Time to Start Going to PetCo

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…

No One Was Supposed to See Me Like This

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.

And That’s Why You’re Not Getting a Treat

 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.

My Saturday Night Date

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…

Bu-Bu-Bu-Busted

There’s always a certain moment in your life when you know you’ve hit a new low. That moment for me was last night.

Brian and I had just come home from the store and you all know what happens when you get home from the store right? You start opening everything and eating it like you’ve never had a meal in your whole life and you MUST taste that cookie or you will just die!!

I had a 100 calorie package of guacamole that I was eating with chips. There was still some left, but not enough to use a chip to dip it up. So I did what any logical, level-headed person would do. I licked the package clean.

The only problem was, was that I wasn’t alone. And Brian had turned to say something to me right at that precise moment that my tongue licked that last bit of guacamole out. I should have been ashamed, but I wasn’t. I proudly said, “Yes, I’m licking the last of the guacamole out of its package.” His only response was, “I thought I saw that right…”

Here’s the problem…not two minutes later was I opening a Smart Ones Chocolate Eclair. Well, some of the chocolate stuck to the top of the package. And you know where this is going. Yes, I was busted a second time in less than five minutes licking something off of a package.

Listen, it could be worse, I could be eating food out of the trashcan. Oh wait…I’ve done that too.

Don’t ask…

I Need A Mouth Stapler

You know those moments when you wish you could go back in time and erase what you just said and then move on with life? That happened last weekend at a lunch gathering with my in-laws at Chilis.

Brian was telling a story and he said a phrase that sounded somewhat offensive. (I won’t give the details because this is a kid-friendly blog) (not that any kids are reading it, but just in case)

I said, with a snicker, “Oh honey you may want to re-phrase that.” Still laughing at myself.

His mother just looked at me like, “Hmmm…”

And his grandfather said, “What? OH–I didn’t even think of that until you said something about it.”

To which my husband replied, while glaring at me, “Yeah, WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT?”

I turned about 30 shades of red and buried my head in my arms while everyone laughed. I remember turning red and getting embarrassed later in the meal but I’ve blocked it out and completely forgot what it was about.

If someone could please pry my foot out of my mouth it would make it a lot easier to breathe. Thanks!

This is When it Gets Real

I’m throwing a pity party for myself. I know that’s shocking to all of you. I’m either complaining about something or feeling sorry for myself. Today it’s feeling sorry for myself.

You all, I have wrinkles.

There I admitted it and it doesn’t sound any better when I type it out.

I’ve had gray hair for a while. Not full-out gray, but I’d find one here and there since high school. I handled it well. I didn’t freak out and I would just pull it out of my scalp and move on. Granted I would spend about ten minutes examining it to make sure it was in fact gray and not an errant blond hair that grew in.

But wrinkles? WRINKLES?!! I’m not even thirty! I was staring at myself in the mirror, full face of make-up and there they were–crows feet. Some people call them laugh lines, I refuse to call them laugh lines. They’re more like depression lines. I think I would never smile again if it meant these wrinkles would go away. [Insert sad trombone here]

There’s just something so permanent about wrinkles. I’ve already been researching how to get rid of them. The plumping creams and the line fillers. It’s made me want to crawl in a hole and never show my face again.

Either that or have a facelift.

Call me crazy, but I may be overreacting a wee bit. If you see scotch tape at my temples holding up my sagging jowls just throw me in the loony bin.

The One That Makes Me Sound Senile (Because I Probably Am)

I survived the Snowpocalypse! And I know, I know I should be writing about snow and the dogs and how much they LOVE to play in it, but I don’t wanna’ and you can’t make me.

Instead I’m revealing to you something embarrassing. It’s only embarrassing because it makes me sound crazy. I am crazy–but I think I’m the good crazy, not the senile crazy.

You be the judge.

Often times when I’m doing the laundry I’ll be sitting there minding my own business and I’ll think, “Hmmm…the washing machine finished that load really fast.” I get up and check on it and this is what I see:

I forgot to shut the lid. I can’t tell you how many times I do this every week. Seriously, how do I forget to close the lid?

Then, to take it a step further, my husband went to get food and he returned to this:

I was putting some drinks in there to cool off quickly and apparently shutting the lid was too much for me to remember. He walked in holding the drinks and I said, “Oh how did you even know I put those in there?” He replied, “Well, idiot, you left the lid open.” (He didn’t really say idiot but I could tell he was feeling it.)

People, what is with me? Why does my brain have that disconnect between opening the lid and closing the lid. This is why I can never be a surgeon. “Hmm where did I leave that scalpel again?” Oh that and I want to pass out at the sight of insides.

I really believe there’s no cure for this. I think Brian is just going to have to follow me around shutting lids for the rest of his life.

Nicknames

Throughout the years I’ve had several nicknames: ginges, gingela, lil’ boog (that one’s my brother’s fault-his high school nickname was Booger therefore I obviously had to be lil’ boog), She-nay-nay, werewolf (that wasn’t so much a nickname as an insult) and nubs. While I’ve appreciated all of these nicknames [not] it was time for something else.

Over the holiday weekend I decided to give myself a nickname. I saw a lady doing an interview on some television show that went by the name “Taffy.” I wanted it. That had to be my nickname. I’ve forced my husband to start calling me that and I refuse to respond to anything other than the name Taffy. I feel like I’m a good Taffy. Sweet and sticky and chewy and delicious. I would say those are all great descriptors for me. Although, I can’t decide if I want to be Tangy, Laffy or Salt Water Taffy.

My husband was lucky enough to also receive a nickname: Hambone. I’m not sure where that one came from. I think I had a dream about it and therefore it was his destiny to be referred to from here on out as Hambone. The nickname doesn’t really fit him at all but if I have anything to do with it when he dies, which knock on wood is many many decades away, his tombstone will read RIP Hambone.

Taffy and Hambone. Hambone and Taffy. Sounds like a winning combo to me…

I’m Sensing a Trend Here

There was definitely a theme for this year’s Thanksgiving. The theme this year was: VIRUS (or fungus)!

It all started Tuesday night about 9:00pm. I was sitting there minding my own business at home. I was finally off work for the week and I was going to enjoy my evening with some online window shopping and catching up on the DVR. Out of no where my laptop (which is also my work computer) started doing something strange. Window’s bubbles kept popping up at the bottom of the screen saying it couldn’t find my hard drive. My computer kept restarting and running this weird program in the background. Of course this is five hours after the Help Desk at work closed for the next five days. I finally took it in last night, it’s not my hard drive, it’s a virus. Awesome…

Second, the day before Thanksgiving I find out my mother has shingles. While I’m sure she appreciates me telling the world about this, I feel everyone should know that when I start complaining about the shingles I’m sure to contract around Christmas time you’ll know where they came from. I do feel bad for her, I hear they’re painful, but if I come down with a case of them then she’s in big trouble mister.

Finally, we get a call from the vet on Saturday telling us that Lexi (the pooping dog) does in fact have ringworm. That is FABULOUS. Especially since we’re out-of-town and she’s staying with my parents, one of  whom already has shingles. I knew she had ringworm. I knew it. The vet should have listened to me instead of dismissing it as dry skin. So now, after weeks of petting her and scratching her “dry skin” I’m sure I’ll come down with ringworm on top of my shingles right around Christmas.  

Many wonderful things happened too during Thanksgiving but I’ll save those for another time. For now I’m going to go rub Tough Actin’ Tinactin on my poor ringworm riddled dog.