Sunday, February 11, 2007

Brain dump - part deux.

I have decided that I need to start carrying around like a notebook with me. Almost a diary of sorts because as I go about my day, I think of a shitten ton of things I want to write about, vent about, bitch about and share with you, the internets, but when I go to sit and put fingers to keys and compose a post, I draw a blank and end up just blathering on about my day (which, let's face it, is normally pretty damn boring) or showing pictures of my furry children. While I can look at pictures of my pets all damn day and be nothing short of amused, I imagine you all would prefer something a tad more mind provoking than the Pooper dragging his ass on the carpet (he has GOT to stop doing that) or Reba putting her cat ass on my sweater. Am I right? Can I get an amen please?

I finally got an email today from the girl I call my best friend. Truth be told, if we go by most people's definitions of best friends, mine would be either the hubs or my cousin, Jen. However, Wendy and I have been friends since 10th grade and while I doubt she considers me her best friend, I plan to keep the friend hierarchy as is for now. Anyway, I was a tad put out because she has always been rather close to my dad and despite several emails and a couple phone calls, I had not heard a thing from her. Not even a quick "How is the Dad?" dash off email. Well, today I realized why. You see, this is gonna come as a shock to you all but I can be a little self involved. I'll wait while you gasp and clutch your chests in utter disbelief.

Done?

Mmmkay.

So I completely forgot that her sister was pregnant and due to give birth in a month or so. Last I had heard there was a chance the baby had some of the indicators of Down's Syndrome. It was not conclusive evidence, so they were hoping for the best. Turns out that Julie gave birth a month early and it looks as though Down's is not a problem but of course with the early birth, there presents a whole host of other problems. Premies tend to have problems with lung development for months, if not years. She is a wee little thing weighing less than 5 pounds and Wendy has called her Thumbelina. We both do that - the whole nicknaming of everything. So little Ashley/Thumbelina is okay but has a long road ahead. Poor little chick.

Work has been okay but I have had some computer issues and it has slowed me down considerably. While waiting for stuff to download or send, I end up surfing the net and then I get distracted by some story about how inane Bush is or I start shopping for a new purse and then 15-20 minutes has gone by, the report has BEEN sent for a while now and I am still sitting there. Consequently, my production this week sucked donkey dicks. Big ones. No bueno, girls. I got bills to pay. Purses to buy. Kohls trips to make. Sperm channels to reconnect. Think productive thoughts for me, would ya? Without cash, I don't get sperminated and a license to eat lots and be bitchy - unlike now when I am the epitome of slim and mannered. Shut it.

So I am driving down the street last night to go assist my girl, Karen, in chaperoning a middle school dance - more on that in a second and the phone rings. I assume it is the hubs because I generally force him to keep me entertained on the road, but it is a number I don't recognize. I am way too curious (read: nosy) a person to allow a call to go to voice mail so I answer. It's Mrs. DallasK to tell me two things - (a) I don't have an accent and (b) She was a wee bit lit up as she and Football Widow were on their way to go see a flick. That girl is too funny.

So the dance. Let me tell you something about me. I live across the river from New Orleans and Metairie, which is the largest suburb of New Orleans. I detest Metairie. It is traffic and giant SUVs and non blinker using soccer moms that can barely function doing one thing at a time yet try to do 14 things while driving and talking on their phones. Metairie makes my toofers ache, y'all. What do I hate more than Metairie?

Mardi Gras. Can you even imagine how I feel about Mardi Gras IN Metairie? Oh yeah. Big fun for SFG. It never even registered that it was the first night of parades when I agreed to drive my ass across the river (hate that as well) and chaperone a couple hundred middle school children while they dance to songs that they think are new (i.e. Take my Breath Away and I Love Rock n Roll) and generally take the first steps to becoming future pole dancers. The most startling thing about most of these young girls was how able they were to walk in what can only be described as stripper shoes. (Hint: If any single part of your shoe is see through, and this includes the heel, they are stripper shoes.) These tiny little chicks, who I was pleased to note dressed fairly modestly compared to what I am used to seeing at the mall, all strode across that gym in 3 and 4 inch heels like it was nobody's business. I would have busted my ass at 13. Shit, I'd barely make it 3 steps now, bitches. Not these girls. These girls got skeeeels, ya heard? It is only a matter of time before me and Karen see them on a drunken night in the Quarter coming down a pole head first only using their legs using the dancing name of "Tasty." Not that I know anything about that, of course.

Ahem.

So anyway, after the dance which lasted a total of two hours and from which I am still partially deaf, everyone and according to Karen's daughter, Karlene, EVERYONE was going to Cafe du Monde up the road to have beignets and coffee or hot chocolate. So off we went. We are nothing if not good sports. So we took Karlene and let her go in and hang with her friends. In a show of not cramping her style combined with the vain attempt of not being around any more 13 year olds, we went through the drive through, got our drinks and waited for Karlene to get tired which we knew would not take long because unlike the future Tasty's of the world, Karlene is a very tame girl and has a low threshold for excitement. We figured she had 20-30 minutes before she lapsed into a coma. Thank uppercase God she is a good kid. I was home a little before 11. Children, I have come to realize, annoy me. Most children anyway. I am quite thankful that my friends children have all amused me in some way, so the annoyance factor has never affected my relationship with my friends' kids, but other people's children? Yeah, they are no bueno. Loud, demanding little fucks is what I see. I am well on my way to being a stellar mother. No doubt.

So tomorrow, it is early mass and then back across the river (this is twice in 3 days if you are keeping track) to go walking with Karen at the park. I believe I will be bringing the Pooper with me and from there, we shall make the trek out to the beach in order for him to get some quality time with brackish water and to take a dump in the Gulf. It is not common knowledge but that is a damn good time in dog world. This is why he allows me to annoy him in the ways I have demonstrated on here and put clothes on him that any self respecting animal would have ripped my throat out for already. He is surely biding his time and will take me down in my sleep one night.

I think my brain is finally empty. I can now finish watching this movie, When A Stranger Calls (only my 15th time watching it), and get some much needed shut eye. Have a fab weekend.

Labels: Brain dump, Friends, Random, The Pooper, Weekend, Work

Elizabeth at 12:48 AM

7comments

Sunday, December 17, 2006

Two reasons why I fucking LOVE this dog

Mama, I could have a cookie? Please? Just one? Maybe 2....or 12. Whatever.

Waiting for him Daddy to come home. Every time he hears a door slam, the head pops up. This was immediately before he barked at the neighbor across the street that he sees 5 times a day. And yet still barks.

Labels: The Pooper

Elizabeth at 1:50 PM

7comments

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Rain drops keep fallin' on my head

How, I ask you, HOW is a girl who loves her some rain storms supposed to do work when there is a luscious rain storm raging out there? This sort of weather calls for candles, popcorn, a throw, the original Halloween movie, and a Pooper by one's side.

Will someone please email my supervisor and tell her I am unable to work today?

Quick side note:

Said storm started about 5 this morning. Now Reba, brave girl that she is with her Paw of Death, hates rain. I never even saw when she took off, but suffice it to say, she is undoubtedly traumatized under my bed.

Gage, my big strong Poop-a-loop, was laying in bed with us. I had gotten up to pee because I pee more than an old man whose prostate is the size of his head, and even the hubs had woken up due to the loud thunder. I climb back in bed with my hubs and my doggie and then the dog sees lightening. Not sure what he thought was going on, but his answer to it was to bark at the lightening. I cracked up. We called him back to the bed to lay in between us and be all secure, so the barking would stop. The hubs fell back asleep, but as I was laying there getting ready to nod off myself, I hear Gage, "Mmmmmmrrrmmmmmffff." He did one of those "I know I should still bark since the lightening is still going, but I am tired bear." The bark was one of those closed mouth, no effort, lip fluttering barks. So there I am, 5:30 AM in a bed with a hairy man, a hairy dog laughing to myself.

That, my friends, in a nutshell, is my life.

*****UPDATED TO ADD*****
It is now noon. Reba just NOW strolled out from where ever her hiding place was. He walked into the room where I work and tapped me on the leg. I look down and she proceeded to meow for 5 solid minutes while I talked to her a made a big fuss because the Queen Bee decided to come out. In essence, she no likeah the rain.

Yeah, she talks to me. Shut it.

Labels: Reba, The Pooper, Weather

Elizabeth at 10:08 AM

10comments

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Thanks for the bone, Ben, Book #52 and other crap

Well, my boys pulled it out, so Ben's jaw is safe for another week.

I also have to catch up on book reviews. So book #52 was "The Same Sweet Girls" by Casandra King. I had read another book of hers, "The Sunday Wife" and while the story is out of my brain right now, I remember liking it. Well, this book was fabulous all the way to the incredibly bitter sweet ending. In fact the very end was just perfect. I loved it.

The book was about 6 girls who had been friends since college. One of the originals had died at the age of 25 and another girl had sorta filled her spot since then and had inadvertantly given the group their name. I won't go into it because it would take forever, but it was a wonderful book that showed how even in our dysfunctional friendships with some of our friends, we get so much more than we put out from them. I just loved it.

I have been a slacker with putting pictures on here, so this is a shot I took one night outside my house. Is that sky not amazing?

This is why I will go to Pet Owner Hell.

Well, that and this.

Sorry, but this shit just cracks me UP.

Labels: 50 Book Challenge, Football, Pictures, The Pooper

Elizabeth at 7:49 PM

4comments

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

The holiday that broke down my dog.

So last night was Halloween. I don't have any cute pictures of Gage wearing his pumpkin shirt, but suffice it to say, he was a huge hit. Very cute. Way cuter than that fucking weiner dog dressed as a hotdog. If I followed that logic, I'd have Gage in assless chaps and a leather fringe vest being that he is a big flaming queen.

So anyhoo, I finished work at 6 and as we all realized, it is fucking dark now at six. Shit, it's dark at 5:30 now. I no likey. So knowing that most kids that trick or treat aren't exactly up carrousing around at like 9 at night, I asked my mom to please take care of the kids that show up before I log off work. I had Gage all dressed and ready to go - looking all cute and shit. A few stragglers showed up early, but for the most part, I was there for all the action. We decided I'd hold Psycho Sam back and Mom would dole out the goods. At first, all went well. We had a big night of frozen pizza and a Gilmore Girls DVD to watch, so we were all set.

Then, it showed up at the house.

A very well dressed mummy. His mom went the whole 9 yards on this kid. White face make up, black rings around the eyes, bandages hanging off him and very nicely wrapped up. My big bad ass attack dog? Yeah, he stayed under the coffee table where he could keep an eye on that creature while uttering a low growl. I went "Awww, bud, come on over." He sprang out from under the table around the other side of it and sat in between my legs with his head on my knee - clearly protecting me from the 7-year-old outside.

From that point on, he was soooooooooo not feeling the oddly dressed creatures that kept showing up at my door. Remember the ugly sectional? Well, on one side of it, there are the two seats that recline and in between is a cushion and table dealio. He perched his rather large dog ass ON THE CUSHION because his time of walking back and forth across my legs while I am trying to catch up on Lorelai and Rory had come to an end. So there he sat. Two feet above my head looking down at my lap like "I just wanna be right there, mama. Why you no love you some me?" He was so pitiful I let him come over but he kept switching positions and y'all have seen him. He is not a tiny boy anymore. So off he went again. So he sat on the other side of the cushion and stared at me. The whole night. The whole time the kids came and went. He no longer showed any interest in who may be at the door because that mummy? It crushed his spirit. He finally laid down and put just his chin on the cushion to stare at me some more in case I decided to make a run for it and he did not catch it.

By the time we were done with the Gilmores and the kids were long gone and the door was closed against the evil of children in costumes, Gage was so strung out on stress that he collapsed in my bed and promptly fell into the type of sleep one can only achieve after the most taxing of days. I brushed my toofers and he was so dead to the world, I could not get him to move. I had to sleep AROUND HIM.

And I did it too. Because I am a good mama.

PS - He goes on doggie Lexapro tomorrow.

Labels: The Pooper

Elizabeth at 12:52 PM

10comments

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Question for the masses, part deux

How badly can one fuck up one's dog by singing the following:

"Him name is Pooper...
Him is a bad dog"

To the tune of Copacabana?

Hmmmm, that bad, huh?

Damn it.

Three years ago today, a very bad dog came into my life and has made it a messier, but way better place to be. If Blogger was not being a whore, I would post a picture of him sleeping again.

We also make him do the bunny hop.

Don't tell Carrie or else she will call the local chapter of the SPCA. She has pull like that.

Labels: The Pooper

Elizabeth at 12:33 PM

12comments