Wednesday, February 17, 2010

A post from the Puppers...

Hi. My name is Minella, or Neenie Bean, as mommy calls me. I’m the cute one in the picture. That other guy? He’s Chico, or as mommy calls him, the Mexican Wooly Burrito.

My mommy usually writes this post but she hasn’t been able to keep up with it lately. So, I decided, since she’s at work and left the laptop machine on the coffee table, I’d do a post for her.

My brothers, Chico the Chihuahua and Hank the Mini Schnauzer and I are just hanging out today. We’re discussing the ‘Treat Lady’ that came over the other night. Now, mommy calls her something like a ‘Trainer’. We don’t need no stinking Trainer. We’re doggone perfect. She’s real cool though. She smells like other dogs and gave us LOTS of cookies. And, all we had to do is look at her and sit down and listen to a clickie noise and she gave us cookies. Cookies that tasted like chicken. Mmmm. Chicken.

MAILMAN! The Mailman is here!!! Bark, Bark, Bark!!!

Sorry about that… I had to ask the mailman if he brought our new tags to us today. Mom said she ordered us some cool tags from Rossi Pet Tags on the laptop machine. She’s excited to get them, so they ought to be good. I can’t wait to wear mine on my new collar.

Anyways, mommy has been real busy lately. She’s gone a lot in the evenings at something called ‘School’. Sissy and Daddy are home with us, but they don’t play with me like mommy does. We have a fun game where I stand on her and put my neck in her mouth and she goes ‘Nom, Nom, Nom’ and chews on me and gives me kisses. It’s real fun but daddy won’t do it. He just puts me on the floor. So I chase the cat. He’s old and hairy and lays on the couch. Kinda like Daddy. Um, don’t tell him I said that, okay?

So, mommy goes to work and then to something called School. And when she’s home she has all these books around her and she writes and types and draws and looks on the laptop machine and will still Nom, Nom, Nom me when I stick my neck in her mouth. I think that makes her happy. I know it makes me happy.

Mom is taking Chico to the Doctor tomorrow. She said he’s getting ‘Micro Chipped’. I guess that means he’ll be a CyberDog now. Cool, eh? She told me that she wants to take me, too. Chico and I can both be CyberDogs. I wonder if that gives me x-ray vision or something. I can already vault tall baby gates in a single leap and I have unnatural powers of adorableness over mommy.

Well, I hope you enjoyed my first post. I gotta put the laptop machine thing away before Sissy comes home from her thing called ‘School’.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Who Let the Oldies Out?

Alright, ya’ll. I’m taking a lesson from Harlem over at Harlem’s Haterade today. You can find her on my sidebar. I really believe we’re long lost sisters or something.

Anyways. I’m hating on people today. People who CAN’T DRIVE IN NON-INCLIMATE CONDITIONS.

So, it was 37 degrees out when I left the house this morning. It did spit and sputter last night and we got some slushy-like sleet. (This is Northern Indiana, folks. I’m surprised we haven’t had 3 feet of snow yet.) So the roads were wet when I left the house before 7 am. Just wet. Not iced over – not even close. So, I guess that gives people the right to only drive 15 mph down the freaking Boulevard. Seriously – GET OFF THE EFFING ROADS YOU ASS-BAGS!!! I swear the geriatric ward let their oldest, most senile populace out and told them to drive the route between my house, Bunny’s school and my work. Just to eff with me.

So, the posted speed limit on the Boulevard is 30, maybe 35. I usually drive 40. (I’m a good defensive driver – unlike someone I know who I won’t mention here. You know who you are... But, I’m not going to reveal you because you bought me a diamond tennis bracelet for Christmas – and already let me open it. You ROCK…) No shit. This string of traffic was driving 15 miles per hour.

W. T. F.


And, then it happened. I MISSED THE TURN LIGHT. That set me off like a freaking roman candle. I was HOT. Non-driving ass-bags who make ME miss the light. And you know damn well THEY ALL went through it. The light that you have to sit at for an eternity before it changes again. If there ever were a time where I wanted to yank someone outta their vehicle and pound their head against a curb, this morning was definitely it.


And this is just the beginning.

We’re supposed to get rain tonight and possibly a high of 17 degrees tomorrow. Freaking FABULOUS. Oh, I just can’t wait. And friends and family wonder why I can’t wait until next summer to move way south. Like Gulf of Mexico south. This is why. I hate snow. And non-drivers. And scraping my damn truck off every morning. And my heater don’t frickin’ work in the truck anyways – so it’s a cold-ass ride to work every morning on those leather seats. I hate cold.


Anyways. I do believe I’m almost over my bout of road rage. Maybe if I kick someone I’ll feel better. I do feel sorry for the first person to come into my office this morning bitching about something. Unless they tell me how blindingly beautiful my bracelet is…

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Jasper and the Unbaked Yeast Rolls

A great Thanksgiving funny... Especially for those of us with pets.

Jasper and the unbaked yeast rolls...

We have a fox terrier by the name of Jasper. He came to us in the summer of 2001 from the fox terrier rescue program. For those of you, who are not familiar with this type of adoption, imagine taking in a 10yr. old child whom you know nothing about and committing to doing your best to be a good parent.

Like a child, the dog came with his own idiosyncrasies. He will only sleep on the bed, on top of the covers, nuzzled as close to my face as he can get without actually performing a French kiss on me. Lest you think this is a bad case of 'no discipline,' I should tell you that Perry and I tried every means to break him of this habit including locking him in a separate bedroom for several nights.

The new door cost over $200. But I digress. Five weeks ago we began remodeling our house. Although the cost of the project is downright obnoxious, it is 20yrs' overdue, AND it got me out of cooking Thanksgiving for family, extended family, and a lot of friends that I like more than family most of the time.

I was, however, assigned the task of preparing 124 of my famous yeast dinner rolls for the two Thanksgiving feasts we did attend. I'm still cursing the electrician for getting the new oven hooked up so quickly; the only appliance in the whole darn house that worked, thus the assignment.

I made the decision to cook the rolls on Wednesday evening to reheat on Thursday morning. Since the kitchen was freshly painted, you can imagine the odor.

Not wanting the rolls to smell like Sherwin Williams latex paint #586, I put the rolls on baking sheets and set them in the living room to rise for 5 hours. After 3 hours, Perry and I decided to go out to eat, returning in about an hour. An hour later the rolls were ready to go in the oven. It was 8:30pm. When I went to the living room to retrieve the pans, much to my shock, one whole pan of 12 rolls was empty.

I called out to Jasper and my worst nightmare became a reality. He literally wobbled over to me. He looked like a combination of the Pillsbury dough boy and the Michelin Tire man wrapped up in fur. He groaned when he walked. I swear even his cheeks were bloated. I ran to the phone and called our vet. After a few seconds of uproarious laughter, he told me the dog would probably be OK; however, I needed to give him Pepto Bismol every 2 hours for the rest of the night.

God only knows why I thought a dog would like Pepto Bismol any more than my kids did when they were sick. Suffice to say that by the time we went to bed the dog was black, white and pink. He was so bloated we had to lift him onto the bed for the night.

Naively thinking the dog would be all better by morning was very stupid on my part. We arose at 7:30 and as we always do first thing; put the dog out to relieve himself. Well, the darn dog was as drunk as a sailor on his first leave. He was running into walls, falling flat on his butt and most of the time when he was walking his front half was going one direction and the other half was either dragging on the grass or headed 90 degrees in another direction. He couldn't lift his leg to pee, so he would just walk and pee at the same time. When he ran down the small incline in our back yard he couldn't stop himself and nearly ended up running into the fence. His pupils were dilated and he was as dizzy as a loon.

I endured another few seconds of laughter from the vet (second call within 12 hours) before he explained that the yeast had fermented in his belly and that he was indeed drunk. He assured me that, not unlike most binges we humans go through, it would wear off after about 4 or 5 hours and to keep giving him Pepto Bismol. Afraid to leave him by himself in the house, Perry and I loaded him up and took him with us to my sister's house for the first Thanksgiving meal of the day. My sister lives outside of Muskogee on a ranch, (10 to 15 minute drive).

Rolls firmly secured in the trunk (124 less 12) and drunk dog leaning from the back seat onto the console of the car between Perry and I, we took off. Now I know you probably don't believe that dogs burp, but believe me when I say that after eating a tray of risen unbaked yeast rolls, DOGS WILL BURP.

These burps were pure Jack Daniels. They would have matched or beat any smell in a drunk tank at the police station. But that's not the worst of it.

Now he was beginning to fart and they smelled like baked rolls. God strike me dead if I am not telling the truth! We endured this for the entire trip to Karee's, thankful she didn't live any further away than she did.

Once Jasper was firmly placed in my sister's garage with the door locked, we finally sat down to enjoy our first Thanksgiving meal of the day.

The dog was the topic of conversation all morning long and everyone made trips to the garage to witness my drunken dog, each returning with a tale of Jasper's latest endeavor to walk without running into something.

Of course, as the old adage goes, "what goes in must come out" and Jasper was no exception. Granted if it had been me that had eaten 12 risen, unbaked yeast rolls, you might as well have put a concrete block up my behind, but alas a dog's digestive system is quite different from yours or mine.

I discovered this was a mixed blessing when we prepared to leave Karee's house. Having discovered his "packages" on the garage floor, we loaded him up in the car so we could hose down the floor. This was another naive decision on our part. The blast of water from the hose hit the poop on the floor and the poop on the floor withstood the blast from the hose.

It was like Portland cement beginning to set up and cure. We finally tried to remove it with a shovel. I (obviously no one else was going to offer their services) had to get on my hands and knees with a coarse brush to get the remnants off of the floor. And as if this wasn't degrading enough, the darn dog in his drunken state had walked through the poop and left paw prints all over the garage floor that had to be brushed too.

Well, by this time the dog was sobering up nicely so we took him home and dropped him off before we left for our second Thanksgiving dinner at Perry's sister's house. I am happy to report that as of today (Monday) the dog is back to normal both in size and temperament. He has had a bath and is no longer tricolor. None the worse for wear I presume.

I am also happy to report that just this evening I found 2 risen unbaked yeast rolls hidden inside my closet door. It appears he must have come to his senses after eating 10 of them but decided hiding 2 of them for later would not be a bad idea.

Now, I'm doing research on the computer as to "How to clean unbaked dough from the Carpet."

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Another Hunting Story

Regardless of your political affiliation, this is funny...

The Pope went on vacation for a few days to visit the rugged mountains of Alaska.

He was cruising along the campground in the Pope Mobile when he heard a frantic commotion just at the edge of the woods. He found a helpless Democrat wearing shorts, sandals, a Vote for Obama hat and a Save the Trees shirt. The man was screaming and struggling frantically, thrashing all about and trying to free himself from the grasp of a 10-foot grizzly bear.

As the Pope watched in horror, a group of Republican loggers wearing Go Sarah shirts came racing up. One quickly fired a 44 magnum slug right into the bear's chest. The two other men pulled the semiconscious Democrat from the bear's grasp. Then using baseball bats, the three loggers finished off the bear.

Two of the men dragged the dead grizzly onto the bed of their pickup truck. The other tenderly placed the injured Democrat in the back seat.

As they began to leave, the Pope summoned all of them men over to him. "I give you my blessing for your brave actions!" he proudly proclaimed. "I have heard there was bitter hatred between Republican loggers and Democratic environmental activists, but now I've seen with my own eyes that this is not true."

As the Pope drove off, one logger asked his buddies, "Who the heck was that guy?"

"Dude, that was the Pope," another replied. "He's in direct contact with Heaven and has access to all wisdom."

"Well," the logger said, "he may have access to all wisdom, but he doesn't know shit about bear hunting! By the way, is the bait still alive or do we need to go back to Massachusetts and get another one?"

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Oh, a Huntin' She will go...

Okay… So daughter informs us she’s going hunting.

W. T. F?

This is the same daughter that refuses to wear a winter coat. (We live in the upmost Northern Indiana that you can live.) When I suggested a few weeks ago that we go get new coats, she was repulsed by the idea and refused. She claims she’s okay to wear a hoodie and on really cold days, a scarf with it. W. T. F? We’ve lived here her entire life. She knows the drill. Sometime in January or February it’ll stay in the -20 range for a good two weeks. Then she’ll be crying that it’s too cold and she can’t go to school because she doesn’t have a coat… But enough about her coat issues.

She wants to go hunting.

Her (and I use the term loosely) ‘Father’ has always been an avid hunter. Most likely will probably always be. It’s more than a religious experience for him. Me, not so much. The only hunting I do is for a good Coconut Rum Mojito. I’m not all crazy about how it’s wrong and bad and all that. (Although I am a nutter when it comes to hearing about abused animals.) In the ‘old’ days, that’s how they did it. You went out and killed your food and you ate it. If you’ve ever been to Northern Indiana at this time of year, you know the deer are out of their damn heads crazy. I swear they stand at the side of the road and play chicken with your large SUV like it’s some kind of game. If you’ve ever hit one and done thousands of dollars of damage to your car (or your ex’s truck – ha, ha, ha…) you’d be on the bandwagon to thin them out. A LOT. I’d much rather see someone take one down and use it to feed their family or donate the processed cuts to the elderly or one of the local homeless shelters, than to see one hit by a semi and laying on the side of the road suffering for hours – which is exactly what I saw this last weekend. Ugh… But anyways,

She wants to go hunting.

Now, mind you, she has the attention span of a retarded goldfish. And that’s on a good day. Maybe it’s a teenager thing. Maybe it’s just her thing. But, to think of her sitting in a tree stand for 2, 3, 4 hours, in utter silence, sans iPod, cell phone and Nintendo DS and having to pay attention to everything around her makes me laugh until I’m teary-eyed. I can’t get her to remember to feed the animals in the morning, and I have to remind her to brush her teeth before she leaves the house. Grab your Violin; don’t forget your gym clothes, or your homework, or your book bag. Wear a coat; it’s barely 40 degrees outside this morning. It’s like all you have to do is dangle something shiny in front of her (ooh - shiny...) and our whole morning routine has gone to shit…

And yet, she still wants to go hunting.

So, our dearest Mr. Skittles, as she calls him (this would be grandma’s ‘special friend’) was talking about hunting a month or so ago and daughter proudly proclaimed that she wanted to go with him. Skittles wasn’t deterred by our roaring fits of laughter and, God bless his heart, has agreed to take her. In fact, he’s pretty excited that one of the kids wants to go with him. Poor thing. Live and learn, I guess…

So, she’s going hunting this weekend.

That means I’ve got to get her clothes to Grandma’s tonight so she can wash them in that scent-eliminating stuff and we’ve got to get a coat and a warm pair of boots. Thank goodness for Payless’ BOGO.

They’ll be up so early she’ll be kicking the rooster in the ass and she will have to take a roll of TP out there; as I’m honestly not sure she could tell the difference between an oak leaf and poison ivy leaf. I’ve got to make sure Grandma has hot cocoa ready for her upon their return and calamine lotion – just in case…

But, she’ll be hunting

Good luck Mr. Skittles. You’ll need it.

Friday, November 6, 2009

For Sale or Trade

Like, OMG! Totally – what is up with the parental units lately???

Yeah. I have a teenager at home. No. It’s not fun. In fact, so much NOT fun that I’m thinking about selling her or trading her for something. A goldfish, maybe? If the fish pisses me off, I can always flush it down the damn drain.

She’s an only child. She’s spoiled rotten. She has everything I never had but desperately wanted. Before I get flamed here, she does have responsibilities. Much more so than what I had at her age. She works to earn stuff and she’s always been a high-honor roll student. (Mamma doesn’t allow C’s on her report card.)

So, why then, if she’s so damn smart, does she have to do stupid shit to get in trouble? Seriously. W.T.F. Is it a cry for attention? The only attention she hasn’t gotten from me is a foot up her ass. Maybe it’s time. Those of you that know me know she’s not in need of attention. My whole damn world revolves around her goat-smelling ass.

When I ask you to feed the puppies NOW – that certainly doesn’t mean meander back to your room and do whatever the shit you feel like. It means FEED. THE. ANIMALS. NOW. Not an hour from now when you hear the shower shut off and realize Shit! I didn’t do what mom asked of me. Feed them NOW.

Am I supposed to be hurt that you’re pissed at me because I took your priveliges away from you? You’re lucky I didn’t choke you out for being a shithead about it. Or take even more away from your rotten ass, too.

This is just the beginning. She’s only 13. I’m not sure that I have enough liquor in the house or that my liver will tolerate me being a heavy drinker for the next 5+ years… So, anyone want to trade a goldfish for a kid?

Monday, October 19, 2009

The A, B, C's of life...

Well, after almost 2 weeks of flu-type illnesses in my household (Ugh), I haven’t had the opportunity to post. Hell, I haven’t even had the opportunity to catch up on the Blogs I follow… So, while reading one of my faves - DiaryOfaMadBathroom, (you can find her on my side-bar…) she had this fun little post. I decided to give it a go…

A - Advocate for: Animal Rights. Nothing will fire my ass up more than hearing about abused animals. We rescued a Chihuahua just a year ago, and that poor thing STILL has emotional issues from the P.O.S. ass-bags that beat the crap out of him. The abused animal commercials on Animal Planet just make me break into uncontrollable sobs. Literally. I’ve got a box of tissues next to my chair.

B- Best Feature: I’d have proclaimed my bust, but have been told it is my smile… Who would have thought?

C- Could do without: The friggin' idiots in my neighborhood who think it's 'cool' to crank their car strereo while they wait for their ass-bag loser friend to come out of his house. Seriously, he's on the next block over buying Meth, or Pot or something. Go over there and wait for him. Stay your loser-asses out of my cul-de-sac.

D- Dreams and desires: For my daughter to get into the college of her choice (when the time comes), gets a great education and have a great career.

E- Essential items: My iPod

F- Favorite past time: Camping

G- Good at: Plenty of things.

H- Have never tried: Karaoke – nor would you want me to.

I- If I had a million dollars: After the standard house and new car, I’d donate to a local rescue group. One where I know where the money is going.

J- Junkie for: Spoiling my child, my pups and enjoying Starbucks.

K- Kindred spirit: I’ve got a few.

L- Little known fact: I’m pretty much an open book.

M- Memorable moment: When I broke the shit out of my leg and had to have reconstructive surgery to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

N- Never again will I: Ride that damned horse.

O- Occasional indulgence: Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups or Butterfinger bars

P - Profession: Construction Management

Q- Quote: ‘Good luck with that…’ or ‘Let me know how that works out for ya…’

R- Reason to smile: A wonderful family and a beautiful, fabulous daughter.

S- Sorry about: Not moving to a warmer climate years ago.

T- Things you are worrying about right now: Getting the RV winterized this coming weekend. Putting my card class together for Saturday. So much to do, so little time.

U- Uninterested in: Baseball and golf.

V- Very scared of: losing my grandparents.

W- Worst habits: I’ve got a lot of bad habits, but I’m going to have to go with Blogging when I’m supposed to be working.

X - Marks my ideal vacation spot: London, Sydney, Naples or even Chicago.

Y- Yummiest dessert: Cupcakes with Butter cream icing.

Z- Zodiac sign: Cancer.

So, go ahead, great internet... Copy, Paste and Post your answers...

Thursday, October 1, 2009

The Zookeeper Needs More Vodka...

We’ve had a rough few weeks. We had to put our beloved Captain Jack Sparrow down, as his epilepsy got to be too bad for him. He had a couple bad fits over the holiday weekend, and we made the call to end his terrible suffering. We’ve all been hurting ever since. Thanks to all my family and friends who have lifted us up in their thoughts and prayers. It has really helped.

On a lighter note, I’m so looking forward to this weekend.

I’ll be out of town at a retreat. Retreating my little heart out. The retreat center is nestled along some tall pines and overlooking a small lake. I’ll be retreating with about 8/10 other gals. No husbands, Boyfriends or KIDS. (Not that I don’t love you guys – but sometimes Mamma needs some creative ME time…)

I do wish we could bring our puppies. I’d bring Minella with me, as he’s SUCH a Mamma’s boy. Nobody at home will chew on him other than me. They say he’s gross and his breath smells like he ate a shit-sandwich. Well, Bunny doesn’t actually use those words, but it’s implied. But he LOVES to be chewed on. He’ll jump up on me, walk across me and rest his neck in my mouth so I can gum on him for a while. Not normal, I know. But it’s OUR thing. He won’t let anyone else chew on him. He will, however, mock the other 2-leggeds in the house by backing up and sticking his peanuts in their faces. It’s funny since he doesn’t do that to me... As often.

In the mornings, he’ll jump up on the toilet stool to watch me get ready for work. Every morning he’ll try to climb up my leg and he wants me to hold him and love him and chew on him. He cries when I leave the house. So, the moment he hears me (or sees me) pull up, he’s going insane. All 5 pounds of his little Mini-Pinscher self is the most amazing bundle of energy I have ever seen. He gets a good 3 foot from the ground when he leaps.

So, I’ll miss him like crazy this weekend. I’ll also miss everyone else in the house, but like I said, Mamma needs a bit of creative time. So, I hope you guys will read my post and know that I do miss you, but I’m also off being creative and relaxing and having a great time.

Remember… When Momma ain’t happy, ain’t NOBODY happy…