Here we go...

I love my dog.

Love, love, love her. I look at Mattie's cute little face, and I get all melty inside. I love when she climbs on my lap to chomp on her bone, and I really love when she gets in our bed and wiggles her way under the blanket to curl up next to me. I love when she prances around with two toys in her mouth (she is a very talented puppy), and when she plays "soccer" — batting a ball around with her little white paws, always with another toy in her mouth. I love how excited she gets when I come home from work, and how she leaps and spins around in delighted circles while waiting for me to feed her dinner. I love how she gives me the stare-down with those big brown eyes whenever I'm eating anything — she's smart, and I'm an easy target.

Mattie has brought so much happiness to our home — Nate and I both adore her, and neither of us can imagine our life without her. She's badly behaved (they could have easily called the book "Mattie and Me" instead of "Marley and Me") and she's spoiled rotten, but she's ours. We are madly in love with her.

Which is why I'm a little concerned about how much we are both going to freak out come May 24, the anticipated arrival of baby Breyer.

If I love my dog that much — a dog who has chewed on our woodwork, eaten my underwear, barfed chocolate cupcakes all over the interior of my car, left hair on every surface of my house, dug holes in our yard, chewed up two pairs of my shoes and cost us many dollars in unnecessary vet visits — how much am I going to love my child?

This scares me.

I didn't even like dogs a year and a half ago. And now I sob every time I see that Sarah McLachlan save the dogs infomercial.

We are in for it, big time. That little baby is going to turn us both into huge piles of mush and I am going to become sappy and overprotective and annoying.

I'll be a mom.

And I can't wait.

This is too cool.

I have always been obsessed with mysteries. And if there's a murder involved — well, that's even better.

I know, I'm weird. But I accept that about myself. And you should, too.

What started out as a deep love for Nancy Drew turned into an obsession with Agatha Christie, a playful interest in Lillian Jackson Braun (she writes cat mysteries — they are great, don't judge me), and a mindless affair with Mary Higgins Clark. And while I haven't read anything by any of these authors in quite some time (like maybe 10 years), I still get my mystery fix in the following two ways:

1) Clue. THE BEST BOARD GAME ON EARTH. (Do not argue with me. I am a good arguer, and I will win.) There are two versions - Clue, and Clue Master Detective. The latter is the expanded version, and it's my favorite. Unfortunately for you, they don't make it anymore. But fortunately for ME, my mom bought it for me on eBay last year. My parents also still have my original game from 1988. Secretly, I always wanted to live in the Clue mansion. Despite the likeliness of losing my life in the library, with the wrench, at the hands of Professor Plum.

2) Crime shows. I am a die-hard fan of Law & Order: SVU, but also enjoy the occasional episode of CSI. I really liked CSI a few years ago (as did the rest of the planet), but then we got a DVR and I got hooked on a million shows and had to cut something out. And I'm sorry, there is no contest between Gil Grissom and Elliot Stabler. Have you seen Stabler without a shirt? Um, yeah. So now I just watch SVU, though I catch reruns of CSI here and there.

So, there you go. I love mysteries. Ideally, I would spend my days solving them. Which is why I find the prospect of visiting CSI: The Experience incredibly exciting.

I mean, really. Could there be anything cooler than scanning crime scenes, collecting evidence and trying to crack three cases — for the bargain admission price of $16 per person?

I think not.

Well, unless it was Clue: The Experience. But that would be waaay too good to be true.