Fossil.

Since we only have a few weeks of “outside” weather down in the dirty, dirty south, I’ve been trying to take full advantage of the few days that we call spring.  Now that Anna is no longer scared of grass, she likes taking full advantage of the outside as well.  In fact, she’s no longer happy being inside.  She spends the entire day crying at the front door.  I spend the entire day crying at my computer desk.  An evil part of me wishes I could zap Anna’s memories of the outside – kind of like Will Smith in Men in Black.  Don’t get me wrong, I love that my child embraces the outdoors, but this constant need to be in touch with mother nature is making me a little insane.

So, giving in to my child, once again, we made a trek outside to the backyard.  The backyard provides no comfort, no relaxation, no Pottery Barn-esque tables and chairs.  So, I sit on the cold concrete while Anna plays in the weeds.  One day we’ll get a swing set, I promise.  Anna doesn’t care at this point.  She’s happy playing with sticks and fossils. 


Fossils?  Yes, fossils. 


You see, Anna is at the stage of life where she finds everything and brings it to me.  Much like a cat bringing its prized dead mouse to its owner, Anna is always very proud of her finds.  She runs up to me with a big smile on her face, and then she deposits a piece of lint or a stick into my hand.  I make a big deal out of it, congratulate her for being such a great finder of things, and then she goes on to find other random bits.  Lather, Rinse, repeat. 


On this particular day, I notice Anna looks especially excited about her latest find.  She holds it in her hand very carefully and runs it over to me.  As she gets closer, this is my thought process…


::What is she holding in her hand?  Is it a stick?  No.  Is it a bug?  No.  Is it an animal?  No.  Why is it white?  There shouldn’t be anything white in our yard?  It looks rather large and lumpy, so I know it’s not a rock.  It’s…It’s…::


A piece of fossilized dog crap. 


Anna found one of Cosmo’s old presents and took it upon herself to bestow it upon her mother.  How lucky am I to have such a kind and giving child?  And how lucky are we to have antibacterial hand soap? 


Man, do we need a swing set.  And some outside toys that aren’t fossilized pieces of dog crap.


Here are some pictures from another outside adventure day.  Please excuse the weeds.
 
She finds something very, very funny.  Either that or she’s passing gas.  It’s hard to tell. This was before Joe cut the grass.  I told you there were lots o’ weeds!  Anna has found a stick.  It’s not dog crap, I promise. She’s tempting Cosmo with the stick. Cosmo stole the stick.  Anna has decided to stack Cosmo’s bowls on my leg. They spilled. Cosmo is whispering sweet nothings in Anna’s ear.  Curls.  I wonder where she gets them from?

Sneaux day.

Louisiana is the armpit of the sun.  It’s hot, it’s humid, it’s miserable here in the summer.  You walk from your car to your house and melt in a puddle on the cement.  There’s no hope for your hair.  With the humidity, my hair looks like Don King’s hair puked on it.

So, it’s quite alarming and a tad bit exciting when it snows, er sneauxs, here.  Everything shuts down like it’s the end of the world.  People stock up on bread, milk and cheese.  Schools close, kids make mini-snowmen out of the 1” of snow that manages to stick on the ground.  It’s glorious!  It’s already snowed twice this winter season, and it also snowed last December (2008) – just a few weeks shy of Christmas.  I believe it’s because my child was born.  She’s graced Louisiana with white winters.  You can donate to her college fund as a thank you for all that she’s done for this state. 

Here's Anna's first white Christmas – 12/11/2008.

This was actually a very beautiful snowfall.  It reminded me of the “blizzards” we used to have up north.  The snow stayed on the ground for almost a week. 

Here she is outside.  In the snow.  On a very cold day.  CPS, anyone?  

Brrrr!

Even Cosmo got in on the action!


So, here's this year's sneaux pictures!

Kinda pitiful in comparison, right?  Oh well, everything still shut down.  Snow day!  Woot!

Here’s my little girl looking at the snowflakes.  The last time it snowed, she was in an infant carrier seat and a bouncy.  Now she’s standing and walking and running.  My, how time flies!  (I just noticed she had my TV remote in her hand.  I haven’t seen it since that day.  Blargh!)

So, I want to thank God for deeming Louisiana fit to take part in the white washing that normal states get. We enjoyed it, even if it lasted for 5.5 seconds and melted right away. At least I have pictures to prove that it did sneaux in the dirty dirty south.

Do the humpty hump.

My dog has a fetish with humping things. He's neutered, he's no longer a puppy, so why does he hump everything in sight?

A pillow...he'll hump it.

A bed spread...he'll hump it.

Anna's boppy...he'll hump it.

My leg...he'll hump it.

A can of peas...he'll hump it.

Other dogs...he'll hump them.

A bobby pin...he'll hump it.

A pack of tick tacs...he'll hump it.

You get the picture. He'll hump anything. It's a tad bit digusting when you look around and see your dog deflowering your child's pink and brown boppy pillow. Then five minutes later he's deflowering your leg.

What is wrong with him? He's probably chafed by now.

I don't have any pictures of him humping anything because I wouldn't feel right about being involved in puppy porn, but I do have a picture of him with his head stuck in a Ruffles bag. That makes about as much sense.

Cosmo’s new duds.

My friend Kent from Peachy Keen Designs made a collar for Cosmo! I'm neglectful and haven't bought the ol' pooch a new "necklace" in years. It's probably because I'm lazy. I hate taking off his tags and putting them on a new collar.

Pitiful much?

So, without further ado, here's my handsome and crazy pup modeling his newest bling!

Here he is sitting like a good boy.

And here he is running away.


And here he is locked in the bathroom because he won’t quit running away.

Why did we want a lab again?

Who Wants a Pork Chop?

The back story...

I don't eat pork chops. So, what's with the blog name? My life, to be quite honest, is comedic. The random stuff that happens to me on a monthly, daily, hell, hourly basis is definitely blog-worthy. Or maybe I'm the only one who thinks so?

So, what's with the obsession with pork chops? Please keep reading.

To help you better understand my story, here's a little picture of the front door of my house.





This picture was taken before we moved in - the yellow and white papers on the door are not eviction notices, I promise. As you can see, the main section of the door is glass, so if anyone wanted to rob us blind, all they'd have to do is take a peek to see our goods. Once inside, they'd be disappointed to find that the only valuable thing we own is a broken camera and a Simple Human trash can.

On with it. God, I totally ramble. You will get used to this.

So, one night my husband (Joe) and I were sitting on the couch watching the tele. This is what boring people like us do every night. Halfway through whatever brainless program we were watching - probably a DVRd episode of Springer - I decided that I was thirsty and much too lazy to get up and fix myself a glass of tea. So, I lovingly asked my dear husband to fix me a drink. He just sat there and pretended he didn't hear me, much like he usually does. To sweeten the pot, I figured I'd give him a little flash of the ta-ta. What man can resist a boob the size of a small grape? Hell, a raisin? My man can't!

I called his name, and when he turned to look at me, I began the ta-ta flash process. Shirt was up, ta-ta was exposed, doorbell rings. Ding Dong. Here's the problem. You see my door. We had on the living room light and it was dark outside, no porch lights were on. The doorbell rang at the exact moment that my shirt was in mid-air. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that whomever was on the other side of that door got to see the goods. It was Mardi Gras 1998 all over again.

I kid, I kid.

Being the brave woman I am, I ran as quickly as I could to my bedroom to hide. Nothing like making it even more obvious, eh? Joe answers the door. It's our neighbor, and he's come bearing gifts. Er, a gift. Just one gift. That gift was a...

...

...

porkchop.

Just one porkchop. Not two. Just one. He came all the way over to our house to bring US (meaning Joe and me) ONE porkchop. We had never really even spoken to this man before and he randomly comes over to bring dinner for one person when he knows there are two people living in the house? That, my friends, was the most hilarious part of all. He got to see my boobs and all I got was a lousy pork chop that I didn't even get to eat because Joe woofed it down before I came out from hiding.

Niiice.

My friends have never let me live this down. They chose this blog name for me, and I hope to do them proud.

The contents of this blog will be random musings about my life, love, family, health, etc. There will be no structure here, so if you like a structured, predictable blog, leave.

Just kidding...sorta.

Here are a few of the topics up for discussion here (although ANYTHING and EVERYTHING goes):

My precious baby girl Anna.





My marriage.





My wonderful family.



My dog Cosmo.



My cat Harley.



My cat Chloe.



My sick obsession with American Idol and most reality television.



One Pork chop.


Until we meet again.

Betcha Can't Eat Just One.

I'd just gotten finished eating lunch and inadvertently placed the Ruffle's chip bag on the counter within Como's reach (he's a serious potato chip freak). I walked back into the living room and heard some rustling in the kitchen. When I walked in, this is what I found:

Betcha can't eat just one!

Salt Lick Chili.

So I started this challenge with the desire to become a gourmet chef. I can say "BAM" really loudly. I look semi-decent in an apron. I have a kitchen. Gourmet chef aside (who am I kidding anyway), little did I know that there are a few rules that need to be followed when preparing a meal - 1) understand the importance of looking before you pour (I'll explain later) 2) adding water isn't always a quick fix to a major cooking blunder.

Prior to this challenge, opening a microwave required too much effort. To say that I'm totally out of my element here is the biggest understatement of the year. This leads me to believe that some cosmic forces must've joined recently. I figured I should start this challenge out very slowly since I am a novice and all. Why not make a pot of chili? It was 80 degrees outside which is cold by Louisiana standards - what better way to warm your soul than with steaming bowl of spicy chili. Sounds good in theory, doesn't it? The execution wasn't as pleasant. For starters, here's some raw meat mixed with onions. Simple enough. Now that I no longer have to chop the onions myself - thanks to my lil' Black & Decker processor - my life is much easier.



After the meat was fully browned, I added the following:

• 1 teaspoon ground black pepper
• 7000 teaspoons of garlic salt
• 2 1/2 cups tomato sauce
• 1 (8 ounce) jar salsa
• 4 tablespoons chili seasoning mix
• 1 (15 ounce) can light red kidney beans
• 1 (15 ounce) can dark red kidney beans

Notice anything out of the ordinary above? Look again, will ya? Being from Louisiana and all, I like my food very flavorful. Flavorful, by my standards, means lots of Tony's and lots of salt. My love of salt does have its limits, though. For example, when my pores shrivel up and die from lack of hydration, I know I've added too much salt. When I no longer have saliva to help dissolve the food in my mouth, I know I've added too much salt. This chili, my friends, was salty. I'm not just talking salty like "Let me take a sip of this water" salty I'm talking salty like "I will drink out of the toilet if it will satisfy my thirst" salty. And it was all my fault. Guilty. I opened up the garlic salt on the wrong side and poured it out with a vengeance. All over my chili. Everywhere. My beautiful chili was ruined. Or was it?



Looks pretty enough, doesn't it? That's b/c I added tons of water to it. Ya know water totally covers up any salt issues you may have. Yeah, I didn't believe it when I said it out loud either. So, my chili was ruined, but perhaps if I added tons of cheese to it, Joe would be none the wiser. Prior to serving it to Joe, I thought I'd make some cornbread. Yum, cornbread. I don't have any cupcake cups, so I decided to make it in a pan - a pan that was too big for it - a pan I forgot to grease. This is the end result of that fiasco.


Lovely, it all stuck to the pan. It was as flat as a pancake. It broke two of my teeth.



Eh, who cares - why not serve it to Joe anyway? Cut it up in very artistic shapes, plate it to make it look really nice, and he'll be none the wiser. Throw some cheese on the Salt lick chili and wala! After a painful 10 - 15 minutes of watching Joe die of dehydration, I decided to put him out of his misery and ask him if it was too salty. He looked at me with a scared look in his eyes and muttered "Just a little bit" - what a trooper, eh?

Fast forward a bit... While I was cleaning the dishes in the kitchen, I decided to feed a few of the cornbread scraps to Cosmo. I know, I'm an awful pet mom. After breaking two of his teeth on the bread, he can no longer close his mouth. This is his permanent expression now.



To add insult to injury, I walked into the bathroom after the dishes were put away and Joe was gulping water from the faucet. Yes, it was that bad. Moral of the story - next time you oversalt a dish, throw it out. With the exception of the salt, the chili was actually excellent. I think I'll make it again one day but remember which end is up on the salt shaker! Here's the link to the recipe for anyone who is interested:

http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Debdoozies-Blue-Ribbon-Chili/Detail.aspx

Why men and fire should never mix.

So, I get a phone call from Joe around 3:30 on Friday. There's nothing unusual about that at all. However, we've been together for about 8 years now, and I know him almost better than I know myself. From the second I picked up the phone, I knew he did something that would a) get him in trouble or b) get him in trouble. You see, unbeknownst to Joe, his voice changes a few octaves when he's up to something. Sometimes "the change" happens when he's trying to butter me up because he wants to make a big purchase (ex. our brand new grill) and sometimes it happens when he's done something bad and is trying to soften the blow (ex. what he did on Friday).

Here's a brief re-cap of our conversation:

Joe: Hey, I love you.
Me: What did you do?
Joe: Nothing (voice gets higher)
Me: Yeah right, what did you do?
Joe: Nothing, I swear (starting to sound like Mickey Mouse)
Me: Uh huh
Joe: Ok, are you sitting down? (voice is nearly inaudible at this point - dogs are coming out in droves from the high pitch)
Me: *silence*
Joe: Well, I kind of burned up our back yard.
Me: What do you mean "kinda"
Joe: Well, I left a box burning and it kinda spread throughout our yard and burned the grass up.
Me: How much of our grass is burned?
Joe: Not much
Me: Really?
Joe: Really! (mouse pitch again)
Me: *silence*
Joe: Ok, the entire yard, but at least we didn't burn down the neighbors house.
Me: *silence*
Joe: It's not so bad, you'll see.

We hung up the phone with one another because I don't really like talking about family matters and such while I'm at work. I guess at that point I didn't realize just how bad it was.
So, I get home from work and walk to the backyard. Looks like a vast wasteland, something you'd see on a National Geographic special. I partially expected Bear Grylls to pop out in all of his glorious hotness and start eating pieces of the charred grass because it has protein and tastes like steak. Poor Cosmo was outside playing hopscotch jumping from one section of grass that hadn't been fried to another section of grass that was still alive. He's a diva dog.

Just incase you're thinking "Nah, it can't be THAT bad!" here's photographic proof. Don't say I didn't warn you. By the way, this is only a small section of our yard. The burned grass stretches from one end of our yard to the next, stopping about an inch from our neighbor's fence. I think I heard, "You know, this is GOOD for our grass, it'll grow in nicely in a few weeks" about 50 times. I guess we'll find out in a few weeks if that's true!

Enjoy!

Is Beano Safe for Dogs?

My dog farted so loudly in his sleep that he actually woke himself up and started to bark.

Moral of the story...

Own a dog and you'll never stop laughing.

Cosmo Wong.

Here are the invites I made for my sister's upcoming lingerie shower/bachelorette party. They are tea-length. I'm pretty pleased with how they turned out considering it was a last minute whim kinda thing. ;)





Every once in a while Cosmo will do something so cute, so random, so ridiculously odd that there are really no words to describe it - so, I took some pictures.

Yes, that's Cosmo, and yes, that's a piece of black paper dangling from his mouth. He sat there staring at me with this piece of paper in his mouth for a good two minutes - totally oblivious of its presence. It's something akin to having broccoli stuck in your teeth and being totally unaware of it while you're talking to everyone you see.

Even better yet, he looks asian in these pictures. Cosmo Dong Nguyen.