'Scuse me, but haven't we been through this before?

Oh yeah. THEN.

You'd think that was a once-in-a-lifetime event, wouldn't you? I would. Especially when you'd calculate the astronomical odds of it happening again IN THE SAME FRICKIN' ELEVATOR!

At least this time I was alone. No freaked-out Nervous Lady. No rude men. Just little ol' me.

Yesterday started off normally. Got up. Drove to work. Pressed the elevator button on the basement level to take me to my third floor office where my precious life-sustaining coffeemaker awaited.

As normal, the elevator door opened.

As normal, I stepped in.

As normal still, I pressed "3" and the door closed.

Then something very ABnormal happened. Everything went black.

CRAP.

I am sure it was less than a minute, but those few seconds seemed like an eternity as the worst-case-scenario thoughts sprang to mind:

Was I going up already?

If so, am I going to plunge downward to my death (or as the very least, to my slight-injury)?

And why the heck can't I find my damn cellphone so I can at least shed some light on my untimely demise?

Because it was DARK. Absolute black. No lights on the control panel. Nothing. Like total sensory deprivation. And then I remembered my previous encounter with this Evil Elevator...

so I once again called upon my Super Powers and pulled open the door! My irrational fears were unfounded; I hadn't moved beyond the basement level... geez. How embarassing.

I stepped out of the ex-elevator-now-cave, as two people stopped to ask whether I was in there when the power went out.

I acted cool. "Oh yeah. No prob."

*Ahem*. Yep. I can ACT too.

But I do believe someone is hinting that I should start taking the stairs more often.

She's the best in the house - ever since she was weeks old when she was trained to play her favorite game.

And this past Christmas Santa brought new toys to delight her once again.

For she loves to play fetch.

I'll find myself sitting at the computer and she'll drop her red ball at my feet, giving my toes a gentle tap with her paw to let me know it's my turn to throw it.

Or I'll be watching TV and she'll saunter into the room, placing her new toy into my lap, ready for another game.

Sometimes she'll ask hubby to play; sometimes me. When one of us gets tired of throwing it (far sooner than she gets tired of retrieving it), she'll ask the other one to play.


Oh, you didn't think I was talking about our dog did you?

Um nope.

Dakotah is the Queen Of Fetch in our home. Yep, she's so cute carrying her favorite fuzzy, sparkly red ball all around the house looking for someone to play with. If a tap to my foot doesn't work, she'll meow to tell me to pay attention.

The dog just sits and watches. Usually smack in the middle of the action, so Dakotah will  jump over the dog if she gets in the path of the throw. And the dog just lies there with a dumb look like she has no idea what the heck is going on. (Oh yes, we tried training the dog to fetch, but she never really caught on....)


Yep, Dakotah's trained well. Actually, perhaps TOO well, for she started bringing her ball into bed in the middle of the night.

Like at 5 am on New Year's Day when I refused to play (silly me, I just wanted to sleep off New Year's Eve!) so she began lobbing it up in the air for herself:

So now, much to her utter disappointment, her ball gets confiscated at bedtime.

Now I have to train her in the difference between "play time" and "bed time".

Yeah, I know.

Good luck with THAT.