Son of a B*tch!

That's it! Stick a fork in me, I'm done. I was brought into this family an only child, and I intended it stay this way. I was a good sport. That night that Dina and her ballooning stomach disappeared and Joe came home the next day with a blanket with a new smell. I thought it was a present, and I gamely sniffed it and slept on it. Only to find out that the smell on the blanket belonged to this little thing called Wyatt, who no longer is little, is fast approaching my weight and height, and is starting to get grabby with those grubby fingers of his (he picked my nose the other day, no really, he did; you can pick your nose and you can pick your dog, but you can't pick your dog's nose!). I mean, I'm barely getting used to the kid.

And what do they do? They do this:

Due date: April 4, 2008

The next time the back gate is left open, I am so out of here. I could live as a dog on the mean streets of San Francisco. I might miss my wireless internet, but I could still do it...

Wyatt celebrated his 1st birthday by sharing the news

Supposedly, still part of the family...

A- Student

When the rest of the family went to New York, I got dropped off at Camp K-9. I'm a regular there (they love my name), but whenever I leave, they hand a report card to my parents. I'm sorry, I'm being graded? For being locked up in a kennel, made to play with other 30 lbs. or less dogs (ok, no comments from the peanut gallery, I AM actually still considered a small dog despite the growing size of my tail), forced to take a bath with their industrial shampoo, eat their bulk-bought food, and follow their arbitrary rules???

Apparently, I'm losing my luster. Normally, I get all 'Excellents' on my report card (yes, I'm graded like an elementary school student -- remember that? When you were a little kid, and it was all about getting an E, an S, or god forbid, a U???). Well, while I'm far from Unsatisfactory, on my latest report card, instead of an Excellent, I got a Very Good. And for what? For mealtimes.

Perhaps they don't know me well enough? That I am like a 130 pound actress, not fat, but certainly not uber-skinny, so spend most of my day pondering what to eat at the next meal and longing for carbohydrates, only to be greeted by the same low-fat fare (dry kibble for me; poached fish and steamed veggies for the actress). Meaning that I don't have time to be picky about my food because I'm in a perpetual state of starvation.

So no man, you can't diss me on something like 'mealtimes.' My attitude? Sure, it might constitute a U. But not the food, dude. Not the food.

Guest Blog from Wyatt: New York Minute

I spent last week in New York, and wow, did I have a blast. I could go on and on, but I won't. Instead, let me tell you about the, mmmm, for lack of a better word...oddest thing I saw while visiting the Big Apple.

Picture this: Dina is pushing me in my orange Maclaren stroller downtown after a lovely day at the Central Park Zoo. Now, you adults don't really understand being in a stroller. But you're about waist high, maybe even lower. Anyway, I make more eye contact with labradors than I do with any people (actually, that would be labradors in San Francisco, small teacup things called dogs in New York City). So anyway, we're walking down swanky 5th Avenue, past Henri Bendel's, Harry Winston, etc. etc., when I see this well-coiffed woman walking our way. She's in a beautiful summery silk dress, mostly of yellow. And she's got that New York style (you know the kind, right? The kind that takes more energy than California's are willing to expend while throwing on their fleece and tevas; ok, sorry, that's just Northern California; Southern California would be tank top and flip flops).

And then she sways her lanky arm down, and I swear to you, she scratched her crotch.

It was unabashed. She just totally gave a double scratch (meaning she scratched twice, not just once -- if it was once, you could pretend "oh my gosh, did I just touch my crotch? I was just fluffing some lint away!"). No, it was a "geez, some pube must be out of whack down there because I've got a bit of an itch." Not a full-blown itch like an "I have crabs" itch. Just an itch like the pubic hair was maybe twisting the opposite way out of the follicle than it's natural curve meant it to be.

It was like her own personal greeting to me: "Welcome to the big city, kid!"

Do I look like a runner?

Does this look like the face of a dog that likes to run?

I don't know exactly how this happened, because the truth of the matter is that I never asked for it. But like most things (Wyatt, hypoallergenic kibble, occasional diets), this also has been forced on me. Running.

Two days ago, it was like a hundred degrees out. Okay, I exaggerate a little. But I'm covered with fur, so it felt like it. I was resting comfortably on my perch (the corner of the sectional couch that gets just the right amount of shade and sunlight, ahhhh...), when Dina says "C'mon girl!" Thinking she was going to take me a walk (because the truth is that my walks now consist of her opening the back door and telling me to go pee in the backyard), I jumped up excited. Then she took me to the car. Well, that's okay, too, because sometimes Dina takes me on errands.

But then, we end up at Crissy Field, which I *heart* sooooo much. But we didn't go to the beach. Instead, Dina takes my leash off, then starts running. Freaking out, I ran after her...and after her...and after her...for what felt like an eternity, but she says I'm a drama queen and it was only a 2 mile run. I'm sorry, but when exactly did I announce that I liked to "run"??? Let alone multiple miles???

I seriously need to call in a human trainer. Someone needs to talk to them and set some boundaries. In fact, I just got back from my Saturday jaunt at Crissy and instead of getting to play on the beach like usual, Dina and Joe took me for a 3 mile run.

I am so pissed off I can barely even look at them.

Is it August 2006 or August 2007?!

Damn Dina, some sh*t never changes. Will you get off your fat ass? Wyatt is almost 1! It's okay to let the bedrest go!!!

Dina, circa August 2006, pregnant and on bedrest

Dina, circa August 2007, with no excuses for laying around on her fat butt

The Difference

You better watch your back, runt. And where the hell are your pants?

I wish I could be one of those happy go lucky dogs. The kind that get all excited just when someone says their name. You know the kind -- the kind that's sort of like Lennie in Of Mice and Men, who can't really handle the truth about what happened to the bunnies. But damn, they're just happy to be there.

Well, I'm not just happy to be here. I deserve to be here as much as the next dog. In fact, as much as the next human. In fact, as much as the next baby, who, let's just say, we name Wyatt!! So what's up with this:

1. Why do my grandparents feel like it's okay to pet me with their feet? It's soooo not okay. I don't see them sticking their nasty toe jam toes (or should I say "To's") in young Wyatt's face.

2. When we have guests over, why do they feel like it's okay to flick me off the couch like I'm some piece of lint? I mean, god forbid the baby falls on the floor! But yet, they will actually shove my ass to get me off the couch. First of all, I was here first. Second of all, it's my home. Third of all, if you touch my ass again, I'm going to lay a silent one on you that's so deadly your nose hairs are going to be singed.

3. You know what I got for my first birthday? A couple of extra dog treats. I admit, they were big. But for real. And Wyatt's first birthday? They are in the middle of planning something, they don't know the scope, but it's something...that's being planned...which means foresight...at least far more foresight than getting me a couple extra dog treats at Safeway. I even heard the grandparents are going to fly in especially for Wyatt's birthday...and in the meantime, they can get a good foot rub off my back. Yay for me.

So if you wonder why I bark at you when you come to the door, or run away when you try to pet me, or seem awfully skittish the first time I meet you, then you know. I'm salty. Salty like a cowlick. Which then leads to the next obvious question...is this because of nature vs. nurture? You can thank Dina if it's nurture. Lennie -- oops, I mean Joe -- is just so damn happy to be here and still doesn't understand why Dina won't tell him what happened to the bunnies.

The Training of Young Mr. Wyatt

I knew that if I was consistent enough, patient enough, and threw enough treats at him, that Wyatt would learn some good tricks. So far, I've taught him how to sit (on his hind legs), roll over, speak (mostly sounds of "dadadada," although I could have sworn I heard a "Tic" out of him yesterday and a "doh", surely meaning dog), and the best trick of all -- sharing his breadstick.

Every day, Dina sits him on his foam mat with some toys and a breadstick. After weeks of staring him down, miracle! The kid took his breadstick and offered it to me! I was only able to get a few licks in before he took it back and shoved it in his mouth, though, but it will be no time before I get full-on bites. I know, I know. I'm sort of grossed out, too -- that I'm eating something that's been in his mouth. I mean, for all I know, the kid licks his genitals...

I'm only letting you touch me while I sniff for crumbs.

Earthquake Scare

Don't trust this guy, Wyatt.

There was an earthquake today. I was snuggled up in Dina and Joe's bed, so I can relay this story to you and swear that it's true.

Cue in earthquake rumbling...

Dina stirs, realizes it's an earthquake. Joe wakes up just at that moment, grabs Dina's hand. They lay still in the bed (because once you've lived in California long enough, you end up staying still to see if you can wait it out, or if it's still going, you make a run for it under a table or something). Earthquake rumbling subsides, and Dina inquires "Should we go check on Wyatt??!!"

To which Joe responds, "Nah, he's fine."

Nice Joe, real nice.

We've Moved!!

Woohoo (or is that Woorooooooo for me?)! We moved at long last. I am digging my new, well, digs. I got a backyard all to myself. We are one of five houses in a row on our street that has dogs. In fact, I've already escaped from my backyard once to visit my new next door neighbor Auggie (whose dad went to the same undergrad as Joe, making Joe very very very happy). Our neighbors on the other side greeted us the second day with a lemon cake, which she told us we could freeze for later (you're right, we didn't need to freeze it). AND, I only pissed in the house once (ok, maybe twice, but shhhhh).

Me enjoying Wyatt's new nursery

What the hell, Dad? Why didn't we move here sooner?!

Long-Awaited Musings from Dina

[My guest writer, Dina, has been noticeably absent lately. For those of you wondering why...well, I have no idea why. I think she's too busy eating full bags of baked doritos, thinking that somehow, because they're baked, that it makes up for eating the entire bag. I could be wrong. But I could be right, too.]

Hello folks! I'm back. Probably not long-awaited, but I'm back. I'm no longer on any boring bedrest. I'm no longer a new mom with a major bout of sleep deprivation. I'm no longer a practicing attorney!

What I am is incredibly smart, if I don't say so myself. Or clever. Or sneaky? Poor Joe, when he met me I was a federal prosecutor (even though I never prosecuted anything, but dammit! I investigated a whole lot!). Plus, I was teaching at Hastings (where, in fact, I actually did teach something and can you believe that there are attorneys out there, I mean real-life attorneys, that learned something from me?! Frightetning, isn't it?). But fast forward to today and what am I really? I am almost like those ladies of leisure that lunch, that I use to envy when I drove through Cow Hollow to take Nancy and Erika home from law school. But not quite, because I have the kid. Instead, what I am is a Spanish-lesson-taking, tennis-lesson-taking, personal-trainer-session-taking Mom that no longer generates income, but severely depletes Joe's. Poor Joe. What did he get himself into? I can hear what all of you out there are saying (the sex better be good). Oh, poor, poor, poor Joe.

That said, I have plenty of time now for random musings. So here goes:

- Why do people bother to bag their dog's poop if they're not going to throw it in the actual trash, instead opting to leave the bag of shit on the sidewalk instead? I mean, for real people??

- Why do some moms lose all their baby weight in mere seconds, whereas I continue to have a love/hate relationship with my muffin top (I love muffins, just not over the top of my jeans).

- Are women supposed to wear underwear underneath their gym pants? I'm sort of conservative this way, so I always choose the underwear despite the VPLs. But I can't help noticing how many women don't have panty lines, leading me to wonder "are you going commando or are you actually vain enough to work out in a thong?"

- Why does TicTac bay (i.e., beagle bark) at older men wearing hats? Is this considered racial profiling?

- Why are my best jokes always at the expense of Joe? I mean, I do love the guy, after all! (Ok, in reality, my best jokes usually evolve in conversation with Amy, but I'm really trying not to go to hell).

- Why, exactly, does my carpet smell like pee right now (this question is not really for the general audience, but more for the small beagle who manages this blog)?

- Why the heck does every Chinese girl weigh about 100 pounds, EXCEPT FOR ME. I guess someone needs to sit on them, and that someone apparently is me! My personal favorite is when someone brings me clothes from China sized XL and tells me how it "runs small in China." I usually want to respond, "no, actually, I just run big."

- Why didn't someone tell me that nursing my child would do this to my boobs? People, they weren't all that great to begin with!!

- Why did I care about being part of the Homecoming Court in high school? And one step further, why is it that most of my girlfriends were also on their Homecoming Court or Prom Court? Oh wait!! Does that mean that I'm in the popular crowd???? SWEEEET!

So don't forget to vote for me for Best Smile and Most Likely to Sit on Her Ass and Eat Baked Doritos!

Peace...Out.

The Standoff

Me: So Mr. Wyatt, you ARE going to give me a piece of that breadstick right?

Wyatt: Ms. Ticky Von Beagle, you'll have to wait for my spit-up.

My New Man

Joe left me...for China. He's been gone for almost 2 weeks. And while I might have shed the tiniest doggy tear the first night, I got over it. That's right. First I was afraid, I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without Joe by my side. But I grew strong. And I learned how to get along.

What that means, really, is that I found a new man. My (sleepy) Uncle Davy. He walks me, lets me sleep with him, feeds me snausages, and picks up my poop. So ha! Joe, that's what I say to you. You stay there in Asia with Second Wife who makes you homemade pork dumplings that you never bring home for me (or First Wife, Dina). (But if you do stay over there, don't forget to send us our unemployment checks).

But Dina already told me that you're retuning soon. To which I say...So you're back, from outer space (well, really, China might as well be outer space to me). I should have changed that stupid lock, I should have made you leave your key. If I'd known for just one second you'd be back to bother me. (But since you're back, could you please walk me? I really got take a dump).

Still Number One

In case there was any question, I am still Daddy's little girl.

How Did This Happen?

We had a get together for Joe's birthday a couple weeks back. We ate BBQ, Joe got a Star Wars video game, you know, the usual. What wasn't usual was the guest list. Can you see it on my face, thinking 'how the heck did this happen?' Well, truth be told, I wasn't thinking that exactly. I was thinking, exactly, 'how the heck did this happen TO ME???'(I will sort of admit that this is awfully cute. Not like it's a row of beagle puppies with Uncle Jon, but nevertheless, cute).

They'll Let Anyone in Med School These Days...

I'm looking at this guy like "who the hell are you?" and "what's up with your 'do?" But actually, this is my Uncle Mike. He's highly educated, a concert violinist (or is that violanist?), and the father of 2. So again, I say "who the hell are you?" and "what's up with your 'do?"

I Wipe My Own Ass!!!

Well, not really, but I do hold my own bottle.

What Happens in the To Household, Stays in the To Household

I didn't hit Cabo, or Vegas, or Miami. No, I spent my Spring Break with the Tso family at home. The whole Tso crew came to visit, including Kona. Like the nice host I am, I brought Kona along on my daily romps with the dogwalker. I usually go to a dogpark, where I run around like a hoodlum until I have to go home again. But see, here's the problem. Kona doesn't usually play with other dogs (except for me, and I'm extraordinarily patient with her, a trait I learned from my parents....Read: Sarcasm). Anyway, Kona apparently is considered 'submissive.' As our dogwalker said, when we got to the park "Kona spent the first 20 minutes on her back" (and she's not even that kind of dog, if you know what I'm sayin'). Anyhow, I think Kona had the most fun hanging out with me (drinking 40's and watching pornos once the 'rents went to bed).

Wyatt, in the back, just making sure that everything's cool.

6 month check-up with pediatrician with updated statistics:

Weight: 10 %ile
Height: 10 %ile
Head Circumference: 55th %ile

That's right folks! That's one laaaarrrrge head!!!!I ain't mad! Big head = Big brain!
And you know what they say about guys with big brains...

Good News!

Wyatt started solids this weekend. This is fantastic news for me, as now I can lick up more than the occasional spit-up. Can't wait till he gets to the meat products, mmm yum!!!

Béseme...Béseme Mucho...

Es verdad. Yo soy muy guapo.

Aquí venido Senorita. Déjeme cantarle. Le cantaré canciones del amor. Pero primero, tomaré mi pulgar de mi boca.

Family Photos Aren't Family Without Me

If they think they can take a family picture without me,
they have another thing comin'.

If Ticky's not in the picture, then there's no picture.

Pay Attention to Me!!!

Don't ignore me Dina. If you do, I'll rip down your pants.

Hair for Sale

After letting her hair grow out (really, a result of 8 weeks of bedrest), Dina chopped off her locks. About 10 inches. I personally think that she should be selling it on the black market, as there are enough hair extensions in Los Angeles alone to keep girls in India fully employed. Anyway, Dina's copying what her niece, Taylor, did and is donating to Locks of Love. It's a feel good moment for Dina, so don't ruin it by reminding her how mean she actually is.

Quick Rant by Dina

While I was nursing Wyatt, he had a big booger in his nose. I picked it out and put it on the coffee table (so I could throw away when I was finished nursing). Well, I forgot about the booger because Wyatt pooped in his pants while I was trying to burp him, exploding out of his diaper and up his back.

After I cleaned Wyatt up and put him down for a nap, I returned to the couch with some kettle chips. They were on the coffee table open and I got some on the coffee table. So I picked up one of the crumbs and put it in my mouth -- only to realize that it wasn't a chip, it was Wyatt's booger.

So about a year ago, I was providing legal counsel to one of the most trafficked websites in the world. Now, I'm eating boogers.

P.S. Yes, I spit it out, sickos.

My mom eats my boogers

Wyatt's First Blog (and Photo Montage)!

Although I have now figured out how to solve Fermat's Last Theorem, I can't be like Dad all the time. So I am going for the 'best dressed kid' award, already informally awarded to me by my Mom and her friends. But I am a loyal consumer, and so here is my Gap photo montage. Enjoy!




Special thanks goes to my Mom, my Uncle Davy, my Uncle Derek, and esp. my Auntie JoAnn, all of whom are keeping GapKids afloat on their very own. [Legal Disclaimer: Monkey hat and green socks are model's own, and not provided by Gap, Inc.]

One Nation Underdog!!!

Coming soon...to a theater near you (or not so near you if you live in France, Auntie Amy)...the...best...movie...ever...with, if I don't say so myself, the most gorgeous star in it!!!

UNDERDOG!!!

But what I bet you didn't know was that Underdog is a BEAGLE!!! Well, neither did I, but you can't deny it! Look closely at the at the long ears, the beautiful jowl line, the solid frame, the strong forward gaze looking, seeking, searching for trouble (or peanut butter cookies). Hot diggity dog! Underdog, my personal hero, a beagle!!!

This must be why when Joe walked me this evening (pee, but no poop), a bunch of women across the street started cat-calling (how ironic to use the word 'cat'...sigh) "beagle! beagle! beagle!" Joe got scared and ran away (after all, who wouldn't be scared of a bunch of women trying to get near you because your dog is so cute -- Dina, by the way, rewarded Joe with a biscuit when he got home for "leaving it."). Beagle...dog of steel, the first dog of Krypton, dog of tomorrow! Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's Underdog!!!

Damn, I look good in spandex

Don't forget to check Underdog out, coming Summer 2007!

P.S. Like father, like dog. Dad loves Superman, I love Underdog. Go figure.

C*ckblockers

WARNING: This blog may not be age appropriate for those under 17, or in dog age, 2. Or really, anyone else who doesn't want to "go there."

In case you don't know, a c*ckblocker is typically known as a guy that interferes with another guy's attempt to hook up with a woman. You know, let's say GuyA is eyeing Girl1 and has been chatting her up the whole night (what do you like to do, where are you from, what did you study, did you like "The Notebook" better than "Terms of Endearment," and all that kind of junk that guys don't really want to hear, but are willing to forge through if there's a chance of hooking up). Well, even after putting all that QT into Girl1 and as GuyA is really about to close the deal, GuyB rolls in, makes a move, and leaves with the girl -- effectively, as they say, c*ckblocking.

But I started thinking about this, and c*ckblocking doesn't just apply to guys, there are all forms of c*ckblocks, and here are just a few:

* Dina and Joe finally return from their trip to Laguna Beach, and I'm as excited as hell to see them. I've been staying with Auntie Di and Uncle Ken, sleeping in the kitchen with Kona. Well, Dina and Joe roll in, I run up (to do my usual lickfest on their faces), and Kona jumps in the mix, and c*ckblocks me from them!!! Not only can't I lick their faces, but I'm also getting whipped in the face with Kona's 20 foot long tail!!! That's lick-blocking, and here's the lick-blocker herself.* Dina goes to the buffet at the Wynn Hotel & Casino in Vegas. Now, we all know we shouldn't get between Dina and an unlimited amount of food. But did you ever notice that there's always that one guy, that one jerk (or jerkette) that is always in your way? Walking too slowly towards the food, but meandering in such a way that you can't get around him. Or, you turn around to get in line, and whoa! Who slides in before you and then can't make up their mind on whether they want their prime rib cut medium rare or medium? Same guy! And then, you move towards the frozen yogurt dispenser, and voila! Same dude blocking the machine, and to boot, the chocolate jimmies and crushed oreos. That's buffet-blocking.

* Or you're Joe at a conference, and you're trying to get into the tent. And there's some dude on his bluetooth in front of you that keeps speeding up and then slowing down, in a pace rhythmic with his conversation, but not rhythmic with walking forward. And as you try to dodge around him, he raises his hands in emphasis, and not only are you still behind him, but your face is now meeting his hand. That's tent-blocking.

* Or like an old friend of Dina used to point out, what about the guy at McDonald's waiting in line to order. And when he finally reaches the front, he's wondering out loud "hmmm...what do I want?" Uh dude? You've been waiting in line, a perfect time to figure out what you want. Oh, and by the way, we're still at McDonald's, where the menu is the same, has been the same, and will be the same for eons! That's burger-blocking.

So I'm just sayin', that c*ckblocking is an awfully good word with lots of applications. Just think about it. And don't get me wrong, I'm not a hater. Heck, I'm a c*ckblocker myself. You have to remember, I sleep in Dina and Joe's bed.

Guest Blog from Dina: A Sad Statement

I thought it was hard turning 35. You know, feeling much closer to 40 and kissing 30 goodbye. But that wasn't hard. What was hard was tonight.

Tonight, I went to a dinner/concert hosted by some investment banking joint throwing a big conference in Laguna Beach. Dinner was fine -- In N' Out burger trucks outside, plus the usual seafood spread and lots of free booze. The theme of the night? Moulin Roth (Roth being the name of the investment bank). Okay, sort of cheesy.

So why did I go? Well, of course because the food was free (I am Chinese, people). But also because Ludacris was the concert portion of the night. And at first I was excited. But after I entered the tent, a little part of high school Dina died.

Important Statistics:
Number of near naked go-go dancers: 12
Number of beer stations: 4
Number of dessert options: 6
Number of times I visited the buffet: 3
Number of times I visited the dessert buffet: 2 (plus I made Joe go once more)

Even More Important Statistics:
Average age of attendees: 48
Percentage of white male attendees: 89%
Percentage of people who have actually heard of Ludacris, or for that matter, rap music: 7%
Percentage of old white people trying to dance to Ludacris: Oh, I can't even go there. But let's just say it was enough to ruin one of my former favorite songs "What's your fantasy"

Yet despite all of this, I moved up towards the concert stage to get a glimpse of Ludacris. And wouldn't you know it? I got stuck behind the one and only rice rocket Asian guy with a pound of gel in his stick straight hair (and I'm sure, some souped up Honda with a spoiler in the parking lot). Then, to my left was a 50 year old white woman dancing (and I use that word liberally because usually dancing implies rhythm) throwing her hands up in the air (and waving them like she just didn't care). And to my right? Some 20-something year old couple grinding on each other and making out.

At one point in the concert, I could swear that Ludacris and I met eyes. And I couldn't help but convey my disappointment to him -- 'Really Lud?' I besought. 'Was the 100 grand really worth this?!' And when he began singing "Shake Your Moneymaker" as some Investor Relations cougars grinded up against him on stage, I think I saw a little tear roll down from his eye and I knew my answer.

All I could think was "How did this happen? and "Where the hell am I?" So I squeezed my eyes shut, clicked my shoes, and said "There's no place like home, there's no place like home."

Call Me TicTac Tso

Once again, we go down to L.A. and visit the family to celebrate Dina's 35th (that's right folks, our girl has entered the mid-30's and she's not going down without a fight). But we're really in L.A. because Joe has a conference in Laguna Beach (also home to the show Laguna Beach, and a testament to Dina's sad, pathetic attempt to recapture her youth -- although she was never that skinny, never that rich, and certainly never, ever that white). And while those yanks stay at some ritzy hotel, they leave me with my Uncle Ken, Auntie Di, Cousins Alyssa, Aaron and Kona, collectively known as "The Tso's" (pronounced "So"). In other words, I've morphed from TicTac To into TicTac Tso.

By the by, Joe and Dina also visited Derek while they were in L.A., and even watched the most recent episode of The Apprentice at his house (which coincidentally, is across the street from Dina's high school and no, no, she swears it wasn't that 'hood' when she went there). Anyway, when Derek brought out the Ben and Jerry's ice cream for the boardroom scene, they thought he was doomed. But thanks to his excellent Spanish ("Vamos hacer un 'how do you say drawing?'") and his Priceline enthusiasm, his butt got saved.

Oh, and no, Dina was not able to finagle any information that would have been in violation of the severely expensive non-disclosure that Derek signed, although she can say with certainty that Wyatt is not Derek's lovechild.