Posted in blabber, Dog on January 22, 2010|
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When this dog is no where in sight…
And it’s super quiet…
And we call her name…
And she nonchalantly walks back into the room…
This is the result.
(If you can’t tell she has Kleenex stuck on her paw.)
She loves to get into our trashcan and rip apart the Kleenex and everything else that’s in it. I honestly think she just like watching us clean it up. Anyone else have this problem?
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Posted in Uncategorized on January 20, 2010|
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I kind of wish today that I could surprise everyone with the news that I’m pregnant just to make the last post a little more ironic. But (knock on wood) I’m not at this point!
Friday night my husband and I went to dinner at my parent’s house. For some reason my parents feel they have to bribe us to come over to help with something. My dad needed help in learning his new GPS golf unit thingy. I do believe GPS golf unit thingy is the correct and technical term. I could be wrong though. The bribe of a fancy meal of pizza and breadsticks lured us over there. We stayed for a couple of hours and talked about many things that I can’t even discuss here because of how politically incorrect they are.
I think the best way to describe my dad is politically incorrect. And I love him for it. He’s not one to hide his emotion or his opinion on any topic ranging from Tiger Woods love life to MY love life. Nothing is off-limits with him. It takes a lot to shock him. My husband usually leaves a lunch or dinner with my family shell-shocked with some of the topics of conversation. For some reason it is my dad’s goal in life to embarrass as many people in his path as he can.
As the door closed that night and we left I looked at Brian and said, “I bet you ANYTHING he just said ‘Gah, I thought they’d never leave.'” As we got in the car I gave them a quick buzz. My mom answered and I said, “So, let me guess…he said ‘gah I thought they’d never leave.'” She just started laughing and handed my father the phone. “How did you know I’d say that?” “I just know you, dad.” He was astounded that I actually knew him that well.
I know him that well because I am him. I have his eyes, his stubby fingers/toes, his road rage, his lack of patience, his humor, an ounce of his wit And I couldn’t be more thankful that I am like him. Although I could do without the body hair and the stubbiness.
Another thing we have in common: we both LOVE these girls to death!
I love this picture of Sadie. It looks like she’s getting ready to take off!
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I think God forgot to give me a biological clock. I have not heard one tick of the clock letting me know I want kids. In fact, I think the clock is being wound in reverse. The more time passes, the more I do NOT want kids.
People, I’m almost thirty and I don’t know how to change a diaper. CLUELESS.
At church I help my mom out in the nursery and when faced with a baby who needs a diaper change I’m suddenly thrown back to childhood, “MOMMMM, I need help.” The baby is passed off to her and she changes the diaper.
Given the choice between looking at a book full of cute babies or cute puppies, I choose puppies. Hands down.
I get the creeps when a baby has wet hands from it’s own slobber and it gets on me. I get grossed out when a baby smells like rotten formula or milk. (No offense to anyone if I’ve held your baby. Or will be holding your baby.)
Everyone always says, “Oh it will be different when it’s your own.” No it won’t be.
Babies are gross. Babies are extremely high maintenance. Babies act like babies! Obviously I’m exaggerating a little bit. But I’m just too selfish right now to even consider a baby. I love holding babies, for maybe thirty minutes.
And no offense to anyone who’s ever had a baby or even has the audacity to like them. That includes you mom.
I’m sure this phase will pass and someday when I’m at home with four babies and no dogs I’ll look back at this post and laugh.
But, I doubt it.
Besides, why would I want babies when I already have these two?
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There’s a few reasons why my husband and I don’t invest large portions of money into toys for the dogs.
I’ll apologize ahead of time–90% of the pictures have blurry elements to them. It’s the new style in photography!
It starts out innocently enough…
“Ohh so cute”
“Look at her get that hedgehog!
“Yes, I do believe that is the fabric tearing after playing with it for five minutes.”
We’re convinced that Lexi up there either doesn’t know how to play or has A.D.D. and just doesn’t have time for such trivial things.
And this one, Sadie, this is the look she gave me when I took the squeaker away from her. She stares daggers straight through a person.
See how confused she is?
Playing with scraps at this point.
Decapitation is never an easy way to go. And he looks TICKED about it! (Pretty shot of my nubby fingers!)
And don’t even get me started with the candy-cane bone in the picture below…
What dog completely ignores a rawhide bone? Spoiled brat dogs do, that’s who.
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Ok, not really.
I just wanted you all to think I had some sort of resolve to get involved in political debates.
Instead I want to talk about my stomach. My stomach has let me down so much in the past year it’s ridiculous. Back in high school I was called “Old Ironsides” and “The Trashcan” (these nicknames I gave to myself and I was the only one who referred to myself with these names) because I could virtually eat anything in any amount and it would not affect me.
Case in point: Sometime in my early years of high school I had an eating contest with a guy friend of mine. We each ordered a large pizza and whoever finished first won. He won, but I still ate the whole pizza. I was hungry an hour later. I found out a few years later that he threw up all night.
Fast forward to New Year’s Eve. I ate maybe 3 or 4 pieces of pizza, a couple of breadsticks and a few cream puffs (which I might at that my husband was FLABBERGASTED that I had eaten more than one–he must forgotten who he was married to for a second). About four a.m. I get up with stomach pains. I knew it wasn’t going to end well and I was right.
Old Ironsides has gone down.
It was a good run those few years I could eat whatever I want. I guess now I’ll have to be a grown-up and eat grown-up food in grown-up portions.
Speaking of portion control-one of my pups is on a diet and one is not. Can you guess which one?
I’ll give you a hint: It’s the fat, black one who has udders. And who also eats her bowl of food AND her sister’s bowl if we’re not watching. We love her at any size but we’re doing it for her own good!
This is going to be a fun year!
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