Things I Don't Want to See Again For a Really Long Time.

Things have been rocky with our new little pooch in the house. The Pup is utterly adorable and endearing. And playful. And kind of a jerk in a puppy-sort-of-way to The Terd. And The Terd, well... let's just say that she is not a big fan of The Pup. And not in the way of "I'm Not a Fan, But Maybe In Time I Will Be" and more in the way of "Get This POS Pup Outta My House Before I Go Postal and Pee and Poop all over your Pillows Every Day Until I Die". Or something like that.

We are as yet undecided as to how this story will end. I'm not happy with how the two are relating... or not relating as you look at it. The Terd has lost an alarming amount of weight and is pretty stressed. I was holding her this morning and I can feel each rib and vertabrae on her spine. The Pup is fat and roly-poly and has the most astonishing case of diarrhea.

Which leads me to the Aforementioned Title and Accompanying List. Without further ado, Things Which I Don't Want to See Again For a Really Long Time.

1.) Lysol Wipes.
2.) Boiled Rice and Beef in a Blender. Just vile.
3.) Poopy Fur. Also vile.
4.) The sight of puppy poop on my Australian Wool Duvet. Heinous.
5.) Puppy kennel with Poop Enhancements at 2:30am. Wrong.
6.) Puppy kennel with Poop Enhancements at 4:00am. Wrong. Wrong.
7.) Puppy kennel with Poop Enhancements at 5:30am. Wrong. Wrong. Oh so Wrong.
8.) Lysol Wipes. Did I say that already?
9.) Puppy squatting over air register. Dear God in Heaven.
10.) Chocolate Pudding. Seriously. Not interested.

The Pup had her deworming treatment over a week ago. The vet says to continue with the Rice/Beef. She is happy and playful, otherwise, and thankfully is making it to the litter box most of the time during the day.

Nighttime is clearly another thing altogether. She whines and howls pitifully if we keep her down in a room with her litter box. Bringing the kennel up into our room placates her and she sleeps well. The only thing that wakes her is her need to poop. Which is apparently done in stealth and then she sits beside her handiwork (or in it) until the stench wakes me. And let it be known that I have a sensitive nose and most times turn on the light in time to catch her finishing up. You cannot imagine what a treat that is at 3:30am. Really. Just try to imagine. You can't.

Did I mention she is cute? Like, ridiculously so.


This may be the only thing saving her from a long leash in the back yard at nighttime.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy.

Over two years ago I served a term on my League's Board of Directors.

Sweet merciful crap.

Now, I may not be the smartest person, but I am bright enough to know that I didn't want to do that again. Ever. In the years since, I have served on many committees in the league -- more than my share, the truth be told -- but have simply declined any nominations that come my way each term for a BOD position. I have no interest stepping in that arena (and I chose that word carefully and deliberately) again.

So, would someone please tell me how it is that I find myself this morning prepping for my first Board of Directors meeting for this upcoming term?

Stink. Stank. Stunk.

Tonight I had a couple things to go out for, so I grabbed my iPod and threw on my trainers (YAY! No more winter boots for now!) and jumped into Rocket. I got halfway down the street before the gagging started.

No, I'm not pregnant. (JJ! Sit back down.)

It seems that the other day when I was out with all great intentions to go to a free skate at a local arena and got sidetracked by Other More Important Matters, (namely not breaking the law, among others...) I forgot my hockey skates in the backseat of the car.

Which... had they actually been MY hockey skates, this would not have caused a problem whatsoever. But. Seeing as I had mistakenly grabbed Mr. F.'s hockey skates by accident... yeah, a much more offensive and noxious problem had arisen.

I'm not sure what made Day Three so horrifically worse than the other days. (I really hadn't noticed before and my nose is pretty sensitive to stuff.) I'm thinking the warm weather, combined with Rocket sitting in the dark garage all day caused the smell to reach critical mass within a matter of hours. And it is Critical. I'm not sure Rocket will recover. It's like the hand of God reached down and plunked a 20-year old mouldering hockey bag in front of the heat vent and let it simmer for 24 hours. I swear the windows are even foggy.

Rocket and I most definitely have a date tomorrow to get things cleaned up and smelling good again. I may even have to buy flowers, cause I don't think he's even talking to me at the moment.

And I'm going to have to consider putting some pink laces in my skates.

I Can't Think of a Title Cause My Brain Is Frozen.

Yeah, that thing I said about the unseasonably lovely and just really, really NICE weather we've been having?

I should've kept my big mouth shut.

Things are blow-ey and cold around here and I got caught without my winter coat on (cause, you know, the warm-ish weather and all...) and I swear that when that icy wind blew through my oh-so-sporty navy breaker; my nips attempted to wrap themselves around my spine in .05 seconds and my lungs didn't know whether to cry or shatter into a thousand pink crystals.

I always pictured Mother Nature as some sort of serene, lovely, regal woman.

Clearly, she is a cracked-out, psychotic meth ho on some sort of wrathful binge, bent upon the torment and destruction of us all. Clearly.

I Hate Cardboard.

And, apparently? From the look of my hands... cardboard hates me. I'm sporting two band-aids, a couple wrecked nails and skin that feels like the Sahara desert just took it out for a walk in the park. And , while we're talking about the perils of packing and moving... let's not forget the packing tape that ripped a layer of skin off my bottom lip.

What? Don't pretend that you don't bite the tape to rip it. Don't even go there. I know you do.

I just was stupid enough to try to kiss it, too.

According to my calculations, (And, yes... I do calculations. Geekiness comes naturally to me.) I have just 19 hours to finish packing up my house, finalize a lease agreement for said house with my shiny new tenants, run a gazillion errands, sell some stuff from my business and load Rocket up for the ride home. Oh, and sleep, too. I really am planning to sleep a bit tonight.

And then, I get to come back 24 hours later to load it all up and then unload it back at my Home.

Boggles. My. Mind.

And now that I've used up my 6.75 minutes for a break... I'd better go make friendly with the cardboard and hope it doesn't stab me in the eye with a Sharpie marker.

Puter is scheduled to hit the boxes tonight. So I'll have to update y'all on the move after the weekend.