Science's Slackass Little Brother

You know what is cray cray?

 

That doctors can make babies in test tubes and do face transplants, but that in order for them to test a pregnant woman's glucose levels they make them drink pure liquid sugar than sit there for an hour to see how it effects them.

 

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Ain't nobody got time for that!

 

 

 

But seriously, they should make a pill for that.

Closet Go Boom

Last night, in an attempt to fix the teeny, tiny little loose screw in my closet, Grant broke the ever living shit out of the whole thing.  It was of the upmost hilarity. 

 

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I've mentioned before how some things set off this absolutely uncontrollable laughter deep within my soul.  This would be one of those times.  Good, but not nearly as good as this - I Have Risen.  There's nothing like a grown man wearing purple gloves to bed.

 

I didn't get a picture of the destruction because, well, getting up is hard these days and I just wanted to lay their giggling my ever-expanding ass off on the bed.

 

But picture this:

 

 

with every single item on the top left rack fallen on the floor.

 

It was actually a blessing in disguise.  Not only did he end up repairing the teeny, tiny loose screw (turned mangled screw, sheetrock, metal disaster), but I also randomly cleaned out my closet.  I ended up giving away over 30 shirts and sweaters to Goodwill.

 

FYI - If you are the type of person that likes to hold on to things "just in case they fit", try cleaning out your closet when you're almost 7 months pregnant.  Those cute shirts that normally look like they are totally going to fit well really soon, now look like the Mount Everest of casual wear.  Goodbye to you!

 

I also did something crazy that I've always kind of wanted to do.  Color coordinate my shirts!  Now it looks like this:

Not OCD color coordinated.  Just so that all the members of the ROYGBIV family get to hang out with those they have the most in common with.

 

Not Real Housewives of Beverly Hills material, but definitely fit for the Queen of my one story house and closet from a box. 

 

So Grant, I thank you for fixing my closet.  And the good people of the Goodwill Community Foundation thank you for breaking it.

 

Bonus good news - When I dropped off my donation this lady accepted it.  Her hair was no longer hot pink but she still called me "Sweatheart" a lot, so that was nice and weird.

Rosie Update

Since a few fellow dog obsessed people asked me about Rosie, I thought I'd give you an update.  I took her to the vet.  After a quick visit and some urine analysis, it turns out Ro Ro has some sort of infection of the lady bits. 

 

 

Did you know that, according to the vet's office, the easiest way to collect a sample of your pet's urine is to follow them around until they squat and quickly place a tray under their stream?  I did that yesterday.  It was fun running after a dog's 1/2 ounce of pee while pregnant in the freezing cold at 8am. 

(No really, it was.  I felt like a good mom.  And a scientist.)

 

Even though I inexplicably have to give her these antibiotics for 14 days, twice a day (?!?!), she already seems like her old, bladder-controlled self after just one day of them. 

 

Now, if we could just move to a no-fly-over zone than homegirl would quit barking at everything that passes in the sky and we could all sleep in peace.  But things are looking up!  Especially for our floors.

How to Un-House Train Your Dog

Step 1: Assume that since she is 11 months old and has rarely peed in the house, and that she is the cutest dog ever, that she is and will forever be perfect.

 

A lady likes nice things.  And lots and lots of blankets.

 

 

Step 2: Get her spayed.

 

Step 3: Give her a full day of surgery to be the saddest, most pitiful thing ever.

 

The sadness and confusion was palpable.

 

Step 4: Treat her like a gentle angel.  Give her a raw hide bone that was sent to her in the mail to show her she is special and deserves treats.

 

Step 5: Watch as she mauls the raw hide bone all day long and then subsequently drinks an ungodly amount of water. 

 

Step 6: Take her out the usual 10 times a day that seems pretty generous for any pet.

 

Step 7: Step in a big puddle of her pee.  Take her out again.

 

Step 8: Wait 15 minutes and find another puddle of pee on your rug. 

 

Step 9: Scratch your head and think, WTF, Rosie!?  I thought we had a deal.  Hello, see Step #1!

 

Melancholy and the infinite sadness.

 

 Step 10: Wake up around 3am to your husband cursing at the pee puddle by his feet in bed.  He he.  Laugh a little to yourself that she has only ever peed on his side.

 

Step 11: Enjoy this rare moment of sleeping alone while he moves to the couch, even though it means that you are sleeping with no covers because they are in the wash.

 

Step 12-15: Blame it on the raw hide, blame it on the surgery, blame it on the rain.  Something is not the same with your dog.  She officially thinks the office is her personal toilet and the bed is her own pee pad. 

 

Step 16: Be a little devastated because your angel baby is not, in fact perfect.  Even 2 weeks post-surgery.  Ask for help or tips on how to get back to Step 1.

 

Anyone!?  Tips?!  Suggestions!?  I want my perfect dog back.  Not just because I don't like stepping in pee.  I also am not a big fan of washing my sheets every other day and sleeping in fear of Rosie wetting the bed. 

 

She has a shoe fetish with only my shoes.  Some dogs like to eat shoes.  Rosie like to use them as pillows :)

 

 Hopefully with time her habits will go back to the ladylike manner in which I had become accustomed.  Until then, baby girl is going to be limited to a survival-only water supply.

Do Not Want

I heard these exact words on the radio this morning:

 

"Tyler Perry's A Madea Christmas movie comes out this weekend.  Larry the Cable Guy is in this one."

 

I would l'trally rather Glitter on repeat than participate in any of that heinousness listed above.  That sentence actually makes me feel car sick somehow.

 

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(The Opposite of) Fun Fact:  All of Tyler Perry's movies are depressing.  I tuned in one time to Tyler Perry's Madea's Family Reunion thinking it was going to be like a black version of the Griswold's Christmas.  WRONG!

 

The scene I saw was of a man beating his wife than mentally and physically forcing her to tell him she loved it. 

 

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Tyler Perry, you may be a bazillionaire but perhaps you didn't get the memo: When you put on a fat suit and talk in a fake voice, it's supposed to be hilarious.  Not scary and terrible.

 

Needless to say, you won't see me at the cinema this weekend.

Shhh...It's a Secret

Last night I watched the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show.  Well, I watched as much of it as I could before my dog went ape shit over the feather and wing creations and I had to turn it off.  This happens 100% of the time something resembles an animal on TV.  I have come to the sad realization that my children will never be able to watch the Little Mermaid or Homeward Bound, lest Rosie go barking ballistic on them and ruin their childhoods.

 

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I couldn't help but wonder during this "fashion show":  What, pray tell, is the point?  Besides the obvious: Making women feel bad about their normal bodies and giving men totally unrealistic expectations about how much space can truly exist between a woman's thighs.

 

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The models don't actually wear normal things you can buy in the store.  Thereby negating any logical reason I can see for this to be considering marketing for the Victoria's Secret brand.  If I was on the market for a $10,000,000 bra, sure this would be the perfect venue for me to see what's out there.  But the average viewer is probably sitting on her couch with in $20 sweat pants with the word PINK on her butt, with her husband- mouth agape.  Not your target market for 8-figure bedazzled bras and crotchless panties paired with angel wings.  But that's just my humble opinion.

 



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As I was flipping back between the Victoria's Secret show and the American Country Awards, which even the hosts seemed to understand isn't a real award show, I couldn't help but think of my dead ancestors.  If they just happened to be revived and caught a glimpse of these two shows at once, they would probably think the world had, indeed, come to an end.  Either that or look both ways to see if anyone is looking, pull an Irish exit, and head on back to the ground from whence they came. 

 

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Basically last night was a stupid night for America.  A hot, sexy, honky tonkin', stupid night.