Bounty really does clean up our spills

JR: Sammie, if you stopped eating paper towels, maybe your butt wouldn't be so clogged!

Mark: Yeah, but at least she's self-wiping.

I'm JR, and I take inappropriate pictures of my dog.

This post is all about butts and bodily functions.

"You can look at my butt cheeks, just not my butt crack!"

"Ok, fine, fine, butt cheek, butt cheek, no crack. Just one big butt cheek."

Silence.

"One SMALL buttcheek! Small!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is where it gets gross, because we are gross people.

First of all, you should know that Mark and I talked A LOT about farts and poop. That's just how we roll.

Secondly, you need to know about our special occasions. We always have names for birthday weekends and anniversaries, etc. And we tend to reuse the same phrase because it makes us laugh. I don't know why.

So, from Friday night through Tuesday night, we called our weekend the Anniversary Weekend Extravaganza Blowout. And here's how you pronounce it: Happy Anniversary Weekend EXTRAAAVAGAAAAAAAAAANZA blowout. The blowout is always said small, like an afterthought.

Thirdly, you need to remember that we talk about farts and poop a lot.

With that knowledge in your heads, I give you the following conversation. It took place at a small German restaurant on Sunday night in Fredericksburg.

Mark was having Jagar Schnitzel, which is fried pork and mushrooms. HEAVEN.

JR: Can I have another bite? Yummmmm... You know, mushrooms give me the farts.

Mark: JR, that's why we call it a blowout.

JR: Well sure, except I haven't pooped today.

Mark: Me neither. And JR, that's why we call it an EXTRAAAVAGAAAAAAAAANZA.


Maybe you had to be there. But I swear, Jagar Schnitzel almost came out my nose.

Name that frog!!!

Many of the people who read this blog have attended Mark & JayAre's Super Awesome Superbowl Blowout.* Therefore, most of you know about the tackiness. But for those of you that don't, or may not have noticed, let me explain...

Mark and I love tacky stuff.

Our plan is to eventually have the office in our house be filled with trashy decorations. Ironically, of course. The rest of the house will be perfectly nice.**

Let me give you some examples of a few items already in place in the office:

First, we have the Falstaff Beer Plastic Light-Up Trophy. I found this in my grandma's closet and had to have it. Apparently, it was my grandfather's. I never knew the man, but I can safely wager that he must have been neat-o:

Next, we have the Live Nudes Neon Sign That We Got At The Company Christmas Party***. I love White Elephant gift exchanges. I came home with a case of beer and Mark came home with this:

Thirdly, we have the obligatory Roseanne Barr Style Dogs Playing Poker Poster. This hangs right over Mark's computer:

So, here's the best part. When we were in Fredericksburg, we were walking down the street, possibly drinking some beer, when Mark stopped in front of a store and said, "Look at that."

It was a giant frog statue. Wearing a chef apron that says "Kiss the Cook" and a chef hat that has a giant kiss print on the top. Seriously.

So, we walk up to the statue and are marveling at it. First of all, it's tacky. Secondly, I collect frogs. It's listed as being $125, but it's on clearance for $40. Just as I am explaining to Mark that "this is the tackiest thing I've ever seen" the owner of the shop walks out. He says, "I'll sell you that tacky frog for $25."

I look at Mark, he looks at me, we look at the frog, Sammie barks, and Mark pulls out his wallet.

Now, the frog will eventually end up in the tacky room. But for now, we love it too much to banish it that far away. So it is living in the kitchen.

Please note the oregano that is actually growing. I will be accepting compliments on Monday between 3 and 4 pm.

Anyway, here's the part we need help with: naming the frog. I name EVERYTHING. No, really, everything. Ask me the name of any of my belongings, cars, the house, whatever, I promise you I have named it.

So far, we have come up with Chef Toad English, Chef Bobby Frog, and Chef Toadimoto. We are leaning towards Chef Toad English, but are welcoming any and all suggestions.

Also, we have absolutely NO IDEA what the holes are for - there's one in his left hand that I think is for a flag pole- it came with a rolled up Confederate flag shoved in there, but I threw that away. There's another hole in his left hand that is too big for a flag, and two in his apron. All the holes are too small for beer, bottled or canned, we already tried. Our only other thought is maybe for Herb (cause there's a fucking H in it) growing. Any ideas on that?

*Seriously, it's SUPER AWESOME. And you know what would make it even more awesome? Awesome-er, if you will? IF THE FREAKING COLTS WOULD GO TO THE DAMN SUPERBOWL. Geez.

**With the exception of Mark's Gigantic Television. Because he likes to watch Keith Olberman larger than life... Mark is reading over my shoulder and says that his TV is not tacky. I responded with, "But it's not perfectly nice." He is now pointing out that it is perfectly nice, unless of course I want him to get the 72 inch TV. Because he feels that would of course be less tacky than the 65 inch. Of course. Anyway.

***Rumor holds that anytime this sign is lit I must get naked. Mom and Dad, I promise it's not true.

(Thank you to Mark, for acting as my hand model in the first two pictures.)

It's an actual place full of people's crap

Barb: So, I went to a baby shower a while back, and it turns out it was all a big lie.

JR: There wasn't really a baby shower? You went to nothing?

Barb: Oh no, there was a shower. There was no BABY. She made it all up.

Brit: What? How?

Barb: She just told everyone she was pregnant and we all believed her. She just admitted she made it up because everyone was asking 'Where's the baby?'

Brit: That's insane.

JR: Did she LOOK pregnant?

Barb: No, she never gained any weight.

{crickets chirping}

JR and Brit: Umm..... Why did you believe she was pregnant then?

Barb: I'm actually friends with her mother. Her mother SWORE it was true.

{wow those crickets are loud}

Barb: The worst part is, she never returned any of the gifts. You would think that if you made the whole thing up you would return the gifts.

JR: True, you don't need baby stuff if there's no baby.

Brit: I wonder what she did with them.

Barb: I don't know. Maybe she sold them on the eBay.

Funny Friends and Fredricksburg

If any of you haven't checked out the website names that Jack and Amy have made up for all of their comments on my posts, you totally should. That is some damn funny shit.

I am very lucky to have friends that can bring such laughter to me at 2am.

Also, on an unrelated subject, Mark and I are leaving for Fredricksburg tomorrow morning (I should SO be in bed right now). We've rented an 1850's cabin (Original flooring! My goodness!) for the night to celebrate our anniversary. Hopefully I'll have a few stories when we get back. Since we are taking the dog with, chances are good for bad behavior stories.

I hope it's haunted. ;-)

A Letter From Sammie (from Poopville)

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

Thank you so much for buying my mama and daddy the cooler-cart. Now they are happy because the beer is more readily available, and I am happy because I can chase the draining water. Mama says I look like a batdog in this picture.

Love,
Sammie

PS - Thanks again for the BARKING chew toy. Really. Can't get enough of it.

Why couldn't I be a little dog person?

It's been a very trying month for me. Having a new puppy means that nothing you care remotely about can be left laying around anymore. And people, I am ALL ABOUT leaving things laying around. But, like Mark told me, it doesn't matter if it's a sock you don't care about, the puppy doesn't know the difference between that one and a sock you DO care about. His point was later proven when I had to pull one of my favorite Oscar the Grouch socks from her mouth. Actually, it was about half way down her throat. It may have been easier to pull from the other side.

But anyway, the existence of puppy teeth in our home has meant a big change in my lifestyle. See, I HATE SHOES. And socks. I like bare feet, cause I'm white trash. Deal with it.

So, my shoes usually get kicked off immediately upon entering the house. Socks never make it very much further. This annoys Mark to no end, who can't understand why I don't JUST WEAR SOCKS so at least I don't have cold feet all the time. I can't explain it, it's just how I roll. Mark hates having bare feet. He always has his socks on. That's just how he rolls. POLAR OPPOSITES.

Anyway, I tend to dislike pants as well. Not as intensely, but enough so that basically, our house has my clothes all over the place.

But I am not the only one. There is another culprit. Oh yes, gentle readers, I have a helper.

Bubbas.

Ever since he was a wee little kitty (and I do mean WEE - I got him at 4 weeks old), Bubbas has harbored a bit of a clothing fetish. Let me amend that, it's really more of a fabric fetish. What he does is this: He hunts down an item that appeals to him, from somewhere on the floor of either my closet, the bathroom, the bedroom, or the laundry room (all these rooms are on one side of the house). Much sniffing happens. I do not know the thought process for the final selection, but he always seems to find what he is looking for. He then straddles his find, takes as much of it as he can in his mouth, and begins the trek to the living room. Items are always taken into the living room (or entry way), never out. He straddles the item the entire way, and he also makes a low, growl-y, meow-y noise. You can ALWAYS hear him coming.

Once he makes it to the living room, he drops the item and walks away. He never looks back. "Who, me? I've never seen those jeans before. Mom! Stop leaving your clothes all over the place!"

Often we are amazed at his strength and determination. Once, when I lived in my own apartment, I came home to find my double-sized feather comforter pulled off my bed and brought into the living room. And occasionally, he hits the nail on the head. Last week I came home from work tired, sweaty, and smelly; I just couldn't wait to get out of my uniform. And there in the entry way, right in front of the door, was my bathrobe. Very convenient. Sometimes when I come home from a big lunch, cursing my jeans, I find my favorite pair of comfy pants in the living room. On those days, Bubbas is my favorite creature ever.*

So my point is, after all that digression, this last month has been rough. Trying to keep all the clothes picked up has stressed me (an Bubbas) out. But I had the hope, the light at the end of the puppy tunnel, the knowledge that one day, one day soon, Sammie would stop chewing on other people's belongings. And then I could once again leave my clothes around.

And this is still true. But now we have a bigger problem.

NOW... I have to start doing dishes the minute I finish eating off them, instead of leaving them on the counter. Unless I want them cleaned by puppy tongue. Because I just HAD TO HAVE a Great Dane.

*I took this picture right after I moved in, that's why there's a dresser in the entry way. I'm not THAT bad about getting undressed immediately. But it should be noted, the black and white on the left of the photo is my work uniform. Which means it was removed that day just inside the room.

I guess I should have saved those nasty roots

I believe it was a soaptree yucca. It actually looked like some kind of ugly-ass hybrid between a soaptree and a banana yucca, but the roots were all wet and sticky and milky inside. I think that makes it a soaptree. Just in case anyone was interested.

http://helios.bto.ed.ac.uk/bto/desertecology/yuccas.htm

Delirious with fever

So, I worked in the yard all day. MUCHO MUCHO working happened. One bush, one dead tree and one very ugly plant/yucca/palm tree type thing* (that was hateful and housed scary weird bugs) were all dug up. Weeds were pulled. Holes were filled. Flowers were planted around trees and bushes (ok, one tree and one bush). I attempted to dig out an extra fence post (one of many**) but my arms gave out after 40 minutes of digging around the concrete. There are people that might read this that will think, "So? I work in my yard all the time." Well, I DO NOT. This is a very big deal.

We have a fairly unattractive backyard. Since it is visible from the main road, at least until we get a fence in a couple weeks, I intend to beautify the ugliness as much as possible. Until I lose interest, that is. Tomorrow I will dig up a square of yard next to the house, fence it off with pretty decorative fencing that has already been purchased from the Wonder That Is Target, and plant sunflower seeds.

But tomorrow, I will wear sunblock. No matter how nice and cool it is outside, no matter whether or not I wear a hat, no matter whether or not I remember my sunglasses, no matter whether or not I remember to get dressed, I WILL WEAR SUNBLOCK. Because today... today I did not.

Granted, I have a Nicole Kidman***/Irish skin tone, so I lobsterize**** very easily and quickly. But still.

*I intend to look up the ugly hateful plant on the internet. Don't worry, I know that thousands of people are riveted by my stories, so I will report back any findings.

**Who builds fences in the middle of the yard? The guy that owned the house before Mark, that's who. He lives a few houses down from us now. I've half a mind to go down there and tell that man a thing or two.

***I'm laughing as I write this. Her complexion on three of her bodies. And not so much a beautiful milky white as a freckle-y blinding white.

****I can make all the words I want. Shut up.

Battle of the Sexes

Have any of you ever played the board game Battle of the Sexes? It's really fun. Mark and I like to bust it out when we are hanging out with either of our families. There's very little in it that isn't family appropriate (although with mine, it's not so much a concern) and it manages to make everyone look alternatingly brilliant and idiotic. Which is always important when dealing with family.

Anyway, we were playing (and drinking - did I mention MY BROTHER* did a tequila shot?) on Saturday night. Me and mom had to ask the boys, "What was Princess Diana's maiden name?"

First we were met with silence for some time. Then:

Brother: "Farga."

Everybody: "What?"

Brother: "What do you got that's better?"

Dad: "Ok."

Mark: "Of Wales."

Dad: "Ok."

Brother: "Mark my words, it's Farga."
--------------------------------------
Later in the game, mom and I had to ask them to please tell us what a chanterelle is.

Brother: "Wine... Makeup..."

Dad: "A TV show from the 60's."

Brother: "Princess Di's maiden name."

Mark: "Of Wales."
-------------------------------------

Earlier funnies (to me, at least) included:

-My father guessing at Madonna's first hit - "Daddy Don't Tell." (Before Jack** comments to tell us all what it was, I will add that it was not "Papa Don't Preach," which is what my dad was going for there. It was actually "Lucky Star.")

-We asked them what the name of the condition is that gives women hot flashes. Mark responded with, "Hold on, men... pause..."

-I had to ask them what the five mother sauces are - Mark loves cooking, but was drunk, so I said, "It's so sad that you don't know this." And my dad said, "G-spot?" (You can see that we are a very proper family.) (Also, Mark did actually come up with all five, even in his inebriated condition.) (Go ahead Jack, I left that one for you.)

-We asked the boys to name Fergie's two children. They, of course, could not (neither could the girls, for that matter). When I read the answer, "Beatrice and Eugenie," Dad replied with, "Jesus, those poor guys."

-Mom and I had to figure out what BMW stands for - neither of us being into cars in the slightest, we had no idea. After batting around several options, like "Best woMan Whatever," I came up with "Bavarian Motor Vehicles." Mark quickly amended that to be, "Weeeeeeeeehicles."

*For those of you that don't know, my brother doesn't drink. Ever. Despite much pressure from his family to do so, because, let's face it, alcohol makes you cool.

**Love you,man!

All the time with the cuteness

You will look at this picture of the Amazing Sammie of Poopville, and you will think that there couldn't possibly be anything cuter in the world.



And now I will tell you that although the Amazing Sammie from Poopville is QUITE adorable, there is in fact something cuter in this world. Yes folks, my sweet dog bows down in the face of this kind of cuteness. I am speaking, of course, about the Amazing Caleb from Cutetown. Caleb is my nephew*, and I believe he will forever hold the heavyweight title for cuteness.**



*Technically, Caleb isn't related to me. But he is my dearest friend's (Clare's) son, therefore I call him my nephew. Seriously, we're, like, totally BFF.

**Could I use the word cute a few more times?

Family

Brother: Alright, you drunken bastards.

Dad: I'm not drunk!

Mom: I'm not drunk!

JR: I'm not drunk!

Mark: I'm not a bastard!

That's just how my town rolls

See the problem is, you got you a french fry stuck in this here carburetor.

My family is visiting this weekend.

So, I'm laying in my bedroom, and my husband is in the adjoining bathroom putting in his eyeballs. My brother and dad are just outside our room, in the living room.

Brother is talking to Dad about how he read somewhere that you can run a diesel engine on used cooking oil. Therefore, he wants a diesel car.

I am doubtful of the cooking oil statement. So I ask Mark (husband), "Is it true you can run a diesel car on used cooking oil?"

"Yes. But your car will smell like a McDonald's."

"BROTHER! MARK SAY YOU CAN RUN IT ON OIL BUT IT WILL SMELL LIKE MCDONALD'S!"

"But, McDonald's doesn't really smell that bad."

"HE WOULD LIKE TO AMEND THAT STATEMENT BY ADDING THAT MCDONALD'S DOESN'T REALLY SMELL THAT BAD!"

I hear Brother laughing, then adding, "You'd have to go to McDonald's to get enough used oil anyway..."

Lovechild...Never meant to be...*

Barb: "So, I've been cleaning out my closets, getting rid of all my old stuff. I'm a packrat."

JR: "Oh yeah? Like what?"

Barb: "Oh, it was so sad, I finally got rid of my 8 track player."

{appalled stares directed at Barbara from 2 of us in our 20's}

Barb: "I had a Meatball 8 track. It was great. I LOVE Meatball. He has such an awesome voice...meatballllll... meat... meat... meat LOAF."

{Hysterical laughter}

JR: "You know, my dad met MeatLOAF. He was gonna redesign his bedroom, or kitchen, or something like that, but it fell through."

Brittany: "Did your dad call him MeatLOAF?"

JR: "I think he called him by his real name... I can't remember now.'

Barb: "Your dad is SO LUCKY. I LOVE him."

Brittany: "Yeah, you love him. What's his name again?"

Barb: "I know it's MeatLOAF, I just got confused."

JR: "Meatball is what he went by before he got big."

Brittany: "I was thinking it was Barb and Meatloaf's lovechild."



*It's stuck in your head now, isn't it?

I still haven't found it...

"Have you seen the dusting spray?"

{silence}

"I know I had it out the other day, with a rag... What did I dust?"

"You got me!"

"Oh f- off, you buttmunch! I was dusting for when Clare came over!"

"Dusting what? The bunny?"

"We have a bunny?"

"The dust bunny."

If you just asked me instead of ignoring me... I could tell you...

Me: And we serve that with our green chili cheese grits...

Customers begin to ignore me, in typical customer style.*

Customer 1: What are grits, anyway?

Customer 2: I don't know.

C 1: What are they made from?

C 2: Hominy.

C 1: I love how you southerners always say "hominy," like any of you have any f--king idea what hominy is.

C 2: Why did you ask then?


*It was a long night. I'm feeling bitter. Pardon my generalization.

If you don't know about Kevin teaching me slang, just keep moving. Nothing to see here, people.

Bro: Freaking animals.

Me: What?

Bro: They fight. I don't know what kind of animals they are. But they fight each other on the roof right over my bed.

Me: They are probably birds or squirrels or some shit.

Bro: They are definitly some shit. I only went to bed four hours ago. They are jerks.

Me: Why? Up late sexing Sarah up?

Bro: Working. I mean, yeah. Sexing up.. whatever.

Me: My animal runs in circles around the couch while I eat.

Bro: Give her a lot of food and she will stop.

Me: I gave her food and that is why she started. Something about energy, I don't know.

Bro: Well, don't put crack in it next time.

Bro again: I heard your dog got her ass kicked.

Me: No, we went there {dog park} to see if we could get her ass kicked, but then she didn't need her as kicked after all. There was no ass kicking.

Me again: There was alot of ass smelling.

Bro: Does she do what you say now?

Me: It's not us, she does listen to us. She just was playing with Winston in class on Saturday,and she was playing a little rough, and the trainer said, either it's because they were kennel mates (which they were, we already knew that) or we need to take her to the dog park to get her butt kicked. So we thought we would try the dog park just in case, but it turns out she's fine with other dogs. She only wants to eat Winston.

Bro: That's because Winton's a little bitch. I heard they trade him for smokes.

Me: Yo, mos def.*

Bro: Mos Def?

Me: Yeah, dude. It's slang. Keep up.

Bro: It's not slang. It's a guy. He's an actor. Good one too.

Me: I know. It's also slang.

Bro: Oh.

Me: He was a rapper first.

Bro: Yeah, but he was a lousy rapper. Great actor.

Me: YOUR MOM is a lousy rapper.

Bro: That is correct.



*I do realize that this is quite possibly the incorrect usage of "mos def." However, I'm just glad I got it into a conversation.

Mark and his leftover Lo Mein

"I'm not sure I can eat all of this... But it is a beautiful presentation, you gotta admit that."