The glamorous life.

There are times when I wonder where things went horribly wrong in my life. 

Here's what happened...

I had a pretty good day at work.  There was a minimal amount of drama, considering some of the drama queens that I work with.  That's always a good thing.  It was absolutely gorgeous outside and I spent all day, itching to get out and enjoy the sunshine. 

When I got off work, I loaded up the dogs and took them to the local trail for a little hike.  They were only somewhat unruly.  It's all relative for them.  If they aren't eating underwear or destroying the couch, I consider it a good day. 

We started off and the little one starts barking at another dog.  Her tiny, piercingly shrill bark is more annoying than intimidating, but she feels very mighty in the moment. 

I let her have her thrill and then we started on the trail.  After about 5 steps in, the big one squats and unloads.  Oh boy.  Then the little one squats and walks as she unloads, leaving a little trail of poop for me to scoop.  She just can't make it easy for me. 

As I'm getting my pooper scooper bag out, the little one starts to twiddle and twist, tangling me up in the leashes.  I'm trying to maintain my balance while also yelling at the big one to stop eating his pile of poop.  Just as I bend over to scoop, a pack of cyclists rides by to enjoy the view. 

Awesome. 

Rather than carry the stinking bag of poop on the trail, I sit it on the bumper of my Jeep.  This particular site has no trash cans so you have to carry in and carry out all of your garbage. 

We continue on the trail.  As we are nearing the end of the trail, my head starts to rebel.  The Beast (aka migraine) is making his move.  I try to fight off the bastard, but it's futile.  We finish the trail and I manage to get us home safely without having to pull over and barf. 

It was close, people.  Too close. 

I get home and manage to get the dogs in their pens before having to make a mad dash for the bathroom.  It wasn't pretty.  The vomiting lasting for the next 6 hours.  After the first few episodes, my stomach was empty.  I basically spent the night retching uncontrollably and praying for it to stop.

If you've never experienced a migraine, you should know that it essentially takes over your entire being.  It renders you incapable of doing anything.  It holds you in it's clutches until it decides to let you go.  Sometimes the meds work and you can gain control quickly. 

This was not such a night for me.  The Beast had me and I just had to ride it out.  I couldn't think clearly, couldn't form a coherent sentence, couldn't walk without stumbling.  My body was exhausted but I couldn't rest until the retching stopped.   I was basically a zombie, crying on my bathroom floor for relief. 

In the midst of all of this, there were small moments of clarity.  During one of those moments, I was able to let the dogs out to pee.  During another, I remembered that the trash was being picked up the next morning.

Shit. 

There was no way I could avoid this chore since our recycling bin was already overflowing and my dear hubby was at work.  I had no  choice but to put a bra on, febreze away the barfy smell and wheel the garbage to the curb.  As I'm doing this, I'm praying that I don't have to stop and vomit on the lawn. 

I already have a tenuous relationship with my neighbors.  I'm pretty sure barfing on the lawn would put me on the outs. 

While I'm going back for the second garbage can, I happen to notice something sitting on my bumper. 

Shit. 

Literally, shit.  As The Beast attacked, I completely forgot about the little bag of dog poop I had put on my bumper. 

I guess I should be thankful that I found it when I did.  That could be an awkward thing to explain at work.  Or to the police when there was a 5 car pile up on the interstate because someone got a projectile bag of poop in their windshield and couldn't recover properly. 

So, my plan to enjoy a little sunshine turned into an evening filled with barf, poop and garbage. 

Nothing but the good life for me. 

Feverishly funny.

     Yesterday, my dear MB was stricken with the sickness, and I am considering some level of quarantine.  I have to protect myself, people.   

     The onset of said sickness occured mere moments after he consumed the delicious smoothie I had made for our breakfast.  It consisted of 1 fresh banana, 2 cups of ice, 2 scoops of protein powder and 2 cups of a very healthy green juice containing fruits and veggies. 

     Even though MB will argue otherwise, it did not contain any sort of poison.  I would like to make that clear as he spent the entire day, writhing and moaning in pain between hurried trips to the bathroom, feebly pointing his finger at me and saying "J'accuse!".   At one point, he said "If I can just get to Facebook, I can get help."  That's when I put his phone in an undisclosed, safe location. 

     Each time I would ask him if he needed anything, he would answer "less poison" or some equally accusatory version of the same thing.   Someone less accustomed to his comedic ramblings would've called 911 and had him commited for a psychiatric evaluation due to his persistent paranoia. 

     After surviving the alien pod incident of 2010, I am no longer alarmed by any of his rantings.  This is why I still refused to call 911 when he began waving at a butterfly named Gary who was flying away to freedom via our bedroom ceiling fan. 

     Fevers can affect people in very strange ways.  Thankfully, they do not affect my husband's sense of humor.  It's the only way he survived after calling me on my cell phone multiple times from the bedroom (before the phone was taken away), to 'test the system'.  Poor, dear thing.  And he was surprised that I wouldn't get him a bell. 

     Things seem to be less feverish today.  There have only been a couple hurried trips to the bathroom and Gary seems to have left the building. 

     In an effort to avoid becoming a victim of the sickness, I have taken certain precautions.  I may or may not have sprayed my husband with Lysol while he was sleeping and I'm currently working on measurements for a plastic bubble to encase him in. 

     Unfortunately, I only have aluminum foil.  This may not bode well for his sanity defense, should someone happen to stop by and see him wearing said aluminum foil suit.  Let's just hope he doesn't start accusing me of poisoning him again.

     I can't stand the thought of MB being commited.  There is yard work to be done. 

    

Giving

So, I've been thinking a lot about resolutions and changes and starting over and whatnot.  I suppose that's what most people think about at the beginning of a new year, especially if they've been in a rut like me. 

I've been feeling like I need a change for some time now.  Of course, I'd love to win the powerball and experience the change of not having to worry about money.  That would be awesome.  However, until that happens, I think I need to start making some changes for myself. 

I've seen a few people talking about a word that they choose to be the inspiration for their new year.  Seems like a good idea to me. 

If I were to choose one word to guide the changes in my life, I'd have to choose 'give'. 

I want to be a more giving person.  Give people a chance.  Give people a smile.  Give people the benefit of the doubt.  Give people joy.  Give people love. 

Sounds hokey.  I know.  But, I enjoy giving to others and doing things for others.  For some reason, I've gotten away from that.  I've been expecting things from others without giving anything in return.  When people let me down, I blame them.  I don't realize what I may have done or not done that warrants that person letting me down. 

I want to be that kind, giving person I used to be.  I want to do things because they are nice things to do.  I want to feel good about knowing that I am a good person, no matter what my jean size is. 

I also want to give to myself.  I want to give myself a chance.  I want to give myself the benefit of the doubt.  I want to give myself the gift of confidence and pride and peace. 

It's going to be a kindler, gentler Bitz.  Well, for the most part.  I still plan on giving myself the opportunity to be that same old smartass I've always been.  Laughter is the best medicine, after all. 

So, what are you going to give yourself this year?  Have you thought about resolutions or changes you want to make in your life? 

Do tell...

What is that smell? Did something die in here?

Do you have any idea how much the hoof of an antelope stinks? 

It's like a combination of feet (duh), armpits and rotten eggs.  Throw in a little expired milk (the lumpy kind of expired) and you've got it. 

As a little girl, dreaming about my future life, I never once imagined that I would be able to describe the stench of an antelope hoof.  It just wasn't in the script for the Barbie dolls in my playhouse. 

They were chatting about dream husbands and bubble baths while eating bon bons and petting their cuddly puppies. 

Yeah.  My view of the future was a little warped. 

I have the cuddly puppy thing right.  Bubble baths?  Not so much.  There's too much hair in my drain. 

So, anyway...antelope hooves. 

You see, I am now the proud parent of two cuddly puppies.  My little man, Atticus...

 

And my new little girl, Moxxi...

 

 

 

Double the adorable.  Double the trouble.  Double the destruction. 

 

These little lovebugs are chewers!  In order to satisfy their need to gnaw, we decided to try some of the more exotic chew toys at the pet store.  Pig snouts, cow tracheas, antlers...the good stuff. 

 

Since I am super cheap, I went for the least expensive of the exotics.  The hooves.  For just $1.99, you can be the proud owner of your very own antelope hoof.  If you would like to part with a few more dollars, you can get that antelope hoof stuffed with meat. 

 

I don't think it's antelope meat. 

 

These stinky feet are a big hit with my hounds.  They absolutely love them.  Of course, my Atticus still eats poop.  He may not have the most refined taste buds. 

 

They can spend all day gnawing on their hooves, which is a good thing.  The down side is the resulting stench that emanates from their little faces.  Even worse is the inevitable stench that emanates from their little butts. 

 

Hooves?  Full of swamp gas. 

 

Who knew?  



Meaty infections and the coining of new phrases.

It seems that one consequence of neglecting your blog is that you end up with all sorts of spam in your Bitz.  It's like a yeast infection, but with fake meat.  I would imagine it's much stinkier and would attract more wild animals to your loins. 

Since I have absolutely no idea how to stop these little assholes from infecting my bitz with their meat (giggity, but also ick...ickity!), I will just chuckle at their idiocy.  It does provide a nice little distraction from all the nonsense in my life currently. 

I find that I welcome that message alert on my phone during those times when people are trying to push me over the edge.  Want to share a chuckle with me as I show you some of my favorites?  Of course you do.  Don't be ridiculous. 

"Thanks for sharing such a fastidious opinion, post is good, thats why i have read it completely"

Why, you are welcome, sir or madam.  Nice use of the word fastidious, by the way.  Points for that. 

"Definitely believe that that you said.  Your favourite reason seemed to be at the web the easiest thing to understand of.  I say to you, I certainly get irked even as people consider worries that they just do no recognize about.  You controlled to hit the nail up on the top as well as defined out the whole thing without having side-effects, people could take a signal."

I say to you, sir or madam, I certainly get irked also.  Thank you for recognizing my ability to hit the nail up on the top (which I'm totally stealing).  I wish people would take a signal more often. 

"Very shortly this web site will be famous among all blog users, due to it's nice posts"  - Pretty Girl Next Door Gets The Cock She Needs

Aww.  That is so kind of you.  I do try to be nice.  What a sweet person you must be.  I sure do hope you get the cock you need, you little ray of sunshine. 

I can't even imagine what kind of rancid fake meat I'm going to end up with now. 

Thank God,  I keep getting messages from Bear Grylls Messer.  If anyone knows how to make a meal out of rancid meat, it's that guy.  I've seen him take a bite out of a zebra carcass, for crying out loud.  That guy is nuts.