Just Pee in the Cup Already!

Sweet EmmaLou, Golden Destroyer has had some health issues of late.  The most annoying one (for all of us) is a stomach problem — she has issues with digesting her food and she burps louder and longer than a longshoreman.  Poor Em!

She willingly went to the vet’s because she likes it there.  I don’t like it at my doctor’s office, but I’m not a dog.  Anyway, the vet is aware of the issue; Em’s been on meds prior to this visit.  But, the problem returns.  He suggests obtaining a blood sample, giving her her annual shots (which were due), refilling her heartworm and flea prevention meds, and oh, here’s a plastic tray…please get a sample of her urine.

Excuse me?

This morning bright (well, actually it was dark) and early, the whole family goes out to the backyard to obtain a pee sample from EmmaLou.  I was on leash and flashlight duty; Devoted Spouse had the little (and I do mean little) plastic tray at the ready.  Em sniffs around, squats down, I yell at Devoted Spouse, “NOW!”, he slides the tray under her and EmmaLou jumps straight up in the air taking her precious pee with her.

Take Two:  “C’mon sweetie puppy girl…pee in the cup.”  Yes, dogs can get a hateful look on their faces.  Finally she squatted again and we repeated the above exercise.  It didn’t work the second time, either.

Devoted Spouse took EmmaLou out on her morning walk, where she peed like someone who’s had their bladder stopped up for a month.  Peed all up and down the street.  Did we get a sample?  No…forgot the tray.

While running errands, I stopped in the vet’s office.  They laughed and laughed but finally agreed I could bring her up late in the day and THEY would try the little plastic tray trick.

EmmaLou and I, meanwhile, have decided we should never speak of this barbaric intrusion into her personal life again.  Sigh…


Out of the Mouths of…Husbands

Reacting to my aching back and the fact I announced I was about to carry some loads of laundry to the basement, the conversation went like this:
Me:  I’m gonna take down some laundry in a little while.

Devoted Spouse:  No, you’re not.

Me:  Oh, yeah, I am.

Devoted Spouse:  No! You can’t carry down; you can’t carry up…but…you can karaoke.

Seriously, this is my life…sigh…

The Pain of Passwords

courtesy of hdsoft.org

Are you like me and have just had it up to there with passwords?  I tried to access a site earlier and couldn’t remember my password.  Thirty minutes later, numerous screens, error messages, and two emails, I still don’t know the password.  That’s 30 minutes of my life I could have spent doing my cardio work-out.  (insert hysterical laughter here)

When I worked in a cubicle farm, a majority of us would stash our computer passwords under our keyboards.  We all knew each other did this, but nobody said anything because, of course, it was not an allowed practice.  But it was easy to remember.  And, that’s the problem with passwords — only a 12-yr old can remember any of them.

I tried using the same password for everything.  That fell apart when some jerk hacked an email account.  I got the notification, panicked, and realized I had 70 hundred thousand million passwords to generate.  And they all had to be different.  And I had to have them in my head and be able to retrieve them.  Oh my.  This would never work.

I got the bright idea of jotting down passwords in a small notebook.  That failed when the notebook fell on the family room floor somehow and EmmaLou, Golden Destroyer, had a midnight snack.  Ack.

Next, I decided to embed passwords into phone numbers.  Disaster!  I couldn’t remember which part of the phone number was the password, or if the phone number was a real one, and ended up phoning some rather angry people.

I had heard about smart phone aps that took care of passwords.  I quickly downloaded the latest ap.  I loaded all my passwords into it, then gave it a password.  Guess what I forgot?  The password to access my passwords.

I created an Excel spreadsheet and put all my passwords there.  Then I thought it would be a good idea to print it out, so if I died unexpectedly (like from a password event-generated stroke), Devoted Spouse would be able to get into all my records online.  But the spreadsheet was too big for my printer paper.  I had to scotch-tape the printed pages together.  It turned into such a mess, I shredded everything and opened a bottle of wine.

There seems to be no easy solution to this.  I have a copy of the spreadsheet that wasn’t taped together. I threw it in a file folder to deal with later.  I just don’t remember what I did with that folder…sigh…

Sure, Jesus Had a Pet

DISCLAIMER:  The following may be offensive to some – no disrespect is intended.  This is just a blog, don’t get riled up about it.

I know…I tell you I’m back and then I disappear again.  This seems to be the year of the ADD blogger.  Not that I haven’t been busy with other projects, mind you.

I’m on a quest to understand my religion (Christianity).  Sometimes it’s good to shake things up a bit.  That’s when insights occur, at least in my life.  So, I’ve been studying the life of Jesus in a feeble attempt to know Him better.  Churches spend a lot of time on what we should do and hammer into us that Jesus was the Son of God, human and divine.  He had a soft spot in his heart for the poor and oppressed, the widows, children, etc.  We’ve all heard it over and over.  We have artistic renderings of a fairly white man with longish hair and a scruffy beard, wearing robes and sandals.  He’s always very clean. The pictures don’t look much like a middle eastern man, but what do I know about art?

I have my own picture and I don’t mean to be sacrilegious here or disrespectful in any way.  I’m just trying to get my head around what Yeshua (Jesus) was like.  There are few, if any, records of his childhood up until about 12 or so.  And then we have the story of Jesus being lost from his folks and turning up in a temple discussing life with the Rabbis.  Okay.  I know when I was 12 I was still playing with dolls, but then, I wasn’t divine either.  Oh, I had a tiara, but, oh nevermind.

After much reading on first century second Temple Jews, their culture and life, I’ve come to some conclusions myself on Jesus’ early years.  I think he was like any other kid who just wandered around in the village or community hanging out with his buds.  He probably got dirty playing some type of stick ball and Mary would yell at Him to get back into the house and wash up for supper. I wondered if she used the phrase, “Oh for Heaven’s sake, Jesus!”  Probably not.  I imagine Him with a squeaky voice prior to puberty and then that silly little wispy mustache that guys are so proud of as they mature.  We know He had lots of facial hair…it’s in all the pictures shown in Sunday School.

The bible never talks about pets.  That bothers me somewhat.  These people worked hard; they had no tv or video games for entertainment.  Oh, once a month or so the Romans might toss somebody in a lion pit and everyone would cheer, eat hot dogs and then go home.  But daily entertainment was slim.  I think they had to have had a pet or two along the way.  Maybe some families had a fish, maybe an Egyptian family transferring in brought a cat with them.  Why not have some dogs running around?

I’m thinking even Jesus as a kid had a dog of his own.  There just aren’t any stories in the bible about a boy and his dog.  I think the church fathers got together as they were discussing canon and said, “Absolutely not!  No stories about Jesus’ dog – it makes Him too human.”  The true story is they were afraid people wouldn’t understand or maybe get some of the stories twisted.  You see, Jesus did have a dog, a nasty cur He named Demon.  Demon had a bladder issue and frequently other families in the village (remember they didn’t have glass windows in their homes) would hear Jesus trying to deal with his dog’s problem by yelling “OUT, Demon, OUT!”  You know how stories are passed down through the generations.

Or maybe not…sigh…

The Stuff Headaches are Made Of

There I was reclining happily in bed with my Darth Vader-masked spouse by my side and my trusty canine at my feet.  Life was good.  I was soaking up the latest Kellerman mystery, when I came upon a word that surprised me.  The author said something like this…”the apartment complex was shaped like a rhombus.”  I nudged the masked wonder next to me in the ribs and pointed to the word “rhombus” on my Kindle and said to him, “Huh?  What’s that?”  Devoted Spouse responded, “It’s a geometric shape.”  I said, “Hmmm, I thought it was a monkey.”  “No,” Devoted Spouse replied, “that’s a rhesus.”  “No, I said, “that’s a peanut butter/chocolate candy.”  This went on for awhile.  He put his CPAP mask back on and I was on my own again.

I used the little pointer thingy on my Kindle to space down to the word “rhombus” and the definition was “parallelogram.”  Well, now we’re talking.  I remember from 10th grade Geometry what a parallelogram is.  I read on.  I went back to the word “rhombus.”  I stopped reading and imagined in my odd little head a building shaped like a parallelogram.  It made no sense.  I leaned over the masked man and waving my arms to get his attention, I yelled, “This makes no sense!”  He un-masked and rolled his eyes.  I told him I understood a parallelogram.  “So a rhombus is a type of parallelogram?” I asked.  “I still don’t really get this.”   He got out of bed, walked around to my side, reached into the nightstand, got out paper and pen, and proceeded to draw a parallelogram for me.  “Aha!” I proclaimed.  “There’s no way on God’s green earth that an apartment building would look like that…it would fall over on itself.  What a stupid description!”

I returned to my reading knowing full well the apartment building in question looked exactly as I pictured it in my mind and not as the author described it.  Devoted Spouse masked up again, EmmaLou, Golden Destroyer put her head back down, and life was good…sigh…


pic courtesy of cheezburger.com

So…didja think I’d never return?  Shoot, I’m still behind and it’s been over a month.  Ack.

Lemme catch y’all up.  It’s been a long winter, BUT, here in Ohio it’s been a mild and rather warm winter.  In fact, my flowers are up and the birds are chirping.  Oh yeah, weeds are up, too.  File that under ‘who cares’…  I don’t do yard work.  lol snort

I deactivated my Twitter account not long ago.  GASP you say…yeah I’m done on da Twittah channel.  Too much chatter…or is that chatteh?  Whatev…

Those in the know can find me on FB blabbering away.

I’m still behind in everything…never did get those Christmas cards out.  Thought about New Year cards and then decided to ignore that thought.  Gah.  Had some great New Year’s resolutions that pretty much bit the dust.  Gah.  Was gonna clean out the basement…then the furnace blower broke (on a relatively new furnace!) and I went back to my procrastinating ways.  Yeah, I’m a procrastinator.  One of these days I’ll find a support group.  Maybe later…

Devoted Spouse is doing his thing (warming his belly with his laptop)…EmmaLou,Golden Destroyer, just celebrated her 8th birthday.  The trash can was upended in her honor.

Buffy the Mane Slayer chopped off about 4-5 inches of my gorgeous red locks recently.  What a time difference in my morning routine  – long hair is for the very young and those whose shoulders don’t ache.

I’m still here…a little older and no wiser at all.  With some luck, I’ll be back in humorous shape soon…sigh…

Sleeping in Closet is Not My Idea of Survival 101

A few days back we had a killer storm come through.  Extremely high straight line winds scared the crap outta me and EmmaLou, Golden Destroyer.  This house has a lot of windows in it…as in every room.  Thankfully, I live with Devoted Spouse aka Survival Man (He needs a cape!)

Survival Man is known for spending hours and hours on his laptop watching Survivalist videos and going to all the Survivalist websites.  He owns Survival books from the best.  He has every Survival piece of crapola ever made.  He watches Dual Survival and has met one of those guys.  He goes to all the gun shows and buys all the fancy and wicked looking gadgets. (see pic above… oh yeah he has most of that)

I have always felt safe and secure knowing Survival Man is nearby.

Unfortunately, Survival Man talks a good talk, but hasn’t gotten all the emergency plans into place yet.

So when the storm hit….I took the 3 of us to our Master Bedroom closet which is the only room in this house with NO windows.  Yes, even the basement has windows.  Ya see the original plan is to have a “place” in the basement where we can be safe from storms.  But the only place down there that would work happens to be stuffed with Christmas crapola.

Survival in my house currently means:  1) Panic because you can’t find flashlights 2) Locate every Yankee Candle possible & then look for matches 3) Light every Yankee Candle possible and stink up house 4) wonder where you put those emergency candles you were so proud you bought 5) moan and groan because the cell phone battery is dying 6) return to 1).  Some plan, huh?

So to the closet we went.  Survival Man promptly curled up on top of his stinky shoes and fell asleep – and snored (the horror of it all).  EmmaLou, Golden Destroyer took her totally freaked out 80 lbs of hot fur and plopped on top of me while licking all my pieces parts clean (she cleans whatever she can find available when she gets nervous).  Me?  Me you wonder?  I was laying (lying? whatever)  with my face at the crack under the door trying desperately to simply get some air.  ACK.

I woke up Survival Man coz it wasn’t fair he was asleep.  I mentioned to him…”Aren’t we supposed to have a plan”?  “Shouldn’t we be in the basement where you have a “special safe place carved out”?  He replies… “it’s not ready yet, but I have MRE’s and you can go to the bathroom.”  Oh yeah, I should probably throw in here….he must have 200 plastic jugs of water stored in the garage in case of emergency.   Yeah…that makes me feel much more secure.

So I have tons of old water…some MRE’s and I can go to the bathroom????   What he is telling me is there are plastic buckets and trash bags in the basement.  And the MRE’s came from some gun show – I’d sooner hold a dead possum in my mouth than eat those things.  Survival Man has some work to do methinks.

So we spent an hour or so in the closet.  Great plan…when it’s time to Survive, just do what Survival Man does…curl up on your shoes and take a nap…sigh…