Sunday, June 26, 2011

The Trouble with Terriers - Part 3

Dustin's been a bit of a moaner and whiner, whimpering some sort of garble about lousy Zoe hogging the spotlight and raining on his one doggy parade.  Problem is...this needy little mutt, this Jack-Rat concoction, hasn't rocked my world lately with any newsworthy events.  Personally I rejoice, thinking this is the greatest thing to happen since before he hitched a ride to the residence, but he obviously sees it quite differently.  I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt, and have agreed to let him write his own post with the stipulation that it has to be somewhat interesting or I'll nix it, no ifs ands or buts.

He disappears before I finish expounding on my rules, and reappears with a post already scribbled out.  Being somewhat dexterously challenged, he says he's conned Zoe into putting his words to post.  Wait a minute!  Did he say conned?  I don't think Zoe's a feline of a connible nature.  More like one of a cannibalistic nature.  Me thinks she's been messing with his smarts, he's been duped by the best, I'm thinking he's going to be quite sorry.

But he's all in a tizzy, bouncing all over the place, so I give Zoe my cushy chair and the keyboard, and am astounded at the lightning speed she completes his post and pounces on that publish post button without even a preview.












A rat of a terrier, I eat, pee, poop
tidbits from the cat pan I scoop
I delight in being a nincompoop
I'm an idiotic moronic dupe.

I messes my fat hinny
I'm so terrifically whinny
my looks are hillbilly grimy
says my significant mommy.

Stork pecked my brains away
on my dubious delivery day
but my life's a sunshiny ray
when sweet Zoe comes to play.

If you see me sometime
and you have any toy of mine
just stick it where my sun don't shine
and I'll love you mucho big time.
by Her Imperial Majesty
Zoe, Queen of the House of Victor

I rush to delete after reading her gibberish, but Zoe's threatened to do unspeakable things with the bed I tuck into at night and the list goes on and on and on, an act of despicable service for each word I try to delete.

Sorry Dustin...even a dog has to learn a hard lesson at times.  Repeat after me:  Zoe is not your best friend, Zoe is not your best friend, Zoe is not your best friend, Zoe is not your best friend, Zoe is not your best friend...

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Look What The Dog Did!

It is a well documented phenomenon among cat keepers that if kitty is deposited into a room as big as a football field with a pair of $250 sandals sitting by themselves surrounded by a vast field of emptiness, kitty will upchuck its hairball right in the center of one of them.

Never has it been recorded since the time kitty was created by an experiment gone terrifically haywire, that kitty at the onset of its sudden urge to regurgitate all that ingested fluff, will rush like a bolt of lightning to that linoleum or tile floor to save its human the agony of retching a hairball themselves while transporting that wad of paper towel soaked through with gunk to the nearest trash receptacle.

Kitty keepers agonize even more over the certainty that if kitty is not going to keep its just consumed vitals contained in its delicate little tummy, they'll be cleaning all that semi-digested tidbits from the upholstered armchair, canister vacuum cleaner controls, stove top burner, sports jacket on bed, half paid bills on table, computer keyboard, dvd player, opened get it.  Kitties love clutter.  Triggered into upchuck mode, a chemical transformation compels kitty to zero in on their humans clutter as a source of comfort when all that retching commences, filling them with a tranquilizing aura of satisfaction.

This was told to me by Zoe, so it must be true.  She says we have only ourselves to blame when kitty loves us so much.  I'm beginning to think she's pulling my leg a bit too much. 

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Sometimes a bad everything day will stick around for the rest of ones life.

Sometimes a bad everything day will stick around for the rest of ones life.  You know...disturbing complexion, a day when hair superabounds super abundantly, and then all that heredity stuff like lumpy nose, short changed chin, and a buck tooth hillbillyish smile; and...oh yippie yi yah...its the annual photo shoot day at school once again.

It's morally reprehensible that my humorously sardonic parents ever even once thought of putting one of those photos into a stamped envelope to proclaim to all the relatives that they were indeed parenting an anomaly from nature, a weed among the roses...but they did, and they did it again and again as each year came and went, and a new photo replaced the old.

I grew up plastered to walls, and if I could morph into one I did.  I tried to be the most invisible wallflower in existence.  Past twenty-one and working, a chat with the local Freddy Krueger dentist expounding on how he could improvise improve my smile, sent me panicking to a distant orthodontist for an old fashioned teeth straightening job.  A peep hole in my lips always reminds me that it once surrounded a rogue toothy gone rabid.

Life has granted me an insanely immense amount of high quality BAD hair days, hair inflating to massive proportions, every one of those hundred billion shafts of dead weight swelling with a frizzing frenzy, bloating beyond belief into a nightmare I get to share with all in my immediate space.  I've settled for a layered top to bottom frizzy almond shaped haircut as a lesser evil to the frizzy Christmas tree shaped haircut, drenching it in a no frizz concoction for a curly Stoogedo.

I still have the photos...eleven reminders that I started out soooo loved by the camera, and ended up so tortured by its unforgiving frankness, even though I had all the help one could possibly ask for from home cut hair bathed in globs of creme rinse and slathered through and through with dippity-do.  When all else failed, there was always the option of those cutesy braided pig tails.

The ONLY reason the senior photo escaped being a testament to my anomalies is because, underneath all that lovely hair, there must have been at least thirty-two bobby pins holding every inch of that frizzy mess in impeccable layers of beauty.

First impressions sometimes mean absolutely nothing at all, and sometimes they mean much more than one could possibly ever imagine. 


Saturday, June 4, 2011

A Whole Lot of Nothing


A whole lot of nothing.

Sigh, sigh, sigh...

My head's empty.

Not empty of stuff to dwell on in words.  Just empty of stuff I feel like typing out any kind of words on at all.

Miss my Jesse terribly, miss my husband too terribly.

Jack Rat Terrier pines for Ms. Carol who walks him every day.

Andee cat makes appearances at computer time, dinner time, and five minutes at bedtime.

Miss Zoe's a figment of my imagination, only reassuring me that she is real when two blurs speed by...a tabby one losing ground fast to a black one out to kill.

I'm forced to continue the photo shoots of the gardens, as nature and weather could care less what I would like them to be, and they wait for no one, especially me.  A missed week could mean a year to wait for next chance of a specific burst of blooms.

Gardens have stopped their quest to smother everything, meekly tucking in for the long haul of scorching, rainless, yet still unbearably humid HEAT.  It's just June 4...I think I'll be tucking in for the long haul myself come July and August.

Does anyone in the south ever really look forward to above 100 degree weather even once during any summer?  I'm realizing this year could be multiple 100 degree days, and that has me doing cartwheels and somersaults of hysteria.  Alright already...I'm thinking it anyway.  If I exerted my bodacious body today in this high 90's sauna, I'd be clocking out of life on the fast track.

Isn't this the weather we long for the most in the middle of winter, and the weather we loathe beyond puking in the middle of summer?  Is there never any pleasing us?

What's bold enough to bloom in an explosion of brilliant color under fiery sun, and laugh at cracks forming in the clay under blistering bathing beauties roasting away in that breathless air of lovely toaster oven warmth...I raise my glass of ice packed frigid water in a toast to all you tenacious little squirts who have never even thought of that word "impossible".

Clematis viticella 'Abundance'

Bottlebrush Grass

Daylily 'Mary Ellen'

New Jersey Tea

Butterfly Weed

Arbor husband put together and secured in prairie gardens,
during his vacation in the states

Coneflower 'White Swan'
Siamese Twins

Asiatic Hybrid Longiflorum Lily 'My Fair Lady'

Native Passion Flower

Arbor husband put together and secured to patio,
during his vacation in the states

Swamp Rose

Viburnum nudum 'Winterhur'
with pollen covered little black beetle

Those little buggers are still making whoopie.

Sideoats Grama Grass blooming

Daylily 'Todd Monroe'

Veronica 'Goodness Grows'

Fragrant Sumac

Shrubby Hypericum

Southern Highbush Blueberry 'Sunshine Blue'
plus Northern Highbush Blueberries

White Gaura with insect 

Purple Coneflower - Echinacea pupurea

Tennessee Coneflower - petals do not curve backwards

Balloon Flower ready to open

Opened Balloon Flower with friend

Front Screen Door

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