I went to the vet today to take Frankie (my Lab to your left there) to get her booster shots (oh happy day for her!). Everything goes as expected, they try to give her shots and she does alligator rolls on the table. For some reason they kept asking me to tell her not to do that...like that will help. Sorry folks, if she doesn't want a shot, I doubt me calling her Schnukums is going to help. I joke, I did try to calm her down but she just kept doing her barrel rolls and licking my hands...but eventually, they got it all done. Other than that, it was an uneventful visit until we went to pay our bill.

Frankie and I stood at the counter patiently counting the seconds until the two of us could get the hell out of the veterinarian office...we can only take so much pep and baby talk so early in the morning. Seriously, Frankie hates baby talk. She rolls her eyes at people who talk down to her. She did a lot of eye rolling this morning. Well, we must've looked like a pair of irresistible brunettes that needed to be talked to, because some guy with a monster dog decided to take this opportunity to attempt to make small talk. Let's set the scene; my dog is desperately clawing at my arm begging to get the hell out of Dodge and his dog is about to eat her. What was his owner doing? Oh yeah, hitting on me. As Frankie recoils from the demon dog, the douche bag who was previously asking me if I lived in the area and other stupid questions (one in which involved my lunch plans) says to me, "You should probably keep your dog away from my dog, he hates other dogs!" and he says this very sternly as if Frankie was wagging her little tail and trying to play with his dog. Frankie was cowering between my legs and whining softly. I backed up a little more, glanced at the woman who was supposed to be "quickly" preparing my bill...it appeared that she was still preparing. In fact, it looked as though she was still prepping to prepare.

Douchebag's dog lunges at us again, and I back up a little more. He says again, this time even more firmly, "My dog doesn't like dogs, you should really keep your dog away from mine!" This man is crazy! Frankie is tucked between my legs, she hasn't moved at all--in fact, she looks like she's as stiff as a board with fear and I have now backed away from his dog three times and I'm only two steps from the door. So I gave him my patented "What the fuck did you just say to me?" look, took a deep breath and slowly uttered, "I was at this counter first waiting for my bill, you just came out and started hitting on me. I'm married and I don't want to have lunch with you if you noticed when I lacked enthusiasm in talking with you. If your dog has a problem with other dogs why don't you do us all a favor and get your dog the fuck away from mine?" I signed my bill with a flourish and gripped Frankie's leash tightly to leave, feeling like I probably overreacted and then the most unexpected thing happened...

a lady clapped...

and then supplied me with some interesting information. Apparently Douchebag's dog had bitten two other dogs in the waiting room...THAT DAY. After hearing that, I didn't feel like I was a bitch, I just felt like a good mom taking care of her dogbaby.

I am constantly amazed at how good John is at being a husband. He totally read my mind all weekend. This is what I telepathically told him to do, and he did it! Seriously folks, he's good.

I said:

"Make me a homemade Stromboli!" (and he did! and it was AWESOME...I've never had such an awe inspiring combo of pizza dough and every meat product I love).

"Have sex with me, and put your back into it, Boy!" (Here, he got a little confused because he put my back into it, and now I have lots of sexy rug burn on my back...but it was worth getting it, plus it never truly hurts in the moment, only after.)

"Get me drunk!" (Boy did he ever...well, to be fair, I think I was the one swallowing the delicious mixes that he was handing me--but wow! He also wins bonus points for attempting to put me to bed when it was clear that I was no longer communicating with human beings and that gravity was beginning to work against me. Of course, I did not take this bed-time thing lying down, I popped up (of course) to harass everyone while they played wii!)

"Hold my hair when I puke!" (He needed to do this because when I woke up all bleary eyed he handed me an alcoholic beverage, citing "The hair of the dog". I took one whiff of it and scooted off to the bathroom to retch)

"Feed me!" (Several times he fed me. First it was Wendy's to coat my stomach, then he made me some pork meal that used all the contents of our very bare cabinets. You see, I was too busy drinking to actually go to the grocery store and purchase items for consumption. Yesterday I learned that pork, BBQ sauce and pasta actually taste really good together...I wish I had never found this out.)

Right before bed last night I raced upstairs to beat John to the bathroom-- and beat him I did. When John came in to brush his teeth he found me laughing and saying, "Uh oh" to myself. He did what any person would do when they find their significant other cracking up on the toilet in the dark, he asked, "What's wrong with you?" And with that, I presented to him my panties that I had forgotten to take off before sitting down to pee. I don't think I've done that since Kindergarten.

I think this is a true indication that I'm losing my mind, quickly rather than slowly.

In a totally unrelated story I would like to talk about how John's crazy too. See, because I can do that and he can't, because he refuses to blog with me. I've mentioned before how John talks in his sleep and he's really creepy about it because he sits up with his eyes open, grabs me and babbles about something strange and completely off the wall. Well last night he grabs me, shakes me awake and points in horror at the corner and asked me, "Is that a 20 lb rat or is it a 20 lb rabbit?" (as if it would really matter which 20 lb creature it was). Seeing nothing I groggily decided what to reply with other than, "Why are you waking me up!" I decided that telling him it was a rabbit would be more soothing so I said, "Babe, it's a 20 lb rabbit and it's not going to hurt you." He responded by pulling the covers up over his head and saying, "That's what you think, I'm getting the hell out of here!" and then he burrowed deep into the bed so that he was completely covered. His final muffled cry was, "Good luck!"

It's good to know that I'm going to have to be the hero when there's a 20 lb rabbit in the room!

My sister in law is pregnant! I'm happy for her. She got herself out of a decently long relationship and found romance very quickly, right around the bend. She has a boyfriend/fiance whom she seems to adore, and he seems to love her every bit as much. I'm a great champion of love. I used to be a great champion of lust, but I've learned that love is a bit more awesomer. Anyways, that's not the purpose of the post.

The embarassing truth is...

I wanted to have the first grandbaby...

Whew, I said it. So yeah, John and I aren't planning on having a baby anytime soon but I felt secure in the fact that we were married and that I was the old one and John was the oldest sibling that we'd have the first one.

When I heard the news I thought to myself crazily, "Perhaps we could just get pregnant right now and perhaps I'd have a preemie and we'd have babies at the same time!" (yes, a truly brilliant idea and work of deduction on my part that even Holmes would be proud of...or would possibly abhor). But alas my own private breed of craziness (which I'm sure is only being spurred on by turning dirty 30 (gag) ) was thwarted again by the revelation (courtesy of a phone call with my mother in law) that she's four and half months pregnant...so yeah, even I, the craziest of the crazed couldn't catch up with that, therefore I conceed that she wins the pregnancy race. I know! How absolutely gracious of me! (that's sarcasm...I realize that I'm a little shrew)

Oh well...maybe I can have the second baby in the family.
Or the third. Whatever...it really doesn't matter what order they come in does it?
Plus my mom pointed out that my baby will be the "chosen one" in our family because I'm an only child and my baby will be the only grandkid.

PS. Don't you feel bad for John for having to put up with me?? I know I do! Sorry for being a nutjob pookie!

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. That someone was me. I had night class last night (a really fun class, don't get me wrong) and it sucked the life out of me. Consider after working all day that the last thing I wanted to do was hop in the car, sit in traffic and then sit in a classroom all night listening to some good (mostly bad) short stories and workshopping them all night long. Then I get to hop back in the car and drive home ( at the speed of light...I got home in 26 mins last night--the University is about 40 mins away). I just wanted to spend a little time not thinking--and definitely not thinking about all the work that is pileing up for me to do.

John and I decided to watch a tivoed edition of Blind Date. After watching a particularly cringe-worthy episode, John cupped my face and kissed me, "Isn't it awesome that we don't have to date anymore?"

I didn't feel that way when we went up to bed and he unleashed the single foulest gaseous expansion my nose ever had the misfortune of being near.

However, I was more than happy when--to cure me of my sour morning attitude (after slapping the alarm clock like a pesky misquito, grumbling, moaning and sniping)--John undid my work pants that I hastily slapped on after bitching about the lack of hot water (um...who was supposed to call the hotwater heater guy? Oh that would be me...instead, I just decide to go downstairs on a nightly basis and trip the switch so that it resets rather than call for a new thermometer) and with his lovely hands eased a smile back onto my face.

I thought it would be only fair to return the favor...
as long as he didn't mess up my pink work shirt. I can only imagine the mood I would've been in, had we had just a few more minutes to actually strip down.