Archive for June, 2011

Did you know that dogs can get acne?  Because I didn’t.

Scout had these nasty bumps all over his chin, and I couldn’t figure out what they were. So since Joe was taking Emmy to the vet anyway for her introductory check-up, I asked him to take Scout as well.

Turns out those nasty bumps were zits. The vet squeezed them and treated them; gave Joe a prescription for antibiotics; and told him that we have to squeeze them whenever they pop up, and treat his chin with Clearasil.

Scout is a big kisser, and he likes to kiss me on my face.  I’m guessing that may be why my face has asploded.

Oh, and squeezing Scout’s zits?  That’s Joe’s job. I’m just sayin’.


We’ve been getting numerous postcards and letters about signing the gas lease so they can drill for natural gas under our neighbourhood. And Joe and I finally went to find out the details. We ended up signing the paperwork. They were advertising a $3K signing bonus per net acre. We obviously have nowhere near an acre of property, so we get a whopping $603. Joe and I agreed that we are going to split it between us, so I can add $301.50 to my savings account. I like having a cushion instead of always being so close to the dollar. Izzy has inspired me, and I’m going on a money diet as well.  I’ve already cut way back on the books I purchase for my nook.  I’m doing a lot of research for a project Izzy and I are working on, so I’m trying to do it online. I did buy one book for $10 (and may I say here that it really chaps my hide to pay so much for an e-book when I could get a printed copy for less).  I was planning to go to Half-Price Books this weekend to find some more resources, but I got lovely coupons in the mail yesterday that are good from July 11-17, so I’ll hold off.


I have lost 50 pounds. That’s great. I’m really happy about it.  But at the same time, I’m still really fat. So I keep hearing people at work compliment me on how good I look, and then I see a photograph of myself, and it makes me want to barf.  Joe took one the other day that made me cry because I look like a huge whale. Why are photographs so cruel? Is it because they catch you at angles you never catch when you’re looking in the mirror?

It’s funny anyway, because on the one hand, when I look in a mirror, I see how heavy I am. But on the other hand, I don’t see myself as heavy. It’s odd. What did they call it in the Matrix–residual self-image?  I know what I look like underneath the layers of fat, and I see that I’m slowly getting there.  I keep getting into smaller clothes, which is a mental boost.   Joe is insistent on taking lots of photos of us with the dogs, because he regrets that we didn’t take more with Molly.   So somehow I’ve got to not let myself get stressed about the  (adjective deleted) photos.


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Yes, once again I am channeling Bobby Belden. I desperately need holp.

My face asploded.

I haven’t had so many zits (blemishes, pimples, whatever you want to call them) on my face at one time since I was an angsty teenager who refused to leave the house if I had so many zits (blemishes, pimples, whatever you want to call them).  Only I can’t call in zitty.


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Meet Emmy

We got approved! Woot!  So, with no further ado, meet the newest member of our family, Emmy:

We’re bringing her home tonight, and we’re all very happy to have her with us.  She won’t take Molly’s place, of course, but she’ll have her own place in our home and in our hearts.  We’re going to get a family portrait made with all of us.

In other news, very briefly, last night I stood up but my pants didn’t.  I’m so glad it happened at home and not at work, because I was wearing ugly undies. So the weight loss is proceeding apace. I’m down about 50 pounds, but somewhere in there I just sort of shrunk a bit even though my weight stayed the same for quite some time.  The doctor’s office said I’m doing very well, and if I continue as I started, I will achieve a great level of success with my band.  I’m so, so glad I did it!!

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It’s been a tough weekend at our place.  Joe keeps asking what he did wrong, and he doesn’t totally believe me when I say he did nothing wrong.  Molly was tired, and sick, and it was her time to go.

And the little dog is acting nothing like himself. He’s not barking at the mailman. He’s not running in and out of the doggie door all day.  He got a new toy on Saturday, and it’s still 100% intact, including the squeaker. He won’t snuggle with me, only with Joe, and he didn’t sleep with us.  He’s not giving us kissies either, despite his title championship of Fastest Tongue in the West.

We were at the adoption center at PetSmart Saturday, and we found a lovely little girl. Her name is Emmy, and, like Scout, she’s a dachshund-lab mix. This particular agency doesn’t let you fill out the paperwork and take your new dog home.  They actually call the vet’s office to make sure you’re a responsible pet owner.  So they said we should hear something tonight, as they were going to call our vet today.  We can’t imagine any reason they wouldn’t approve us, but in the off chance that happens, we will then go to the Humane Society and find a dog.  It seems like Scout needs to have a companion even more than we do.  Seeing him so unlike himself just breaks my heart.

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Good-bye, Molly

My sweet girl, thank you for 11 years of love and laughter and joy.  I already miss you so much.

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Don’t underestimate the benefits of a good session of retail therapy, especially when it’s in the company of your sister.

The incomparable Izzybella and I went out on Saturday evening for ice cream and a long gabfest (note to self: Get your ice cream in a cup, not a cone, because when you don’t eat it all the cup won’t drip all over the floor as you’re carrying it to the bin!).

Then she forcibly dragged me to the threading place (thank goodness they opened one in the strip mall so I don’t have to venture to the mall) where they mercilessly ripped the hair from my eyebrows and my upper lip while I joked about being a hairy beast (note to self: don’t go three months before getting threaded again. It just makes the pain worse, in addition to making me look like a hairy beast).

Then to Lonestar Comics, where I bought an adorable Wonder Woman doll to sit on my desk at work (note to self: bring Wonder Woman to work so she can sit on my desk and inspire me).

Then we went to Avenue where we tried on various articles of clothing. I ended up buying a display outfit (note to self: just assemble the items from the display outfit myself and leave the display outfit where it is, so you don’t annoy the sales clerk).

Then Ulta where I got a hairband so I could use the $3.50 coupon. (Note to self: verify the price so you don’t have to send Izzy off to find another item to make the $10 minimum so you can use the $3.50 coupon.) It worked out okay–I got a hairband and Izzy got some really cute eyeshadow.

Then Lane Bryant where we tried on yet more clothes. Here’s where I have a beef with the sizing: I tried on a pair of size 20 shorts, and they fit beautifully.  Then I tried on a pair of size 20 denim shorts–I wasn’t chuffed about the cut, and they were just a little snug around the waist. Our awesome sales associate had routed out a variety of sizes of those denim shirts out of the back room. I tried on the size 22, thinking they would be a little more comfortable; however, the size 22 shorts were a little bit snugger than the size 20’s. Can you explain that to me?  And my new tank tops are size 14-16, which would be great except that I am most assuredly not a size 14-16. Is it any wonder that I have no idea what size I truly wear? (Note to self: it doesn’t matter what the size is on the label. What matters is how it fits and how you look in it.)  I ended up with one pair of shorts and a handful of tank tops, and thanks to the $25 off coupon, it wasn’t too painful.

Then dinner, where I ate a taco and we had more gabfest time. Then I got a freezoni from QT–I was craving Dr Pepper, but they were out.  And when I got my Coke flavour, I somehow managed to make a HUGE mess. It was embarrassing. (Note to self: put the lid on BEFORE you start dispensing the Freezoni. Less mess will occur that way. And make sure the lid is on very securely. Less mess will occur that way.)

So even though life is still extremely difficult right now, I have to count my blessings. Way high up there is my sister, my best friends, and a couple of cute outfits for the summer.

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Reading Izzybella’s post about her bad dog really cracked me up, because Artie wreaked some major havoc. 

And then I stopped laughing and thought about my bad dogs.

Scout is notorious for knocking over the garbage can if it’s left unwatched. He’ll then strew garbage from one end of the house to the other, ripping apart cartons that once held Atkins shakes, eating plastic containers that contain so much as a morsel of food, eating leftovers so nasty we finally threw them out, etc.   If you come to my house you’ll see the trash can perched on top of the washing machine. Not pretty, but far safer.

He also pees all over the house.  And it’s not because he can’t go outside–if I’m home, the back door is open so he can go out the doggie door of the storm door.  No, sometimes he’ll just get up and nonchalantly saunter over to the bedroom wall or the washing machine or some other place that catches his fancy, lifts his leg, and lets it rip. Of course he gets scolded, but it doesn’t faze him at all.

We named him Scout the first day we met him, and it quickly became apparent that it was the perfect name. He’s always scouting for food.  It’s hilarious to watch him walking across the living room floor, nose to the ground, sniffing to see if we missed any food when we cleaned up the mess when we forgot and left the garbage can on the floor.  His sister likes to sleep in the same room with me, and sometimes when she leaves my room, he’ll come bolting down the hall to see if I have any food for him, or if she perchance left a treat under the bed that he could steal.

Molly, despite her insistences otherwise, is just as naughty as Scout. When we give her a treat, she doesn’t eat it right away, like he does. Then when he’s finished with his treat and is staring longingly at hers, she smiles at him, holds it between her paws, and very deliberately eats it, slowly, to increase his agony. Every now and then she’ll throw him a bone, and get up and get a drink of water, during which time he’ll snare her treat and scamper with it on the couch to eat it in undisturbed peace.

Molly, and I blush to admit this, enjoys taking my dirty undies out of the hamper and hauling them into the back yard to munch upon in her leisure time. 

Dogs are absolutely disgusting, filthy, dirty, foul—-and completely loveable and sweet and forgiving.

I’m fond of my babies.

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Holp! Please!

Did you ever read the Trixie Belden mysteries?  Her younger brother, Bobby, always called for holp instead of help.

Dunno why that popped into my mind just now, but there it is.  I need some holp.

I cannot sleep through the night. Invariably I’ll wake up around 11:30-11:45; again at 1:15-1:30; and again at 3:15-3:30.  It’s not because I have to go pee, either. I don’t know why it keeps happening.  But last night was awful because when I woke up at 1:15, I was awake until 3:15.

I used to take Ambien (as my long-time readers will know to their delight), but my doctor took me off it once I realized I was sleep eating. She was worried I’d start sleep driving, and I was worried about that, too.

Any ideas?

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Today started like any other workday.  I punched the snooze button on my phone, read my email, checked my favourite comic strips, threw on some clothes, grabbed my handbag and headed out the door.

Alas, it only went downhill from there. By the time I got to my car, my back was hurting so much that I could barely move. I hobbled back into the house and lay down, back muscles screaming at the top of their lungs. I called my boss and told her I was going to be late. I hollered for Joe to come help me. He put some icy hot on my back, brought me some Gatorade and Tylenol (because he thinks every back spasm is due to dehydration).

After a couple of hours, it let up enough that I was able to fall asleep a little bit, but not enough for me to go to work. I was able to get in to see the doctor, and after she ruled out shingles (huh?), prescribed muscle relaxers and pain medicine and ice and said I can go back to work on Monday.

So I’m laying in bed watching World War II documentaries between sleeping bouts.  Not how I wanted to spend my week.

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