Silly Puppy!

Check out our silly puppy and how she chose to nap today!

The Not-So-Secret Garden

Well, the peas are in the ground. The cukes have been planted, the hosta (la vistas) have been transplanted, and the bucket o' worms has been dumped. Yes, I did say bucket of worms--200 to be exact. No, I didn't count them, but it said 200 on the bucket. Imagine having that job!!

Oh, and the tomato cages are up and put together. This gardening thing is hard work--but hopefully soooooo worth it. We still need to plant the beans, and the tomatoes and peppers when we get the from DP's dad at memorial Day. He will start them and then give them to us. What a guy!

I will post pictures soon of the before garden--well, the right in the moment garden. We didn't get before photos.

I keep waiting for something to poke through . . .DP says it's gonna be a long few weeks until something comes up.

Randomness from a personal day

I took a personal day today. The weather should be 78 degrees, and why the hell not, right??

Here I sit, waiting for the pest control people to come look at the mammoth sized bees we have in our wooden front porch--we suspect carpenter bees, and also to look at the critters that are creating neat little holes ALL OVER OUR FREAKING LAWN!!! I suspect they will tell me that it will cost us about a million dollars to rid us of our pests. Great.

I am also adjusting to the application of new bra. I realized that now that I have lost weight, and can wear some supercute things--like the dress I just bought yesterday at Target for an upcoming event . . .--well, lets just say the girls are not standing up to their full potential. Now, I am no small chested thing, and I might have, should have probably been wearing an underwire type contraption for a long time now, but they were never comfortable. Well, I have delved into another kind of underwire and am giving it a try. The girls are still lifted and separated after 10 minutes of use. I will keep you posted.

Onto other news. DP and I turned up the garden area this past weekend. Who the freaking hell knew it would be so hard to dig up grass and stuff. Well, it was and by the end of the weekend we were sorry, sore fools. My little friend and her family came over to visit and meet Addie, and little did they know they would be put to work!!

We are very excited about the prospects of sugar snap peas, cucumbers, green beans, peppers and tomatoes. We'd like to do some other things, but this is a good start for this year. The plot is about 6 feet by 16 feet--good sized. Very full of clay, but we put some peet moss and soil down. We are also composting, so hopefully once that ripens we can spread that as well. We know the peas should have been planted like a week ago, but hopefully we'll have them in by this weekend. I am really excited . . .last years tomatoes were the first thing that I ever really grew myself, so it is fun.

After all that, I went into full OCD mode with pulling weeds. I am not sure if this is a good condition to have when pulling weeds or not. I finally had to stop Sunday when I couldn't move my fingers anymore. Things are shaping up, though.

Um, I guess that's it for now. Addie goes back to the vet today for a check up, and I need to go get an eye exam and new glasses. The girls are still standing proud and tall . . .and so am I, cause when I slouch I get a rib full of wire.

Wish me luck!


**Update**
The girls stood the test of time and they were so relieved to be released from their bondage tonight. DP says she can definitely tell I have lost weight when they are where they are supposed to be. Tomorrow we will go buy some more torture devices.

Addie got a good bill of health today at the vet, and the visit cost less that $100. I was so relieved about that since this shelter dog is costing us a small fortune-->but we love her soooooo very much. We will have her hips x-rayed soon and deal with that means.

Post Traumatic Cheese Steak Syndrome

Thank you folks for NOT holding your breath for this one. I apologize for the delay, but I have been undergoing intense psychiatric treatment for this and I am only now ready to talk about it.

So, there's the tale of two cheese steak places . . .We'll call them Pat's and Geno's for lack of better names. I even happen to have a photo of these fictitious places. Not sure how I conjured them up, but alas.

We had DP's sister here to visit us from Minneapolis, and we thought it would be fun to go get a real south Philadelphia Cheese steak. After all, they are famous, and some places are even making headline news.

We head down to the city for some fun, and as lunch time approaches our stomachs are aching for some cheese steak. We find a perfect, and close parking space-which by the looks of the surroundings was quite a find! We approach the corner and we see our two options. Sister says that she's been to Pat's before and thinks we should go there. We have no loyalties, and so we go.

First of all, the line was wrapped around the building. Once could only hope this meant that the steaks they had were to die for-literally since as you can see in the above pictures, people stand in the middle if the street for these things at Geno's.

Secondly, we are noticing the line moving quickly-though still quite long with storm clouds looming ahead. This is good cause as I mentioned before, we were hungry. Still unsuspecting of what was to come, we dream of our cheese steaks and fries. What would we do in the event of rain? Nothing would deter us from our mission.

As we round the corner where we see the counter, the anticipation grows and we become nervous. Things are moving very quickly, and we rapidly take in the sign that gives you instructions on how to order.Easy enough, right? We get nearer the counter and things are moving at breakneck speed. We see meat flying, onions flying, and hear lots and lots of yelling. Turns out the way they keep the line moving is to YELL at you. "Have your money ready" Let's Go, Let's go" What do you want?" Let's go, let's go" Move it, Move it" I am scared . . .

Let me set the scene. There is a window that says steaks only, and we are thinking we want steaks and fries. We are not sure if you can order all those items at this window. Thinking it is like a cheese steak express line, we go to the next window, which we are yelled at again and told now that it is only for fries and drinks. We try and BACKTRACK to the steak window, which has now processed about 50 people in one minute and those people are not liking the fact that we are now trying to get back there. Everything is moving so quickly that I have forgotten how to order-I need the Cliff's notes and I can't think, I am being yelled at, and I have no freaking idea what I want. There's no time to think when ordering your cheese steak in Philly. DP ended up with a cheese steak with cheese wiz on it cause she didn't know what she was doing and got scared, and I got mine mostly right, but I had a ton of onions as I guess I uttered the code word for butt load of onions.

Then we are thrown our sandwiches and change, literally, and the dictator starts yelling again, "MOVE IT, MOVE IT". We get to the next window and there is more yelling, more money throwing, and little time to think. Finally we all walk away with cheese steak and half filled fountain drinks and some fries. We look stunned. We try and find the ketchup station, and after we locate that and look for a table, we find that there is none to be found. We end up sitting on a stoop of an abandoned store with our food across the street.

Let me add in here that it is not too long ago that I was heavily medicated for OCD, and we are sitting here with greasy steaks, fries, on a dirty stoop-- with 2 napkins to share between the three of us. None of this matters now because we have the beloved Philly cheese steak in hand, and we have the battle wounds to prove it. The anticipation is too much to handle and we bite in with such abandon . . .only to find . . .

it's a cheese steak. . . Nothing special .. .after all that we'd had such high expectations and were quite disappointed. The fries were cold, the steak was greasy, and all together a waste of a few million calories.

So there you have it. Between the yelling, the dirty eating accommodations, the million calories, and disappointing finish, you can see why I have affectionately called this Post traumatic cheese steak syndrome.

I say next time we stick to this cheese steak place-Tony Luke's in Philadelphia. The steaks were better when we went last year with DP's family, and there was no psychological abuse involved. I drove by the scene of the event yesterday and I began to shake. I am sure in the distance I saw flying cheese steaks and heard the sounds of screaming men-just as I put the pedal to the metal and drove far, far away.

The End.

Weekend Teaser

OK, so stay tuned for an upcoming post on the following:

1. Post Traumatic Cheese steak syndrome
2. Why I spent an hour quacking like a duck this weekend
3. What I saw hanging from a store front window

uh, well, that's doesn't sound as impressive as I thought it might . . .

It will. You. just.wait!

In Memory of Buster

This is Buster. Buster came to live with me and my family on February 14, 1992. I was a freshman in high school, and my brother and his girlfriend at the time brought her home on an impromptu trip to the SPCA. They no sooner dropped her off at my parents house, and then they left. Sure, they tried to take care of her, but they really didn't care much, and he was a senior in high school--read--> wasn't very responsible. Well, much to our surprise, Buster was a fabulous puppy--after the initial getting to know you time. She was small when we got her, and she and I bonded very quickly.

This was also around the time when things at home were crappy, and Buster and I were inseparable. We went for walks when the shit hit the fan, or when I needed a break. We slept together each night. She was my shoulder to cry on a great deal of the time. I remember one time I was taking Buster to obedience school, and we were stuffed into this small car, and Buster was farting up a storm. It was awful-we had the windows down and it was snowing out . . .it was funny!

Well, I moved to college in the summer of 1995, and Buster stayed with mom and dad. They loved that dog to pieces. She learned how to lick my dad's feet-which I personally think is SERIOUSLY gross-but the dog we had before taught her how to do that and she carried on the tradition. She was known to give you big, sloppy, wet kisses right after slurping from the water bowl. Mom used to say "cleanliness is next to godliness" when she would do that.

Buster has been going down hill for a while. She had many health problems including renal failure, hearing loss, and sometimes the inability to walk. Whenever I had seen her the last two years or so, I would encourage her to "go toward the light". I also made sure to nudge my mom about how she needed to let her go before she was in too much pain.

On Friday afternoon, my mom decided it was time. Buster had been having problems getting up, and finally she was unable to move her back legs and tail. Mom called the vet's office and they came to the house and put her to sleep with mom and dad there. Mom couldn't even call us-but she sent an email.

Now, my mother-for all of her faults-is an animal lover to the CORE. I am glad that I have gotten this trait from her. Her dogs were treated better than I was at times--but that is a whole other session ;) She was very saddened by this, but when I talked with her today, she stated that she doesn't feel as bad as she thought, since she knew it was time.

We saw Buster two weeks ago, and got some photos her and Addie. Take a look.

Have fun up there ole girl. We will all miss you very much.