Mischievious Beagle

I made the dreadful mistake of falling asleep early last night.

Apparently, the beagle was indignant that I allowed this to happen, as I had not yet run him around properly or fed him.

He woke me up around midnight, rambunctious as all get out, and when I finally rolled out of bed, he scratched my legs from mid-thigh to ankle to show his displeasure. Then he demanded food and a trip outside, which I took care of, toute suite. When I let him back in, he was running around and leaping at me in a crazed fashion. Normally I would have taken the bait, but I was tired. I shuffled back to bed and went back to sleep.

When I woke up this morning, refreshed and thoroughly rested, I bounded along to the top of the stairs, only to be caught short by the first signs of beagle mischief. He had dragged out a (large) roll of twine that I had in a closet, and proceeded to pull HALF THE ROLL off of the spool and gnarl it into a huge stringy mess. He left it for me at the top of the stairs. Wasn’t that thoughtful? Now I get the esteemed job of untangling and re-wrapping it around the spool, and/or just snipping it off altogether and throwing half a spool of twine away, as I fear it might take me approximately twelve years to undo it all.

Then, having made it through the first booby trap he left for me, I made it safely to the bottom of the stairs, where yet another surprise awaited. (No, it didn’t come from his butt, thankfully. Although he’s not above leaving a gift or two of that nature for me from time to time.)

As I sauntered into the kitchen, I started to notice bits of something strewn all over the carpet. I couldn’t tell what it was, though. I bent down to get a better look. What the----I turned around to find the pantry door open, as I feared. Son of a----THE DUDE OPENED A BOX OF JUMBO PASTA SHELLS, PULLED THEM OUT ONE BY ONE WITH HIS SNOUT, AND PROCEEDED TO CRUNCH THEM UP ALL OVER MY CARPET.

Behind me the pantry door was gaping open, and the box of pasta shells was turned sideways on the shelf, open and (by this point) mostly empty. Arrrgh!

So I spent the morning scooping up handfuls of crushed pasta shells, using curse words that are not meant for that early hour. This was the way I got to start my day. What a treat!

For Sale: One smallish beagle. Loves eating own poop if given half a chance. Is very cute when he’s not eating poop and/or destroying perfectly good carpeting. Will deliver.

Do you find that Rolaids or TUMS are more effective? Just wondering...

I hate you, stupid F---ing bank robber.

I no longer fear going to hell.

I've been there, folks, I've seen what there is to see, and I really don't recommend it. By 'hell,' I am referring, of course, to CHICAGO RUSH-HOUR TRAFFIC.

It took me TWO AND HALF HOURS to get home from work yesterday. Two and a half precious hours that I will never get back because some RETARD BANK ROBBER held up a bank and then fled into a residential area on my way home. The police proceeded to shut down EVERYTHING WITHIN A 10-MILE RADIUS (well maybe not ACTUALLY 10 miles, but it sure felt like it), blocked the entrance ramps to all highways in the vicinity (is that REALLY NECESSARY), and were re-routing us anywhere BUT the direction I needed to go. I wound up COMPLETELY lost in the wrong part of town, frustrated, alone, and close to tears because I had to PEE WORSE THAN I THINK I'VE EVER HAD TO PEE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE (and I’ve had some close calls)!

After 2 HOURS of being trapped in gridlock, banging my proverbial head against the wheel, I could not take it anymore, I was about to pee all over myself. I was desperate for a McDonald's or some such place to get out, but alas, I was stuck smack in the middle of some forest preserve. On a whim, I turned off the (jam-packed) street, headed INTO the forest preserve, and started looking around for a place to pee (ie, pretty much wherever there was room to squat between two trees). I really didn't care at that point! I was having to talk to my bladder, OUT LOUD, to let it know that relief was coming!

As luck would have it, I spotted a port-o-potty in the distance! It was like mecca! I sped toward it and practically lunged for it while my car was still moving!

In my haste to leap out of my car, however, which had come to an abrupt stop diagonally across 3 parking spots, I COMPLETELY forgot that I had undone my pants while I was sitting in traffic. (I had to go THAT bad! Wearing pants was too much strain on my bursting little bladder, so I had undone them altogether!) So I jumped out of the car, only to find that my pants were coming down and my belt was flapping around everywhere (how humiliating!), and as I hurriedly grabbed at the front of them to cinch them up, I looked up to find a woman standing in front of the port-o-potty, glaring at me! Holding onto her little bicycle, without a care in the world.

Screw her! I went running across the parking lot toward her with one handful of my pants and my keys in the other, and I practically knocked the port-o-potty down, I ran into it so fast. I don’t have to tell you that it was the longest (and best) pee of my entire life. I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE from having to pee so bad. Sweet, sweet relief!!! I love you, port-o-potty! (I never thought I would be in a position to say THAT.)

So when I was done I came out, looking much more composed, and the lady was still standing there with her bike, practically burning a hole in the back of my head, she was glaring at me so. I attempted to look as dignified as possible as I walked back to my car, but who was I kidding? So she caught me in a frenzied pants-down scramble for the toilet. Oh well!

I am a firm believer of things happening for a reason. But I don’t see any reason for 2 and a half HOURS of sitting there suffering in TOTAL HELL, I mean traffic. How irritating!! And self-deprecating, on top of it. Although I suppose it would have been far more embarrassing to have to pee in my insulated lunch bag.

Ugh....

Chronicles of Home Ownership: Lawn Maintenance

Attention everyone: My lawn looks like the scalp of a balding middle-aged man.

Thin and patchy, there is nothing good I can say about the state of my lawn except that it hasn't required mowing for several months. I wish I could provide a picture of it, but I would be embarrassed to.

Plus, I’m not sure how to post pictures online, I’ve never quite been able to figure it out, so oh well. Use your little imaginations. Like Skippy peanut butter---crunchy and brown. With sparse little tufts of green here and there, like some sort of fungal disease. It’s not pretty, people.

So it rained a couple of weeks ago, to the point where the teeny grassy patches have grown just enough to make it look REALLY awkward. I didn’t trouble myself with watering it all summer, as my neighbors did, so I’m pretty sure they hate me at this point. Their lawns are lush and green, and mine is a patchy blemish on the face of the neighborhood. So sue me, I’m not as adept at these sorts of things as everybody else.

With a spring in my step and hope in my little heart, I set out to mow it for the very first time over the weekend. By “very first time,” I mean I’ve never operated a lawn mower before in my LIFE. Excepting the one time I took the family mower for a spin when I was 15, and my mother, after surveying the fruits of my labors, shouted something about how I was not to go near it ever again.

So I haven’t. Until this weekend, when I just couldn’t stand looking at my ill-kept lawn anymore. So I had a buddy of mine show me how to work the lawn mower, and away I went! Hee hee!

That is, until my neighbor, who happened to be sitting outside at the time, came running over and intercepted me. He pointed backward. I looked back. Oopsie! Apparently the lawn mower was set “too low” to the ground, so I was cutting big bald patches in it (even worse than before). Whoops! So he helped me set it properly, and I was off to the races. Approximately 30 seconds after that, however, my friend retrieved the lawn mower from me and gave me the boot. Oh well! You can’t fault me for trying....

So then I thought fertilizer would help, and it looked like rain. I happily filled the little bucket with fertilizer and sprayed it all over the yard. Then I went inside and waited for the rain, which never came. I fear I may have chemically burned whatever was left of my lawn. It is not supposed to rain for another four days, at least. Dang!!

This yardwork business may take a little time to get sorted out. I apologized to my neighbor for cutting additional (really horrid looking) bald patches into my lawn. He looked at me and smiled, and said that it would “be all right.” He didn’t look as though he hated me when he said it, at least. So that’s something.

I guess it's good I have a desk job. I should stick to that.

Barbecue Woes

Attention everyone: I am having barbecue ISSUES today. Ohmygod.

So this is so weird. I went to let the beagle in from the backyard this morning before I left for work. He always spends, like, an hour out there while I'm getting ready. As he streaked through the door, I nabbed him and picked him up to give him a hug and plant a kiss on his little beagle head. As I did so, I put my mouth on his head and was immediately overpowered by a strong, smoky barbecue odor. And I'm not talking like, maybe a little bit. HIS BEAGLE HEAD SMELLED LIKE A HICKORY-SMOKED BARBECUE PIT. I have absolutely no idea what is up with that!! I wondered if he had perchance been up to some kind of mischief with the barbecue grill outside. I poked my head out the door and looked over at it, and everything appeared to be in order. Somebody explain this to me please?! I have no explanations anymore. All I know is, he smelled so good that I decided right then and there to fire up the grill for dinner (no, not to cook the beagle [YET]).

So then, I got home from work later and went to grill up some chicken, as I was starving to death and was ready to eat just about anything in sight. In my excitement to season the chicken before slapping it on the grill, I DROPPED IT. Great. So I picked it up, ran inside and washed it, brought it back out, and cooked it up till it was perfectly golden brown. It had perfect grill marks and everything! I stuck it on a plate to bring it inside, whereupon I DROPPED IT AGAIN. It slid right off the plate onto the floor! What the hell!! Am I officially retardando, or what? I swear to God. So after shouting a few choice expletives, I kind of stood there looking at the chicken, glistening on my carpet, and decided to eat it anyway. It had only been on the floor for like, 8 seconds. And I couldn't really rinse it off in that situation, could I?? It's grilled meat, for crying out loud. It's not like dropping a piece of fruit or something. So I put it back on the plate and ate it. I consequently spent the whole of my dinner inspecting each bite for little beagle hairs before eating it. How humiliating.

So I've decided my life is like that improv show, Who's Line Is It, Anyway?---specifically', I am a living version of the skit they call "Party Quirks," where they give 3 "partygoers" really weird quirks that the "party host" has to figure out. So it'll be like, "Ding dong, oh hey there, welcome to my party," and then the "partygoer" will start leaping around and screeching like a crack-smoking babboon, as the "party host" watches in bewilderment and is supposed to guess, in under 2 minutes, that the "partygoer" is, actually, a babboon that's been smoking crack.

This, in a nutshell, is my life. "Oh, wait, wait---you're a girl with barbecue-smelling-beagle head that subsequently eats chicken off the floor because you're too clumsy to keep it on the plate!" Ding, ding!! I swear to God, people. If it's not driving around with a car full of BEES, it's something else. It's not EVEN funny.

Well, actually, it is. Some of it, not all. Like the time lightning struck my apartment while I was eating out of an aluminum pie pan in an electrical storm, and the firefighters found the scorchmarks less than 6 feet from my head. That wasn't too funny.

Well at the time it wasn't, anyway...

An Ode To My Beagle

I love the way you run away from me when I call you
And how you dig out of the yard on Thursday mornings
Forcing me to chase after you in my black skirt and mules
And re-twisting my knee, thank you ever so

I know it is such a horrible existence living with me,
What with all of the treats and the profuse affection I bestow onto you
It must really suck
Which is why you get your revenge by waking me up at 6:15 am on SATURDAYS

You thoughtfully tear gigantic holes in my window screens
Because I don't get to the back door fast enough for your liking to let you in
It was so much fun replacing them
I can hardly wait for you to do it again, next time I don't hear you SITTING BY THE BACK DOOR

It's great how you disappear under the bed when it's time to go in your crate
And now you crawl to the other side of the bed when I attempt to drag you out
This morning I had to grab hold of two of your back toes and pull
It was so much fun, how you tried to bite me

When I lean down to put my face next to yours
You belch in it---what a special moment shared between us
The only thing better is when you drag your claws down my bare legs
It feels so great

Thank you, beagle for making my life A LIVING HELL
This is my ode to you
My little headache
But you are so fuzzy and cute I can't bring myself to donate you for scientific experiments

My beagle