Frustration and Fear

Well it's Friday, which means that although I have two days off, they really won't be days off at all...just days that I don't go to Walgreens to work.

I come home today to log into my blog and reflect on the day's joys and agonies, only to find that my blog is all messed to heck! Now, I'm an amateur blogger (yeah, it's necessary for me to say that, for those of you who can't tell). When I first created this blog, I couldn't tell a header from a footer or a 3 column blog from a 2 column blog. Then I did some reading, saved a couple "blogging for dummies" pages to my favorites, and actually changed around the look of my blog and got it to a place that I liked...I really liked. In fact, I loved it. And I was confortable with the idea that if I ever logged in one day and didn't love it, I could fairly easily tweak it enough that I'd come to love it again.

Well. Most of those ideas have been completely shot to hell.

Example uno: What the heck happened to my picture??? For awhile, I was borrowing a really cool storm shot from Mike at Extreme Instability. It had a kickin' farm house with one heckuva storm forming around it. It's an awesome picture, which you can see at his website. But I was feeling selfish, and I wanted this blog to be all about me, about my family, for my friends (or future friends), made by me. I'm selfish like that. So I switched the picture to one that I took on our vacation this past summer to New Mexico. I love the picture, and I have it hanging up in our living room. But I really liked seeing it every time I viewed my blog. In fact, I loved it.

Now?

Well. Now.

You can see what's there. Or rather, what's not there. About 3 inches of my picture is missing. Granted, the clouds look fairly cool, but for all anyone knows, they could be some grey paint I threw up onto a canvas.

Example dos: My marquee. My beautiful marquee. I spent time trying to figure that marquee out. And I liked it. Even though I had to experiment with color codes, since the ones listed didn't give me the colors they said they would, it was beautiful. It was my beautiful marquee. I liked it. In fact, I loved it.

Now?

Well. Now.

It's even more beautiful than ever, and I didn't even do it! I'll admit to not even playing around with the font for the scrolling message of my life...I was only concerned with getting the colors and size right. But then someone...something...somewhere...gets into my account and changes it to something more beautiful than I'd created. So now I feel a twinge of guilt...I have this this selfish, all-about-me blog I'd birthed and finally become happy with...and I liked this hacked-by-someone-I-don't-even-know marquee better. In fact, I loved it.

So after searching long and hard through post after post about formatting issues (uhm, or whatever they're called) in blogger help, I found nothing. Nothing about blogs being hacked into (except some nice Indonesian woman complaining that her wordpad had been shut down for violation of some kind of wordpad code of conduct....ahhh, good times). So I've written to Them. I don't know who They are, but I hope They help me fix my blog. They must be the Blog Gods, and I've done something to royally piss them off. So, I'll make a promise...an oath even, to Them:

Blog Gods: I hereby swear that if my picture is returned to my blog without harm, and (since I can't figure out which font I had before The Beautiful Font came my way) if the font type comes to me in a dream tonight, I will change my marquee back to the old, beautiful-but-not-as-beautiful-as-the-Fantasy-font marquee.

And I'll love it.

Amen.






Oh. 12/1/07 P.S. The Gods didn't really answer my prayer yet. But I discovered that if I take the words out from the picture, it posts the whole thing. With the words, only the top inch. What-evah.

Contest alert!

Alright folks, it's that time again. Time for me to inform you of a cool giveaway on some other blog. Now I'm resting assured that you'll either A} Right click on this link and open in a new page, or B} click on this link, but promise to return to my page later. As much as I hate leading you away from my ramblings and carrying on, I do love a good giveaway! So go. Now. Read. Enter. Then return. Now.

Patriot's BEKA, Inc. Giveaway!

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming. Did you know that our cat, Dexter, is hysterical? I think maybe all cats are, but he's hysterical and really cool all rolled into a furry little tabby. He's becoming whiney lately, which Big Boss Man blames on me, and I blame on him. BBM, for the first time in his life, has started sleeping with our bedroom door cracked, all because of Dexter. The cat would come in to sleep with us (or more accurately, sleep in between my knees), but then at around 4am, would decide that he wanted out. To pee? To eat? To chase his tail or a random piece of paper The Boys balled up for him the night before? Dunno. But out, all the same. So one of us would be forced to get out of our nice warm cozy bed to open the door and let him out. Then, just as we were starting to doze back off, he'd decide that being out of the bedroom wasn't all it was cracked up to be inside his wee little Tabby Cat brain, and by God, he wanted back in.

*sigh*

As I'm sitting here enjoying the last few minutes of the day, Dexter is sitting on the floor to the left of my chair. He's not laying there, like cats do. He's not even sitting down, with his front paws curled under him, dozing. He's standing there...almost at attention, looking at me.

At least I think he's looking at me.

No wait. He's not looking at me at all. He's eyeing the phone that's next to me on the desk. You'd think that a cat would have higher standards when it comes to playthings, but not our Dexter. He reaches up, standing on his hind legs, pawing at the phone. He wants the phone. He needs the phone. I'm thinking he may have found a girlfriend on one of his escapades outdoors, and is expecting her to call at any minute.

Now I'm wondering if his little wee-hours-of-the-morning trips were for more than just food or water. If I ever see him show the ability to unlock and open our backdoor, I'll know the truth. We'll have to rename him Dexter Bigolo, Male Gigolo.

Prayers going up.

As I've mentioned before, we are a total football family. Big Boss Man's favorite team has always been, and will always be, the Washington Redskins. It with great sadness that we heard the news of Sean Taylor's death after being shot in his home early Monday.

I don't have the words to describe my feelings now. But I'm praying for his family and team as they go through the unimaginable.

The N-Word

God help Big Boss Man, he may actually faint if he reads this post. And he will read this post. So honey, don't freak. Please.

That being forewarned, I'm not sure I ever went through the Nesting stage when I was pregnant. If I did, I don't remember it being this overwhelming need to clean, organize, and generally make ready the house for a new being.

But recently, I've been feeling this need...well, all except for the new being part. What's nesting called when it's not accompanied by an expanding belly, leg cramps, little heartbeats, insatiable sex drive, ultrasounds, lactation, and prenatal appointments? OCD? Life? Have I been missing out all these years?

I can't seem to get this place clean enough. I've talked before about 'Cluttered homes equal cluttered minds'. It's more than that though. If I weren't so danged embarrassed at how bad I've let our home become, I would've posted before and after pictures. But sadly, it was that bad. And it's funny...I say that as though I've gone through the house like a tornado, cleaning and disinfecting...nope, not really.

I just cleaned the bathroom.

You know, the bathroom that's taken the brunt of going from a two bathroom home to a one bathroom home. It's been a rough transition.

Now I've also done the laundry today, and last night, while Big Boss Man was having puppies because his sort of alma mater was kicking bootay in the Big 12 semi-finals, I vacuumed a room that hasn't been vacuumed, I believe, for years. Okay, so that's a complete exaggeration, but you get my drift. It was horrible. It is horrible. But I'm finally getting it done.

So, to reward myself for all my hard work today, I'm sitting in front of the computer catching up on some of my favorite blogs (see "Other Cool Blahgs" located to the left). I'm thinking of making myself some cocoa. I just asked Big Boss Man to go get me some chili from Steak n' Shake...but no...that's just a little too far for him to travel on his day off. And I respect that. I'll just have to go get some for myself. (Does that constitute a craving??) (I love you honey!) (Runs and hides.)

Did I shave my legs for this?

HA! Okay, just kidding. I've just finished my Thanksgiving Day feast (albeit two days late) at mom's house. Do I get to gloat now? Turkey, rolls, potatoes, pie...pretty much everything I felt like I'd eaten two days ago, I've now eaten. It was, of course, the Madhouse it normally is when the whole fam gets together, but it was wonderful just the same. Now I sit in front of my computer, halfway staring at the monitor, halfway staring at the beautiful full moon that rises outside The Bunker window. I'm content, at least for the time being.

I've been surfing the web (do people still really say that?), and I came across a pretty neat website for all you mom's out there. I can think of a few dad's that will just roll their eyes, and that's okay, since the title of the website is Mommy Track'd instead of Daddy Track'd or Parent Track'd. It sounds and looks as though it's specifically made for Mama Bears like me. As I've said before, and I'm sure I'll say again, Go. Read. Now. Go.

I'm planning on waking up early tomorrow, in anticipation of the announcement of the winner of Ree's most recent Give That Photo a Name contest. Even though I actually won Upstate's wee digital camera and Domino magazine subscription. I know, I know...you all are saying "Ax Lady, there's no way you'll win two contests by two really cool women in just one week's time." And who knows - you may be right. I may be crazy. HEY! But it just may be a lunatic you're lookin' for!

Whoah.

Sorry about that, I got carried away for a second. Anyway...you may be right...I may have no chance. But I'm typically a glass half full kinda gal, and you can't just stop that all of a sudden, can ya now?

How could this be possible?

We don't have turkey on Thanksgiving. In fact, we don't eat poultry of any kind on this day. We had pizza. Jack's pizza, to be more specific. We're not Thanksgiving humbugs or anything; however, the many members of our family (and sometimes even us) usually have to work on Turkey Day every year. So instead of rushing around like heads with our turkeys cut off, fighting traffic and closed stores and last minute "I forgot to get butter!!" emergencies, we hold our Trypto-phan Club meeting on the Saturday following Thanksgiving.

So why then so I feel like I've ingested about 23.8 pounds of turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, corn, breads, cranberries, pies, ciders, and anything else we decide to bring to our thankful table?!?! How did this happen? Is it psychological? Am I having sympathy sleepies for everyone else who's celebrating today? Does tryptophan actually travel through the air and I'm inhaling the tiring scents from all my neighbors' homes?

I'm drinking gallons of water in the hopes that it will flush the "tryptophan" from my system. Meanwhile, my mind is rushing about with thoughts of cookie-making. Yes, I'm talking about the annual cookie exchange at work. Many companies have them. This is the first year for mine, however, and impressions need to be made. Hearts need to be won. Mouths need to drop open in awe of my goodies. I thought of making my infamous fudge, albeit not an actual "cookie"; it does, however, get awfully gooey when not refrigerated, and that's not cool at work. And I don't want to do typical Christmas cut-outs decorated with sprinkles and beads and red hots and icings. So what do I do? I wait until the last minute to decide, and now I'm faced with the idea of baking dozens of cookies...tonight. I have a recipe in mind though, and the butter's heading towards room temperature as I type.

It actually flurried a bit today. None of it stuck at all, but that's okay with me at this point in the year. Last year at about this time, we had an ice storm to beat all ice storms in the St. Louis area, literally shutting entire cities down, causing loss of electricity (and heat and appliances and food stored in the fridges and freezers of almost everyone I know) for days on end. That being said, it sure was one of the most beautiful things to see...the trees covered in crystal shawls, icicles longer than my children are tall hanging off the front porch. If it hadn't caused so much destruction, it would have been wonderful. Now I'm not saying I wish it to happen again; snow flurries are great compared to that.

Alright...to end the day, I'd like to share a really cute idea that I got from a magazine this month. For those of you with rug rats crawling around and empty baby food jars out the wazoo, why not turn them into cute little gifts? Take a clean baby food jar, fill it with peppermint or spearmint candies, then hot glue a red or green cupcake liner to the lid and another mint to the top! What a cute idea!

Alright everyone. If you're not napping, take one now. If you've been napping, get up and make yourself a leftover turkey and stuffing sandwich. If you're just sitting down to turkey day dinner, enjoy it thoroughly, and have some white meat and pumpkin pie for me, to tide me over until my holiday celebration two days from now. And in return, I'll eat some white meat and pumpkin pie for you then!

Gobble gobble! Happy Turkey Day folks! Give thanks for all you have!

Wanna contest?

Okay, so I'm not cool enough (yet) to hold my own contest. But I'll certainly link you to other ones I know about!! How about a cutsie wittle keychain digital camera?? C'mon now, you know you want it!! So go. Now. Enter. Read. Now.

Okay, addition: She's also added a subscription to Domino magazine! Because she's nutty like that! (Thanks Upstate!)

I'm telling you, her blog is cool. And since you all know and love me, you'll trust me when I say this. And if you don't know or love me, you'll at least be curious enough to click the above link and check it out. You'll click just so you can prove me wrong, but then you'll realize that I'm not wrong and you'll be forced to come back and visit me again. So go ahead. Click. I dare ya.

Would you like to see something wonderful?

Yet something that's hysterical at the same time? Well here ya go.

What's one of the few things that can get a man (at least my man) to completely forget that he's a grown adult with stresses and responsibilities and deadlines and bills to pay? It's called a Playstation.


Yes, I know. We're behind the times. We're not keeping up with the Joneses. But gosh darn if that game doesn't bring out the youngin' in Big Boss Man. The time that he gets to sit down and play it are few and far between, but I can feel his blood pressure go down when he does.

Unless, of course, he's playing against Bean Pole in a heated game of NCAA Football 2008. Then, things get ugly.


There's lots of laughing.

There's lots of hollering.

There's lots of stomping.

And there's boobery...much boobery.


Big Boss Man sort of forgets that he's playing against a human being who's thirty-something years younger than he is, and goes all out. Go easy on the boy?? No way, baby. If he's got the git up an' go to challenge, then he better be able to take the fall.





And of course, I'm talking about Big Boss Man taking the fall. But Bean Pole had more time to practice against Little Linebacker! Yeah, that's it! He knows how to use the controllers better - what buttons do what in this particular game...yeah, that's the ticket!





I love when he does this...this is quality time, whether it involves a piece of electronics or not. The eyes of all three of them just sparkle when they are done. Plus it keeps The Boys up later, which is only allowed on the weekends.

So, instead of laundry being put away and dishes taken to the sink, they're all stuck in front of the tv like a tongue on a frozen flag pole. The only time they move is when they're jumping up off the couch in protest to the other's play. One sits and gloats, while the other accuses him of cheating. Then, promises of clock-cleanings get handed back and forth. Oathes are spoken..."I'm going to run the score up on you next time!"

Finally, dejected faces appear when Mama Bear comes to take them to bed. Weeping takes place - there are many tears. The sound of defeated footsteps echoes down the hall to the bedroom, as their plan to stay up all night whooping some NCAA bottom is foiled.

Too bad they've all made a pact to arise early to play again before Big Boss Man goes to work.

T.G.I.F.

Yeah, I know, I'm a walking cliché, but c'mon...of all weeks to say it, this would be it. I still haven't recovered from last weekend's escapades as the road-tripping mama. Laundry still waits to be done, the house is still fairly messy, and we're all still exhausted from the trip. Work has been...well, it's been work, of course, but as soon as the weather changes, it becomes even harder work than before.

So we tried to sit down tonight, the 4 of us, and watch a movie...Sahara...and damned if it didn't start skipping halfway through and "Unable to read disc". Blah. So now, I'm threatening to go to bed early and let Big Boss Man deal with the boys. Little Linebacker has come into The Bunker three times now, asking to watch NBA basketball. We hate basketball. And we don't want to give him another sport about which he can have meltdowns. Bean Pole is pouting because he wants to go to Walgreens "to get milk", which really means to get him something to drink, oh and get milk while we're there, so it seems like we're really going for a good reason.

The good news is, I've finished reading my book, Fifty Acres and a Poodle, by Jeanne Marie Laskas. Mercy, did that book make me laugh. And cry. And laugh again. It's a really good book, one that was suggested on one of the other blogs I read, and I'm so glad I got it. Now I'm deciding between either It Takes A Village Idiot, by Jim Mullen, or The Egg and I, by Betty MacDonald. I'm leaning towards the former, as it's been sitting on my desk for the last week, taunting me. I love public libraries.

So...this weekend will be a weekend to catch up. Laundry to do (I will get it done today! But why does that sound familiar, as though I've said it before??) I may actually even do some yard work, as it's been neglected for a long while. And I've put the junk in the basement on notice, as I'm in the mood for cleaning, plus I'm sure there is stuff down there to either toss, donate, or sell. Catch up...a weekend to catch up.

And now I'm off to catch up on my sleep.

First trip North in ages

Tomorrow morning, the boys and I are leaving on our first trip to Minnesota. Yet what am I doing?? Sitting on this darned computer! I have yet to pack. Although I'm pretty proud of the fact that I remembered to buy cheese sticks and juice bags for snacks on the way there. I figure the fewer stops, the better, although I know that bathroom breaks will be plentiful.

So...the site will be post-free for a few days. Granted, we'll only be gone the weekend, but still. I figured I'd let you all know so no one sends a search party or anything.

We've taken some long trips before, but never with me being the only adult (cough cough). I'll be padding the boys down with pillows, blankets, and all the dvd's we own so they can just veg out for most of the trip.

I think I've fixed my SLR. I'm taking it and the digital with us so I can capture the true essence of this maiden voyage on film. Should be interesting, to say the least. I can't wait to get there though, and have a look around. I'm hoping for snow, but it sounds like there've been mostly flurries so far. That would work for me!

So! Everyone say a prayer for a safe journey for us, and say an additional prayer for Big Boss Man, who will be left here to fend for himself. The poor guy will be working all weekend, but still...I'll miss him tremendously.

Sometimes you feel like a nut...

Yeah. I love Earworms. I actually hate that word: Earworm, but it seems sufficient for this post, so I'll use it. I blame Big Boss Man. I never got Earworms before I married him. Or if I did, they weren't associated with the word "Earworm" so they never lasted near as long as they do now.

Imagine this: being awakened in the wee morning hours by your youngest child...your baby...telling you that he's had an accident and his clothing, bed, and blankets are now wet. No biggie, right? It's a mom thing, right? So why then do I get up to help him out, and the theme song to the Mounds and Almond Joy commercials pops into my head??? Have you ever tried to go back to sleep while the words Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don't are running around like toddlers in your mind? It's enough to medicate yourself.

So. I feign sleep for a few hours, then wake up at sunrise to get ready for the day. Yes, the song is still rummaging around my pea brain, as though it's lost its car keys and is searching frantically for them. I'm used to it by now. At least it's not something really annoying, like, uhm, well okay. It is really annoying. But I'm used to it.

I find it necessary to call a company we do business with to ask a couple questions, and while on hold waiting for the helpful customer service respresentative to answer, I hear it. No, not the Mounds and Almond Joy theme song, but another one...another Earworm. It's Stand by Me. Except it wasn't the cool version of the song. It was some unGodly elevator muzak version. It was horrid. And I have to tell you...having the cool version of a song stuck as an Earworm is bad enough...let alone the unGodly elevator muzak version of it.

Now I don't know what to do. I could open media player and try to replace the unGodly elevator muzak Earworm with something I at least enjoy. I could try to ignore it for a little while, as I have to get ready for work anyway, and it will just be replaced by something else equally as Earwormish once I get there (did I ever tell you, we call the Walgreens stuff Wal-zak? I actually like most of the songs played on a good day...but man...the bad days are really bad). I think I'll opt for the latter. Maybe if I take a shower and let the hot steamy water run down over my little pea brain, it will wash away the remnants of any remaining Earworms. Yeah, that's what I'll do.


And then I'll go to work and buy an Almond Joy. And a Mounds. Because sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don't.

Ramblings of a pharmacy technician.

Did you know that when you go to the pharmacy to pick up your medication, that sometimes the people behind the counter are actually trying to help you? I am one of those people. I understand that not everyone is like this. Not everyone bends over backwards to make sure you understand everything that's going on, whether it is concerning your medication, your insurance, or a note from your doctor about an appointment. In fact, I've heard horror stories from people about their dealings with the behind-the-counters at other places.

I understand that chances are good, especially if you're waiting to get zithromax for a child that hasn't stopped fussing since you came in the door, or darvocet for a grandmother who can't leave her house because she's in so much pain, or even if you're getting your monthly maintenance meds, that you're in a hurry to get in, get helped, and get out; plus I bet you'd like to keep your wallet attached to your person while you're at it! Lucky for you, I'm here.

I've taken class after class (after class) to learn my job. I've been fingerprinted, background checked, drug tested, certified and licensed, all so I can give you the easiest, most professional and knowledgeable pharmacy experience ever. If you have a question about your medication, ask away. If I don't know the answer, I'll find someone who does, and I'll do it quickly. Need help finding something in other parts of the store? Ask away. If I can't leave the pharmacy to help you find it, I'll call a manager to get you the help you need. I've got coloring books to help ease the hurt of a sick child, and I've got doggie treats if you come through my drive up with your doggies.

I work my butt off day in and day out to make sure you get what you need. Working as a Senior Certified Pharmacy Technicican has taught me a lot--a lot about how an attitude can make or break someone's day. Now I'm not saying I don't have bad days: everyone has them. I'm going through some emotional turmoil right now (that needn't be discussed here), but I'll be damned if I'll let that affect my service to you. YOU are the reason I have a job. YOU are the reason I go to work every day. It's not for the doctors or the insurance companies...it's all about you, baby!

Romance novels and computer screens.

Odd combination, wouldn't you think? Me too. I'll admit it: I love me a good, trashy Harlequin. I am also a computer addict. But who would ever think that these two things could be combined?

Well friends, I've got news for you: I've got a website that lends romanctic real-life tales, but also, fantastic photographs, cute l'il anecdotes, tales of a family farm, and calf nuts. Yes, I said calf nuts.

I'm not one to linger over something. Okay, yes I am. I'm a harper. I'm a nag (no really, go ask Big Boss Man). I annoy. I harrass. I henpeck and carp about many a thing. This is no different. I've become addicted. Addicted to a story, first and foremost - a love story. A love story surrounded by cattle.

Now before you all run away screaming things about crazies and white jackets, let me explain. I came across this website. I don't even remember how at this point, but I did. And I'm glad I did. It's written by a woman with a fantastic view on life. She's got a humor that captures everything good about farm, family, food, love, and again, cattle. And she's a cook...an excellent cook. She makes some cinnamon rolls that most would kill for. And she has kickin' contests with even kickin'er prizes!

Alright. Are you ready to go look at her blog?

Not yet. That's right folks, I have to go on a little more about it. She's writing a story...a story of true love (and not in a "Wove...twue wove" kind of way). It's entitled "Black Heels to Tractor Wheels: A Love Story", and the latest installment tops her homepage. Now I'm going to warn you: go back into her history and read, from Chapter I all the way to where she writes now...you will NOT be disappointed. I don't care if you're not the romantic type. I don't care if you don't have time, or the spaghetti water is boiling over, or your washing machine has become unbalanced and pulled itself away from the wall, or that your leaves need raked. I don't care. Go. Read. Now.

Oh wait, I still haven't given you the website.

The Pioneer Woman

Now that you've seen it, I know you're all saying "But Ax Lady, this link is over in your Blahgs section...why bring even more attention to it?" Well kids, it's because her cinnamon rolls and love stories are good...they're that good.

I'm completely irrational.

I'm ready to come clean and bare myself to all of you. I'm ready for the embarrassment. I'm ready for the ridiculing and laughter. I'm ready to come to terms with my irrational fears and face them head-on. But you'll hold my hand, right? RIGHT?!?

I'm afraid of our basement. It huge and dark, even with the lights on. Shadows fall where they will, and it freaks me out. This, my friends, is why there are mountains and mountains of laundry waiting for me to do something with them: because I'm skeered of the dark, dingy basement. There's That Room in the back corner that the previous owners started to build...they got as far as lining the beams with plastic, which makes things even worse for me.

Who wouldn't be afraid of this???

Shiver.

I realize it's hard to see what this is...but it's a view under my basement stairs. God knows what could be lurking under those stairs!! God knows what could reach between those stairs when l'il ol' unsuspecting me walks up, completely helpless, with my arms holding an overflowing basket of laundry.

The Stairs with a flash. Doesn't help much, does it?

This is where I have to walk to in order to do laundry. Wouldn't you be skeered too?? All the way over there!

Notice the plastic in the background. That's That Room. That Room. How am I supposed to know there's not some zombie creature hiding in That Room? I lock the doors, yes, but those zombies: they're sneaky like that.

A sort of view back into That Room. I couldn't make myself go all the way to the door.

A view of That Room with a flash. Doesn't help much, does it?

My view as I walk back up the stairs. Oh who am I kidding?? I'm jogging quickly by the middle of the staircase, and running, 2 steps at a time, by the top.

*Sigh* I feel better having faced my irrational fears with you all. I will still avoid That Room like the Plague. And I'll always wonder what's lurking under the stairs, ready to grab me by the ankles when I'm rendered defenseless by my laundry basket. But I'll think of you all when the zombies get me.

Fallin' back, baby!!

Aahhhh. I love fall. Have I mentioned that in previous posts? If not, I love fall. But I especially love the fact that I can stay up late one night, reading a book called High Spirits by Peter Funk (an excellent read), and then wake up the next morning, having completely forgotten to fall back. What a wondrous feeling, that although your clock is trying really hard to convince you it's one time, it's really a whole hour earlier than that.

I feel like I could swim an entire ocean...or ride a bull named Hell Breaketh Loose for a full 8 seconds...or move a mountain. Unfortunately, the third and final choice is the one that will be happening today. Plural, actually. How could we have mountains and mountains of laundry, just sitting there, waiting for me to do something with it? I'd take pictures of it to share, but I just can't. It's that embarrassing. And although I say this every week, I'll say it again now: I will get it done today. It's my own little mantra, like the Little Engine That Could. I will get it done today.

Saturday morning ritual

Many Saturdays, I wake up to do the same thing. I go to the library to turn in books and check out ones that I've requested. Then I spend the remainder of the morning at the local pet store, which has an adoption day most Saturdays where a no-kill shelter brings in puppies to find homes. I want a dog so badly I can taste it. Now granted, we are broke as a joke...don't have a pot to pee in...can't even pay attention. So I would never go out and purposely buy a dog we truly couldn't afford. However, if a stray just happened upon our property, there's a fairly good chance that I would take it in (any strays out there reading this post? Here's your chance).

Today I was greeted by two dogs. One, a lab/pit mix named Charlie, and the other, some sort of beagle mix, named Dixie. Oh. My. God. Big Boss Man is a lucky son of a gun that I didn't walk into our home with one of those two pups. Adorable, sweet, playful puppies that needed a home because their shelter is closing. Sigh.

Now, I have an old-fashioned dream...I want to move back to the country. I "grew up" on a farm of sorts. An out in the middle of nowhere, fruit tree orchard, chicken coop-having, 4 acre farm. We had no cattle or horses, but we had chickens, about ten million cats and one alaskan husky. We had a workshop, built by my dad and grandfather, on the back of the garage. We had a barn (well, two actually, but one of them got torn down...the memory of pulling that thing down is still fresh-like-yesterday in my mind). We had a treehouse...a two-level treehouse in our backyard. I fell off that treehouse, backwards, when I was young. The memory of that, unfortunately, is also still fresh-like-yesterday to me. I almost get the wind knocked out of me just thinking about it.

Seeing others tell stories of the day-to-day workings of a real life ranch, such as Ree, the Pioneer Woman, makes me long for this life even more. It's so simple. It's refreshing. It's damn hard work. But what a life. So someday...we'll pack our family up and move to Montana or one of the Dakotas or Wyoming. And we'll have our little ranch. And having a dog is just part of making that dream become a reality...after all...every good ranch has to have at least one dog.

I am all SMILES

Yes, I know...I've gone on already about how much I love the upcoming time of year. I don't care. I'm going to do it again. And you're going to deal with it, because you love me and want me to be happy.


I walked into work this morning, expecting the same ol', same ol when it comes to Fridays...long day, but okee dokee because, well, it's Friday. But today was going to be different...oh so different.

I was suddenly all smiles. Overnight, literally, my store had become a Christmas wonderland! We're talking permanent smileage here folks. I couldn't get over it. I actually took my camera out and grabbed a few shots of a few of the many wonderful things available for purchase to make our home all Christmasy.

Heaven in a box.

I'm fairly certain I could live on coffee and Almond Rocha. I might not be able to fit through any doors, or sit still for any period of time, but I'd be livin', baby!

Disregard the glare...it was on a top shelf. These are just the cutest oversized Christmas bulbs ever...they are for the yard.

Finally...bulbs for Big Boss Man...he believes that ALL Christmas lights should be those old colored bulbs...the huge ones. Well, here ya go hon!

And these...giant ornaments...I don't know where I'd put them, but I'd find a spot to watch them sparkle.

The camera doesn't near do these justice. They were simply sparkling.

Gorgeous for year-round use, but lovely in a Christmasy way too.

Hard to tell, but they glow...they actually change color. Nothing like a color-changing snowman. Cheesy? Maybe. But I like 'em anyway.

Ahhh...more cheese.

Lots of happy snowmen, snowwomen, and snowchildren.

Jingling snowmen, snowwomen, and snowchildren.

As you can see, I'm totally psyched about Christmas. I had people staring at me like I was a true freak (and not just the one I play on TV). I'm the first to admit: I don't do decorating. I don't really have a style (well, unless you consider "clutter" a style). But Christmas decorations are just neat. How can you not smile when walking into a room filled with deep greens, bright reds, sparkling silvers and crisp whites? It speaks of winter and Christmas. It exudes comfort and family. It almost pukes warmth and happiness. And I'm all for it!