Thalia and her impersonation of a flopping feesh.

Those of you who know my little pooch know that the girl has some issues. She's teeny and stubby and she's overweight, and resembles more of a sausage than a sleek little chihuahua. It can get her into trouble, as she has no flexibility at all.

It was never more apparent than this weekend, when the pooches got some roasted chicken in their bowls as an extra treat. Lucy always eats delicately, but thalia inhales, as if she's been starved and won't get another bite ever (That is not the case).

I was washing dishes with my sister, and left the dogs to their eating. Not a minute had passed when I suddenly hear a weird splash and wet flopping sounds.

Turning around, I'm aghast to discover my little dog has somehow tipped over the full water bowl, flipped over, and now being drenched on her back, is flopping around like a gutted fish, because her short little legs are no match for a wet floor. She's dangerously close to panicking, and suddenly, because I'm evil, I'm laughing my ass off, and picking up the wet little fish.

Needless to say, quiet and cowed, my little chihuahua obediantly held still while she was toweled off, and then left her chicken to Lucy, prefering to spend the next hour upstairs in her crate, licking her wounds, miserable over her lost dignity.

I think she knows I was laughing at her.

What I did This Weekend...

Lucy & Thalia , originally uploaded by Mistiec_Flores.

Glamorous stuff. Raking leaves, steam cleaning carpets, and watching these two silly kids fool around in the backyard.

Also? 3 pounds of crab legs from CostCo and some immense Tiger Shrimp do an awesome dinner make.

Working 9 to 5 - On Stage. In LA.

Okay, theoretically, I shouldn't be as excited as I am over the fac that the Ahmanson Theatre is premiering a musical version of 9 to 5 later this year. But I am. I'm over the moon.

Here's why:

• Dolly Parton is writing the music.
• Megan Hilty (aka. favorite.glinda.ever) is the new Doralee
• Stephanie J. Block (killer Elphaba) is the new Judy
• Allison Freaking Janney as the new Violet.

Better yet, something in LA that we get to see first? Before NY?

I'm so there. Just try and stop me.

In the tradition of buddy features, hilariously offensive It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia got renewed for a fourth season. Maybe they're not quite as progressive as Lily Tomlin and company were back in the day, but they're just as damned funny.

Bloated Cheese - The Gladiators Return In May

According to a recent zapit.com article, the two hour American Gladiator's premiere of the second season will air in May. In a perfect world, two hours would be dedicated to more events and less talking and use of the word 'brother' by Hulk Hogan but... chances are slim that will happen.

Oh well, more Crush is more Crush.

In related news, there is apparently more than a few casting shake ups with the Gladiators, with rumors abounding that producers are concerned that because of the large size of some of the Gladiators, there is a general assumption that they're all on 'roids. Cause Hellga? Totally natural. Right. Beause of that, they're looking to cast more 'natural' looking Gladiators - what does this mean? Well, we know for sure Wolf and Crush had been officially asked back, but residant mountanous gladiators like Toa, Justice, Mayhem, and Hellga, might be on the bubble.

Take Hellga, Producers, but leave me my Toa.

Once again, the Japanese Do it Better...

No way would American's ever come up with something as cheesily awesome as recreating 'We Are The World', complete with bad make up and impressions. No wayz.

It takes all kinds...

tn_marathon21, originally uploaded by Mistiec_Flores.

Probably the cutest moment of my marathon spectating experience. How can you not melt at a little tyke taking so much joy in running with the big boys?

LA Marathon 2008 - Mile 13

When I was a kid, I did all sorts of stupid things, just because my teachers told me to do them. It was because of such idiotic hero worship that I ended up in the Philippines when I was 15, helping run basketball and volleyball camps and because of that push that I ran the Los Angeles Marathon when I was 17. I sure as hell wouldn't have done that on my own.

I remember walking a lot. I remember aching shin splints and wanting to cry. I remember my dad waiting for me at the 24th mile and running the last mile in with me. I still have that stupid medal, and every year, I wonder what the hell I was thinking and simulaneously wonder if I would ever be crazy enough to try it again.

There's something so unifying in the community when it comes to the LA Marathon. There's a certain pride in being on the parade room, and although every year, our streets close and we're stuck in our neighborhood, it doesn't really matter. It's almost an honor to be able to get up early and walk down the block to cheer on the thousands of people who are crazy enough to attempt the 26 mile run.

This year, I was on my own, thanks to the family being on vacation. I took my camera and one of two pups and headed down to the corner just in time to catch the two female leaders speed by toward Mile 13. A huge cheer arose from the crowd around me. It was a sparse group of people: it was still early, and there were groups of neighbors, main Latinos, drifting onto the curb, setting up chairs and chattering amongst themselves as they settled down, and waited.

When the first male passed, the cheerful shouts grew louder, and two sets of families, one on either side of me, decided to begin the process to pass out water bottles. The children were especially excited by the prospect, and as the chase pack of males passed, the crowds had grown thicker, and I saw the emergence of stacks of water bottles.

As the elite runners came and went, the race belonged to the community, and there emerged a contest of sorts between the two families with their stacks of bottles. Little kids chased in front of each other, doing everything they could to be the one to place a water bottle in a passing runner's hands. The second family seemed to have more trouble than the first, thanks to the first's posession of smaller bottles. In response, the second family emerged with cups. The first family countered with a two year old - hoping to surpass the first in cuteness alone.

It seemed, however, that both families were trumped, when about an hour later, a train of four cars slid in behind us. Emerging from the truck was a family carrying crates of bananas, apples, pretzels and muscle spray. Feeling meekly invisible, I watched as a man removed a card table and placed it a foot from me. Suddenly, I was overtaken when the entire famly of at least fifteen descended and crowded around me, bringing their fruit and pretzles and basically muscling me out of my primo photo taking spot. It's hard to get mad at their zealousness, but... damn.

Still, one of the great things about the marathon is the solidarity these neighbors show to the strangers who pound pavement through the usually busy Normandie. The fact that these neighbors spend money of their own for the thrill of validation that comes when a bottle is taken from their outstretched hand is amazing to see. And the runners themselves are always uplifting. In the throng, there exists, always, tiny nuggets of stories that burst into savory slices of life: the SWAT relay team, racing to honor their fallen comrade, the two year old toddler who joyfully toddles his way with his panting mother, keeping her spirits up, the buffly heroic Zorro, who cheerfully waved his blade at thrilled spectators.

Every year, as I watch the runners go by, I swear I'm going to get back on that concrete. Every year, I come to my senses. But regardless of my lack of ambition; it's nice to watch.

Check out more pics on my flikr account.