The other day I asked Brian if he would have a picture of our sweet little Lexi drawn for me when I got home. He never asked why I wanted this and he didn’t need to. I had no reason. I just felt compelled to ask for a drawing of my hippo-faced dog.

Here’s the result:

I was impressed.  Super impressed actually! The more I look at it though the more it looks like she’s a criminal on the loose being searched for. Is it just me or does this look like a police sketch of some suspected murderer or something?

Then I got to thinking, if Lexi were a criminal, what would she be wanted for? The most obvious one that comes to mind is hamburglary. She would be the canine equivalent to the Hamburglar. Her problem is she looks more like Grimace.

This post really has nothing to do with anything. This is what happens when you don’t sleep well the night before and you wake up with a clogged-full-of-wax right ear. My apologies if you’ve actually made it this far…

Last night I went to Cracker Barrel and ate way too much. I always go into a restaurant thinking, “Ok, I’ll be good…” It never works out though. So a chicken fried chicken dinner later, I was stuffed and felt no guilt.

But that’s not my dirty little secret.

As I was changing from my work clothes to my comfortable sweats and t-shirt, I thought, “huh, these work pants have never seen a washing machine.” See, I’m paranoid. I get the feeling that the minute I wash clothes and they get out of the washer they’re going to shrink. And then I’ll feel fat. Mentally I can’t handle that. So instead I just Febreeze them, over and over and over again. It’s disgusting I know, but for my sanity that’s the way it has to be.

But I wouldn’t say that’s my dirtiest secret.

This is my dirtiest secret. I eat food off of the floor. A couple of nights ago, Brian accidentally flipped some french fries off his plate onto the floor. Well, he thought that was the end of that. Oh no, that’s wasteful! So I picked them up and ate them. I had to fight the dog for one of them. Ok, that’s a lie, but it was a race between the dog and I who could get the most the fastest. I, of course, won. I think I’m the opposite of a germaphobe. I did lick an outdoor Arby’s table once. Yummm…Arby’s table.

Also, I don’t like chocolate ice cream. But that’s not really a secret, but I thought you should know anyway.

I love, love, love eating baked goods.

The end.

Ok, Not really.

Eating the baked goods technically is the end of the journey.  The problem is the rest of that journey.  I enjoy baking and if I have a whole day to do it I can really appreciate it.  However, when I don’t have time I usually want to give up about mid-way through the process of any baking adventure and just quit. 

That’s why 90% of the time I usually end up eating batter or cookie dough instead of the finished product.

I have a problem. I am the messiest baker ever. No really, you can ask anyone who has ever baked with me. Even a simple “add water and bake” type recipe ends up all over my kitchen. 

For example, last night I was making red velvet cake balls and honestly it looked like I had murdered someone in my kitchen. There was red EVERYWHERE! Then there was the melted chocolate everywhere. I spent a lot of the evening scraping that off of things. Oh and then how I used, let’s see, six different bowls. SIX. For cake pops which should require maybe at the most three.

On top of being the messiest baker I’m also apparently the messiest eater. I walk out from the kitchen and this is the conversation that follows:

Husband: “Did you try some of the icing?”
Me: “Why do you ask?”
Husband:”Just go look in the mirror…”
….Me looking in the mirror….
Husband: “Did you actually get any in your mouth?”

Also, I ate cake that got on my shirt.

This is the reality of my life.  I share it with you to make you feel better about yourself. You’re welcome.

Oh except not.

Apparently my goal for the weekend was to embarrass myself in public as soon as I possibly could. It didn’t take long. Friday night Brian and I were going to look at bikes. I’ve been wanting to get a bike for a while now so I could get my cardio in someway other than jogging. See I’ve already figured out that if for some horrible reason I do go to Hell that Satan is going to curse me to jogging for the rest of eternity. That pretty much sums up my feelings towards jogging.

Brian pulls down a bike for me to try. It’s a smaller bike because I’m only about a Snooki and half. I hop on to try it out.

YOU ALL, I FORGOT HOW TO RIDE A BIKE!

How does this even happen? I could not keep my balance and my feet couldn’t grasp the pedals. It took me around ten minutes just to make it down the aisle. I was flipping and flopping the whole way down though.

Then we try a child’s bike. Things weren’t much better with this. I could actually maneuver this bike, but I was still flopping everywhere. I’m not really sure what happened in the couple of years that it’s been since I’ve ridden a bike. You actually can forget how to ride a bike. Let me be an example of this.

Needless to say my husband sent me to go practice on the recumbent bikes.

Saturday. A day reserved for errands and general merriment. Almost every week my husband and I go to PetSmart either for a vet appointment or just to get the dogs bones or a toy or just to torture myself with the adoptable puppies available.

This past Saturday was no different. Well, there was one difference, when we stopped at PetSmart we were parked across from a brand new Aston Martin. I was ready to divorce my husband, not for the guy driving it, but for the actual car. It was a beauty.

Back to the story, I was holding one of the adoptable puppies doing my routine of begging Brian for one when one of the vet techs walks by, “Oh are you all thinking of getting a third?” Dangit. How does everyone here know exactly who we are? “Oh no,” we say, “we were just stopping by to look.”

Fast forward a few minutes at the checkout line where we’re buying our dog’s another bed. We currently have five beds for two dogs but that’s a different story for a different time. We were checking out and the lady said, “Now you all have two dogs right?”

“Yes,” we both said.

“And which one is this for?”

“The smaller brown one.”

“Oh ok and what is the other one again?”

“The shar-pei/lab mix. We’re here a lot…”

“Yeah, like a ton…” she said.

I was too embarrassed to even act offended because it made me laugh. It’s a sad day when everyone at PetSmart knows who you are. Do you have stores or restaraunts where everyone there knows you? Please let me know I’m not alone…

Also, is this sad that this has been the highlight to my week? I think it’s time for some adventure…

Last night Brian and I decided to go on a walk at a trail near our house. It was the first truly warm day in a while so we thought it’d be fun. Obviously the dogs were not invited because they are terrors and if there’s another person or animal within twenty feet of them they feel like they need to show their dominance.

We were casually strolling along and we see this well behaved dog and this couple walking them. As we were talking about how well behaved the dog was the couple got closer and the guy started talking to us.

Crap.

I know this guy and here he is with his well-behaved dog and gorgeous wife. And here I am, wind-blown, thankfully no dogs, and an old t-shirt with a black sports bra showing proudly through said old t-shirt.

And he said, “Oh nice basketball camp shirt.”

Dangit!

I should know by now that anytime I dress like I’m not going to see someone I know, I’ll see someone I know.

Lesson learned.

 I think everyone here knows I love my dogs more than a lot of things. Even more than some people that I know! Yes, honey, some days I love them even more than you!

But then there are days that I just want to wring their cute little necks. Especially when they listen to everyone but their own mother and father.

I can’t tell you how many times Sadie (the brown one) won’t come in when we call her.

She really is the most stubborn dog I have ever been around in my entire life.

And nothing makes me more angry than when I have an audience for her stubbornness. And then that audience gets to see me struggle to try to get her inside while she’s barking insanely at the neighbors. And then said audience, we’ll call that audience Lauren, goes to the back door, says, “SADIE GET IN RIGHT NOW!” And then the stubborn dog runs in like she miraculously got her hearing back and knows to come in.

I think she’s just trying to be a rebel and rebel against her parents. Or maybe she’s just a punk. 

Yeah, she’s just a punk.

The other day I was at my parent’s house eating lunch. I had run out of fruit and so I asked my mom if I could have an orange. She got very offended that I even asked her to have it.

“I’m not just going to take your food without asking Mom.”

“You’re my daughter. You can have any food you want in this house. WITHOUT ASKING.”

“Oh really? Even all of those Swiss Cake Rolls you used to hide when we were kids?”

“Yes even the hidden food. Look, I was just trying to protect you kids from unhealthy foods back then.”

“Oh really? So the Oatmeal Cream Pies were ok, but not the Swiss Cake Rolls?”

“Well, it at least had the word ‘oatmeal’ in its name.”

 Conclusion? I’m sticking with my mom on this one. Oatmeal=grain, Cream=dairy, and I’m sure there’s an egg for protein in there somewhere.

Now that’s a diet I can stick with.

*Update-My mom thinks that I think she is a bad mother. She was/is not a bad mother for letting me eat Oatmeal Creme Pies as a child. She is a WONDERFUL, perfect mother who doesn’t understand sarcasm. hehe

Oh this room…

Can you even call it a room when it’s just a glorified storage closet?

This is the next area in my house that’s being tackled. Not that the whole house isn’t a mish-mash of colors and patterns and random stuff here and there, but this room is particularly bad.

Between an OU dog bed, pink stuffed hippos and stemmed crystal candle holders this room is just a mess. A big mess.

I have a vision though.

And this functionless, mustardy storage closet will soon be home to a man cave. A small man cave, but a man cave nonetheless.

Now before you think, “Hey Angela–that’s really nice of you! You are a super cool wife and your husband is so lucky to have you!” this is all really out of selfishness. Don’t get me wrong, I am a super cool wife and am also SUPER nice, but I want my own tv. So I can watch DVR’d shows or do The Shred without him needing the tv to play his precious PlayStation 3 or to watch really bad SyFy movies.

So I will keep you updated on the progress.  I hope to have cut the mustard, the mustard wall color that is, and have it painted next week sometime. Baby steps people, baby steps.

Wish me luck!

He was a little cheesy, but I chose to ignore it…

I couldn’t think of a better date.

If loving him is wrong…I don’t want to be right…

And then I ate it. And all was right in the world…

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.