FoodLady Chronicles–Arthopod (why is it always Arthopods?) Edition:

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We are currently enjoying that particular stage of doggie development I have lovingly entitled, “The Asshole Stage”. It usually begins around 6 months old and, provided you don’t kill them, usually gets better at about 15 months old. Puberty generally turns everything into an ass. So our precious 8-month-old-hell-monster (aka Sam-puppy) has been having trouble settling down at night which is rough, but the other night was exceptional in its roughness:
22:10 – lights out, happy sleepy time.
00:07 – FoodLady, FoodDude, Life(dog), Herbert(dog) are all happily still asleep. SamSam (hell-puppy) says, “Bark! Bark! WakeUpEveryone! Bark! I’mBored! Bark!  IFoundTheCatAgain! Bark! DidYouKnowWeHaveACat? Bark! (he rediscovers the existence of the cat daily) iFartedAndWeShouldAllEnjoyMyAroma
Bark! WakeUpHumans!!!”
The bipeds wake up, gag at the smell, settle everyone back down, attempt further sleep.
01:34 – SamSam “DangerBark! DangerBark!” And then Herbert joins in, “DangerBark! WeHaveASituationHereFoodLadyGetUpBark!” and with that I am UP. I do a quick look through the house and nothing is on fire, no person has invaded, and as I blink blearily and walk around…..there is just nothing.  The brindles (Herbert & Sam) are dancing around me but not showing me anything so I think, “oh well,–I’ll just use the restroom and attempt this sleep thing again”.  Given the frequency of critters invading my bathroom (spiders, blue crabs, bugs of all kinds, etc.) I have learned not to pee in the dark. I flip on the light and when I try to walk in the two brindled dogs bump and push and squeeze me against the wall and I’m all grumpy and thinking many bad words about annoying brindle-colored dogs and after grumpily fighting my way to the toilet I sit to pee. Sam-puppy flees and Herbert flips around into a guard position and I see it. Now, centipedes are a fact of life in the tropics and even though they are creepy as hell, they don’t normally freak me out but this one was FREAKY. It was only about 6 inches long but it was about 1 1/2 inches wide and it was PISSED. It was rearing (which is just extra creepy, btw) and headed for Herbert (and me) I made Herbert get in the shower (he wasn’t happy with this plan but did it) and put the bathroom trash can on top of it and pressed down with both hands–it wouldn’t squish. *shudder* Okay then. I wake up FoodDude and he gets the machete and after chopping it to bits we check the pups. Herbert seemed okay but Sam was limping and couldn’t put weight on one paw. Well, crap. So, yeah….the brindles kept me from getting stung and I was grumpy about it at the time and QUE THE GUILT. Good Brave Sam-puppy! Good Brave Herbert! I feel it is important to share that Sam is not a stoic dog. He proceeded to let us know in a melodramatic display of floppery that he was a HERO! and now that he was dying! he would need to be snuggled and carried and he needs ALL of the biscuits so he can go on. So, due to the guilt, we piled the poor boy into the bed and I spent the rest of the night awake making sure he was okay and wishing I had an organic vapor respirator because the farting…..well, it was bad. It was incredibly bad. In the morning it was easy to see poor Herbert had also gotten stung because he was stiff and sore–poor stoic Herbert (more guilt). But what about poor short-legged Sam-puppy, you say?  Yeah, at sunrise he was joyously perky and full of all of the happy vigor! (It is a bright new day! I found the cat! Did you know we have a cat?! I like destroying things!) He leapt around the front yard happily destroying something foam-based and barking at anyone who dared to use the road in front of his yard. Meanwhile,  the FoodPeople prepared to zombie through the day. I’m not sure how, but Sam-puppy wins. ♡

Things be alright.

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So, back in the day I was married to a, for lack of a better term, deadbeat. So I was not without trepidation that I entered into my current relationship. This man moved thousands of miles to live with me and thankfully, I can say this has been the happiest time of my life.
What I have learned over the last couple of months has felt fairly epic but it really just boils down to no-one sees their own issues until you see them through someone else’s eyes. As an example, while cleaning out various rooms of my house I learned I have a complete aversion to closing doors. To my knowledge I have never been locked in anywhere but holy shit….I take doors off of pretty much anything I can and if I can’t take them off I block them open. I hadn’t shut the front door of my house in YEARS until recently. Yep, not a fan of doors. But lately (shut up) I have learned if you close the doors the dogs don’t get outside willy nilly and since outside is where the majority of trouble is found, well, now I get why these damn door things became so darn popular in the first place (shut. up.).
So, before the man got here I researched online for important (read: lame) articles about “are we ready to live together” and other such advice. What really threw me for a loop was the repeated advice that “if you are moving in together to save money–don’t”. I just could not understand this advice–who moves in together to “save money”? Two people living together costs MORE, not less. It was almost 72 hours (again with the shutting and the upping–I’m special) before I realized how incredibly fucked up my thought process truly was; in my mind two people did not equal two incomes, just me taking care of two people. So, with this realization I told the man that he needed to find a job asap and how would the household cost be split, etc. The man basically responded with, “duh. We split bills.” Then he moved in and found a job and all is so close to being amazing it boggles the mind (well, my mind). As he is working as an independent contractor (I hate working like that) and billing the ‘client’ he has yet to be paid and here we are over 35 days past his first invoice and if I eat any more ramen noodle, well, I would cry–except the amount of msg I am ingesting is desiccating my tear ducts. Regardless of the money situation, which should be fine as soon as ‘the client’ pays him, things are going very well in my life. Except I just found out I HAVE ANOTHER FLAT TIRE. Damn. Well, one rather awesome thing about having someone around who, while loving and respecting that I have the ability to change a tire myself, does not believe I should have to change the tire. That’s right bitches, I am now a delicate princess!
*sigh* this growing up stuff is not for the weak! Speaking of growing up — did anyone else have parents that told them they would “grow out of their acne around age 18″? Cause my parents were full of crap; thirty-seven years old with acne AND wrinkles.
~sings~ I feel pretty…oh so pretty….I feel pretty, and witty, and bright…….

Embrace the Rage

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I have a mother-fucking eye twitch and I’m trapped in one of the world’s most annoying damn classe and it may be time to RANT.
Let’s say you are taking a class about how to drink water.  It happens to be something you do everyday, but because it is required you go to the class with the expectation of learning something useful.  The first day of class you learn where water can usually be found,  maybe spend some time talking about juice (?!) and then they hint that eventually you might see someone drinking water. Disappointing, but you go home with hope for tomorrow.
The next day you get to spend some time watching your instructor lay on the floor while another instructor pours the water into her mouth, spilling over 80%….da fuck? I could explain how to drink water more efficiently than that!  Then we get a couple guest speakers who explain that at their companies everyone drinks water everyday successfully….. That’s great,  but I want to learn HOW to drink the water!
The third day,  we end up talking about juice again,  but this time we have to write down how we would make wine out of juice….and suddenly I can’t stop my fucking eye from twitching. 
This is insane. 

boobular alignment

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For every horrifying tragedy in this world there are approximately fitty-bajillion (my estimate; and quite obviously not in any way scientific) minor annoyances which are just, well, annoying. Those annoyances are not worthy of great thought or even rectification; so please enjoy my whine about a completely trivial matter:

This may be something only I deal with–but I doubt it. I wear a lot of sports bras, not because I enjoy the uni-boob appearance but because they are inexpensive, easily washed and dried, and for the most part tend to hold my rascally boobs in one location. In the morning after I grouchily drag myself out of bed I will put on whatever clothing I managed to cobble together out of the drier, off the floor, and on a few memorable occasions–off of the lawn (damn dogs!). After throwing on these ensembles of perfection I often fail to look in the mirror before I go. Today was one of those days. While in the bathroom at work I looked at myself for the first time today and thought, “hey there, hotstuff–not too sha…..DAMN.”  My nipples were misaligned. I am not talking about a standard nipple alignment failure such as:

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when the above happens I laugh and picture a muppet character before shaking the girls into a better look. 

No, today’s horror in a shirt looked more like a stoned chameleon or a mutated walleye. Or, ya know, more like this:

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Yikes! It was rather horrifying, even to me.

How did I not notice my boobs were trapped in a disturbing position? No clue.

Just glad I was able to wrangle those wiley suckers back into alignment before too many people saw me.

Happy to report we are looking something like this for the rest of the day:

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although, you know….not all two dimensional and awkwardly drawn in Paint on my computer n stuff. 

Have a wonderful (mostly aligned) day!

-H.

 

stupid.

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There is a large amount of stupid in this world. We all know this, but as I lay here staring at a big white page where my blog post is supposed to go while my left hip throbs and I am forced to listen to the dreadful hold music provided by the American Airlines which is intermittently interrupted by a very nice woman apologizing profusely before putting me back on hold. I don’t know which is worse–the music or the poor lady repeatedly apologizing. The hip you ask? ah yes…despite everyone in my life believing my injured hip is a Fancy Sex Injury it is, in fact, a stupid Holy Shit I Am So Out Of Shape I Bent Over Sideways To Pick Up A Ball OW OW Fuck My Life I’m So Old I Broke Myself In A Stupid Way injury. I kind of wish it was a Fancy Sex Injury, at least it would be a better story; maybe something involving rigging…..anyway, sorry, kinda got lost there but then I moved and OW! I remembered I am apparently too broken to play fucking fetch with my dog let alone be adventurous without some form of stretching before hand.

Holy Crap; I’m off hold! Time to pay for a work flight change which will make my boss ever so grumpy.

*sigh*

Well, that’s different.

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So I’ve been living alone for years. I think it was a damn good thing for me to have had that time where I didn’t have anyone to really fall back on. Don’t get me wrong, there were literally times I thought I was going to die (dengue, diabetes complications, etc.) but I learned so much about how resilient and capable I can be.
So, I’m not alone anymore and despite Herbert (service dog) having some issues (HOW DARE YOU KISS FoodLady’s HEAD INTERLOPER! I KILL YOU!) settling in, it feels wonderful. We fit. I don’t believe I understood before now how loving someone was not enough to live with someone; you have to work with each other and not around each other. I had never experienced the difference and holy crap, what a difference! I am not used to having help and help is a good thing.   Yesterday I reveived the unwelcome news that someone I used to work with had passed away. My initial reaction was to bury the pain because I “have company”. Thankfully my partner/love knew better and didn’t let me bury it. Instead, he kept me company on the bed while we listened to an audio book about zombies (he.HATES.zombies) and let me deal with the sads in my own way. He keeps reminding me that he is home by doing stuff around the house (dishes, laundry) and I am learning to let him help.
So, this is a weird new chapter in my life, but thus far it is wonderful and satisfying one.
Wish me luck. ;-)

Dear A.D.D., please stop. kthanksbye!

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Today is a wee bit a tough one on me. Nothing bad is happening, actually just the opposite I am in a rather stellar mood today. I was just sort of cleaning up around my office and my brain, which was going about 300,000 miles per hour, kicked out a thought that stopped me in my tracks and caused me to laugh uproariously all by myself. If I was typing this the way I was thinking at the time it would have no spaces and be in all caps–but WRITINGLIKETHISISBULLSHIT and horrid to read so I won’t do that to y’all. But keep in mind as you read this completely inane story that it would probably be funnier if you read it really loudly and obnoxiously fast.

15:17 – V made cucumber lemon orange water which was super good yesterday but today holy crap is it bitter today it tastes pithy hey remember that time in Kentucky when that guy thought you said pissy and then we all laughed and laughed and that fried squash was really good there but so was the iced tea huh there is a Herbert hair in my cucumber lemon orange water oh well I guess I will drink around it nope this stuff is hooooodoggie bitter I shall stop drinking this now I wish I had a diet coke or some of that iced tea from that place in Kentucky with the really good fried squash when we worked on that historic post office that totally had a peeping room attached to the women’s restroom but it was historic and built into the actual building which made it way more interesting than creepy I wonder why that is I’m really glad dogs don’t have pubes…………………………………………………*brain stalls*

*brain attempts reboot*

15:18 – I’m. really. glad. dogs. don’t. have. pubes. Really H!? Seriously?! I mean, I AM quite happy that dogs don’t have obviously distinct curlier areas of pubic hair because that would be extra disturbing and extremely awkward to see…although it probably wouldn’t be because it would always have looked that way GET OUT OF MY HEAD DEMON A.D.D.!!! So, yeah. It’s been that kind of day. I figured it out though…I mean, there was a hair in my water and fitty-eleven thoughts later I was extremely happy that it was a not dog pubic hair in my water….but what if it was? At least I will never know.

And with that ladies and gents….I shall get back to my regularly scheduled thought process. Kisses! -H.

Welcome to the world’s most boring blog post

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I have a solid 20 posts in draft, but I feel stuck in every single one. So, instead of hilarious anecdotes of visiting my family or even random fantasies instead you get this:

So, growing up I never ate peanut butter and jelly.  I had peanut butter on toast and I had jelly on toast but it was not considered normal to put the two together. I tried it in college and I rated it a solid “meh”. I finally found my favorite version of that sandwich (I told you–boring).
I had it last night and again for dinner just now. A toasted whole wheat bagel smeared on one half with Peter Pan peanut butter and the other half smeared with smuckers cherry preserves.  Then I alternate bites from each half. Holy crap is that good and holy crap was that *the* most boring information I have ever put out into this world.
I am incredibly sorry.
Love y’all,
-H.

Snoring. Or Vacation Days 1 & 2…

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Why? Why is there snoring?  Why?! In what way was sleeping loudly an evolutionary advantage? Wouldn’t you have thought all the snoring genes would have been eaten back when we were hunter/gatherer types? 
And how is it I can happily sleep next to a dog snoring but a human snoring next to me fills me with annoyance and wakefulness. 
I just….I just don’t get it. 
So. Since I’m awake anyway I feel as if I should share my vacation updates. Nothing too exciting. Slept through Sunday with lots of snuggling. It was so freaking cold. Then, monday I spent time with my sister and great niece and then visited my mom & stepdad. It’s still freaking cold.
Okay. May need to poke the snorer to get him flipped over.
I am so tired.
Wish me luck.
Nite.

Puppy Crack Recipe

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So, the original recipe for puppy crack called for liver, unfortunately the smell of boiling liver makes me vomit in the sink. So, if you want to use liver, by all means go right ahead, but I am sticking to hearts.
1. Go to store, buy beef hearts (or livers)
2. throw into large pot of boiling water. 
3. boil for an hour or so, don’t let them boil over cause you will have a nasty scummy mess to clean up.
4. After they’ve boiled take them out of water and let them cool. Cut or chop them into teeny tiny training pieces.
5. Place them on parchment paper or aluminium foil on top of a baking pan (no mess) and place them into a 125 degree F oven for 2 hours or until they are crunchy knobby little things.
6. Begin singing puppy crack song which is basically the smelly cat song from Friends except instead of smelly cat you sing puppy crack.
7. Watch dogs follow your every move.