Dear Ridiculous Woman Walking Her Ugly Dog,

Please don't give me dirty looks when I walk by you. My dog and I were simply trying to enjoy the sunshine on our little walk. You saw us a half a mile away. You stopped walking, turned around, and watched us coming toward you and that tangled rat you call a dog.

You refused to move. For absolutely no reason, you chose to discontinue your walk, stand right there in the middle of the trail and wait the ten minutes it took us to catch up to you. You had a horrified look in your eye. You saw my beast walking toward you and you were petrified but you did not move. I could tell five hundred feet away that you were convinced he was going to attack you. You saw his razor sharp teeth, and you waited for them!

You glared at me as we approached. You pulled your dogs leash, called him closer, and never broke eye contact with my ferocious killer. The closer you got, the more your hands trembled, the bigger the sweat drops on your forehead.

As we passed you, you mumbled something in a shaky voice and glared at me with lasers shooting out your eyes. My dog eyeing yours. Your dog smelling his own ass.

I completely understand if you are afraid of large dogs, sharp teeth, being eaten alive. I understand that not everyone will find my dog cute and cuddly. I also understand that if you had half a brain, you would not stand and wait for the creature of your nightmares to approach you. You chose to stand there and wait TEN MINUTES for us to catch up to you and then you had the nerve to give ME dirty looks!?!? My dog is fairly well behaved and honestly couldn't have cared less about you. He was slightly intrigued by your dog, but he also finds piles of shit quite entertaining, so I wouldn't be too proud of your pooch. He didn't, however, try to eat your face. So get over it. You have every right to dislike my dog's breed, or hair length, or drool. But if you are not fond of him, please don't stand there and wait for us, only to give me the death stare....just keep walkin!

Sincerely,
The lady who's dog is much much more handsome

Disclaimer.... None of the photographs used in this blog actually depict my dog, or the other dog in said situation. After many failed attempts to get Rosco to make a "fierce" face to the camera, I decided it was best to use stunt doubles for dramatic effect. He does not really look like a bear or a monster. In the future, I will leave the "fierceness" to Tyra.

Rosco wants you all to know that he is in fact a very sweet, very mellow young man who has never once in his life shown his teeth to anyone but the dentist. He's also wishing that his mom would quit blogging. Right now.

Dr. 80260

Yesterday, Shawn and I went to the Salvation Army for 50% off day. (which is the best day ever, by the way) We were pretty disappointed in the selection though. In the past, this particular store has been quite promising when it comes to amazing deals. If you don't believe me, ask the $3000 armoir holding my television...that cost me $108. Yesterday, however, was not as impressive. There were no designer clothes, no high end night stands, no diamonds in coat pockets. Very sad. There were however some interesting shirts. Now, let me just preface by saying, I absolutely loath people who wear those cheesy hats and leather jackets that display which outrageous gas guzzling sports car they drive. The girls that stroll through the airport with their pastel pink Ferrari caps make me want to puke. But, I understand that they feel their car is a status symbol, and they are trying to let everyone, who may not be lucky enough to see them pull into valet, know that they are rich. Tacky, yes, but I suppose it serves their purpose.

I don't, however, understand these declarations...

I don't know if you can tell by the low quality photos here, but these shirts were quite worn. I'm so confused.

While I was photographing ridiculous bedazzling, Shawn was off making a discovery of his own.

He now lives in our home. Shawn couldn't be happier.

Deo for his BO

So, my dog is kinda stinky. Not like over the top, smellin like poop, nasty ass dog smell. Just like a slight hint of dry mud. I suppose dry mud is actually just dirt. But if I said he smelled like dirt, you might think he smells like potting soil or something, and I don't want you to be confused and think my dog smells like he's been sprayed with fertilizer....because he doesn't. He just smells like he went for a stroll through a field that was comprised mostly of a substance that was once mud.

Now, I know what you are thinking. "Give him a bath!" But its not that easy. My little puppy weighs a hundred pounds. He knows this. He also knows that he is stronger, and sometimes smarter than myself. Further more, he knows that in order for me to give him a bath, I need his cooperation. And this dog is not a fan of taking a bath. Its nearly impossible for me to pick him up and put him in the tub. When I try, he wiggles and squirms his way out of my arms. If I get a good grip and he can't break free, he begins to scream. "A dog screaming?", you say?? Yes, screaming. A full on, high pitched, someone just hit this woman in the face with a pot of boiling water, screaming. I try to block it out and continue the battle. I try to hurry and get his big ass into the tub before the neighbors call the police in an attempt to save the poor woman being slaughtered in the bathroom. On the rare occasion that I actually win the fight and get him in the bathtub, he completely submits. We will have the fight of all fights inches away from the edge of the tub, but once he's in the tub, he totally chills out and says "Shit this ain't so bad! Bring on the bubbles." (I apologize for my dog's poor grammar. He does it to rebel.) After his bath, he parades around the house, showing everyone just how amazingly beautiful he is and how wonderful he smells.

Now, as hard and stressful and ridiculous and tear inducing the entire bathing process is...it is much worse when Rosco decides to be an obnoxious smart ass. The day after I went through the awfully painful process of giving this man a bath, he decides to remind me that the pain was all his doing. He reminded me that bathing him would be simple as pie if it weren't for him and his immense strength and power. He likes to rub it in my face that he controls the show. "How does he possibly do this?", you ask? By entering the bathroom while I put on my makeup, walking right past me, and calmly climbing into the tub. He turns around to face me, stares me down for a few moments while wagging his tail, and then hops out of the tub and exits the room. Like "Bitch please, I take baths when I want to take baths. Period."

So, if you come over, and pet my dog, and a small dust cloud floats off his back, please don't judge. Sympathise. Understand. Appreciate the pain I go through. And if you still think he smells, please, please take that ass hole to your house and give him a bath. Please.

Blue Nips

About a month ago, I heard that the Virgin records store downtown is going out of business and will soon be closing their doors. Shawn and I headed over immediately to buy cds for a nickle, t-shirts for a piece of gum....you know, typical sales when a store goes out of business. When we got there, we quickly realized that stores won't actually trade a t-shirt for a piece of gum. Well, at least Virgin records won't. Instead, they had a small bin of cds near the door listed for the low, low price of ten dollars. Everything else was just as overpriced and annoying as always. Honestly, you couldn't even tell the store would be closing anytime soon....until you walked to the very, very back. There, behind the rack of cheesy rockstar messenger bags and spikey metal wristbands, was a graveyard of manequins. Row after row of jutting collar bones and oddly missing penises.

And leading these naked torsos, were two lovely ladies, who appeared to be quite smitten with one another. Judging by her blue nipple, I would guess one of these ladies might not be a Virgin manequin afterall. I'd be willing to bet there's a Hot Topic in the Denver area missing this lass.

I just thought I would let you know that the closing of this store will most likely not benefit your music collection. It may, however, get you a good deal on some naked folks.

Life

It's an unusually cloudy, rainy day in Denver. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a huge fan of the Colorado sunshine, but occasionally, even I need a gloomy day to crank up the heat and snuggle under a blanket. I've already checked all my daily sites, filled up on news, gossip, and blogs. I've watched four episodes of Cash Cab, in which I learned that Geraldo has a hand tattoo, and went to Pho for some hot chicken and noodle soup happiness. Now, I'm back under the blanket, with nothing to do but brag about my latest creation. I went to Walmart the other day (I know, it only happens like twice a year and I prayed before and after) and found the cutest indoor herb garden kits. I was totally skeptical as to whether or not they would actually produce plants, but honestly, the little pots were so cute that I didn't care. And they were on sale for $8.00 so I bought two.

The packaging stated that the soil and seeds were included, but the containers felt pretty empty so I assumed they were just joking. I really thought they were joking, when I opened the package and saw these small brown hockey pucks described as "soil".

I followed the instructions......added water....

and more water....

fluffed with a fork... (and if you were wondering, yes, that is the fork I stole from Toby Keith)

and holy shit! It actually turned into soil. I don't have a clue how it worked, but those little pucks of umm whatever they were...grew before my eyes into a full pot of fluffy soil!!!

I put the little seeds in and covered the pots with saran wrap as instructed and placed them in the window sills in the guest room. Two days later, I was convinced that the saran wrap was not creating a greenhouse for my little herbs, but was instead just growing mold, so I took it off. The very next day I realized the little purple fuzzy specs of mold were actually plants!! Look at those little bitches!!!

Yeah that's right. I gots basil. And I even have three tiny little chive sprouts, although they were too small to photograph with my iphone. I am so oddly excited about this. I went to Walmart, poured water on a hockey puck, and will soon have enough herbs to season the neighborhood...or at least my pasta sauce. That's just crazy. I have a new appreciation for life. God help my future children and their first poops. And God help you dear readers because you know I will be posting pictures of that shit online.

I need more vitamin c

Have you seen the commercial for that cold/flu medicine with vitamin c? There's a lady in her office all sniffly and sneezy and her coworkers are talking smack about how she's addicted to vitamin c and won't take conventional medicine because the good ole c is far superior. So they trick her into taking their medicine because it says 'vitamin c' on the box. I hate that commercial. Don't those bitches know that there was once a time when Dayquil didn't exist and your only hope of beating your cold is chowing down on every orange in sight? Yeah, so maybe back in those days it was a bit more common for folks to straight up die from a wee little cough, but whatever. Some people can't take cold/flu medicine. Some people made bad choices in high school, took a few too many dayquils, got really high, blurred their vision for three days and forgot their own name, and now their bodies freak the hell out when a gel cap comes into the room. Some people might take a cold pill and end up violently shaking, throwing up, and spewing obscenities to the heavens. So maybe those bitches shouldn't talk shit about oranges because maybe, just maybe, that's some peoples' only hope, ok!? Back off my 'c' bitch. Yeah, I'm stuffy and achy and cranky and sneezy. Yeah I feel like a dump truck is doing donuts in my skull. But you can't trick me with your cleverly disguised medicine. I know whats really in that box. That's no vitamin c mister. Now, if someone feels like doing a good deed, please go buy me some oranges because I am all out and I think its effecting my thought process.

So I get some awesome tax breaks this year...

Yes, thats right, I am officially a home owner. Well, Shawn and I are home owners. After many battles, many contracts, and many sleepless nights, we stumbled upon a condo that we couldn't walk away from. We originally wanted an old house overflowing with character and squeeky hard wood floors, but finally realized we couldn't afford to make those homes liveable. Some day we will have our bungalow, but until then, we have an awesome new pad that fits us perfectly. Its only a few years old so it didn't require much more than some paint. Let me rephrase...it didn't require much more than lots and lots and lots of paint. I still have one room left, but considering that its the guest room and the only ones looking at the wall color are the turtles, I'm putting that job off to another day...or month. I still have some more unpacking to do, some more decorating to tackle, and a dining room table to purchase, but for the most part, it is coming together quite nicely. I took a bunch of beautiful pictures but cannot seem to find the cable to connect my camera to my computer...so until I do, I only have a few camera phone shots of our gorgeously bright bedroom, my wall of jewelry, and the blinds that I almost threw out the window while installing. Enjoy.

I've missed you

Damn, I completely suck at this whole blog business. I get all excited about it and then I forget it exists. I hope when I have children, I will be better than I am now. Because otherwise there is a chance those diapers will go months without changing and I will totally get hauled off by the bad parenting police. Eek. Ok, I suppose those diapers will smell really bad and that will be a reminder that I have children and then I won't forget them like I did about this blog. We can hope.

So, since we last talked, I've made some big moves. We put an offer in on a house last night. The house is adorable. Built in 1930 and full of 30's charm. Hardwood floors, giant base boards, shady electricity, beautiful mature landscaping and possibly no plumbing. We have so much to look forward to. Just for future reference, if this deal goes through, this blog will become a "what not to do when attempting to remodel a home" blog. I will most definately be posting pictures of holes in walls, failed attempts at drywalling, possible fires, and my cheeks drenched in tears. I mean, you, as a reader, have so much to look forward to. In the meantime, here is a picture to hold you over....

In case you were wondering, I too think the house may be leaning to the left. But I think its intentional. It does the Roc-a-way....lean back....lean back. Don't hate on my house. :(

Angry Beavers and Coors Light

Last night, the boy and I made a trip to the Adam's County Fair. Growing up in Germany, I have high hopes for a fair. I imagine great beer, juicy brats, loud music, beautiful soldiers, and scary rides. Apparently, stateside festivals are a little different. They attract a type of person that I did not think resided in Colorado. I was wrong. So very wrong. I learned a lot about people, culture, and farm animals yesterday and I'd like to share this awakening with you.

We got to the fairgrounds around 4:30, which it seems was far too early. The rides were not running, the games were not playing, and the food was just hitting the grill.

We wandered around for a bit, got some bbq on a stick and crappy beer, and talked to a vendor about how my moisturizer is giving me cancer. After that enlightening conversation, we discovered the farmer's mecca at the fair. There were giant tents filled with animals, and people hustling about everywhere. After a few confused moments, we realized these animals were engaging in some sort of beauty contests.

The first animal I met was this horse. I took his picture because he reminded me of Matthew McConaughey.

Next, I discovered Olivia Newton John's fan club. I'm still not sure why these sheep were wearing spandex, but it was entertaining.

They weren't getting physical, physical...but they were looking fly and that's all that mattered.

Next, I met a pig who's either narcoleptic, or a lush. Or perhaps both.

About two minutes after taking that last picture, I was attacked by his cousin. Okay, maybe attacked is a slight exaggeration, but there was a large pig, running in my direction, and a boy chasing it with a stick. It was traumatizing.

Next, we moved on to the "Small caged animals" pageant. There were quite a few interesting rabbits. Did you even know there were multiple kinds of rabbits? There are actually rabbits who are small, and not just because they are babies, and there are also rabbits that are almost as big as my dog. Well, maybe as big as your dog.

This rabbit used his double chin as a pillow, which I thought was genius.

This bunny's hair was so crazy that you couldn't even find his face. Unless that's his butt. I'm pretty sure its his face.

This one was just cool.

He was for sale. I considered bringing him home, but then I remembered that rabbits eat your face while you sleep. So I changed my mind.

Next, I learned that if you kneel down and attempt to take a picture of a caged turkey, he instantly think you are going to pluck all his feathers out, stuff an onion up his butt, and throw him in the oven. This turkey was trying to make this process easier by fluffing himself up to make his feathers more accessible for the plucking. That was nice of him. Then he tried to bite my face.

It was about this time that I realized there was poo on my shoe. That's when we headed to the Monster Truck show. At the Miss Adam's County Piggy show, there were lots of wranglers, big belt buckles, and cowboy boots. At the monster truck show, there were many tank tops, receding hair lines, and not so many teeth. There was however this rebellious little girl who seemed to like beaded bracelets. The boy made jokes about raving skanks and Ecstasy. Who knows. Oh, there were also trucks. Big ones. Monsters, if you will.

After the show, I ran into this guy, twice. I took the second encounter as fate, and a reason to take his picture.

Before we went home, the boy won a prize for me...well more for our dog.

He was quite proud. He informed me that the stuffed animal was from the show "Angry Beavers". I made the angry beaver ride a tractor.

When we got home, Rosco was quite please with his beaver. Then he ripped its nose off and spilled his insides all over my living room. The angry beaver made me angry, so he now lives in the dumpster.

Well, that was my night. I learned a lot about animals, and poo, and trucks, and overalls. I learned that the boy likes to tell baby cows about his love of veal. I don't think he even eats veal, he just likes to tell stories to animals. And I learned that its perfectly ok to go to the fair in overalls and no shirt. G'night.

I fought the law...and the beer won.

So if you know me at all, you probably know that I have a ghetto entrepreneurial urge living inside me. More often than not, this leaves me broke and disappointed. Today, it leaves me drunk at a bar.

So I did a little research and discovered that Colorado, as a state, has no scalping laws. Within about four minutes of this discovery, I owed ticketmaster around a thousand dollars. I bought the maximum allowed tickets to the shows I was sure would sell out. My first venture was for a band I'd never heard, but after a little research I discovered are quite popular with the tweens. Little did I know that grown men would sell a testicle to get their daughters a ticket to see these Jonas boys. I still have my doubts about their supposed sibling..ry. Crazy marketing if you ask me. So anyway, those boys bought me a tank of gas which I was very grateful for. And they also convinced me that I could make more than just gas money in this business.

However, I quickly learned that there is a reason the guys selling tickets on the corner always have holes in their shirts. Being a professional ticket scalper ain't no easy task. Long story short, if a show doesn't sell out, and instead decides to drop ticket prices by ten dollars, you end up alone, broke, and drunk at CB&Potts. It's a sad life. Thank god my iPhone has typing correction. If it weren't for that, this blog would look more like this...

Jffokxwnbshducnsbgajbvsumxnjao.

That's right bitches, be grateful.



Update...

I just logged in to see what sort of mess I'd typed up yesterday, and its a bit of a doozy. I arrived at the concert three hours before my boyfriend, and (after selling my extra tickets for a painfully low price) instead of waiting outside in the heat, I chose to go to a bar. Seemed like a good idea at the time...

Also, thank you to the 14 year old boys who bought my tickets, you saved me some tears.

And for anyone that may be curious...Both the Flobots and Offspring rocked the fuckin house. Go see them. Twice. (Just don't ask me for tickets, cause I won't be buying extras)

Crisp and fresh

Every once in a while, I look around my apartment and realize I'm completely bored with it. When I moved in, it was beautiful and open and exciting. I loved knowing where everything was and knowing that everything was mine. I could walk from one end to the other in pitch black and know exactly when to dodge the table leg, when to step over the dog toys, and when to avoid the stray shoe by the door. I liked the comfort that this brought. But I think, with everything, you need to switch it up now and then to keep that appreciation. Once in a while, you need to stub your toe on the couch.

And so, I have a new blog. Its been brought to my attention, by a few, that my blog has been missing the fierceness it once had. It seems to correlate with my view on life. The more bitter I am at the world, the more creative my silly little posts would be. Now, I'm not willing to trade my happiness for the sake of a good post, but I am willing to try a new approach. Maybe, my old blog bred bitterness. After all, that's what it was born into. It only makes since, that as my attitude changes, my environment will need tweaking as well. So here is my fresh start. I can only promise that I will give it attention, care, and effort. I will be honest and genuine. And, as always, I will not censor myself or my opinions. Feel free to enjoy and stub your toe.