Thursday, December 29, 2011

That One Time Toby Almost Ruined Christmas

(I started this post several days before Christmas.  Totally slacking it up in here.)


The other day while I was at home, watching the Game Show Network doing really important things, I got a phone call from my husband.  He had just gone to drop off his siblings at home, and they had Toby with them.  Shawn's voice was somber as he told me that "something sad had happened."  And naturally my first reaction is, "Who died?!"  And then he told me it had to do with Toby.  At which point I was sure he had leaned too far out the car window and plummeted to his death.  (Apparently I always jump to the worst conclusion.  And apparently that conclusion is usually death and destruction.)  He tells me Toby isn't dead and that he'll tell me the rest when he gets home.

Talk about one hell of a cliffhanger.  Thanks for that, husband.

Shawn comes home with Toby, who looks completely sheepish.  And my husband says, "Remember that life decision Christmas gift I was going to get you?"  He went on to tell me that he found the cutest kitten in the world that he had been keeping for me at his parents house for Christmas.  And then he went on to inform me that our dog, Satan, tried to KILL IT earlier that night.  Apparently he had clamped down on the poor thing and everything.  (Luckily, the cat was fine.  Shawn got the stupid dog before he starting shredding the cat.)  I can handle my dog ruining all my bras, my shoes, my baseboards, and virtually everything he touches.  But ruining Christmas is a bitch ass move, even for him.

And like any self-respecting adult, I proceeded to throw a major tantrum.  Screaming expletives at the dog, not only because he ruined the surprise - but because Shawn wasn't going to let me keep the kitten (that I hadn't even seen yet) anymore.  To say I was livid, would be a massive understatement.  While I was drafting up an ad on KSL to sell our dog, Shawn asked if I wanted to see the kitten.  Which only upset me more - because I knew if I saw the kitten, I'd want to keep him even more.  But because apparently I can't say no to holding a baby of any species, I gave in and went to go meet my Christmas kitty.

Long story short - I whined my way into keeping the kitten.  (Related: I respect the crap out of women who are able to give their babies up for adoption.  I couldn't even let a cat go.)   I plead Toby's case that he just wasn't used to being around cats, and all he needed was time and some good discipline and training (compliments of my solid Google searching beforehand.)  And I plead my case, that mostly revolved around babies, and the lack thereof in our little family.  And either I had kickass arguments, or my husband wanted to avoid another hormone-induced meltdown - in any event, we brought the kitten home a few days later.

We brought him inside in a kennel and naturally, Toby flew off the handle.  We started out by holding Toby back from the kennel and letting him just look at the cat.  The cat would hiss at him, and Toby would flip his shit - which went on for a few vicious cycles.  Finally Toby got to a point where we could let him go, and he would just sit by the cage, watch the cat, and whine every once in a while.  Then we took the kitten out of the kennel, with a leash on Toby and let them get used to that.

And now I'm pleased as punch to report that we can have both animals in the same room, un-kenneled and semi-supervised, and they're both fine.  I'm pretty sure Toby irritates the crap out of the cat though.  We're still working on teaching Toby to leave the cat alone.  He rarely lets him out of his sight - unless he's busy trying to eat cat poop.  Or cat litter.  Or cat food.



Sicko.


I have a bunch of videos on our video camera of the two of them "playing" - but they're not uploading to my Mac.  (Yeah baby!  More on that later.)  I have a few pictures of the cat though - he's not very easy to take pictures of, because he's such a freakin' spaz and rarely stops moving.  (Also, if you haven't noticed, the cat still doesn't have a name.  We're thinking Meeko, but I'm not sure if I like it yet or not.  Suggestions are welcome.)


Anyways, here are some halfway decent pictures.  








This is, hands down, my favorite picture of them so far.






So you can just go ahead and prepare yourselves now to be inundated with cat posts.  Everyone's FAVORITE, I know.

But not before I catch you up on our super awesome Christmas.  
More on that later.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Men Are Neat

Men are generally fairly simple creatures. But sometimes you just gotta wonder...

 
 Ladies and gentlemen:
  A Few Reasons I will Probably Never Fully Understand the Male Species*

1.  They spend a crap ton of money on one shoe.  (Hi, husband!)  That they will never wear.  That sports a basketball player's illegible signature.** (10 awesome points for the kickass pun.)  Um, hello?  At least when women buy expensive shoes, we buy two... and we wear them.

2.  They puff out their chests when they're measuring height with another dude.  The hell?  Newsflash: puffy chests ≠ extra height.  Also?  You look like an idiot.


3.  They can't go a day, nay, several hours without thinking about sex.  And heaven forbid going more than 3 days without it.  Talk about a sexual famine.

4.  The man hug.  You know, the ever-so-slightly touching shoulders and smacking each other on the back a few times?  By definition, a hug is to "squeeze (someone) tightly in one's arms."  Way to half ass that one.

5.  They like butts.  Boobs, I can understand.  Men don't have them - they're mysterious.  (Well, usually.  On both counts.)  But butts?  We all have them.  I just don't see the allure.  Nothing pleasant comes out anyone's ass.  How is that even remotely attractive?

6.  They can eat 17 times as much as women, and not gain a single, solitary pound.  (Clearly I can't seem to let this one go.)

7. They watch irrelevant teams playing virtually any sport, solely so they can watch sports.  Related: Don't tell women there's only "5 minutes left" in a quarter.  We both know it'll be a good solid half hour.  At least.

8.  They don't cry during sad movies.  Like Brother Bear.  Or The Notebook.  Or Toy Story 3.  Have you no soul?  Let it out, brotha!

9.  (Some) of them shave their legs.  Or their arms.  Or their armpits.  Why?  Isn't that the glory of being a man?  You know, besides being able to pee standing.  Embrace your hairy legs and the fact that it's socially acceptable to not shave them.  Also?  When you shave your arms - the terrorists win.


That is all.



*Disclaimer: Obviously, I'm generalizing.  I realize not all men are bro hugging, chest puffing, butt loving metrosexuals.  Also?  I'm fully aware that if we were to flip this post around - there would be 57 times as many reasons that men don't understand women.
**Jimmer's, no less.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

I'm Like Santa. But Better.

 
Tonight I went to a Christmas party with my team from work.  Naturally, there was a White Elephant gift exchange after dinner.  And instead of being normal and finding some completely useless item in my house, or some wildly inappropriate sex toy, or some really disgusting food item.


I went the horrifying route.  


And I picked myself up one of these babies...




Yes, it's a tarantula.
Yes, it's alive.
Yes, it's bloody terrifying.




And yes, I'm awesome at presents.




(FYI: This post was either a picture of a disgusting, furry arachnid, or the grossly detailed story of my battle royale with the damn toilet that decided to clog up and spray poop water everywhere.  You're welcome.)

Monday, December 12, 2011

He Says, She Hears.

And by he, I mean my husband.
And by she, well, I won't undermine your intelligence.


He Says:  "We should try to eat healthier."
She Hears: "Maybe you should take it easy on the Coconut Dreams, tubby."

He Says: "Do you want a massage?"
She Hears: "Wanna have sex?"  

He Says: "I need to start working out more."
She Hears: "You need to start working out more."

He Says: "Are you hungry?"
She Hears: "Tame the theatrics, bitch." 

He Says: "I'm not in the mood."
She Hears:  "I really am in the mood, but enjoy being difficult as payback."

He Says: "Can we snuggle?"
She Hears: "Wanna have sex?"

He Says: "Your butt looks really good in that outfit."
She Hears: "Your butt doesn't look good in anything else you wear.  Ever."

He Says: "I'm not mad, I'm fine."
She Hears: "I might be mad.  You should probably ask me 847 more times just to make sure."

He Says: "Hahahahahaahahahaha."
She Hears: "I just farted, and it's going to smell like rotten ass in T minus 5.3 seconds."

He Says: "I'm bored."
She Hears: "Wanna have sex?"


Isn't marriage grand?


And on a mostly unrelated note.  

I saw this for the first time over the weekend and literally almost peed my pants from laughing so hard.  It was just inappropriate enough to not post on Facebook.  But, as I've made abundantly clear, there's always a place for vagina humor in my blog.





"The pool is cold."


Hi.larious.


Friday, December 9, 2011

Broken Crap, Christmas, and Meltdowns.

I feel like I can't start bulleting my crap out unless I have an intro. 

And an amusing, irrelevant GIF.

Thanks Llama  GIF - Thanks Llama


Much better.  And go.


-To add to the list of things that have broken in the last 3 months, we can officially put my laptop.  And by 'my laptop', I mean the laptop I stole from my husband when we got married and he got his Mac.  Before I was using the most gigantic Dell laptop you've ever seen that took a good half hour to turn on.  I digress.  The laptop's hard drive crashed for the second time.  We lost everything.  Luckily, most of it is replaceable - with the exception of some of the homework assignments in our Random School Crap folder.  But who needs that anyways, right?  I think the thing I'm most upset about is losing our budget that I spent hours on for last year.  The good news?  New laptop for me!  Hopefully one that isn't lava hot when I turn it on.

-My husband made a list of things he wants for Christmas - including, but not limited to, Spanish learning software, a hand gun, and those bouncy stilt things they have at the circus.  (Random?  Yes.)  Now, if we learned anything from last Christmas - I'm not necessarily a huge fan of getting people stuff they know they're going to get.  (Hello, ping pong table.)  What fun is that?  Shawn's picked out 85% of his gifts thus far, which I sort of hate.  And when he's not picking out his gift, he's guessing what the other gifts are under the tree (turns out pillows aren't very easy to disguise in wrapping paper).  The other day he told me I wasn't allowed to buy him anything else because we had to stay under a budget.  So I did what any rational wife would do, and more or less gave him the verbal finger and had a nice, Clomid-induced meltdown.  The meltdown had it's phases.  It started with, "You're ruining Christmas" then headed toward "I'm fat and hate my body" and then plummeted into "Why can't I have a babyyyyyyyyy?!"  Want to feel like you're losing your damn mind?  Pop a few fertility pills.  Anyways.  Needless to say, I fully plan on purchasing some really random gifts for the ol' husband.

-Sometimes I can watch Netflix while I'm working.  I saw that Vampire Diaries was on there.  And I didn't think I'd be able to get into it - because, um, vampires?  No thanks.  Bet you can guess the ending of this bullet.  I got sucked. in.  However I didn't get too far gone before dragging my husband down with me.  The fact that I've made him watch The Bachelor, Gossip Girl, and Pretty Little Liars with me gets me major wife points.

-Speaking of Netflix, I tried watching The Last Song, with Miley Cyrus.  And I seriously could not get past 6 minutes of it.  Something about that chick drives. me. crazy.  Oi.

-Currently my dresser looks like this:

It gives my husband a minor coronary every time he sees it.  I should be cleaning it.  But I'm not.  Because what's worse than putting away a bunch of laundry?  Well, besides Miley Cyrus.  This is usually the point when everything ends up in the dirty clothes.  Even though I can guarantee you 80% of it is clean.  That's just what happens when you try on 8 outfits and hate them all.  Men will never understand.

-So remember how I was all gung ho I'm going to be a Real Estate Agent!  Well, I am.  I'm officially enrolled in school - and can take the classes at my leisure.  As I look at the different chapters of the book, I know I'm going to be 47 different kinds of bored with a lot of the classes.  But oddly enough, I'm looking forward to it.  It makes me feel ambitious.  Like I'm actually doing something with my life.  Babies have always been my ambition.  Since I was like, seven.  So now that my ovaries are being little bitches, I had to find something to keep me busy.  So if anyone needs a real estate agent in the near future... PICK ME!

-Our downstairs neighbors are in the process of buying a house right now.  It's kind of bittersweet for me.  On one hand, we can be as LOUD as we want to upstairs, on the other hand the extra cash every month is pretty much awesome.  We haven't officially decided what we're going to do once their gone.  I'm feeling selfish and want my house to myself.  I'm sick of stifling heavy breathing with a pillow, or having to worry about my dog barking at midnight, or worrying about our super creaky floor waking them up downstairs.  However, we don't necessarily need all the space down there.  Not yet, at least.  So I guess we'll see.  Maybe we'll keep it to ourselves for a few months and go from there.



Okay, I really need to get my ass off the computer and clean something.  Or else my husband is going to be in the hospital with an ulcer.