Stuff My Dogs Have Wrecked: Remote Control

Back in the day when my dogs were really, really bad, they gnawed on the remote control, notably the power button. Now the TV turns on at random times, like in the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, which is a pain because the TV popping on throws me into confused, half-awake freak-outs:

Me: John! Wake up! WAKE UP! A burgular has broken into the house and is downstairs watching Friends!!! Tell that asshole to turn it down and to stop laughing at the dumb parts.

Being the uber-romantic I am, I got John a replacement remote control for Valentine's Day. Don't judge me, that is what he asked for. In an attempt to take this practical gift from "heh?" to "YOWZA!" I decided to make a chocolate cake that LOOKED like a remote control. How clever is that? An edible remote control. Brilliant.

Except it turned out like this:

I'm not sure what that looks like. R2D2 maybe? Am I insulting R2D2?

Sorry, dude.

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Puppies and Paint and 5 Seconds of the Globes

This weekend was a blur. I don't want to be a drama queen, but there was drama and there were Queens (okay, not really, but there WAS Dairy Queen ice cream wonderfulness in there somewhere so THANK GOD for that).

There WAS however, painting. And painting. And painting... and since I'm too damn lazy to write about it right now I am going to share my weekend with you in pictures.

As mentioned, there was painting:

There were also the puppies who had their socks walked off because we felt guilty for being lame Painter Freaks :

A bunch of spicy takeout...

More paint...

A bit of sarcasm:

Me: Oops! I'm not in your way am I?

John: Yeah, actually you are.

Me: I think what you meant was, "Of course not, darling. You could never be in my way."

John: Ha, ha.

.... silence...

John: Seriously, get out of my way.

There was week old red wine in a handmade mug with my name on it. Cuz, when you're walking around with a bunch of dust on your face who cares how your alcohol is served:

A whole bunch more paint:

Five seconds of the Globes:

And now I'm ready for bed.

Good night.

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Enough With the Poo in the House

The next couple of weeks are going to be MASSIVE WEEKS OF CHAOS from which we can only hope to emerge from all in once piece. John is laboriously working on moving his office, which means we are all going to be running about with a pound of gyprock dust on our eyelashes and cheeks for awhile, like I am sporting here.

Add to that I JUST picked up a DISGUSTING leaf by the door (digusting as in dis. gust. ing if ya catch my drift), which lead me to holler a sentence I didn't think I would ever utter in an I-mean-it-Buster!!! sort of way:

"Seriously you guys*, ENOUGH WITH THE POO IN THE HOUSE!!!"

Yup, I said that.

And what does painting into the wee hours and a hygienically compromised leaf have to do with each other? I'm not sure. But I do know that when I reached for that leaf with my paint coated hand I felt VERY justified barking out my annoyance to the suddenly empty room, doing so with enough force to make dust poof out from my hair and gently cascade down around me, poo leaf and all. Which made me laugh.

Something like that has got to make you laugh.

Wish us luck as we battle the pounds of microscopic white dust in our various crannies.

*Just to be clear, I was referring to my dogs, not my husband.

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Camping: Flushing Toilets ROCK

We went for a long weekend camping trip last week. Camping is wicked. I'm NOT talking about roughin' it in the wild with only a loin cloth, gun and strip of burlap to get us through. No, no. I'm talking about a cabin, running water, electricity and a cushy bed to cuddle into after a nice glass of wine and a full belly. Oh yeah. That's my kind of camping. The toilets flushed. There were showers. Hell, we even had lasagna for dinner one of the nights.

But we still had a camp fire to serve the VERY IMPORTANT PURPOSE of roasting marshmallows. So, as you can can very plainly see it WAS real camping.

More pics to come...

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I Can't Get Fooled Again

Here is a photo of Mickey racing around with my camera case:


And here he is having stolen the treat bag (same day):


To quote George W. Bush:

"Fool me once, shame on... shame on you... Fool me, you can't get fooled again."

Thanks George.

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My Dogs Love Each Other

I have this picture that illustrates just how much my dogs love each other:


No, hang on...


That's not it either...


I'm sure I had one.


Hmmmm....

Never mind.

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A Gold Medal White

I took this picture on Saturday... what a wicked day! John and I got back from this Organic Festival (which was not lame AT ALL) and then my neighbour started pouring us wine. How fantastic is that?

The dogs were chillin', we were gabbin'... life was good, lemme tell ya.

As most of you know and many of you have commented on, John and I are red drinkers, not white drinkers (that makes it seem like we are PROLIFIC drinkers... we aren't. Really. You know what I mean). In any case, we may become prolific drinkers because this wine called Barefoot, a Pinot Grigio from California rocked. As you can see, it won a Gold Medal so my review can't be that far off.

Overall Review: Thumbs Up (obviously)!

PS- And it's $9! Should I mention that? Seriously people, it is really very nice!

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Secret Hiding Place for my Winter Underwear

Did a little spring cleaning the other day- decided to put all the winter stuff away and bring out the bright and sunny summer stuff. And this is was the result. Complete and utter frustrating pandemonium. The people who lived here previously forgot to mention that any closet and storage space we thought we saw in each room would shrivel up and die the very second they handed over the keys. The VERY SECOND. "There's a closet" POOF!!!! No more closet. No more cupboards. No more shelves, no more place to put anything, no more AIR. Where did the air go, I could have sworn WE WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE AIR?!!!??!

Mickey thought it was great fun, of course. We don't care what Mickey thinks.

Turns out there is a bit of storage and its door is conveniently located in the following location:

• underneath the carpet in the closet by the front door (i.e. under the house)

Did you get that? UNDER THE CARPET. As in under it. You have to pull the carpet up. And you have to remove the closet doors in order to pull the carpet up. So the doors were in the living room somewhere.

Don't believe me? Photographic evidence:


Who is their right FREAKING mind would require that you remove closet doors and pull up carpet to get to the access point to ANYTHING? PLEASE TELL ME, FANCY DESIGNERS. Maybe this would be a good place to hide fugitives, or money after I rob a bank, or perhaps even a growth op (that is "bad guy" lingo for a place where one might grow drugs. I think), but I am pretty damn sure my winter UNDERWEAR does not need a secret hiding place.

The image above shows John reaching (reaching!) for air as he heave ho's the aforementioned Winter Underwear.

Right after this we went for dinner and downed our french wine. Can ya blame us? After all of that we should have had two bottles...

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