Yippee! It’s time for another Friday Fragments post!
I love doing Friday Fragments, originating at Half Past Kissin’ Time, because there are so many things that slither through my brain that just aren’t worthy of a full post, but still need to be said. And then what I think will be a nice short post turns into a novella. I apologize in advance.
A couple weeks ago I had to go see Larry for a hair cut. As usual, he whacked away with his razor and at times was literally stabbing it point- first into the back of my head to thin it out. I swear, I was just waiting for him to poke a hole through my skull. When he was done, he was describing the different techniques he’d used on the different areas of my furry head, and said, “And over here I shattered you a bit.” This is obviously stylist- talk of some sort. I have no clue what it means and didn’t bother to ask. Maybe Nikki from The Scarlett Rose Garden can explain?
Hooked on Phonics
Okay people, it has come to my attention that some of you are still confused about how to pronounce my nick-name of Tiney. It is not pronounced tiny, as in look at his tiny pecker. It is not pronounced tinny, as in Rin Tin… Tinny has a tiny pecker. It is, however, pronounced Teeny, as in look at his teeny tiny, tinny pecker.
Whew! I’m so glad we’ve gotten that straight now. For a wile thare I wus thinking I wood hav to start riting fonetickly for all uv u.
A while back, an acquaintance of ours suggested we buy the book Cesar’s Way, written by the Discovery Channel’s Dog Whisperer, Cesar Milan.
I ordered the book and as soon as it was delivered Jimmy started reading it. And reading it. And implementing every frickin’ thing Cesar wrote in said book.
Over the course of the last few weeks I’ve heard things like:
- Do not greet Strudel when you come in the door. Ignore her. (Aw, but look at that face! She’s so cute and she’s happy to see me, right?)
Could YOU resist this face when you walk in the door?
- Do not feed Strudel until after she has had a walk. She needs to feel like she’s earned her food by doing a job. (I’m assuming walking is considered a job to a canine? Unfortunately, I don’t do dog walks in the 90 bazillion degree heat. Does this mean she can only eat when the hubby is home?)
- Give her the food, but then take it away for a while. She has to know you are the alpha in the house. (Already did this on my own quite a few times, thank you very much)
- Don’t talk to her in that stupid voice you use. (Excuse me? Fuck off!)
- Never feed her hot dogs. They’re disgusting and full of nitrates. (Yeah, you’re right. I’ll just save them for your children.)
The list of new rules goes on and on and Jimmy really has taken them seriously. For the three or so full days he’s been home in the last month! He reads one book on dog behavior and thinks he’s the dog whisperer!
Speaking of Strudel. Funky things had been going on with her poop, things I will spare you. This time. So after a week of looking at funky poop I bring her to the vet. Dr. Maria says she needs a poop sample larger than what they can get with that plastic stick they shove up a dog’s butt. So, I brought her outside to do her business. And then had to scoop it up with this little bitty spoon and put it in this little bitty bottle. While someone sat in their BMW with very dark tinted windows and watched me. I couldn’t see them, but I could feel their eyes piercing me, could sense their laughter as they sat in their air conditioned luxury car, watching me scoop shit like I was making an ice cream sundae. $200+ later, the poop tests all come back negative. Meaning, Strudel has to learn to stop eating everything on the lanai that moves. Oh, and plastic cups. She loves her some plastic cups.
But look at how big she’s getting on a diet of frogs, toads and cups!
OMG, she’s shrunk!
Okay, so that’s Gabbie, a neighbor’s dog. On my way home the other morning I found her wandering the street, panting with the heat. I scooped her up into the car and brought her home until I could find her owner. Thank goodness her tags had a phone number. Found out she belongs to the people that live in the house we used to rent on this block. Three and a half hours later they finally came to get her. No thank you or anything, just a “Hi Gabbie!” Dumb shits. Wish I could have kept her. She’s so so sweet.
Bitch of the Week
Mikayla! Pre-teen hormones. Need I say more?
I had The Talk with her a week or so ago. Oh my, the amount of giggling we did. I know, it’s my responsibility as a parent to be mature in matters such as these. But I’m sorry, talking about ejaculation and hard-ons with my 12-year-old apparently causes me to laugh.
Jimmy had previously bought her a book called It’s Perfectly Normal. I had her read the pertinent parts and then let our question and answer session bounce from there. I took a picture of her reading it. Look at that face!
I covered it all people. From self gratification to oral sex, to same-sex relationships. I had to because the book touched on each one of those subjects. Ugh.
This kid is now educated, Mama Tiney style.
Gifts From the Heart???
The last time my parents came for a visit my mom came into the kitchen to kiss me hello and handed me a gift. It was a steel scrubby for pots and pans.
My question is, what was it that led her to stop by her kitchen cabinet while walking out the door to leave for my house and grab a damn scrubby? I hope the next time she gets that urge she’ll veer off to the family room and grab one of those gorgeous stained glass lamps of theirs…
The other night Jimmy was trying to get the charcoal in the grill to really take since it was a bit damp. He squeezed on a bunch of lighter fluid and the flames went up in a WOOSH. I don’t know where they had been hiding, but as soon as that flame did its thing, baby spiders came out from everywhere, hanging from the lanai ceiling and swinging back and forth. It was really quite disgusting and I was itchy for the rest of the night. Not to mention that two crawled on me and met a very quick death. SQUISH.
Tell me. Who on earth would name a residential street Beluthahatchee St.? I ask this because I pass this street often and it befuddles me. Can you imagine having to recite your address over the phone? Yes, you heard me right. B-E-L-U-T-H-A-H-A-T-C-H-E-E.
Pretty in Pink
I think Jimmy may have threatened my life if I shared this with you, but hey, it’s worth the risk, especially when he only comes to my blog on very rare occasions. (Hey SH neighbors! Do not tell him about this, got it?)
While away in TN on business, the rest of the team had a good time playing practical jokes on him. He showed me this picture yesterday but refused to send a copy to my email, thinking
knowing I would put it on my blog. Sorry, but it’s too amusing not to.
So I got sneaky. When he left the house last night I took pictures of the picture! Heeheehee! It looks so distorted, but I guess that just makes it more funny, eh?
Jimmy, modeling his bright pink hard hat, his work boots with bright pink laces with colored lollipops on them and, pretty pink pom poms. Oh, I just love this shit. Hey, you let someone take this picture? Stood there and posed for it? In my eyes, that gives me carte blanche to blog about it.
I have this growth at the inner corner of my eye. It’s been there for years, steadily getting a little bit bigger. Every time I’m with Jill she comments on it and tells me to pop it. Um hello? It’s not a zit, I can’t pop it. I know this because I’ve tried. I’ve grabbed it with my tweezer and squeezed, but it just won’t budge. Doc says it has to be surgically removed.
Anyway, I’ve told you in another post that Jimmy never really looks at me. It’s now proven because the other night while standing outside during the awards ceremony, he gave me this odd look and said, “You’ve got a big goober in your eye.” I said, “It’s not a goober! It’s a growth and I’ve had it for years!” He said, “Have it removed.”
Look, I even took a picture of it.
Ewww… those macro shots are wicked scary, huh?
Go visit Jill, yada yada yada. Love me, love her, yada yada yada.