Wednesday, June 28
During my Monday morning shower, I had some visitors. I took some pictures of the party we had in the shower, I hope you enjoy.
Now, Linus has always jumped into the shower with us. He likes getting wet. What can I say? He's a little confused about his species. Huck, on the other hand, had just realized that he can move the wall (curtain) between him and I. He was soaking wet when I got out.
PS: If you haven't heard the news yet, I'm not going home over the 4th of July. I told Todd, and he said Lisa would be calling me, and it didn't happen. So I'm a little worried that you didn't hear, and I tried calling a few times yesterday and Mason said he'd tell Lisa I called, and then I called at night because sometimes messages have weird timing, like they don't get given for a few weeks, and there was no answer that time. I'm really really sorry, but I can't do anything about it, can't make money fall off the tree. (Wouldn't that be a neat trick?) So, anyway, we're thinking about making a trip later this summer, the at-least-three of us. I'll let you know before it happens. I'm really upset that I can't come up. I'm sorry, Lisa. I might send your present home with my mom. It's sort of a Merry 4th of Birthamasday gift, if you get what I'm sayin'.
Friday, June 23
I don't think it will be easy to tell everyone all about my life, and I have a feeling it might take more than one post to get it all out in the open, but I'm willing to give it a shot.
The memories I have of being a child are very few. I remember our yard, when I was three, and loving that we had many trees to play in. Weeping Willows, I learned when I was older. I played in the branches for hours, until my mom would call me into the house or my Grandpa Roy would come to visit. When he came to visit (during my Grandma Mavis' shifts at work), I would squeal and then run into the house for a stack of books. I always wanted to be read to, and he was always delighted to read to me. The higher the stack, the better, according to Grandpa Roy. He read me them all.
When Grandma Mavis retired from the nursing home, Grandpa Roy didn't visit us as often. His readings were fewer, and Mom didn't have two hours a day to devote to my stories, and she bought me some books on tape. Disney, mostly. My favorites were Bambi and The Fox and the Hound. (Now, every time I look at Huck I think, "I'm a Hound Dog!") I listened to them all the time, and read along with the pictures and words.
I remember the first time that reading really "Clicked" with me. I was in the third grade, and we were reading "Socks" by Beverly Cleary. I'm very into animals, and I think I always have been. Mom says that she was always worried about me as a toddler, for fear that I'd wander off and try to make friends with a rabid racoon, or a bear. I believe her. I would still like to make friends with a rabid racoon, or a bear. One could say it's a lifelong dream.
Perhaps you could tell me (on your own blog, unless you don't have one) the start of the story that you think defines you as you. I'd love to read it. If you feel like it, send me the link. You know I'm always interested in that sort of thing.
Oh, and I'm also totally not bitching about B anymore.
I think that was PMS.
Yeah, I know, I totally had a week of talking about it (sorry guys!) and then it wasn't even coming yet. My body throws off false signals.
I'm going home for 4th of July. Driving again, a full 12 hour trip again. God help me again. It's ok, I sort of like to drive that route. Hopefully this time I won't be hacking up a lung all the way back, because that was less than pleasant. I'm still holding out hopes that Bruce will be able to join me for a few days. I do know that I'm bringing Huck with me. Dad was pretty excited. Maybe I'll talk them into getting a puppy after all. Maybe that's why Bruce isn't feeling it, he's really looking forward to a vacation from the puppy. That can't be true, can it?
I just walked into the bedroom because I heard the tinkling of little bells. Linus and Huck were sitting in the middle of the bed, Huck with Linus's detatched collar in his mouth, chewing away. Linus was watching. They both looked up at me as if to ask what the hell I was looking at.
I'm starting a new thing, I call it "Stream of Consciousness Fridays". Fun!
Thursday, June 22
Wednesday, June 21
Tuesday, June 20
Bruce is supposed to be at work at 8:30, and it takes him about 20 minutes to get into town. Bruce likes to get up at 6:45 and sit at the computer until after 8:00, when he takes his shower and then runs around the house with his arms flailing above his head asking me stupid questions like, "Where are all my shirts? I swear I had more shirts. Where did I put my shorts? No, not those green ones, the OTHER green ones?" while I'm trying to sleep. It's a good time.
Saturday, June 17
When the keyboard keyboard arrived, I had a look at it, oohed and ahhed appropriately, and let him play with it for a while. A few hours later, he was bemoaning his lack of piano knowlege to me - it seems he didn't really know the basics of making pleasing sounds from a (musical) keyboard. I mentioned that I'd taken piano lessons as a kid, and went over to see what I could show him. Turns out that I have more than three musical bones in my body, and I was able to show him some simple chords. It has never really sunk in that music runs in my blood - I guess it's because I focus harder on other things - but it's there. I'm not sure how many of you were dragged to piano lessons at a smelly old lady's house when you were between the ages of five and eleven, but if there are any, maybe you should get your hands on a piano and see what stuck. It's kind of intriguing. I don't remember any real songs (not even Mary had a Little Lamb, truth be told), but I remember the stuff that fascinated me, such the scales. I played them for Bruce, and I think he loves me more now. Haha, just kidding. He for sure loves me more now.
All that to lead up to where we ended up today. Cam, Bruce and I went into Springfield. They were looking for musical objects, I was looking for something in the music store that wouldn't be completely boring. Turns out (because I found some piano books to curb my boredom) that I got through Book 3 in one series, started on Book 4 before I quit. I barely remember holding a knife to my own throat and threatening to cut if my mom didn't let me quit what I considered a soul-sucking hobby. Little did I know how interested I would be at 25, eh? After figuring out exactly where I left off in my piano training, I found the guys. They were looking at electric components to musical stuff - some sort of boards? It maybe had to do with USBs? I don't pay that much attention to that stuff - and persuaded Bruce to join me in the accoustic nook.
This store was having a "closed door" sale. That means that they were selling some (most) of their inventory for a VERY discounted price. It was a selfish move, I'm the type of girl who will listen to bluegrass and old rock'n'roll before I'll turn to a station that plays hits from today (Hell, I've even been known to listen to Conservative Talk Radio, if noting else, it gets me fired up), and I will fall down and swoon at anyone playing accoustic guitar. As long as they're not completely gross. Sometimes even then, if I close my eyes and they don't talk too much. I love to see Bruce picking his way on a new guitar, it totally makes me hot.
When we got to the accoustic nook, I took a look around, thinking about learing to play guitar. Not much, mind you, maybe some folk tunes that would be suitable for around a campfire. After all, that's my favorite type of music. I was looking around, and I immediately spotted a beautiful guitar. I figured it would be the most expensive one there, but we weren't exactly looking (at all) - at the store we'd been at before this one, I fingered the electric I liked the best, and lo and behold it was the most expensive one on the wall - but it had no price tag and I figured there would be no harm in him playing on it a little bit.
(Here is where I was going to post pictures of the beautiful instrument, so y'all could oooh and aaahhhh over it, but I'm under strict instructions to get pictures what don't make peoples' guts stick out first. Apologies. It's beautiful.) Bruce strummed it for a few minutes, commenting that (unlike the other one he'd tried off the wall) it was perfectly in tune, before realizing that it has a built-in tuner. It's also an accoustic/electric - you can plug it into an amp! Bruce was stoked, this is exactly the sort of guitar he's been looking for. He gave his accoustic to his dad for Christmas because he hardly ever played, and he knew his dad wanted one badly. Also, he said, he wanted a guitar he could plug into an amp if he wanted to. This was a perfect match, but we were still thinking in theory. Until, that is, the employee found out the price for us. It was a $329.00 guitar, on sale for today only for $239.00. We brought the beauty home with us, and Bruce is at Cam's house playing it as we speak. If I really want to learn to play guitar, this is the instrument I will play on. It's pure heaven to look at, and it's even better to listen to. Pure music.
(Here is where I would post another picture, if there wasn't any gut involved. Seriously, even the cracked-out guy who was at the checkouts at the same time as us was eyeing it up. After noting that it was ours now, he got insanely jealous, and told us over and over again that it was "spectacular". Seriously. It's that beautiful. You don't have to take a crackhead's word for it, though, I'll show you so many pictures later this week that you'll be begging for mercy. Really. Just believe me, it's pretty.)
Thursday, June 15
i stopped by pet warehouse and got them some food
and a pooperscooper
and some more little treats for when he goes outside
and i picked up a cow hoof because i remember how much my dogs LOVED THEM bruce
(and i think he knows how to sit, and i don't remember actually teaching him, but he knows what to do)
i always grabbed him and hold him back
he sits when I say sit, that's all i know, it's pretty freaky
he learns fast
so anyway, now the whole house smells a little like beef jerky bruce
which, depending upon your point of view might be really good or really gross
i'm choosing to forget that it's a part of a dead cow making it smell like that and just think, "MMmm, beef jerky"
so maybe you should do that too
- Chicken Soup for the Cat Lover's Soul Adult Cat Food
- Chicken Soup for the Puppy Lover's Soul Puppy Food
- One Cow Hoof
- ~One Pound "By The Pound" Small Dog Treats
- One Pnutz(TM) brand dog treat
Wednesday, June 14
And yet, I still don't prepare. What's wrong with me?
I get the stomach upset, too, usually the day before/the day of. Also a feeling of hopelessness about my life and my status and my future. Crampiness only on the day of, and not until a few minutes too late to be any sort of warning signal. It's fun to be around, I swear! Just ask Bruce.
Also, like Jess, I need to sulk and mope and feel bad for a while before I admit something might be amiss with my hormones. But like Susan, I seem to forget every month, genuinely, why it might be that I'm cranky. Is denial one of the symptoms? Worth checking into...
Tuesday, June 13
Speaking of women and being proactive as a female in general, Twisty has had some bad news lately. Although I don't recommend posting at her site without having a pretty solid dislike for the patriarchy, I do recommend reading through some of her brilliant postings about it.
I never really considered myself a feminist before a few months ago. I always saw myself as a regular person, living my life, being pretty pissed off when a guy chose me for a job because I was hot and young. Being irritated by the women-folk around me who would play dumb or vulnerable to get attention or special treatment. And how sad is it that I really don't want to be labeled as a feminist, because of all the stigmata that goes with it?
No, I'm not a fucking butch lesbian. No, I haven't been embittered by a man who "Done me wrong". No, I'm not a bitch. But the more I read of that website, the more I realize that it's not about stereotypes, it's about overcoming them. She's an incredibly intelligent woman, sharing her view with the rest of us. She needs to be around for a lot longer. That's all I know. I don't want to be labeled as a feminist.
Really, all I've ever wanted was to be seen as a person. Period. I read her blog because I think that's what her point is. We all just want to be seen as people.
But speaking of periods, I've been staying up late tonight. I suspect that the unspoken reason for that is due to my general sense of discontent all day long and a suspicion that I will be getting it at some point during the night. It's now 3:20 AM and it hasn't happened, and I'm ready to throw in the towel and say 'To hell with it'.
I've always been a middle-of-the-night sort of gal, what about the rest of you?
Now that you're older, what symptoms do you look for before the actual "coming"?
I've never had a schedule that was worth Jack. They say you're supposed to become more regular with age, but I've always been sort of willy-nilly. Are you, too?
Thanks for the girl talk. I miss my girls, and need a fix every now and again.
Sunday, June 11
Early this morning, Bruce woke up to take the dog out. He'd had his contact lenses in all night, as he tends to forget to take them out after we've been drinking, and we'd been drinking. His eyesight was a little blurry, and he couldn't tell exactly what had caught Huck's attention in the yard. It looked like a very plump stick to Bruce.
It wasn't a plump stick, it was actually a plump dead animal. Bruce was reasonably grossed out, and stopped Huck from playing with it and brought him back inside. He was unable to sleep afterwards, because the animal was very very dead and gross, and would have given him nightmares. He wasn't sure what to do with the squirrel(?) so he left it in the yard.
I woke up around 11:30 and was told about the horrors in the yard, but I pretty much blew it off. Bruce is way easier to gross out than I am, and I guess I thought he was exaggerating. Or maybe that it was a nightmare he'd had the night before. It wasn't, turns out. Turns out, there was a grey blob out in the middle of our yard. I didn't get too close. We were both pretty hung-over, and I think we were hoping it would evaporate or something, because it's just too cruel to bestow a couple of hung-over bastards with an animal so dead that it's species is indeterminate. That's just wrong. When I look back, it probably wasn't a good idea to just let it simmer in the ninety-degree heat, but at the time it seemed like the best plan. When we took Huck out during the day, we'd tie him to his tether and try to pretend he wasn't straining at the end of it, trying to get close enough to chew on the dead animal.
Later this afternoon, I realized that I had left my coffee cup on the (perfectly good) coffee table on the patio, and slipped outside very quickly to retrieve it. I'd just brought the dog back in, and didn't want to spend another minute in the heat waiting to see if he could work up some urine. I went back inside just as carefully, and watched a few more episodes of Buffy (season four, if you're into that sort of thing). I had been inside for about a half an hour before I started looking around the house for Huck. He wasn't in the office, nor was he laying on top of the air-conditioning vent. I looked behind the couch, but no luck. Really, he's never been so small that he could get lost in this house. I began to get a very bad feeling. A very very bad feeling. I steeled myself up and walked to the back door and peered through the blinds. I didn't steel myself enough.
That's right, my lovely puppy was sitting on the patio, happily muching on a carcass of indeterminate species. I flipped my top, freaked the fuck out, and wrenched open the door, wrenched him off the damn thing, and wrenched him again when he dove for all he was worth to get back to his snack. I almost wretched as I picked up the dog and hauled him back inside. I stood with my back to the door, heaving, trying to block the mental image of the body, and those little teeth sticking out of it, with it's thin little rat tail. I tried not to wonder about whether it was actually a rat, or if it was a squirrel that had lost it's tail fur. I tried hard not to wonder if my darling puppy was the one who ripped the fur out. I mostly tried hard to breathe and to stay vertical against the door, as if the thing was going to try to get in.
I don't know how I managed to get the story out to Bruce, but I do know that it took some hand gestures. He was even more nauseated than me, and utterly disgusted with the dog. We started formulating a plan of action. It was a difficult scenario, not one I've ever done any preparing for. How exactly does one plan for removing a carcass from their back patio? What tools are required? I settled on an old beach towel and one of our grilling tongs. No way was I going to get close enough to the thing to actually feel it. Just the thought of having to feel it squish under the tongs was almost too much. I wasn't sure if I could do it, but I knew, I knew that Bruce wouldn't be able to. That's about the time that the hysteria set in.
I started laughing. You know the kind I'm talking about, that breathless what-the-hell-am-I-doing laughing. The kind where you're not making a sound, and all that's coming out is a sort of wheezy gasping, as you realize this is going to be one of those times that will etch itself in your memory. Bruce was pacing back and forth on the dining room floor, grumbling, yelling at the dog, and for a split second I thought he was going to slap me, try to bring me out of it. Instead, he started laughing too. What else was there to do? What else can you do in that situation?
When we got our breath back, I told him my plan. He made a sick face, nodded, and went to move our garbage container from the garage to the outdoors. No way were we going to let that thing sit in any part of our house for four days while we waited for the trash men to come by. I made two false starts to the back door before I was able to open it. I knew right away that I hadn't prepared myself enough.
There it was, just where it'd been, spread-eagled all over our patio. Huck saw me pause and took the opportunity to jump out of the house and lunge himself onto the body again, and I tore him off with my towel and my tongs in hand. He yelped, more out of surprise than anything else, I yelled at him and threw him back into the house. I slammed the door shut behind him, threw the towel over the top of the rat/squirrel, and tried to brace myself to pick it up with the tongs.
Our landlord was at the back end of our yard, by the fence, watching me. With his wife. And his daughter. (Who moved into the duplex on the other side of us. We live in a landlord's family sandwich now.) They were all there to witness it. I think they were waiting to see if I would be able to do it, see just how ballsy I was, and when they saw I was determined, and what my plan was, The Landlord started laughing, and his whole family started laughing, and then I started laughing again, and he came over and helped me. I got a trash bag, and because he's a man's man with balls of steel (and apparently a cast-iron stomach), he used the bag to pick it up ("Like I pick up dog poop!") and I tied a knot in the top, being careful not to look at it very closely, and walked it to the trash.
Then I came inside and died immediately. I know I joked around about the June bugs, but really? When your dog has been munching on a carcass of indeterminate species on your patio and you just had to pick it up and throw it away, and now you have to live with an animal that likes chewing on dead things? That's when there's no real reason to go on living. Even if you pour listerine on a dishrag and wipe out the dog's mouth.
Happy Monday everyone!
Saturday, June 10
Friday, June 9
I realized today as I was cleaning the bathroom before work that three
days ago I was folding laundry before work, because I'd rather be
doing anything than getting ready for work, that I'm nuts. Why am I
doing this to myself?
I mean, the side effects of clean laundry and a cleared bathroom
counter are great, but at the cost of my sanity? I don't think it's
PS: Have any of you tried that Chlorox bath wand or whatever fairy
name they gave it? Is it any good? Does it work well, but leave
behind a residue unless you wipe behind it (because then, what's the
point, really?) I'm in the market for something to make cleaning the
bathroom easier. Any ideas?
Wednesday, June 7
So when Linus was sitting on Bruce's chest on Wednesday night, recieving some love, I decided it was a perfect time to clip the Claws of Death.
So we're clipping his nails:
Sarah: Wow, Linus, your claws are SUPER LONG AND SHARP!
Bruce: Jesus, cat! Look at those things!
Linus: I sharpen zem on ze hide of ze beaste.
[Note: Sentances in italics are not actually spoken by the cat, but by either Bruce or myself in lieu of a talking cat. Does anyone else talk for their pets? Linus has a generic european trash accent (think french with a dash of italian, maybe? Huck speaks in a very low, very southern drawl.]
My darling husband has taken off with our puppy for a jaunt to the neighbor's house to play a video game. The puppy is scheduled for some high-energy romping with the neighbor dog. They've been gone for less than an hour, and I'm so lost.
Sure, it's hard work keeping a constant ear out for sudden silence (a sure sign that someone is eating the cat poop or his Mama's knitting), being followed everywhere you go (having to be extra careful now, not to step on anyone), and venturing outside more times every day than I had previously been outside in two years. Sure, it's a little annoying to be constantly listening to the whine of the cat as they rough-house, it's irritating to clean up the little puddles that happen when you're just too worn out to remember that he probably has to go (AGAIN!). It's constant. There's nothing half-way about having a spanking-new puppy in the house. It's everything, it's everywhere, and it's 24/7 all the time, baby, no time for time off, cause it's about to shit all over the floor.
So, naturally, I suggested taking the pup down the street for a little dog-on-dog bonding so I could have the place to myself for a few blessed moments' respite from the... Well, from the constantness of it all.
And now I'm lonely.
Sunday, June 4
I'm sorry I'm so intermitanty with my posting as of late. Puppies are lots to deal with. I promise that as soon as I don't have to follow him around every waking second of his life worried that he will pee or poop or chew on something unacceptable, I will be so posting all the damn time.
Did I mention I love you guys?