@thebiglybestestdoggie: I am happiness. I am a blessing. And I make people smile. The moral of the story? It obviously pays to be adorable! I think I’m on to something here…
~Happy Tuesday, friends! Doggies really do equal happiness, don’t they? Just look at that smile!~
The struggle of being a former New Yorker/Washingtonian/Arizonan in an excessively friendly southern state is all too real.
One of the hardest things about being a transplant in the south is the challenging adjustment of having to talk to people.
Especially extraordinarily friendly people, because they make me feel like a sorry excuse of an ill-mannered human being.
For someone naturally reserved, such unexpected conversations with enthusiastic random strangers can be grounds for a full-blown anxiety attack.
On an exceptionally good day, I can plaster on my most natural fake smile.
Then I cross my fingers, in hopes that my face won’t actually freeze that way.
Especially if I am unintentionally bearing teeth.
When I’m out walking around my neighborhood and people go beyond the perfunctory wave and vocalize their greeting, or worse, initiate a conversation?
What am I supposed to do then?
The obvious answer, of course, is to make a run for it.
I go outside to throw away the trash in my pjs in broad daylight and the neighbor twelve houses down to the left with the terrifying horse-sized Scottish Deerhound smiles and starts waving a little too enthusiastically.
My typical instinct is to discreetly crouch down and scuttle away like the stealthy ninja that I am.
Suddenly, my brain is rapidly firing off panic signals.
Crap! You made eye contact! What were you thinking?
“How ya doing? Nice day out, don’t ya think?”
Great. Now the neighbor wants to make conversation while you’re standing outside like a fool in your Hello Kitty pajamas!
“A shame about that field being plowed down for another housing development, ain’t it? Where all them cows gonna go now?”
Might as well be standing outside naked. Maybe that’d be less awkward.
Must. Get. Out.
Quick! Excuse yourself! Get out of there NOW!
The last time I had been caught off guard by a neighbor, I managed to back out of there after a record time of 1 minute and 28 seconds.
By pleading a bathroom emergency.
Classy, I know.
But it was the best I could do after my overactive brain presented the pitiful excuse on a silver platter.
Yet once again, my brain is tasked with conjuring up “logical” excuses while my neighbor continues on with his riveting monologue about cows.
I’ve narrowed down my choices.
I have to go because:
a) Dinner is almost ready, and I need to go turn the oven off
b) The house is now on fire because dinner has been in the oven 5 minutes too long
c) The kids are beating each other within inches of their lives with Nerf swords
d) All of the above
While all of these seem like perfectly rational justifications, I naturally go with the most plausible one.
The house is on fire.
Not seeing the thick gray smoke?
Really?
Well, gotta go! See ya later!
~Happy Friday, friends! I’m sure all my fellow introverts out there can relate to this one all too well. Have a fantastic weekend!~
I made eye contact, and now it’s all over. This must be the end.
(Southern Inhospitality originally appeared on Comically Quirky on 8/6/15)
@thebiglybestestdoggie: Just sitting around, chilling with my boy. Or a bird. Not really sure. Smells like a human, but looks like a mighty fine dinner prospect… Wonder if this is one of those goofy sphinxes I heard about? Hope he takes his head off soon so I know for sure.
Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Well, one thing’s for certain:
There’s no escaping reality.
Fire! Fire! Carbon monoxide warning! Get out! Get out!
No.
Not this crap again.
But this time around, it wasn’t merely the obnoxious chirping signifying a dead battery.
Or the smoke detector getting triggered by my disastrous attempts at cooking.
No.
This was a full-scale notification of distress, with every single alarm throughout the house screeching in synchronized cacophony.
At a ridiculously ungodly hour of the night.
Which is obviously when I do my clearest, most rational thinking.
I’m normally the world’s lightest sleeper.
Yet I jolted from a deep sleep in a state of utter confusion.
What was going on?
Was this seriously real?
The Bigly Bestest Doggie would probably know.
For surely, if anything were truly wrong, he’d alert us and then heroically save us the way Lassie saved Timmy.
Right?
Or not.
Loud noises terrify The Bigly Bestest Doggie.
And so he just laid there in his bed, looking for a cue of what to do next.
And then it hit me:
We had absolutely no concrete plan of action in place.
No clear-cut escape routes.
What the hell was wrong with us?
What kind of parents would wait for a moment like this to start planning?
I mean, we did have a plan.
Once upon a time.
In our old house.
But apparently we hadn’t given it any thought since moving several years ago.
Did I mention my husband was out of town for the evening on a business trip?
I briefly bemoaned my myriad of failures as a mother, figuring I’d probably drop dead from a panic attack anyway before my senses finally kicked in.
Only one kid stirred with all the commotion of the alarms.
The other zombie either somehow managed to sleep through it or simply didn’t want to be bothered to get out of bed.
My oldest demonstrated impressive priorities as he sleepily muttered that he couldn’t afford to spend $200 on another phone.
I forced both kids to move their butts and get out before rapidly searching for a potential source of fire.
After examining every single room, closet, and the garage, I dashed outside to check the perimeter.
The alarms were shockingly audible outside, too, their ear-splitting decibel enough to wake up the entire neighborhood.
Speaking of neighborhoods…
We just so happen to have a rather passive aggressive Facebook page for our development.
And while occasionally helpful, the discussions can get downright ugly sometimes.
I could almost picture it…
The audacity!
The nerve of those rude neighbors allowing their fire alarm to go off and disrupt our sleep!
The next time that happens there’d better be real flames bursting through the roof!
And why is that dog of theirs running frantically down the street?
Hello, animal control?
Fortunately, the alarm stopped on its own several minutes later.
Upon discovering it had been a false alarm, I got the boys settled back into bed for whatever was left of the evening,
I warily laid back in my own bed, unable and unwilling to sleep.
I could’ve sworn I felt a surge of heat as I thrashed around in bed.
Adrenaline?
Or was something really on fire?
I bolted out of bed to do another thorough check.
Then I noticed the flashing red light on a detector above my bed.
Something in my bedroom must’ve triggered the alarm.
But what?
A sadistic insect?
Unusually high humidity?
A defective smoke detector?
(Because that’d be incredibly comforting.)
Or was it my domestic ineptitude?
God knows I hadn’t dusted all that recently…
So I suppose that could’ve been it.
I’m far from coordinated when woken from a zombie-like state of sleep.
And you know what the best thing to do when you’re exhausted and can’t see straight?
That’s right!
Haul a gazillion-ton expandable ladder out of the garage!
And then attempt to drag that ladder through the house without taking out a wall or knocking yourself out.
Obviously.
Isn’t that what any normal person would do?
That beast of a ladder could’ve reached the top of the Empire State Building.
Hell, that thing could’ve reached the top of Mount Everest.
But I couldn’t figure out how to open the monstrous thing.
And once I finally got it open, I didn’t pay any attention to the orientation of the battery when I yanked that sucker out of the alarm.
So I fumbled around with that for several more minutes.
Thank goodness it was only a false alarm.
But it was still downright scary.
And it showed just how ill prepared we were.
Which is even scarier.
The next day, the boys and I discussed fire safety and evacuation plans.
I think it’s safe to say that while we now have an effective plan in place, I also effectively scared the living crap out of them.
Now I’m worried if there’s ever another false alarm, they’re going to bolt out of bed and jump out their second-story windows without being 100 percent certain there’s actually an emergency.
I can picture it now.
Oh well.
Better safe than sorry.
Oh, and that ginormous ladder?
It’s still sitting in the middle of my bedroom, two weeks later.
But good news!
It’s being repurposed!
The ladder works surprisingly well as a clothes hanging rack.
The Industrial Look is fashionable, right?
Repurposing is awesome!
Beep beep bo bleep!
~Happy Friday, friends! Anyone here a fan of irony? Well, guess what? As I sat here typing this, my thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the wail of tornado sirens and hail slamming vigorously against the windows. Fortunately, everyone is safe. But I think we’ve had enough fun for a while…~
Could this be the future of bedroom design? If so, I want due credit for starting this trend!
@thebiglybestestdoggie: I want candy! I want candy! Ohhh. But I’m a doggie and can’t have candy. And those candy-filled Easter baskets behind me sure aren’t helping the matter. Oh, the injustice!
~Happy Tuesday, friends! Anyone else suddenly craving candy? Hmmm…~
This is a true tale.
A tale of ocean brawling.
Oh, and also of ocean snatching.
But we’ll get back to that in a moment.
It all started ten years ago, on a family vacation to Legoland California.
No trip to a coastal destination is ever complete without visiting the ocean.
At least, not in my opinion.
My then-2 year old son was thoroughly enjoying his second trip ever to the Pacific Ocean, collecting seashells and enjoying the feel of sand beneath his feet.
Until a temperamental wave crashed and leveled him onto the shore like a beached whale.
A few minutes later, he sat deep in thought on his ocean-themed beach towel with his plastic sand pail and shovel in hand, vengefully crafting his revenge.
Half an hour later, he left the Pacific Ocean with an ominous declaration:
I’ll get you, water!
Fast forward 10 years.
We had the privilege of visiting the Atlantic Ocean on our most recent road trip a few weeks ago.
And it was obviously time for payback.
Come at me!
My revenge-seeking child took a huge step backward, away from the shore, before continuing his tirade.
Come on! Show me what you’ve got!
Ah.
Coast to coast ocean brawling at its finest.
Then he stooped down to admire a cluster of seashells that had washed onto the shore.
Fortunately, he managed to escape the wrath of the Atlantic Ocean…
This time around.
Now, back to that whole ocean snatching incident…
My husband and I had set out with the intention of capturing an incredible sunrise on the beach.
And capture a sunrise we did.
Along with half the Atlantic Ocean.
Armed with our makeshift ocean snatching kit consisting of a freshly guzzled glacier cherry Gatorade bottle that I’d forced upon my husband…
Along with a Ziplock freezer bag that we’d been using as our travel toiletry bag and an R2D2 tote bag that held just the right amount of ocean loot.
Meanwhile, our trusty getaway mobile, a nondescript rental mini van with Oklahoma license plates, sat in the shadows of the parking lot.
It was a chilly 40-something degrees out that morning.
I couldn’t feel my toes.
But it was absolutely worth it.
For witnessing a majestic sunrise on the beach.
And feeling the lush sand beneath my feet.
And taking home the best souvenir money can’t buy.
Determined to make my very own authentic mini beach replica upon returning home, I needed to make the most of the opportunity.
And so we left the beach with bulging pockets full of seashells, a bottle full of Atlantic Ocean water, and a bag of Atlantic Ocean sand.
I absolutely love the ocean.
I love the melodious waves.
I love the paradoxical peaceful calm that dissipates with the intense crash of waves to the shore.
And I especially love majestic sunrises and sunsets.
Sunsets on the Pacific.
Sunrises on the Atlantic.
We had sacrificed precious sleep time to rise early on our vacation, just to witness a sunrise over the ocean.
But it was a sacrifice I was happy to make.
Did I mention I also love dolphins?
Unfortunately, we didn’t encounter any on this trip.
Which was probably just as well.
I might’ve been tempted to capture one and give it new life in my bathtub.
Wow.
I’m not just quirky, I’m apparently full-on crazy too.
Oh well.
I could happily live on the ocean forever.
But for now, I’m still working on creating my mini beach masterpiece.
I could really use my very own at-home oasis.
In the meantime, I’ve evidently become an ocean kleptomaniac.
I’m not sure what this says about my sanity…
But I’m okay with it.
More or less.
Now, I just need to devise a way to snatch a baby palm tree…
~Happy Saturday, friends! Can you tell I love the beach? The ocean is the most therapeutic place on earth, and I would totally live there if I could. One day…~
My prized ocean loot collection…
@thebiglybestestdoggie: Hoppity hop! I’m the Easter Doggie! Haha! April fools! (Psst! It’s me, Jett!)
~Happy Tuesday, friends! How crazy is it that Easter and April Fools’ Day will be sharing a day this year? It’ll certainly make for some interesting Easter basket prank ideas…~
Happy Friday, friends! Have you been desperately yearning to discover just how crazy…I mean quirky, I might be? Then you’re in luck! Check out my interview with Kate, the lovely creator of Meet the Bloggers. Packed with fascinating fun facts about yours truly, along with advice for new bloggers and links to my favorite blog posts, it’s a great way to pass a few minutes. (Oh come on. You weren’t really all that excited about doing yet another load of laundry, were you? Yeah. Didn’t think so.)
@thebiglybestestdoggie: Found a new doggie friend. Trying to teach him to roll a ball, but he hasn’t gotten the hang of it yet. Not sure what’s up with that. Oh well. Practice makes perfect, right?
~Happy Tuesday! What could be cuter than a doggie? How about a doggie trying to play ball with a plush doggie?~
Fasting and physicals.
They both start with the notorious “f” sound.
The very same “f” that starts off fabulous words such as failure and faint.
Sounds so promising, doesn’t it?
I don’t like doctors.
I don’t like physicals.
I especially don’t like blood.
Or perhaps more specifically, I don’t like the blood work that’s part of a rather unfortunate package deal with the aforementioned physical.
And the requisite fasting before the blood work?
That right there is my worst nightmare.
Well, that, along with passing out from loss of blood.
It’s not the needles that freak me out.
It’s the fact that my body riots whenever it’s forced to part with five vials worth of blood.
And for the record, passing out sucks.
But back to the whole fasting nonsense.
No food or drink for eight hours prior to having blood drawn?
What’s up with that?
Right around the three hour mark, I typically start exhibiting signs of feral beastly hunger so intense that this vegetarian becomes pathologically unpleasant while getting dangerously close to resorting to cannibalism.
But seeing as how cannibalism is frowned upon in most parts of the world, that’s probably not the way to go.
So anyway, no food or drink prior to the sadistic practice of drawing blood is truly a hardship for me.
But according to the doctor, in addition to water, I can also enjoy a nice cup of black coffee.
Yeah, no thanks.
I’d rather be a zombie.
Given my track record of passing out every time I have blood drawn, going solo is simply not an option for me.
As I’m getting ready to head out to my impending doom, my husband is forced to monitor me closely.
Hey! What are you doing? Are you actually eating that toothpaste!?!
Maybe I am!
Come on. Spit it out. NOW!
As we drive toward the blood work lab, a similar conversation ensues.
What are you doing with that Do Not Eat packet?
This time, he doesn’t bother waiting for a response before snatching it out of my hand.
Maybe I can enjoy that as a treat after the blood work.
By this point, I’m seriously contemplating eating the wrapper off my water bottle; just yanking that sucker right off and chomping away like an uncouth mule grazing in a pasture.
We arrive 15 minutes before the lab opens, so I have more than enough time for a quick trip to the restroom.
But I’m clearly not moving fast enough for my husband’s liking.
What’s taking you so long? You’d better not be eating the toilet paper!
Ha! Like I’d really do that.
I desperately scan the contents of the trash.
But it’s early in the morning. The trashcan is practically empty, with the exception of a used tissue and an empty bottle of Victoria’s Secret lotion.
We eventually enter the dreaded lab and get down to business.
It’s over fairly quickly, actually.
Holy crap!
I didn’t pass out this time, even after all three huge vials are filled.
Of course, this is solely due to the fact that I’m laying flat across the table like roadkill instead of sitting in the chair like a normal human being.
But whatever.
It worked.
After a few minutes, the room is no longer spinning.
I peel myself off the table with as much dignity as I can muster as my husband guides me out the door like a stumbling drunk.
We stop at the first store we come across, which happens to be 7-11.
We go in and grab a few munchies.
Oh Thank Heaven for 7-11.
I devour a family-size bag of popcorn in ten minutes, tops.
It’s a huge victory, overall.
I didn’t pass out, and I didn’t starve to death.
Perhaps more importantly, I didn’t resort to inhaling yet another Do Not Eat packet.
~Happy Friday, everyone! Have a great weekend!~
Things are about to get ugly…
(Threading the Needle originally appeared on Comically Quirky on 11/05/15)
comically quirky 