May 7, 2008

The Spaz

I don't have a dog. I have a spaz. She is the offspring of a spaz. I know this because her Father belonged to my parents. He was a Champagne colored toy poodle. He had issues. Serious issues. But he lived in a time before doggie psychology and Cesar Milan. He was doomed from the get go. My Mom would get so annoyed with him she would just let him roam the streets of the neighborhood. You could see him frolicking around the 'hood with his dopey smile. He wasn't fixed either. So, most of the time he was looking for some ass. Hot doggie ass, that is. Hence the dopey smile. One of his one night stands resulted in Sedona. My current spazoid. When I first laid eyes on her, I knew she was the one. I was single with no kids, mind you. I was so smitten with her cuteness I would take her every where with me. I even wrapped her Christmas presents and had a special stocking for her. Yeah, I was retarded. And I had too much time on my hands. I let it slide that she had this shrill bark that would render you deaf upon returning home, and that she peed all over the house when you left her alone because she was mad.

Fast forward to 2001. My first son, the halfling, is born. She tolerates him and his crying. He wasn't mobile, so she could deal. But, the day he began crawling, grabbing, squealing, and chasing....he became her most hated enemy. Yes, my dog hates my child. She still does. The halfling loves to annoy her. He wakes up in the morning with an agenda of:
1. Annoy the dog any way he can think of.
2. Eat breakfast and tease the dog with all the food he WILL not share but will pretend he will share.
3. Pretend to get a treat and run around the house yelling, "Sedona! TREEEEAAAAT!" So that the spaz will follow him around. It makes him feel uber importante.
4. Yank the blanket she is laying on from underneath her. It doesn't matter that the blanket doesn't belong to him...he used it once, so in his mind it is his.
5. Yell to me that Sedona is "looking" at him meanly. I can assure you that she is, in fact, glaring at him thinking of all the ways she will poop in his room when he goes to school. Or possibly thinking of strangling him with her leash when he is sleeping.
6. Lather, rinse, repeat.

They HATE each other. So, when the fourthling came along and we brought him home from the hospital...the spaz gave us this look like we were the most evil people on the face of the Earth. She actually sighed when she looked at him in his little carseat. That sigh meant, "Goddammit humans, not another one. I am outnumbered now by these spawns of satan."

She is a senile dog. She barks at her shadow, barks at the ice maker making ice, barks at any little noise the house makes. She barks when she hears Tristan cough during the middle of the night or when he rolls over in his bed. Thank you, Captain Obvious! She barks when the dog next door barks. I hate her, but I love her. We have a collar for her that shocks her when she barks. It actually works quite well, but the dumb bitch figured out the exact level of bark she can get away with...without the collar shocking her.

She could really use a lobotomy or some xanax stat.

May 5, 2008

I can't get this song outta my head, yo.

Someone save me. I'm begging you. I thought my curiosity was just innocent, but it's become a full fledged addiction. I can peel my eyes away from the hypnotic dancing, the sweet serenade of love in the air and the twinkly stars. I sometimes catch myself dancing the lawnmower in the shower and singing "You love me you want to love me tender..." And then Kyle walks in the bathroom and I pretend I was leaning over to pick up the soap. And yawning...yes, that singing was YAWNING. I was in this video in my past life...That's me in the front with the dark hair. I can show you my red jeans too. My lawnmower technique is KILLA!

Hey Ya'll!

Long time, no I know you missed me terribly. I've been super busy. Let's see...I've learned to read AND speak Japanese, learned to play the harpsicord, and taken up cooking classes at Le Cordon Bleu.

No, seriously....

I graduated Magna Cum Laude. Or whatever.

Now for the truth.


In other words, I am really tired.

Birthing 2 children doesn't compare to the tiredness I feel.

Surviving on 2 minutes of sleep with a colicky baby doesn't compare.

Evidently, there is nothing medically necessary to treat Mono.

Other than REST.

Let's see. I will fit that in between the tantrum at 2 and Baseball at 4, k?

The nurse asked me if I drink caffeine. Um, yeah. I have an I.V. tap 24/7. I live on false alertness bitch!

And don't give me the wonk eye.

I will be glad to let you watch my kids for free so I can gently wean myself of the dark roast blend.