Thursday, December 29, 2011

F-in Christmas Trees

WTF. That's all I have to say.

Tuesday I was off work because I was feeling massively under the weather. Of course, with me being home, Sophie, is on high alert. Any noises from the outside are met with immediate barking, growling, and racing to the door.

I'm used to her crazy behaviour, so when she acted like a maniac at the front door, I thought nothing of it. Oh noes. I should have gotten out of bed and went to inspect. Some asshole dropped their Christmas tree in our yard. WTF? Dude. Seriously, I have enough yard waste as it is, I don't need anymore crap.

So whatev, right? Ryan put it out for the trash today. All gone.

Or not?

Our REAL FRIEND, who shall remain nameless, after some bantering with my husband, puts our address up to everyone letting them know we are accepting Christmas trees. WTF. I didn't take a picture of the first tree because frankly, I didn't think I'D HAVE MORE FUCKIN CHRISTMAS TREES IN MY YARD. But I was mistaken. Here is a couple pics of what I came home to tonight. rawr.

Needless to say when I pulled up to my house I noticed the trees immediately. And immediately there was screaming and swearing. A lot. Then there was more swearing, and well let's be honest, more swearing.

Sophie really liked the tree.

I do not want anymore trees. I didn't even have one up for the holidays. That's how lazy I am. No more trees. For fucks sake!

Thursday, December 22, 2011

People Die

So...just from the title of this post, I'm sure to come off as kind of an asshole. But if you have read my blog before, then you know I am kind of an asshole.

People die. Yup, I totally said it. Edward from the Twilight movies is not going to come save us and turn us into sparkly awesome looking creatures. It's a fact of life. I hope we all get really, really, old before we die.

I'm not very family oriented (thanks mom and dad), so the whole visiting people in the hospital makes me uncomfortable. I didn't really talk to you while you were alive, now all of a sudden I'm going to show up and we're going to reminisce about shit that doesn't matter.

When I am looking down the tunnel of darkness or the tunnel of light in a hospital bed, depending on who you ask, please don't come and visit me. I look like shit in some tiny bed while an artificial light makes my skin washed out. You don't need to say your last goodbyes to me. If we were friends you would have already spent a whole bunch of awesome time with me.

You know what I do when I visit people in the hospital? I stand and stare at them or I sit and stare at them. Kind of boring right? I can already hear the peanut gallery moaning in disbelief at my words. I'm sorry that I feel this way, but hospitals aren't exactly a time for catching up. Don't you think the person in the hospital is thinking, "Shit, I'm a goner, all these people that I haven't seen in forever keep coming to say hello."

Right now both of my grandparents are in the hospital. My grandfather has been dying since my father met my mother (like 35 years ago). At least that's what my dad jokes about when we talk about my grandfather's health. We call him Pappy. Pappy has had several heart attacks, ball cancer, butt cancer, leukemia; the man just will not quit. But at some point there is going to be an end.

I visited him recently while he was at the "Old Folks Home" recuperating from his last venture to the hospital. There I stood around and stared at him, occasionally arguing with one of his nephews about why I don't want to have children. Side note- People really get offended when I tell them I don't want kids. Apparently, people just expect that when you become an adult, have kids that suck all your money up until you're ready to retire. I give them real reasons like, my life is awesome already, or I like to go on  rad vacations with my husband, or I don't like kids. They don't like that and feel the need to argue with me. I've been told I'm missing out on one of the greatest joys ever. Guess, what? I'll pass.

Back to the story where everyone dies....

Pappy has been in this "Old Folks Home" for a couple weeks now. His oxygen levels have really sucked and generally my grandmother cannot take care of him. His oxygen levels have dropped so much that he is now in the hospital. He has been there since Monday. When did I find this out? This morning. Yeah, my family has really bad reporting skills when it comes matters of life and death. I remember when my great grandmother died they didn't tell me until Monday. She died on a Friday. Their excuse, they didn't want to ruin my weekend. O M G.

Another thing about getting information from my family is no one really knows the full story. I get bits and pieces of probably incorrect information. And my family always assumes it's the hospital or rehab place that's killing them. It couldn't possibly be that THEY ARE FUCKIN OLD AND THEIR SHIT IS FUCKED UP. When I went to visit my grandfather my aunt Lisa was convinced that this rehab place was awesome. Now that my grandfather is doing poorly, the rehab place must have caused it. I say to her, well if that's the case maybe you should sue them.

I'm pretty they won't have a cure for death when it's my time to go. When I die I don't want people moping and crying about. In fact, I'd like to take a page from the African American folks. It seems, at least on tv and in movies, that they have a celebration of life after a person passes. It's not this dreary depressing sad service. In my mind it should be a large party talking about the good times we had together. In fact, I don't even want a funeral. All a funeral does is line the pockets of other people. Just cremate the shit out of me and toss me in a vineyard, or off a cliff, or in the trash can. I'm dead, I don't give a shit. I want to have a party at a winery where everyone will eat and get drunk. And please, if you didn't like me in life, don't show up to my "Death Party". You're not fuckin invited. Don't get all high and mighty now that I'm gone and talk about the good times. If you didn't like me, there were no good times.

Ok, back to the whole we dying thing. As I was talking to my aunt and she was filling me in on the events around my grandfather, she then mentions that my grandmother is also in the hospital. What!?! They found out she has blood cancer and they want to send her to a hospice. In my mind, hospice is the last stop. You don't go to hospice to get better. So, now I gotta visit both grandparents in the hospital. Funny thing is at least I don't have to make any special trips to see them. Maybe I'll have hit another button of the elevator.

My aunt of course is vehemently opposed to my grandmother going into hospice. I don't have all the details, because I always get the information from a third party. Someone is always telling someone else to tell me. My aunt believes that my grandmother is functional and can get outpatient treatment. I'm not sure how serious the cancer is, but my family's odd religion prohibits them from accepting blood transfusions. Even to save their life. I don't know about the rest of them, but I like life, and if I need a blood transfusion, damn it, I'm taking it.

I guess I'll end this semi depressing blog by saying this, some say life's a bitch and then you die. But guess what? You choose how awesome your life is going to be. I choose awesomeness. And when I go out in a moderate blaze of glory, do not feel sorry for me. You can't special order awesome.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Bad Manners

The Dude is learning very quickly how to be a member of the Boner household. He's learning about getting up at 5:55 a.m., a clear five minutes before the alarm goes off, cuz he's hungry. He can chase the ball for you, but not nessessarily bring it back. The Dude's got his "I love you eyes, please, please, please, pet me" look down to a science.

While getting ready in the morning before work he will follow me around. I occasionally almost sprain an ankle to miss smashing him with my feet. Sophie and Jada on the other hand, once food time is o-v-e-r , they just lay around. If I accidentally let the door open while getting ready, they'll hop into bed. They pray to the Bed Gods that they will be allowed to lay in bed for eternity.

This morning something changed. My Dude was no longer looking at me with his little cute/sad face, he was in bed with the other dogs.

I am definitely taken a back. First off, please note that the sheets on the bed are almost/mostly pulled off the corners. Ryan and I both flail in our sleep. We both toss and turn all night long. My side of the fitted sheets is coming up before I'm asleep.

Oh, I see everyone is settled in. Awesome.

How exhausted can one dog be? Very exhausted I guess.

The Dude didn't even care when I walked out of the room. He has been totally brainwashed by the other two dogs. He is definitely a full fledged member of the Boner Taj Mahal for dogs.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

If you value your life, please stop talking to me.

I am a morning person. Well, maybe not exactly. I can get up, get ready for work, and show up on time. Just don’t fuckin talk to me until 9 a.m. or so. I am very angry in the morningIt could because I haven't won the lottery yet. Please don’t have a conversation with me. I’m not ready to have anything nice to say.

After 9 or so, I'm great. Coffee has been consumed and caffeine is racing through my veins. And for the record, the only person that knows how much of an asshole I am is Ryan. I somehow manage to hide it from the rest of the world.

Ryan will sometimes ask me how I sleep. All I can say is RAWR!!! RAWR!! RAWR!!

We both agree there can be no conversation of substance, because one of us will leave the house pissy because of me.

I come to work early to get shit done without having to talk to anyone or have any interruptions. I need like a half hour of uninterrupted quiet to catch up on stuff.

If you look at the clock that I so awesomely drew, you can see it's 7 a.m. That's right, sometimes I'm come into work that early. I have shit to do. And with the amount of days I take off, coming in a little early doesn't bother me.

Instead people think I come in early to chat. NO!!!! It makes me so mad, I just want to scream. But I don’t. I have a huge smile on my face as I nod to whatever you say.

Sometimes, I even put head phones on or I will turn my back to my coworkers in hopes they see that I'm busy. That doesn't thwart them from talking. I usually think to myself, maybe if I fart silently they'll leave.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Super Saturday Part II-Modern Liars & Johnny Joes


Since this past Saturday was rather busy for us, I chose to break the blog out in two parts. The first one, dealt with the Farmer's Market and touring wineries. This one will talk about how awesome our friends' band is, The Modern Liars. They played at our favorite bar Johnny Joes.

What you are seeing is correct. I wore feather earrings. I had a lot of reservations about this. I originally bought them for the 70s party that I went to the week before. I determined that they were more 80s than 70s. I tried to gage Ryan's opinion on what he thought of the earrings. I got no response. I assumed the earrings were a score. I got further confirmation about the awesomeness of the earrings by a nearby patron; she told me how much they rocked. Holla for the purple feather earrings. Plus, they went great with my ruffled shirt.

Modern Liars band members Brian Asper on guitar, Toddy P. also on guitar.

They perform an oldie from The Everly Brother, Dream. Todd also gives a nice shout out at the end.

Always water with my beverage. This is so I do not become "That Girl."

Ryan finishing my drink because I wasn't go fast enough!
Our friend Craig beside Ryan found this amusing.

Now he's trying to shove a vodka tonic to make up for him stealing my beer.
No thank you.

Our friend Joe bought us all jaegar bombs before sneaking out with his cute girlfriend.
Our good old friend Jeremy has arrived!
Toddy P., Jeremy, Ryan

Ryan doing Tebowing

Another empty drink

This is what we have left after paying the bill. LOL

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Yes, I am one of those people....

Yeah, I bought dog stairs to the bed. You got a problem with that? I don't know if it means I'm more crazy than before, or if it means that I'm just to lazy to lift a small dog into a big bed. I didn't just buy any dog stairs, I bought the kind that requires a drill to put it together. You are welcome Ryan.

Step 1: Get angry, make me assist.

Step 2: Make me hold it all together, do not move.

Step 3: Reread directions because something doesn't seem right. (Insert swear words and sighs.)

Step 4: Drill the shit out of it!

Step 5: Try to teach The Dude how to walk up the stairs. This a definite work in progress. He is def not comfortable with the steps.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Poo Foot-NSFW

I have a Mon-Fri routine. It's worked for me very well over the last ten years or so. So, when things go haywire I tend to act like a crazy person. Monday morning should never be a bad morning. It sets the tone for the day, maybe even the week. But alas, something did go wrong, very wrong.

I stepped in a pile of shit.

That's right a pile of shit. How would I be stepping in a pile of shit you might ask? Well, I tell you how and who I blame in the Shitgate 2011 fiasco.

The Dude as cute as that little bastard might be, has not quite a bathroom issue, but more of he's so excited to come back in the house that he might forget to poop outside issue. We've only encountered this once before, he came potty trained. It was when we had the snow for Halloween. We didn't throw him into the snow we just let him tinkle and come back in. Later, bam! poop on floor. Not his fault. Ryan was the one who let him out that time. (There will be a pattern emerging.)

After that initial accident, we both decided that we have to be more diligent to make sure Dude goes number 2. I can tell you from personal experience, there have been no oopsies on my part.

Ryan has night duty with the dogs, feeding and letting them out the last time before bed. Sunday night Ryan did not let Dude out as long as he should have. And that is how I ended up stepping in a pile of shit right by the door in the dark of the morning.

Below is my version of the events.

There it is. The pile of shit.

I let the dogs out in the dark. Meaning I don't turn the lights on because I am mostly nude. And if for some odd reason my neighbors would be looking right out their back door, I don't want them to see my boobs hanging down to my waist. I opened the door, the dogs went out and then I tried to move back to continue my morning routine. That was when I found the horror on my left foot. I screamed loud, like a blood curdled scream. I can't even repeat this noise that came from my mouth because I would have to step in another pile of shit to recreate it.

Ryan on the other hand, instead of coming to my rescue, just asks me what's a matter from the other end of my house.

I am still making these unearthly noises, telling him to get his ass out here. This was a sticky kind of shit. And it was cold too. It was so gross. It was now stuck between my toes. OMG, so gross.

I had to attempt to hobble/hop/jump to the bathroom. I couldn't even wipe it off, I just got in the shower spraying piping hot water from the detachable shower head.

Needless to say my morning went to shit literally. What is the lesson everyone? Watch the fuckin dog take a shit outside! For the love of God! Out-fuckin-side. Thank you.