Ugh.

I'd like to announce the collapse of civilized society as we know it.  As of 11:55pm, all hope is lost.  There is nothing to strive for anymore. 

I followed a young, seemingly sane and capable woman into the grocery store.  She was wearing...a nightgown.  Yes, a nightgown. 

I guess I should commend her for at least putting on sandals with her outfit.  Maybe she was trying to make it look like a dress?  Well, I don't know much about fashion, but I'm pretty sure I know a nightgown when I see it. 

This wasn't some lingerie type nightgown that could be mistaken for a little black FM dress.  No.  This was a cotton nightgown with tiny flowers and everything.  It looked suspiciously like one I wore in the 7th grade. 

As I followed this dreg of society into the store, my soul died a little.  I got trapped behind her as she bent over to pick up a sale paper. 

She must have sensed my irritation with her because she mumbled something under her breath about how she was just getting a paper and what was my problem.

Really? 

Well, missy.  Since you brought it up, I do have a problem.  Why don't you go home and put some god damn pants on and I'll be happy to tell you all about it. 

Nightgowns. 

What the hell is happening to the human race. 

Monsoon Safety 101 or How Flash Mobs Can be Hazardous.

So, it's raining buckets here.  Literal buckets of rain are falling from the sky.  It's like all of the water is just being dumped right on us...by the bucketful.

Do you get that it's raining a lot? 

It is. 

As I leave work tonight at 11:30pm, it starts to pour.  My windshield wipers are on high.  My hands are glued to the steering wheel in the ten and two positions.  I am hunched all up on the dashboard like a little old lady, squinting to see my way onto the interstate. 

My lead foot is easing off the pedal just a bit, because holy hell is it raining.  The last thing I want is to start  hydroplaning.  I would have ended up going over the railing, landing in the marsh and having the jaws of life suction my fat ass out of the muck. 

Not the way I want to end my weekend. 

So, I take it easy and get on the interstate.  It's pouring, but I'm doing okay.  As long as you drive safely, it's fine. 

I notice a couple cars driving with their flashers on, which I'm pretty sure is illegal.  I guess they think they are doing a service to their fellow drivers by alerting them to the monsoon conditions. 

Really??  It's raining?  Well, slap my ass and kiss your cousin, I hadn't even noticed!  Thank you, sirs or madams.  Thank you for alerting me to the potential danger by illegally utilizing your emergency flashers.  That's so helpful and not distracting at all. 

Whatever.  I move past those jerks and continue on my way home. 

As I progress, I notice that they had started a trend.  Every car that passed me had it's flashers on.  I was facing a sea of blinking assholes!  All four lanes...blinking assholes! 

What in the hell?  Am I on an episode of Twilight Zone?  Wait.  That's not how that show worked.  I'm thinking of that one with the guy who forgot where his car was and then married that lady who does it with ghosts. 

I'm pretty sure that show is off the air though.  I think he found his car and got tired of wearing sheets around the house to get his wife to respond...sexually.  

So, I keep driving.  I may have also poofed my hair a little just in case I do end up on some show somewhere.  Seriously, these people can't really be doing this of their own free will.  It's like a flash mob but without the dancing.  Or the fun. 

It's like a flash mob organized by hall monitors.  Hey, let's all show them how cool safety can be!  Traffic safety!  Yay!  

It's getting a little ridiculous now.  Every car that passes me has it's flashers on.  Cars are flying by me, weaving through traffic, with their flashers on. 

Oh, okay, sirs or madams.  I see.  It's okay that you're speeding through the monsoon and driving like an asshole, endangering all of us.  It's okay because you have your flashers on.  You may kill all of us, but at least we were aware of the hazard.  Thank you.  Thank you for alerting me to my impending demise.

Then, all of a sudden, I see a sea of brake lights among the blinking assholes.  Slamming on the brakes in a monsoon?  Really?  That seems like an excellent idea. 

Apparently, if you go flying through the flooding lanes of the interstate during a monsoon, you tend to lose control of your vehicle. 

Huh. 

Well, I sure wish someone had been alerting us to the potential hazards of said monsoon by signaling in some fashion.  Perhaps with some sort of blinking lights that would indicate that maybe we should go a little slower. 

That would've been a very nice thing to do. 

Or, maybe we could all just lay off the blinkers and pay a little more attention to the damn road.  Save your flash mob fantasies for the food court. 

Assholes. 

Maybe she's more of a Monica.

I think I'm actually going to have to find a decent hairdresser.  God, I already feel like a diva for saying that.

I went to the local Hair Cuttery again, even though their success rate with my hair is 40% at best.  You would think I would have learned my lesson by now. 

But, nooooo.  I'm way to freakin cheap to do the sensible thing and actually get my hair did properly. 
I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment.  It's why I insist on trying to squeeze my fat ass into the size 12s that I know are too tight instead of just wearing the size 14s that actually fit.  Or just doing something about my fat ass already. 

So, when I went in on Tuesday, the bargain hairdresser trimmed up my layers and shaped it up a bit and that was that.  Until I got home.  I realized that she hadn't really asked me how I wear my hair, where I part it or anything else.  She had just snipped and sent me on my way. 

After blow drying and styling it on my own, I realized how off it looked.  I always part my hair on the side and it pretty much looks like The Rachel, which I'm okay with because it suits my hair.  I believe in The Rachel. 

However, on this particular occasion, my Rachel was a little lopsided.  The layers on the left were way shorter than the layers on the right.  Things just didn't match up. 

I went back in today to ask them to fix it by touching up the right a little and making it look more even. 

They seemed really confused by my request and had to consult with each other several times to figure out how to approach the little princess who didn't like her hair. 

After she inspected my hair, she repeatedly explained to me that it's going to look like it's shorter on the left because that's where most of the hair falls since I part it on the side.  She kept parting in the middle to demonstrate this to me. 

I tried explaining to her that I don't part my hair in the middle.  I always part it on the side.  Always.  Just like Rachel. 

She blinked, confused.  I heard crickets in the background and realized that Friends may have been before her time.  Then, I got sad inside. 

I reminded her that I was not complaining about her coworker or anything.  I just know the way my hair lays and I know that I like it to look even.  She looked at me like I was a little insane.  I chose not to tell her that the little man who lives inside my earlobe also likes my hair to be even. 

She snipped a little here and there and then asked me to look at it, parting it in the middle.  I quickly shook it out and parted it on the side. 

She again explained how it's going to look shorter on the left because of the part, etc.  I again explained that I always part my hair on the side.  She again parted it in the middle. 

I blinked, confused.  Are we having different conversations?  Do you not get that my hair is all I have?  I'm fat, out of shape and none of my clothes fit. It's getting harder and harder for me to bend over without making old people sounds.  And without my sagging boobs getting in the way. 

The one thing that I like about myself right now?  The one thing?  My hair.  My god damn hair. 

I just stared at her and said, "So, your suggestion is that I just need to part my hair in the middle?".  You know, instead of fixing it so it looks good the way I actually wear it. 

She said yes and I got sad inside again. 

The little earlobe man told me I should just stop arguing because she clearly didn't get the power of The Rachel.  He also told me that the only remedy would be cupcakes. 

That little purple bastard is a god damn genius. 

I left, feeling unhappy and slightly homicidal.  My hair looks like shit and I don't feel bad about not tipping her.  I do feel slightly bad about not crashing my car into the front window.  I'm sure that will pass after the 3rd dose of red velvet. 

I don't know, people.  Am I being unreasonable?  Should I just part it in the middle, stop shaving, trash all my makeup and call it quits? 

Or am I just being a bit dramatic?  I mean, I can always take my friend's suggestion and tilt my head to the flattering side like I'm really interested in what the person on my left is saying.

It's too hot to be subtle.

So, the new neighbors are all moved in and apparently they also have a pool.  This means MB and I now have to watch people frolicking in the cool, cool water on both sides of our house while we sit and sweat together, crying into our lukewarm beers, wishing our fish pond wasn't so damn small.  And green. 

I've already blown it with the neighbors on the other side and their pool.   

Atticus jumped the fence one day and and decided to run around their yard.  After many failed attempts at calling him back in the yard, I had to jump the fence too.  I spent the next 45 minutes running circles around their pool in my ratty pajamas and no bra, with a Frosty Paw in one hand and a leash in the other chasing a puppy who doesn't respect my authority.  I was using my sweetest voice to try and tempt Atticus back into the yard while trying to figure out how to pounce on him and drag him back home without anyone calling Animal Cops. 

Surprisingly, I never recieved my invitation to their pool party. 

I haven't had a chance to redeem myself with them either because Atticus has jumped the fence into their yard repeatedly since then. 

I've considered throwing his ball into their pool so he'll go in after it and then I have to go in and 'rescue' him.  I reconsidered after playing that one out in my head. 

It would likely end with Atticus knocking down the pool and sending a wave of water out into the park, knocking over the porta potty and everything in it's path.  The dog and I would end up covered in shit and chlorine, trying to dislodge empty beer bottles from very uncomfortable places. 

Did I mention that our park is pretty trashy? 

Yeah.  So, the ball plan is out.  Since I haven't come up with anything better yet, I've just given up on their pool.

I'm thinking that I may have a chance with the new neighbors though since they haven't seen me try to wrangle a disobedient puppy while also trying to discreetly wrangle my unrestrained boobs.  Also, their pool is not in the direct path of the porta potty, which bodes well for my bottle free butt.

My plan is to knock on their door with a welcome basket.  Of course I'll be wearing my bathing suit and swim goggles. 

Summer is almost over.  I don't have time to play games with these people. 

This is getting me farther and farther away from the pool.

So, my creepy neighbor is no more. 

He's not dead or anything.  He's just not living.  Not living in the house next door anymore.  I assume he's still living...somewhere. 

The important part of this story is that I finally feel free to leave my house without having to avoid making eye contact with him.  It's been really hard to feign such interest in the bird that hangs out in my chimney. 

Plus, I'm not good at it.  I always get caught.  Then, I have to pretend like I didn't notice him there because I was so interested in the freakin bird. 

Oh.  Sorry.  I was just noticing how grey and drab that little bird is.  See how he's just sitting there, doing absolutely nothing?  It's so intriguing that I couldn't tear myself away.  Sorry I didn't say 'hi' sooner, but this shit is riveting. 

I fool no one.  Not even myself. 

I fear that this feeling of comfort will be short-lived, as potential tenants are already swarming.  The days of hanging out in my backyard braless may soon be over. 

MB and I are a little nervous about who may move in.  We have decided that we should stage elaborate scenarios in an attempt to weed people out.  Since it's too freakin hot to do our own scheming, I sought the advice of my facebook friends. 

They were wide ranged, including insinuating that we eat little children, burying a carpet and bloody axe in the back yard, having my husband don his kilt and bare all.  That last one came from his firehouse buddies.  They love to reference the kilt. 

My lovely neice suggested I run around the yard in my pajamas chasing Atticus.  That's funny because I did just that in the other neighbor's yard not too long ago.  It didn't scare them off, but that's okay.  I'm trying to get into their good graces because they have a pool.  Sons of bitches. 

Anyway, as it turns out, I didn't need anyone's suggestions because I'm perfectly capable of making a horrible first impression on the potential new tenants all on my own. 

I was out in the yard last night with Atticus.  We were playing fetch and I was using my super sweet, 'good boy' voice to encourage his good behavior.  It happens so rarely, that I feel the need to over-praise.  Whatever works. 

While Atticus was fetching the one ball (we use 2 because he doesn't get the whole 'drop it' command  yet), I reached down to pick up the second ball.  All of a sudden, he comes charging across the yard and rams right into me with all of his fat little strength.  He knocked the wind right out of me and almost knocked me backwards into the fish pond. 

My super sweet 'good boy' voice took a turn and I let loose a slew of very unsweet words.  Words that would shame your mother.  This was all followed by a very loud grunt because getting socked in the crotch by 60 pounds of charging evil does not feel good. 

It was at that moment that I heard the voices of potential tenants on the other side of the fence.  Apparently, they had been outside touring the yard and had heard the entire thing. 

Awesome. 

I guess I should be happy they didn't get the full visual of me bent over, clutching my bitz and trying to regain my footing, lest I be covered in pond scum while the puppy runs away with a smug grin on his chubby little face. 

I'm thinking I might want these neighbors to move in.  Hell, it can only go up from here, right?

Hygiene products and serious seafood questions.

So, who knew that buying body wash and pistachios would change the way I feel about prostitutes?

Funny how things happen.

I'm working at my office location tonight, as opposed to the emergency room location. The sites differ greatly in volume and acuity of clients and general job duties.

When in the ER, there are many shifts where you barely have a moment to breathe. Forget taking a break or going outside for some fresh air or running to get a cup of coffee. It isn't going to happen. You're pretty much confined to your windowless hole.

When in the office, it's a lot more low key. You do have busy shifts, where you are out on crisis calls and don't have a moment to breathe. It's just a lot more laid back.

You get the chance to actually leave the building!

Tonight, I had to go gas up the Jeep for MB. I decided to stop at Walgreens on my way there because I needed body wash. I also wanted pistachios.

Who doesn't love pistachios?

Jerks. That's who.

Anywho, I'm in line behind some chic who is seductively asking the cashier to get her a single cigar.

Classy.

She's fully clothed and all. Jeans, tshirt. Nothing that would scream 'prostitute'.

She does have her ass all stuck out and her chest up on the counter, but sometimes I do that. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get the good cigars.

That's not why I do it. I mean, sometimes I just gotta rest the 'girls' up on the counter. It's hard carrying those things around all day. It's like carrying two big melons...well, you get the idea.

So, little miss 'shake it for the stogie' girl is finishing up and the guy behind me makes a comment to her about waiting outside for him.

This is right after some dingbat struggles to haul three cases of soda up on the counter. I'm not helping you, lady. You're too stupid to get a cart for all that crap, you're on your own.

Plus, I didn't really care for her grimace.

So, stogie girl leaves and then I put my stuff on the counter. That's when the cashier says starts chatting with the guy behind me.

Cashier: Yo. You trying to get some of that? You definitely want some of that. Trust me! You definitely want that. That's some good stuff.

Me (in my head thankfully): Are the pistachios that good?! I'm glad I got the big bag. I was kinda thinking I should get the small one...oh wait. What are we talking about?

Guy Behind Me: Yeah man. I gotta get me some of that. It's there for the taking. I gotta take advantage. You know what I mean?

Cashier: Yo. I know man. I might get me somma that when I get off.

Umm...eww. Also, wtf?!!?!?!?

I'm trying to buy body wash and pistachios and I have to hear reviews and recommendations for the local prostitutes?! Really?!

Plus, she's a prostitute??!?!?! They really are dressing better these days.

But still, wtf?!?!?

This is why I avoid the Wawa after 5pm. Now, I can't come to Walgreens?!??!

Is nothing sacred anymore?

Thankfully, I have pistachios to comfort me.

Someone take me back to my windowless hole.

Also, I put this out on the Twitter, but no one has responded yet. Are pistachios like oysters? If they aren't opened, do you chuck 'em? I'm just wondering.

Wait...I'm thinking of mussels, not oysters. I don't even eat oysters. Sorry.

The one where I cry my way out of a copay.

So, I recently gave the dentist all of my money and now I'm suffering for it.

Ever since that evil bastard put my nice purdy permanent bridge thingy on, I've been unable to eat watermelon. Or ice cream. Or enjoy a cold beer. Or a glass of refreshing cold water.

You get the idea. I'm super sensitive to all things cold. Well, really...all things. Eating anything causes some pain. The cold stuff just causes the really bad pain where I'm sobbing as I try desperately to finish eating that one little piece of watermelon that is just so perfectly sweet.

Damn that dentist bastard!

The other kind of pain is not sob inducing. But, it does linger on and on with a constant throb and ache that just makes me really grumpy and mean to everyone. It also causes the occasional sob session. One can take only so much throbbing.

Giggity.

But not really, because...ouch.

So, I returned to the Bastard Dentist to find out what the hell is going on. The receptionist felt sorry for me and told me to come in at 3. Being the prompt little patient that I am, I was there at 2:50.

I'm such a suck up.

By 3:45, I was still in the waiting room. Being a suck up really doesn't pay off.
After reading all of the current news from 2001, I decided to spend my time focusing on my surroundings.

Here are some of the lovely things that went through my mind as I did that...

That's a cute purse. It would be cuter if you would stop fidgeting because you've been waiting for 7 minutes. I've been waiting for an hour. Fidget on that, you stupid fidget faced fidgeter.

God, this carpet is ugly.

Wow. Really? Nothing says manly like kelly green flip flops. I have to see the whole ensemble. (turning my gaze upward) Holy sh*t! It's a freakin pink shirt with kelly green stripes. HA! Omg. If MB ever...well, he would just never.

Also, Pink Boy, if your wife complains of being hot one more time, I'm throwing this fake tree at her. You know, if she took off 3 of her 7 layers of makeup, maybe she wouldn't be so hot.

Hey! The blue bruise on my toenail matches the blue in my flip flops! I wonder how awkward it would be if I took a picture of my toe right now?
That reminds me...never try to pick up an 80 pound bag of concrete mix ever again.

Heehee. That guy has a planner. I love his nerdy, nerdy ways. I want to pull out my planner so we can be planner buddies. Nerds unite!
I don't think he would know the secret handshake though.

Oh sh*t! Pink Boy and his Layer Faced Wife live in my neighborhood. Dammit. I wonder if I've ever flipped them off. No more eye contact with them. Just in case.

I've been here forever. Hey Bitcho Receptionist who told me to be here at 3: knock off $20 for every 5 minutes you make me sit here and I won't make a scene.

Hygienist lady (not a bitcho) pops her face into the waiting room. "GB Girl? You can come back now."

Oh thank the sweet lord of all things impatient!

Layer Faced Wife: "GB Girl? That's my name too! How unusual!"

Me: "Oh yeah. That hardly ever happens!"

Sh*t. Now we have to be friends.

Once I got back to the chair of doom, I told the Bastard Dentist and Non-Bitcho Hygienist that I'm in severe pain, especially when anything cold hits my purdy new teeth.

So, what does the Bastard Dentist do?

He proceeds to use something that feels like a tiny sander to 'adjust my bite' as he sprays cold, cold, cold water directly onto my purdy new teeth.

Perfect.

Tears are rolling down my cheeks as he continues to sand down my purdy new teeth and spray cold water right on my sensitive bite bitz.

Oh, I wish I could describe the agony to you, but I'm just not that talented. I can tell you that I wanted to rip that sander out of the Bastard Dentist's hand and sand his freakin eyes out!

But, as I am not blogging this from prison, I can assure you that I did not do that. I simply tried to maintain my composure as I escorted myself to the Bitcho Receptionist's desk to give them more of my money.

I was sobbing by the time I got there. So much so that Bitcho Receptionist commented that it looked like my tooth hurt even more now.

No sh*t!

You are perhaps the most perceptive person I have ever met!
At least she waived my copay. I mean, not forcing me to pay $10 for the pleasure of being tortured is the absolute least you could do. So...thanks?

Non-Bitcho Hygienist came out to check on me. Apparently I was causing a scene. I'm surprised they didn't call the Mobile Crisis Team (where I work) to come and do and intervention on me.

Non-Bitcho Hygienist told me to get a mouth guard because the Bastard Dentist thinks my pain is caused by grinding my teeth at night. I'm not convinced, but I'll try anything at this point. Hell, I'm three sob sessions away from taking a hammer to my purdy new teeth.

A mouth guard sounds lovely.

I'll let you know how that works out for me. MB may find it very attractive. He likes football.

So, do you have any dentist and/or mouth guard horror stories to share?
Do tell...

If you own flippers, please do not read this post.

It's damn hot outside.

How hot is it?

It's so damn hot that I don't want to exert the energy to change the channel, resulting in my watching Toddlers and Tiaras for the past hour and a half.

Yeah. That's pretty damn hot.

I mean, this lady has a purple horse that she uses in her pageant daughter/future stripper's routine. She uses food coloring to dye her horse. Food coloring.

I have so many issues with this, I don't even know where to begin. Does anyone want to take a road trip to whatever bumblefrick town this little future stripper lives in? Bring a trailer and/or big truck because purple horses need lots of leg room.

Also, I'd like to take a detour to whatever bumblefrick town the other little future stripper lives in so we can have an intervention with her mom. If your hubby wears the tiaras in the family and enjoys getting pre-pageant pedicures, you have bigger issues than 'omg, my future stripper's flippers aren't in straight'.

Also again, spray tanning your future stripper in the local body shop?

I actually might use this one. After all, I need a little color before my wedding day and I happen to have a great body shop guy. I'm not sure how I feel about him seeing me naked, but I think we can work on that.

The whole point of this post was that it's damn hot.

I'm going to go get some more ice water and get naked in front of the fan.

Good night peeps.
I hope it's a lot cooler wherever you are. I'd hate for you to have to suffer through bad television too.

The one where I find old lip balm and lose my dignity.

So, I discovered that I am completely unprepared for cougar attacks and the zombie apocalypse.

MB and I decided to go bike riding yesterday. He suggested we go trail riding. I suggested we ride around the neighborhood because it's been 3 years since I've even ridden my bike. He suggested I just suck it up and stop being a girl.

I made some other suggestions but ultimately lost the battle. Apparently, reason and common sense have no place in our relationship.

Anywhowearsthepants, we loaded up the bikes, filled up our Camelbaks and headed to the trail.

While gassing up the Jeep on the way there, MB checks to make sure I'm ready for the ride.

MB: Are you prepared for cougar attacks?

Me: Cougar attacks? Is that really a concern?

MB: Well, yeah. Cougars are a real threat out there in the wild. Are you prepared?

Me: (checking the pockets of my Camelbak which hasn't been used for 3 years) Uh...I don't know. I have half a pack of gum, 2 tampons and...ooh, there's my carrot lip balm! I was wondering where that was.

MB: So, I guess you aren't ready for a bear attack either. Great.

Me: (applying lip balm and dancing to the gas station musack) Uh huh. Whatever.
When we get there, we gear up. This means strapping on the Camelbaks, puttinghttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif on our bike gloves and adjusting the bike shorts that conveniently have extra padding in the seat area. It feels like you're wearing a pillow between your legs.

I'm sure it looks like that too, but I try not to think about that. It was enough drama just buying the damn shorts.

As we head off to the trail, I get nervous. When we head into the woods, I get more nervous. When we start to traverse very large and gnarly tree roots and other such terrain, I start freaking out.

Me: Baby, I don't know if I'm ready for this. You know I've never been biking on a trail like this before.
MB: You're fine. Just remember to down shift when you...(trailing off as he speeds ahead of me)

Me: Wtf!?!

As we continue on, the roots get gnarly and the terrain gets more difficult. I'm in full on panic mode at this point. I'm basically forgetting how to ride a bike, because I find myself barreling down the trail at full speed without any control whatsoever. Then, I freak out and slam on the brakes, propelling myself forward off the seat. As I'm standing there cursing and mumbling about how much I hate this and how MB never listens to me, I'm getting seriously freaked.

MB encourages me to keep going, reminding me about shifting and whatnot. At one point, I'm walking next to the bike. I decide that's not a good way to spend the next 7 miles so I hop back on.

We go through an area that requires a machete because it's so overgrown. Conveniently, we are without machetes and have to use our faces.

It's like exfoliation by thorn.

As I'm barreling down one section, I see this little bridge over a crick. We have already crossed a few of those and I was fine. This one looks a little narrow, but I should be okay. Of course, I'm flying down the hill towards the bridge at top speed but I should be fine. Right?

Not so much.

As soon as I hit the little bridge, I go just a little too far to the left and that's it. I'm tumbling over the side, into the muddy crick.

Awesome.

When MB comes to my rescue, I'm crawling out of the muck, cursing and crying and laughing. My legs are covered in mud. My ass hurts. My arm is a little banged up and my bike is in the weeds.


That's the resulting bruise on my arm. I would take a picture of the bruise on my ass, but I do have some standards. I will tell you that my ass bruise is five times the size of the arm bruise and currently contains all the colors of a rainbow.

We decided today that it looks like a portal through space and time.



I wish the colors in this image (courtesy of google images) weren't so accurate. Seriously.

It's also very uncomfortable to sit. I may need to get one of those plastic donut thingys.

Anywaytoosexyformyowngood, I gather my pride, wipe off some of the mud and resume the ride. After all, I'm rough tough. Or something.

I'm wishing I had filled my Camelbak with whiskey when I notice that my bike seat is not quite right. Actually, it's pretty effed up. So effed up that it won't even stay on.

I alert MB to this and discover that he has no duct tape in his little tool kit. Who's not prepared now?

We are forced to ditch the ride and walk back to the jeep. Defeated.

Thankfully, we didn't encounter any cougars or zombies.

Today, we went to the bike store to get a new seat for my bike. MB felt it was vital that we also get me a bike helmet. Apparently he's concerned that I may somehow fall and harm myself while riding my bike.

Imagine that.



As you can see, I'm thrilled about the helmet idea.

Our next biking adventure? Around the neighborhood. I'll be wearing my helmet, a plastic donut strapped to my ass and strategically placed bubble wrap.

Keeping the love alive since...wait, how long have we been together?

While eating Indian food yesterday, MB and I were discussing what to do if Skye ever needed a doggie wheelchair. I'll spare you the details, but it was a heartbreaking conversation.
Of course, I had tears in my eyes by the time we were standing at the counter, paying our bill.

MB: Oh my God. You're crying.

Me: I am not. I'm fine.

MB: Just put your sunglasses on. I don't want to see you cry.

Me: Nice. And, I'm not crying. I'm fine.

MB: Oh yeah? Marley and Me.

Me: You're the devil! (putting sunglasses on as tears now stream down my face)

..................................................................................

Today, MB was trying to be funny by going into the spare room, where my wedding dress happens to be hanging. He thinks it's hilarious to pretend he's going to go look at it. It drives me crazy. The secrecy of the dress is one tradition I'm holding on to.

MB: I think I need to go in here and take inventory.

Me: (running to block him) WHAT?!?!? There is nothing you need in this room.

MB: I just need to take inventory. What's in this closet?

Me: (shoving him back out the door) Nothing is in there. Why don't we go in the hallway?

MB: But I have OCD. I have to know what's in there. See, I'm getting the shakes. You have to let me in there.

Me: You don't have OCD. You're not shaking and you don't need to go in there.

MB: Fine. How do you plan on stopping me when you're at work?

Me: It's called trust.

MB: That's just stupid. I made the pup wear your dress last night.

Me: Uh...that's weird.

MB: What? I like to make her wear your clothes. Then, I take pictures of her. It's cute.

This is where I roll my eyes and walk away.


..................................................................................


Last week, we had an argument about a band saw that MB used to own.

MB: You owe me a band saw.

Me: Why would I owe you a band saw? That's dumb.

MB: Because I went to use my band saw today and those stupid squirrels destroyed it. The squirrels you told me not to get rid of. You owe me a band saw.

Me: I told you those squirrels had made a nest in your band saw box and that you couldn't disturb them because they may have babies in there.

MB: Uh huh. What was I supposed to do if I actually needed to use my band saw?

Me: Borrow one.

MB: BUT I OWN ONE!!!!!

Me: Not anymore.


................................................................................


MB just came in the room as I was writing this post. Skye is lying on the floor beside me.

Me: Hey baby. What are you doing?

MB: Coming to tickle you and also pet my new best friend.

Me: Your new best friend?

MB: Yeah. The pup and I are bonding. Remember our walk yesterday, pup? That's right. Mommy's out. Daddy's in.

Me: Mommy isn't out. I'm still her favorite.

MB: Mommy's boring and vanilla. Daddy's exciting and caliente.

This is where the pup rolls her eyes and walks away. That is why she's Mommy's girl.

When you stab someone with a toothbrush, is it bristle side first?

So, I basically let some of the most incompetent people in the world drill into my head today. But, it's cool because I survived. More importantly, they survived.

It all started when I went to the dentist yesterday for my annual cleaning, which was 2 years overdue, but whatever.

I haven't been to the dentist in awhile because the last time I went, they told me I had to have $3000 worth of dental work done. Considering that I am both broke and cheap, I wasn't able to have the work done.

$3000! That's some serious dough!

Anywho, since I'm getting hitched in 109 days, I figured I'd better put a little dough into my smile. Not the kind of dough I've already been putting into it either - chocolate chip, peanut butter, oatmeal raisin - because that wasn't really getting me camera ready.

So, I got scraped and flossed and glossed and all that jazz. The dentist comes in and says hi so I try to ask him what exactly he needs to do to fix my purdy smile. You know, because it's been 2 years and I've completely blocked out what that $3000 was supposed to be for.

I'd like to tell you that he just answered my questions and made me feel all confident in his abilities and whatnot. But, no. He cracked a couple lame jokes, evaded all of my questions and basically left me quivering in the corner, clutching my pretty new green toothbrush and crying for my mommy.

Really? This humorless dickhead is going to be drilling into my head? I don't think so. I can avoid my photographer for 5 hours. No problem.

Ugh.

The hygienist lady sends me out front where I'm introduced to the receptionist, who will henceforth be known as The Bitch Who Deserves a Toothbrush to the Eye (TBWDTE for short).

TBWDTE proceeds to ask me what I'm having done when I try to schedule my super expensive dental work.

Uh...yeah. I don't really know. I just know that your dentist can't tell jokes.

TBWDTE says...'well, let me see what you're talking about'.

Umm. Okay. Sure, I have no problem prying open my mouth for the entire office, waiting room and the impatient patient behind me also waiting to check out to see.

TBDWTE says what she thinks it is and I agree, because that sounds like what he said at one point. She quotes me a price of $685 and proceeds to tell me that I need to pay half of that just to schedule the appointment. Then, I have to pay all of it at the appointment, which can be tomorrow at 10:30.

Um. Er. Uh. $685? Um. Er. Yeah. I'm gonna have to call you tomorrow on that one. You know, because I don't have $700 to pull out of my ass right now and this patient behind me breathes any louder, I'm going to... Yeah. I'll just call in the morning. Thanks. Bye.

I end up scheduling the appointment after I do some maneuvering with the fundage. I also planned ahead and put a little extra in so I could pay half for my next big appointment because, oh yeah there's a lot of work to be done. A LOT!

So, when I go back today, the hygienist lady straps me in and says "So, what are you here for today?"

Are you freakin serious?! Um...yeah. I don't really know what he's doing, but I know I'm doing the left side today.

Hygienist lady seems confused and brings in the doc who says "Oh. You're back. Did you have questions about your appointment yesterday?"

Wtf? Did they bring back Candid Camera and am I in the pilot?Um...no. I'm here to have the left side done.

"Oh great. Let's get you numbed up."

Fantastic.

As I'm reading my National Geographic from 1997 and trying not to slobber all over myself as my lip gets number and number, TBWDTE comes in.

"Hi there. I just wanted to let you know that you aren't having a partial done. You're having a bridge done. That's going to be $1430. Mmmkay?"

Freakin Flosstastic! Are you sh*ttin me?!
That's way higher than what you told me yesterday.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that."

Holy f*ck! Don't cry in front of TBWDTE. Don't cry in front of TBWDTE.
Umm. I guess I have no choice. You know, because I no longer have control of the left side of my face, you freakin psycho! Way to ask me that question after it's way too late! Dammit!

Back to important nature topics from 1997...in walks someone I assume is the boss of TBWDTE.

"Hi there. I understand there's been some confusion...

Stop right there. Are you going to ask me for more money? As I'm readying to throw the bib down and walk out.

After we got that little money thing worked out, the worst 3 1/2 hours of my life commenced. By 'worked out', I mean that they totally had me in a prone position with a half numb face and their greedy gloved hands into my very empty pockets, leaving me no choice but to submit.

Thanks dickheads. Get me some damn free floss. The good kind.

I'm a trooper though. I put on my Zune to drown out the homicidal thoughts raging through my brain. Also to drown out the drill, but that wasn't as loud as the murderous rage.

Hey. Wanna know the best part?!! Guess who's training to be a hygienist and got to practice on my face?

Yep. The Bitch Who Deserves a Toothbrush to the Eye!

Awesome!

Turns out? She's a weirdo and a total bitch!

She kept making comments like...
"What a great patient you are. So pretty too."
"Don't be mean to her, she's my girlfriend."
"Here. Have some vaseline for your lips. I knew you would like that."

Ick.

Way to take advantage of those who can't fight back.

When it was all over, I was ready to get the hell out of there. I go to leave and TBWDTE says "Thanks for being so awesome."

Yeah. Thanks for being so awkward. Now I want to stab you even more. You take care now. Thanks for the vaseline.

Now, I'm lounging at home. My lip has regained it's feeling and my mouth hurts like hell. But, at least I have a temporary aluminum crown for the next 4 weeks.

That's right. I gots me a mouthful of silver to flash around. I totally want to bedazzle it.

Also, I get to relive this whole experience, wallet raping included, in 4 weeks.

That damn photographer is getting so many close ups of my smile, he's going to want to stab me with...what do they use that's comparable to a toothbrush?

Twin nestled checks and babies with bite.

First of all...
Happy belated Mother's Day to all the moms out there. I never had the chance to stop by and say that over the weekend.

I hope you all enjoyed time with your family and loved ones.

If you aren't a mother, I still hope you had a good weekend. :) I also hope you kept reading far enough to read that.

Moving on...Mother's Day is always a tough one for me. You see, my grandmother died 37 years ago. She died on the Friday before Mother's Day that year. It was also the weekend of my aunt's birthday. It was also the year of my birth. I entered the world 7 months after she left it.

So, I never got to meet her. My grandmother, Alpha. It always saddens me that I never got the chance to know her, even for a little while. I don't even know if she knew I was on the way.

Mother's Day for my own Mom is very difficult because of this. It brings back all of the sadness of that weekend 37 years ago. She cries to this day. When we leave the church and walk past Alpha's headstone, we both gaze longingly at it. Mom is wishing she could have one more day and I am wishing I had had just one day at all.

It's not all sad, though. I know my grandmother has been with me all of my life. I know that she always will be.

Enough of this sad, sappy crap though. This is not what I intended for today's post. Plus, due to the sad memories my Mom has, we all try to make it a special, happy day for her.

So, let's focus on that, shall we?

Saturday afternoon, I loaded up this gorgeous girl and we headed down to my family's for the Mother's Day weekend.


She was super excited to be in the car for two hours. Even more excited that mommy had fast food in the front seat for her to try and steal. So excited, in fact, that she forgot to tell mommy that she had to poop.

That was a fun little side trip to the Walmart parking lot in whatever little town we happened to be in at the time. Thank God for my $8.99 canvas seat cover, my $3.00 dog blanket and the handy stash of poop scooping bags on Skye's leash.

Also, thank God for my lack of shame when it comes to all poop related activities.

So, after that little mishap, we made it safely to the family's house where Mom had this little guy waiting for me.


It's hard to see him because he's hiding his head under that rock. I think he's 'special'.

It's a baby snapping turtle! How cute!

I love turtles. I spent my childhood catching turtles and other critters out of the crick that runs next to my family's house. This little guy found his way into their house somehow and Mom saved him for me to see.

I played with him for a bit and then released him into the crick again.

After turtle time, Mom and I headed to the mall to do some shopping. We are both consumed with wedding, wedding, wedding and went to buy some wedding favor stuff. We also had dinner and dessert and spa pedicures.

They were fabulous! I would allow myself to get groped by that little pedicure lady anytime!

Sunday was church day. Then we all went to breakfast - Mom, Dad, Big Brother, Mrs. Big Brother and myself. We went to this little place that was having a jazz brunch. The jazz part of the brunch consisted of one guy with a guitar playing music and wandering around the restaurant.

At one point, I turned my head and he was right behind me! Sneaky bastard.

It took approximately 27 minutes for the waitress to notice our arrival and make contact with us. It took 7 minutes for her to bring the coffee and tea we had all ordered. It took another 17 minutes to flag down someone else to bring us silverware so we could stir cream and sugar into our coffees and teas. It took another 38 minutes for her to come and take our food order.

Did I mention that the service was pretty sucky?

Our waitress apparently had a twin sister who was also a waitress in the restaurant. We realized this after trying to flag down twin #2 to get some freakin food, thinking she was our twin #1. Then we noticed that there were actually two crappy waitresses, instead of just one who kept taking her glasses on and off.

Awesome.

My favorite part of the meal was the end when we got the bill. Twin #1 came to the table and proceeded to pull a check out of her boob. Seriously. She was elbow deep in there fishing out the check for our table.

So classy.

Then? It was the wrong check! She had to go elbow deep on the other side (twin#2! HA!) to get our actual check.

Mrs. Big Brother and I were dying! When Big Brother asked if his 22% tip was enough, we really lost it.

Not that I'm knocking the twins as storage compartments. I've been to some places where that just makes sense. You spend a little time in the joint and you just expect that she's going to pull your check out of her bra. You might expect her to pull some cream and sugar out of there too...maybe a little dessert.

This place? Not that type of place. Did I mention the 'jazz brunch' part of it?

Jazz brunch and twin nestled checks don't really go together in my mind.

Anyway, it was a good meal with loved ones and that's what really counts. Plus, I didn't have to touch the check!

After breakfast, I gained approximately 87 pounds...in the form of a bridesmaid! A bridesmaid who is going to love me for my weight estimation powers!

She has been a dear friend forever and when I asked, she said yes! Yay!

Mom and I celebrated this news with gourmet cupcakes. It's really the only way to celebrate such news, don't you think?

So, it was a very busy, very fun weekend. Full of lots of emotions and lots of laughs and lots of family. Also baby turtles.

A very good weekend, in my book.

How was your weekend?

Why can't I just buy my $3 wind chimes without incident?

So, I'm in the Dollar Tree yesterday and once again, 'crazy' finds me.

I had been to Lowes and my Jeep was full of opened bags of mulch (they're half price, you know), bird feeders and flowers. Yard beautification was clearly my goal for the day.

Of course, I am on a budget and I still needed some of those hook thingys to hang my bird feeders on. So, I headed to the Dollar Tree. They are super cheap there. Not a dollar, which I think is illegal on some level. Definitely immoral.

Whatever. They were way cheaper than they were at Lowes.

So, I got my hook thingys along with a cute little hanging basket (that was a dollar) and a cool set of bamboo wind chimes (for 3 dollars...wtf?!). I'm sure the wind chimes are going to annoy the hell out of MB, but I like them.

Anyway, I'm at the checkout behind some lady who's buying a crapload of stuff and another lady who's buying 2 packs of Slim Jims.

Maybe she didn't know this was a Dollar Tree and not the mini mart on the corner. I didn't see any junkies hanging out front, peddling their wares. Huh.

So, out of nowhere, I get this whiff of booze.

When did they start selling booze at the Dollar Tree?! I'm all a-tingle for like five seconds. Even though it probably won't be a dollar. Lying bastards.

Then, the source of the whiff makes itself known.

Holy cow! It's a junkie! Maybe I am in the mini mart.

I glance over at the religious/animal/leftover Easter chotchkes just to reorient myself.

The whiff source approaches me and with the scent of alcohol wafting from his every pore, asks if he can cut in front of me and the Slim Jim Lady.

My first instinct is to say 'hell no', because I have yard beautification to attend to and can not be bothered by junkies who want to trample all over that.

However, I deferred to the Slim Jim Lady, since she was in front of me and all. Plus, I was kinda hoping she would have a better filter than I do.

So, Whiff Source is holding this delicate little purple box with flowers on it. I think he should have been holding his pants up so I didn't have to see his underwear, but that's a whole different issue.

Before Slim Jim Lady could even answer his request to cut in line, Whiff Source launches into his sob story. Which, in case you were wondering, we didn't ask for.

Apparently, if he didn't get this delicate little Dollar Tree box (which cost $2.50, I think) to the florist in the next 5 minutes, he was going to lose his girl. Then, he proceeded to tell us how he hoped he would have time to write a note to his girl because he didn't know how else he was going to get her back.

Oh. I don't know. Lay off the booze.

It's freakin 2:30 in the afternoon and you're drunk. It's not the fun kind of early happy hour, karaoke with cute boys and margaritas with cupcakes because it's an Early Happy Hour, Yay! kind of drunk.

This was more of an oh sh*t, I sold all of my girl's Vicodin and then got super drunk while snorting all of her bath salts (it's a real thing - google it) and now she's pissed off, in pain and stinky and she found that other girl's panties in my mouth when I passed out in the front lawn while I was supposed to be taking our love child to preschool and now I need to make a gesture of apology without having to accept any responsibility for my behavior or making any effort to get sober and grow the eff up and the Dollar Tree was the best option within walking distance because I also got my license suspended but my girl doesn't know that yet kind of drunk.

No happy margaritas here.

Of course, Slim Jim lady let him cut in front of us. I think she could sense the level of dysfunction from Whiff Source. The kind of dysfunction that can make someone go from 'excuse me, may I cut in front of you' to 'get the eff out of my way bitch before I cut you over this magical $2.50 relationship saving box' in seconds flat.

Slim Jim Lady and I shared an eye roll and continued on with our days.

I was very tempted to follow Whiff Source, just to see how this little drama all played out. However, I have a feeling that I already know. It's a drama I've seen end in the crisis unit way too many times.

If Whiff Source shows up in my unit this week, I'm going to suggest he run straight to the Dollar Tree and get some Slim Jims. Delicate boxes are nothing compared to sticks of meat.

Obviously, this guy knows nothing about relationships.

So, ladies...which would win you over? Slim Jims or chotchkes?

Do not look directly into the uterus.

I've recently discovered that I'm a total prude.

When it comes to other people's girly bits, anyway.

You see, there is this trend on facebook that has become extremely disturbing to me. I'm sure you've seen it. Hell, you may have even done it. It's totally okay if you have, by the way. I'm not judging.

I'll just be gagging in the corner, repeatedly saying 'eww' and ignoring your posts until you choose to post something less...vaginal.

I'm talking about the posting of sonogram pictures.

I understand that it's a picture of your future offspring and you're proud and excited and you want to share that with all of your friends, family, exes, guys who dumped you in middle school but now find you worthy of virtual stalking, that crazy cousin who always gets drunk at the family reunion, all those girls who teased you about being a dork in high school but are now your bffs because you both 'like' RHONY.

But, seriously...it's a picture of your uterus.

I have a problem with that. When I go out for beers with you (I hear it's good for the baby), I don't want to have that picture in my head.

It's awfully hard for me to fake small talk when I've seen your inner bits.

I'm a visual thinker, people.

Remember that time I had an ultrasound? The sadistic tech lady stuck a camera wand into my inner bits and took a lot of lovely pictures. No, there wasn't a baby up there, but I was proud and excited by the outcome of that ultrasound.

You know, no tumors or tapeworms or whatnot.

Did I post it on facebook? No.

If I ever have a bun in the oven, will I post sonogram pictures on facebook? No.

My inner bits are only to be seen by certain people.

That guy who works with MB at the firehouse and keeps 'poking' me because it annoys MB will not be one of them.

So, what do you think about this? Am I way off base with my prudish mindset?

Do you think anyone would buy my jam?

The universe is just screwing around with me today.

When I went out to warm up my car today, the neighbor kid said hi to me. That's not all that unusual except that he went out of his way to say hi to me. He was running over to the cat hoarder's yard and yelled 'Hi GB Girl!' from across the street.

Odd.

No, he didn't actually say GB Girl. He used my real name. His family knows nothing of GB Girl, which is a good thing. I'd hate for them to learn of my feelings of ick towards their father in that way.

It would just be awkward. Almost as awkward as having their father tell me all his inner secrets while helping me fix my pipes.

Not a euphemism, by the way. Actual pipes.

So, that threw me off guard a little.

Then, I get in my Jeep, plug my zune in, set it to shuffle on my 'Rock Faves' and head to work.

I am greeted with a Lenny Kravitz song and Animal by Pearl Jam. The exact same combination of songs I have been greeted with for the past two days after setting my zune to shuffle on my 'Rock Faves'.

Some sort of sign? But, what could it mean?

Am I destined to be Always on the Run like some sort of Animal? Am I destined to meet someone named Lenny Pearl who will give me millions and change my life forever? Am I destined to invent some sort of Kravitz Jam that will earn me millions and change my life forever?

Endless possibilities.

What flavor would Kravitz be anyway? I would imagine something sultry and savory. With an edge.

Anyway, as I am driving to work, I experience two near miss accidents involving school buses. One bus cuts me off, forcing me to maneuver into the other lane at lightning speed or face death by yellow metal. The second bus swerves over, mere inches from my bumper as it makes a right hand turn.

Awesome. I'm glad that the children of our nation are in such safe hands.

I survive the commute and get to work, settling myself in at an empty desk. As I'm unpacking my breakfast, I notice an ant on my shirt.

Of course, I begin to feel an ant crawling on my boob, behind by knee, on my earlobe and in my armpit.

Great.

Trying to put the thought of ants in very private places out of my head, I check my email.

A friend has sent me an email message telling me to put the name of a fruit in my facebook status to indicate my relationship status and somehow raise money and awareness for cancer research.

I smack myself in the forehead in one of those moments of revelation because it's been plaguing me what the hell it meant when my niece posted 'blueberry' as her status. Now, I know it means 'single'.

For three days, I've been thinking she was pregnant. Other pregnant friends have been posting various fruits to indicate the size of their fetuses. You can see how her 'blueberry' post was concerning.

As I continue on with my emails, I discover a couple daily deals from Groupon and Living Social. One is for pole dancing classes and the other is for spider vein removal.

Seriously?

I'm the chic who just bought the coupon for 1/2 off the Indian buffet and $5 tickets for the local brewery tour. You really think I'm the kind of girl you want to see on the pole?

Especially if I have spider veins intertwined in my cellulite.

Thanks but no thanks.

To top off my morning of weirdness, I lost another follower. What the hell?! I don't even know how to unfollow someone. That's why all the peeps who have unfollowed me are still in my reader. It's like reliving the humiliation and angst all over again every time I open google.

(sigh)

To top it all off, I'm working with a coworker who doesn't eat. At all. She considers a bag of gummy bears to be a meal. So, I feel like a fat pig by eating my salad and orange in her presence.

I'm so done with today.

I don't know what to expect for tomorrow. Can it please involve cupcakes though? Or puppies. That would be nice.

Don't throw the guinea pig out with the bathwater. . .or something.

Hi peeps!

I've been away a few days, if you hadn't noticed.

Things are good. I've just been busy. Work has been busy and I've been out doing stuff most of the week.

I actually did something that I have to share with you all but I'm too tired to do it now. It will have to wait until tomorrow.

Sorry.

I'm trying to stay warm right now because it's freakin cold in here. Earlier, I decided to take a nice hot bubble bath but that didn't work out so well.

MB had taken a hot bath before I did, but I didn't think he had used ALL the hot water. Apparently he did.

(sigh)

My nice hot bubbly de-stressing soak turned into me just sitting in a lukewarm pool of my own filth for no good reason at all.

Not what I was going for.

I think I'm going to go get my snuggi and watch Hoarders while enveloped in it's pink fuzzy comfort.

Actually, I may not watch Hoarders. I'm 15 minutes in to this episode and I'm already yelling at the tv and pulling my hair out.

They're eating dinner in their car for crying out loud! It's the only space they have to eat!! What's for dinner?!?! It's pasta with mayonnaise and peas!!! This is too much for me.

I won't even mention the guinea pig on the bed. It will definitely send me into stroke mode.

I might need another lukewarm filth soak if I don't change the channel soon.

Later peeps.
Hope you are having a good weekend. ;)

How I learned that my fridge is broken.

So, I almost got disfigured by a frozen fruit bar today.

Shut up. It was scary.

I pull the frozen coconut bar out of the freezer and take off the wrapper. I put my lips on the fruit bar and then I just froze.

My lips were stuck.

I was like the kid in The Christmas Story with his face stuck to a pole. Except that I was feeding my fat face, not responding to a triple dog dare.

So there's that.

I was in super emergency panic OMG I'M GOING TO RIP MY FREAKIN LIPS OFF crisis mode!

Wth was I going to do?!!

I couldn't really call 911 with a fruit bar stuck to my lips. Driving myself to the ER was definitely out. Waiting for it to melt was really not an option. I had errands to run.

Luckily my inner Girl Scout kicked in and I made my way to the sink. I got some warm water and poured it over my lips until I was able to slowly remove them from the fruit bar.

I'm sure anyone that happened to walk by my kitchen window at that moment got a good laugh.

Hell, I got a good laugh out of it.

Not while my lips were stuck. That could've been fatal. Do you know how hard it is to breathe with a coconut bar stuck in your lips?

It's pretty damn difficult people.

You'll be happy to know that my lips are intact and I was able to enjoy that coconut fruit bar without further incident. Of course, I had a glass of warm water standing by.

How does this relate to my broken fridge?

Well, it's apparently set too high and we can't seem to change the temperature. It's why I had icy lettuce and my butter was like a brick earlier this week.

I told MB about this potential problem after my icy salad mishap. He didn't seem to care then. Now that I have suffered injury at the hands of the freezer, maybe he will take more interest.

I doubt it.

When I told him of my incident, he wasn't impressed. He went into the man cave mumbling something about dorks and shaking his head.

Whatever.

I saw him on match.com later searching for someone with grace and basic appliance repair skills.

Jerk.

Visual barriers and sore losers.

So, MB and I made a friendly wager today which I totally won. However, MB believes that he won (he's so wrong) and we need the interwebs to decide for us.

Our pup has a bad habit of acting out by peeing on the downstairs carpet whenever we leave. I think it's because she wants to go with us and since she can't, she pees. Makes sense to me.

Anyway, we were discussing this problem today and decided a baby gate may be the answer. It would keep her from getting downstairs and therefore force her to stop peeing down there.

Meaning she would probably pee upstairs on the hard wood, but whatever.

Or, she would just bust through the baby gate and do what she wants anyway. She did bust out of a metal crate. She's got skills.

So, MB and I left to go get Indian food today and decided to do a test. We didn't have a baby gate, so MB decided to use a 'visual barrier'.


He placed this mesh laundry basket sideways at the top of the stairs to deter her from going downstairs.

I was skeptical. I know of her escape artist skills. While eating delicious chicken curry, we placed a friendly wager about the effectiveness of the 'visual barrier'. MB was confident it would work. I was not. We bet and agreed the loser would do dishes for a week.

When we returned home, the 'visual barrier' was still at the top of the stairs, but had been pushed to the side.
As such...


I know that pup did this so she could get downstairs. The fact that she did it while I was taking the picture was even more proof.

Why was I taking pictures? Well, as soon as he saw the 'visual barrier' still in place, he decided he had won. When I showed him the following evidence, he still insisted he had won and that I would be doing dishes all week.

Bullsh*t.

I decided then and there that the interwebs would be solving this little disagreement and needed photographic evidence to share. I want you to have all the evidence when you vote for me.

I mean, when you vote for the winner (which is me).

Here's the evidence that the pup did, in fact, go downstairs despite the 'visual barrier'.

This is the downstairs bathroom.



Those are the tissues and other paper products that Skye tore out of the trash can after she broke through the 'visual barrier' and came downstairs.

This is the downstairs carpet.



That is the brand new pee stain on our carpet. The pee stain placed there by Skye after she broke through the 'visual barrier' and came downstairs.

Clearly, I won the bet.

MB still isn't budging.

So, peeps...what do you think? Did the 'visual barrier' work?
Don't you also think that MB should have to do dishes for two weeks now?
Your votes are welcome...

The Siberian Princess gets accosted and I gain internet fame. Maybe.

It was a beautiful day here in my neck of the woods.

The pup and I went out for a walk around the neighborhood. It's one of her favorite things to do when the weather is nice. She made this very clear by pacing from the back door to me to the front door to me...repeat about a hundred times.

We headed out to the park so she could trudge through the mud and sniff all her favorite trees before we continued through the neighborhood.

Our venture into the park started off with well. Skye's silly grin and my muddy jeans.

It ended with Skye standing between my legs while I held tightly to her collar as a snarly Akita mix named Maggie continued to lunge and pounce at us while her jackass owner, who had absolutely no control over her, tried to grab her.

Good times.

It seems that this jackass believes his dog should be able to run freely through the park without any regard to the fact that she is aggressive and does not respond to her owner's commands.

IT'S NOT A FREAKIN DOG PARK JACKASS!!!!

Leash her or next time, I will bite her!

My deaf princess will not be subjected to this anymore. It's on!

Anyway, that little drama didn't impede our walk. We continued through the neighborhood to enjoy the sunshine.

We turn the corner and head down to the opposite end of the neighborhood. We come up on this kid standing out in his yard. As we approach, he steps out into the sidewalk and takes a picture of us.

Wtf?!

"Excuse me. What are you doing?!"

Blank stare as he steps off the sidewalk and takes another picture.

"EXCUSE ME. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Blank stare as he steps to the side of the house.

Either this kid is non-English speaking or mentally challenged or both. He could also be seriously disturbed.

We continue on and I turn around just in time to see the future serial killer peeking out from the bushes to snap another picture.

Whatever.

I hightailed it out of there as fast as I could, trying not to dwell on where my picture will end up.

Is there a website called Husky Women Walking Huskies? That has to be a fetish.

If you happen upon such a website and you see a fat (but very cute) chick wearing a grey fleece while walking a gorgeous husky on a purple leash, it could be me.

Just do me a favor and keep it to yourself. I have enough to be self conscious about. Knowing that I'm spank material for some sicko with a Huskies with Huskies fetish should not be on the list.

Maybe it'll be a confidence booster though. Or a new career opportunity.
Times are tight, peeps.

Hey. Who keeps dropping pills on the floor?

I'm supposed to be on here updating my posts and whatnot. Instead, I think I'm going to go snuggle up by the fire and relax.

The crisis unit kicked my ass today and I'm beat.

Can I just give you a little friendly advice? If you're looking to hide something, don't hide it in your girly bitz. It eventually falls out and that's just awkward.

Yep. That happened.

Crisis work is fun.

I wonder if there's beer in the fridge.