of "Breathe. How? Just inhale. Um, okay. Uh, it's not working. Yeah, I noticed. Hmmmmm."

I stood up after a couple seconds, Kris stood up next to me. "Are you okay?" I shook my head no, as I tried to figure out how to get air into my lungs. Through the nose? No. Through the mouth? No, that's still not working. Exhale? What's that again? Exhale.

Just as I turned to present my back to Kris, who was reaching around my sides, the ginger in my throat shifted, and I managed to inhale.

Whoo! Air! And a glorious, wow, I'm happy to be here feeling.

Can't say I was particularly hungry after that, though.

We played at the Kaimana Klassik last weekend. It was a great time. I played on the Dirty Dozen Dames, which consisted of rockin' women, most of whom normally play on mixed teams.

Kris played on Almos Pau, Try Wait, a team formed by Protik Mia. Almos Pau made quarter finals, playing the eventual tournament winners on Monday morning to 15-12. They kept up very well, but two would-be-easy-scores from Mark to Kyle failed when the disc didn't curve properly (Mark's hands were damp), and the disc went flying out the side of the field.

Almos pau, try wait is one of Pro's favorite sayings. Hawaiian pidgin, Almos pau, try wait means "I'm almost done, try waiting a moment." I have to agree, it's a great saying.

At some point during the weekend, Mark and crowd were at a restaurant. The waitress comes up to him and asks if he's ready to order. He replied, "Almos pau, try wait." She laughed and walked away. Eventually she came back, and asked if they were ready to order. Mark jokingly asked, "Like beef?" which means, "you wanna fight?"

She laughed again, and asked, "What have you been doing? Reading t-shirts?"

Had a bad dream last night. Bad enough to remember, anyway.

I was arriving at some tourist point with my in-the-dream-husband, who was definitely NOT Kris, and a friend who might have been my in-the-dream-husband's sister, not sure. The tourist point was some urban castle-like place, with a cobblestone courtyard and park/treed surroundings. The courtyard was being used as a parking lot for the castle/building. We drove through the arched gates and parked to the right, close to the edge of the courtyard.

The courtyard ended with a ~3 foot dropoff, leading down into a large, lightly wooded, well shaded park. The courtyard was also slanted down to the dropoff, presumably to direct water off the courtyard.

My in-the-dream-husband (whose name was something like Barack, which I think was influenced by recent reading of various things by Barack Obama), was driving. He parked the car, got out and helped our friend out of the back seat. I exited the passenger seat just as B was walking around the front of the car. As I closed the door, I noticed the car was moving forward. B had forgotten to set the parking brake.

I called out his name in warning, but he hadn't noticed the car was moving. He turned to face the car, put his hands down on the hood, and strangely tried to push back. At this point, the momentum was too much: the car rolled off the courtyard, pushing B with it. B fell off the edge. When the car hit the edge, it tilted, and also fell, pinning B beneath the car.

As in dreams, things just happen, and poof my friend and I were hovering over B, who was now on the courtyard cobblestones, unable to breathe, having been crushed by the car. My friend is calling out B's name, telling him to hold on, I'm crying hysterically as I grab my cell phone and call 911. I guess we were in the U.S., though I didn't get an impression about location.

The 911 operator answered, and asked what the emergency is. I tell her my husband has been crushed by a car, that we need an ambulence. She asked my location. I told her where we were: at the castle/courtyard/monument/whatever, and she replied, "I'm sorry, I'll need an exact address. Can you be more specific?"

What?

So, I told my friend to stay with B, stood up and sprinted out the gates with phone to my ear. I didn't know what the street was. It was a freaking tourist attraction, how can they not know where I am?

Just outside the gates was some street vendor like store front. The building was a permanent fixture, so (heavenly lights shining down on this store), I ran to get the address. I repeated the address from the vendor to the 911 operator, and she replied, "According to this address, you're in a smoke and wine shop on whatever-the-street-was." "No, no, no," I explained, "we're at the monument next door. You! Can't! Miss! It!"

But no, the operator needed more information. So I sprinted to the next sign I see. It had to have the cross street somewhere on it, right? The sign was a big next-to-the-street business sign, whose business name was Beadaroq. Kid you not. Pretty close to beadaroo, eh? Which was what I originally thought the name was, which added to my confusion of the moment.

Nope, not enough. The 911 operator refused to help. She wouldn't send an ambulence out to help us.

I ran back to B and our friend at this point. I was completely hysterical. No one would help. No one saw this injured man lying on the cobblestones with two hysterical women over him.

He died in my arms.

I cried. I cried so hard my head started bleeding. And I couldn't stop crying. The heart-wrenching sobs of a lost soul. No one would help us. My in-my-dream-husband just died and no one would help. A fucking stupid death, and I couldn't stop crying.

And then I woke up.

No longer crying. Lying next to Kris, with a dog on the bed at our feet. I lay awake for a long while, wondering about the dream. Wondering why no one would help. Feeling the tenderness of my soul at the overwhelming loss.

And thought, well, that's one way to cry.