D for Dog

D is for Dog.  My sweet baby angel, Molly.  When the Chief and I moved in together, I decided to add a dog to the family.  We had a dog at the time, and I thought it would be a good idea to bring in another.  I went to the shelter by myself, and looked from cage to cage.  When I saw her, I asked if I could get some time in a room with her.  She was very timid, I knew she would be perfect.  She was 45 pounds at the time.  When I chose her, I had her on a leash at the front desk (paying my adoption fee).  I remember looking down at her feet and noticing how HUGE they were.  I asked if she was full grown and they informed me she was two years old and she wouldn’t be growing anymore.  I thought it was so strange that her feet were so big.  I took her home...six months and 45 pounds later she turned out to be HUGE.  

We were actually VERY lucky.  She is such a good dog.  She is still a bit timid.  She freaks out over weird noises or anything that clicks.  If you hold the remote control towards her, she cowers away.  Makes me wonder what happened to her as a puppy.  I can count on one hand how many times she has been naughty.  

She was having stomach problems, so the vet told us to put her temporarily on a rice and chicken broth diet. She was about four days in when I decided to bake a batch of peanut butter cookies.  After putting them on the counter to cool, we left the house to go run some errands.  I never thought twice about leaving food in her reach.  She had never taken anything off the counters before.  We came home and she ran under the table.  I knew immediately something was wrong.  I was shocked to find two cookies on the counter.  It was probably the first batch in three years that I hadn’t burned, and now they were gone.

The only other time I can remember her being naughty was very recent.  I came home upstairs to the bedroom and she followed me.  She went over to the bed and hesitated before going to her usual spot, under the bed.  That hesitation sent me straight over to the bed to see that she had spent the day laying ON TOP OF THE BED IN MY SPOT!!  I was furious.  I pulled the sheets off because I am EXTREMELY allergic to the dog and would not be able to sleep with her hair all over my bed.  The next day we left town for about a week.  To keep her off the bed, I lined both sides of the bed with pillows stacked up.  Then I put another line of pillows right down the middle.  This might not keep most dogs off, but I knew it would keep her off.  I figured with the bed already being tall, that with the pillows stacked up high, it would be WAY too tall for her to even attempt.  We come home to find dog hair ALL over the bed.  Not only did she attempt the bed, but she freaking sprawled out all over all six king size pillows, two regular size pillows AND a decorative pillow.  Dog hair covered my entire bed, and white down comforter.  I have never been so angry.  It took me three days to wash ALL of that.  She knew she was in trouble.  Needless to say she has become closely acquainted with the downstairs dog pillow when we are out of the house. 

C for Chumlee

C is for Chumlee.  Some of these blogs are going to be short.  I can’t help it, I just don’t have all the time I would like to have. Tonight I had somewhere around 300 papers to grade so this blog is going to be brief.  

We went to Vegas recently (LOVE VEGAS).  I made Chief take me to Pawn Stars because I love that show.  Guess who was there?  CHUMLEE!!  Who doesn’t love this idiot?  He just happened to be there, so we got to spend some time with him.  BTW-he was totally normal.  Not the idiot that the show makes him look like.  We sat and talked to him for like half an hour.  Chief talked about where he came from, and we talked about where he went to school and what he drives.  So this dude has like six cars!!  He also isn't allowed to work in the store anymore because he is too famous.  He was telling us about all these crazy people that come in.  He was so relieved we weren't like the rest of the crazies.  It was awesome!  Then he invited us to have lunch with him down the street.  We quickly agreed.  So the limo picked us up around the back of the building.  He bought our lunch and took us into the casino across the street from the restuarant.  He gave us both $200 each.  We sat and played roulette for like an hour.  Then we parted ways.  It was so awesome.  Best day EVER.  Here is the picture we took with him.

BTW-all of the above was a lie.  We had about three seconds with him.  Just long enough for him to sign and shirt and take a picture.  But the above sounded WAYYYY more awesome.  

B for Band

B is for Band.  Little Man plays in the school band.  Last year, he played the alto saxophone in the regular band and in the jazz band. This year he took on the tenor saxophone.  So he plays both.  He plays in the regular band AND the advanced band.  You won’t hear me brag about Little Man’s talents in sports...because there aren’t really any.  You also won’t hear me brag about his straight A record...because it doesn’t exist.  You will, however, hear me brag about his musical talent.  He is a natural at the saxophone.  The kid can play.  Last year, he was asked to join the Jazz band, and this year he was asked to take on an additional instrument in the advanced band.  His band teacher asked if he would play the tenor in the regular band and the alto in the advanced band.  He is that good. You know when I say he is good, it means he is good.  I am not one of those parents that congratulate my child for trying. If he sucks, I tell him.  I don’t even dance around it.  Nope.  I say, “Dude, you suck.”  In wrestling, he wants to get his third place trophy.  This is what he hears from me: “Third place trophy?  That just means your the second loser.  This family doesn’t stop and collect the third place trophy.  We are not the YMCA anymore, Dude.”  Okay, enough about my loving parenting skills, and back to why I wrote this.  

Little Man can play the saxophone.  A few weeks ago, he had a concert.  Can I just say, I go to these because I feel like it is my duty as a parent.  I don’t go because I enjoy it, because middle school bands aren’t amazing.  I go because I feel like it will look bad if I don’t show up.  Wow...I am making myself look AWESOME.  So here I am at the band concert.  The kids are warming up, doing their drills, blah blah blah.  I start to look around for Little Man.  He is the only student in the band that plays two instruments.  My thought is he would have one that he is playing, and a stand for his second saxophone.  Nope, not my kid.  He puts the one he isn’t playing right on the floor next to him. 

Wait for it....

So then the kids start the concert.  I close my eyes and try to imaging they are all in the right key, and all playing in-sync with each other.  Not even I can dream that up.  I open my eyes and turn my attention to Little Man.  Then I grab my phone to catch this on camera.  I want you to notice a couple things.  See how he is sitting?  Yeah, slouched in his chair. Notice the other students.  Backs straight, great posture.   Now look at Little Man’s feet.  Not only is he NOT tapping his feet with the beat of the music, but he has his legs stretched out in front of him.  Toes in the air.  Because this is just how my kid rolls...   

  

    

A for And

A is for And...
Me: So I am taking on the bloggers challenge this month.  

Chief: What is the bloggers challenge?

Me: To blog each letter of the alphabet.

Chief: Hugh? You blog the alphabet?

Me: No Goober.  I have to blog a letter each day.  So that is like, 26 days?

Chief: Are you asking me how many letters are in the alphabet?

Me: I think there is 26...or is it 28?

Chief: Seriously?  You don’t know?  Why don’t we ask the English teacher, oh wait, I just did.

Me: I’m fairly confident there are 26.

The Chief glances over at Little Man who is furiously counting on his fingers.  

Little Man: 27

Me: 27?  I thought there was...hang on...(as I start counting letters on MY fingers)

Little Man: Oh wait, I counted AND..as in X, Y, AND Z...

Chief: Oh-dear-God...the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Me: Okay, so there is 26. So I have to write 26 blogs this month.  

Chief: Awesome.

So this is my first blog.  The letter A.  I am blogging about the word AND.  It isn’t counted as a letter in the alphabet.  There are only 26 letters total.  Not 27...or 28.

Cooking experiment

As you know, I recently gave birth to a baby elephant....and my stomach shows it.  I have had two sets of twins, walking away from both of those pregnancies with very little stretch marks.  The baby elephant pregnancy?  A. Little. Different.  I have horrible stretch marks, and my stomach isn’t going down as quickly as it did the last few times I did this.  I am not complaining, the stretch marks (every one of them) are completely worth the happiness that the mom and dad have.  I am simply stating the facts.  My tummy is ruined.  I am back into my regular clothes, I actually was able to put my pre-pregnancy jeans on two weeks after giving birth.  It’s one thing to button jeans, its another to look good in them. Which takes me to the point of this blog....

I am trying to eat a little healthier.  This means I am cooking.

Yes, yes.  I just wrote those words.  I have made a total of three meals out of a 15 Minute Weight Watchers cookbook that a friend gave me.

I sat down a few weeks ago with the cookbook and starting flipping through it, trying to decide which recipes I was to attempt.  I had my grocery list and starting filling it up quickly.  Making sure to carefully write down all the ingredients for a weeks worth of 15 minute recipes.  I was excited and getting motivated.  I take my happy list and Little Man, and head off to the grocery store.  15 Minute Recipes = 15 HOUR grocery search for all the ingredients.  This is what infuriates me.  This recipes may take 15 minutes of cooking time, but it takes hours of preparation.  I walked out three hours later, my excitement deflated.  Not only that, but I was four ingredients short.  Walmart doesn’t carry cooking sherry.  They also don’t carry beer.  Both on my ingredient list.  So now I had to make a trip to the liquor store.  Let me tell you how fun that was.  Let me give you an idea.  

Me: Sorry to bug you, but can you point me to the sherry?

Liquor store clerk: Sure, here it is.

Me: Do you have any smaller...ummm...jars?  I only need two teaspoons.

Liquor store clerk: Sorry.  This is all we have.

Me: Okay.  I will take that.  Now, can you tell me where the dark laaaager is?

Liquor store clerk: You mean l-o-g-g-e-r?

Me: Sure.  Whatever.

Liquor store clerk: Here.

Me: Umm, I just need one bottle, not six.

Liquor store clerk: We don’t sell it one bottle at a time.  We sell it in packs of six.

Me: I don’t want six.  I want one.

Liquor store clerk: .....

Me: How about I buy the six pack, and you keep five of them?

Liquor store clerk: Um, we can’t do that.  

Me: But I don’t want six.  I only need one.  

Manager: What is the problem?

Liquor store clerk: She wants one bottle, not six.

Manager: Just charge her two bucks and give her one.  

Me: Thank you so much!

Now, off to another grocery store for the marjoram.  Thirty minutes later I am walking out with marjoram and frustration.  

40 minutes of home prep time (picking out recipes and writing down ingredients)

20 minutes driving time to Walmart

2.5 hours of walking around the store in search of ingredients that you apparently have to go to Africa for

20 minutes of driving to liquor store

10 minutes of trying to convince them it’s totally normal to walk in a liquor store and request two teaspoons of sherry and one bottle of l-o-g-g-e-r

30 minutes of searching for marjoram

10 minutes of driving home

5 seconds telling Little Man to unload the groceries

15 minutes of cooking

$350 worth of ingredients

EQUALS.....

**I feel the need to update you on this.  I wrote this blog about a month ago and this whole eating healthy thing? Yeah, it lasted for these four meals.  Too.  Much.  Work.  Sorry, Chief.  You are still stuck fending for yourself for dinner.  Poor guy.

       

Here Comes Honey Stupid

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo

Have you seen this show?  If you have, please don’t tell me.  I might have to unfriend you.  I have never seen this show, but I have seen enough previews to make me waste my time on a blog.  

This sickens me.  A year or so ago, I saw a preview introducing the show.  It is the entire family sitting there, in front of the camera.  Then they do something horribly disgusting.  They ALL (mom, dad, Honey Boo Boo, and siblings) grab the fat on their stomachs, and jiggle it.  

I don’t even know how to express how much this disgusts me.  Why are people watching this ignorance?  Is this what we have come to for entertainment?  Someone PLEASE explain to me how obesity and ignorance mixed together is entertainment?  There is NOTHING cute about this child, yet we give her a show?  Not only is she disrespectful to her family (in the previews), but she is a brat.  

Why is this show still on?  I will tell you why.  Because this country is filled with ignorant people.  It’s all they understand.  I guess we need to put something on the tube they can relate to.  So hey, let’s make a show about idiots, so we can entertain more idiots.  Here’s an even better idea... Let’s let them procreate.  Excellent.  More ass-faces.

And the shit comes flying....

Here is the deal.  This is what I think.  I think you should have to pass an IQ test to procreate.  Then I think you should be cut off at three.  No one needs more than three kids...especially not morons.  We are so worried about Mexicans crossing over the border, why the hell aren’t we worried about the current idiot-situation we have here?  You want to fix our problems?  STOP letting ignorant people have more ignorant people!  We aren’t going to be taken over by illegals, we are going to be taken over by people that don’t just have brain farts...THEY ARE THE FREAKING BRAIN FARTS!!  They stand in line each month for their checks, they go and instead of spending it on birth control, the spend it on iphones and escalades.  Yeah, because THAT makes you look smarter.  Morons.  Thanks Obama.  These dipsticks freaking love you.  You feed their addiction.  You continue to hand them money.  Why should they go work?  Free is easier than getting off the couch...any ignoramus can figure that out.  In the meantime, let’s keep turning on the stupid-tube to  Honey Boo Boo.  Because obesity and ignorance is entertainment.  

I rest my case.

Danica Patrick

**Note**I wrote this blog BEFORE Daytona 500...so oh well.  Read it anyway. 

You can't see her feet, but I assure you she is stomping them.

Guess what’s coming up?  NASCAR BABY!!!  Just kidding, I actually don’t give a crap about NASCAR, sorry Chief.  My mom, who also doesn’t give a crap about NASCAR, calls me the other day.  You want to know why she calls me?  She calls me to tell me how excited she it that Danica Patrick is on the pole.  

Me: How do you know who Danica Patrick is?

Mom: Of course I know who that is!

Me: Dear God, you don’t even watch NASCAR!

Mom: This is the first time a woman has been on the pole! I am so excited! 

Me: OMG, how the hell do you know what “being on the pole” means?  Who the hell are you and what have you done with my mother?

Mom: I am so sick of those men pushing her out of every race!  She deserves this!  I hope she wins!!

Me: Hang on, WHILE I PICK MYSELF UP OFF THE FREAKING FLOOR. Since when do you know how other drivers treat Danica Patrick?

Mom: Of course I know that.  I hope she wins.

Me: Here is the deal.  Racing is a man’s sport.  She has no business being on the track.  Why do women have to steal everything from men?  Can’t we let them have ONE sport?

Mom: I know how you feel, but I disagree.  I want her to win.

Me: Yeah, you and every other woman.

Here is the deal.  I can’t stand her.  When I do sit down to watch NASCAR, I hope for two things to happen.

1. Kyle Busch to wreck.
2. Someone to run into Danica hard enough to knock her out of the race.

You know what?  If she went out and ran a race like the boys, I wouldn’t have a problem with her.  My problem is she doesn’t go out and run a race with the boys.  She acts like a damn girl.  When she is knocked off the track she gets out of her car and stomps her feet like a three year old.

She can’t deny it.  It has been caught on camera.  If you want to play with the big boys, you need to act like a big boy.  You can’t stomp your feet when you lose, and expect to gain respect from men that have dominated this sport for years.  

Step aside Danica.  This isn’t your day.