Behold the lawn of Caerbannog!

Last week I bought a rotisserie chicken. I brought it home and began the process of pulling the meat off the bones. I do this every once in a while when I don't feel like cooking a chicken *cough*lazy*cough* I place the meat in tupperware containers, and use it for future salad topping, quesadilla filling and chicken salad sandwiches. I'm sure you crave this data.

This activity, in the world of my dogs, is one of the most utterly enchanting and fascinating things that I, the most amazing and astounding person ON THIS EARTH, can possibly do. They sit at my feet, transfixed, their little heads bobbing back and forth, matching the movements of my hands from chicken to tupperware. Every once in a while I make a *mistake* and *drop something*. This only reinforces their idea that I am the most beautiful girl in the world, and that everything I say and do is captivating.

While I am doing this, I happen to look up towards the living room. I keep the front door open so that we get a nice breeze. Sitting in front of the screen door, peering into the house, is a tiny white bunny rabbit.

"Oh, ho ho, Mister Bunny Rabbit..." I say (outloud of course), "this is NOT the house you want to be hanging around at. Best that you moooove along."

The dogs cock their heads, because they have heard, "blah blah blah bunny rabbit, something something house and i am going to give my dogs all of this chicken in just one moment."

I decide to give the bunny some cauliflower that I have sitting in the crisper. After all, bunny rabbits are cute!

I had a friend who worked at a restaurant. There was a guy who worked there that had been working in the kitchen there for years and years. He was an old hippie dude that everyone liked. On one of the (many) days that there was high tension and a load of arguing in the kitchen and on the line, my friend noticed that this guy had his hands curled up in front of him, and was suddenly hopping from place to place as he worked. My friend said, "What are you doing, dude?" and he said, "I'm being a bunny."



He looked at him and said, completely deadpan, "Cause. Nobody can be mad at a bunny."

My voiceover agency made the decision back in the springtime to stop bringing clients into their studios to record our auditions. Now we all have home studios where we record mp3s, and email them asap for review and submission. On the one hand, I miss going into the office and getting face time with my agents (they are all great guys to work with), and I also miss the odd cocktail party feeling of the waiting room. On the other hand, I save so much money on gas now that I don't have to drive back and forth to the office for every audition! It's not so bad when you are recording 4-5 massive scripts for characters in a video game - but beyond annoying when you drive in to say "PRODUCT! now with more power!" or "Not valid in Texas" or whatever.

So, I record auditions, and occasionaly a job or two, here at home. The equipment has paid for itself and more, which is always nice. Eventually I'll have a bigger studio in the back house or the cellar, but for now, the parlour will do.


Unless of course, the day comes when you have to have a script in before 12:30p.m. and a dog that will. not. stop. barking.

Look, I understand that Dr. Doom has an important job to do - he's our doorbell and early warning system. I've encouraged him to bark, because his terrifying "I am a big dog" bark terrifies Jehovah's Witnesses, Mormons, traveling salesmen and those guys that tuck paper adverts into your screen door, and scares them away. This means I don't have to deal with them. Good dog! I completely accept his theory that the garbage cans are going to attack the house at any moment and that the mailman comes every day with the intention of slitting my throat and then eating all the cookies whilst I lay there dying. It's a small price to pay for the quality of protection I get.

But this one day, he would just not. stop. barking. I finally went out into the living room to see what the danger was all about. The bark was not his "LURKER" bark - nor was it his "SOMEBODY IS AT THE DOOR" bark. It was unfamiliar.

I peek through the curtains, and there, staring back at me is the fucking bunny rabbit. I went outside, and chased it away, while Dr. Doom barked, "That rabbit's got a vicious streak a mile wide! It's a killer!" over and over again from behind the screen door. This happened about 4 times before I finally had to put the dogs in the backyard while I finished recording.

That's the last time I dip into the crisper for any conejo. Nobody can be mad at a bunny. Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, is that ever bullshit.