Thursday, June 20, 2013
Meet Babe, our beagle. Isn't she just adorable? Just the cutest? Want her? She is yours. I'll even kick in a jumbo sized bag of Ol' Roy weight management dog food. AND the contents of my savings account. And my eternal gratitude. ETERNAL. I hate her. I really do. Unless I don't. See how she looks at you? The big brown eyes and the sweet face cocked ever so slightly to the right? She is an expert at cuteness. And at inducing guilt. Which explains how we have had her so long without a single slice from my ever present machete. Don't hate. Don't call PETA. She is treated very well. There is always fresh water, a walk around the neighborhood almost every day, snuggling time indoors each night, and plenty of food (which explains her 20+ pounds of extra weight). Beagles have a high tendency to be overweight. Something about their super-sniffers. They also have a tendency to howl. A howl in case you don't know, is very different from a bark. A howl empties the lungs. And continues. And continues. Which is why I hate her. She can also tell time. For instance, every night at 6:10pm she begins to yelp. A very loud yelp I might add. Over and over and over. Until I begin to think murderous beagle thoughts. How can I kill her? What would be the most efficient and tidiest way? An overdose of left over pain killers? A quick slice of the machete across the throat? Perhaps an "accident?" And just at the moment when I finally get up my nerve, she does something cute, like snuggling with her teddy bear. Or nuzzling up against me. Or my daughter, her "owner" walks into the room and sits down next to her...I think they are conspiring together to keep her alive. They both know my limits with her....their timing is impeccable. Coincidence? I don't think so. And so... for tonight, she will live to see tomorrow. Unless God looks down and has mercy on me. And so my wait continues. I will continue to wait for her to breathe her last breath. Because I am a wimp. And because she did that cute little head cock thing....and maybe, maybe because I kinda sorta love her.
Waiting for her to die...
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Fist of all, may I wish all of you wonderful Fathers out there in Blog-land a happy Fathers day? And to all of you less than wonderful Fathers.... ah never mind. In honor of this special day, I wanted to make my husband his favorite breakfast in the world, fresh baked cinnamon rolls with gooey cream cheese frosting. But, since I can't do that, I did the next best thing, I went to Stater Brothers (our neighborhood grocery store). I knew that I would find the prepackaged BPA laden plastic container of 6 beautiful cinnamon rolls for the convenient price of just $3.49.
I took those sticky beauties straight up to the check out lane, and if you know Stater Brothers, you know that their check out is about as slow as pouring a jarful of molasses in the dead of Winter. Of course this has economical benefits for me. For instance, I can check out the "Plastic surgery gone bad" issue of the National Enquirer without buying it. Not that I would ever stoop to such a level mind you.... Ahem. The line was about 6 people deep. I was #7..... It didn't look good. I began perusing the magazine rack and checking the sale prices of bubble gum. Then, a wonderful thing happened. Over the loudspeaker I heard those wonderful words, "Cashiers to the registers please."
The new cashier stepped up to person #2 and asked if they would like to come to a new lane. Everyone but me followed. I'm no fool. I knew that my chances of getting out of there in less than five minutes severely diminished if I moved. I decided to hunker down and wait it out in isle #5 thank you very much. Until...a man with a gallon of milk stepped in front of me. Now, I don't know what kind of milk emergency he may have been suffering from at his home, and honestly, I just didn't care. How dare he take cuts!!! I'm pretty sure I heard the theme music from The good, the bad and the ugly. (I know this song very well, every single note because my dear son, during the summer of 5th grade decided to master it with his recorder....over and over again he played that catchy little tune. Until tragically and mysteriously it ended up missing. Go figure, right?)
It was just Milk man and me. Our eyes locked. I glared. He glared right back. This was a show down. I refused to even consider defeat. He took his milk and reached over to place it on the conveyor belt, I pushed my cart forward so he couldn't....and then? Another check stand opened and he left. Victory! Woo hoo! That's right, Mr. Milk man disappeared from my life and isle #5 just as quickly as he had appeared. Smart man if you ask me. So, as I taught my children so long ago, I also teach you. NEVER start a fight, but if someone else does, make sure you finish it.
Till next time,
Miss Jodi (Victor of Stater Brothers Hesperia CA)
Friday, June 7, 2013
Thursday, June 6, 2013
OK, I don't know if it was really Charlie who wrote this, or someone named Henry who wrote it and put Charlies name underneath it....it doesn't matter. The point here is what I truly believe, humor does not need to be at another persons expense. You don't need to hurt someone in order to make someone else laugh.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
To Spanx, or not to Spanx. THAT is the question. I understand the desire to look nice in your clothes. We all want to look our best. I would venture to guess that the majority of us would like to be a few pounds lighter, or a bit tighter and more toned in certain areas. But, is Spanx really the way to accomplish this? First of all, isn't it really false advertising? And secondly, when you get home and take that puppy off, you are still going to be you. You cannot lie to your jammies. They know secrets no one else does....
I admit to having tried some on before. It wasn't pretty. It may have been a few sizes too small, and I may have panicked when I realized that I was stuck and in desperate need of the Jaws of Life to get me out of that torturous device. And maybe I looked like a busted can of biscuits. Maybe...We all know there are those life changing moments such as the one I just described that made me feel like a sausage in a casing. Those moments when you think, "Is this REALLY worth the pain I have to go through when I wear it, and the utterly devastating humiliation and following depression that I face when I take the thing off....
Now, if they could somehow make a permanent change, I would surely rethink my decision to never Spanx again. If we could somehow squeeze into that modern day corset and when we took it off, our bodies would be transformed like the Plah doh barber shops we used to play with, do you remember those? You would squeeze the play doh through the head, place a form around it, open it up and BAM! A perfect hairdo.... well, if you could do that,THEN, I would reconsider. But only then. So until that day, you can keep your Spanx to your self, thank you very much.
I found the cutest journal at Target the other day. It has a frou frou print on the front with the words, "Ideas grow here" written on it.My favorite colors of course and ring bound to make writing in it easy. Quite charming. Now I can add it to my ever growing hoard of unused journals. You see, I LOVE the idea of a journal, but when it comes time to deciding what to do with it, and actually putting it to use, I just cannot decide. Should it be a gratitude journal? A shopping list? A list of ideas? A to do list? A list of dreams? Inspiration? Prayers? Scriptures? A few of my favorite things like rain drops on roses and whiskers on kittens? Sigh....
And, if I DO happen to decide WHAT to write, the next debilitating decision would be how to categorize what I write. By Date? Alphabetically? By subject? With tabs? And what if I get tired of it? Then it will be ruined! Flawed! WASTED!!! ARGH! So, it sits. Right next to me as a matter of fact. Taunting me with it's perfection, and possibility.....Right next to the tiny red leather one Mama gave me. And the one I was given for my birthday. And the one I bought with the full intention of using for blog post ideas. There they sit.
It is just me?
Unused journal hoarder in CA