Things I Should NOT Have to Say.

Okay, so.  Things I should NOT have to say.

To The Crackhaid Dawg: No, I am NOT scratching your ass.

To The Little Dawg: Dammit, stop biting me on my ass.

To TB: I put "Do Laundry" on today's chore list like you asked me to.

I love TB and the Dawgs, but really... Enough already.

I'm considering hiding in my closet with a pie and some vodka.

Except I'm on a diet because I'm at Full-Term Pregnancy weight AND I'M NOT PREGNANT.

And neither of those things is on my diet.

Somehow hiding in the closet with a six pack of sugar free Jell-o and a bottle of water doesn't have the same comforting ring to it.

Le SIGH....

Bitten

Okay, so. I'm walking through the house minding my own business. The Little Dawg is jumping all around my feet & legs trying to get my attention. Because he loves me. When I didn't IMMEDIATELY stop & love on him (what was I thinking??) he tried a new approach. He bit me on the ass. Yep. You read that right. He bit me ON. THE. ASS.
Fucking fuzzy ingrate.

Tigger. (TLD) He's cute, but he's a killer.

A Day In the Life

Okay, so. I live in South Louisiana. It's winter here today. I refuse to turn the heater on because it'll be spring again tomorrow. We're using the fireplace instead. Here's how The Dawgs see it, apparently....

Dawg:  Hey!! You got a fire!!
Me: Yep
Dawg: Hey!! You got a blanket!!
Me: Uh huh
Dawg: Hey!!  You got coffee!!
Me: Yummy coffee...
Dawg: Hey!!  You're all warm & comfy there on the sofa!!
Me: Sure am. C'mon up & cuddle
Dawg: I gotta go out

Motherfucker.

I Have No Idea Where This Post Is Going

Okay, so.  I had a post kind of written in my head about being sick then I was folding towels and a chewed up Crackstick the Little Dawg had buried in the basket fell out and I got all distracted by whether or not I should wash them again because I didn't want Dawg slob in my vajayjay and that's what that equated to in my head. Of course, my head is currently clouded with prescription cold medicine that came with a warning that said "May Cause Drowsiness" which equates to me as "Will Most Assuredly Knock You On Your Ass". Also, it makes me not spell for shit, apparently, judging by the record number of squiggly red lines popping up on my screen screaming "Damn Woman!! You are FUCKED UP!!" Yep, that cold medicine works like a charm. Fortunately, I have TWH to proofread this shit for me and correct my spelling mistakes while I drool into my pillow with eyeliner smeared across my forehead.

Anyway, a few highlights from my trip to the Urgent Care yesterday.
1) I referred to my urgent care as The Redneck Urgent Care on Twitter. I got a reply from one of my tweeps (@slackdaddy13) asking if this was due to an unfortunate beer can incident. (This guy is FUNNY)
2) I ran into my  friend & her husband. If I'd gotten out of the exam sooner, I could have planned out our whole Mardi Gras Parade viewing schedule.
3) TWH took my running into these people as vindication that he DID NOT give me the plague as I had accused him of. He said THEY had the SAME THING I did & he had NOT been kissing on EITHER of them.  I am still on the fence about this one.
4) I FINALLY remembered to tell the doc in a box that I did NOT want the steroid shot because I would like to go home and actually sleep thankyouverymuch. While the shot makes me able to breathe, I also end up re-arranging my Farmville or Pinterest (now) because even with all the cable & movie channels, there is STILL precious little on at 4AM worth watching & I NEED to be entertained dammit!!

Anyway, I got a crapload of meds. I will live to blog another day.  I REALLY need to go change into my jammies & brush my teeth because shit's starting to get a little blurry...

I told you this post was going NOWHERE. Don't drink cough medicine with a straw & blog kiddies!!

P.S.  I just put the towels away
P.P.S.  I used a straw for my cough syrup because I didn't have one of those little Nyquil cups, I didn't want to get my cooties all over the bottle, and I just spill it all down my front if I use a spoon. I'm a spaz.
P.P.P.S. TWH just proofread this post. He said I have an unprecedented ability to write a run-on sentence that YOU CAN"T FIX.  It's a gift.

Goodnizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....

Good God, I'm Freakin' TIRED!!

Okay, so.  I have been up since 1:30 this morning. Not my idea. AT. ALL.  Tigger, also known as New Crackhaid Dawg, decided 1:30 was the perfect time to FREAK THE FUCK OUT IN HIS KENNEL.  I rolled over and mumbled "Hush Tigger". He quieted down for a few minutes then started whining again. TWH jumps in at this point & sternly says "Tigger, shut up". He did and I happily was on the verge of returning to my blissful slumber when (I guess) Tigger started up again and TWH (practically) yelled "Tigger!!  HUSH!!" which jolted me awake and scared the ever loving shit out of me. THAT'S why I have been stumbling around all day on 3 hours sleep.  Thank God for Starcracks!!

Needless to say, I'm a little cranky. I also have an extra short tolerance for crap right now.
Here's what happened on the way home.
TWH: (Singing along with the radio) *mumble, mumble, blah, blah*
ME: What?? (Thinking he actually SAID something)
TWH: Huh??
Me: Did you say something??
TWH: Huh??
Me: You're being a dick.
TWH:??

I go to tan. I'm tanning because the ZDD Parade is fast approaching & brown fat looks better than white fat. If you need proof, look at uncooked VS cooked bacon & tell me which one is more appealing. See?? Brown fat is better.
I doze off in the tanning bed & my ass is slightly sunburned.

I come home, have some pizza, and am sitting down watching TV. I have one Dawg barking at me for no apparent reason & one Dawg chewing on me. I'm almost on the verge of tears and am powerless to stop ANY of this.

I'm drinking tea. I'm watching ONE show on the DVR and I'm going to BED!!

Longest. Day. EV-ER!!

I'm Still Learning

Okay, so. I thought I was all smart adding photos to my blog.  Except I was doing it wrong so on some of my posts, the photos came up as NOTHING. Nada. There wasn't Jack Shit there.  I will say it's probably due to my being a non-techie dipshit.  TWH showed me where I went wrong and I think I've fixed it.  I'm pleased to announce, there are photos where there should be photos!!  Yay!!  Now you can see Tigger, my Leg Lamp, and Christmas Gwenyth in ALL their glory!!  I'm still learning this shit. One day I'll get it all straight. Then it'll probably all change...

This Was NOT On My List

Okay, so.  TWH and I recently celebrated out 11th wedding anniversary (the weekend I thought I was gonna die) and I asked for another Dawg.  Beacuse I have lost my damn mind.  And I thought the Crackhaid Dawg could use the company.  And I have lost my damn mind.  Saturday, we went to a local rescue place and our search began.  In true OCD style, I had a list.  I wanted a dog who was housebroken, about the same size as the CD, and around the same age, that didn't shed much.  I got a tiny, 8 month old, NON-housebroken puppy. This was SO not on my list!!  I guess I got what I needed, not what I wanted.  He damn sure needed me.

 This is Tigger with a crackstick

 Tigger & Bentley on TWH's chair

 Tigger the day we brought him home. Lookit that face!!

The Drawback to the Drawstring

Okay, so. Since I was home for the last four days with uninterrupted lounging time, I spent A LOT of time in my pajama pants & sweats. I have one pair of sweats, in particular, that I have had for years and has the trickiest drawstring EVER. I have to tie them because they were an immediate post-preggers purchase after TB (who is 2 months shy of 13) was born.  Now, I'm lounging around after getting the house all Christmasified enjoying both the roaring fire and my coffee when nature called. And I ignored it. I was comfy, what??  About 15 minutes later, the call is no longer avoidable so I haul my ass off the sofa and head to the loo. Only to be thwarted my my drawstring on my 13 year old pair of sweatpants. That motherfucking thing tied itself into about fifteen MILLION knots while I was just sitting on my ass doing nothing. NOW I'm standing in the bathroom, doing the pee-pee dance while struggling with the knots on my sweatpants. Oh dear God in Heaven!!  How many more knots are there??  I'm circling like the Crackhaid Dawg while he chases his tail yelling "Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh" and yanking at my waistband in a futile attempt to yank them down. Finally, FINALLY, the last knot gives and I can get some relief. Now, will these pants get thrown out?? Not likely. Will I remove the offending drawstring?? Nope, I need it to keep my pants up. Will I get off my ass sooner??  I just might. Will there be a repeat of this incident??  The possibility is high. What can I say?? These pants are just getting broken in good!!

Dawg Cooties

Okay so. I came home from work and the Crackhaid Dawg is winking at me. Or scowling at me. Or pretending to be a pirate. No, wait, his fucking eye is swollen shut. Mostly. I think the Crackhaid Dawg has some sort of nasty puppy conjunctivitis. I decided to try and treat it myself by putting him in a headlock and squeezing eyedrops in his eye in case he just had something just stuck in there. 10 minutes later and I'm covered in eyedrops and Dawg hair and the Dawg is PISSED. Go figure. Now I'm just petting him and rubbing my hands down with Germ-x after just in case his puppy cooties are contagious to me too. Tomorrow I'm taking him to the vet. Maybe he'll get a cool eye patch. Until tomorrow, he's just gonna hafta have squinchy face.  Poor lil' Dawg!!

How I Spent My Monday

Okay, so. If you've been paying any attention at all, you know TWH & I are in the middle of a DIY frenzy.  Right now, we're focusing on outside projects because we live in South Louisiana and there is a very limited amount of time you can work outside without feeling like you're gonna die. Or it's raining. We spent yesterday working on re-doing our flowerbeds. We got two bordered and have one to go. This is how I spent my day.
First: Took the Crackhaid Dawg to the groomers.



Then went to the home store to buy some stones for the last flowerbed.


Now, I had to search for awhile to find the right pattern. Because there are TWO different patterns and I only wanted the one. There were about a gajillion bricks to go through to get my paltry twelve. I got them though.


Then, I came home, unloaded the bricks, and decided to prime the railings we're going to put on the front porch.  First, I had to go into our long, narrow storeroom.

Which holds most of THIS DIY hoard.

So I could get the painting supplies bin off the shelf & out of the storeroom.

Dig the primer out from behind all the stuff in front of it & off the bottom shelf.

And after 10-15 minutes of sweating & swearing, SUCCESS!!

Yep. The results of my hard work. I did all this, for this...

And THESE...

And after several hours, ( all mother fucking day), I had THESE.

These are just primered but this weekend TWH can use the power-sprayer to finish them off. Then we can get them on the house. Yay!!  Of course, as I'm typing this, I realize I missed a couple of things but they're gonna be SUPER easy. These railings were tedious because I had to paint all four sides of the stiles and the top & bottom support pieces. The best part of all this is, when Christmas comes around & I'm putting lights, ribbon, & garland on the front of the house in my never-ending attempt to Griswold the place up, I can decorate the railings too!!  Woo-hoo!!

And THAT is how I spent my Monday.

He Is SO My Son!!

Okay, so. I'm sitting at my laptop looking at photos of puppy dogs on a local shelter's website. Since I threatened TWH with a puppy if I didn't get my Giant Metal Chicken tomorrow, I thought a little research wouldn't hurt. I get to a photo of a puppy who falls into the "He's-so-ugly-he's-cute" category and show it to TB & TWH, who had just walked in from soccer practice. Here's how that conversation went.

TWH: What are you doing??
Me: Looking at pictures of puppy dogs on this website that need to be rescued.
TWH: WHY?? Why do you do that to yourself??
ME: Because!! They're sweet and The Crackhaid Dawg's soul mate might be in here somewhere. Here, I found this one. He could be our Edsel.
TB: (Looking over my shoulder) What's an Edsel??
Me: Another car. We have a theme here y'know.
TB: Are we getting another dog??
TWH: Your mom said if she doesn't get her Chicken, she's getting another dog
TB (To the Crackhaid Dawg): You hear that Bentley??  You're getting REPLACED!!
TWH: Bahahahahahaahaha!!  That's so YOUR son!!

Now, I just have to fix it so I get the Chicken AND #2 Dawg...

I Created This Monster

Okay,so. As everyone knows, I have a Crackhaid Dawg. He's 3 and Spoiled Assed Rotten. He's started barking in the evenings for no apparent reason and in an effort to get him to SHUT THE HELL UP, I started giving him his favorite chewy treats. They're called "Bully Sticks" in the store but we've dubbed them "Crack Sticks" because the Dawg acts like a fool to get them. Hence the name Crackhaid Dawg.  I obviously am easily trained because now he's decided that since this latest internet-ordered batch is somewhat inferior to what he's used to and he can go through them in about 5 minutes flat, he needs a new one every 10 minutes or so to keep himself entertained and at the level of chewy treat induced euphoria he's accustomed to. I am obviously easily trained because I somehow fell right into this new Crackstick regimen without even realizing I'd done it until a few nights ago when TWH pointed out "You don't have to get him a Crackstick EVERY time he barks y'know".  HOLY SHITBALLS!!  I am being bullied into standing at the ready with a Crackstick on demand by a 12 pound, furry, curly-tailed TYRANT!!  We are now in the midst of a Crackstick Intervention. We've all told the Dawg how his constant need for a Crackstick is making us crazy and this is for his own good. He just keeps standing by the refrigerator (his Cracksticks live on top of the fridge) and barking imperiously. I'm staying strong though. I've only given him 3 today...   I created this monster, now I have to deal with him. Or punt him into the neighbor's yard. We'll just have to see how this all shakes out.

Warning....I May Bite

Okay, so. In my last post, I talked about how I had to do something with myself because I was bordering on Colossal Fatass-dom and my Emergency Fat Pants (usually reserved for Holiday meals) have become part of my regular wardrobe. Well, I started paying attention to what went in my mouth & how MUCH went in my mouth and trying to work in a couple of miles walking/running a day. I have learned a few things due to my new fitness regimen. 1) The Crackhaid Dawg HATES when I walk him by myself. The first mile of my exercise regimen is walking the Dawg. He could use the exercise too. Now, when TWH is with us, we go along at the DAWG'S pace. When it's just the Dawg & me, I set the pace. I'm walking and I happen to have the Dawg with me. By the last leg of our mile, he is pissy because I won't let him stop to sniff every damn thing or pee on every mailbox.  2) Me running is NOT pretty. I am not fast. I am not consistent. I do not have good form. I sort of shamble along until I get tired. I have the feeling I look like Sasquatch on tranquilizers would look. Just less hairy. Now, considering I have, at one point or another, damaged my knees (by trying to play various sports) and I have 100 year old knees on a 40 year old body, I am happy with the fact that I can even SHAMBLE and will make peace with my Sasquatchy-ness.  3) Things start to hurt after a few days. In this case it's my upper legs and my ASS. I have no idea what muscle group I am over working by running/walking but my ass is sore and it kinda hurts to get up and walk after I've been sitting for any amount of time. I'm sure this too, will pass.  4) I'm fucking HUNGRY!!  All. The. Damn. Time. I'm assuming this is a good thing and means my ass will soon be smaller and that I will be able to once again button my "Everyday" jeans instead of just doing up my belt with the button undone under it. However, my level of Hungry is directly proportional to my level of Bitchy. The Hungrier I get, the Bitchier I get. If you cross my path and I happen to bite you, don't take it personally. You probably didn't REALLY do anything to provoke me. I'm just Bitchy. Or you walked by me with a cookie.

There's Shit EVERYWHERE!!

Okay, so. As I've mentioned before, we're kinda rural where I live. Along with the crazed bus driver who comes through whenever the hell she likes, we are also the dumping ground for other people's unwanted pets. Pretty much everyone in my neighborhood has adopted an unwanted, abandoned dog or cat.That isn't to say that they have all decided to keep them inside or on a leash. Oh NO. Most of them run rampant through the neighborhood sleeping in flowerbeds, on/under cars, on other people's porches, and shitting wherever they please. I can't tell you how many GIANT dog bombs I've come across while trotting the Crackhaid Dawg around the yard waiting for him to do his (tiny Dawg) "bidness".  As I was coming up the driveway after our latest outing I looked under the carport and up the driveway and there was shit EVERYWHERE!!  The worst thing about this is that I know I can do nothing about it except clean it up and hope I can catch at least one of the four legged miscreants at it later so I can hopefully scare him off. That, or just start letting my Dawg make deposits in as many of the neighbor's yards as possible as a petty form of retaliation.

I am Such a Secret Softie

While we were out running around today, we went into out local Petco to get some food & treats for the Crackhaid Dawg. They were having an adoption event for the local animal shelter. There was one female dog in there who looked at the families with such hope and longing it brought tears to my eyes. She looked like she'd once had a family and so desperately wanted to have one again. I actually cried the whole time we were in line.   As we were getting ready to leave, I spotted a donation bucket for the animal shelter.  "Wait!!" I said to TWH.  "There's a donation bucket.  I wanna donate!!"  TWH gives me the change in his pocket which earned him a slightly less than scathing look.  "WHAT??" TWH asked.  "We are NOT just giving them pocket change!!" I declared.  Now, it turns out he'd actually dumped about $7 in change outta his pocket into The Boy's cupped hands but it still didn't seem like enough.  TWH sighed, opened his wallet, and pulled out an amount that I deemed worthy, and handed it to me.  It wasn't nearly enough. It probably never is. I know these places operate on a shoestring budget. There's never enough of ANYTHING to go around.  TWH says I'm supporting Puppy & Kitty welfare.  I like to think I'm supporting Love & Hope.  So for all my Potty Mouthed Snarkiness, I am a Secret Softie.  Do what you can for the Greater Good.  You'll be glad you did.

I'm. Umm.. Well....

So, I have to say, I am happy, proud, humbled, and a little intimidated that you guys seem to like this. I'm happy you guys think this is funny. I'm proud that my ramblings are considered worth reading and amusing by ANYONE. I'm humbled by your comments and support. I'm intimidated by the fact that you guys are reading this, like it, and seem willing to read more.  I have to wonder at the level of obligation here.  Daily?? Weekly?? Twice weekly??  Whenever I feel like it??  See, now there's a little panic....  I don't always have a hissy fit at work. Or an accidental maiming of my only Boy Child.  Or some little smart assed kid in my chair.  Or another conversation with TWH (The Wonder Hubby aka my husband Shawn) about my great need for my very own Giant Metal Chicken so I can name it Gwenyth & make our house a neighborhood landmark.  My dog Bentley (The Crackhaid Dawg) mostly sleeps & sheds all over everything.  See??  Panic!!  I need to go breathe into a paper bag now...  I've given you a topic to discuss while I curl into the fetal position & freak out.  Talk it out & let me know...