He Is SO My Son!!

Okay, so. I’m sitting at my laptop looking at photos of puppy dogs on a local shelter’s website. Since I threatened TWH with a puppy if I didn’t get my Giant Metal Chicken tomorrow, I thought a little research wouldn’t hurt. I get to a photo of a puppy who falls into the “He’s-so-ugly-he’s-cute” category and show it to TB & TWH, who had just walked in from soccer practice. Here’s how that conversation went.

TWH: What are you doing??
Me: Looking at pictures of puppy dogs on this website that need to be rescued.
TWH: WHY?? Why do you do that to yourself??
ME: Because!! They’re sweet and The Crackhaid Dawg’s soul mate might be in here somewhere. Here, I found this one. He could be our Edsel.
TB: (Looking over my shoulder) What’s an Edsel??
Me: Another car. We have a theme here y’know.
TB: Are we getting another dog??
TWH: Your mom said if she doesn’t get her Chicken, she’s getting another dog
TB (To the Crackhaid Dawg): You hear that Bentley??  You’re getting REPLACED!!
TWH: Bahahahahahaahaha!!  That’s so YOUR son!!

Now, I just have to fix it so I get the Chicken AND #2 Dawg…

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Because I Am Not One to Be Outdone…

Okay, so. I have never done this before but today is a two-fer. Mostly because I can’t BELIEVE this shit!!  Yesterday I tweeted about how TWH broke his toe. Not just broke but BROKE. He broke the ever-loving-shit out of his toe while working on the God-Forsaken Shower Sunday afternoon. Then, because he wasn’t hurt  ENOUGH, he stubbed the same toe again last night, almost causing him to use the type of language I do all day every day and I would swear I saw a tear leak out of one eye. Anyways, I was going into my closet last night when I stubbed MY toe. No biggie, I just grabbed hold of a shelf, gritted my teeth, muttered “OhJesusHolyMotherFuckingSHIT”, got whatever it was I needed, and moved on. So today, I was walking the trail at the park while TB was doing the soccer thing and my foot kind of hurt. Huh. I stand on my feet all day and we were busy-as-shit today so I didn’t think that much of it. I came home because TB’s practice ended early and jumped on the treadmill where I walked/ran another mile on top of what I’d already done at the park. After I finished running for a bit, I thought “Ow, my toe kind of hurts”, and kept going. Later, after a shower & dinner, I’m sitting on the sofa watching TV and curling & uncurling my toes. This is an idle habit & I have no idea why I do it but as I’m curling my toes, I notice my “Owie” toe REALLY hurts. That’s when I decide to actually LOOK at my toe. Then I see it. The blue/purple Circle of Brokenness. Yep!! I broke my damn toe too!!  I stick my foot in TWH’s lap & tell him “Will you look at THIS shit!!”. He looks, shakes his head, and says “Copycat!!”.  Like I say, I am never one to be outdone.

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I Am NOT a Girly-Girl

Okay, so. Today at work, I had to have T (Troy- My Work Husband) kill a bug for me. I spotted it as it made it’s way across the room and left a post-it on T’s mirror that read “There is a bug by my garbage can that needs killing”. He just shook his head and laughed. I told him “Hey, this is YOUR purview. I don’t do bugs!!”. Now, while the bug was hiding behind my garbage can, I was perfectly willing to ignore it but after a few minutes, it made a foray out and came in MY direction.  I. Lost. My. MIND.  “Aaaaahhhhh!!  Kill it, KILL it, KILL IT!!” I screamed as I ran as far as my clipper cord would let me in the other direction.  Now, a little info. I am by no means A Girly-Girl. I don’t enjoy shopping endlessly, I hate to get flowers, my happy place is the home improvement store, and while I have a penchant for shoes, they are almost exclusively sneakers. I just seem to be missing the G.G. gene. This makes the fact that I get all squealy and freaked-out over creepy crawly things doubly amusing for both TWH & T.  TWH says it’s because it’s about the only thing I have a “Girly” reaction to.  After T killed the bug to DEATH, the older gentleman in his chair asked me “What do you do at home if there’s a bug??”. After some (tongue biting) hesitation I answered, “Call my husband to kill it”. The hesitation came because lately, I have had to handle some bug killing on my own. It’s been a harrowing experience, to say the least. I have discovered said bug and began with “OHMYGODSONOFABITCH!!” and gone looking for a shoe immediately. Once I get a shoe in hand, I chase the creepy crawler around screaming “DIE Mother Fucker!!” as I pound it into a smear on the wood/tile. I realize screaming obscenities isn’t necessary but it helps me keep my nerve up. It’s my battle-cry, if you will. After the bug is killed & killed GOOD, I either wipe it up with several Clorox wipes or take the carcass outside and toss it just off the porch to serve as a warning to all other would-be crawly invaders of my home. “Think twice, you multi-legged assholes. This could be YOUR fate!!” is the message. Thus far, it seems to be working. Either that, or TWH is doing A LOT of bug squashing unbeknownst to me.

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This is SO Happening!!

Okay, so. TWH keeps trying to get out of buying me my Giant Metal Chicken (Thank you The Bloggess for THAT idea). I finally told him tonight “You can either buy me the G.M.C. or a Puppy”. TWH looked at me in absolute confusion before asking simply “WHAT??”  I told him “You heard me. Chicken or Puppy”. See, my strategy here is to think of something he would find more objectionable than a Giant Metal Chicken and offer THAT as an alternative. Since TWH mentioned just yesterday that he most definitely does NOT want another Dawg, I figured that would be the way to go. TWH asked me “So, what are you gonna do if I show up with a puppy on Friday??”. I responded with “Name it Edsel (The Crackhaid Dawg’s actual name is Bentley) and then go buy my own damn chicken!!” I can’t lose here. Poor TWH, on the other hand, is screwed!!

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I Can’t NOT Look

Okay, so. I have a secret Trash TV obsession. I am completely UNABLE to flip past the following shows while cruising the channels: Hoarders, American Pickers (for the houses/buildings they pick & their owners), My Strange Obsession, & Sister Wives. I can’t NOT look. I feel compelled to watch because I absolutely CANNOT wrap my mind around this shit. The first three I watch because I am both fascinated and horrified by the behavior exhibited by these people. For starters, I am so Anti-Hoarding, it’s not even funny. I have been known to clean out my closet & dresser, haul all the stuff to the Goodwill, & a week or so later ask TWH in absolute frustration “Have you seen my green button-up shirt??” only to have him tell me “I think that was in the stuff you donated”. (I lose more of my mostly-unworn clothing that way) I try my damnedest to keep the clutter to a minimum at best and at the least to a tolerable, workable level. I can’t function otherwise. My house isn’t huge and there are only so many flat surfaces to work with. If they’re covered in crap, I get kinda antsy. My Strange Obsession kinda speaks for itself. These folks are putting their view of “Normal” behavior out there whether we agree with it or not.  Sister Wives is an entirely different fascination.  I am so taken in with the emotional & financial logistics of this Polygamist family. I find it mind-boggling and mesmerizing.  I also can’t fathom the patience, understanding, and general mind-set it takes to make an arrangement like that work. I adore TWH all day, every day but there are days when he tries every last bit of my patience. These people all have their spouse, and THREE other people to contend with when making family decisions, fighting, shopping, whatever. I. Would. LOSE. MY. MIND.  Add to that the bravery all these people (from all the above shows) exhibit by putting themselves in the public eye with all this. I know I wouldn’t be able to reveal something like that to all of America and open myself up to the horrified looks and ridicule that could possibly follow.  I realize a lot of these people are ill & I applaud them for seeking help. I would love for them to be revisited in a year or so just to see if they managed to keep a handle on their illness. All that said, I STILL can’t NOT look.

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It’s a Good Thing You Already Ordered That Handbag

Okay, so.  Last weekend, TWH & I were working on our big assed shower. AGAIN. STILL. I swear to God, this is The Project That Will Not End!! We’re so close to finishing it, it’s not even funny and we’re getting tired. Tempers are getting short. That damned shower is a hairs-breadth away from becoming the Elephant in the Room. That thing you ignore & refuse to talk about it because there are so many hard feelings about it. Anyways, I digress. We’re in the shower working and I mention to TWH that some of his grout work is less than stellar in one section of the shower. He paused for a minute then responded with “Okay, I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete asshole and pissing you off so I’m just gonna say it.” (Always a great lead-in.) “It’s not like I got a lot of help from YOU on this project”. Now, while this statement isn’t UNTRUE, per se, it’s not exactly TRUE either. I offered to help multiple times and was told “No, I’ve got it. It’s kind of a one-person job anyway”. As the project wore on, TWH got a little snarly when I would watch & ask questions so I would flee & just try to stay out of his way.  After his comment I remained silent. I had nothing to say. Out Loud. Where he could HEAR me. In my head, however, I went straight to “You Mother Fucker!!  It’s a damned good thing you already ordered that handbag I asked for!!”.  See, the night before, I spent an inordinate amount of time scouring ebay for a Coach handbag. In leather. I found one with pink stitching, (PINK STITCHING!!!!!) for what I deemed was a reasonable price (and TWH found only slightly cringe-worthy) and he ordered it for me. That is what saved that man from total annihilation last Saturday while we were sitting in the floor of the God-forsaken shower sweating our asses off.  Of course, I told him what went through my head a couple of days later. He said he never even realized he was in danger.  I should get an Emmy. Or another handbag.

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Demoralizing Ice Cream

Okay, so. Tonight after helping me clean the kitchen, TB decided to get himself some ice cream since he hadn’t had dessert yet. He gets it out of the freezer and begins to scoop it into his bowl. After a few failed attempts, he turns to me and says “Can you help me get this out??  I’m having some trouble since the container’s almost empty.”  I go over and, being a little bit taller and having a better angle on the scooper & container, I have no trouble getting him a couple of good scoops.  TB makes a disgusted noise and says “Oh, of COURSE you have no trouble scooping the ice cream out. THAT’S not demoralizing or anything!! Now I have Sad Face.” and he took his Demoralizing Ice Cream into the living room to eat it.  Maybe now it’s Consolation Ice Cream.

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I Created This Monster

Okay,so. As everyone knows, I have a Crackhaid Dawg. He’s 3 and Spoiled Assed Rotten. He’s started barking in the evenings for no apparent reason and in an effort to get him to SHUT THE HELL UP, I started giving him his favorite chewy treats. They’re called “Bully Sticks” in the store but we’ve dubbed them “Crack Sticks” because the Dawg acts like a fool to get them. Hence the name Crackhaid Dawg.  I obviously am easily trained because now he’s decided that since this latest internet-ordered batch is somewhat inferior to what he’s used to and he can go through them in about 5 minutes flat, he needs a new one every 10 minutes or so to keep himself entertained and at the level of chewy treat induced euphoria he’s accustomed to. I am obviously easily trained because I somehow fell right into this new Crackstick regimen without even realizing I’d done it until a few nights ago when TWH pointed out “You don’t have to get him a Crackstick EVERY time he barks y’know”.  HOLY SHITBALLS!!  I am being bullied into standing at the ready with a Crackstick on demand by a 12 pound, furry, curly-tailed TYRANT!!  We are now in the midst of a Crackstick Intervention. We’ve all told the Dawg how his constant need for a Crackstick is making us crazy and this is for his own good. He just keeps standing by the refrigerator (his Cracksticks live on top of the fridge) and barking imperiously. I’m staying strong though. I’ve only given him 3 today…   I created this monster, now I have to deal with him. Or punt him into the neighbor’s yard. We’ll just have to see how this all shakes out.

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Naughty Jokes Mean Everything’s Okay

Okay, so. In my line of work, I see people seldom enough that I tend to notice changes more often than I would if I saw them every day. Weight loss, weight gain, gray hairs, recovery from illness or injury, or, sadly, progression OF illness. My client falls into the last category. I have a client who’s elderly and has been with me pretty much since the beginning. I have watched him go from walking in under his own steam to being wheelchair bound over the last few years. He’s still sharp as a tack and funny as hell, but his body is just “giving out” as some elderly bodies are wont to do. Typically, when he comes in, I get him all draped and begin combing his hair into something I can work with. While I’m combing his hair, I hear him say my name. “Ginger” he says. “Yes??” I say squatting down so I can talk to him. I have to squat because part of his infirmity (or the root cause) is that he can no longer lift or turn his head. He can only look down at his lap. So I squat down to talk with this funny man. He always tells me a naughty joke. Nothing completely off color, just naughty. Naughty & funny. Today, he didn’t say a word. NOTHING. This worried me. I pondered this as I made small talk and cut his hair. I was hoping this was not a bad sign, his not telling me a naughty joke. Then I heard it. Softer than usual, but he called my name. With an inward sigh of relief, I squatted down to hear my naughty joke and it was WONDERFUL!!  Nothing side splitting, but wonderful all the same because his telling me my naughty joke meant everything was okay.



Okay, so. I have discovered Twitter. I know, It’s been around FOR-EVER but I just now really started messing with it. And it’s like Word Crack. I linked it to my FB and now I can put whatever stomps through my head out there almost IMMEDIATELY. This may not be the best idea….but it’s too late now. I am not about to undo it. I figure if people don’t like it, they can just skip over it. Or leave me rude comments. Whatever. However, some of my clients have come in and questioned me about my posts lately. Most of them just repeat whatever I put out there, and either laugh & shake their heads or just tell me “You’re NOT RIGHT”. I am well aware that I’m “Not Right”. I have embraced my Not Right-ness and am happy with it. Some clients, however, want me to explain a post that MOST people (with a brain) thought was snarky, funny, or both. I have tried to explain these, on occasion, only to be met with a blank stare. Or, God Forbid, questions asked in earnest that there’s no way in HELL I can begin to answer. I usually just end with a frustrated “Oh, just, NEVER MIND!!” and relegate them to the “Doesn’t Get It” file. Like they say “If you have to ASK”…

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