Eau de Skunk

On Sunday's I go to my parent's house for the day. I would tell you why, but you might judge me so we'll just say I like to visit...yeah, visit. And, they cook dinner which never hurts. Well, today I pull up out front, I get out of my car, and stench a la skunk slaps me in the face. But, what's even better is the smell just gets stronger and stronger as I walk toward the front door, and then...and then....and then...I open the front door and, BAM!!! SKUNK STANK right up in my face!!!

Mom says the dogs (Rowdy and Gipper) got into it with a skunk last night and layed all over who knows what in the house before your Dad and I noticed. I'm sure the look on my face was comical. It was like breathing in pure death. Stanky death.

First we coated the carpet with baking soda and let it sit before vacuuming it all up, then I soaked the entire house in Febreze which mom can't stand the smell of. Ha! While the Febrezing was going on Mom and Dad gave the dogs a bath in a mixture of baking soda, peroxide, and dish soap. Apparently, some chemist invented the concoction for skunkified dogs. After all that was done I totally accused my mom of tricking me into visiting because if she had warned me I would not have gone out there today. Does this make me a bad daughter? I think it makes me a smart, skunk aroma free daughter.

I highly recommend steering clear of the skunks, people. They're not cute, they're not sweet, they're nAsty! And why would we even think they're cute and sweet? I'll tell you why. Loony Tunes and Disney. Curse you!

No wonder the poor, sweet little kitty was always trying to run away from Pepe Le Pew. He stAnks!

Don't let Flower's sweet little face fool you. He stAnks too!

This poor dog doesn't belong to my parents. Since I wasn't there for the crime I had to borrow a Google image, but you get the drift...stAnky!

The BLD

I thought I would switch things up a bit tonight and talk about one of my dad's obsessions hobbies. He fancies himself a pig farmer. I hope he doesn't read this since I said "fancies himself." He might be offended. Oh well, what's done is done. So, anyway, he is obsessed with pigs has a side business of pig raising. Now, what you need to know is that he buys these pigs from various places when they are wee piglets and then he feeds them out. In other words, he fattens them up to land on your table as breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Or BLD's. Or bacon, ham, and pork chops! Yumm-O! I apologize if there are any vegetarians reading this. I'll think about adding a disclaimer next time, but seeing as how I am a meat eater, I'll probably forget again.

Such happy little BLD's

Colorful BLD's

Playful BLD's

How do you like my ham posterior?

Napping BLD's

Sad little BLD. He knows what's coming... (insert Jaws music here)

Man, I do love me some bacon!






P.S. There were no BLD's harmed in the making of this blog post. They're not fat enough yet! Hahaha! (I know I'm sick and twisted, but that's what the bacon does to a girl, and I can't quit the bacon...)

CONVERSE-ation

Shoes. Shoes are life. Shoes are friends. Shoes are always lovers and never fighters. Well, I suppose if your feet were swollen they would be fighters, but does that really happen all that often? I could write an entire post about shoes in general since I do have one whole closet strictly for shoes, but I thought I would narrow the playing field down to a specific kind of shoe which I have become obsessed with in the last couple of years or so.

The shoes I'm speaking of...Converse. Or Chucks if you prefer that terminology. Prior to discovering my new love I had always been a Nike kind of girl, but one day while shoe store browsing with my dear friend Ashley, we came upon this pair of bright yellow Converse and on the sale rack to boot!

Can you tell they were my first pair? They're a bit dirty... :-) Anyway, Ashley was already wearing a pair of Converse that I think at one time may have been hot pink, but now I'm not so sure, and she insisted I needed a pair of my own. Now, at the time I was thinking, "bright yellow? Really? Do I even wear anything yellow shoes would go with? I'm just not sure, but maybe I can find something to wear them with, and well, they are on sale. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm sold!" So, that night I walked out of the shoe store with my very first pair of Converse tennis shoes.

And then I bought these pairs...

And then I bought this pair...

And then I bought these pairs...(minus the orange pair you saw above)

And then I hung this pair on the wall as art...

Would you call that obsessed? I like to call it a hobby.

P.S. When my mom saw my brand spanking new bright yellow Converse tennis shoes she said, "wow, those are bright. We used to wear those in the 70's, you know?" with a little smile on her face because she knows what goes around, comes around, and Converse? Well, they're just cool.

An Aside

I know I should take this as a compliment, but I don't. When I'm sitting in class and the professor makes a comment such as this, "Of course none of you know what I'm talking about, you're all too young to remember," or this, "you're all 21, 22 years old, way too young to know what I'm talking about," or this, "when you're on your own without your parent's support," it really chaps my backside. My TWENTY-EIGHT year old backside to be precise. I realize that I'm not a typical college student, but these are not typical times either. So many people of varying ages are going to college these days that the person standing in front of the class should seriously consider putting a stop to their generalizations. Especially when speaking to someone with as much gray hair as this girl has. What really gets me is that the majority of the time I am probably the exact same age or just a few years off from the age of the teacher and yet, they still stand up there making asses of themselves by assuming we're all youngsters who rely on mommy and daddy to pay the way. Well, I for one, am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and what I really want to say is this, "excuse me, not that your generalizations aren't great and all and not that I'm not flattered you think I'm such a young pup, but last June I bought a house just after my 28th birthday so put that in your pipe of assumption and smoke it."

Aside, over and out. Back to obsessions next time. Promise.

Free Tea Day!

Well, it's not really Free Tea Day unless you made yourself some tea at home and then it's basically free because you paid for it a million years ago and have now forgotten how much you paid for it and when so it feels free. Whew! Just let me run on, why don't you?

So, to continue on with obsession week, month, or whatever I will now talk about tea. McAlister's Tea. Not to be confused with any other kind of tea on the planet. It's that magnificent. Trust me. There is no other tea like it. Anywhere.

Just look at it...my mouth is filling with saliva just thinking about it and the picture is making my eyes water with need. Oh, McAlister's Tea, how I love thee, let me count the ways... Will you be my Valentine?

I'm not kidding when I say I am 100% completely and utterly in love with this tea. I go to McAlister's at least once per week, and if I don't then I go through some serious withdrawals. We're talking the shakes, the name calling, the cold chills, the whole bit. I'm such an addict, I even hung a cup of the stuff on my Christmas tree. Ok, fine, it's an ornament filled with fake tea, but it still shows my undying love.

P.S. I take my tea, straight up on the rocks. No sweeteners for this girl, and whatever else you do, please, hold the lemon!

Addicted to...Apricots??

It's obsession week or month or really however long it takes me to write about all of my obsessions of which there are many on Amanda's Blog or should I celebri-tize it and call it Amandog? Or I could go with AKB for Amanda Kay's Blog which does sound a bit nicer than Amandog, but whatever, the point is I'm going to continue to regale you with my obsessions until I either A: run out or B: become bored with it. If I was voting I would go with bored because I have a LOT of obsessions. It must be the OCD in me.

Once upon a time, many a year ago, I went down to the Wal-mart and bought myself a bottle of St. Ives Invigorating Apricot Scrub. Ok, ok I'm sure my mom bought it for me, but does that really matter in the grand scheme of things? I'm sure I was with her and picked it out so she can't be blamed for what happened next... which is that I became an addict. To apricots. Or apricot scrub, that is. Personally, I think apricots are nasty and I would never eat one even if it were the last morsel of food on Earth and it was the only thing standing between me and death. I feel the same about lettuce, but that's a story for another day. So, anyway, I'm addicted to Apricot Scrub. I can't even begin to tell you how many bottles of the stuff I have bought over the years. Here's a nice little picture in case you don't know what I'm talking about.

Notice the Glamour award. Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks the stuff is FABULOUS!

I use this little bit of delciousness every morning before I wash my face. Something makes me think if my dermatologist knew I used this stuff he would slap me, but I don't tell him, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

This is why I believe I'm an addict...any time I somehow skip the step in my showering process (yes, I have a showering process, but that's also a story for another day) where I use the Apricot Scrub to oh so vigorously exfoliate my skin, my whole day is ruined. RUINED!! My face feels dirty and wrong which makes me feel dirty and wrong which makes my day feel dirty and wrong. I have to have my face scrubbed daily without fail or I just can't stand it! Now, I'm not suggesting this sweet little bottle of facial scrub contains drugs or anything...ok, who am I kidding? That's exactly what I'm suggesting! Why else would I feel like I might die without using it for even one day??? There must be something in there making me crave it almost more than I crave cheese or chocolate or any food for that matter! It's like Carmex. I always heard stories about how there are microscopic pieces of glass in Carmex which keep lips in a perpetual state of chapped agony so that you'll just keep on using the Carmex over and over and over without ever realizing it's the Carmex causing the problem. I don't know if that story is true or not and I've never been a fan of Carmex so I don't have any first hand experience, but I can tell you this, in my personal, professional opinion there must be something addictive up in that Apricot Scrub to make my sweet little face need it so much. It couldn't possibly be my un-diagnosed case of obsessive compulsive disorder. No way...it must be drugs.