The Nightly Routine

11:00 Put Ned out.

11:01 Tell Ned not to pee on neighbour’s lawn.

11:02 Tell Ned not to chase passerby.

11:03 Tell Ned not to pee on neighbour’s lawn.

11:04 Tell Ned to hurry up.

11:05 Tell Ned not to pee on neighbour’s lawn.

11:06 Ask Ned nicely to hurry up.

11:07 Shake numb fingers and yell at dog to hurry up.

11:08 Watch Ned run laps on the front lawn at breakneck speed.

11:09 Inform dog that he is a shih-tzu, not a greyhound, and that not even the most naïve of gamblers bets on the toy dog to show.

11:10 Console disillusioned race-puppy.

11:11 Usher dog inside.

11:11:04 Prevent dog from scrambling up the stairs to the apartment all wet.

11:11:15 Trip over dog.

11:11:45 Snag dog by hind leg before he scampers up the stairs all wet.

11:12 Dog kisses.

11:13 Dirty paw prints on pajamas.

11:15-11:18 Play peek-a-boo with doggie towel and Shih-tzu.

11:18:10 Apologize for embarrassing dog with baby talk.

11:18:15 Take vitamins before bed.

11:20-11:25 Attempt to teach dog to shake a paw with doggie treats.

11:26 Dog unwittingly succeeds at “roll over” instead.

11:27 Abandon “shake a paw”, attempt “roll over” again.

11:35 Seven doggie treats later, “roll over” proves unrepeatable.

11:36 Inform dog of the dangers of gluttony. Wag finger treacherously.

11:37 Bed time.

11:40 Lights out.

11:41 Growl at dog to stop chasing his tail while on the bed.

11:42 Kick dog off bed until he stops chasing his tail.

11:43-11:54 Dog attempts bed re-entry. Pick up dog and dump him on the floor. Repeat times one hundred.

11:55 Sigh and give up. Let dog back on bed. Administer stern warning that bedtime means sleep time.

11:59 Smile as dog nuzzles chin.

12:04 Dear GOD NO MORE PUPPY KISSES! GO TO SLEEP!

12:06 Remove dog from chin and place at foot of bed. Kiss dog goodnight.

12:18 Sleep.

My Remote Control - They're All Criminals

"Meredith has (another) one-night stand on Grey’s Anatomy."

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My Remote Control - I Hate Sweeps

"Watching Bree get herself messed up even further with George on Desperate Housewives is giving me post-traumatic stress disorder."

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On Air

When I was nine I had a crush on the most beautiful boy in my class. He had big blue eyes and fair, fair skin and cool spikey hair and I wanted to marry him. Unfortunately for me, he was what I categorized a Class “A” boy, and I was only a Class “B” girl and going steady in elementary school is a rigid caste system to say the least. The ace up my sleeve was the girl who lived next door, a classmate and friend of mine and a certifiable Class “A” girl. What I figured was that if I hung around her enough – which was no problem because I genuinely liked the girl; she was way more fun than me – then she’d naturally elevate my popularity food chain status and the beautiful boy would fall in love with me forever and ever amen. Of course going steady at age nine simply meant two kids standing awkwardly next to each other at recess while the girl attempted batting her eyelashes for the first time, and the guy attempted shuffling his feet in an aww-shucks manner, and both of the children looked fearfully to their friends for judgment or acceptance, and their friends just kept on playing kissing tag or Red Rover or British bulldog whilst trying to remain blissfully unaware that OH MY GOD A BOY IS STANDING NEXT TO A GIRL OVER THERE!

One day the girl next door convinced me that it would be cool to call into the local radio station and see if we could request a love song on the all-request hour Eight O’Clock Rock. She had a sweetie and she knew I had a crush on the beautiful boy, so we could make a dedication. She picked the song and at seven o’clock sharp I picked up the phone and started dialing to see if I could get on the air.

The DJ picked up the line on my first attempt. It was that easy! I couldn’t believe it. I was prepared to have to dial the whole hour through. I giggled and squirmed in my seat as he asked me for the dedication. “Can you play Broken Wings by Mister Mister and dedicate it to Stephen from Karen and to Jamie from a Secret Admirer?” I was so wily! The beautiful boy would never figure out my “Secret Admirer” handle!

And then the DJ engaged me in a bit of conversation about why I wanted to hide my identity, where I went to school and what grade I was in. I dodged his questions to the best of my young ability and flushed pink at the thought of being found out by the beautiful boy. That would be the most horrifying of horrors – oh the public humiliation of exposed unrequited puppy love! I begged the DJ not to hang me from the proverbial flagpole and he laughed kindly and said okay, he’d play my song for me. I breathed a sigh of relief and let my guards down. Before I hung up the phone, the DJ asked me “I’m sorry, what’d you say your name was again?”

“Jennifer.”

Waaaaiiit a minute, I’ve… -- been… -- TRICKED!

I squealed like a little girl and slammed down the phone.

And then? Panic! Hate! Stupid DJ! How could he do that? How could he ruin me? I was ruined! RUINED! I could never show my face on the playground. Everyone would laugh at me. I ran to the couch, sobbing, grabbed a blanket and hid under it. My mom came over to ask me what was wrong. I choked out some response about having to go into witness protection and get awful plastic surgery so that no one would recognize me. And then, my mom laughed at me: the same entertained little chuckle the DJ had laughed at me while I squealed torturously. And she patted my head lovingly and told me maybe they wouldn’t air it on the radio anyway.

Only I had no such luck. The squealing secret admirer (aka Jennifer) kicked off the most-listened to hour of radio in Belleville. And I spent the next day at school feeling as if I was twisting in the wind, avoiding eye contact, and running out of the school the moment the bell rang. Oh the horror of it all! There is nothing more embarrassing than a vulnerability parade.

Jamie never did fall in love with me and marry me. But a day or so later, Stephen did ask me why I was so embarrassed. When I told him about my enduring love and the radio city disaster, he said that sooner or later everybody would forget about it. And eventually, after they’d had an indulging little chuckle about it, everybody did.

Everybody except Mister Mister and his broken wings. I still have to change the station when I hear it come on the radio.

My Remote Control - Coming and Going

"Not only that, but they’ve shelved Kitchen Confidential as well. I think it’s strongly-worded-letter-time."

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My Remote Control - Sex, Death and Resurrection

I'm changing up the format of the television column at Just Ask Sammy, and I've also decided that TV should have its own wing in my virtual world here at Don't Touch the Feet. Welcome to the first installment of my television column called "My Remote Control" where I'll take a look at what's going on and what's coming up in all my favourite shows. As always, don't be scared to let me know what you think! But please don't ask me to add a show that you love to my current roster. I've lost enough of my life as it is to television!

"Don’t despair yet fans, the meek still have the opportunity to inherit the Aztec pyramid."

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