Fajitas!

Lunch! MMM, fajitas.

Where I live.

My home away from home, or basically where I live. This is where the blogging magic happens, people.

Dirty Mind

The whiteboard at work. We build robotic penises.

Don't Call Me Stupid.

That is my thing. Do not EVER call me stupid. (In a serious way, not like "Come on, stupid! Let's go!) You can call me ugly, fat, blonde, crazy, bitchy, sarcastic, whatever, just not stupid. GOT IT? I will pound on you. HARD. Until you are a quivering mass of pounded flesh. You could say that I will "get medieval on your ass". If you call me stupid electronically, I will pound you electronically. Or find you and pound you physically. I have my ways. and you know I could totally kick your ass with all that anger and adrenaline I've got going on. Plus, I drink enough caffeine to raise the dead.

Why, you ask? I don't know. It's just a thing with me. I see red, go berserk, flip-out. Now, I realize I'm not an Einstein over here or anything, but I have a college degree and all that blah, blah, blah. (Don't expect me to type complete sentences and use correct grammar in my blog, though. K?) It just really BUGS THE HELL OUT OF ME. Them are fightin' words.  It has only happened a few times in my life, but still, I'm just sayin'. Now that the entire world knows how to piss me off, I'm probably doomed.

Oh, and don't hurt my dogs. That, my friend, would be Armageddon for you.

(SIDENOTE: Out of the blue, ask one of your co-workers how to spell Armageddon and watch their reaction. LOL!)

I don't know squat.

So, yesterday when driving the hell-commute home, I found out that the 6-mile road to my house was closed due to a head-on collision. Neat. That means not getting home any time in the next century. I could have stopped for a bite, or gone shopping, but no. I went to the gym. I was trying to avoid that; I even had a list of excuses in my purse. But I went. Like a good girl. I haven't been for a while, and I knew going in that my muscles would retaliate, and they did. Can't walk today. I may have gotten a little over-zealous with the squats. All 60 of them. That may not sound like a lot to you out there who are workout nazi's, but I've truly been a lazy ass this summer and haven't done SQUAT. Ha! Anyway, I have to admit it did feel good to get back into the groove, but now I have to start all over again with the can't walk up and down stairs or sit on the toilet without excruciating pain. I kept making Jim get me things last night so that I didn't have to move. You know when you feel all rubbery and shaky 2 hours after your workout, that you will have HELL TO PAY in the next couple of days. Oh well. No pain, no gain, or in my case, pain due to no brain.

Apparently I need to chill.

My husband, who thinks I'm a lunatic (but loves me anyway), says I need to stop going to all the earthquake sites and such, trying to figure out the next national disaster, but to instead relax and have a beer. You have to understand, I don't get all freaked out over this stuff, it is just interesting to me. I'm not the tweaky type. I'm what you might call an 'earthquake geek'. HOWEVER, according to my husband, I scare the shit out of everyone ELSE. OK, well, I'm freaking sorry, OK? I should have been a scientist or something. I sometimes get these emails that say something like "Oh my God! I thought I was going to see cute doggies and stuff on your site and all I got was so scared I want to cry." Weenies.

Something is wrong with me.

I know that is stating the obvious, but seriously, something is wrong with me. I have been doing nothing but SLEEPING. I go to work at 8 am, get off around 4:30, then go home and sleep until the next morning. I also sleep all weekend. WTF? I only have 1 job now; you'd THINK I would have more energy, but no. Total and complete laziness. My house is such a mess right now it makes me twitch, and I can't remember what my husband looks like. Could it be the heat? Am I depressed? I don't know. I feel like an uber-sloth. I haven't worked-out in days (that could be the problem) and I just don't feel like doing shit. I've tried to make myself do stuff, but I end up all whiney and crabby. I am going to go get some blood drawn to make sure I'm not anemic or something. Coffee isn't even working.

I'm melting.

It's too freaking HOT. It's like 100 damn degrees here today. I know some of you who live in Texas or Arizona are like, "Yeah, so", but I can't handle it much above 75. I get all dizzy and pukey. I have no pool, no air conditioning, no nothing. I have a small redneck window air conditioner in my bedroom that is sputtering because it can't handle the challenge. I'm all crabby and sweaty. The dogs wouldn't even go outside today. It's really hard to get excited about working out in weather like this. The gym has air conditioning, but just the thought of getting UP OFF THE COUCH sounds like entirely too much work. I feel like I have peed my pants, but it's not pee. YUCK.

Maggie the Statue

So, last night after coming home from work, I proceeded to join my hubby on the back porch for a nightcap. It is there where Maggie, my very strange dog, stared up at moths hitting the porch light for an hour. AN. HOUR. Without moving. Just standing there, staring UP. I tried to look at the light for about 5 seconds to try and capture the magic, but all it did was make me see spots. How could she even see anything? I kept telling her that the moths were too high, but she just ignored me. I could have been wearing a porkchop necklace and she still wouldn't have budged. It was kind of funny, though, watching her act like a statue.

I want to be sedated.

You know, the Ramones song? Yeah, I'm listening to that right now, and its true. I spent 7 hours (7 HOURS!) cleaning the carpet in my front room yesterday, and today I WANT TO BE SEDATED. I got up at 9 am. We went out for breakfast at 11 am. We came home at noon. I went back to bed. Just woke up. Shit, now I won't be able to sleep tonight. The carpet looks good, though.

I haven't posted a pic of my new SUV yet because it's always dirty (and its black), so that simply won't do. So, this is pic of me enjoying my sunroof instead.

Now I'm listening to "Creep" by Radiohead.

You're so fucking special
I wish I was special
But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here
I don't belong here

Yeah, it's that kind of night.

Linkage

OK, I totally wiped out my links somehow. Whoops. I've tried to put the list back together based on who has linked me and the ones I can remember at the moment, but I'm sure the list is not complete, SO DON'T HAVE HURT FEELINGS. If you want me to link you back, and you don't see your site, just let me know.

Ding, Dong, My Dumbass Neighbors Are Gone!

They moved, they moved! You remember, the neighbors that drove me nuts? The ones that did all the breeding and were snobby and mean? They're GONE! Hooray! I probably ran them out. Now we just need some TEQUILA to celebrate, MOM.

My Mom

Hi Ma! I know you read my blog, so this entry is for you. I promise I won't use any swear words. Before I start, I want to say, "I love you!" because I do.

Thank you so very much for bringing the yummy Margarita mix and tequila to my little 4th of July party. We had a great time! Also thank you for leaving the margarita mix. However, you took the tequila home. YOU TOOK THE TEQUILA. What kind of mom are you?

Headline: "Neighborhood woman seen holding her dog at gunpoint."

At squirt-gunpoint, that is. Let me share with you how squirt-gun training has progressed with Louie. Jim was trying to get Louie to "shake" last night. He learned "shake" when he was a puppy. Louie was apparently in a pissy mood last night and was refusing to "shake" for my husband. I said, "Watch this.", then I grabbed the squirt gun, pointed it at Lou (without squirting any water) and said, "Shake!" The paw went up. I repeat: THE. PAW. WENT. UP.

Later that night, I let the dogs out potty. Louie was dawdling. I got the gun and pointed. "Potty! Now!" Sooner or later, someone is going to call someone about me, I think.

Bad Sushi

I declare now: I will never EVER eat sushi from a grocery store again. EVER. I am now recovering from what can only be called food poisoning from hell. Monday afternoon I ingested spicy tuna rolls from the grocery store deli section. A few hours after lunch, I began running to the bathroom at work, and bad things were coming out both ends. Monday Evening and all of Tuesday I continued to violently vomit and deal with the worst diarrhea known to man. I have bruises on my knees from kneeling over the porcelain. My stomach hurts and is in knots. I thought my eyeballs were going to pop OUT OF MY HEAD on several puking occasions. I am still afraid of solid foods. I am still sweating. I am still shaking. (I am having my own private earthquakes.) I have never been that sick in my whole life. It hurt BAD. I will not need an ab workout for a week or so. If I even SMELL seafood, I will hurl.

Patience?

Yeah, I don't have that. I have a story, instead. I have been pondering lately about some new ideas on how to get my dogs to listen to (and not totally ignore) me. So, I bought some squirt guns. When I say "No!" or "Stop it!", or whatever, and they DON'T LISTEN, I squirt them! Pretty soon they should be little angels, right? Well, as good as an idea that was, I did not take into consideration the personality of Louie. For the record, I have to say that it works great on Maggie.

Louie is a spiteful little fucker who uses his great intelligence to send me right over the edge.

Squirt-gun training, day 1. Louie is eating something foreign in the yard.

Me: "No!" "No, Louie!"
Louie: Continues to eat foreign object without even looking up.
Me: Squirt, squirt.
Louie: Jumps 5 feet in the air.
Me: Giggle.
Louie: Glare.
Louie: Goes back to eating foreign object.
Me: "NOOO!" Squirt, SQUIRT, SQUIRT.
Louie: Spins around to look at me again and walks away with tail between legs.
Me: I win.

Squirt-gun training, day 2. Louie is barking for no reason whatsofuckingever.

Louie: Woof! Woof! Woof!
Me: "Shut UP!"
Louie: WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
Me: SQUIRT. "I said knock it off!"
Louie: Runs.
Louie: Pisses. Spitefully. On carpet.
Me: "OH YOU LITTLE MOTHERF......." running with squirt gun in hand cussing so much and so loud that husband is wondering if he should call my therapist.
Louie: Running faster, wagging tail.
Me: Running, tripping over things, and squirting the squirt-gun at Louie, at the furniture, at the walls, still cussing. (It's a great visual, is it not?)

Squirt-gun training, day 3. The milligrams on my anxiety meds are getting a boost.

Uno Job-O

That's right folks, I HAVE ONLY ONE JOB NOW! Last Friday was my last day at the restaurant. It feels very strange to have weekends to myself. I've worked at least 2 jobs since 1998. That was a long haul. I feel like I've retired or something.

Happy Father's Day to all you Fathers out there. I am feeling very blessed at the moment. I just had barbecued beef tenderloin with shrimp, and now I'm sitting on my back porch typing on my blog watching a beautiful sunset. My heart goes out to all the soldiers right now. Keep them in your prayers. The photo is the view from where I'm sitting in the backyard.

Shots, but not the alcoholic kind.

I have to get a gazillion SHOTS for work. Something about Blood Bourne Pathogen Training and Hep A, Hep B, Tetanus, blah, blah, blah. SHOTS. WITH NEEDLES. SHIT. I shuffle paperwork, why do I need shots? Wah.

Knock, Knock, Knock

Hello? Is there anyone there? Sorry for the lack of updates as of late. Can you say BUSY? Everything in my life is changing. New job, new hair, new vehicle. I already told you about the new job, which is still THE SHIT. I love it. I got a brand-new computer with a flat screen monitor, they fixed my farting chair, and we had "Sangria Friday", which was too fun. I also got my hair cut and colored, and I finally bought an SUV! It is a black Saturn Vue, and it's fully loaded. Leather seats, a butt-warmer, sunroof, power everything, you name it. I am giddy with glee, I tell you. I'm wondering when all the wonderfulness is going to go away. Oh, and, on top of that, we are supposed to have a wicked thunderstorm today!

The New Job

OK, sorry for not updating right away, I am trying to be a good girl with the internet. The new job ROCKS. A kitchen full of food/drink, an office full of crazy people, an easier job I than I had before, a bigger paycheck and a flex-schedule! It just doesn't get any better than that! I'm a little lonely for my old friends, but it's just a matter of time before I warm the hearts here. Ha. There are only 2 sucky things about it. My chair makes a "farting" noise every time I sit in it, and I sit in a cubicle. Not a good combo. But other than that, I'm pretty happy.

Tweaked

I'm freaking out. I can't even type anymore. In fact, I can't do anything anymore. Especially think and spell. I had to go in an extra day after my official last day at work to do some training, and THAT was the day I had the realization that I just left a job I have spent 10 years at, my comfort zone, my home, my internet play box, my JOB. I am now going into the unknown where I may have to actually BLOG AT HOME. The horror. Maybe. I have been pacing and not eating and acting like someone who is perma-caffeinated. Which is probably true anyway.

I don't know why I'm tweaking so much NOW, but I am. I have a case of the what ifs. What if I suck at my new job? What if I hate my new job? What if they hate me?

Did I not warn you?

Jobs

OK. It has been an interesting week. My boss said to me on Friday looking at my EMPTY office, "Wow. You sure are anxious to start your new job." Yes, it's true. About 5 minutes after I gave my two weeks' notice, I started cleaning out my office. Hee. A co-worker also told me I seemed "happy" and "relaxed". (As opposed to angry and stressed out.) Apparently, I was unhappy there. I thought it was going to be an emotional and stressful week, but nope. Just want to get the hell outta there. I just keep thinking about the concept of a life. and its satisfying. People keep asking me if I'm "going to the meeting", and I keep replying "Nah." Nothing has ever given me more delight.

For Mrs. Divaquest: I work for a medical device manufacturing company. I control all procedures and engineering drawings, and make sure all goings-on comply with international and FDA regulations. I also do audits. Hold back all enthusiasm. I know I do. My official title is "Regulatory Affairs Specialist", but my unofficial title is "Goddess of everything". I'm pretty much going to be doing the same thing at the new company, but for more $$ and less annoying assholes. (I've met everyone, and they are great.) I know no company is 'perfect', but seriously folks, I work at a tomb. Most people there are so boring and arrogant it makes me want to hurl.

I'm very excited to start my new job. I hear they are quite the "pranksters". I'll fit in well. It will also be exciting to have a whole new office of people I can make fun of.

Whaaa?

Somebody Googled "Captain Crunch Frappuccino recipes", and my site came up. Not only is that a tad bizarre, but CAPTAIN CRUNCH FRAPPUCCINO? Must. Find. Now.

Hell is frozen and pigs are flying.

Drumroll please...

I did it! I did it! I QUIT MY DAY JOB. I have been there for 10 WHOLE YEARS. It is the only real job I've ever had.

Out of the blue, I got a call from this really great job across the street from where I work now. I interviewed, got an offer, and took it. Lots more $$, lots more benefits, and STOCK OPTIONS. God, I feel like an adult or something. Scary. I am a little freaked out, though, this is a HUGE step for me. I will be exiting my comfort zone. I may be a little neurotic in the weeks to come. Just warning you.

I quit one of my restaurant jobs, too. I repeat, I QUIT ONE OF MY RESTAURANT JOBS. As it stands now, I will only be working a couple of hours on Friday nights at the French restaurant, just for fun. :) HOLY CRAP. A REAL LIFE. Look out, world.

I start my new job the 23rd. My old job is not happy. It will be an interesting 2 weeks. A little sad, too, I've known some of my co-workers for the entire 10 years. BUT I will just be across the street.

Great for Mondays

Go to https://funtranslations.com/ and type something in. It's freaking hysterical. I have wasted most of a morning there.

Hold on to your ass, Fred!

CrazyDogMama may have a new day job that will pay her enough $$ to quit all of the other jobs. Think of it! ONE JOB! What will I do? Drink more? Take more naps? Take the photography class I've been wanting to take for a year now? Ooh, the possibilities are endless.

I am so excited I can't even sit still.

Conversation Overheard at Home Depot

Home Depot worker #1 who is on a huge ladder getting something down from high above: "Hey (to Home Depot worker #2), can you help me with this?"

Home Depot worker #2: "You can do it - just switch (this thing) with (this thing)."
Home Depot worker #1: "I don't understand what you're saying."
Home Depot worker #2: "Oh, come ON Dude, it's not Rocket Surgery!!"
Crazydogmama thinks to herself: "Rocket Surgery?"

All work and no play makes CrazyDogMama a dull girl.

Seriously folks, I am about dead. I only have one more 70-hour week, but still. Wah. I'm getting all kinds of whiny email from people who need an update. Well, here's your frigging update. More earthquakes. EVERYWHERE. Icebergs ramming continents. Volcanos rumbling and erupting. My period was 3 weeks late. (No pregnancy - probably just solar/magnetic activity. No shit.)

I drank SlimFast this week. I know, I know. Stupid. It's just that I'm sick of my regular Pro-Complex and Muscle Milk.

I bought Louie and Maggie new collars.

I got a new scale that measures weight, Body Fat AND hydration level. 55 bucks to tell me I'm too fat and dehydrated. Awesome.

I washed my pillowcase covers last week and still haven't put them back on the pillows.

I killed a huge-ass fly in my office today, but I was too grossed-out to pick up its mashed carcass off of the carpeting, so I made one of my co-workers do it.

I have $1.04 in my checking account.

Happy?

Definition of a sad day.

It is a sad day when you have to blow your nose in a maxi pad because you have no Kleenex.

I scare people.

OK, so two jobs weren't enough. Three anyone? I self-mutilate. Leave me alone. I started a new part-time job at another restaurant in the hopes of replacing the other restaurant job where they make we work weekends and expose me to THE BEAST. (See a few posts back for explanation if you just can't stand not to know.) I want to work 4 days a week. That's it. I will have to fit 48 hours' worth of work into those 4 days, but whatever. Having three days off IN A ROW is necessary right now for my sanity. I started my new job last night, and the girl who was training me asked "Do you have any kids?". A normal response would have been: "No, none of my own but I do have a stepson." However, since I am not normal, (Who knew?) I said something like: "OH HELL NOOOO", to which her response was laughter and a comment like "Wow, I've never gotten a response like that before. It doesn't sound like you're GOING TO HAVE kids, either." Apparently, my vocal cords spasm and contort when asked if I have kids.

GARAGE: A Photo Essay

Also known as, a lame Thursday night. To most I am a "neat freak". I am the one you'll find scrubbing the base boards and taking almost a year to finish all my paint touch-ups. Well, not every room in the house is under such scrutiny, namely, the GARAGE. We refer to the GARAGE as "Man-land" or "husband-land". You will see why. Brace yourselves.

In the first photo, you'll see "the table". This holds such items as Crown Royal, Tequila, empty protein shake cups, empty beer bottles, Tinactin, cigarettes, ashtrays, lighters, chip clips, old mail and other miscellaneous things that are way too heavy to move to the garbage can. Note the remote that is disguised as a golf bag.

In the second photo, you'll see a big pile of boxes. Some say we have a problem; I say we just like pretty silver and red boxes.

In the third photo, you'll see the heavy bag I use to practice my kickboxing on. Tonight, while sporting red slippers, I commenced to practicing after a little Tequila. (OK, OK, a LOT of Tequila) My husband knocked over several beer bottles after laughing at me KICKING OFF MY SLIPPER, and watching it SAIL into the wall and back down. HARD. I did do a nice roundhouse, though, without falling over. YOU try that after 4 shots.

In the fourth photo, you'll see red slippers with little Scottie Dogs on them. I am a total BADASS in these.

In the fifth photo, you'll a nice TV, and a guitar. Warmth and entertainment. We ARE civilized, I'll have you know.

In the sixth photo, you'll see dogs. What garage would be complete without fuzziness? Here Lou is saying "Mom, can we PLEEEZ go back inside? You are acting like total white trash!"

In the seventh photo, you'll see my darts, pre-tequila. Jim said to me, "Nice Cluster". Yeah, I TOTALLY closed out 1's. Hehe.

In the 8th and final photo, you'll see my darts, post-tequila. Oh, just shut up.

Adult Supervision

So the other day, being the good and concerned stepmom that I am, I asked my stepson if he was still going to gym. He said not really cuz his mom had been busy. Since we go to the same gym, I told him that I would go with him and supervise if he wanted. He told me "Cheryl, you are the one that needs supervision." Little fucker. and I mean that in the nicest, most loving way ever. :)

I couldn't resist.

So, for all you fuckers out there that roll your eyes every time I start blogging about earthquakes getting worse and NEOs (Near-Earth-Objects), have you been listening to the news lately and seen all of what is happening? Hmmm? An 8.7 earthquake killing possibly 2000 people, and scientists worried about Yellowstone? I'm telling you, something it up, you just won't believe me.

More new jobs and my general well-being.

So, that job I told you that my hubby got? Well, it didn't work out. BUT, he got ANOTHER new job and THIS one is cool. It is totally outside of the field he was in before (which was woodworking). This new job incorporates all of his manliness, and he loves it. He came home yesterday and was all like, "and today...at work...I got to do this...and see that..." - you get the picture. (And...one time...at Bandcamp...)

My work, however, is just not as exciting. I do have kind of a funny story, though. Yesterday, my boss asked what my official title was, and after I told him I said, "but that's not really my title according to some." He is a bit of a smartass himself and he said, "I know." That raised my eyebrow and I said, "It better be a NICE title, damnit." and he said, "Well, it has the word Goddess in it." I can live with that.

Happy Easter?

For our Easter this year, it was off to the in-laws with the kid. After a nice Easter prayer was said by my husband, and during a very lovely ham dinner, I decided to have some champagne. Mistake.

After offering some champagne to my stepson as a joke (to which he respectfully declined), I spilled a little gravy on my shirt. (Not a surprise.) I went to the sink to wash it off and then had a large water stain on my boob-area. When my husband said something or other about my "wet spot", I of course, giggled and said something like, "Are you talking about my vagina?" My stepson almost shot apple cider out of his nose and THEN I SAID TO HIM, "Yeah, you're probably thinking to yourself, I wish I had said yes to that fucking champagne right about now, aren't you?"  Laughter erupted from my stepson and myself, and I'm sure I will be disowned from the family by Tuesday.

Chipmunks and Kickboxing

Apparently, when I'm kickboxing, I look like a chipmunk. That's right folks. Last night at practice, my ever-so-loving ho-bag of a friend said that when I'm punching and she is holding the mits, I have this very chipmunk-y front-teeth-over-my-bottom-lip thing going on. It's my concentration, OK? Anyway, she did an impression of me, and I started laughing so hard I couldn't breathe. You know, the kind of laughing where your mouth is open, but no sound is coming out and tears are flying down your face and your stomach hurts? I'm sure we entertain the rest of the class. So, now that she has made fun of me in public, I'm going to plaster her name all over the internet. MARYANN, MARYANN, MARYANN. So there!!

Blog Hell

It's been so damn hard to post lately. I don't know why. Is it laziness? Perhaps. Is it that nothing interesting is happening? Nah. Is it that I'm too busy? Probably. Anyway, I have bloggers-block, I think. I start writing and it just sounds like blah, blah, blah, blah. The dogs haven't even done anything blog-worthy lately. I could post more about the crazy world events that are plunging us into Armageddon, but again, nah. I could tell you about my scrapbooking, but that's boring. How about the fact that my new boss is making me work so hard that I go home and go right to sleep? Yeah, that would make YOU go right to sleep. So, here we are. Nothing. I did start drinking OJ again after reading Skwigg's post. Maybe that is what is blocking my blog abilities. Whatever. Crap. This is quite possibly the stupidest fucking post EVER. Sorry. I'll try to do better later.

Stepkids and Crazy-Ass Dogs

My stepson (in the middle) just turned 13. He is a total goofball (we get along great) and here he is with his fruitloop friends. He has his first girlfriend now (not shown in picture cuz he would kill me) and her name is Hope. OK, 1...2...3...Awwww.



Here is Maga-dog. It never fails when I am on the floor taking pictures, there WILL be a dog nose print on the camera.

This Just In

Stan Deyo Issues Warning! March 7, 2005

This evening on Steve Quayle's Q-Files Radio Program, Scientist Stan Deyo issued a Warning about a possible building Cascade Subduction Zone 9.0+ Earthquake that could produce not only a 9.0 Quake but also resulting multiple tsunamis' that could last 8 to 10 hours, washing back and forth, causing much destruction.

Deyo reported that the Juan de Fuca Plate is starting to buckle and puts British Columbia at great risk; also threatening Washington, Oregon, California and basically the entire West Coast of US. Deyo reported that he has never seen these type signals ever off the West Coast of US, but they're there now!

Deyo believes that the other Scientists that should be warning are being muzzled by their governments to avoid panic. Steve Quayle stated he has reports that Russian Scientists are warning of a 10.0+ off the US West Coast. Deyo did report that this involves not only Seismic Quake activity but also volcanic at Mt. St. Helen's and under the ocean off Vancouver Island.

This is a very serious Warning to the United States & Canadian West Coast area. Included in the interview was reports that Scientists are rushing to the northwestern and Canadian area to investigate the current spike of events and danger signals. Deyo reported that local northwest advisories are advising a Go-Bag with 72 hours provision and advise to flee the area if anything happens.

Mountain Go Boom

Mt. St. Helens erupted during my commute home yesterday. I am too far away to see any of it, but it is always exciting when you get about 5 cell phone calls from friends and family saying, "It blew again". Everyone I know, knows that I love following all these kinds of events - volcanos, earthquakes, etc., so when something happens, I am all of sudden very popular to talk to. The last few weeks have been rather eventful, too. All kinds of shit going down. My skeptical husband who always rolls his eyes at me, said to me yesterday "You know, something is not right. Too much stuff is happening, and something is not right." My paranoia has finally rubbed off! LOL. :) The dogs have been all twitchy, too. Last night Louie started howling, and this morning Jim said they were all lovey. SOMETHING IS DEFINATELY WRONG FOLKS.

Employed!

FINALLY! Jim got a job! I was laughing at him this morning because he works at 5 am in the morning and he was dragging ass. I have been getting up at 4am for as long as I can remember, so I was not so sympathetic. LOL. Apparently, my teasing ticked off God, though, because after Jim left, I spent a half-hour looking for my stupid fucking keys - making me LATE for work with my new boss. THEN, I got a call from Jim, and he told me he was being sent home early because there was a minor earthquake that his new job was at the epicenter of. Stuff was all over the place that they were having to clean up, and the machinery was out of calibration rendering it useless. Figures.

Have you noticed the increase in earthquake activity lately?

The Beast

There comes a time in everyone's life (especially females) when paths are crossed with vile creatures. The vile creature that has recently crossed my path will herein be referred to as "The Beast".

The Beast started work at the restaurant last week. The Beast was cleverly disguised as a bubbly, girlie-girl waitress with a lot of experience. Oh, but no. Underneath that horribly fake blonde hair with lots of bling-bling in it, there resides evil. Evil that makes the devil shutter. The Beast decided that she would kiss as much ass as possible to try and "get" my job. I'm not sure why she wants it, but nonetheless, she pursues. The Beast is a money-grubbin' whore. If there were a 20-dollar bill laying on the floor, and you were in the Beast's way, she would stab you with a butter knife to get to it, I shit you not.

Thank the Lord I am not the only employee to feel this way. Apparently, I don't hide being annoyed well, and a private discussion was had on what to do about the situation. We decided to grit our teeth and bare it for now, and let life take its course. Boy, did it. The Beast let her evil out by phone call at a quarter to midnight on Saturday. I was still working, and just happen to answer. The owner witnessed the wrath of the Beast.

The call was about how she was all pissed about having to "share" her tips with me and two other employees that night, although she disguised this real reason as "I need to know exactly how much I made so that I can write it down for my taxes, and I know I made more than $75." Whatever. We don't usually have a tip-pool, but due to a large banquet party, it was the fairest route since we all busted our asses. I am in charge of the dining room and made the command decision to make an even split of the tips. You have to keep in mind here that this was her third night of work, and she was technically still in training. She is lucky she got ANYTHING. The Beast demanded copies of her tickets. (She apparently didn't look at them before she left.) She went on to tell me that when she was hired on, she was told that all servers made individual tips, and if this not how it was going to be, then she was going to have to quit. (Oh well! So sad!) She said she didn't like sharing because she is "used to making better tips than her co-workers and it would not be fair to share them". Say WHAT? Excuuuse me, but I've been waiting tables for 17 years, BITCH, and have bigger tits than you. The Beast even witnessed me making a 65$ tip on a $145 tab the other night, yet she still had the nerve to say this to me. I am the only other server there. I concluded she was pissed because she made a bee-line for the door to seat those very same good-tipping customers in her section on Saturday night. They are regulars, MY regulars. I was a little miffed to say the least. Who the hell does she think she is? She is certainly not CrazyDogMama, damn it.

The Beast also likes to show off by bringing in her own wine accessories and such and give the owner all kinds of "suggestions". It gets on my damn nerves. But, as it turns out, it gets on the owner's nerves as well. (Insert evil smiley face here). It will be interesting to see where this goes. Stay tuned.

Update

You are all so great. Thank you for all the personal emails...I wasn't really mad, I just wanted to stir the pot a little. Hehe. All of the blogs I read daily really cheer me up and keep me going. I actually feel guilty for not writing in mine. I know I am all twitchy when my favorite bloggers go on hiatus.

Jim is still on the job-hunt, but he decided to go with a staffing agency for now to just get something to keep us going. He is wanting to get out of the woodworking business, but that will of course take some time and soul-searching. In the meantime, we need stuff. Especially me. I'm a stuff-needing-girl. The greedy little bitch that I am. My close friends keep telling me to snap-the-hell-out-of-the-depression. They don't let me get away with whining a whole lot. Especially when I try to get out of working out. Picture 3 women dragging a fourth to the gym kicking and screaming holding onto a brownie while smoking. That's me.

Louie and Maggie are on serious vacation. When I come home last night, all three of them (Jim included here) are laying T-U on the floor lounging with the TV blaring. Bones laying nearby, and bags of Cheetos. That is when I go into my B-movie routine of how I am working so hard the flesh is falling off of my fingers and where's my dinner? Get-the-hell-up-before-I-kick-you!

Things are looking up, though. I am in a silly mood today and I was brought an iced mocha. Oh, the Joy.

Total Slacker

That would be me. I have watched my blog stats sail downhill the last few weeks; no doubt due to my lack of updating. Well, you know WHAT? BITE ME. No one has emailed me to ask if I'm dead, and there have been no words of encouragement. So, again, BITE ME. The depression and total pity-pot attitude I have had lately has turned to cynicism, sarcasm and anger. So, basically, I'm back to normal. But APPARENTLY you don't miss me, so BITE ME.

Day 17 of No Days Off

It is the aftermath of V-D. (Valentine's Day for all you warm and fuzzy freaks out there.).Holy Crap-O-Rama. The restaurant I work at was sold to a new owner last December and this was the first REALLY CRAZY night we've had. My body aches this morning, and I swear I'm getting varicose veins. Gross. Anyway, I have 5 more days until I finally have a day off. What will I do that day, you ask? SLEEP. EAT. SLEEP. REPEAT.

Louie is being really sweet and loving and cute and fuzzy. I'm wondering what the hell is going on in that little doggie brain of his. I'm waiting for the bomb to drop.

As if you don't already pity me.

Let me tell you about my day yesterday. It was going along just fine, la la la. THEN, I decided to try and figure out my own taxes before I go to the tax guy, so that I will know whether or not I can do it myself next year, or if I'm a complete retard. So, I just basically copied my taxes from last year, filling in the new numbers and complying with the new laws. (Love the new deduct-all-your-sales-tax thing.) Before I started, I thought I'd probably get around $1500 back per usual, give or take a few hundred. WRONG. I get back NOTHING. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck. This is the year I needed a return. Jim has no job. There is no food in the refrigerator. I can't go anywhere or do anything. I owe everyone I know money. My hair is turning brown. THE HORROR. Enter bad mood.

THEN I went to the Post office on my lunch break and my "YOUR ENGINE IS GOING TO BLOW UP" light on my car's dashboard turned on. Super. Perfect. I called a mechanic, and he told me to go make sure I had my gas cap screwed on tight. (Apparently, he thought I was an idiot. A common mistake.) Yes, the stupid gas cap is on, fool. So, I had to get the car in right away. Long story short, I wrote a check for about $350 dollars that my bank account doesn't have. Yeah, that's right. Bad mood turning to panic.

After that, it was time to go to kickboxing. After writing the rubber check, I had developed a major migraine. Since it was only 4:30, and kickboxing wasn't until 7:30, I figured I could just go take a nap in between. I didn't get all the way home before I needed to stop driving and LAY DOWN. HEAD NOT GOOD. GOING TO PUKE. I parked in the grocery store parking lot across the street from the gym to rest. Of course, the place I decided to park just happened to be the next hang out for the local dumb-ass kids who have nothing else to do but hang out in the grocery store parking lot. Loud thumping music. Loud stupid kids. Crazydogmama pissed. I moved the car to a different spot, all the while my head is pounding so hard I can't even see. I am thinking at this point that kickboxing probably isn't a good idea tonight. (duh, ya think?) I start to cry. Not a little whimper or two, but BAWLING so hard that my face puffs up, snot is running out my nose and my mascara is running down into my bra. I have no Kleenex mind you, and my headache is getting worse with the pathetic wailing.

My cell phone rings. It's my kickboxing buddy calling to see if I'm still going. I sound like a train wreck, and she asks me what the hell is going on and where I am. She comes and picks me up and takes me to one of our other kickboxing friend's house. Since I am a big loser this evening, everyone decides we are not going to kickboxing. They give me a drink. It is Dr. Pepper and Malibu rum. I am in no mood to argue. Don't ask. They give me headache drugs. Much better. I still looked really pretty, though, with raccoon-face.

Today has been "I gotta find money to put in the bank" day. So far, I've come up with 170$. Only 180$ to go!

Are you realizing my whole "February" issue yet??

I hate February.

Anyone who knows me, knows I hate February. Most of the *really* bad things that have ever happened to me, have happened in February. (I have big issues with Valentine's Day especially, but we're not talking about that.) I basically just hold my breath all month waiting for a bomb to drop. This year, however, I am optimistic for the first time since I was 16. So many icky things happened in January this year that I think I may skate through February unscathed. Maybe. You see, January is usually a great month for me, but not this year. Maybe it is taking February's place. It might as well, there is weirdness everywhere, and I mean weirdness. Are any of you experiencing weirdness too?? Dreams, feelings, people doing and saying bizarre things, etc. There is a guy at work that tiptoes down the hallway. He is not trying to be funny. It's that weirdness I'm telling you about. Yesterday, I saw a guy walking down the street with a wig on crooked. A normal, suburban street. I am living in the twilight zone. Either that, or I need to chill on reading all those freak-ass articles on the internet about aliens and Bigfoot.

My Husband's Diet

When Jim dropped a Fire Cheeto on his pot roast last night, I thought to myself, "I need to blog this.". Jim is the freakiest eater on the face of the planet. This is a man who ate fig newtons EVERY. DAY. For two years. Then, he went through a bagel phase. When I mean phase, I mean breakfast, lunch and dinner for an indefinite period of time. I'm pressed to eat *anything* twice in the same DAY, unless of course it involves iced mochas or pizza. He also does this really bizarre combo-thing, too. (Like spicy Cheetos and pot roast.) Yesterday this is what he ate in the time frame of 3pm to 8pm:

Frozen pot roast "Life Choice" dinner with green beans and spicy Cheetos.

Pork pot stickers with soy sauce.

Huge-ass piece of lasagna.

Chocolate brownie with white chunky sugar things in it.

More pot stickers, and more spicy Cheetos.

"Smart Ones" frozen chicken and pasta stir fry.

Please tell me this boy doesn't need some food-therapy. Did I mention he had SPICY CHEETOS WITH POT ROAST?? Yuck.

Someone needs to take the internet away from me.

It's a hopeless, dangerous addiction that gets me into to more trouble.

Currently, there is a rescue Cairn Terrier who needs adopting in my area. Crap. This little 6-month-old DOLL needs me, people. My husband is bugging me about getting her, but I keep telling him we can't because he needs a JOB FIRST. Dogs are expensive, I already have two dogs, I have to work a lot, blah, blah, blah. I know. But it just breaks my heart. I am the ultimate sucker. Jim walks his unemployed ass around the house all day telling Lou & mags they're gonna get a "sister". He gets them all riled up. Then he gets me all riled up. I keep saying no, but I'm gonna break, I'm telling you. As soon as he gets a job, I'm gonna break. He has an interview Tuesday for a good job that he is perfect for. Keep your fingers and paws crossed!!

I smell like a boy today.

For some reason the hand lotion I am using + the perfume I put on this morning combine into what smells like a very pleasant MEN'S COLONGNE. I keep wanting to flirt with myself, and I keep smelling my hands.

In other news, I was in bed all weekend with the flu, and when I was driving home on Friday on the very scary Highway 2 (nicknamed the "highway of death"), this old white van suddenly swerved head-on into my lane. I closed my eyes, swerved to the right thinking "I'm dead" and for some reason (most likely divine intervention), I completely avoided both a head-on collision and hitting the guard rail that would send me straight into the river. I must have a purpose on earth because SERIOUSLY FOLKS, I SHOULD BE DEAD. I walked into the house in shock and told my husband he was talking to a ghost. Then, I took a bunch of NyQuil and went to bed for 48 hours.

Does it even surprise you anymore?

This is the picture that my tax person has on the front of his brochure:



All I can say is, that pup better get me a helluva return this year. I need it BAD. I'm running out of 20$ hair conditioner, my nails need to be done and my car needs to be detailed. (All the dog hair.)

Adding Insult to Injury

As if you're not sick of my whining by now, in addition to all the crap happening to me, Maggie pooped in the hallway today and Louie peed under the coffee table. I almost cried. Almost. Usually I would just flail-about and scream "OUTSIDE! OUTSIDE!", but today was one of those days where I could cry over not enough chocolate in my iced mocha. I really, just really need a happy day. Things are so fricking crazy right now, it's scary. Even the weather has lost its mind. Last week we had an ice storm, and it was in the 20's. Today, we are flooding all over the place and its nearly 60 degrees. 60 DEGREES PEOPLE! IN JANUARY! I'm sure the world will be ending soon, or pigs will start flying.

I have to say, though, as bad as my 2005 is going so far, I still have to be thankful I'm not in SE Asia. I read an article today saying that 225 THOUSAND people are dead, and you know they are under-reporting the numbers. It is estimated that a possible 200 thousand more could die from disease. That is just downright depressing. Makes me want to go hug everyone I know.

Guess what?

CrazyDogMama fell down a flight of stairs. Yep. My ankle is completely messed up and I look like I have many things shoved up my ass when I walk. Last week was just fabulous, let me tell you. Unemployed husband, bruised and battered body, and a new boss. What a stellar start to 2005. Somehow, though, I'm still going to go to my new boxing class on Wednesday. So help me GOD.

Pass the Valium, Please.

Nothing seems bleak when you have a full stash of "happy pills". Everyone keeps asking ME (not my husband) how it's going. Apparently, I'm the high-strung one. My friends understand me, though. Our motto is, "Create your own happiness". I am trying not to self-medicate with peanut butter cups, though. Prescription drugs are much easier on the ass and thighs.

It's going OK. I tend to want to freak out thinking about the situation too much, but truly, there is nothing I can do. I have my husband doing all kinds of projects at home. Fix the vacuum. Take down the Christmas lights. Wash the dogs. Steam clean the carpet. Yep, I have a house-boy. I may even have dinner waiting for me when I get home. *Grin*

Murphy's Law

What happens when you quit smoking, get back on track with eating clean, start going back to the gym 6 days a week and, just basically, start kicking ass?

Your husband loses his job.

Now I just want to lay in bed with a pack of cigarettes, a rum and coke and big stupid bowl of cookie dough.

Well, crap.

So, I went back to work on Monday. I put up my new calendar, checked all my bazillion work-emails and had 6 cups of coffee. In walks the Vice President. He wants to talk to me. Holy Shit. I'm not on the internet, I swear! He wants to speak in private. Oh Gawd. It's only a few hours into my day, in the new year, and he tells me, "I've just laid off your boss". What do you say to that? I just blinked. As my boss packed up his office, I was given a stack of work taller than my desk. I have been told that the company is being "reorganized". Yeah, whatever. I'm a peon here, so I'm not in jeopardy right now. I don't think. I don't make the big bucks.

So, being boss-less, here I write in my blog. I better get to work.

Whoa.

Can you say blog sloth? Yeah, that's me lately. I have just not been in the mood to type or do anything requiring brain power. Not that I use my brain when blogging, mind you. There has not been anything blog-worthy going on anyway. We raked it in at Christmas and have been lazy peanut-butter-cup-eating grumps ever since. I'm throwing out the cigarettes on Monday, (again) and I'm scared shitless that I will gain weight. I have enough weight, thank you.

For New Years, I'm working at the restaurant. (Insert sympathy, here.) While everyone else gets to party, I'm the one serving YOU. Remember that. Remember the next time you go out on a holiday, and you're all dressed up and drinking yourself into a stupor...someone made that drink. Someone is making sure YOU are having a good time. Tip them accordingly. Thank you. Done ranting.

I know I'm in a crappy mood. It's just that my computer crashed, and I have to go back to the other job on Monday (the 10-hour-a-day office job) after having 2 weeks off. It's been great, but the whole going-back thing sucks. One can get very used to doing nothing. Especially me. I'm really good at it.

Happy 2005 to y'all, hope its a great year for you!

He *really* wants to open a present.

I won't let him. Mean Crazydogmama.

Merry Christmas Everybody!

Consider this your Christmas card.

OMIGOD!

For any of you who have been reading my blog for any length of time, will know that this video is SO TOTALLY ME ON THE TREADMILL. You will die laughing. I did.

https://youtu.be/l3keGElnSh4

Just get your coffee and leave me alone.

So, at the coffee machine today someone said to me: "You look tired today." I said:

My vacation is getting closer.

In four days, I will embark on a 17-day MUCH NEEDED vacation. My brain is almost completely fried (and NOT from substances) and I just don't think I can take much more. I have been working 7 days a week for a month now, and I'm starting to hallucinate. I couldn't even get out "24 oz triple iced soy mocha with whip, please" this morning. Thank God they already knew what I wanted. This is serious, folks.

When I woke up this morning, I didn't know what day it was. I knew to go to work, though. Sad.

What do you think?

Thanks to Annie for this one.

Holiday Eating Tips:

1. Avoid carrot sticks. Anyone who puts carrots on a holiday buffet table knows nothing of the Christmas spirit. In fact, if you see carrots, leave immediately. Go next door, where they're serving rum balls.

2. Drink as much eggnog as you can. And quickly. Like fine single-malt scotch, it's rare. In fact, it's even rarer than single-malt scotch. You can't find it any other time of year but now. So drink up! Who cares that it has 10,000 calories in every sip? It's not as if you're going to turn into an eggnog-aholic or something. It's a treat. Enjoy it. Have one for me. Have two. It's later than you think. It's Christmas!

3. If something comes with gravy, use it. That's the whole point of gravy. Gravy does not stand alone. Pour it on. Make a volcano out of your mashed potatoes. Fill it with gravy. Eat the volcano. Repeat.

4. As for mashed potatoes, always ask if they're made with skim milk or whole milk. If it's skim, pass. Why bother? It's like buying a sports car with an automatic transmission.

5. Do not have a snack before going to a party in an effort to control your eating. The whole point of going to a Christmas party is to eat other people's food for free. Lots of it. Hello?

6. Under no circumstances should you exercise between now and New Year's. You can do that in January when you have nothing else to do. This is the time for long naps, which you'll need after circling the buffet table while carrying a 10-pound plate of food and that vat of eggnog.

7. If you come across something really good at a buffet table, like frosted Christmas cookies in the shape and size of Santa, position yourself near them and don't budge. Have as many as you can before becoming the center of attention. They're like a beautiful pair of shoes. If you leave them behind, you're never going to see them again.

8. Same for pies. Apple. Pumpkin. Mincemeat. Have a slice of each. Or, if you don't like mincemeat, have two apples and one pumpkin. Always have three. When else do you get to have more than one dessert? Labor Day?

9. Did someone mention fruitcake? Granted, it's loaded with the mandatory celebratory calories, but avoid it at all cost. I mean, have some standards.

10. One final tip: If you don't feel terrible when you leave the party or get up from the table, you haven't been paying attention.

Ok, I'm feeling festive now.

Fa-la-la-fucking-la.

I'm grumpy as all hell. Who invented Christmas lights? They should be shot. Our tree is shaped all funny and looks bent at the top. Got all the lights on it, and OF COURSE they didn't all work. Took the lights off and put more on. Now, because of a nice little mother-fucking windstorm, half of the lights on my house don't work. Our house looks retarded. How fitting.

Went to get the oil changed in my car. I was expecting to pay about 30$ for the full service. It cost $300 because there were several things wrong with it. Of course. Now the Christmas budget is blown. Nobody is getting shit. Then, after all was fixed on the car, on the way home I RAN OVER A DOG. Yes, that's right folks, CrazyDogMama hit and killed a poor defenseless dog. I am horrified and depressed. and a piece on my car is bent. DAMN IT. This will be FOUR animals I have now hit with my car in 3 years. Two deer, two dogs. Just call me the grim reaper.

Are you in the holiday spirit now? Good. I thought so. Meh.

Courtesy of Annie

Dear Abby,

My husband is not happy with my mood swings. The other day he bought me a mood ring so he would be able to monitor my moods. When I'm in a good mood, it turns green. When I'm in a bad mood, it leaves a big fucking red mark on his forehead. Maybe next time he'll buy me a diamond.

Sincerely,
Bitchy in Sultan

Did I ever tell you...

...about when I first got Louie? This is a funny story. We brought little Louie-fuzball home on July 3rd. Yes, the day before the 4th of July. Anyway, he was cute and fuzzy and peed everywhere, as expected. What was not expected, however, was me thinking my new little puppy was possessed. I had never owned a Cairn Terrier before, and boy was I IN FOR A SURPRISE. Cairns do all the cute puppy things that regular puppies do, except one thing. They play like they are pit bulls. Louie disembodied plush toys and growled like he was possessed by the devil. (You know that story in the bible about the possessed pigs? Well, yeah.) At the time, we did not know if he was just playing, or if he had distemper or something. The vet gave him a clean bill of health, and Louie was all normal-acting at the vet's office (of course) so distemper was ruled out. He would do this "grrr...grrr...grrr" thing with all of his teeth bared and his tail spinning like a helicopter blade. It was a little frightening. All 2 lbs. of him. He only did this for us. Whenever we had company over, he was a little puppy angel. The little fucker only wigged-out for us. I ended up calling my mom bawling my eyes out telling her that Louie was possessed, and I didn't know what to do. She just laughed at me. We laugh about it NOW, but I'm telling you, if a little puppy came rushing out of YOUR bathroom with a little white bathroom trashcan in his mouth, shaking it back and forth while growling like he just made his first kill, YOU would be nervous too.

Oh, and here's the Thankful List:

1. I am thankful for my hubby who will drive an hour at 10pm at night (without complaining) to bring me my car keys that I have locked in my car for the BAZILLIONTH TIME.

2. I am thankful for my little 1040 square foot home that still has paint tape on the spots I have not finished from the July painting.

3. I am thankful for my little possessed puppies who light up my life every day.

4. I am thankful for all the rest of my family who has not committed me to an insane asylum yet.

5. I am thankful to have a job that has let me stay for 10 whole years and lets me blog.

6. I am thankful for prescription drugs that keep me from curling up in the fetal position sucking my thumb.

7. I am thankful that I have my health. I still can't do a pull-up, though. I am still a wimp-ass.

8. I am thankful for iced mochas. You knew I had to put this one in, right?

9. I am thankful for Nature's Miracle. (The stuff that cleans up dog pee.)

10. I am thankful for all the wonderful friends I have made through blogging, here's to you!

Notes to Self

Gingerbread Lattes, good. Eggnog Lattes, really good. Me to Lou-dog: "Get away from my NOG, DOG!"

Earthquakes and Turkey Day

As you know, I like to keep up with earthquake statistics. Yes, I know, the ultimate Geekdom. Anyway, check this out: (I bolded the magnitudes)

>2004/11/15 09:06 M 7.0 WEST COAST OF COLOMBIA Z 4.61N 77.54W>
>2004/11/16 10:06 M 6.1 NEW BRITAIN REGION, P.N.G. Z 5.57S 151.42E>
>2004/11/17 21:09 M 6.6 FIJI REGION Z 19.96S 178.80W>
>2004/11/20 08:07 M 6.2 COSTA RICA Z 9.57N 84.19W>
>2004/11/20 22:01 M 6.1 COAST OF GUATEMALA Z 13.41N 90.05W>
>2004/11/21 11:41 M 6.0 LEEWARD ISLANDS Z 15.68N 61.69W>
>2004/11/21 11:07 M 6.0 TONGA Z 15.33S 174.99W>
>2004/11/22 20:26 M 7.3 OFF W. COAST OF S. IS, N.Z. 46.57S 164.83E

Those are some big-ass magnitudes, no? Over the last few years, this has become the norm and therefore the media has become complacent about it. However, 10 years ago - this would have been headlining news. There has also been much volcano activity in the last few months. Looks like the Ring of Fire is roasting some chestnuts for the holidays.

Besides waiting for the "big one" to hit, I will also be cooking Thanksgiving food for SIX WHOLE PEOPLE. Needless to say, I'm terrified. You may have read some of my earlier posts on the cooking disaster that is me. Jim is doing the turkey and the mashed potatoes, so I at least have peace about that. One year, though, I forgot my brain and bought a FROZEN TURKEY one day before Thanksgiving. That was quite possibly the most stressful 24 hours of my life. I won't be doing that again. Fresh turkey, I repeat, fresh turkey.

Jim puts garlic and butter all over the turkey and whips the potatoes. He is really sexy when he mashes all of those potatoes. I make my special secret stuffing, the baked pineapple (my fav!), the cranberry sauce (whole berries, of course), the gravy, the rolls, the banana dessert Jim has to have, and usually the green bean crunch - but this year I'm making my mom bring that. My friends are bringing pumpkin pie tartlets and alcohol. Okay, so really, I don't have to do that much. I'm scared anyway.

Because I love you all (well, most of you) here is quite possibly the best Thanksgiving recipe on the planet:

Baked Pineapple
In a baking dish (size of your choice) create the following layers:

1 layer of crumbled saltine crackers
1 layer of pieces of real butter
1 layer of pineapple rings
1 layer of brown sugar

Repeat layers about 3 times, then bake in the oven at about 350 for 40 minutes or so. During the last 10 minutes, add a layer of small marshmallows on top. DO NOT SKIMP ON ANY OF THE INGREDIENTS. Serve piping hot.

It sounds simple-stupid, but I'm telling you, you will reach orgasm. This recipe was passed down to me over several generations on my mother's side. It originated in the deep South. Trust me. Try it. People will ask you to make it every year for the rest of your life. :)

Have a Happy (and safe!) Turkey Day!! I will be posting what I am thankful for in the days to come - which is now an annual blogging tradition for me.

Where's Crazydogmama?

She has been hiding. Had the flu last week, then killed my back scrubbing the bathroom floor. To make it all better, this helps:



It's like a cross between soft Captain Crunch and Lucky Charms. Jim picked it up at the store for me along with Orange Juice and Cold/Flu tablets. My husband rocks. Seriously.

I have not felt like blogging at all. I don't know why. Sorry.

Oh yeah, I had a birthday.

I turned 33 last Friday. Whoop-de-doo. My boss at the restaurant gave me a bottle of champagne and I drank almost all of it in one sitting. I also (and you will be proud) went to the gym with my workout buddies. They gave me presents and I kicked their ass. (I am training them.) I am not a certified trainer, but they decided I had the most knowledge of the 3 of us, and actually do EVERYTHING I tell them to do. It is so fun. I love bossing people around, I've learned. It is amazing that they trust someone who has a purple knee from flying off the Stairmaster after "accidentally" pressing level 10 without realizing it. *blush* Yes, it's true. I have fallen off BOTH the treadmill and the Stairmaster now. No one comes to my rescue anymore. It's like "that's just Cheryl falling off the machines again".

Halloween Photos, FINALLY!

OK, so what if it took 2 weeks to post them, I've been busy being lazy.

Jesus gone insane. (My neighbor naturally looks like Jesus.) Everyone took turns trying on the straight jacket. We KNOW how to party, I'm tellin' ya.



Here is the "new" Leatherface mask. It was about 12 sizes too large for Jim's head, so we put it in a bowl and had black light on it.



Jim in the old mask. I know you WANT him, bad.



My little ankle-biter. Ha!

OH HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY!

I got a new cam-er-a, I got a new cam-er-a!! It is my birthday this Friday, and I bought myself a REAL camera. I already have a good digital, but that was it. NOW, I have a new Konica Minolta 35mm with a 28-100 lens and a 75-300 zoom lens! Oh, happy day! I'm also going to be taking a photography class in January so that I can learn how to turn it on and load the film. LOL. I just love photography and have always wanted to learn how to do more than take snapshots. Wheeee.

OK, I've unloaded the Halloween pics from my camera, now all I have to do is pick out which ones I can post without getting shit from my friends. Maybe tonight...I KNOW you just can't wait any longer.

Side Note

If you finish your mocha before any of the whipped cream melts, you have issues. If you, after finishing the mocha, take the lid off and scoop the unmelted whipped cream OUT OF THE CUP and eat it, you have some serious issues.

Three words: Toffee. Almond. Bars.

God has sent these down to Starbucks from Heaven, and I finally tried one. It almost pained me to purchase a non-chocolate item, but OH MY GOD IT WAS SO WORTH IT. I snarfed that puppy down in 3 bites while waiting for my mocha. (Yes, I know. Shut up.) I think I must have looked shocked and orgasmic at the same time because the barista kept looking up at me with a "you are going to choke" look on her face. I'm telling you right now - TRY THEM. Forget the chocolate espresso brownies. Ok, don't forget them, but go toffee. You won't regret it. Don't go to the Starbucks I go to, though. Cuz they are MINE, ALL MINE. I might just purchase the whole lot and sit my toffee-ass in front of the TiVo tonight.

If...

...I read ONE MORE blog today that talks about the damn election I AM GOING TO HURL. I swear to GOD!

A Halloween Recap...

OK, I'm still recovering from our Halloween party, give me one more day or so and I'll put some pictures up. I have to be careful what pictures I post, though, cuz I could very easily get my ass kicked. Note to self: getting too old to party that hard. You can't drink a pint of rum by yourself anymore.

There were bloody body parts and glow-in-the-dark silly string everywhere. When you have consumed as many adult beverages as we did, it becomes difficult to determine whether or not you should eat pizza that is lit up. We also have video of people line dancing to the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" soundtrack. It is scary to think we are all in our 30's. Our party took place in my garage, where everyone froze, and where we may have set a bad example to the neighborhood children. I'm not sure, though, I don't remember any children. Were there kids? We ran out of candy at about 7 pm. We did not run out of liquor. I vaguely remember my husband hi-fiving some kid using a severed arm.

More later, I need a nap.

Lunar Eclipse

Pretty neat, right?!? We had a fabulous view from our front yard, and I froze my ass off like a freak taking pictures of it for an hour. Super cool.

Speaking of Killing Spiders

There is definitely a RIGHT way and a WRONG way to kill a spider for me.

The RIGHT way:

1. Very quickly, and I mean QUICKLY run and get a large tissue or paper towel.
2. Wait for me to reach minimum safe distance from the killing ground.
3. Smash the spider into the tissue or paper towel, making sure you cannot see ANY of the spider. There should be no "spider residue" on the wall, either.
4. Take the dead spider wad IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION from where I am and dispose of it in an outside garbage facility.

The WRONG way:

1. Take your time looking at the spider before you fetch anything to kill it with.
2. Tell me that spiders are "good" and shouldn't be killed because they eat bugs. BULLSHIT.
3. Kill the spider with your bare hand.
4. Scoop the spider up with a piece of paper and put it outside. IT WILL COME BACK IN TO GET ME.
5. Kill the spider, then try to walk towards me with its legs sticking out of a tissue.
6. Leave spider guts on the wall.
7. Whack the spider, letting it just fall to the ground AND NOT PICKING IT UP. This is a serious NO-NO.
8. Put the dead spider in the trash next to my desk. You KNOW it will be resurrected and come back to get me, right?
9. Put the dead spider in the toilet. They crawl back up, and I can't even finish this sentence...
10. And last, but not least, LAUGH AT ME AND TELL ME TO BE A BIG GIRL. I will kill you.

Some Clarifications

Regarding the questions/comments on the picture of Louie and Maggie on my sidebar:

No, Louie does not smoke Marlboro Lights. He's partial to Camels.

No, that is not a gun pointed at Louie's head, it's my emergency brake.

No, Louie was not in danger of a head-whack from the emergency brake if I took a turn too sharp, we were sitting in a parking lot waiting for our designated appointment at the vet's office.

Ways to irritate me at work.

1. Don't say good morning as you pass by me in the hallway. Come ON, that's rude.

2. Gleefully stroll past me in the hallway and exclaim "Happy Monday!". Just DIE.

3. Pour yourself the last of the coffee and then put the empty pot back on the burner and walk away as I'm standing there.

4. Come into my office at 6:30 am and start explaining a complicated project to me. You could at least wait until noon.

5. Come into my office and start reading the personal notes on my wall calendar.

6. Comment on the notes on my wall calendar and start asking me what my personal acronyms mean.

7. Stand in the doorway of my office until I get off the phone.

8. Come into my office and help yourself to my expensive hand lotion without asking.

9. Ask me how much money I make.

10. Refuse to kill spiders for me. That's just MEAN.

11. Mock my coughing fit from your office two doors down.

12. State to me loudly "You're having ANOTHER cigarette?".

13. Bring your baby to work and expect me to act like its the cutest baby EVER. I am afraid of babies, and I will HIDE IN THE BATHROOM UNTIL YOU LEAVE.

14. Bring everyone back an ice cream except me just because I told you I was lactose intolerant. Fucker.

15. Bring stinky food for lunch.

16. Tell me my desk is "too clean". I'm organized you idiot, not underworked.

17. Bring donuts in the day after I tell you I'm "eating clean" this week.

18. Keep slamming the door adjacent to my office.

19. Sigh, huff and act annoyed while waiting for me at the copy machine. It will make me take longer.

What a week I'm having!

I can't handle domestic problems. My stepson has decided, at the age of 12, to start the rebellious stage. I probably shouldn't give the details, but in a nutshell, he is faking sick to get out of school at least once a week, lighting matches (then lying about it), and running away down the street to the local KFC. When found, he had his backpack with him that contained a Gameboy, Gameboy games, a couple of books, 50$ and a steak knife. You know, all the necessities of life. He lives with his mom, so we are hearing about all of this over the phone, but my husband is all stressed-out and fit-to-be-tied. No one knows what to do. The first thing that comes to my mind is: Why don't you whack him with a newspaper and put him in the crate? Probably why I don't and shouldn't have kids. Ha.

On top of that, I can't find the energy to do the laundry, the dishes and generally get out of bed. I don't know if it's a touch of depression, or just being overwhelmed by life itself. The smallest tasks are frightening me. I have also had 3 iced mochas this week with regular milk. It's the only way to cope, I'm telling you.

Absolutely Unmotivated

To do anything. I keep reading all these blogs where people are working out with a vengeance, eating clean, losing weight and are just generally pumped-up and motivated. I am not motivated to do shit this week. I've been sleeping too much, eating too much and afraid to get on the scale. I've been eating all of my "intolerant" foods, therefore I'm grumpy, sickly and dragging my big, fat ass. I suffer from "workout burnout". I wish I was more like Skwigg and Yogagirl. For some reason I just can't think "fitness" and "Health" 24-7. I enjoy my fitness regimen of HIIT (occasionally), but I'll never have that trainer mentality full-time. I'm not sure why. I have extensive knowledge, it's just that I have too many days of not caring. There are times when I get into a specific yoga position on the floor and decide just to stay on the floor and take a nap. What is wrong with me?

In other news, I am obsessed with getting an iPod. Can't afford it right now, but I *really* want one. I think I want the iPod mini, but should I get it in lime green, or pink? I don't know. I really want a McDonald's hamburger, too. Just help me NOW.

Otter-licious!

It took me a while to post this, but here it is, my Otter necklace! Isn't it bea-u-ti-ful? I get so many compliments on it! Thanks Otter!! I am disappointed in how my hair doesn't look as blonde as it actually IS in this picture. Oh well, it was a mess anyway.

I Feel 21 Again

It was just like old times last night, like we never missed a beat. It was a great 5 hours of girl-talk, coffee and cigarettes. (No alcoholic beverages this time around.) There was not one, but TWO old friends that I met with! The other was a girlfriend I hadn't seen since my wedding day 10 whole years ago! It's definitely Deja Vu month.

On another note, I got a little yelled at by hubby about the peepee incident. The dogs are restricted from the bedroom until further notice. We may possibly "switch" sides on the bed, too. I got grilled about how many times this has happened that he doesn't know about. I plead the 5th and tried to look all innocent and shit. Yeah, like THAT would work.

Out of Control and Over the Edge

Not me this time; the dogs. Well, actually, me too now that I think about it. Louie may have slept his last night in my bed. Sunday night at about 1am, we all curled up (the dogs and I - Jim was still watching T.V.) in the bed. Cozy-cozy. Maggie at the foot of the bed, and Louie on my left next to my belly. We slowly drifted off into zzzz land.

A short while later, I had to roll over because my arm was going numb. I butt-bumped Louie. Startled the shit out of him. He growled at me for such a rude awakening. Maggie attacked him for growling at me. (She's VERY protective and hates violence.) Louie attacked her back, for once. and peed. ON.MY.BED. AGAIN. He didn't just dribble either, he really let that bladder GO. I popped up out of bed and shoved the dogs over the edge of the bed. I was *so* mad. The dogs knew it, too, because they didn't know whether to shit or go blind at this point.

It then occurred to me that I would have to clean this mess up quietly without telling Jim. Why, you ask? Because he was not a big supporter of the dogs sleeping on the bed in the first place, AND it just so happens that Louie peed on Jim's side of the bed. Oops, shhh, don't tell Daddy. My hopes were that Jim would fall asleep in his recliner tonight, as he so frequently does. Oooh, pleeez God, I will get so in trouble. I feel 10 years old all over again.

I have to somehow get the Nature's Miracle and a towel without Jim noticing. Tiptoe, tiptoe. Got it. Dogs still hiding in the corner. Good. After I realized that I grabbed one of Jim's golf towels, I panicked. I cannot use a golf towel to clean up dog pee if I want to live. Now what do I do? That was the only towel in the cupboard. All others are in laundry room on the other side of the house. Crap. The only thing left to do (all the while the pee is soaking into my bed) is use my own clothes. Some old t-shirts - yeah, that'll work.

Now that I have 4 t-shirts that reek of Nature's Miracle and dog urine, what do I do with them? Didn't think of that. I must have stood in the bedroom holding those t-shirts for 10 minutes trying to think of something. Uh-oh. Hear. foot. steps. QUICK! Threw t-shirts, jumped into still-wet-bed. (Ick!!) Jim walks in.

Jim: "What the hell are you doing?"
Me: "Oh, the dogs were fighting."
Jim to dogs: "Get in your crates!" (Dogs run to their crates in the office.)
Jim: "What are you doing with the Nature's Miracle?" (He saw it sitting on the vanity table)
Me: "Um, cleaning up pee?"
Jim: "They peed on the floor too??" (Getting angry)
Me: "Uhhhhhhhhhhh...uh-huh." (Big liar-head)

Shaking his head, Jim leaves the room. WOOHOO! I did it!! I get up and wipe off my soggy ass, put a bunch of old clothes on top of pee-spot and climb back in. Its not so bad. I'll just tell him in the morning when he is half asleep. Yeah, I'll do that.

Couldn't sleep. Gee, I wonder why? Got up and had a cigarette. Talked to Jim for a while like nothing has happened. Decide to go back to bed. Jim says he is going to bed too and follows me down the hallway. Uh-oh. Think! Think! Can't think of anything. Get into bed. Jim changes his clothes and gets ready to crawl in bed. I can't do it. I tell him.

I'll let him calm down before I explain myself.

Blog Catch-Up

It has been a slacker week in blogland for me. I have been sleeping, eating and working. gah. I am meeting my long-lost friend for coffee on Monday night, so that should prove interesting. We have A LOT to catch up on. I have missed my friend terribly and have felt bad for a long time that we lost touch on a bad note. She is the one with whom I spent my "rebel" years with, so talking about old times will be a hoot. Lots of drunken, stupid and INSANELY fun times.

In other news, my neighbors need to die. They are the most ANNOYING people on the planet. As you may recall, they are the ones who have the obnoxious playset in the backyard with the kids that I refer to as "the spawn of hell". Did I ever tell you about the night I drank too much? Me and hubby were playing music loud, and Holly Hobbie over there got in a huff and started *slamming* windows and such. I decided to FLASH THEM. Yep. I did. Hehe. Anyway, they are always in the backyard. I mean ALWAYS. It could be raining, and they are out there playing with their damn kids. I hate it. I am a very private person, and there is nothing worse than seeing those freaks every time I look up. No one else in the neighborhood goes outside that much, and of course, the ONES THAT ACT LIKE OZZIE AND FUCKING HARRIET have to live right behind me. They have on their little rain hats and slickers today and are talking "baby talk". I want to puke. Seriously. Harriet was talking to another mom in the neighborhood awhile back who happens to be a friend of mine. My friend told me that they were discussing songs their children liked to listen to. My friend's daughter happens to like the "barbie song". Harriet apparently was horrified, put on her disapproving face, and told my friend that that song was "immoral" and is a bad example for young girls. Yeah, the barbie song IS going to corrupt society, you know? Puh-leeze.

Question

Have you ever tripped while working out on the treadmill? It's quite dramatic, I must say.

Some Happy News

I just got an email from a friend that I haven't spoken to in 5 years! We had a falling out, but she just contacted me through classmates.com. I have thought so much about her; we went through many tough times together. Oh, happy day! CrazyDogMama is feeling all sappy today.

Learn How To Cuss Properly By Reading Blogs

During my blog-surf today, I believe I encountered 101 ways to improve the word ASS. Or better yet, new and improved cuss words.

Now, we have all called someone an "ass" before, an "asshole" or even an "asswipe", but have you called someone an "asshat"? I have not. Not until today. My co-worker, let's call him "M", found out today what it is like to be called an asshat. He did not know whether to laugh or be offended. I will let him figure that out for himself.

Might I add that you can expand on "asshat" by describing someone's mean blog comments as "asshatness".

There is also "assface", "assnodule" and my personal favorite, "assbag". "Assbag" is not new to me because my husband calls Louie an assbag. He will come when called assbag. Not to me, though, as noted in the previous post.

There are many other fun cuss words out there, too, but we'll talk about that later.

There's normal, then there's my dogs.

Normal Dogs: Come to you (at least eventually) when you call them.

My Dogs: Go to *anyone* else in the room but me when I call them, or just sit there looking at me DEFIANTLY.

Normal Dogs: Chew and play with toys, and fetch things all cute-like.

My Dogs: Act possessed and rip the shit out of every single toy you buy them inside of 10 seconds while you add up in your head all the money you just burned, and run after balls that you throw, sniff them, then return to you and wait for you to go pick them up and throw them again. This seems to entertain them greatly.

Normal Dogs: Can be trained to take a walk.

My Dogs: Insist on shitting in the middle of the street while you are crossing it, then yip and wail loudly as you try to DRAG them across while they are defecating so that they don't get run over. They also put on the "choke-and-puke" show for the first 30 minutes. It's really fun.

Normal Dogs: Wag their tails and look cute when someone comes over.

My Dogs: Screech-bark so loud it makes children cry, and RAM people who come over. They truly *love* everybody, but it can be a little hard to explain this while screaming over the noise.

This is how much I love my dogs.

This morning, Louie was being needy. He would NOT leave me alone. I always feel bad leaving them when I go to work - it just seems wrong. Anyways, I was drying my new hairdo (which somehow takes 10 minutes longer than it did before, go figure) and Louie was sitting as close to me as he could, staring up. I reached down to give him a scatch. He *really* liked this and wouldn't stand for just two seconds of scratching. Must. Have. More. Okay, more. and more. and more. Try blow-drying your hair AND scratching your pooch at the same time. Not easy. But I did it. For 30 minutes. I was late to work. Oh well. He's worth it.

What on EARTH is happening?

Well, Mt. Saint Helens is rumbling, there was a 6.0 earthquake in Central California, Toutatis is making a fly-by tomorrow, and let's not forget all the freaky hurricanes, the Iraq war and the elections coming up. Any bets on what's next?

There are so many earthquakes today all over the world.

I got a new do, too!

Seems like this is the month for new hairdo's. Skwigg went blonde, Divaquest went short, and I went shorter and blonder! It is actually just about an inch shorter and a little blonder than the picture I have on the right for my profile. Got some layering too. My head was seriously looking like a dingy mop, way too long (it covered my boobs) and way too brownish. Something had to be done. It is really fun to come to work like nothing is different, sit down at my desk and just watch. People will walk by and glance at me, then stop, turn around and come back. Lots of comments, you know the routine. By the end of the day every single blonde joke in the world has been told, and if I hear "Did you get your hair done?" one more time, I swear I will hurl. Yes, YOU FREAKING IDIOT, I did get my hair done. You have a terrific grasp on the obvious.

Which "Spice" are You?

Jim and I went out to breakfast yesterday morning. I didn't feel like getting dressed up, so I put on stretch pants, a t-shirt and Adidas flip-flops with socks. I said to him, "I'm going as Sporty Spice." Jim said to me, "I'm going as Old Spice". LOL!!

Meet "Crazydogmama: Groomer"

So, I called my groomer to schedule an appointment for the pups last Friday. No one answered, so I left a message. I got a call back later that day from a young girl (not my usual groomer) who tells me that they are no longer doing "hand stripping" because of the "carpal tunnel" issue, and would I still like to schedule for a bath? No longer hand stripping? SHIT! Hand stripping is what you have to have done to Cairn Terriers instead of clipping with scissors. It's when you pull out or "strip" all the dead hair out BY HAND. It was impossible to find a groomer to do this because it is so tedious and time consuming - not to mention most groomers don't even know HOW to do it. This means I have to do it. I did it. Poor dogs. Poor CrazyDogMama. My fingers were actually bleeding afterward. The dogs look a little funny, but not too bad. It took four frigging hours. So, now I am pricing out some professional grooming tools online. Grooming table, MARS Coat Handler (a stripping tool helper) and other stuff. VERY EXPENSIVE. Crap. This sucks.

You should have seen it. I set up a scrapbook table in the garage and commenced the stripping of the dogs there. They yowled and whined, and I cussed. All the neighborhood mommies were horrified, I'm sure.

I wonder how many people will google "stripped" and will come here expecting to find naked pictures. Ha!

Louie & Billy

Here is Louie snuggled up to my stepson, Billy. That dog is glued to that kid when he comes to visit. It's like I don't even exist. Impossibly cute.

Nappy-Nap Time

When I'm tired, I'm tired. Here's me catching a few Z's on a bench in downtown Seattle. It was the 80's - hence the stupid-looking sunglasses. Picture courtesy of my mom who thinks I'm certifiable.

More Organizing

Here is my latest project with my neighbor's kitchen. TA-DA! An organized pantry!