Lets have babies!!

This morning Oliver pissed in his own bed. Well, I should say that he did the deed sometime last night and let himself lay in it until we woke up because by the time we discovered it he was pretty much saturated in urine. Imagine if you laid a piece of felt in some pee all night long.

Usually Oliver wakes up earlier than us and sort of snuffles around and/or jumps in bed with us so when we heard his little collar jingling and his little nose burrowing away in his bed we didn't think anything of it for about two seconds until C says "do you smell something?" More like "do you detect the smell of our dog that has been lying in his own mess all night?" For a couple minutes (like five) we just shifted our bodies to the other side of the bed and buried our noses in each others hair to mask the smell. Dinah Lou seemed to sense that we were on her side and she came up for a scratch. Finally we had to give in and in the dark of morn, bathe the dog and his doggie mattress.

Yeah, we're gonna be great parents.

PS: Callie, this is why you don't want a damn dog.

God, I suck. I guess the least I can say is that I TRIED to update every day. That's better than nothing. 

I've been trying to think of meaningful things to be grateful for, but I find the usual things to give thanks about make for boring entries. For instance, today, I was thankful that I didn't have to work so I could sleep in til ten. Then I was thankful that there was a Whose Wedding is it Anyway? marathon on. I guess I'm also thankful that Daniel's work gave me a table to put my TV on (in my room) so I could achieve ultimate slovenly-ness and watch said marathon in my underwear. 

I was NOT thankful that Sam gave C a Lowes gift certificate for christmas. We spent a goodly amount of time picking out the PERFECT metallic black spray paint. Thanks a lot, Sam.

I'm thankful that I invented a new drink tonight at Halo Bar: Amaretto and RedBull. Do you like sweettarts? Do you like delicious things? Try this out. It is both of those things (delicious and like sweettarts) Honestly, you might just have to be a bad person if you don't like this drink. 

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DORK ALERT: You are a dork if you receive hundreds of dollars worth of clip art and a book about fonts for christmas. Extra seventy eleven trillion points for being stoked about it. 

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For the last seven minutes or so C has been trying to take a picture of our cats and dog sleeping together on the bed. On the one hand, how can you not love a boy who is taking pictures of kitties. On the other hand....he's taking pictures of kitties. I feel like this is important insight into what it will be like to live with C in a retirement village. You may ask....is it possible to be a cat MAN? Well, I'm here to tell you. It's possible.*

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I'm beginning to think updating your blog every day is a bad idea, like having sex every day. It seems like a great plan at the time but then after a while all you can think about is the style network marathon you watched in your underwear that morning while you're doing it.**

*Heather: C is not as bad as Dave. Yet. 

**we don't have sex every single day so don't worry, my sex life is not as boring as my blog.***

***I hope.  

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To sum up: 

1. I'm boring and apparently lazy

2. ....thats about it. 

 

OH (cold) SNAP

PS: It's COLD today. Tonight the low temp has the word "teen" in it, and no, I'm talking about fifty-twoteen degrees. Commence lack of fashion......NOW.

PPS: Speaking of fashion, my mom has agreed to fashion a long sleeved fleece jacket for Oliver. I will definitely provide pictures.

PPPS: Someone today told me the picture of oliver in his stupid cow hat was, well, stupid (those weren't her exact words but I get it...it IS stupid) and I quickly set the record straight. That hat keeps him WARM. Ya'll I'm so serious. His brains would probably turn to ice if he didn't wear hats in winter. I assume his cranial space is made mostly of water, so this is entirely possible.

OH SNAP. It's five o clock. I have actually been busy today AND updated my blog. Yep, I'm awesome.

Congratulations! YOU have been chosen for the DirectBuy Showroom Experience!

Jeez, I just haven't felt like writing these days. One, it's been really busy at work. Like, really really busy. I guess that's not such a big problem. It's all pretty interesting stuff...not TOO much bullshit. Two, C's been furloughed, so he's home a lot, so I don't have endless stretches of time at night to catch up on my blogging. Three, my life is just really boring. Nothing exciting is happening, not even in the bathroom at the office, which is where I find a lot of my inspiration.

Honestly, these days, people just go in the bathroom, do their business and come right out. It's excruciating.

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Speaking of the bathroom, however, today after lunch I had to go, but I had my shoes off. On a side note, the shoes I'm wearing today are the Most. Uncomfortable. Shoes. I've ever worn. Hands down. I feel like even if they had made them out of fiberglass and razor blades and scorpion stingers they still might feel like angels wings compared to how they are right now. But they're cute, and I bought new clothes last night, and they are currently the only pair of brown shoes I own that aren't tore up in at least one place.

Anyway, so, I took them off because they hurt even when I'm sitting at my desk (!!!!!) and then all the sudden I had to pee so bad I couldn't stand it. Needless to say, I strongly considered running down the hallway of the conservative law firm that I work for and going to the bathroom with no shoes on, but I thought better of it. Having done that it took like TEN MINUTES to strap on my heinous shoes, all the time bent over and daring my bladder to explode.

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I made the awful mistake of giving the DirectBuy Showroom my work number. I'm not usually one to buy into TV infomercial bullshit like this, but I REALLY need a new bed and I don't want to A. drive to Chicago for IKEA or B. spend a lot of money. Anyway, I underestimated how very serious these people are about selling deep discount furniture. You'd think it was a discount showroom for cancer cures or something. Listen, I appreciate fervor for slashed prices, but enough is enough already.

Anyway, stupidly I filled out an online form, because in order to get into the top secret showroom you have to have an invitation and an appointment. And this lady calls me and gives me this total guilt trip about how I can only bring C and we have to have our IDs and birth certificates, hair samples, medical records, tax forms and proof of income (this one we actually do have to bring) and are we SURE we can make it on our appointed day, because if not we'll be stealing -literally STEALING- the opportunity to buy quality furniture at closeout prices from another family.

Of course I was like "sure whatever, we'll be there" but now I think we probably wont be there. Partly because we have shit to do tomorrow and I don't have money for a bed right now anyway, and also because if the sales people at the DirectBuy Showroom are anything like the woman on the phone, I will instantly be so irritated by them that I won't buy anything on principal.

What started all of this is that the f-ing DirectBuy Showroom lady JUST called AGAIN to confirm our appointment. In the middle of my work day. So I picked up the phone, let the sounds of my busy office fill the receiver, and hung up on her. Is that serious enough for you?!

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I think I mentioned this, but I bought Oliver a new bed; it's like a sleeping bag for dogs that he can burrow inside so he won't shiver all night and make me feel like an asshole in my nice warm bed. Anyway, it came and it turns out that he is just. too. dumb. to figure it out. This morning, even after I spent a long time last night showing him the opening and gently guiding shoving his little nose inside I woke up and there he was...on top of the bed and shaking like a leaf. It must be hard to be so dumb. Seriously.

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Well, I'm sick of writing for now.

Snoods for Oliver.

So...today is Friday and its about to be a long weekend so I am extra extra unmotivated to do anything.

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My office is right by the conference room and for the last twenty minutes the phone has been ringing and ringing. This is the sort of thing that is just going to drive me to take my computer, bash out my eighth floor window and leap out after it. Maybe thats a little melodramatic but it IS intensely annoying.

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Today I got paid so of course I immediately bought Oliver the following things:

• a "snuggle sack." Doesn't that just SOUND like something Olibur needs? I thought so too. Also, it benefits me in that he will no longer have a pillow and C's old college comforter as his bed. NOT exactly the most fashionable interior design. Plus in addition to the fact that I hate looking at what is essentially an enormous pile of flea infested blankets in my bedroom corner every day (side note: I can't just put it out of the way, because little dude has to be within arms reach of us when he sleeps) I also can't stand the fact that oliver has to get up four times each night to paw around and reorganize his "nest." Also, he's pathetic when he can't get the nest right, and he's shivering because the blankets are all tangled up underneath him. Next time I get a dog I will try not to get the biggest weenie ever.
• a "snood" which is short for "snuggle hood", I presume. I'm not sure what looks stupider, Olivers fishing hat or this:

I'm pretty sure the snood is warmer, since it was created with warmth in mind, whereas the fishing hat was created with making oliver look stupid in mind. Keep in mind, Olivers snood is not gay pink and purple plaid, but manly forrest green, as are all his winter coats and apparel.










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Ok, maybe more later.

A case of the Mondays :(

This weekend C and I went rollerblading in the park with Oliver, as part of our recent pact to be more active. Turns out this is a worthwhile endeavor, because all three of us are apparently in the worst shape ever and turned out getting our asses 110% kicked.

It doesn't help that I can't stop, slow down or turn sharply on rollerblades. Forest Park is full of hills, many of them featuring hairpin turns that intersect with busy roads. Oh, sure, there are concrete barricades where each path intersects with a road for people like me, but when you're coming down a hill or around a corner at an uncontrolled speed of approximately 500 miles an hour, I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter if you hit a barricade or an oncoming car. Needless to say I ended up hiking down most of the hills with my blades on while C went screaming ahead of me. Oliver stuck with me because he's recently become Fat in Italian Greyhound terms. Which means he looks normal, but can't run 35mph for 12 hours straight anymore.

This prompted me to research "fat italian greyhounds" and this is what I came up with:

Excuse me, but if these animals were human women, I would probably trade bodies with them. They look good to me. Plus, if Oliver needs to take several long breaks and a dip in the pool mid-workout, thats great with me. "But C-eeeeeee, Oliver is tiiiiiired, he needs to rest!" The other upside to all this dog fatness is that it's obscenely cute/ridiculous looking when C has to carry Oliver up the big hills at the end of the workout. You haven't lived until you've seen a grown man roller blade up a hill with a little dog cradled like a baby in his arms, ears flapping in the wind.

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I've just learned that the only other woman in my office who is of childbearing age is trying to conceive. Anyone who knows me knows of my irrational hormones when it comes to babies. My brain is barely powerful enough to control them. But of course a baby is the absolute third worst thing that could happen to us right now (the first and second are death and being fired). Right? RIGHT?! The following account of my weekend is probably among the top five reasons why I shouldn't even think about babies.

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MY WEEKEND:
1. went rollerblading
2. got challenged to get drunk.
3. got drunk.
4. watched lord of the rings.

not newsworthy.

Lately when I read the news I bypass every single front page news story and go straight for the celebrity gossip or science/health news. Does that make me the shallowest, most useless person in my demographic? Probably. I just can't stand to hear anymore about how oil prices suck or 156 dozen people died in a suicide bomber attack. It's like a very boring, repetitive novel. One that I buy because I think it would make me look (more?) intelligent if it was sitting on my shelf, while simultaneously praying that no-one asks me about it.

I swear I'm intelligent, I swear it.

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This weekend C and I gave Oliver a bath, shined him up and put on his best, snazziest harness to go to the park. Here's some clues as to what happened there:










In case you're wondering, that's a dead toad, Oliver, and the angel of death playing a flute made of a femur, chronologically placed. The femur flute (FF) really has nothing to do with it, but the smell of death does.

Well, back to work.

Oliver goes Ice Fishing

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This morning took Oliver out to pee and went back to bed for a while, and when I went out to the garage to go to work, I discovered it had been pouring rain all that time, and there was Oliver, looking pathetic and dumber than usual with his little soggy ears plastered to his face. I wish I had a picture of it, but instead I'll have to make due with an equally stupid picture of him, all dressed up for a hard day of ice fishing winter in st. louis.

Sometimes I wish I had another dog to keep him company (although, this feeling never lasts more than about as long as it takes me to go outside and witness the destruction he's wrought), since it's apparent to me that he's excruciatingly bored/cooped-up/lonely/sad in the backyard all by himself. Recently he's taken to attempting to jump our eight foot plank board fence. Since Oliver is more like a giant, fifteen pound flea, and less like a normal domestic dog, this is entirely possible. C and I have witnessed it if you want further proof. Other things that he does include making nests out of trash and his dog house bedding, pooping all over the garage, eating his bone on top of my car and dumping his dog food all over the porch. He's so charming, sometimes I can't stand it.

But really, I do love him a lot. How can you not love a creature that will willingly put on an ice fishing hat in the winter because he's ACTUALLY that cold? That's right, you have no recourse.