This helps. At least a little bit.

Georgie

(credit goes to Planet Dan)

Thanks, Sassy Goat!!

Political Blogging. Yeah, I'm going there. Deal with it.

I'm feeling nauseous right now. Literally. Samuel Alito has been confirmed for the Supreme Court.

If this is indeed the end of the woman's right to choose in this country, then I'm dangerously close to filing for citizenship in another country. France sounds good about now. Not only are women's rights respected, but you can still smoke. Everywhere. I'm there. I'll put up with smelly French people and bad attitudes towards Americans, hell, I'll even relearn the language. Right now I'm so disgusted in my own country, my allegiance is up for grabs to the highest bidder.

My biggest question to the conservatives is how? HOW can you honestly justify removing a woman's right to choose her own personal health and safety? Because that is what will happen if abortion becomes illegal in this country. And before you answer, just realize for one second that all us crazy yahoo feminazi liberals are not demanding the maintenance of legal abortions as a form of birth control and we're not running around killing babies on a whim. I could never and will never understand the conservative justification for illegalizing abortion.

I'm seriously pissed. And sad at the same time. It's a tough combination of emotion to endure.

(Thanks to Elise at After School Snack for breaking the story for me. We weep together.)

Same Bat Time, Same Bat Issue

Ok really, this has nothing to do with bats. Although I have a funny story about the time I was jumping on a trampoline at night and a bat hit me in the head. I lost control of my bodily coordination and my next jump landed me on the ground, screaming in fear. Not cool.

Really, this post is about my pure hatred of junk mail. Good lord I hate junk mail. Every single day we get the same useless newspapers, coupon books, and credit card offers. And god forbid we go on a one day hiatus from checking our mailbox and the goddamn thing is packed so full I can almost hear our mail person muttering explitives under his breath as he walks away from our house (or perhaps he's too busy cursing our dog, either way, he's cursing). And then comes the process of dealing with all of your junk mail. I swear to god we fill up our trash bin twice as much as we normally would, just because of all those damn coupon books!!! And I'm not a coupon girl. I just don't have the attention span for that shit. Clip the coupons, organize the coupons, remember to bring the coupons when you go shopping (or just have the coupons in your handbag at all times, adding to the 100 lbs of other worthless crap we women carry around with us....slow down, St Pauly Girl, that's another rant for another day), weed through your stack of coupons while you're at the check out to make sure that you get the 10 cents off your total bill, go through the rest of the coupons when you get home and throw 99.99% of them away because their fucking expired, for the LOVE OF GOD stop the madness.

And don't get me started on the electronic version of junk mail, as we lovingly call spam. I have been getting the same spam message for 8 months now, twice or more a week, from a wedding web site that I've never even been too. So, I follow their instructions on how to "unsuscribe" (all you spammers out there are laughing your evil laugh, knowing I only fell further into your trap) but alas, I still get the newsletter. I emailed that damn company 4 times. Then I got pissed. I told them that I've already been married for 8 fucking months and that I no longer need their services, not that I ever used their services in the first place, mind you. And then I threatened to hit the bridal web boards if their persistent spamming didn't come to an end.

Riddle me this, Batman: WHERE DOES ALL THIS SHIT COME FROM???? I bet there is a whole country out there on Planet Earth that we don't even know of, who's sole purpose is to produce mass amounts of junk mail and burden all of our lives with it. I'm officially declaring war on Junkmailastonia. Who do I need to call to get some weapons of mass destruction?

I wonder what ASSOTWID is doing right now...

I cannot for the life of me get focused today. I was out of the office last week for the last three days, at off-site training, and I had no access to the internet. None. The first day I was incredibly annoyed. How dare I be prohibited from checking email and blogging. But then after a day I realized that I was free. Free to be who I wanted to be. Free to be you and me. So anyway, now I'm back to work. And I'm struggling. I can't figure out what to work on. I can't remember what my actual job is. I can't even remember where the damn vending machine is.

So I'm sitting at my desk, listening to my iPod (until it dies on me, that is), and letting my mind wander a little. All I can think about is I wonder what that damn sheep is doing right now.

I've identified the worst feeling in the world.

Your iPod is about to die and you forgot your charger today.

OHHHHHHHHH the sadness :(

Is it Spring yet?

On my way to work this morning, I had this moment where I was unexpectedly taken aback by beauty. I'm not normally very alert to my surroundings on the way to work (with the exception of paying attention to my driving, obeying traffic laws and not getting into any accidents). I drive the same route every day which may be why I don't pay too much attention to the outside scene, since I've seen it every day for the past 5 years. But today was strangely different. The roads were wet, like it had just rained. Rain is something I miss, given we are in the depth of winter here in MN (although mild winter that it's been, it's still winter). I know it probably smells good but I don't risk opening the window. I'm not one of those people who thinks a brisk wind is exilirating. I also notice the clouds, the peaks of blue breaking through the gloomy grayness, indicating that the storm is over. The sunlight is starting to come through the cracks in the grayness, and is shining over the skyline causing the buildings to look almost plastic. Shiny plastic. It's bizarre. Why haven't I noticed this before?

I'm pretty sure that today is the official first day of Spring Fever.

Dude. It's too early for this.

St Pauly Boy is out of town this week so I'm up early with the doggers. Right now, Pete is sitting in front of the fireplace, staring up at the mantle, whining at it. Is there something scary up there? Does he want me to take one of our wedding photos down and throw it for him to fetch? Does he want to eat a candle for breakfast?

Well, honestly, it could be any of those. But I'm pretty sure it's just because he is extremely confused at this time of the morning. You see, when he gets a little too rough while we are playing with him, with one of his squeaky's, we take the squeaky away from him and say "done". Or it's more like "DONE". Then we put it up where he can't get it, so he knows that we mean business, right? Well, he fell for it for the first 2 attempts at authority over him. And now he thinks that we are hoarding all of his precious squeakies up on our mantel, even though he can clearly see that there are no squeakies up on the mantel.

I'm thinking I can fake him out. Maybe he really is that stupid. Deep down I know I'm wrong. Everything he does is calculated. If dogs went to college, mine would have graduated from Harvard, Summa Cum Laude. So, I take one of his squeakies from the floor (why didn't he want to play with that one, I ask myself?) and I put it up on the mantel. He's watching. Then I take it down and throw it across the living room, He doesn't budge. Not even a damn flinch.

What goes through his sinister mind? What other cruel tricks is he planning for me while SPB is out of town?

I'll find out tonight.

Just Another Manic Monday

Not only am I having a super bad day at work today but I also have to hear that my favorite show, The West Wing, has been cancelled.

Cancelled.

I feel like someone just came up to me, told me my dog died, and then punched me in the stomach. BAD timing, NBC. BAD.

Off to another meeting where I'll inevitably feel like not only did that person tell me my dog died, then punched me in the stomach, but then they kicked me in the shin, just for good measure.

In My Place

I'm obsessed with my living space. Not limited to the current living space, but I'm obsessed with the possibility of future living spaces. When I'm not looking for the next best real estate, I'm drawing up architechural plans for my current space. Finish the basement, expand the kitchen, build a second floor, build a patio, install a 2nd bathroom in the newly finished basement, paint every single room in the house, install new windows, put up new window treatments, the list goes on and on and on and on.

What I'm actually accomplishing from this list is the window treatments. I have two rooms on order, as we speak. Yay! We've had this ugmo pieces of gross fabric draped over our deteriorating windows, since we moved in, 3 years ago. They came with the house. I don't know what that chick was thinking when she put them up, considering she thought she was very Pottery Barn, placing her catalogs in all the right spots and even perching her cat perfectly at the foot of the bed the day we toured the house. They are going buh-bye and are being replaced by super cute red drapes (actual Pottery Barn, in your face, you Pottery Barn poser). They only reason they even are PB is because I was showing St Pauly Boy the "type" of drapes I wanted to put up and he goes "just get those". Ohhhhhkay then. Maybe I should have given him a moment to evaluate, but I hoped on the phone so quickly, he didn't really get the opportunity. Besides, I evened us all out by ordering the master bedroom roman shades from JC Penny. Yes, the same JC Penny where your grandma shops.

And SPB and I are even close to agreeing on wall colors for the office and the master bedroom (a.k.a. 2nd teeny little box in the back of our house). And that in itself is a huge feat. Considering when I asked SPB what colors would be acceptable for bridesmaids dresses when we were planning our wedding, he said black or gray. GRAY. WTF?

But really what I'm getting at with this long-winded post is that I'm becoming obsessed with home improvement. Ob-sessed. (And for some reason I can't stop repeating myself in order to accentuate a word, what is that about??). I want to do everything right. now.

Maybe I just need to go to the bar and chill the hell out.

Gross

In March I have to go to this conference in Nashville for work and I just found out that the closing event is a concert with the Charlie Daniels Band and Jo Dee Messina.

EW!

I loathe country. It makes my insides hurt. It's bad enough that I have to travel on one of the rare weeks that St Pauly Boy is actually scheduled to be HOME, but a fucking country concert??? omg. I'm going to be forced to drink mass amounts of canned beer that night. Hopefully that will help me forget my surroundings.

In the town, where I was born....

lived a man who sailed the sea
and he told us of his life
in the land of submarines
so we sailed up to the sun
till we found the sea of green
and we lived beneath the waves
in our yellow submarine

we all live in a yellow submarine
yellow submarine
yellow submarine
we all live in a yellow submarine
yellow submarine
yellow submarine

I hope you all have this song in your head now and are singing it to yourselves and tapping your feet along with the tune. Because that's what I was just doing.

Shut UP you stupid sheep!!

So, we're hanging out, driving our rental car around on the Dingle Peninsula in Ireland, right? We're about 8 days in to our trip overseas, first time driving on the wrong side of the road, and we're just about getting used to it. We're twisting and turning down this beautiful windy road on the hillside, with the ocean to our left, and the greenest hill (with random sheep here and there) that you've ever seen on our right. The only thing preventing us from driving off this road and into the big blue ocean, is this wall of rocks (well, and St Pauly Boy's driving skills...nice job, honey!). This wall was hand built, from rocks all over the hillside, by the way. INSANE amount of work that must have been, lugging them up the hill with their wooden wheelbarrow. So anyway, we turn this corner and see something standing on the wall. I'm all like, what the hell is that?? Here's what I saw (by this time I had figured out what the object was):

I could spend the rest of my life in Ireland and not get tired of loving the sheep. I LOVED the sheep. It was all I could do from running up to hug them everytime we saw one....and for those of you who have been to the homeland, you know how many times that would actually be.

So we get closer.

I roll down my window and hear that the cute little sheep is talking. I squeal with excitement! Oh my god, the little sheep is talking, that's so cute honey, look at him!!! YAY SHEEP!!!!

We get even closer. At this point we're right along side of him. And with the roads being so freakishly narrow, I could reach my arm out of the car and pet him. I mean we were CLOSE. So, we stop the car where he's standing. I get my camera poised, I'm all excited, I take a picture, and all of a sudden he speaks. And what he had to say, I'm sure was profane in his sheep language. Although I'm not fluent, I am adept at understanding tone. And his tone said to me "I am p-i-s-s-e-d". PISSED.

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

I thought for a split second he was going to hop right into our car and begin his maming. But my reaction was more like SCREAM, drop the camera to the floor, St Pauly Boy slams on the gas, we peel out, fly around the corner, and leave that nasty sheep in the dust.

After we got around the corner, and we caught our breath, we were able to laugh about the angry swearing sheep. But in the heat of the moment, I feared for my safety. For my life.

But I'm not prejudiced against all sheep or anything. This was an isolated incident. I can hate that one angry sheep but it's not fair to stop loving the rest of them. I just hope that the angry-swearing-sheep-on-the-wall-in-dingle (ASSOTWID, if you will) has found the inner peace that he so badly needed. And I hope the car behind us on this road wasn't stupid enough to stop.

I will have nightmares, thank you very much.

Is this the creepiest picture you've ever seen or what? My skin is crawling a little.







It's the damn picture that St Pauly Boy is using on his instant messenger. And I don't know if I can IM him anymore because of it.

Baby Baby Baby!

We were surprised with great news tonight that our good friends Mark and Bethany had a little baby girl tonight at around 5:30pm!! She was born 4 weeks premature @ 4 1/2 pounds, but she's very healthy and is going to be just fine. They named her Emily Jean.

We're all excited for the first couple from our group of Bennies & Johnnies to start a family!

Cheers to the new parents and Baby Emily and I can't wait to crack a beer with you, B, when you're done breast feeding!!

Put Down The Moron Sandwich

It takes a certain level of humality to admit when you've been a moron. Luckily for all of you, I contain just that level, so you can all enjoy a laugh over how big of a moron I really am.

I've been meaning to sign up for my company's 401(k) program, right? So I check out our intranet, read *some* of the information (because reading an entire book about 401(k)'s is just not fitting with my attention span), print out the form, fill it out, and I'm all ready to send it in. Only, I can't figure out where and when to sent it. So I check out the HR org chart, pick a person from the benefits area, and send a little email. Not more than 2 minutes later, my phone rings. What? It's the girl from HR I just emailed. Wow, she's efficient! I'm feeling a new sense of comfort with my HR department. We exchange pleasantries, hi, how ya doing, all that stuff. Then she proceeds to tell me that....I'm already enrolled in the 401(k) program at my place of employment.

Heh?

How did that....ummmm....HEH?

Apparently last Spring, we launched a new and improved 401(k) program in which HR sent out all of the info and instructions and links to stuff to read and forms to fill out and yadahootie this, yadahootie that, yeah, I didn't read or fill anything out. At all. Never even peaked at the shit. But low and behold, included in that very important information was the fact that unless you submit a form stating that you wish NOT to be enrolled, then you were automatically enrolled. At the most conservative deduction.

Allllllllllllrightythen. I have a (*&%#$ 401(k).*

I could consider myself in the "cool 401(k) kidz club" now, but considering how it all came about, I'm withdrawing my membership to said club because MORONS should not be allowed.


*St Pauly Boy, that was for you. I'm toning down my swearing, for &%^# sake.

You Had Me At Hehrow

After a rather overwhelming & frustrating (and EARLY) meeting this morning, I need a moment to decompress and evaluate how to handle my stress. Right away I realized that I needed to tell a Stinky Pete story. We got Pete from a family friend who breed Springers. When his litter was born, we went to visit the 2 week old pups. Good LAWRD are 2 week old Springers cute. They barely had their eyes open and spent most of their time laying in a big pile in the corner of their kennel area, running into the walls when they did try to walk around, and peeing and pooping all over the floor. The stench was insane, but the second you see how cute they are, it immediately starts smelling like roses. We were advised to come back in 2 more weeks, once their eyes were open and their motor skills were more advanced, before we actually chose which dog we wanted. So that's what we did. A lot of dog owners will say they had a "moment" with their pup, when they just knew it was meant to be. This was certainly true for us. I spent some time going from pup to pup, picking them up, letting them lick my face (yes, I'm fully aware that dogs lick themselves), and so on. I got to this little guy named Nemo. He had the most perfect coloring, almost symetrical. I picked him up and knew immediately that he was our little Stinky.....he peed on me. Here's where I tell you that being peed on by the cutest puppy on the planet is very endearing. I've never been so happy to have been soiled. So, we staked our claim (with the hefty payment) and Nemo (future Stinky Pete) was set to come home with us, 3 weeks later. Here's a picture of me and Nemo/Pete, taken that very night that he chose me.


Fast forward a little over a year later. St Pauly Boy and I have just come back from our honeymoon in Ireland, after having been away from the Stinkster for two whole weeks. I was missing him pretty bad at this point. We show up to my parents house, who had taken the 2nd shift of dog-sitting, and right away I can see him in the window of the front door. He began running up and down the stairs, shaking almost violently. His tail is cropped so when he wags his stump, it literally shakes his entire ass. Well this particular day, he was so excited, I thought he might burst into flame. Either that, or suffer brain damage from the impact of the shaking in his ass. I tried to kneel down to give him kisses, but he was seizing so badly that my dad had to pick him up so that he could get him to stay still for 2 seconds so that I could give him a proper greeting. So my dad picks him up and I take his little head, hold it still in my hands, and nuzzled his face against mine (the typical puppy-speak was involved, "who's my good boooooy" and "yes you are, you're a pretty little doggers, yes you arrrrrrre"). At this moment, I felt his entire body relax a little and this drunk look came over his face. The same type of look that babies get out of the satisfaction of taking a nice long wiz in their diaper when their sitting in their high chair. Only Pete doesn't wear a diaper. Instead, he wizzed all over my dad. Drenched with puppy-pee. Victim numero dos.

He has yet to defile anyone else, but we're certainly not counting it out. And when it does happen, it'll be just as memorable as the first two times. Almost worth it, if you ask me.

Take Your Anti-Psychotics

Because this will drive you straight to the looney bin, if you let it.

Red Square Thingy

I've made it to 11.73 seconds. But I'm determined to get to 18 seconds. If I have to dedicate my life to the Red Square, I'll get to 18 seconds.

Drum Roll Please

St Pauly Boy and I have finally provided the world with a web site in which to view our photos. Please direct yourself to the "Fun Places To Go In Your Spare Time" section of this blog, on the right sidebar, OR go here:

stinkypete.org

Please note: this is not an official non-profit web site. It's non-non-profit, if you will. Nor is it FOR-profit. It just happened to be an open address. Pete's not out here to cause controversy, so just go look at the pics, dammit. We'll be updating this site frequently (or as our laziness allows) with more pics from the wedding, other people's weddings, other non-wedding related stuff (although in the last year, we haven't had a lot of non-wedding related stuff, so bear with us), and general fun stuff.

Hope you enjoy :)

Long Weekends Suck

Ridiculous statement, St Pauly Girl. Put down your crack pipe, St Pauly Girl. You craaaaazy.

No. I'm not.

I find that the pain of work re-entry outweighs the overall sense of relaxation and happiness brought on by having one, just one, extra day off during your weekend. Perhaps this re-entry pain has been accentuated by the 8am meeting I had on my first day back from the "glorious" long weekend. Not only is it not good for me to be forced to re-enter the work place under such circumstances, but it's highly unhealthy for my coworkers, who have to wear a shield to protect them from the shit that I'm spitting all over the place with my less-than-stellar attitude today. And when I think back to yesterday, the much anticipated extra day off, and how I actually watched an episode of Days Of Our Lives, I realize the truth. No, it's not that Belle and Shawn Douglas are really meant to be together (although that is so totally true), but that I am to blame for my piss poor attitude towards the long weekend luxury. If perhaps I got my ass off of the couch and accomplished something yesterday while dear St Pauly Boy was slaving away at work bringin home his portion of the "bacon", maybe I would think that long weekends serve a very good purpose. Perhaps my life would have purpose.

But no. I wasted it away watching daytime smut followed by a cute but ridiculously stupid Kate Hudson movie (Raising Helen) on Encore. And because of that, the re-entry into the workplace is getting off to a very rocky start. I'm pretty sure that within 10 seconds of my arrival, I had already offended someone to the extent that they may never talk to me again.

Someone please tell me that I'm not alone in this. Please tell me there's help for someone like me. Please tell me I'm not a horrible person for being crabby on a Tuesday morning after the dreaded long weekend.

Please.

VERY Important Question

Sausage links or sausage patties?

I prefer links, myself.

Introducing - Stinky Pete

How could I have this blog for less than 24 hours and NOT show off the cute lil' doggers?? Well, here he is, in all his glory!

He was just a little guy in this photo. Deceivingly cute.


"Stop taking my fucking picture, dad"


"We're gonna win, Twins, we're gonna score" (yes, he sings it)

Now you can all (all 2 of you, anyway) jump on me when I bitch about how annoying he is and be all like, "ohhhhh, but he's soooooooooooooooooo cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuute". And I'll be all, "pipe it, he sucks".

Little Orphan Annie Is Messing With My Head

I watched Annie on TV like two weeks ago and ever since, I've had the stupid song from that radio show stuck in my head. You know the one. It goes like this........

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly
They stand out a mile --
But Brother,
You're never fully dressed
Without a smile!

Who cares what they're wearing
On Main Street,
Or Saville Row,
It's what you wear from ear to ear
And not from head to toe
(That matters)

I was all excited to see Annie again, when I stumbled across it on TV. But it's going on 12 days (or something) and I'm about to commit a serious act of violence* if I can't get this fucking song out of my head!!!!!

*Disclaimer - statement not to be taken literally (for those of you who don't get sarcasm)

Home Again

St Pauly Boy just returned from one of his regular trips to CA for work. He's out there every other week. And I'm home with Pete. It's all good though, we're used to the distance.

But here's the real issue. St Pauly Boy came home wearing, yes, that gray sweater. That goddamn gray sweater that he wears FIVE TIMES A WEEK. With no observation that you shouldn't wear the same thing two days in a row, at least not when you're going into an office to see the same people. Or unless you got super drunk the night before and had to crash at some random's house. Obviously that's not his problem. His problem is that he loves that stupid fucking sweater. Now, don't get me wrong, it's a nice sweater. He looks good in it and that's all cool and stuff, but I am so tired of seeing this sweater, that I could honestly barf. I wish I could get it off of him for more than 5 minutes so I could give it to Pete as a new play toy. Then for sure we'd never see it again, because Pete would tear it up and eat the remains.

The issue with the sweater is so bad that I honestly wouldn't even hug him one day, when I got home from work, because I'm so sick of the sweater. He pouted. Big time. And then he came into the room and offered me a deal. He promises that he won't wear the sweater when the two of us are out in public together. Petty, you say? Sure. I can admit that. But the thing is, even the cocktail waitresses at our neighborhood pub tease him about this sweater. All of our friends tease him about the sweater. My family teases him about the sweater. We even got a call from the Pope the other day, who's also tired of the fucking sweater.

My response to the deal was to request that we get a lawyer present to draw up the terms of the agreement so we could sign them into a sort of Post-Nup.

When I was stressing about what to get him for Christmas this year (desperately wanting to get him alternatives to the sweater, but he's so picky, I had gift-buyers-fright and couldn't perform), my brother suggested that I steal the sweater and give it to him for Christmas. That would have been the best gift ever, except I couldn't get it away from him for an afternoon, much less be able to wrap it and give it to him on Christmas Eve.

You'll hear more about this. I know you will. It's a controversy in our house. But hey, if that's the biggest problem we have in our marriage, then shit, we're good.

Welcome to the Jungle

I'm launching this blog and I'm not really sure why. All I know is that some of my friends have blogs and they are addicting. Like crack. Not that I would know, but from what I've heard, crack is pretty damn addicting. So addicting, in fact, that doctor's, on an episode of Real Stories from the ER, found a crack pipe and a baggie full of crack, in a crevice of this woman's body, a crevice that normally things aren't inserted into unless you're getting a pap smear or having "relations", and she was all in a coma and shit. THAT is addiction. But I digress. I find myself addicted to blogs and because of this addiction, I also find myself with an abnormal amount of random thoughts going through my head and a little voice above them going "bloooooogggggg meeeeeeee". I'm just doing what I was told. I've always been a very obedient girl. Sort of.

With all that crap said, here's the thing about my blog. I don't particularily give a shit about grammar. I like to swear. I don't always know how to use a semicolon correctly, so I tend not to use them at all. If one is needed and it's not there, I don't fucking care.

And don't expect very much substance here. More than not, this will just be my senseless ramblings. OH, and I'm not a writer. I guess if you're bored, then go find another blog. It won't hurt my feelings.

So here I go.