After The Rain

There was a lovely spell of steady rain two nights ago. I could almost hear my yard singing! But a closer look around revealed two things I had not noticed before.

That, my friends appears to be a little fairy village that set up camp among my jalapeños, rosemary and basil.

I'm not evicting the mushrooms.

Yet.

Out front, I spied what has to be the home of a half million ants. These guys have to go. I'm not sharing a picture if my eviction notice because I don't want to hear from you people who are antists (that is what you call people who are all "ants are a vital part of the food chain," no?).

Fine. I'll confess. I bought an anteater. His name is Art. He's REALLY hungry. And available for parties.

The Truth About Dogs

My dog had been sleeping on a floor cushion with a blanket for years. We were both OK with that until I decided to wash it. It was dirty and smelled, well, like dog. The problem: there was no way to wash it without ruining it. So I threw it out and bought a new one.

Not just any bed would do for my sweet dog. I bought one from the Martha Stewart collection at PetsMart. For $60. I put it in the same place as the old bed, then put Charley in it. Not interested. I moved it and planted treats in it. He found them without getting in it. I tried calling it the special, fancy, expensive bed - showing him how plush and soft it was. Nothing.

I couldn't take it back. So it sat there. Empty. Sad. Might as well have been a pile of cash for the dog - both meant nothing to him.

A few months later, I had this cheap (supposedly) lightweight comforter on my bed from Target. With each weekly washing, the batting would start to move around. One day, fresh out of the dryer, the batting magically became a lumpy roll in the center of the piece. I couldn't get it straightened out. I didn't want to throw it out yet. So I grabbed the scissors, cut a small hole on the underside and pulled out the stuffing. By the time I had my bed situated, Charley made himself at home.

He found a squishy bed he could adjust on a whim. It was also turf the cat wasn't interested in exploring. He thought he hit the dog bed jackpot.

I was sad for the fancy bed. I moved it to a corner of the living room where the cat doesn't roam. I put Charley's blanket in it and hoped some day he'd give it a chance.

One morning, I couldn't find Charley. I called his name. I heard his tags. He was sleeping in the fancy bed!

He doesn't always go there. Some days he prefers the pile of batting. I will have to throw that out at some point. But I do find him in the fancy bed a few times a week.

So here's my lesson to all you dog owners: NEVER tell a dog how much something costs. He doesn't care. Unless you tell him how much your new shoes cost - then he'll think they're a delicious snack.

Crazy Lady Keeps Calling

I don't  usually answer my phone when I don't recognize the number. My theory: if I don't know you and you leave a message, I can decide if I want to talk to you.

About a month ago, I realized a woman had called me so many times, I should see if she left a message. She left nine. At first, it was kind of entertaining. There was a lot of "Isabel? Are you there? Will you pick up? I just want to talk to you." Then it was, "Isabel! The puppy is hurt and I need to take it to the vet! Will you meet me there? Oh, well. I thought maybe you were home."

I realized this woman would not stop calling on her own. So, one day I answered. I calmly explained that she had the wrong number. She said she Isabel gave her the number a year ago. I said I've had the number for more than five years, so she must have given her a bad number. Or maybe she wrote it down wrong.

Still, Amy called. She cried. She accused me of lying. I asked her to stop calling. She wouldn't. So, out of frustration, I said, "I understand why Isabel gave you a phony number. You're insane. Stop calling me or I'll report you to the police for harassment."

Then, I went online to find out how to block her number. I followed the instructions and the calls stopped.

Until Monday.

This is one of the five messages she left yesterday.


I thought I recorded all five, but I screwed that up. I spent a half hour on the phone with AT&T trying to figure this out and got nowhere. Now, I think this Amy Cowger lady has gotten a new number to get around my number block.

I'm not convinced I can block her again. So, for your entertainment - and a little public shaming, I'm going to post her voicemails here. She's already called me five times today. I'm sure she'll leave a few more messages.

Stay tuned.

How To Make Your Dog Hate You

I love my dog. He loves me. Mostly.

I see his eyes when I get out an old Halloween costume. Well, I see them before he turns to leave the room. I see them again when I catch up to him and use my "This is going to be fun!" voice.

It's a look that begs me not to do it. He's embarrassed. He does not want to be a superhero, hot dog or spider (all costumes we've tried and he ruled out). He makes it impossible for me to get a picture of him.

So why did I find it hard not to linger in the costume aisle at Target? Is it because my dog's tolerance of a rainslicker when it's wet and a sweater when it's cold gives me hope that he'll see the fun in a costume? Is it because I want to remind him that I'm really the boss?

Probably not. I think it's because I have an unrealistic idea of what I want my dog to be: sweet and incredibly patient when I'm crazy. And look cute while posing in one of these costumes.

It's Labor Day!

I'm not sure if I'm supposed to celebrate this holiday or not. I mean, I don't like laboring. So should I be happy I have reason to labor? Or should I be happy I don't have to labor in the office today? I don't think it's a real holiday unless there's a theme that can be successfully displayed in a dessert (and by "successful," I don't mean obscene).

Anywho... here are a few cards to mark the day. I think they're better than all those mattress sale ads in the newspapers!

And here's one more non-laboring thing to check out:

This dog makes my dog looks like he works pretty hard!

People Will Buy ANYTHING

I have lived in my house for about six years now and I am just now getting around to hanging things up. It's not that I haven't wanted to put holes in the wall, it's just that I'm lazy. Also, I'm not exactly happy with the apartment art that I had (it's been confined to a closet since I moved in). So, I decided to do some hunting online to see what I could find.

You guys, do yourselves a favor and DON'T get lost on eBay! I made that mistake and I'm still shocked at what I found.

At first, I thought this was an interesting something. Then, I read the information.

Y'all, that's a raccoon wiener!

 It's also known as the "Mountain Man Swizzle Stick" and the "Arkansas Tooth Pick." (Side note, WTF is up with people in that part of the country?)

I did learn that while raccoons aren't giants, their thingies can be 3 to 4 inches long. Helloooo, lady raccoons! Despite the fact that buying these would cost less than a cup of coffee at Starbucks - even with shipping - I passed. Sad, I know.

I looked at what other people were watching and it was like being taken down some crazy tunnel.

This is a mink. Well, it is on the outside. It's dead. Stuffed. And hunched up like it's about to strike.

I think.

I can't tell if it's angry or happy. I sometimes have a hard time recognizing that in animals (I really need to work on this because my confusion usually ends with me trying to pull my hand away before some creature bites it off). While the cat would probably like to rub his face on this and the dog would probably like to haul it around the house by the tail, I couldn't do it.

That's a squirrel foot necklace. I used to think those rabbit foot key chains were cool (because they were good luck - allegedly). Then I realized I was carrying part of something that used to be a living creature. How could that be lucky? Look, I eat meat. I just don't want to wear it. So a squirrel foot on a necklace? No. I would be afraid other squirrels would attack me - especially if there was one missing a foot. They may be little, but they can fight. I've seen a squirrel fight. Totally different rules. And those little bastards are fast. I probably wouldn't know what hit me.

In case you're curious, the listing says the toes are reinforced. I guess that means you won't have little squirrel toes falling into your cleavage or your lunch. Yum.

I kind of like this raccoon in what appears to be its natural habitat. You know, except for the formerly living part.

If it had a fishing pole, I might splurge on this. I think it's cute to watch raccoons use their little paws/hands. He's not showing teeth. He looks deep in thought while going after a meal.

I kind of like that. I also like that it would probably scare the crap out of my cat. It always makes me giggle when he freaks out. Look, he attacks me when I sleep, so it's perfectly OK to have fun at his expense.

STOP IT. I HAVE FOUND EXACTLY WHAT IS MISSING FROM MY LIFE.

Those chipmunks are in a boat, rowing to who knows where (my house, perhaps?).

Yeah. If that boat can hold water and someone gives me $200, I'm buying that and putting it in my guest bathroom the next time I have company.

It gets better! The seller says he has hunting chipmunks available! WHAT!?!? How have I never found these before? Do people do this with their pets after they pass? I mean, non-crazy people. If I had my dog taxidermied with a tennis ball, that wouldn't be creepy, right? RIGHT?

Fine. I'll stop cruising eBay and go back to more reputable home furnishing sites. But if you stay at my house and go into the bathroom to find a couple of chipmunks enjoying a day in the tub, don't freak out. They're friendly.

Spicing Things Up

It's really easy to surf Pinterest and get caught up admiring and repinning pretty pictures of do-it-yourself projects. It takes more than a little bit of effort to actually take on a task - or to go off in search of one of your own (especially if you're not crafty and consider dabbling in the kitchen enough to call yourself a decent cook). Since I successfully made pickles with a recipe I pinned, I thought I could take on jalapenos.

I mentioned this to a friendly co-worker (who happens to be a home gardener) and he volunteered to pluck peppers from his backyard if I'd give him a few jars. I accepted the challenge.

When I saw a nearly full bag of jalapenos I thought I might have bitten off more than I could chew. Literally. Because I said I would pickle them, I had already committed to it. There was no backing out. I gathered all the things I could need for the task.

Those pink things are life savers: gloves. If you've never cut a few peppers, then rubbed your eyes and thought you might be permanently blind, take my advice - WEAR GLOVES WHEN YOU'RE HANDLING PEPPERS. Even if you don't think they're spicy, peppers will kill you. Well, maybe not kill you but they could make you wish for death.

I decided to slice them so I could use them to pile on my food. I don't have a hole lot of use for whole peppers.

Then, I put them in a jar that had a few sliced carrots, onion and garlic.

Then, I made small batches of pickling juice (probably not the right term, but it's what I'm going with) based on a recipe I found online. I can't remember the site, but here's the mix:

One teaspoon of salt with each cup of vinegar. Heat to a simmer, pour over peppers, then close the jar and store in the refrigerator.

I let them sit for one week to soften up the peppers, then I put a few slices on some nachos.

They tasted really good! The peppers were hotter than I thought they'd be, so I only managed to eat four before I picked them off so I could enjoy the rest of my snack.

This may be the easiest thing ever! I'm putting whole peppers from my backyard in the jar I finished to see if I can pickle those. If you do whole peppers, you're supposed to slice into them so the entire pepper can be pickled. Do that carefully!

Happy Independence Day!

While some of you are enjoying freshly-grilled foods, I'm spending July 4th at work. I also worked REALLY hard to find the perfect holiday card for you. So, have a hot dog and beer for me! It's the least you could do!

Losing My Amazing Race

Every month, I have a little challenge to myself. Here it is:

That is my current stack of magazines to be read. The top two are June magazines. Here we are on this third day of July and I'm still reading June magazines (which, by the way, you can't find on newsstands - or whatever you call the place you find magazines). Oh, I should probably confess two things.

1. This stack doesn't include the three weekly magazines I get (People, US, Entertainment Weekly). I get through those right away.
2. This stack is also shorter than it used to be. I don't know how that Fitness magazine found its way to my mailbox. I think they must play the same game as OK! magazine - just send it and hope some sucker will fall in love with it and need it. Well, I won't. It has so little content that I flip through it in no time. I'm not falling for that OR a banana in my tailpipe.

So, here is my big excuse.

I'm reading this ginormous book (official book term - look it up, people). I didn't stop to think when I bought it that this book covered ALL eight years of Reagan's presidency. It does. And it does it in pretty good detail. I feel a lot of pressure to get this done because I got all cocky on Goodreads and decided to set a pretty lofty goal of books to read this year. I'm failing.

I'M THREE BOOKS BEHIND MY PACE! It's like I get absolutely no credit for reading one 1,000 page book and this 700 pager! I am reading something - a book or a magazine - every day (and I'm not counting all the reading I do for work because that's almost never fun). And when you see the size of the book compared to my stack of magazines, I mean, it's actually kind of impressive how many words I see each month.

See? If you take out the many pages of ads and perfume samples in the magazines, I'm actually reading some good words and stories - and they're mostly true (even those product tests - consumer tips, people). 

And if that doesn't make me feel bad enough, I look at my poor little blog. It's been horribly neglected over these last few weeks. As soon as I finish this Reagan book (NO ONE TELL ME HOW IT ENDS), I hope to have more time to return to blogging silly things. That is, unless Goodreads keeps telling me I'm a loser. Because I am totally not. Mostly.