Casualty

My theory is, if it ain't broke, don't fix it!

Ok, so that's not my "actual" theory. In fact, many people would say that I tend to gallavant around, fixing things that have no business being messed with. In fact, I've gotten into trouble for fixing things that weren't in need of help. So I fix things. What's the big whoop?

We have a first casualty in this puppy-verse. It may seem like a small thing, but to those of you with eyes that burn (BURN) with the rages of a thousand firey suns when the guy with the farm in your backyard decides that it's time to "make hay" thereby leavng you "helpless" and "blind" until you get your "allergy relief" eyedrops (which also BURN, and BURN MORE the worse they were BURNING to begin with, but also make things better in the long run), well, it won't seem like I'm exaggerating.

Seriously, dog, I'm sure they're not all that tasty. Perhaps that's why there's only one puncture?



Didn't see it? Let me make things more blurry for you.



Got it now? Well, I've spent many a sleepless night (hello, crying puppy!) thinking about ways to use this eyedropper. After all, it's very important! Eyedropper full of magical elixer that hurts (SO MUCH, IT BURNS IT BURNS) and then taketh away my blindness. I see the light! Obviously, this fluid is not to be wasted. So I sit up at night (I LOVE MY PUPPY NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES HE HAS TO PEE) and try to dream up ways to use the drops.

My first instinct was to take an empty eyedropper of the same fluid and try to magically become coordinated enough to slightly squeeze the drops out of the full bottle while un-squeezing (gently) the empty bottle, hoping that it would suck up the drops that fell as they were being squeezed from the wounded full bottle. People, this is HARD. And here I thought I was good because I could rub my tummy and pat my head. That is NOTHING compared to perfectly timed squeezing and unsqueezing. Let me tell you.

I mime my process for your pleasure:

No, I wasn't drinking when I came up with this idea. Although it might
have been wise to claim drunkeness. I was drinking when I took the picture, though.

Then there came the fantastic idea of taking a plastic baggie (stop me if you've heard this one), poking a needle into one of the corners, and then squeezing the contents of the eyedropper into the un-poked corner of the bag, and then squeezing the air out of the empty bottle and putting the hole next to it as I un-squeezed the dropper. Yeah. I know. I'm glad I didn't try that one either.

I don't have any pictures, it was that bad of an idea.

And then tonight, I finally had the answer! Eureeka!



If it ain't broke...

Vocabulary

1. Huck!
2. HUCK!
3. Huckleberry...
4. HUCKLEBERRY HOUND
5. Come here.
6. COME HERE!
7. Noooo...
8. NO!
9. NONONONONONO OUTSIDE!
10. Good boy!
11. GOOD BOY!!!
12. GOOD BOY OUTSIDE GO POTTY OUTSIDE GOOD BOY!
13. NO BITING!

I was going to try to think up some more, but thirteen has a certain ominous ring to it, much the way I'm feeling lately.

Retribution!

Remember yesterday and the week before, when I was totally bemoaning the existence of myself, if said existence meant living in a world where there were June bugs? Well, my hesitation has passed.



My hesitation is gone the way of the idea of us as a two person (and cat, therefore making us a three person) household. We are now a four-person household (if you choose to use the term "person" lightly, as I choose), and the fourth member of this house (Huck) is not only as upset by June bugs as I am, he's willing to go much further in his general aggrieviation*. That is to say, he's willing to put them out of their misery before they show any signs of misery. That is to say, he will eat them at any and all opportunities.

I can't say that I have denied this pleasure, in fact I may have encouraged him. A few "Good boy!!"'s go a long way with a tiny puppy, you know. Needless to say, I will be consulting the online message board with which I am most familiar as to the ramifications of my actions. Hopefully, the worst 15 June bugs can do to a pup's diet is give him extra fiber.

Cross your fingers.

*I suppose that in my boxed-wine induced state last night, I thought this (the made-up word there**) meant the state of making one aggrieved. The world may never know.

**Looks like it could be a real word, though, doesn't it?

June Bugs

Remember last week, when I was talking about the June bug? My all-time least favorite bug? The bug that got in my shoe in the dark one time and it was gross and I touched it and almost died? It's May, and no one told the June bugs in Missouri.

I was outside reading earlier, and there was a flock of June bugs. A flock, I say! At first there was only one, and then he had idiotically maneuvered himself onto his back (as June bugs are idiotically apt to do), and so that was fine. I was fine with the June bug lying in his semi-prone position, because I knew exactly where he was. And then there were two, and eventually they were both (idiotically) on their backs, and then it was fine then, too. But then three more came by, and they all had a June bug party, mocking me at every turn, flying just close enough to me to make me almost freak out, and then buzzing their disgusting fat bodies back to the light bulb. Speaking of which, what is it that makes bugs fly into the light like that? I like to think it's like that scene in A Bug's Life.

[two mosquitoes fly near a bug zapper; one flies towards it, as if in a trance]
Mosquito #1: Larry, no! Don't look at the light!
Mosquito #2: [entranced] I-can't-help-it. It's-so-beautiful.
[Larry gets zapped, falls]

Anyway, I thought it would be wise from now on to read (read: smoke) in the garage with the door open from now on, at least when the puppy is already asleep. But when I went out there a few minutes ago, the June bug party decided to join me there, too! At least in the garage, there is more space for them to buzz around, and you'd think that would mean they would harass me less. Not so! They harass me equally as much out there. I swear, I'm their entertainment. This one June bug, he flew perilously close to my head, and I smacked him with my book. I didn't mean to smack him hard, I just wanted to re-direct him, maybe make him think about where he was flying and whether using me for his entertainment was really worth it. Imagine my horror when I appeared to have wounded the disgusting bug, and it sat on the cement floor of the garage with one wing askew.

I cry fairly easily, but I'm able to (barely) hold it back when it's a June bug.

I watched it for a few minutes. I warned it that it better get it's act together and stop faking it if it didn't want to be put out of it's misery. I even tapped his wing back into place because I wasn't sure if it was just, I don't know, out of joint or something. I gave him more chances than most people would have given a June bug, but in the end, he was too far gone.

So I smooshed him with the spine of my book.

How to be Good

I just re-started How to be Good by Nick Hornby. I started it originally a few months ago, and I stopped on page 27. I remember thinking that the book was too depressing, and placing it on the bookshelf to look at again "someday". "Someday" turned out to be yesterday, when I was taking the dog out hurriedly (he was circling around like he meant business, so I picked him up and quickly grabbed the first available reading material from the shelf - my current read was in the garage, and too far away for reaching in emergencies), and I'm not seeing what I was seeing the first time I read it. The content is the same, which is slightly reassuring, because I've always got a paranoia in the back of my head that I've got this mental illness where I hallucinate my entire existance. "Phew!" I think, "I'm not hallucinating after all! Or at least not this part!" I bet y'all are just waiting to hear I'm schizophrenic after that revelation, aren't ya?

So, in any case, the book is exactly the same, but my attitude seems to have improved since the last time I read it, and I'm finding it very engaging and funny. It's exactly the sort of book I like to read, and I'm looking forward to reading his other novels ("someday").

I have another paranoia, this time it has very little to do with mental illness. Every time I fill out a job application, I forget what I wrote down mere seconds after finishing, and then spend the next few weeks terrorizing myself with what I might have written. It's like a story Lisa told me once. She had just finished an application to a Harley Davidson store, and was driving away when she realized that when they asked for her "weaknesses", they probably weren't looking for answers like "food", which is what she'd written. That's exactly what I'm worried about. That and being schizophrenic.

Man, this entry is all over the place, huh? Goodnight!

Conflicted

I was called in to work extra hours today.

Notice that I am home early.

I'm happy because I'm able to spend the time with the boys.

I'm disappointed with the reason I left work.

I can't say anything else about that here.

Bruce is the best thing that ever happened to me.

My Dad Said

"Waste not, want not", and so he ate the burnt toast. I didn't know that he didn't prefer it that way until I was twelve.

"I like it black", and so I made the coffee Cowboy Style. I learned to like it that way. I can barely drink weak coffee.

"To each his own", and I am confident in my differences from others. He never let me doubt myself or my preferences.

"Do unto others...", and I treat people the way I would hope to be treated. There is not a cruel bone in his body.

"Rub his nose in it", and I try to find another way. Someone told me recently that a puppy doesn't become fully aware of their bladder until they're twelve weeks old. I hope our puppy is advanced, so I don't have to resort to my father's teachings.

Just in this one case.

First I Thought I Would be a Sneaky Pete...

But then I thought, "Hey, what better way to coerce Jessica into coming to see us?"

Presenting a present for the lovely lady:







Details below.

Pattern: Odessa
Yarn: KnitPicks Merino Style in Petal
Beads: 6/0 beads from Ebay in a slightly darker pink
Overall Satisfaction: I'm pretty damn pleased with it. We'll hold off the final judgement until the recipient comes down to see it, ok?

I never decide if I really like a gift until I see the reaction it gets. Jess gave me free reign with the specific colors, only telling me she wanted it to be "Pink". I'm pretty sure I got the pink part down, but I don't know for certain if she wanted it this pink. You know?

So, Jess, what do you say? I realize this might hold more weight if it was the middle of winter (like, for example, when you requested it), but I hope you like it enough to want it ASAP. :)

Huck's a STAR!

I hope Miss R doesn't mind me posting this, I thought you all would enjoy it as much as we did. Only 8 weeks old, and he's already famous!

In my class yesterday I needed a topic for writing. Huck was the first thing that popped in my head! My kids really enjoyed writing about your new baby and at the end of the lesson, they REALLY enjoyed looking at the pics that you guys have posted of him.

At recess they draw pictures of him and fight over who loves Huck more! It's so freakin cute!

I think you may have an official fan club. :)

I took some pics of the lesson on the board because I thought you'd get a kick out of it...

HUCK'S A STAR!!

Love,

Miss R******'s First Grade Class

We love hearing about your class!

Happy Anniversary

My mom thinks our new addition is a prelude to greater things. She also told me that the first year is the very hardest in any marriage, and that all years after the first will seem like a piece of cake in comparison. I didn't tell her my real reason for being relieved. My first year with Bruce has been a year of joy, a year of discovery, and most often a year of reassurances. He has reassured me more often than I can count that I am a real person, with valid and valuable opinions, and that I am more than deserving of every sort of love. He's given me all the sorts of love that I could have imagined before meeting him. He's showed me in every concievable way that there is nothing in his heart but love for me, love for all that I am as a person, and I can only hope that my first year with him has been full of such wonderful revelations for him as well. I want nothing more than for my husband, and all of the people I love, to know how very much they are worth. I want to spend the rest of my years with Bruce giving back all he has given me and more. He's my one true partner.

Friday, May 12 was our first wedding anniversary. We spent the morning doing what we do best - I at the computer and he at his video game - and then went out for breakfast. (It took some doing - I wanted breakfast, he wanted to stay home for a while, and then go to breakfast.) We first went shopping for a manual lawn mower. The fact that we have been shopping at antique malls in the area should give you an idea of how hard it will be for us to find one. By the time we were done shopping, I was aching for eggs bennidict, and we went to Village Inn to feed my craving.

While we were there, we perused the classified section of the local newspaper. Luckily for us, there were several potential puppies available. We were decided on one of four breeds of pup: the scottie, the dachshund(s), and the basset hound(s). We came back home and Bruce started calling them up, leaving messages on at least three machines before he got through to someone. It was the basset hound breeder. She was at a store a few miles away, would be there for a while, and invited us to come down and see the puppy. Right after that phone call, we got a call from the lady who was selling the scottie. She was quick to tell us that he had "an overbite, but he's very sweet and perfectly fine." I was skeptical about this, because in my experience, a salesperson doesn't bring up a fault unless they know it will be noticed immediately, and an overbite can be a serious thing for a small dog. Bruce called a local vet clinic and they told us that we couldn't be sure unless we saw the puppy, and that if the teeth lined up (top and bottom) reasonably, there shouldn't be a problem with them. That was enough to convince us that we weren't interested, and we instead headed out to see a woman about a basset hound.

We took a tour of the store she was at and when we didn't see her we bought a paper to call her from a payphone. (We forgot the stupid ad at home.) She reassured us that she was indeed there, in the one place we hadn't looked before we gave up. We then went back and (of course) found her right away.

The minute she took the little boy out of the crate, we were doomed. I think Bruce knew it before I did. He spent only a minute or two on niceties with the woman before running off to the ATM for some cash.

This is the best gift I could ever ask for, another unconditional love of my life. Happy Anniversary, Bruce.







PS: Check out those HUGE paws!

"I'm Your Huckleberry."

That's right, you sure are.

Isn't this the coolest thing ever?

This Just In:

Apparently, the cat thinks my ass resembles a scratching post.

Continue about your day.

Adventures in Prey-Catching

Just a few minutes ago I was reading some blogs when I heard a crash from the living room. Knowing that Bruce was asleep in the bedroom, I immediately stood up as quietly as possible with all intentions of catching the Linus in the act of something. He was so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn't even look up as I came in the room. That's when I noticed that he had on his stalking-face (the same one he gets when he decides my foot has twitched in a very delicious-looking manner), and that he was peering down into one of the cracks in the cushions of the couch.

Bug! Good Linus! Catch the buggy, eat him if you must. I mentally applaud any and all efforts on his behalf to rid us of household pests. Mentally, because Bruce is much more likely to get disgusted and scold him for eating things that are alive, and I don't want to gross Bruce out by cheering him on. The cheering (mental or otherwise) usually stops when and if there is crunching involved anyway. Crunching = Gross. But I digress.

So Linus was peering into the cracks of the couch most curiously and I wanted to help him out. I'm a good mom in that respect. I approached and spread the cushions apart to allow him greater access to his prey, and almost shit myself when I saw what was in there.

This! That disgusting thing was in there! That thing that crawled into my shoe in the dark one summer on the way home from the roller skating rink at the county park and then when I put my foot back into my shoe it was there and it MOVED and CRUNCHED and may possibly have BITTEN me, that thing! Was! In! My! Couch!

It appeared to be dead, but it was Not! Dead! And Linuses had lost all interest in it the second that it started appearing dead. So I did the only sensible thing a woman can do when her good-for-nothing cat is disinterested and her bug-killing husband is asleep.

I made myself a PMOP and took it outside. What, you think I'd make it crunch?

New Asian Alert

Has anyone else noticed that they switched asians on Law and Order SVU? They even gave him the same haircut. How many people just assumed it was the same asian?

Gah.

"Drive Safe!"

I cant't really say how many times someone told me that before I drove back to Missouri after my little vacation.

"I always do!"

Would be a fine responce, if I wasn't counting the times I woke up terribly sick, almost fell asleep during the first three hours of driving, was so out of it that I missed the passage from Wisconsin into Illinois (I missed seeing it, that is, I got there fine. Only because there are no exits), and then cough so hard that I almost drove off the road. A few times. Crazy scary, right?

And now I'm stuck being sick for my first week back at work after vacation. Blegh.

At some point, I'll show you some pictures from my trip, ok?

Renovation

My Bruce always but always knows just how to intrigue me. Last night on the phone, he made sure to tell me that while I'm away, he's been doing some "projects" around the house to keep himself busy.

Immediately I'm hoping the bathroom isn't painted puce when I get there.

And yes, I realize that the "projects" are probably related to our sound system somehow, and have nothing to do with a new deck or a puce bathroom.

It seems like this time alone is doing him a lot of good. I'm making a mental note to make some friends so that he gets to be alone sometimes.

How to Know You're at My Parents' House

There are a few steps one must take. They include, but are not limited to:

1. Know where the spare key is hidden.
2. Find the snoring of the other inhabitant(s) soothing, when and if you notice. Rarely notice it.
3. Turn on the oven before you turn on the burners, without giving it a second thought, because the only way the burners light is if you have the oven on. Refuse to think this is odd.
4. Negotiate a path through the house including several flights of stairs (of varying steepocity and widthiness) when extremely drunk and/or with your eyes closed.
5. Fall backwards into your favorite spot on the couch on the first try.
6. Bring home leftovers knowing they will be eaten by someone else in the family. Specifically try to have leftovers so you can bring them home for them.
7. Avoid the squeaky parts of the stairs every time.
8. By cough and the length of their strides be able to discern who is awake and what mood they're in.

Just a sampling. How do you recognize your parents' home(s)?