Peep Toes and Tea Bags

I knew I was off to a bad start yesterday when I had to finish putting my makeup on in the bathroom at work. Yeah, it was going to be one of those days. After I put my face on and headed to my desk, I noticed that my right foot hurt. Seriously? I had decided to wear my cute new peep toe shoes. Come on, it was supposed to be like 45 degrees which is practically 80 in Iowa after the hellishly cold winter we had. I was feeling me some Spring Fever people! I sat down and took my shoe off. YUP, sure enough, there is a small patch of skin missing from my heel. Bitch!

I got a Band-Aid from my kitty-corner cube mate and figured that should take care of it. Well, it worked for a few hours and I even resorted to taken off my new shoes to limit the damage. Frickin’ A….I bought the damn things because they had a lower heel and looked reasonably comfortable. WRONG! They decided they were not done eating my feet. When my shift ended and I was walking out of the building and noticed that my left big toe felt weird…like the wind was chilling it more than the big toe to the right. I looked down and wow, I had blood practically running down my toe. Son of a …………. Pretty sure I drove home with one shoe on.

This morning after my alarm went off….for the third time….I headed down the steps to hit the bathroom. Did my pee business and turned on the hall light. I have no idea what it is about being 5’2 but I tend to see things on the floor than most people. Obviously I pay more attention to certain things than my husband because what do you know, there was definitely stuff on the floor to notice this morning. Little rounded spots of bright red blood trailed across the hard wood floors in the hallway, living room and kitchen. WTF?

At that point I wasn’t sure if this was preferable to the morning I woke up to giant piles of dog vomit in the living room. I continued on my super sleuth path and followed the trail….right to a can of chicken breast that I had resorted to using last night for supper…..a can covered in blood. My frickin’ dog, that has a 5 ½ foot reach when he stands, pulled the opened and mostly empty can off the kitchen counter sometime last night and tried to eat the can. Literally eat it! There was paper littering the floor next to the blood pools and teeth marks in the tin can.

I turned him over on the couch (because what dog doesn't like to sleep on his back with all paws in the air?) and pried open his mouth. Sort of a nice way to say “Good morning” don’t ya think? I don’t see anything really. Checked his paws just in case, no cuts. Finished getting ready and went to work.

I got home tonight and let Diesel outside. For the poops and giggles off it I called him over to check his mouth. Bright red stains were on the white patch under his mouth and a little blood was pooling on his tongue still. Crap on toast! What the hell do you do when a dog has a cut on his tongue?? What any rational human being would do….call their spouse. No help there. So I went to plan B. I sat on my giant dog and pressed a wet tea bad on his tongue. You can about imagine how fun that was!

Perversion with the dog....but not the kind that lands you in jail!

     It started around Christmas. My family spoiled the new addition to our family, Diesel, our 90 pound adopted Labradane baby. He literally had his own presents around the Christmas tree. For his first Christmas with us he got a squeaky Reindeer, a new bone, an awesome giant ball made of strong sturdy yarn with handles for us to pull with, some treats and…..his Aunt gave him a Beaver….that squeaks. Never again do I want to hear my Mother (who calls herself Grandma to our dog) say, “Go lay down and chew your beaver.” That was about as mortifying as when she asked her daughters to explain what a camel toe was......

     So, we had a great time for awhile talking about my male dog and his new beaver. The beaver gets crusty after he plays with it too long, when you say “get your beaver" like any other male he cocks his head to the side and he is possessive of his beaver….if your forget to get it out of his bed he will scratch at the kennel door begging for it. Yeah, the beaver is pretty awesome. The only rule I have with this beaver is: there is only ONE beaver allowed on Mommy’s bed!

      On a recent trip to Wal-Mart, my husband found a new toy that will rival any old crusty beaver. It is a bright yellow, obnoxiously loud chicken. I kid you not, this thing squeals and squawks when you pick it up like it is dying….like a satanic baby or a sick and pain filled turkey that mated with that spawn of Satan. The frickin thing drives me crazy! But on the bright side, now we get to tell our dog to choke his chicken. I am going to hell aren’t I? My husband seems to enjoy shaking that chicken and does it when I leave the room…hello buddy….I know what you are doing in there, I can hear you!!! Even I have been tempted to choke the chicken, especially when my Dog drags the squawking thing upstairs to the bedroom at 3 in the morning to throttle his new toy.

     Yup, God save my future children from any toy they may receive that could possibly be turned into something perverse and twisted by my very own perverse and twisted mind. Now if you will excuse me, I have to stop my dog from choking his chicken too much…the beaver is starting to get jealous.

Nightie Power!

 

     So something I remember reading about awhile back was all about ways to keep the romance alive in your relationship and common mistakes couples make when they gotten to that, “Well, you are still here after this long so I guess there really isn’t much else I can do that will make you run screaming for the door” stage. One of the solutions was to sleep in cute little nightgowns and not your favorite jumbo sized tee and nasty bleach stained sweats. I am extremely offended by the writer of this article for a few reasons:

1. What the hell are you doing peeping in my windows looking at what I am going to bed in? What I put on first thing when I get home from work (and sometimes even stay in for a majority of the weekend) is none of your damn business!
2. Have you tried sleeping in a nightgown of any sort? A) The shorter ones ride up around your neck and by the time the alarm goes off the next morning you are thankful to be alive because you very well could have been strangled in undisturbed sleep.  Notice the emphasis on the word undisturbed. Why such emphasis you ask? Because the short nighty does not look remotely attractive as a bunchy floral scarf and defeats the purpose of putting it on in the first place.  B) The longer ones wrap and twist around your legs and feet (especially if you are 5’2 like me) and you end up stuck in your cocoon prison for the night unable to move, or get up to pee, or even consider adding any kind of romance to your night because, well, your legs are permanently stuck in the locked no entrance position. And C) If any lingerie stood a chance of staying on for more than 15 minutes, I might consider buying some, but again I ask, what is the point? Eventually I am going to have to get up and reach for my sweats anyway.
3. What are your suggestions for romantic sleepwear for men Mr. Sleepwear Expert (and I have to say Mr. because only a man would have a solution to romance like that)?? Banana hammocks really aren’t something I ever want to see my spouse sleeping in. Just the mental image I get of him even trying to put one of those things on makes me shudder. Another suggestion, sleeping in the nude? From my experience that just seems to guarantee a night of sleeping next to someone with no barrier of protection to guard my scarf nighty clad body from the sweaty man sheen on said body. 

 All of the sudden I am way more appreciative of the fact that my hubby spends most of his nights sleeping on the couch because of his insanely early work hours.

House Under Attack!

Boxelder bugs have taken residence in my house! Apparently they want to side with my Husband and try and prove a point that my house is the cool place to be…not a small Grandma house like I think it is. Yes, I know, it is a good house to start in, but the longer I am here the more I can envision some little old Blue hair sitting on a couch crocheting doilies and shit for her Grandchildren in MY tiny Grandma living room.

Back to the topic at hand - Boxelder bugs. Nasty little fuckers that are very hard to kill. Did you know that if you squish one, the others are attracted to that distinct odor they let off? Now what do I do?? Come up with new creative ways to rid myself of them.

The other morning I found out that they do. not. like Clorox. I throw back my shower curtain to begin my morning ritual and there are two chillin in the tub like they just went to some private spa and are holding little martinis in their creepy antennae. I literally said (out loud), “Now you have gone too far bugs!!”.….Dig through my bathroom cabinet and find some bathroom cleaner with Clorox in it. I continue my verbal tirade and hose the suckers in Clorox. The shit stings my eyes so it has to burn the hell out of their tiny lungs. *For fear of sounding completely sadistic, I will add this little tidbit….I felt bad while they had little mini seizures in the tub and scurried in circles to find a way out of the pain….but only for a moment because I clean up their corpses and find two more on the bathroom floor!!! Do they travel in pairs? Is there some fancy name for how they group together like herd or pack or flock?

At this point, the Clorox is overpowering (try to find your dead mate’s stink through that you little bastards!!) and my bathtub is sparkling so I need to come up with a new plan of attack. What to do, what to do?? I roll one little square toilet paper off of the roll and gently pick up pain in the ass number one and after scooping him up oh so carefully I proceed to cradle him all the way over to the toilet then FLING him in!! Surprisingly, Boxelders swim pretty well. I was afraid he was going to make his way to the side of the can and drag his little black and orange body up to safety so I tear off another hunk of toilet paper and throw it on top of him. My theory on this? If I was swimming around and someone threw a 30 pound blanket on top of me, I would drown. Boxelder weight = me in pool. Wet toilet paper wad = 30 pound wet blanket. My theory is sound and buggy can no longer move his creepy spider like legs. This method worked a lot quicker for pain in the ass two (or would he be four if we count the two poisoned in the shower?).

The next night I decide to try out a tactic to deter the box elder bugs…I heard that soapy water is supposed to repel them. Being as impatient as I am with the whole attack I am under, I see one above my kitchen sink by the window sill so I grab my big bottle of liquid dish soap and squirt a blob of it at his direction. Said Bug approaches the splat of soap, basically puts his first two feet in it and backs away. Success!! Now I just need to go outside and cover the entire outside of my house in dish detergent!!! Screw that….I just need to get my lazy ass to a local store and find some pet friendly, box elder bug killing (and repelling), fast acting, jumbo sized spray bottle of bug spray! They are obviously not fleeing in terror from the examples I have been trying to make of their cousins.




Cousin Josephine....before I flushed her down the toilet!



Fleeing the State

I have decided that I need to sell my house and move. Not for any important reason like high crime rate in the neighborhood or to shorten the 80 mile round trip I make every day to work, but for the simple fact that my address is BORING (Mediocrity rears its ugly head again). At my job I get to see thousands of addresses all around the country. My ADHD finds enjoyment in mocking people’s insane names (Honeybee? Really people??) and pointing out some really cool addresses. I get regular old Cedar Street. How normal is that? Today I realized, however, that I am not going to settle for a cooler street address, oh no, I need a better town name.

Did you know that there is a Cool, California? Or how about Hollidaysburg, Pennsylvania? So before today I was thinking Cool, California sounded awesome…but talk about pressure! Either the town has some sort of screening process to make sure you meet the necessary requirements to live in a town with a name such as that OR the people there are all of the kids that were bullied in school and being able to just live in a town called Cool makes them feel better about themselves. It could go either way. I could totally roll up with all of my shit packed into a horse trailer or clown car and step out with ginormous sunglass and hot pants and be all, “Look at me people. You thought this town was cool? You ain’t seen nothing yet!” but then I would risk the chance of being ran out of town by the sheriff in his Armani suit and tie driving his Aston Martin cop car, and that would sooo be the antithesis of cool.

Hollidaysburg, PA…the next one to catch my eye. Would living there be like going to an ugly Christmas sweater party every day? Would I be able to put up my holiday decorations and never take them down? Then my house would look like Hobby Lobby threw up on it every time there was an after Holiday sale. Is there a designated Holiday that the townsfolk worship? I don’t think I could put up with certain holidays every single day of the year….Saint Patty’s day? Green everywhere…the green puke flowing in the streets because of the mass quantities of colored beer being consumed on a daily basis. Wow, totally new thought, would I get Holiday pay every day?
 A lot of these places are pretty far from Iowa…maybe I should look closer to home. Dike, Iowa? Ummm….that would be a short stay, maybe something I would have considered in my brief stint in college, but I am married now ladies…..time to close up the muffin shop. Was that too much?? Oh well, moving on. What Cheer, Iowa. Ok, I can dig it. But wait, every time I try to figure out why in the hell someone would name a town What Cheer I think bad things. Was there a tragic bus accident while the local school was carting its prized cheerleaders to some cheerific competition and they all died screaming, “Give-me-an aaaaaaaaah shit!”? Nope, can’t do it…this girl has waaaay too much cheer to inflict major pain on such a small community when I walk down the street doing some high kicks and spread eagles.
 Today was the day!! The day that I found MY town. Little Egg Harbor in New Jersey. I have always had an obsession with New Jersey that pre-dates Jersey Shore, by the way. My plan is to head out there and find some big Victorian looking house and paint it pastel pink (maybe with some mint green stripes and lavender polka dots too), park a GIANT bunny and Easter egg in my front yard and then sit on my porch swing with rabbit ears on and scream/sing “Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopin’ down the bunny trail, hippity hoppity Easter’s on its way…..” at random strangers as they walk/run on by!!

You thought the Jersey Shore cast brought your state and culture shame….you have NOOO idea what is about to come your way New Jersey. That’s it for now…I have to go buy up cartloads of Easter grass and cadburry eggs now for my year round Easter egg hunts!