Asphincter Says What?

I awoke this morning to the not-so-pleasant scent of dog shit. My puppy, Luke, took it upon himself to eat a dead mouse. Whole. In one gulp. As it turns out, that is not the best possible digestive decision a dog can make. A particularly unlucky decision if you factor in the possibility that said mouse was dead due to rat poison. Poor Luke was marinating in what one can only assume was a concoction of pee, poop and vomit. All I know for certain is, I will never eat sausage again.
Cleaning up messy puppy cage & scrubbing messy puppy until he is clean puppy with mysterious bald spots is not the best way to start a morning.
The best way a person can start a morning would be to wake up with fresh breath, hit all green lights on the way to work and actually make it there with matching shoes...and your own underwear. (ever put on someone else's underwear on accident?disturbing)
Anyway, waking to the smell of dog poo is a fairly good indication that one's day will not go well. And one's didn't.
I'll say it's been an odd day.I had to converse with people that scare the bajeebus outta me.
These two women I was forced, by my mother, to speak with give off this creepy "I was left in the closet for days at a time" vibe. Kind of a Carrie-Sybil mix and when you talk to them they stare through you....right down to your soul.
Tomorrow better be all ponies and sunshine or I'm going to carve someone a second sphincter using a set of keys and a tack hammer.

My Night With The Oaks

Heavens & Sakes! Last night I went to the concert of a life time!
While other 23 year olds were out, doing whatever normal 23 year olds do, I was gettin' down with The Oak Ridge Boys. My 50 yr. old buddy, NiNi, and I traveled all the way up to Corinth, MS to see the men I've had a sick, twisted music crush on for years. On the way up, I was airing out Ni's Sunfire and thought I missed my exit. She had the friggin' window down in 30 degree weather, puffin' on a death stick and between shakes she said "Emmy...I hope we didn't miss our exit... I don't want to end up in Arkansas."
If you didn't think that was funny. Get a map.
Anyway, I'm not even sure what song they were crankin' out when we went down and shook their hands. I was too busy thinking "holy crap" and trying not to take one. If I was that excited to meet the Oak Ridge Boys then I sure hope Jesus has a shop vac. I don't want to be the first to mess the heavenly carpet. (I told that the other night at the table and it didn't go over so well. Maybe Jesus jokes combined with potty humor is a bad combo)I have an odd obsession with bathroom humor. Speaking of bathroom humor, Thanksgiving was Thursday and I spent it with a bunch of turds. Now, don't get my wrong, I do like a select few family members, but the rest of those folks get on my damn nerves. I had not been to a family get together on my dad's side in three years. I quickly remembered why.
I don't like them.

Red Sea Blues

Ten o'clock.... I'm sitting here in pink jogging pants, stuffing my face with sweet potato cocoons and gettin' "all hopped up on Mountain Dew". My period better hurry up and start. Last night I insulted an unfortunate looking sixteen year old boy, for no other reason than he found something funny and I, all swollen and miserable, have found nothing funny for the past two days. My boobs are so sore that it is uncomfortable to lay down. It is uncomfortable to sit up. It is uncomfortable to stand. It's uncomfortable to be awake.
I need drugs.
But not the make-your-hair-thin-teeth-fall-out- kind.
Just something to knock me out and make me nicer person.

I could go for a Valium and some sex. In that order.

Marriage & Midget Weenies

Letters back in the 1800's were romantic, heart-felt and well worded. Sadly, this is 2007 and chivalry has been dead so long that there isn't so much as a dust speck to prove it once existed. I said that to say this. I fuckin' like this dude I'm dating....A LOT. How can I like him so much? Am I sure he's not just a rebound from that terrible doodie squeef of a relationship I was in? I've asked myself these things. And I don't care to dignify myself with a response. Why? Because I fuckin' like him and that is that.
We were talking on the phone tonight and he brought up the fact that my brother recently tied a cement block to himself and got engaged. He heard it through the grapevine and was asking why I didn't tell him. I didn't tell him, or anyone else, because it brings up painful memories of my own shamble engagement to Ryan. Anyway, he told me he couldn't believe my brother did that and there was no way he was ready to make that commitment...Then he realized who he was talking to and said he hoped that didn't hurt my feelings. Truthfully, he didn't. I've been engaged and then lived the nightmare of breaking it off. I don't want to do that again. The next time, if there is a next time, I will be SURE that it's the right move AND the right time. Oh, and the right guy. I guess that should be of -some- importance. I've been dating this guy for almost 3 months. I shouldn't be thinking about marrying him, because that is a silly 6th grade thing to do. However, I'd be a lyin' bitch if I said I had not thought about it. Every girl does. On the first date with a guy we already know rather or not he's marriage material by the time the pail of peanuts, or salads depending on your level of sophistication, arrive. I guess it's just one of those built in things, similar to Gaydar, but with the possibility of sexual relations.
What's so great about marriage anyway? And why do -most- all of us woman want to be married? It would be pretty much like dating except you poop around each other and its no longer JUST your hair you're digging out of the drain on Saturday morning. When you're dating you can be at your pookie pook's house and when you get ready to go...you can leave. If you're married, you can still leave, but eventually you have to come back. I have heard married people argue about cereal. Seriously. If I'm going to have an argument about some damn cereal it's because some heffer took my prize out of the box. Finding the prize in a cereal box now days has become as precious as finding a well preserved dinosaur egg and I WILL stomp a skank over a cap'n crunch key chain. That 5 year old didn't have a decent car anyway.
Maybe it isn't marriage we want as much as love. Enough people trick themselves into believing they're in love enough to get married...and semi-prove my point at the same time. Ok, now let's really be truthful, I don't give a shit about any of that. Good luck to 'em and God bless 'em and I pray they do not ever ask me to babysit.

Super new and mundane paragraph time!-
I gots a new puppy about 3 weeks ago. Well, he isn't really "new" because I didn't get him fresh outta the wet sack or anything, but he's new to me and I've babied him.
I worried about getting another dog because Captain Scamper McFarty Pants, my 13 yr old pomeranian, is insanely jealous and has fluid in his lungs. It would be just like him to see I have a puppy and kill over just so I'd suffer a life long guilt trip. I love my Scampie baby but I also needed a guard dog for business purposes. The building that my shop is in was robbed 3 previous times before we got it, so for safety measures I wanted a mean ass dog that would chew the nuts off a sand camel in 3 seconds flat. I might as well have bought a basket of bunnies because they would be more vicious than this Austrailian Sheprador. I felt bad for the little guy because I got him at a backwoods flea market from a lady affectionately nick named "barefoot betty" and not only was he free because no one wanted him, he was dirty, had fleas and was puking up roundworms. Seeing as I'm a big pushover and kind of on the cheap side, I took the lil' guy home. So far he's cost me about 200 dollars, 2 pair of house shoes and the reassurance that my gag reflex does indeed work. He's freakin' precious though. I named him Luke after the 1967 American movie classic Cool Hand Luke, starring the one and only Mr. Paul Newman. I'm hoping his killer instincts will come through as he gets older. -As is- a goldfish could kick his ass with one pectoral flipper tied behind his dorsal fin region.
Anyway, my business is going well. We had a phenomenal open house and we've done pretty good for our first week in business so no complaints in that department. I do, however, miss being able to piss when I have to. I swear everytime I have to take a pee or am trying to eat my beloved midget weenie lunchable, some little old lady comes in and wants to talk about how chili makes her gout flare up. That was a tad dramatic, but that did happen the other day. Not only could I NOT eat my lunchable...I googled "gout" and have nothing left for which to live.