I was in my pajamas, watching T.V. late one evening. Mike was arriving home and when he walked in, our dog, Oscar, darted out the door. I’ve had to chase Oscar down a time or two, and I figured, Mike’s the one who let him out, he can chase him. I remained on the couch and when Mike hadn’t returned for about five minutes, I put on my shoes and went outside to help.
When I opened the door, the light from inside the house shone on the sidewalk, and I could see our car parked on the street in front of our house. Mike was on the opposite side of the car and Oscar was on the side of the car closest to the house. Oscar stopped in his tracks and I called, “Come ‘ere, Boy!” Oscar darted inside the house. I closed the door once Oscar was inside, feeling like…'Well, I handled that!'
Seconds later, Mike comes in and slams the door behind him. He bends over, points at Oscar and yells, “Don’t ever run from me again!!!” Mike furiously spanked Oscar’s hind end several times. Then he stood up, looked at me and nearly out of breath, shouted sarcastically, “Thanks for helping me catch him! I chased him around the car about 20 fucking times!!!” Then Mike stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. I stood there, dumfounded for a couple seconds, then looked at my 12 year old daughter who had witnessed the whole incident and we both burst out laughing.
The next day Mike received this email…
This letter is in regards to a complaint filed with the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Chibburins (ASPCC). Oscar De La Launderia, aka “The Chibburin”, “Mr. Fluffypants”, “The Mister”, and “Mr. Oscarton”, has filed a complaint against Mr. Michael.
On the evening of January 19, 2005, at approximately 10:00 p.m., Mr. Michael arrived home. Upon Mr. Michael’s arrival, Oscar exited the front door of his home. Oscar thought it would be a good time to take a quick jog around the block.
With no warning, Mr. Michael began pursuit of Oscar. In an attempt to flee, Oscar led Mr. Michael on a high speed chase around a nearby car, which lasted approximately 5 minutes (35 minutes in Dog Time). When Oscar saw the opportunity, he made a dash to the door of his home and thought he had made it safely inside.
Mr. Michael pursued Oscar inside his residence and proceeded to “open a large can of whoop-ass upon Oscar’s hindquarters.”
Although Oscar claims no physical injuries, he is fearful of leaving his home in the event of another vicious attack in which Mr. Michael may again, “lay the smack-down”.
If convicted of this crime against the Chibburin, you may be sentenced to a fine of $10,000 in dog treats over the lifetime of the Chibburin in question and have to undergo 200 hours of anger management classes.
**********************************************
Oscar has since dropped the charges following threats of neutering.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
The Chibburin
Oscar was a white Pekingese that my ex gave to me as a birthday gift. I love puppies…but, eh…I wasn’t too thrilled that Mike chose a Pekingese. It was fitting though…growing up, Mike's family had Pekingese dogs, so he bought me the kind of dog HE liked. After a short time, Oscar grew on me and became part of the family.
The majority of the time, Oscar resided in the laundry room. He shed long, white hair everywhere. I never could trust him enough to leave him alone on the carpet and worst of all, he would get these sporadic breathing attacks followed by vomiting foamy drool which was much easier to clean off the linoleum in the laundry room than off the carpet. One morning, after unknowingly stepping in the slime, Mike nearly slipped and fell on his ass.
You could enter the laundry room directly from the living room and we kept Oscar in there behind a wooden baby gate, so that it would still feel like we had a dog, and not an abomination we kept locked away behind the laundry room door.
Oscar acquired many nicknames throughout his time with us. “Oscar De La Launderia” (Spanish for, “of the laundy room”) reminiscent of the boxer, Oscar De La Hoya. He was also fondly referred to as, “Mr. Fluffypants”, “The Mister”, “Mr. Oscarton”, and yet another Spanish version, “Os-car” (pronounced “Ohs-carr”. (Roll those r’s!)
In the winter months when we let Oscar out to do his thing....I’d glance out the window to see if he looked like he was finished. He was fine. Lookin’ around…smellin’ the air...white hair flowin’ in the breeze... pissin’ in the wind. But, as soon as I’d go out to bring him in, he’d start shivering. It was almost an act, because he wasn’t shivering until I opened the door to bring him in. I looked down at Oscar and said in a baby-talk voice…
“Oh, my baby’s shiverin'.”
“Are you shiverin’, boy?”
After I brought him in, I told Mike, still in baby-talk,
“He was shiverin’."
“He’s a shiverin’ dawg."
“Oh............he’s a chibburin dawg”.
And with this new nickname, Oscar evolved into a New Breed of Dog--The Chibburin.
The majority of the time, Oscar resided in the laundry room. He shed long, white hair everywhere. I never could trust him enough to leave him alone on the carpet and worst of all, he would get these sporadic breathing attacks followed by vomiting foamy drool which was much easier to clean off the linoleum in the laundry room than off the carpet. One morning, after unknowingly stepping in the slime, Mike nearly slipped and fell on his ass.
You could enter the laundry room directly from the living room and we kept Oscar in there behind a wooden baby gate, so that it would still feel like we had a dog, and not an abomination we kept locked away behind the laundry room door.
Oscar acquired many nicknames throughout his time with us. “Oscar De La Launderia” (Spanish for, “of the laundy room”) reminiscent of the boxer, Oscar De La Hoya. He was also fondly referred to as, “Mr. Fluffypants”, “The Mister”, “Mr. Oscarton”, and yet another Spanish version, “Os-car” (pronounced “Ohs-carr”. (Roll those r’s!)
In the winter months when we let Oscar out to do his thing....I’d glance out the window to see if he looked like he was finished. He was fine. Lookin’ around…smellin’ the air...white hair flowin’ in the breeze... pissin’ in the wind. But, as soon as I’d go out to bring him in, he’d start shivering. It was almost an act, because he wasn’t shivering until I opened the door to bring him in. I looked down at Oscar and said in a baby-talk voice…
“Oh, my baby’s shiverin'.”
“Are you shiverin’, boy?”
After I brought him in, I told Mike, still in baby-talk,
“He was shiverin’."
“He’s a shiverin’ dawg."
“Oh............he’s a chibburin dawg”.
And with this new nickname, Oscar evolved into a New Breed of Dog--The Chibburin.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Wrong worditis
I met Brian through a friend. Brian is a nice person. Not bad looking. Owns his own concrete business. I talked to Brian on the phone on several occasions. We always had plenty to talk about. We eventually decided to go on a date. We went to a nice Sushi place and out dancing afterwards. He was a gentleman and he treated me like I was the only woman in the room. We continued to talk on the phone after our date. It was over the course of talking to Brian for a couple weeks, that I came to the conclusion that there was no romantic future between us.
It had nothing to do with Brian's personality, "for say", as Brian would say. He did spend a lot of his free time visiting his grandfather, but, I understood when he told me his grandfather was in the hospital with "ammonia". When Brian spoke fondly of a friend of his who had moved to CA...the "perspiring" actor, I was a bit worried, but I rationalized it...(Maybe his friend only does sports commercials). Now, I might not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but I grasped what Brian meant when said he was watching the magician, Chris Angel, "meditate" above The Luxor. However when I asked, "meditated?", for clarification, Brian raised his voice at me, and said, "Yeah! He floated above it!" Later, when I told Brian that maybe we should just be friends, he informed me that he had a "pemonition" that this would happen. I got it, but I asked if he meant, "premonition" and he said, "No!!! PEM-onition--like when you see something happening before it actually happens???!!!"
Yeah...it might have worked, but I really don't like being yelled at.
http://marriottschool.byu.edu/marriottmag/winter07/features/trends1.cfm
It had nothing to do with Brian's personality, "for say", as Brian would say. He did spend a lot of his free time visiting his grandfather, but, I understood when he told me his grandfather was in the hospital with "ammonia". When Brian spoke fondly of a friend of his who had moved to CA...the "perspiring" actor, I was a bit worried, but I rationalized it...(Maybe his friend only does sports commercials). Now, I might not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but I grasped what Brian meant when said he was watching the magician, Chris Angel, "meditate" above The Luxor. However when I asked, "meditated?", for clarification, Brian raised his voice at me, and said, "Yeah! He floated above it!" Later, when I told Brian that maybe we should just be friends, he informed me that he had a "pemonition" that this would happen. I got it, but I asked if he meant, "premonition" and he said, "No!!! PEM-onition--like when you see something happening before it actually happens???!!!"
Yeah...it might have worked, but I really don't like being yelled at.
http://marriottschool.byu.edu/marriottmag/winter07/features/trends1.cfm
Friday, March 14, 2008
Danger...Curves Ahead
Curves, to me, has become a logo that signifies fat. I doubt that's what it's creator intended. I open my new Avon catalog...just past the perfume section of the catalog, is the health and fitness section. Avon now sells Curves products, such as vitamins, pedometers, jump ropes, tennis shoes, even lycra bike shorts with the Curves logo. In the catalog, of course, the woman modeling the Curves attire is a fit woman who likely exercises 6 days a week. I'd be willing to bet money that she wouldn't set foot in a Curves fitness center. She belongs in Bally's doing kickboxing, not next to the Curves water fountain dripping hydrogenated vegetable oil from every pore after 6 minutes of intense circuit training. Why doesn't Curves get some actual women who go to Curves to model their products? I passed a woman yesterday who would love to be a Curves Model. She was walking out of the grocery store with a size 2x purple grease-spotted t-shirt. You could tell she was in need of a size 42 DD bra---but wasn't wearing one, yet proudly displayed the Curves logo above her left beast...I mean breast.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Frozen Rattlesnake
C'mon! With a title like Frozen Rattlesnake...it's gotta be good. What do you think of when you hear Frozen Rattlesnake? As if I might actually get a response! A dry margarita, maybe?
Actually the frozen rattlesnake is a spin off of my VERY FIRST blog (that only Michael has read). And the story goes on...
Ok, so Monique breaks out this frozen rattlesnake, which was an awesome (but twisted) idea. Her boyfriend had captured this rattlesnake out in the country where they live. I don't know what made him think to do it and whether he put it in a jar before he put the snake in the freezer chest, or if he just threw it in there and it curled up next to the peas. Regardless, the poor snake coils up and dies, perfectly preserved.
Monique tells us they've already checked with the vet who confirmed it's dead and have also paraded the snake around at their daughter's kindergarten class for show and tell.
They bring it home and put it back in the freezer. At 3:00 in the morning, Monique decides to get it out and show it to the four of us who have gone to her house to party after the bar closed.
I'm pretty intrigued when I first see the frozen rattlesnake...I grew up on a farm, so as long as someone tells me whatever it is, is dead, it's all good. Monique brings it over and places the frozen snake in my open hands like a large paperweight. Gary asks me, "What does it feel like?" I reply, "like chicken". It was so cool. I felt the scales, the smooth belly, pet its head. Its eyes were like little round ice cubes. And when you shook it, it rattled. Awesome.
Little five foot Eddie is now darting across the room like a scared child, hiding behind whoever is furthest from the snake. It didn't help matters that Gary was saying, "it's not dead...it's just hibernating. It's gonna come back alive and bite your ass!" After we all took a turn checking out the snake, except for Eddie, who has just been yelling "get that fucking thing away from me...it's about ready to attack!" Monique tells Eric, "Oh don't be a puss!" I try to coerce Eddie into mustering up enough testosterone to cooperatively hold the snake with me. I tell him to hold out his open hand next to mine and we can hold it together. Eddie darts away again. I'm briefly distracted by something and then without even knowing what happened, I'm startled by a blood-curdling scream. I'd love to say it was Eddie screaming his head off like a little girl, but it was me. Apparently Monique decided it was the opportune time to turn Eddie into a man and abrubtly shoved the frozen rattler towards him. Eddie ricocheted off the kitchen counter into the adjoining wall and he threw up his arms splashing his can of cold beer all down my shirt and in my hair.
Just then the waitress comes back and asks, "Would you care for another frozen rattlesnake?"
Actually the frozen rattlesnake is a spin off of my VERY FIRST blog (that only Michael has read). And the story goes on...
Ok, so Monique breaks out this frozen rattlesnake, which was an awesome (but twisted) idea. Her boyfriend had captured this rattlesnake out in the country where they live. I don't know what made him think to do it and whether he put it in a jar before he put the snake in the freezer chest, or if he just threw it in there and it curled up next to the peas. Regardless, the poor snake coils up and dies, perfectly preserved.
Monique tells us they've already checked with the vet who confirmed it's dead and have also paraded the snake around at their daughter's kindergarten class for show and tell.
They bring it home and put it back in the freezer. At 3:00 in the morning, Monique decides to get it out and show it to the four of us who have gone to her house to party after the bar closed.
I'm pretty intrigued when I first see the frozen rattlesnake...I grew up on a farm, so as long as someone tells me whatever it is, is dead, it's all good. Monique brings it over and places the frozen snake in my open hands like a large paperweight. Gary asks me, "What does it feel like?" I reply, "like chicken". It was so cool. I felt the scales, the smooth belly, pet its head. Its eyes were like little round ice cubes. And when you shook it, it rattled. Awesome.
Little five foot Eddie is now darting across the room like a scared child, hiding behind whoever is furthest from the snake. It didn't help matters that Gary was saying, "it's not dead...it's just hibernating. It's gonna come back alive and bite your ass!" After we all took a turn checking out the snake, except for Eddie, who has just been yelling "get that fucking thing away from me...it's about ready to attack!" Monique tells Eric, "Oh don't be a puss!" I try to coerce Eddie into mustering up enough testosterone to cooperatively hold the snake with me. I tell him to hold out his open hand next to mine and we can hold it together. Eddie darts away again. I'm briefly distracted by something and then without even knowing what happened, I'm startled by a blood-curdling scream. I'd love to say it was Eddie screaming his head off like a little girl, but it was me. Apparently Monique decided it was the opportune time to turn Eddie into a man and abrubtly shoved the frozen rattler towards him. Eddie ricocheted off the kitchen counter into the adjoining wall and he threw up his arms splashing his can of cold beer all down my shirt and in my hair.
Just then the waitress comes back and asks, "Would you care for another frozen rattlesnake?"
Monday, March 10, 2008
Cut me off!
I realized something this weekend. It is more fun to have a few drinks...okay several drinks...and then cut yourself off. The fun part is when you realize that you are the most sober person amongst your friends and acquaintances who are now making total asses of themselves. You should, however, coast on a slight buzz, so that you can make occasional smart ass comments to encourage more stupid behavior from those around you.
This past weekend I realized just how pathetic it is to see a guy's shattered ego. Let's see, I think this Monday will be "pick on Eddie Day". Eddie was 28 years old, and said that he was 5'5"...but I think he was reading 55 inches when he measured himself. Eddie was completely intoxicated when I was first introduced to him. Eddie's friend, Gary, introduced him as "Mini Me". Eddie was mumbling something about his mother being a prostitute from Tijuana...and I thought, "God...if your mom really was a prostitute from Tijuana---why would you be bragging about it?" He later indicated that she was from Rhode Island...apparently she grew up on the wrong side of Rhode Island!
Eddie was quite the character. He was apparently going bald, although that was not initially apparent because of the beanie he wore all evening. After a couple good hours looking at the beanie, Gary made mention that Eddie looked like he was wearing a condom on his head. It didn't help matters that his beanie was white. After I made some correlation about the white filled tip of a condom and his white beanie...it was on. Gary shouted, "Hey Bud! She said that you look like the ___ filled tip of a condom!!!" Eddie proceeded to call me an asshole several times and say that he couldn't believe I would say that...after he'd been thinking I was so beautiful...and that "I (had) had him at hello." I never even fucking said hello. I would've thought "bitch" might have been more appropriate after the candid condom comment...but I must admit that being called an asshole made me feel like one of the guys. I adamantly denied to Eddie that I had said what I had been so wrongly accused of, in the most believable, "Oh my God! I did NOT SAY THAT!!!" Even pinky-swearing (I'm going to Hell!) that I hadn't said it, and questioning Eddie as to whether he had actually HEARD me say it. Which, I might add, is so fun to do to a drunk person.
Out of the five, the four of us stayed up all night. Had I been drinking, I likely would've tired out sometime before 3:00 a.m....but with the frozen rattlesnake, dance contest, and all of Gary's snoring going on...it was enough to keep me entertained for hours. It was also daylight savings time, so that burned up a whole hour in no time flat!
It was, in fact, during the dance contest (grinding) that was going on between Monique and Eric, that I was sitting next to Eddie on the loveseat. Eddie looked at me and said, "You know, they probably don't want us watching them dance...so we should probably make out." I said, "yeah" before repeating mentally in my head what Eddie had just proposed, and then, looked at him and said, "What???!!!" He looked at me so intoxicatedly and said, "Can I kiss you?" and proceeded to come at me with apple puckered lips...okay, it was Crown...but nevertheless...
I quickly turned my head from the fast approaching gesture of affection (or intoxication?) and into the leather of the loveseat between us. Whew!!! I knew he'd missed his target when I felt wetness on my nose and cheek...and I simultaneously whimpered..."I'm not interested!!!"
Eddie paused for a few seconds as I cringed, curled in the fetal position. Not wanting our friends to know about his his failed attempt at kissing me, he said, "Okay...let's just pretend."
This past weekend I realized just how pathetic it is to see a guy's shattered ego. Let's see, I think this Monday will be "pick on Eddie Day". Eddie was 28 years old, and said that he was 5'5"...but I think he was reading 55 inches when he measured himself. Eddie was completely intoxicated when I was first introduced to him. Eddie's friend, Gary, introduced him as "Mini Me". Eddie was mumbling something about his mother being a prostitute from Tijuana...and I thought, "God...if your mom really was a prostitute from Tijuana---why would you be bragging about it?" He later indicated that she was from Rhode Island...apparently she grew up on the wrong side of Rhode Island!
Eddie was quite the character. He was apparently going bald, although that was not initially apparent because of the beanie he wore all evening. After a couple good hours looking at the beanie, Gary made mention that Eddie looked like he was wearing a condom on his head. It didn't help matters that his beanie was white. After I made some correlation about the white filled tip of a condom and his white beanie...it was on. Gary shouted, "Hey Bud! She said that you look like the ___ filled tip of a condom!!!" Eddie proceeded to call me an asshole several times and say that he couldn't believe I would say that...after he'd been thinking I was so beautiful...and that "I (had) had him at hello." I never even fucking said hello. I would've thought "bitch" might have been more appropriate after the candid condom comment...but I must admit that being called an asshole made me feel like one of the guys. I adamantly denied to Eddie that I had said what I had been so wrongly accused of, in the most believable, "Oh my God! I did NOT SAY THAT!!!" Even pinky-swearing (I'm going to Hell!) that I hadn't said it, and questioning Eddie as to whether he had actually HEARD me say it. Which, I might add, is so fun to do to a drunk person.
Out of the five, the four of us stayed up all night. Had I been drinking, I likely would've tired out sometime before 3:00 a.m....but with the frozen rattlesnake, dance contest, and all of Gary's snoring going on...it was enough to keep me entertained for hours. It was also daylight savings time, so that burned up a whole hour in no time flat!
It was, in fact, during the dance contest (grinding) that was going on between Monique and Eric, that I was sitting next to Eddie on the loveseat. Eddie looked at me and said, "You know, they probably don't want us watching them dance...so we should probably make out." I said, "yeah" before repeating mentally in my head what Eddie had just proposed, and then, looked at him and said, "What???!!!" He looked at me so intoxicatedly and said, "Can I kiss you?" and proceeded to come at me with apple puckered lips...okay, it was Crown...but nevertheless...
I quickly turned my head from the fast approaching gesture of affection (or intoxication?) and into the leather of the loveseat between us. Whew!!! I knew he'd missed his target when I felt wetness on my nose and cheek...and I simultaneously whimpered..."I'm not interested!!!"
Eddie paused for a few seconds as I cringed, curled in the fetal position. Not wanting our friends to know about his his failed attempt at kissing me, he said, "Okay...let's just pretend."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)