Monday, August 31, 2009

Find my 20

Wednesday was the last day I remember getting a full night of rest (for me that's 4 hours of continuous sleep). Once I woke up Thursday morning I was awake all of that day, into the next and kept on trucking until 11:45 Friday night when I crashed and burned simply because of the necessity of medical intervention (damn it I was chewed on again by a bug).

Friday, I have the car must mean that I have my check in the mail which gives me the day to run all of the errands that I try to cram in for the entire month. Bank, two grocery stores, the pet supply and since I've nabbed the car I'll be required to return to luncheon with hubby because he doesn't have wheels to get his own.

Needless to say I am running on fumes and this can either make me giddy or it can make me cranky but either way I'm not hitting on all my cylinders and somethings going to crack.

I start my shopping through the store, heading this way and that willy-nilly. First trying to hit all the dry goods and then going back through to get the cold items like meat and dairy. I honestly should plan my shopping trips like the little old ladies that push their buggies one handed while clutching scraps of paper with flowery scrawled lists of items that are must-haves for their pantry.

They are diligent wives that plan the meals for the week, knowing exactly what they are going to prepare or worse yet - they probably prepare the same meals week after week, year after year.

More than likely the list is reused once monthly and another 3 lists are picked out..for the other 3 weeks of the month.
I head into the store and start thinking of menu items off the top of my head usually by proteins that I want to eat, almost always these involve chicken and beef. I hate fish products but buy at least one for the man since he adores the swimmy critters.

Once I know what flesh I'm going to consume, I start to add vegetables and the necessary goodies to compliment them.
Closing up the trip, I've pretty much filled the basket and chatted to everyone I know and some that I don't. I then added up in my mind what I figure I can afford in my budget I head to the lane that looks the shortest.

The lane I've chosen is being headed by a retiree, she's a sweet grey-haired gal and her bagger is even older and looks a bit like the Crypt Keeper but I'm reserving my opinion that they can handle the job for the moment and I start unpacking my shit onto the conveyor belt watching it trolley forward into the wrinkled hands of my cashier.

"How are you today?" she greets me and I respond with my usual cheerful howdy and we exchange pleasantries including how she was impressed with my amazing steal on the chicken (I found 4 bags of chicken quarters for $3.00/8# bags!!!)

Before too long it was time to pay, I attempted to use my debit card which was declined -- always fun and a moment of enjoyment do I either laugh at this or find mortification. I'd just deposited my check; so obviously it hadn't hit the account yet, I'd have to suck it up and use the cash I had.

She says, "that comes to $159.24"

I count up $160.00 in twenty dollar bills and she watches me (so does the Crypt Keeper) and I hand it over and then go back to looking inside of my purse because my cell phone just lit up from a new text message (CHRISTINE!).

When I glance over she's just finished counting the 20's and she says, "This is only $140 and I watch her count it again and sure enough I see her count seven bills.

Well this makes me fly off the handle. I go from white zone to red zone immediately and I state to her, "Well you'd better find that $20.00 right this instant because I am NOT leaving this building until you do. OBVIOUSLY you've dropped it somewhere because you and I both know that I gave you $160.00 and I am NOT going to return any items, I am not going to leave the store without my groceries and I did not short you any money. So start looking around lady"

The look of surprise, the gasp of breath she took in and the immediate action she took was not a surprise because I was pretty damn firm with my demands. She quickly bent down to the floor and start scrambling about looking under the register, behind the bags even lifting the floor mat - which by the way, theres absolutely no way for it to have creeped under but I think she was desperate to find it before I punched her wrinkled face in.

Then I start in and say, "Maybe it's slipped in between the belt and the other side of this partition, look down between there."

Whatever happens, I'm not leaving and the bagger is even starting to make antsy movements as if she's about to come around to assist in this scavenger hunt for my Andrew Jackson.

She's apologizing all over herself, "Ma'am I don't know where it has gone, I can call a manager but its disappeared are you sure you gave it to me..?"

to which I said, "I'm certain but just to make sure let me look inside my bag..."

There between my debit card which I'd just had declined and my drivers license which I had just shown to her for the 2 bottles of wine purchased (my ever so young face gets me in trouble with the older cashiers)...sat...Mr Jackson.

He was folded tightly not once but twice, tightly, snugged between and hiding like a naughty school boy.
As if to say, NO please don't make me go away. You need me, in these desperate times you need me most of all.

So chagrined, I had to dig in and say - "Well I suppose I have to say I'm sorry because it appears I've counted one of those twenties 2x and this was hiding all along. Please accept my sincere apologies.."

She gave a small nervous laugh and said, "Don't you worry one bit because I watched you count that money and saw you count $160.00 the first time. I just had to count it again because its my job. If I hadn't and my drawer was short I'd lose my job!"

To which I replied..."I think both of us pooped our pants today"

"Yes, I sure did" she said....

"and so did I" the bagger said..."so did I"...

I really should get some sleep before going out in the big world

Sunday, August 23, 2009

oops bad

Why are the cup-holders at the movies never the right size for the drinks available?

This sincerely pisses me off and it frequently leaves me in a sticky situation.

Yesterday afternoon we took a daytime date and saw a matinee film (YEEHAW! Quentin Tarantino you did a fine job, I could pick on a few items but it was genuinely entertaining).
Now the theater we went to is the better of the 2 available here in Hillbillyville, but we'd forgotten that the less attractive and updated one has the more comfortable seats.
We should have opted for the older building, the movie was nearly 3 hours long and my buttcheeks are still singing from the numbness they started to feel after sitting for so long.
Most movies I'll get up and go to the restroom and not worry about a few lost moments, but I didn't want to miss a single second of the action on this film as I felt that each section was going to be integral to the next.

We saved several dollars coming at lunch, always a good feeling. Then with the frugal heart I have, I emptied everything out of my purse prior to leaving the home-front and then restocking it with Milk-duds, Reeses-Pieces, M&M's, 2 Dr. Peppers and even a bottled water. You'd be quite surprised how well I jammed all of this and still managed to get my wallet in there also.
All of these snacks would have run about $20.00 but because of my penny pinching ways I only spent $3.89 for the lot of it!

Now let me preface this story a little bit more with the fact that this WAS a noontime film and I have a strange sleeping schedule, oftentimes not shutting my eyes until 10 a.m. and sleeping until 2 or 3 in the afternoon.
This day was no different, I'd gone out for my morning walk - which was quite eventful I will add (should I make a blog...? ) and basically did not find myself snoring until nearly 9:30 and awoke to hear the hubby heading to work. LATE I might add!
I say to him, "so I guess we're not going to that noontime movie after all?"
he said, "yes we are I just have to go to a meeting at 11 and then I'll go back after the movie".

He slipped out the door and my eyes SLAMMED shut again for another hour+ only to realize that noon was right on top of me. Where was that man? He's full of shit I think to myself, not taking the time to look at the movie schedule online.
Fiddling around, reading email and generally just nursing the aches and pains I suffer I let time start slipping by.
A few minutes shortly after twelve my mobile rings and it's the man to announce he's on his way, make sure I put on my 'boob bag' which is the furthest most degree of getting dressed up I suppose. (maybe its just his way of protecting the innocent from these dangerous pendulums)

No sooner did I hang up the phone and start moseying to the bathroom to run a toothbrush over my teeth and try to get rid of my morning stank breath then I hear the front door bang shut and a call, "Hullo, HULLO - Let's GO!" and the bathroom door opens and he's standing there with hands on hips with a look of expectation as if I should already be dressed and fit for a dance.

I sputter, foam from my toothpaste dribbling off my lower lip and lightly splattering forward onto my nightshirt.
He gives me THE LOOK as he has in the past prior to our jaunts out during lunch hours, and then comments, " are you going to wear your clown pants?" to which I smile and consider it just for a moment but opt to switch to some grey slip on's. My clown pants are these fantastic flannel pajama bottoms that are predominantly pink but with vertical stripes in lime, hunter, white, royal, teal, royal purple and robins egg blue.
They are TERRIFIC!
Clown pants? nahhhh comfort pants! I really don't see a big issue going out in these pants, the night before I saw a pair of girls in the same garb walking around WalMart with nearly the same thing on sporting wife-beaters along with the pants.

He says to me that the movie actually begins at 12:50 so we have a few minutes before we have to get there and the drive isn't far but the dilemma is that I'm HUNGRY now that I'm awake. Let's not forget that at 4:30 this morning I hoofed around the neighborhood for 2 hours with the dogs, swallowed a liter of water and that was it. The last time I inhaled a meal was around 8 the night before so by now at 12:15 my stomach was starting to sound like the rumblings of a thunderstorm in the high mountain reaches.

Little known fact about me, well known fact with husband and a few close friends. If I don't eat when I'm good and hungry, when my blood sugar starts to get low...I get mean. Not like a little bit crabby mean, but down right cat-piss, burn your eyes ammonia lit by a match; mean.
I'm so mean that I am likely to start chewing you out faster than a cop chasing a doughnut down a hill. I snap like a crocodile and don't often go back to apologize, my need to stuff something into my mouth (food you fuckers) and have that instant rush of sugar to my bloodstream is absolutely necessary to make me a halfway normal and decent person, otherwise I'm absolutely intolerable.

Pants & a clean T on as well as my favorite sandals - off we go (donning my huge Jackie O style sunglasses) and the man says, "are you going to have a dog at the theater?"
to which I reply, "nope, not unless you want me to miss half the show while I sit in the can crapping out mechanically recovered meat that's been squashed into sheep's intestines? However, I could choke down a burger or taco."

We manage to find a Taco Bell (God help me), order a pair of tacos and inhale them in the parking lot of the theater - literally it's a race to see if we can get them done in 3 bites or less and sprint to the ticket counter.
Amazingly enough we have 3 more minutes to spare, since it's common knowledge that the show times are just for when they start the previews - and we have time to get that beloved bag of popcorn and even laden it with the much desired and unnecessary 'butter' please tell me, what IS IN THE butter in all actuality?

Just to be safe, since I've discovered the length of the film and against my tight-wad ways I've opted to buy an extra bottled water (sigh) and off to the first screening room we head.

I open one side of the doors with a sweeping motion and in grand game show fashion I beckon the husband to enter the door with a flourish and we walk in with excitement and confidence.
The room is pitch black and the final rolling of the last preview is on hand, which hastens our step! Oh boy we have to hurry because our favorite seat in the house is straight up to the top, where we like to perch like a pair of eagles.

Gripping the mucky steel handrail with one hand, my bag of corn in another I shuffle up the stairs and pray not to trip and fall flat on my face in the dark. While heading up the steps, there's is a blink of brightening light a moment here and there and I can scan over the rows of seats looking to see if a pair of seats might be available at least 40% into the middle of the row.

We are lucky enough to get that spot but I end up next to a singular fellow - and I fear he might be rather odd...which proves to be right. He spends the next 45 minutes of the movie giggling at EVERY humorous and semi-humorous bit. His snickering becomes so hard to take I'm ready to pop him in his nose.
However luck would have it....I chase him off after this little fiasco!

I've just swigged down the last delicious gulp of my purchased water, Oh it's cool and refreshing swish slithering down my throat so yummy. I really don't want a lot of soda while at the movies, it just makes me need to pee and therefore you take the risk of missing a lot of the film running back and forth. Let's not forget that I'm sitting in the nosebleed seats so that doubles the amount of time to take purchase back into my seat and settle back into the groove of the story.

My last gulp of water consumed, a rather dark scene of the film beginning I fumble in the dark looking for the over-sized plastic cup-holder and try to place the cylinder within it's confines but, alas I miss completely. I might as well have been trying to make a 3 point shot from half court.
I fucking miss, the bottle tips, hits the side of the holder, falls to the floor with the loudest plastic to concrete clang and of course the theater is absolutely silent in a moment of silence in the film.
Not only does it hit the concrete, but then it rolls....whirrrrrrr....CLANK....CLANK..and it hits the row below us...and then one more row below that before finally coming to a stop, most likely from coming to rest at someone's foot.

Ahhh SHIT I say just a bit more than a whisper. My giggling neighbor looks to me, snickers and even has a little snort and returns to the film. However...a few minutes after the drop, clank...whiirrrr - he sits up and moves down the row about 15 seats and remains there alone where I can still hear his giggles drift down to where we sit.
I'm not so much embarrassed as I am just pissed that it happened and try to forget it but the husband is looking at me like I've just sharted my pants.

WHAT? it's not my fault that these cup holders don't fit the drinks they sell!

Hasn't anyone stopped to consider making the type of cup-holder that has the expanding rubber mouth that grips anything that's inserted which will snugly hold whatever has been jammed within?

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

celebrate gas

I farted on a kid at the mall Saturday.

Friday night we indulged since I give myself the chance to really eat garbage on the weekend and Friday I had an all meat pizza.

Saturday I was dying with gas and heartburn.

I warned my girlfriend that I was jet propelled first thing and throughout the day.

We're in one store *the first of the day*, thankfully it was so loud from the music playing no one would hear me tooting along with the beat. They were playing tunes from the 80s which was perfect because my girlfriend and I were cracking up with the resurgence of all of the 80s clothing which has come back with a vengeance.
There were colorful headbands and leg warmers which I'd piled on and was doing little dances among the aisles while singing "Madonna's- Like a Virgin".

Inside the store towards the back just outside the dressing room area there was a settee, that's where there was a teenie-bopper sitting waiting for her mom as she tried on her clothing.

The dressing rooms were very dark, a bit Gothic and the rooms were barely big enough for one person let alone two. I varied positions from going inside the room, cramming my ass inside with my girlfriend so that we could comment on how her outfits looked to standing just outside the door and appearing like a slightly creepy peeping Tom(ette) and then heading back out to the settee and having a squat and waiting for my friend to give a lil holler.

We'd finished our mission, which was to try on as many naughty pieces of lingerie as possible (believe me this is another blog in the coming) and then to head to the register we would go...
as I goosestepped passed the young girl sitting at the settee I blasted one Hellofa Fart that felt like I'd squashed one of those novelty fart bags. you know the ones, "WHOOPIE cushions". The rubber pink ones that you can buy from the backs of most cartoon magazines.

This fart was the real flapper style.

The kind you can feel burn and the stink punches you in the nose instantly

I'd gotten the girl immediately because the line to the register was so long and we had to stop right there in front of her. She knew it was me also, I'm the last in line and I did a shimmy shake to wiggle it out just in case I'd left a skid in my pants.

She instantly had her hands fly to her face and grabbed her nose, pinching it with thumb and forefinger. Nose wrinkled up under her tightly gripped fingers. She has her lips curled up exposing her pearly whites, reminding me of how my cats will continually keep sniffing something that stinks like the worst kind of shit but they sniff it anyhow.
Don't you find it interesting that no matter how bad something smells a cat will go back again and again to sniff it. They shove their nose in as far as they can, sniff sniff sniff - face squinches up and then back to sniffing again.

Her eyes squinting as though she'd just smelled a freshly cut onion - tears rushing to her eyes.

She even shook her head in quick succession as if to say NO NO ...holy shit NO

I'm not one to feel worried about blasting one.

Everyone has to fart

I'm the queen of belching. I can out belch just about anyone I've met

but farting is a rare commodity for me therefore I celebrate them and bring to you this story.

Celebrate today - and have yourself a merry fart.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Bottom's Up

A new mother is out to lunch with her husband and baby. They are having a wonderful time laughing and smiling over the table top - occasionally reaching across the length of the Formica top to grasp hands and exchange a look.

This mom has done the near impossible, at least in my eyes, and dropped the baby weight quickly because her figure is cute enough to have on low rise hip hugging jeans and a snug brightly colored midriff t-shirt. She even has on some hootchie high heeled sandals that make my own feet hurt with the idea of walking around all day shopping on those murderous things.

What she HASN'T purchased since the weight loss however, is new lingerie and she's still wearing her granny-panties.
My girlfriend and I are laughing ourselves silly watching her as she rises from her bench seat, hands the baby over to her loving husband and leaves to head towards the restroom.

We are spellbound, in a fit of giggles watching this as it happens in slow motion - mom is about 5'2 and no more than 120 pounds. She is smiling ear to ear with pride, the love is shining in her eyes and on her face and she leans in to land a great big kiss on her husband's lips as he tips his face upwards.

While leaning over the table, her ass is jutting outward into the aisle like a prized lapdancer posing her wares. Knees slightly bent in as she leans over the table, her arms pressing down onto the table elbows locked in place with her shoulders proudly rolled forward and her hair hanging forward into her face.
She is oblivious to the display of excessive fabric being aired for all to see.

Now being of the female persuasion, I know all too well that this display of affection is not just for her husband's love but for a show for all the rest of us to see as well. Every good woman knows that this production is to exploit what the good Lord has given us to see, for our man and for anyone else to see.

If we've enticed everyone else AND our man noticed that means he's not only going to be a little jealous he's also going to be a little proud that we are his. He's going to be proud as a peacock that he 'owns' that and he'll take a little more effort to show us off later on.

Her kiss lingers a moment, she gives an extra quick tickle to her babies nose and then stands up and starts to shimmy her way to the back of the restaurant. Her husband's gaze follows her and when it does...he sees ...her great big granny panties in all their glory.

They are shell pink and polyester and somewhere around a size 14 compared to her diminutive size 4. The amount of fabric coming out of the tops of her jeans looked like her Levi's were throwing up a pillowcase.
It looks the way pantyhose fall down when stretched out and wrinkled at the ankles of little old ladies in cartoons except this was bunched up at her waist; since her jeans were low rise and her shirt was a midriff...everything was there for the viewing!

His gaze and his smile disappears when he sees her walk a few steps away and he turns his attention back to the baby and starts to chew on his food, quickly forgetting his romantic moment - the twinkle disappearing from his eyes.

When saggy bottoms returns, she's tucked her shorts back in thankfully but sadly for us because we were ready with our camera this time around!

Monday, August 10, 2009

how not to pick your friends.

The hardware store is a great adventure on a Sunday. The domestic warrior on his junket for fix-it parts and tools is swaggering the aisles while wives and rug rats lag behind.
Most of the men are wearing denim jeans slipping an inch too low off the hips while their shirts have ridden up over their protruding stomachs.

Here we have this guy in the store, you wouldn't really notice him initially. He blends in with the rest of the typical shoppers, yet he keeps looking at the two of us with pretty deep intensity.
I have this extra paranoid radar and can sense whenever someone's up in my business. Where did I get this radar? probably from the fact that I am equally as nosy and staring at people but I think my way is candid enough that its not caught frequently.
Sure as shit, I look and this guy has followed us to 3 different aisles but hasn't really appeared to be shopping for anything. He's just checking us out like we're the next broadway act.

We've come to pick up a dozen extra tiles that are going to be laid at the entryway near the sliding glass door. My man's weekend warrior job is to finally give the living room the kick in the ass I've been begging for. The flooring is (was!) pretty damn worn and in desperate need of repair so with my combination of begging and nagging he's given in at long last.

We pick out our ceramic tiles, nails and transition strips and toss them into the buggy (okay what do you call it? Originally when I lived in the northern Midwestern states I called it a grocery cart but after the last 7+ years south of the Mason-Dixon I've found myself calling it a buggy) we then make our final approach to the check out.
The next thing I notice is that the weirdo is suddenly ahead of us and doing his check-out (he has bought a package of AAA batteries).

He looks over his shoulder at me.
Takes his right index finger and inserts it into his nose with complete deliberateness. Then while his finger is in there, does a full swirl like he is swiping out the inside of a bowl cake icing.
Withdraws his finger and inspects it closely - you know the way you would look down your nose and then twist your finger this way and that to get the sunlight to catch every angle of the glistening prize.

With his forefinger and thumb he starts rolling this globule of goober until it wicks away enough moisture to his satisfaction.
He then starts pulling his booger covered finger, in pistol-like fashion towards his side...farther..farther until he gently tucks it OH SO LOVINGLY into his rear pocket. He actually pulled back his back pocket just enough so he could insert his finger and deposit that goober for safe keeping.

With a quick flourish, he then patted his own rear and pulled his hand back up to his mouth and licked his finger and left the building.

holy crap - all of this while he basically was still watching me. He wanted an audience.
He got one and now he has an even larger one.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

The Funny Farm...

Artist: Napoleon XIV

They're coming to take me away.

Remember when you ran away
And I got on my knees
And begged you not to leave
Because I'd go berserk?
Well. . .

You left me anyhow
And then the days got worse and worse
And now you see I've gone
Completely out of my mind
And. . .

They're coming to take me away, HA HA
They're coming to take me away, HO HO HEE HEE HA HA
To the funny farm
Where life is beautiful all the time
And I'll be happy to see
Those nice, young men
In their clean, white coats
And they're coming to take me away, Ha-haaa!

You thought it was a joke
And so you laughed
You laughed when I had said
That losing you would make me flip my lid
Right. . .

You know you laughed, I heard you laugh
You laughed, you laughed and laughed
And then you left
But now you know I'm utterly mad!
And. . .

They're coming to take me away, HA HA
They're coming to take me away, HO HO HEE HEE HA HA
To the happy home
With trees and flowers and chirping birds
And basket weavers who sit and smile
And twiddle their thumbs and toes
And they're coming to take me away, Ha-haaa!

I cooked your food
I cleaned your house
And this is how you pay me back
For all my kind, unselfish loving deeds?!!
Hah. . .

Well you just wait
They'll find you yet
And when they do they'll
Put you in the ASPCA, you mangy mutt!
And. . .

They're coming to take me away, HA HA
They're coming to take me away, HO HO HEE HEE HA HA
To the funny farm
Where life is beautiful all the time
And I'll be happy to see
Those nice, young men
In their clean, white coats
And they're coming to take me away, Ha-haaa!

To the happy home
With trees and flowers and chirping birds
And basket weavers who sit and smile
And twiddle their thumbs and toes
And they're coming to take me away, Ha-haaa!

To the funny farm
Where life is beautiful all the time
And I'll be happy to see
Those nice, young men
In their clean, white coats
And they're coming to take me away, Ha-haaa!

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

what makes a dog go wonkers?

I'm pretty curious because for the last several days now my ridiculous 7 month old bitch Helen (soon to be spay) has been seeing dead people (or is it dead-dogs?). She walks about the yard and suddenly acts as if something has nipped her heels or goosed her ass and yips, runs, then tucks her tail between her legs.

This has become tiresome to say in the least because we have a lovely large yard for playing in and yet she's now hanging out on the patio and crapping there. I'm not in the mood to step out onto turdlettes each day. The other 2 canine companions think she's a fool, are out having a romp in the yard and look at her like, "You are a dork!"

This morning I spent 1 hour scrubbing floors, this upcoming weekend I am going to try my hand being Bob Villa and recreating the Potty Patch

The temperatures here in central Texas continue to soar into the 100s. Try as much as I would like to, potty training isn't working for 3 small dogs indoors and so the little shitheads MUST go outside. Poncho has been trained for years - BUT NOW there are 2 extras.

I've just gone out and fashioned little doggy swimming pools from unused cat litter trays (shut up - I'm resourceful) and the 2 that are not paranoid are lounging in their Beverly Hills lagoons, tongues lolling and occasionally lapping up a few cool drinks while Dorko runs to and fro.

She first approaches Poncho and looks to him, he is the veteran doggy in this home. There's askance in her dark brown eyes but he rebuffs her, "Get lost silly dog".

Poncho really could care less about this new little bitch (Helen), even though she's fun to play with now and then when the mood fills him.

She's generally too rough with him, he's only 7 wee pounds and she a hulking 11 by now, built like a beer barrel. She literally tumbles him over, pulling on his satellite dish shaped ears. He often just gets pissed off enough that he gets himself geared up like the Roadrunner and zooms all over the yard attacking her in a dive-bomb fashion until she rolls onto her back and gives up.

Now she's run back to the house, but not without imagining the hounds of Hell biting her heels again. YIP YIP YIP.
The neighbors are sure to think I'm jamming chopsticks into her and getting ready to shishkabob her for the grill or smoker.
She's crashed head first into the sliding glass patio door, high tails it back out to the yard and heads back out to Jake now.

Jake is our ridiculously stupid blue and gold Yorkie who joined our family on my birthday this year. A good friend graciously allowed me to adopt him, this was while I was looking to adopt Helen.
Little did I know I'd find her soon after getting Jake.
before I knew it we had 3 dogs instead of just one.
(lucky hubby who didn't want ANYMORE dogs).

Jake has 3 brain cells
1 for eating
1 for sleeping
1 for pissing where he's not supposed to in my house.

My good friend sent him home to me before he was neutered, ARGHHHH - I adore her (my friend) but Jake was a retired breeding dog but not retired enough so his Jake-jock was still active and I'm still waiting for his pecker to stop working overtime.

So now I'm so curious, what happens to make a dog turn into a big sissy? I'm looking around the yard and searching for what's different, hmmmm lemme see. we've got 3 new garbage barrels but she doesn't usually walk near that end of the yard. Hell neither do I.

The night before we had opossums in the yard eating out of her snack bowl, she did run out to chase them off but they did not charge her or even hiss as they were young and inexperienced. I haven't seen any snakes. She doesn't have any injuries or burrs in her coat to cause her pain, but she did dig a few holes in the yard.
I'm wondering if she hit a few stones and it was uncomfortable and now when she steps near those holes she is reminded?

However! Cesar (hubba hubba) says dogs live in the moment - so move on dumbass!

5 days...hurry up already its been 5 days

WRITE, these are the demands made of me by my husband.

I can't believe that of all the people I know, it's my husband demanding that I write another blog. Wait one minute, yes I can.

All of the years we've been together, some married & some not ...(Oops! Sinners beware!) he has hounded me to write, to paint, to sketch to do something creative with my noodle. He calls it "Talent"

Personally, I don't get it; I don't FEEL creative (pinching fleshy arm). Rather I am just a wordy person and sometimes lucky enough to put an image to papers and sometimes able to squish play-dough into the shape of a critter or even able to snap a photograph that's appealing to others eyes, though not with any fancy schmancy equipment.

Creative though? nahhhh!

Heck I thought my creativity in the kitchen was more than ample enough. Our waistlines are ample which is indication. Tonight's fare, chicken Marsala for him which makes me want to puke up a lung, I am not a fan of fungus (mushrooms) yet I tackle all types of recipes that involve touching textures that make me want to wretch.

So that brings me to this point, brain is on lock down - what shall I blog about my pretties?