Gator Tales and Everyday Ramblings

Beach Time: Birthday Bonanza at the Beef House

2012-01-16T11:20:00.000-06:00

WAHOO! A wonderful weekend recapped in pictures.

Our trip to Surfside began on Friday in October with a looooong drive down to the Texas coastline.

Bad Ass Beach Casa.

Photo credit: MKT

She's a real beaut!
Photo credit: SRT

The weekend had a long and colorful cast of characters:

Tiny Birthday Girl

Photo Credit: MKT

Dirty D. The birthday girl's other half.

Photo Credit: MKT

MKT and the Captain.

Wee Show Pony and JoJo Killer.

Photo credit: MKT

Sweets, aka Cake Boss.

Photo credit: MKT

Supernova Surprise.

Photo credit: MKT

Mrs. Crawfish and Homer.

Stolen from facebook.

The Golden Boy and Uncle Supernova (again.).

Photo Credit: Jojo

The Kid. She's kind of magical.

Photo credit: SRT and stolen from Facebook.

JS.

Photo credit: MKT

Friday Night Lights.

Photo Credit: MKT

One Gator. Toasted.

Photo Credit: SRT

The Little Queen.

Photo credit: Jojo

And last but not least: A family of Squidbillies.

Photo credit: MKT

Our Friday night began with BIG burgers and booze.

Photo credit: Jojo

Captain almost burned the cottage down with his bonfire on the grill however, the magnificent burgers were well worth it. JS was a great grilling supervisor and sidekick until Dirty D arrived. Then the two of them bravely kept the Cap company next to his roaring flames. We also enjoyed a fair amount of cold wind and delicious cupcakes...

Photo credit: Jojo

Photo Credit: Cake Boss

And there were snacks galore.

Unsanctioned snack activities.
Photo Credit: Jojo

Saturday found me awake bright and early to enjoy a special morning moment with Cap. He actually said, "Good morning," instead of making his usual grunting noises like in the past when I have suggested that indeed the morning was fine.

Sunrise at Surfside, TX.

I laced up my sneakers and took a long jog toward South America (according to Cap's directions) and Cap positioned his beach chairs and poles for a little fishing. I made it down to Surfside proper before I realized my goal of reaching South America by foot in one morning was likely unobtainable. After cursing my early morning ambition that found me so far from home, I re-jogged my path back to the house at a much slower pace.

I got home just in time for a delightful breakfast feast of savory sausage balls and eggs, after which my newest friend Cap and I began sharing a mornin' drank. A game of horse shoes quickly ensued.

Photo Credit: SRT

A guest arrived midday, much to the birthday girl's surprise.

Surprise!

Photo credit: MKT

Supernova scared the ever lovin' shiz out of us. Or at least myself. I suffered a small stroke and perhaps a tiny tinkle when he leapt from the dunes.

After Tiny's Supernova Surprise we wound down the day lounging atop the hot tub, creating punkin master pieces, shooting the breeze and awaiting the promise of crawfish pies.

There was a general theme throughout the evening that involved lots of dancing:

Lots of forced love and affection:

Pumpkin Carving:

Bottoms up:

And a wee bit of gayness:

Jojo made the most magnificent margaritas that left us all goofy and giggly.

Photo Credit: Jojo

The deadly Jo-Ritas and a few shots of Grand Marnier inspired this fantastical afternoon pattern combination.

Photo credit: Jojo

Don't judge me. Plaid, polka dot and floral are in, bitches. Did I mention the Jo-Ritas were deadly?

Do work son.

Photo Credit: Jojo

Next up, about dark 30, Mrs. Crawfish whipped us up some fine eats. There was great concern (on my part) that she was never going to cook dinner but it was well worth the wait. She made some amazingly delicious cheesy crawfish concoction, and then folded it all up into a pastry crust and baked 'em. She fittingly calls these little delights crawfish pies.

OMG people. You CAN'T. EVEN. IMAGINE. How freaking amazing these things are. I told Homer to watch his back (her husband). I would like very much to live with this woman for the rest of my LIFE. I ate like 10 crawfish pies by my ownself... And I didn't want to share any food with Friday Night Lights, thus I became a hostile (still somewhat intoxicated) crazy crawfish pie guarding lunatic, when those poor boys arrived. They arrived mid-feast and I'm pretty sure I told the biggest one that his football scholarship to Harvard was lame... I could ABSOLUTELY die of shame. My sincere apologies. I shall forever blame it on the insanity that was my crawfish pie and Grand Marnier addled brain. I'm not going to lie. I was roughly, two very small sips away from Mexico-swimming-pool-wrestling level of intoxication. For all the members of JS's family that were there for that little incident, (Hi, Momma of JS!) you can imagine what state I was in. Heh.

Moving on... Oh the SHAME!!! For real this time. Sorry T. You kind of rock and we are all SO PROUD OF YOU. Annnnd I'm over it...

Later that same evening there was a significant amount of dancing in the dark, hot tub tomfoolery and general drunk and disorderly conduct. I passed out roughly around 10 pm and missed the most spectacular pieces, thus all of those little secrets are safe from the blog-o-sphere. And a collective sigh of relief is heard around the world.

Unfortunately, I did not go to bed before the following was captured:

Sexy lobster dancing.

Photo credit: MKT

Proof that I don't really detest the Captain.

At least not after a full bottle of Grand Marnier ;)

Photo credit: MKT

Surprisingly, Sunday morning I woke feeling exactly like wholly hammered dog shiz and thus decided I should indeed take a quick little jog to Florida. It was just what the doctor ordered. I probably sweated out the Grang Marnier and deadly Jo-Rita's 'round about mile four, but the crawfish pie was not to be shaken. I arrived back at the beach house to find the hot tub junkies at it again. True story: Brown hot tub bubbles did not slow this group down even a little, and thus had me questioning if anyone was actually sober.

Whatevs. To each their own. We wrapped up our marvelous celebratory weekend with a quick clean and dash. MKT is THE hostess with the MOSTEST, and she is welcome to come ~~clean~~ stay at my home anytime she likes! Why must good times always come to an end, friends?

This weekend made me realize that I may love Texas beaches as much as any foreign beach I've ever visited and thus the search for a beachy home begins. Let's work that into my 5 year plan. Stat.

Now then.

Let's make this trip happen again next year. Better yet. Let's do it again next month. Life needs more festivus.

Happy 30th Birthday Tiny! You did it up RIGHT.

Parting Shots:

Rampant beach graffiti

Such a pretty kitty.

You should always sleep with one eye open.

Whoo Wee!

2012-01-15T15:09:00.001-06:00

Whoo Wee! Where have I been?

I looked back at my blog history and found that it’s pretty typical for me to lay low between November and January and this is why:

Boring… Boring… Stressful… Boring… End of year paperwork.

Command Central. Bella is a terrific assistant.

I’m too busy stressing over data entry that I’m not actually “doing,” to allow myself time to write. Throw in a few doses of family time, the dreaded holiday shopping, the actual holidays, and travel over load… And THEN I’m forced to bury my head in several delicious books because I need to escape from it all! Oh! Add a new found love for Hulu and calculate an additional 6 week absence.

And BAM. Just like that. Three plus months have whizzed by.

But it’s been super productive. I have been coerced by a beautiful marketing sphinx at Pig Tail Media to start a business newsletter, update marketing materials, yada, yada, yada and ta da! Mucho fabulosa business stuff has been accomplished.

I survived the holidays without alienating or ostracizing myself or any other family member… The first in a few years and I did it sober. Boo yah! My hypothesis last year was that I needed to be bombed to survive the family-days. Alas, a good plan I just accidentally did it without booze this year and it all went fantabulously well.

When tension or boredom gets high, my newest coping mechanism is to stage a Nerf War (and drink coffee. LOTS AND LOTS OF COFFEE.) Surely you know what Nerf Wars are? Nerf guns! Add infinite ammo, children and JS to shoot = Nerf Wars. When in doubt, or if you run out of ammo… A little pistol whipping is totally legit. But not the babies. Sorry Baby K. It was an accident and Aunt Gator will totally pay for your therapy. I may or may not have spun around with a lowered Nerf-Strike Raven CS-18 Blaster and conked Baby K right upside her pretty little head. But since it didn't make this video... It totally means it didn't actually happen.

Apparently tackling and hair pulling are also kosher… We play dirty. We pride ourselves on teaching our niece and nephews a wide array of 4 letter words and extreme sportsman like behavior. Don't judge me. There were at LEAST 5 cups of coffee involved at this point... And poor Baby K. She's transfixed to the spot by our ugliness.

Christmas: I have one word: Keurig. WAHOO, WAHOO! I’m on my third cup! Can you tell!!!?!?! Actually I have another VERY addictive word. KINDLE! OMG. I now only leave the house to flap my over caffeinated wings and occasionally I do have to work. Otherwise, you can find me slurping coffee straight forn the Keurig nozzle why I download and read book after book on my Kindle.

New Years: This year I took a note from one of my most favorite people and friends, as well as a damn good Life Coach, and chose a WORD instead of a traditional resolution.

SHINE.

To SHINE.

This year, 2012 is the year I SHINE!

I shall be absolutely bedazzled!

Right after my Keurig coffee intervention…

Seriously. My name’s Gator and I have a Keurig problem… Like 3-6 cups a day… At least that’s the number I may or may not have already consumed today…

Clear the cobwebs, dust this girl off cause I got some shining to do. Wahoo!

Now then, back to that paper work… I’m ALMOST DONE!

Merry Happy Thanksgiving, Christmas and New YEARS! Stay tuned for a recap of a fabulous October Birthday Bonanza and a guest blog… Right after I finish the last two books in the Hunger Games trilogy, take down my Christmas décor, make a few more trips to the beach and give up working ;)

Float and Talk

2011-10-16T14:14:00.001-05:00

Sorry about the tardiness of this post friends. I forgot that I hadn't finished it. My bad. Senility is a real biotch.

July 2011 found us rockin' it old school at the Goosinheimer Haus.... Or maybe it was the Waffle Haus... Oh look, it actually says:

Photo Credit: MKT

Riiiight, anyways:

I joined the infamous Tinsley-Gardner Clam (plus friends) in New Braunfels for a weekend of merrymaking. MKT found us this fab little German Haus (sleeps roughly 80) and we did it up right. Bonus track: We had our very own bar a mere 10 feet up our driveway AND our Haus came equipped with critter pens. Next time we shall properly prepare by bringing our own livestock.

Riley's is the place.

Photo Credit: MKT

Brother Juan and I were the first to arrive on that glorious Friday. Juanito had found himself earlier in the day held in the lap of a lovely lady at the Yellow Rose Cantina. Thus he was starry eyed and boozy when I slid my bar stool up next to his at Riley's. We busied ourselves before the rest of of our crew arrived by exploring the Haus, chatting up the locals, quenching our parched throats and dining on the local fare. We devoured some bad ass burgers from this place:

Happy Cow indeed. I'm sad to say we missed

the Belt Sander Races but the fare was fine.

Juanito shares some smooches at the Hog Haus.

Nap time for young Harry Potter. That's a legit claw foot tub y'all!

Annnnd I'm pretty sure it came with it's own ghost. *shivers*

Dancing Juan. Disturbed.

Photo Credit: STR

Fabulous hair piece. Frightful dancing.

Haus of Chicken.

Photo Credit: MKT

Perhaps a safer option than it's indoor haunted counterpart.

Photo Credit: MKT

Always an admirable endeavor.

Photo Credit: MKT

No Farm Haus is complete without it's very own windmill.

Photo Credit: MKT

The neighbors. Come and knock on our door...

We'll be waiting for yooouuuu!

Photo Credit: MKT

Juanito and I were napping off our early afternoon booze fest when the rest of the gang started trickling in. We had 12 people total and procured not one single group shot. Shame. As with all Tinsley-Gardner shindigs we partook of the traditional shooting of the shit, washer olympics and general making of merryness.

For this particular trip, chalk art was also in order.

Photo and Art Credit: MKT

Half Baked Gator illustrated by Gator

Photo Credit: MKT

Squatch Country: Before the Addition of Genitalia.
Illustrated by JG

Photo Credit: MKT

All sermons were held here.

Photo Credit: MKT

Supernova doing work. He took a time-out from washers
to model his Crazy Bird.

Photo Credit: STR

Juanito steals a bike.

Photo Credit: MKT

The Tinsley Clam

Photo Credit: Dirty D

Do you guys hear that train?

The Clam in action.

The Roberts

Photo Credit: MKT

Juanito and Supernova at rest between washer matches.

Photo Credit: MKT

Just a swangin'

Photo Credit: MKT

Saturday found me and Tiny Tinsley up rather early and ready to get our Crossfit WOD on.

...Warning: Mother, just go ahead and quit reading. Skip on down past this next paragraph....

But first we took a death defying bike ride down a logging road. I was jammin' to my ipod in preparation for the Girl Talk concert later the same day while simultaneously trying NOT to crap my pants every time an eighteen wheeler rolled by. After our ride Tiny said she couldn't tell if I was singing or screaming out in fear. I told her it was most certainly a good combination of both.

Post Crossfit WOD our group scampered about the Haus too long on Saturday and we kind of blew our opportunity to float, as it's a very timely endeavor. Thus we decided to kick it riverside instead.

Horseshoe hotties.

Photo Credit: SRT

The Cap at work.

Photo Credit: SRT

Which was probably for the best. Floating the river makes for a long day of drinking. There is simply nothing else to do when you are trapped for hours in an inner tube. Besides pee on yourself. True story.

Lounging riverside allowed for us to chillax, keep an eye on a large number of drunkards and collect stray beers that escaped less fortunate floaters. There must have been a decent set of rapids above us on the Whitewater Horse Shoe as Dirty D, Supernova and The Cap collected at least a 6 pack of assorted cold beers and a flask of whiskey. MKT was super pumped about the whiskey and who can blame her?

After we got cleaned up, (read: We changed in our cars and most definitely flashed some folks. You're welcome) we waited in line like forever to secure front row spots for Girl Talk.

Front row, bitches!

Photo Credit: SRT

Lemme just point out the obvious. If you are not a person that is fond of drunk people in their pre-20's elbowing and jostling all the good right out of your soul, then you've got no business on the front row of any concert... Unless it's like a Stevie Nix show or something. Or Cher... Celine Dion might also be safe. But then again, I reckon even those broads have a few hardcore fans of their own.

Can you picture Pops Tinsley elbowing his way to the front of a Fleetwood Mac concert rocking his ZZ Top beard? Yes. Yes you can.

Back to my point. I'm not sure why it takes all of us several repeat front row attempts before it's realized once again that we're all getting too old for this shiz, man. Not too old to enjoy a really great concert, but much too old to take crap from a drunk baby and then not give that same baby a well deserved black eye.

The bleachers were made for people like us. People with short fuses and an innately low tolerance for stupid shenanigans other than our own.

Bright Light Social Hour.

Photo Credit: SRT

Spitting image of Jesus rockin' short, shorts.

Photo Credit: SRT

Greg aka Girl Talk. He was stoked about being outside in "Austin."

Photo Credit: SRT

Mesmerized by a glow stick, brought to you by Red Bull and Vodka.

Photo Credit: SRT

Magical confetti drop.

Photo Credit: SRT

This is completely normal.

Another side effect of living life on the front row.

Photo Credit: SRT

Raptor Dancing, another Tinsley Clam Ritual.

Inspired by good times and good music.

Photo Credit: MKT

All in all, Float and Talk was another smashing success!

And y'all be sure to stay tuned folks. Little Tiny Tinsley celebrates her Big 3-0 in less than 10 days and the Tinsley-Gardner Clam will be burning it down at the beach house.

Now then! If you haven't already done so, join the 21st Century and download your free Girl Talk tunes HERE.

Parting shot:

Incredible detail, Cap. Incredible.

Photo Credit: MKT

Utah Part Two: Baby Girl Gets Married At The Draper Temple

2011-10-02T23:19:00.000-05:00

Saturday September 24th 2011 found us all awake at the butt crack of dawn to join G on her Holy Day of Matrimony.

Naturally Nina, Dub and I were late (Dub's fault and also the theme for our ENTIRE trip) which somehow worked in our favor ;)

Because we are not members in good standing (or otherwise) with the Church of Latter Day Saints, we immensely enjoyed the magical weather and spectacular views outside the Temple while another family member took over our duties.

We were supposed to babysit G's utterly darling and super duper rambunctious nephew, as well as her 10 day old baby niece, but alas 'twas not meant to be. (Dub's fault, just in case you forgot.) There also may have been a large amount of traffic to blame... Whatevs.

You're WELCOME G! We were so glad we could help!

No, seriously... So sorry my sister. Our bad. (Mostly Dub's)

Brevan the Wonder Boy sure loves his Aunt G!
Photo courtesy of Missy Allen Photography

Baby Chloe. Dee-licious in her sweet little dress!
Photo courtesy of Missy Allen Photography

After running around like a harlot without a jacket to cover my shoulders, pointing and waving at all the beautiful Mormons entering and exiting the Temple and then trying to capture silly pictures with the Golden Trumpeter that MAY or may NOT have been Joseph Smith affixed to the top of the Temple... G, Hobs and the beautiful fam finally exited the building and the professional photog had her way with us.

Gorgeous, right? But seriously...
Who is that guy on top of the Draper Temple?
Photo courtesy of Missy Allen Photography

Oh! Oh! MOST IMPORTANTLY I got to drive the BLACK SS CAMARO that Hobs had rented on the behalf of his blushing bride! (Which immediately made the guy a'ight in my book. And he may not have actually given me permission to drive his car. But I drove it when he wasn't looking and enjoyed every single second of it.)

There were actually a few minutes when I considered hitting the road and never looking back but I decided against it only because it was G's big day... Had it been any other day this story totally would have ended with "Adios Muchachos" and squealing tires. Just sayin'.

There also would have been fabulous pictures of me driving that sexy beast of a car captured via Nina's camera, which is also known as 'The Vault' however, she flat refused to take any... Something about people were watching and I was stealing a car. Buzz kill.

But I think we can all imagine the glory...

A little bit of this...

Yeah, baby!

And a little bit of that...

Any who, after I enjoyed my 60 seconds of delight I turned over the keys and we headed north to Park City for more pictures. We found ourselves freakishly famished and delighted at the opportunity to look pretty amidst some of the most gorgeous countryside ever seen.

Follow the light my friends!
The tunnel under the highway that led to the farm.

Photo courtesy of Missy Allen Photography

The beautiful and resourceful Kami swatted down a hubcap
sized tarantula as it was crawling up Elizabeth's leg.
...End photo shoot.

I was totaly in looove with Missy Allen, the worlds greatest photog until she suggested that we should all drive back to Salt Lake City to eat lunch, which resides about 40 minutes south of where we were standing in Park City. At 2 pm. When our last meal had been eaten at 8 am. She was afraid we'd get stuck behind traffic from a bike race... And I was afraid I was going to have to eat the photographer. Thus her slightly insane/ thoughtful suggestion was politely ignored and we raced the wrong way (my bad) toward Squatters Pubs and Beers. Yuuuuuuuuuuum.

Oh happy glorious day! Dub came as close as I've ever seen him to an actual melt down before we arrived at the restaurant. He stubbornly refused to eat a protein bar based on his account that the protein bar in question tasted just like a roofing shingle. A roofing shingle? Really? But we all survived, the fab photog included and then we raced our separate ways back to SLC for speed naps.

After speed naps we performed an abbreviated version of our beautification routine and joined G and Hobs at their spectacular wedding reception.

Photo courtesy of Missy Allen Photography

The reception was hosted by Hobs' gorgeous Aunt and her lovely family. It was truly paradise. I could not get over how amazing the grass was! Gardens? What gardens? I was too busy rubbing my face on the oh, so sweet and amazingly green grass to notice any gardens.

Carpet or grass? You be the judge.
Photo courtesy of Missy Allen Photography

One of the highlights of the reception, besides catching up with old friends and visiting with all the wonderful new friends we made over the weekend, was the photo booth. Just in case you were wondering... This is how sobber people have fun y'all ;) Although by the look of those cayuuute boys... I'm not sure everyone was sobber. I knew they were holding out on us!

Fab, fab family!

Blame it on the punch.

Cutest Sister and Brother in Law ever.

And a SMOOCH for Papa G.

All photo booth photos are courtesy of Jim Beam and Missy Allen Photography.

Oops! I meant Jen Dean and Missy Allen.

Sadly I knew my fantasy weekend had come to an end when my pilot announced on my return flight, "Welcome to Texas Folks. It's still hot and dry without any chance of rain, just in case you were wondering."

When the shuttle bus driver gave us an honest to God, "Welcome home y'all," a little tear escaped from my eye.

I realized that a combination of our never ending Texas heat and a bit of starvation makes me crankier than a momma mongoose at feeding time. And yahoos that talk too loudly, among other things...

So, until we meet again... Au revoire my lovelies and CONGRATULATIONS!

Photo courtesy of Missy Allen Photography

48 Hours In Utah

2011-09-25T21:59:00.000-05:00

McPolin Farm Park Cities, Utah

Wowzers! My trip to Utah to celebrate the nuptials of my home girl G Money began bright and early Friday morning... 1:45 am, 2:38 am, 3:41 am to be exact, and I finally just pitched in the towel around 4:40 am... My alarm was set for 5:30 am. Boo internal rooster. I hear this is what happens as you get older, however my pounding heart indicated that it wasn't merely old age at work. I was getting espresso sized shots of cortisol roughly every hour after midnight. Neat trick Mr. Adrenal Gland. Neat. Trick.

Friday morning at Austin International Airport is a busy, busy, busy time. I almost had to push down a posse of college boys sporting Lutheran College shirts cuz they were so GD slow in the breakfast taco line. Momma was hungry. And tired. Which means Momma was a hair's breadth away from killin' folk. I was about to put the beat down on those choads until I realized I could order at the little computer kiosk. Awesome. And thus I was saved from being tackled by TSA and possible assault charges. No one got bitten 'cept the most delicious bacon, egg and cheesy breakfast sammie. Ever. Yum.

I flew Delta which was the first time since I can recall. Potentially the first time ever. It was a tee-tiny fast as F-word mama jama. I somehow managed to pack 3 pairs of sandals, 1 pair of heels (gasp), a pair of winter boots, 2 dresses, 2 pairs of jeans, 2 cuteashell sweaters, 1 swim suit, 2 pairs of shorts, 2 t-shirts, jammies, a gallon sized plastic bag of tiny toiletries AND my blow dryer in one red carry-on bag plus a bulging backpack. Boo yah, bitches. Boo yah. Yes, it may have weighed approximately 50 pounds combined but it was still FREE, so there ;)

I got a 'lil pink tag for my red roly bag when I scanned my ticket at boarding and then a fella (I'm almost CERTAIN he said he was our PILOT) took it from me and stored it under our plane... (Still free!) I hope Delta pays their pilots extra for these little luxuries. It made me smile to myself and I thought out loud to the gentleman behind me as I'm often apt to do, "Well... That's neat. I wonder if it makes him fly more safely because he's seen all of our smiling faces?"

Verdict says: No. Or since we didn't crash, I guess he was flying safe... Any who, all I could picture on take off (other than stuffing a dirty gym sock in the mouth of the woman 2 ROWS behind me that we shall now refer to as the OVER SHARER) was his long curly, well groomed hair gently waving in the breeze of the pilots cabin as the g force from our 10 second take off plastered the rest of us passengers to our seatbacks. Just as we had almost reached cruising 'tude he banked East so hard we saw all of Austin at a stunning 45 degree angle and the chick sitting next to me almost got to see what I ate for breakfast. That take off was legit y'all.

Austin Aerial. Stolen from the internet here:
www.dipity.com/tickr/Flickr_austin_in_tx/

Back to the in-cabin fiesta. As I was trying to sit in my seat upon boarding, the flight attendant walked up behind me and NEVER SLOWED down. Like my backpack is in the aisle. I'm trying to sit in my seat simultaneously while trying to shove a 30 pound back pack into a 10 pound bag alcove in front of my feet. I was trying to lift my feet that had somehow become tangled in the arm straps of the same damn (but really well packed) backpack and Godzilla was like PUSHING me. I almost had to hit a sister. No, truthfully I almost asked her if she wouldn't just prefer to jump over. About 5 minutes later she paid me back for my dawdling by throwing her chunky elbow into the side of my head as she walked past.

Godzilla 2 - Gator 0.

Oh! I almost forgot. She handed me my ice water and then booty bumped my elbow so hard that I almost ended up wearing the whole cup.

The replay shows, Godzilla 3 - Gator 0.

And then there was the over sharer. The worst 10 minutes of my LIFE was taxi, takeoff and that time before we can turn our beautiful, wonderful electronic devices back on to drown out the weirdos. For real. She either owns the world's oldest functioning uterus, or she has adopted children, or she just likes to spin tall tales. She told her poor seat mate and the rest of the 44 passengers aboard our flight all about her 5 kids ranging from college age to diapers. Activities, intellect, driving abilities, personalities... OMG she would not shut up.

Best part? Her soundtrack was punctuated by the smell of baby farts. Between she and I sat a little baby with what seemed to be severe gastrointestinal issues. And may I suggest to his parents that dairy does not seem to agree with their stinky little angel? Or maybe it was Dad...

Any way, I do realize that my last comment has just insured that any children that I may or may not ever own will only shit outside of their diapers, in public places. Awesome.

Landing was almost as much fun as take off... If you don't count all the turbulence and crying from seat 14B. No... The ass dropping baby was sitting in 15B. The cries seemed to be originating from my own body.

But we lived... And THEN...

While standing in line to pick up our rental car for tooling around SLC a large fellow with very scary toes approached me. Like, his toe nails looked exactly like shanks that he had carefully been cultivating in prison. Ew. Any who, scary toes was so engrossed with his phone call regarding bail bondsman, which posse of attorneys to contact and keeping his swim trunks aboard his scaly body, he failed to notice that he cut in front of Momma Hungry Bear. In a line where I was already 12 Mormons deep, I couldn't bear (pun intended) to wait even 5 minutes longer to secure my ride yo, and most importantly my lunch.

After his 20 minute conversation he pocketed the phone long enough for me to say, "Pardon me sir. I believe I was in front of you."

To which came his less than friendly reply, "I'm from Hawaii, where we just don't get in a hurry. (Unless you wanted to count his most recent and slightly frantic get someone outa jail convo.) If you're in that big of a hurry you just go right ahead and get up here."

At this point I'm trying not to make eye contact with Crazy Island Guy while I finished a text to my mother that said, "Sweet Baby Jesus I really just went and did it now. Don't be alarmed, but I love you very much and the man that I'm about to go hand to hand with is ugly AND smelly with toenails that should be classified as weapons."

I've heard you shouldn't make eye contact with wild animals (or was it dogs?) because it can be perceived as aggressive behavior further perpetuating dangerous "situations," if you will... But alas it didn't seem to be helping. All the full grown menfolk standing about were visibly and courageously melting into the concourse leaving me a lone woman on an island of self made insanity.

Mr. Crazy Pants continued his rant as I began to steam, "Know what I'm gonna do for you? I'm gonna pay all these people 20 bucks so you can go straight to the front of the line! Right now! I'll make that guys whole day!"

"No thanks." I said, less than successfully biting back my sarcasm. "That won't be necessary but aren't you generous and ever so helpful?"

Crazy: "You're WELCOME! Glad I could HELP!

Gator: "Yeah buddy, thanks a lot."

Crazy: "And I hope you learned something from this conversation today. This'll be one conversation you won't ever forget!"

Gator: Now standing at my full height and channeling Colonel Crazy Makookoo myself, totally catching Crazy Pants off guard with my full blown death stare... "Oh really? And what LESSON would that be?"

Why is it that I continued to poke Mr Shanks-Fer-Toes you ask? Who knows? Actually, it's recently been called to my attention that I occasionally like some spicy drama, I like to pretend to be "in control" and I also like to be "right." Laughable, yes? But mostly I just wanted to hear this nut job's twisted logic. It was like watching Bella smash into the side of the bed when she's launched herself too low. I kinda know it won't end well, but I can't turn away from the horror.

Mr. Sandals-Were-A-Poor-Choice-O-Foot-Garb finished with his coupe de grace, "ALOHA! That's what you've learned today. You've learned to say ALOHA."

TOTALLY lame... But an admirable recovery as I'm certain he too was momentarily unsure of the important and memorable lesson at hand.

I made my, "Hmmm, well aren't you an ass hat face," spun on my heel and left him BEHIND my cold shoulder while I palmed my tiny hairspray can for protection. I know, I'm somewhat of a genius... Then I used my sunglasses in the other hand to watch his reflection for any sudden movements while simultaneously giving disapproving looks to all the pussy cats surrounding me.

My excellent behavior in line was then rewarded by a FREE upgrade from a full-sized car to an SUV. What, what? 10 minutes later I was blasting the wrong way outa SLC aeropuerte in my Chevy Traverse making the first of many illegal u-turns on red for the weekend, and in desperate search of Walmart.

My phone was redlining after documenting my air travel and my showdown at the SLC corral so acquiring a car charger was first item of business, hunger be damned. Thankfully I had just enough juice to map myself directly to the only two-story Walmart I have ever laid eyes upon. My goth guide at the register recommended "Alchemy" for a good cup of Joe and something delightful to nosh on, and off I went again.

Although quite skeptical that the Mormons could make a good cup of coffee, Alchemy did not disappoint. I had a fall flavored beverage chock full of liquid life and the best hummus veggie plate EVER made. Yum.

A fine place to rest my weary bones.

Alchemy's Day of the Dead Decor.

After refueling and recharging my weary body and essential electrical devices I raced back to the airport to collect Nina and Dub, two of my most favorite partners in crime.

After satisfactory hugs and smooches were doled out we loaded the Traverse and skedaddled on down to Sandy, Utah (home of the Beet Diggers y'all!) which is just south of SLC where we checked into our double sa-weet at the Marriot. Food being the second item of order we quickly found ourselves ensconced in a cozy booth at "Healthy Tomato" or some such jazz. They offered a salad buffet with pizza, pasta, fresh baked bread, BROWNIES, and soft serve. Awesome.

While Nina and I chose to do a little hiking at the University of Utah's Arboreteum to work off our 'salad bar,' Dub enjoyed himself a nap-a-roosky in our sa-weet. Nina and I tremendously enjoyed gossiping while also running from bees. I managed to quickly roll in the verdant beauty Utah calls GRASS and Texas is now calling CHAR. We even managed to capture some very interesting photos that will never see the light of day because my dear Nina says she KNOWS where her camera cord is for uploading, she just can't remember exactly WHERE she put it... Boo.

Pictures in summary:

1. Gator poses as if she is drinking from a snake which turned out looking much more pornographic than it sounds. What? It was a water fountain.

2. Nina poses in the herb garden. Ha, ha! I said, Herb.

3-5. We both take pictures riding a bronzed moose, which surprisingly looks LESS pornographic than it sounds.

6-1200. Random shots of beautiful shizzle including but not limited to: Gardens, roses, some other flowers, canyons and mountain views.

Good times.

Next stop: The timely business of beautification, rousing Dub from his bear like slumber and a rehearsal barbecue honoring G and Hobs' imminent wedding fiesta.

The barbecue was hosted by Hobs' gorgeous sister, brother and babes at their magnificent home overlooking Lake Utah. We watched parachute planes descend into fields of wild antelope. Fabulous!

The antelope ran away to a safe distance, sat back and kicked up their heels with a cold one from the Wasatch Brewery and also seem to enjoy the show. They're cool cats those antelope. They seem completely nonplussed to be wearing out their welcome in front gardens or while nibbling away at the farmers' small profit margins.

My personal fave.
http://www.wasatchbeers.com/

Can someone google "Antelope Management Utah," and tell me how they keep those critters from taking over the skyways and the highways? Curious minds would like to know!

Too be continued!

A Birthday Blog In Pictures

2011-09-18T16:45:00.001-05:00

This weekend found me celebrating 31 years of AWESOME! in Gruene, Texas with my beloved JS.

Gruene is located just beside (in) New Braunfels, Texas and boasts good eatin', dancing and some good 'ol German history. It's nestled right up on the banks of the Guadalupe River and draws an eclectic crowd of kids and adults alike.

Friday night we started off here at the Gristmill.

If you've never eaten here friends, stop what you're doing and immediately drive straight over. Trust me. You'll be glad that you did. A piece of sage advice, dance first, eat second.

If you're looking to scoot a boot at Gruene Hall, Texas' oldest dance hall, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT eat at the Gristmill first. It is absolutely impossible to enjoy oneself on the dance floor after you bust a gut filling up on all the excellent eats here at this fine restaurant. IMPOSSIBLE. Even if you only ordered the salad. Which would just be plain stupid anyway. Leave yourself at least 3 to 4 hours post Gristmill eatin' to do anything that requires cardiovascular type activity. And wear your stretchy pants. Amen.

See? Chicken wire on the windows. Awesome.

Because we arrived in Gruene around 7 pm on Friday ravenous and in desperate need of fabulous eats, we immediately dined at the Gristmill and thus ruined ourselves for dancing. Which suited JS just fine. Reckless Kelly was playing Gruene Hall (again known as Texas' oldest dance hall, which is not to be confused with Texas' largest Chicken Coop) and my dear JS is not a huge fan of country music. Instead of scooting our boots (flip flops in my case) we waddled our fat, swollen sausage-like toes over to Oma Gruene's Secret Garden for some outdoor Jazz. Charlie And The Cool Catz were righteous with their ear splitting amperage so we quickly ambled on over to The Stone Coffee Bar.

The manager of The Stone created this gorgeous mural on one entire wall in less than 6 weeks. It's creativity requires everyone that enters to take a few pictures and to touch its beauty. Incredible.

The call of a bubble bath in our giant jacuzzi tub and the need for a little sleep quickly had us shuffling toward "home."

We stayed the weekend at the Gruene River Inn, a family owned and operated Bed and Breakfast towering on the banks of the Guadalupe. Magical! I could have stayed here happily for weeks.

Our balcony provided us with these spectacular views:

Saturday morning found me awake bright and early and thus I got to enjoy the glow from our beautiful stained glass window...

With nothing but time and 31 years of age on my hands, I decided to take the old hip flexors for a spin... Verdict says: They're still a little sad but not completely debilitating. After roughly 3 miles of hills and broken pavement I was limping only a little... And some might even mistake it for swagger ;) When I got back to the Inn JS and I shared breakfast tacos and weak coffee in the common room with some Sooner fans before we began my birthday day.

Birthday day went as follows:

Woke up WAY too early.
Went out for a jog.
Ate yummy breakfast tacos.
Enjoyed another bubble bath.
Left the Inn and walked over to the Gruene Grind Coffee Company for the "good stuff."
Relaxed into our caffeine buzz and puzzled at a high rate of speed.

I was only able to complete the border of the puzzle before
my wing flapping demanded that we mooooove on.

Then we:
Toured the vendors at Gruene's Market Days.
Ate lunch at Adobe Verde to avoid the downpour.
Drank a marvelous birthday beverage.

Mango Margarita, yum!

Which made Momma a little cranky and then made for a really loooong and rejuvinating birthday nap!

Princess Cotton Top sleeps off her crankiness.
Note to self: Although that new hair color is super fun...
Bleach applied directly to your forehead will in fact leave small chemical burns. That itching she was talking about... Is your forehead dying. Boo Radley.

After my nap we entertained ourselves by watching from our balcony the floaters below screaming and cursing the only (and apparently chilly) rain that our hill country has seen in 5 long months. When we were finally able to tear ourselves away from the irony on the river we got cleaned up and watched the Horns put the smack down on UCLA. Unfortunately our Ags were only available on PPV and none of the local bars picked up the game...

...So we were forced once again to stuff ourselves (this time at Mozie's) and then we toured the town on foot.

Mozie's on the left. Antique-was on the right.

I got to pose with George Straight at Gruene Hall.
You should definitely be jealous ;) Another engaging little piece of history: John Travolta filmed part of the movie "Michael" here.

We found some great t-shirts at Cotton Eyed Joe's...

And then we ~~arm wrestled over~~ shared a root beer float here at The General Store and ate a huge chunk of the most incredible pumpkin walnut fudge ever made...

With blood sugar hovering in the thousands we sped between the live music playing at Gruene Hall and Oma Gruene's before we landed at the Vineyard.

A rose, a little wine and a bit of fudge:
A beautiful evening they do make!

After which the following took place:

And sadly

We'll just blame it on the birthday fudge ;)

Annnnnd many more!!!!!!!

My Dog Has Venereal Disease And Other Good News

2011-09-10T16:07:00.000-05:00

Well... It's been confirmed. Tica Tammy is a Hoochie Mamma!

Dr. Jessica Jimenez got the results back from the cytologist and she has confirmed that Tam has TVT.

It's a TUMOR. No... It's NOT A TUMOR.

Actually... I don't know what the hell it is, however this is what Wikapedia had to say on the matter:

"Canine transmissible venereal tumor (CTVT) is also called transmissable venereal tumor (TVT) and it's only one of three transmissible cancers." (Seems similar to HPV or genital warts in humans.) "TVT is most commonly seen in sexually active dogs in tropical and subtropical climates." (Yep... i.e. Costa Rica, the land of loooove.) "The disease is spread when dogs mate, and it can even be transmitted to other canine species, such as foxes and coyotes." (Woe is the unknown dangers of interspecies relations...) "Spontaneous regression of the tumor can occur, probably due to a response from the immune system." (Insert Chiropractic adjustment.) "TVT undergoes a predictable cycle: the initial growth phase of four to six months (P phase), a stable phase, and a regression phase (R phase), although not all TVTs will regress." (Boo.) "The tumor does not often metastasize (occurring in about 5 percent of cases), except in puppies and immunocompromised dogs." (None of those here.) "Metastasis is most commonly to regional lymph nodes, but can also be seen in the skin, brain, eye, liver, spleen, testicle, and muscle. Biopsy is necessary for diagnosis." (Confirmed.)

So, it IS in fact a tumor... But apparently it has a very high survivability rate. Wahoo! Unlike the regular old non-transmissible cancer, which would have been worst case scenario.

Jessica reported that Tam had her very first "treatment" this past Wednesday after which she was a little sad and didn't eat well. Today's update said she was back to her beach lovin' self and eating great. (She is no doubt missing her lobster tail and tuna steak dinners of yore. What can I say? This girl knows how to get around y'all.) Four or five more treatments should find Tam as good as new.

In other good (sad) news: Jessica says she is talking to people that may be interested in adopting Tammy. As much I would love Tica Tam to live in Texas, the quicker she gets a home the quicker I can rebuild my life savings... And the longer that Bella the Barbarian gets to live.

I think Tica Tam would miss the rain and frolicking on the beach... Nor would she enjoy the 110(+) degrees of awesome that has been our most recent summer.

And now I have just talked MYSELF out of living in Texas... Who's down for moving to Costa Rica?

Note to Self: Next time, try to bring home the baby.
It should be easier.

I’m Proud Of Me: No More Apologies and A Tica Tam Update

2011-09-03T08:17:00.002-05:00

Hi, my name is Gator and I’m a total softie. Let me rephrase.

I’m proud of being a softie. No more apologies.

I will proudly stop my car on the side of the road to pick up mangy puppies. I will trap hungry stray cats and try to find them homes. After witnessing a squirrel get hit by a car and watching his little body thrash in the road until peace comes, I will cry for no less than three days and probably need a large dose of therapy. I might even scoop up a full grown squirrel with my bare hands and a dish towel in hopes that my local vet can save him.

I am the girl that rescues abandoned kittens and bottle feeds them every 3 hours, all night long and somehow manages to convince all of my high school teachers to allow me to tote them to class.

I am really and truly over trying to save Cotton Tail rabbits (they become ungrateful mean bunnies) but I’ve nursed 2 back to health successfully and 2 unsuccessfully. My most favorite little bunny slept in my shirt pocket right next to my heart for 4 days, nursed from a tiny bunny bottle every 2 hours, and then passed away taking a little piece of my soul.

I am the girl that ran over a cat in high school and then spent 2 months working off the vet bill. I am the girl that rescues nasty black birds with broken wings and baby birds from hungry dogs. I have taken in too many strays to count and then found them loving, forever homes.

I am the woman who tries the impossible, like attempting to fly a dog home from Costa Rica in one of the hottest summers recorded in Texas history, and I am the woman who is going to be proud of this little piece of good that I possess.

It’s who I am. I really am proud of me.

http://www.behappyinlife.com/inspiration/i_am_proud_of_me.php

I will also be proud of myself because as much as I love all of God’s little critters, I only posses 2.5 dogs. (Tam is the 0.5 seeing as she’s in CR and I’m here in Texas) So, there’s no need to call ‘Hoarders’ just yet folks! But perhaps we should keep them on speed dial, at any rate…

Tica Tammy Update:

Good news: Tammy is heart worm free!! Amazing but true. I was 100% certain that I came home from Costa Rica with heartworms and yet some how little Tam Tam is negative. Wahoo! (The mosquitoes are off the chain in Tamarindo y’all.) This makes me think that the mosquitoes in CR don’t carry the HW microfilaria, and let us all praise the Sweet Baby Jesus for that.

Tammy is still staying with Dr. Jessica Jimenez.

“Like” her page on Facebook and help me say thank you!

https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Veterinaria-Jim%C3%A9nez/182532835095826

Jessica says that Tica Tam is sleeping on her own personal couch at night and she is following her absolutely everywhere during the day. Always under foot, that little Tam Tam. She knows she’s found a good thing and she doesn’t want her people to get away. Little baby dog wants a human pack desperately.

Bad news: Tam has erlichiosis or canine hemorrhagic fever. It’s a tick borne disease and it causes lots of terrible side effects if left untreated, like hemorrhage, blindness and neurological disease. Although the erlichia is very easy to treat, Jessica also found a little tumor on Tammy’s vulva that was bleeding a bit. She hopes that it's only a venereal disease, again easy to treat however, she fears that it could be cancer. Tam was spayed before she was left to roam the wilds but the vet proposed that if she wasn’t spayed well, she may still cycle and that would explain a venereal disease. The cytology results will be back from the laboratory this time next week, so please keep your paws crossed that all comes back well.

Are there any other scenarios in life where the lesser of two evils hangs on the hope that your kiddo is in fact a hoochie mamma? I think not.

Good news: Although Tammy’s rescue mission turned into a wee bit of a nightmare, I can quit beating myself up for doing what I believe was the right thing. I can quit beating myself up for embracing that good little piece of me. Tam would have died a slow horrible death on the beach if it weren’t for my harebrained scheme, the help and patience of my travelling companions and the good hearted efforts of complete strangers. And a large heartfelt thanks goes out to JS, my best friend!

Now here’s to hoping Dr. Jessica falls madly in love with Tica Tam like I did!

Plan B includes finding Tammy a forever home in Costa Rica.

Plan C would involve inconveniencing more perfectly good strangers and asking family members of one of my dear patients to graciously lug Tam Tam home from Costa Rica when they visit Texas in November.

Plan D, and my favorite would have crappy American Airlines fly me roundtrip back to Costa Rica at no charge to fetch Tammy my own self, (when it’s a bit cooler of course) after they agree that the $200.00 voucher that they emailed me is terribly insulting and simply less than helpful in this current predicament.

All of these plans include living happily ever after.

Got your paws crossed?

Best Worst Trip Ever: Costa Rica Finale

2011-08-28T20:34:00.000-05:00

Well... I feel like a complete asshole. An exhausted asshole that needs a whole new vacation to recover from the last one. An exhausted asshole that owes 5 friends and one disgruntled/ shell shocked JS an entire vacation re-do...

I pleaded and I begged for JS to get on board with my harebrained idea to kidnap a Costa Rica stray dawg and brang her home to Texas. I held numerous round table discussions on the matter. I interviewed the locals, my gang of merry travelers and the entire blogosphere...

I even polled two separate vets who both agreed that the best thing for said dawg was a new life in Texas. The number one killer of pooches in CR is motor vehicle accident followed closely by painful bloody hemorrhage from Tick Fever. THEN if the stray pups survive all of those things, there is the ever pleasant death by heart worms.

I spent half my week in CR driving here and there and everywhere to get all the paperwork signed, sealed and delivered. That's not even mentioning the effort we spent cleaning, feeding and loving Tica Tammy to prepare her for her new life. And JS refused to speak to me for approximately 4 out of our 7 days of vacation. Not awesome.

AND after ALL OF THAT... I'm unhappily home in Texas while Tica Tammy was left confused in Costa Rica. Added bonus: The waterworks come and go every few hours with little or no provocation.

I shall let my letter of complaint to American Airlines explain the rest:

To Whom It May Concern,

This past week found me travelling in Costa Rica via your American Airlines company. I travel internationally at least once a year with a large group of friends and nationally several times a year, both while using your airline.

Unfortunately, after my most recent travels and horrifying experience at your Liberia, Costa Rica American Airlines counter, I will no longer be an American Airlines customer.

I must say I have never been more disappointed and distraught over any other incident as I was at your Costa Rican American Airlines counter yesterday, August 27, 2011. I was met with a complete lack of assistance and terribly misleading information from your associates. Due to this deceptive information and the extreme time delay that the misinformation caused, I was left with no other option but to literally leave my dog on the sidewalk in front of the Liberia airport with a complete stranger. Luckily, my veterinarian was then able to cancel all of her afternoon appointments and drive two hours to the airport to fetch my terrified dog, where she remains now, frightened in a strange kennel in Costa Rica while I am at home in Texas.

From the beginning:

When I decided I would like to ship my dog from Costa Rica to Texas I called your Costa Rica office, via your Worldwide Reservations Phone Number: 2-248-9010. I was told exactly these six things:

1. I needed a health certificate for my dog.

2. My dog must be contained in a kennel and the entire package could not exceed 100 pounds.

3. My dog would not be able to fly outside of the temperature regulations stated on the website unless I had an acclimation letter from my vet.

4. I must bring my dog to the airport three hours prior check in.

5. The person I was speaking to was able to make a reservation for my dog but was not allowed to provide me with a direct phone number to the American Airlines ticket counter in Liberia, Costa Rica. Thus the only way for me to get any further information was to drive two hours one-way to the airport and speak to the ticket counter in person.

6. She also directed me to your website.

Under your “Traveling with Pets” page I read through all of the information under temperature regulations. My veterinarian had already informed me that she would be able to provide a temperature acclimation letter and that my dog would then be able to fly regardless of the temperature. She seemed to think that my dog was capable of surviving temperatures closer to 110 degrees Fahrenheit if provided ample water. She believed this to be the truth because she has had several clients fly out of Liberia with no problem, even during the summer, on multiple airline carriers and she is familiar with dogs outdoors year round in very hot climates. As I’m currently observing one of my dogs at 14 years of age voluntarily lying directly in the sun in my backyard where its 107 degrees and she is suffering no ill effects, I wholeheartedly believe my veterinarian and my own eyes.

When I arrived at your American Airlines ticket counter Saturday, August 27th I first spoke to Ivan. Ivan told me that as long as I had my temperature acclimation letter and all of my other required paperwork, my dog would be able to fly to Dallas with me on Saturday, August 27th. This was at 12:00pm. My flight was leaving Costa Rica at 2:35pm. By the time my veterinarian in Costa Rica prepared my letter, it was 1:00 pm. When I asked Ivan for his fax number so that my veterinarian could send him the acclimation letter, he then informed me that the letter was invalid unless it was dated 30 days before traveling. No problem. I called the veterinarian again who agreed to post date the letter and fax it over; now it was 1:30 pm. After the veterinarian sent the letter, Ivan and his supervisor (who was a female, name begins with a J) informed me that regardless of the letter, the law stated that no animal is allowed to fly as cargo if the temperature anywhere upon the route was higher than 90 degrees Fahrenheit. However, your website says 85 degrees is acceptable for regular-nosed dogs. It was also called to my attention that he had provided this EXACT same information to Mr. C H who was similarly trying to fly his dog to Dallas on the same flight, but he told Mr. H he was unable to ship his dog even with his temperature acclimation letter at 12:00 pm. Thus, Ivan had already turned away one customer due to the heat in Dallas but willingly neglected to be truthful to me. This intentional dishonesty left me with two options: Postpone my flight so I could take my dog with me at a later date, or leave my dog in Costa Rica. This also left me with less than one hour, thanks to the incompetence of Ivan and his supervisor, to find other travel arrangements.

When I asked Ivan if he could help me re-route a travel course over the next few days in attempt to get my dog to Texas he told me he simply did not have time. He also mistakenly told me American refused to fly dogs as cargo. He stated that dogs could only fly on American as a checked bag with an owner/representative on the same flight. He did not offer any phone number to contact American Airlines or any other suggestions for help. After asking how I could research other flights he referred me to aa.com, however, there is no internet service provided at Liberia airport. After all of the above, when I directly asked for a phone number he reluctantly gave me an American Airlines contact in Costa Rica.

Today I spoke with a different American Airlines Customer Representative located in the US and she also told me that she was not allowed to give out the phone number for the ticket counter in Liberia. This is why I cannot state the full name of Ivan or his unhelpful supervisor. The supervisor on duty Saturday, August 27th refused to speak to us until we had less than one hour before boarding and then she was very hostile and very rude. Your US Customer Representative also seemed to “think” that there actually is no law stating animals cannot be shipped above 85 degrees, and she was further “under the impression” that the supervisor on duty was the person with the final say in this matter.

This entire incident leads me to believe that all of your associates need better training and your website needs to firmly state all of your policies, state laws or otherwise. Obviously this is a source of mass confusion for multiple veterinarians, travelers, and most importantly, your very own personnel.

I truly regret booking my travel accommodations with American Airlines immensely and I have suffered extreme financial and emotional upheaval over this incident, not to mention the distress my dog has had to suffer. I obviously do not want to subject my dog or any others to unhealthy temperatures, however, I find it very difficult to believe that your personnel are so incompetent as to leave any animal on the tarmac for a lengthy amount of time, as would cause harm to their health. At least that had been my impression up until recently. I never doubted the competence of your personnel before this incident. Now it is clear that I cannot trust that any of your staff is well-informed or trained properly.

I also wonder why your airline does not offer a space to load one or two kennels inside the main cabin if absolutely necessary? We can travel in the main cabin with yowling cats, small barking dogs under 20 pounds, and multiple screaming babies, however, my 40 pound dog that fits in a medium sized crate, who would not so much as make a peep, is denied access. I think this system is terribly flawed, and you may rest assured that I will no longer patronize your company for my travel needs. Moreover, I will utilize every possible opportunity in both my personal and professional life to discourage potential American Airlines customers from spending any money with your company.

Sincerely,

PISSED OFF AND HEART BROKEN

(Although it has also been suggested that instead I sign: F-YOU ASSHOLES.)

The good news came in an email yesterday from Dr. Jessica Jimenez when I arrived sans Tica Tam in Dallas. Right before I drank myself silly.

www.drajimenez.com

Dr. Jimenez is my Costa Rica Veterinarian who also happens to be my identical soul-sister. She went above and beyond to help a perfect stranger and a sweet stray pooch that was stranded at an airport 2 hours away from her busy work schedule, ON A SATURDAY, no less.

This is what she sent to me:

Hello Abby,
Hope your flight was ok. Tammy is here with me, safe and happy.
She is giving me the look like, "ok what is going on?" but she will relax
later. She is a very calm dog and a cutie. She will be free in the clinic during the day and at night she will be in the kennel because I would worry she would get out or do something naughty ( I have this idea because my dog does these things.) I will take her with me tomorrow because I will be all day home, if I do not get any emergencies. If you do not get to communicate with me tomorrow it is because of the reception problem but she will be ok. I will talk to you on Monday because I have no internet in the house. I know it sounds crazy but this is Costa Rica and I live in a area that looks like the jungle, but I love it, that is the reason whyI moved here.
Take care.
PS I love the purple nails.

WAH! Tears of joy! Can you believe my luck? I got to speak to her today before she took all of her pooches and Tica Tammy to the beach!! She says Tammy is a lazy pooch and she is a bit shy, but not aggressive.

So... I'm off to do more research and soul searching. I've already logged a good 8 hours but I still can't decide if I should have Dr. Jimenez find Tam a home in CR (she said it could take months) or wait until the end of September/ beginning of October to ship Tam as cargo?

Go ahead. Say it.  I'm beginning to think you were right... I probably should have left well enough alone and TicaTam on the GD beach in Tamarindo :(

Brain Flukes and Panic Attacks: Our last full day in Costa Rica

2011-08-26T07:53:00.000-05:00

This is what rejection looks like...

I think I must have contracted brain flukes. Lord knows I have contracted a fair share of intestinal parasites as well, but that’s not the REAL issue here.

The real issue of the day: WTF have I gotten myself into?

This dog is 100 % going to eat Bella when Bella latches onto her cheek like the little dummy that she is. At the very least Tica Tammy is going to rip apart our house in an attempt to get back into the wild. Apparently she has separation anxiety. We went to the casino last night and left her home because we didn’t want to leave her outside the casino in the rain… Good news: She only scratched up the door a little bit. Bad news: She scratched up the door a little bit.

I need your votes, STAT people. I have less than 24 hours to figure this out.

Option A: Leave the dog in CR to an untimely death by motor vehicle or heart worms…

Option B: Bring Tica Tammy home and suffer the consequences…

The following is a breakdown of my reoccurring panic attacks:

Worst case scenario 1: I am the owner of 3 dogs and I get to enjoy my new single life when JS dumps me and my dawgs in a shack down by the reever.

Worst case scenario 2: Tica Tammy eats Bella and I am the owner of 2 dogs again.

Worst case scenario 3: Tica Tammy eats through my front door and escapes into the wild.

Best case scenario: All three little queens live happily ever after (with Mamma in a shack down by the reever).

THIS IS A CRY FOR HELP PEOPLE! I absolutely cannot decide which page to turn in this wacky Choose My Own Adventure. I feel like I'm in just a little over my head here, strapped to a runaway train that's barreling toward it's eminent demise. To summarize: I am very calm. VERY calm. WOOSAH...

Dog Deportation and Other Shenanigans... Day 4 and 5 from Costa Rica

2011-08-25T19:04:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was D’s BIG 3-0 and we toured the jungle. Right after we dumped our dog back on the beach… And she chased our car for 3 blocks. Saddest thing EVER. But don’t judge me just yet. Wait until the end.

But back to the Bueno Vista Tour: I’m just going to be honest here… I was totally hoping for less schlepping and more horseback riding. Our tour started with 10 zip lines. Yep. 10. And I cried through the first 7. At least. It was terrifying.

Chill on the outside, stroking out on the inside. Pre-zip photo.
Photo Credit: MacGruber

Flying High. We renamed this the "Full Diaper Tour."
Photo Credit: MacGruber

Walkway to Heaven. Literally.
Photo Credit: MacGruber

Poor Smookems was more petrified than I was, but just barely. At one point between zips I looked over on our tiny trembling platform, suspended 60 feet above the jungle floor only to find Snookems shaking from head to toe, with both arms wrapped around a tree. Now that’s good clean fun.

We actually have a video of Smookems zip lining UPSIDE DOWN, but since it was too large to upload I have included a transcript of the audio:

"OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. I'M DYING. STOP ME. STOP ME. OH MY GOD."

I have to change my pants every time I watch that video. Holy Jeebus that's good stuff.

MacGruber on the other hand was completely fearless and is the very first person in history to join the ‘Canopy Mile High Club’ with this little number.

(Will post picture later. Blogger apparently thought it was too racey for your viewing pleasure.)

She’s an adrenaline junky. I just about peed my pants watching all of her crazy shenanigans, but thankfully we had the foresight to get them all on film.

After zip lining we got in line for our pony tour. Poor ponies. We climbed high, high, high into the jungle while desperately trying NOT to be scraped off on the side of the mountain. Graddy had a little trouble in the steering department, took a quick kick to the shin and decided that was the END of her riding career. Pobrecita. It is an accurate statement to say she absolutely detests horses.

Graddy didn't realize she signed up for the poison ivy tour.
Photo Credit: MacGruber

Then began the schlepping. Boo. I mean YAY! We took a 15 minute hike (unfortunately on our own two feet) up a steep mountain for a really amazing 2 minute glimpse of a real life, honest to goodness waterfall. But boy did we get some good pictures.

Bueno Vista Summit. JS is still speaking to me at this point.
Photo Credit: MacGruber

After schlepping back down the same mountain the real fun began. We chillaxed in the sauna and then painted ourselves with molten magma mud. I suffered first degree burns to my hand (for real), but again, it was all for the sake of good pictures.

Somewhere there are Costa Ricans laughing
at the Gringas that paid to bathe in mud.

Here we are drying and worshipping the birthday girl.

They forgot to tell me that if I chose to cover my body in mud I would then have to dowse myself with water that was a mere 50 degrees. I swear it was so cold that I blacked out for a few seconds and my heart stopped beating. The best part of the entire tour was lounging in the hot springs (107 degrees) and a quick nap on the chaise lounge, after which we scarfed a sketchy buffet and hit the road back to Tamarindo.
But it gets better. Guess who showed up at our front door before we left for dinner last night? Did you guess? This sweet little girl!

Who apparently answers to Reyna: The Queen in espanol. The bartender told me that she belongs to the beach and that I simply could NOT take her home to Texas. Actually, his exact argument went as follows:
“Does she looks sick? (No.) Does she look hungry? (No.) Her yard is the entire beach. She will not like Texas because she does not like cow. She likes fish and shrimps and lobster. Besides, that belt you have on her neck is not exactly her favorite color.”

Touche. Today I let the vet decide. Dr. Carla the veterinarian says she sees 5-10 dogs every week for motor vehicle collisions alone and she assured me that I should not leave her in Costa Rica. I actually took a poll and 2 out of 2 veterinarians agreed. Tammy should live in Texas.

Poor Tica Tammy got all of her shots today, her worming, her flea meds and tomorrrow she will get her Certified Health Certificate. American airlines already has a reservation for 1 perro from Liberia to Dallas and she is scheduled to have her toes painted purple later this evening.

Hasta luego amigos and watch out Texas! Tica Tammy Reyna Dawg is headed home.

P.S. Tica Tammy, Bella and I are looking for a new roommate if you know of anything good... Let's just say JS is LESS than pleased.

Kidnapping in Costa Rica

2011-08-23T16:48:00.030-05:00

Day 3:

Today we kidnapped a dog. I TOLD you we was brangin’ us a ~~island~~ continent dog home. Her name is Tammy. Remember? And JS officially won’t speak to me any longer. She loaded right up in the car, walked straight in Casa Maya like she owned the place and immediately got a good scrubbin’ with Bumble and Bumble Curl Conscious. And now she looks a little peeved. Probably because we totally ruined her Eau of Dead Crab and her Brazilian Blow Out. Pobrecita.

Tammy Dawg. Photo Credit: MacGruber

Not a happy camper. Photo Credit: MacGruber

Before the kidnapping took place we got up early and went to the fitness center for our workout and then an hour of yoga. It was fantabulous. MacGruber suffered a slight sacrum dislocation but otherwise it was a total hit. Luckily we chiropracted her back into place successfully and then we were able to book our travel tour.

Tomorrow is D’s BIG 3-0! We signed up for a horseback ride/ hike across a tiny bridge into a water fall/ zip line into the canopy/ sit in a mud bath / lounge in a natural hot spring combo package. We can’t wait! …Although I’m undecided as to which of my swimming suits I want to sacrifice to the mud gods…

Junior. If for some reason we don't come home from our tour...
He's the second stand on the left. Main Street.
Photo Credit: MacGruber

After giving Junior, our tour capitan a bajillion dollars for our tours, we drank some fabulous cocktails and headed back to the Langosta Fitness and Beach Club to watch a storm roll in.

Langosta Living. Photo Credit: MacGruber

Texas Tornado. Photo Credit: MacGruber

Tamarindo Tornado. Photo Credit: MacGruber

Unsuspecting hammock lounger.

Bam. Nice jump!

We were playing in the surf and lightening when out of the blue ol’ Tammy rolled up. She was looking pitiful, cold wet and lonely when we raced back to our car so naturally we opened up the luggage space and she hopped on in like a pro.

Now we’re waiting for the storm to blow over, literally and figuratively, before we head back to our beach side Casita and poor Tammy is patiently waiting to break out of this biotch.

So… Peace out for now homies. I think I see the sun!

Updates from CR

2011-08-23T08:07:00.000-05:00

Photo Credit: MacGruber

Cast of characters:
LG aka MacGruber
SK aka Smookems
D
Graddy aka Nina
W aka Dub
JS
Gator

*Sorry for the small smattering of pictures. I simply do not have the patience to wait for blogger CR to upload all 8 bajillion pictures and then scramble all of my well placed text. Hopefully I will add more pictures when we are home in the states, but I make no guarantees.

Updates from the Jungle:

Day two (Sunday) in CR found me awake, bleary eyed and ready to explore our tiny town of Tamarindo. D, Smookems and I jogged down the road, through the jungle, over the beach, jumped a few small rivers and then turned around and did it all in reverse. 2 days in a row. Woot, woot.

I was worried about my gimpy ankles but my worry was totally unfounded. Alas, the 3 billion dollars in PT, rehab and good Ol’ chiropractic care has finally paid off. My ankles feel grrrrrreeeat. Or at least 85%. My hips on the other hand have overnight developed an excruciating condition that my fellow traveler and Chiro has diagnosed as bursitis. And I just turned 30 last year. RIDICULOUS I tell you. Thus I have officially diagnosed myself with a double case of really sad hip flexor-itis. Really, really sad.

My fellow merry band has offered to carry me a few times after witnessing my wobble, hobble, shake it, shake it that has become my new gate, and we’ve only begun Day 3 of our adventures. Eh. Nothing a little ice won’t fix. And that’s why I’m sitting here typing with two large Ziplocs full of ice down my pants. Awesome. And chilly. JS says I’m still dead sexy with my ice bags, my limping and my personal fragrance: ode to Biofreeze. But who wouldn’t?

On day two (Sunday) Smookums cooked us a wonderful breakfast of eggs served on an open faced roll. Amazing! Yesterday (Monday) Smookems, MacGruber and I walked all the way to town for Copacobana’s six dollar breakfast. Yum! We had fruit, a tiny smoothie, coffee, eggs and veggies. And then we hiked/ limped all the way back home which totally negated all of our breakfast calories and my first morning shower. It’s about a 15-20 minute walk in each direction.

Our first full day found us on the beach sunning and chillaxing with amazing views. It was a Sunday so all the surfers were out in good form. The waves are not exactly terrifying but I haven’t ventured out to see them up close. I had totally planned on taking surfing lessons while we’re here but then I realized it involves getting out in waters that are deeper than my waist… And then all I can hear is the theme song from Jaws.

Damn the 80’s and the high preponderance of water monster movies from my youth. I have polled several people in my same age bracket that all say the same thing. Deep water is terrifying and dark water is a no-go. We ALL agree that anything unidentifiable that touches a leg calls for immediate ink cloud release, screeching and walking across the offending body of water until a safe shore has been achieved. And we also agree that we could all benefit from a little therapy.

Photo Credit: MacGruber

While we were on the beach we had Brazilian Caipirinhas with a watermelon CR twist. They were fantastical and had us headed home for naps by early afternoon. We ended our first day with swimming in our private pool. Sadly, the purple floats I literally packed on my back all the way from the states are total lemons. One immediately sank like the Titanic and the second is dying a slow hissing death.

For dinner JS grilled us chikkin and burgers while all the single ladies prepared the vegetable accoutrements. Needless to say, the fruit, veggies and eggs here are to die for. The meat however, is really strange. My good friend KBF would say that it tastes exactly like death… And for the sake of my fellow travelers I have decided to call it "gamey." Our joke is that it all tastes a little funny because its grass fed and lacking those tasty industrialized hormone injections. (KFB is a beautiful veg. and for this trip I am totally ON the wagon. Carbs and sugar laced snacks are the only thing I am willingly ingesting without massive amounts of alcohol to confuse my taste buds.)

Photo Credit: MacGruber

After the ladies and I made our breakfast hike Monday we came home to snack and found the rest of our group lounging poolside. We tried to recreate the watermelon caipirinhas and somehow concocted a much more intoxicating version. Nice.  We lunched at the VooDoo lounge next to what were most likely a friendly group of Nicaraguan drug lords, went home for naps and then we went back out for cocktails. Happy hour found us at The Fitness Club which has the most PHENOMENAL pool, bar, and super ~~skanky~~ swanky casitas.

Today (Tuesday) we are headed back to The Fitness Club to work out, catch a yoga class and then to use their beautiful beach access and loungers. MacGruber and Smookems SWEAR that while we were there last night that they witnessed a couple in the candle lit casita “gettin’ it on.” Apparently when they asked our barman ‘Yimmy’ he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Eh. Here you do not need a room.”

EW. AND THAT IS WHY WE WILL NOT BE LOUNGEING UNDER THE CASITAS. EVER.

We finished our Monday evening playing ping pong and pool at the little sports bar that's catty corner from our Casa Maya. It's owned by a husband, wife and dog duo from California. (There is a high concentration of expats from Cali here and really...  Who can blame them?)

I was nicknamed Andy Roddick after MacGruber and Smookems witnessed my ping pong serving prowress in action... And then All the Single Ladies simply refused to play with me after I smashed Smookems in the face with a mighty volley and then very nearly put my own eye out with a poorly aimed slam in the same breath. Who knew ping pong could be so dangerous!? And fun!

MacGruber, it turns out is like a little Korean ping pong mastermind. We tried to get her to play in the surfers winners bracket but she wanted to wait for an occasion when she was weraing a longer dress. At one point in our game she was whippin' my ass with a paddle in each hand. Impressive.

Luckily after my ping pong fiasco Graddy was still willing to take me on for a friendly game of pool, where once again all those hours spent at the Chicken paid off. Perhaps it was all that adrenaline from my earlier ping pong 'championship' coursing through my veins that made me so accurate. Whatevs. I know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth but Mamma was ON FIRE! Say what you want about my ping pong game but I frickin' schooled last night on the pool table.  (*Disclaimer: These results are not typical and may not ever be recreated.)  So we're going to have the winner's pool bracket match off tonight.  And I think I owe the barman something like 55 ping pong balls. Eh...

Happy Tuesday friends and good day from Costa Rica! XOXO

Costa Rica Day One

2011-08-21T07:21:00.004-05:00

Wow! That was a long hungry day of travels. This blog is sponsored by Costa Rican Coffee and my internal (rat bastard) rooster who likes to wake me up at all sorts of ungodly hours... 5:30 am Texas time or 4:30 am Costa time. Wahoo! Partay! Can you guess who will be passed the F out at 8:30/ 7:30 TX/CR time? Yep. This girl.

Any who. I woke this morning to the hum of our super duper fantastically chilly air conditioner and then I had to chip the icicles off my nose. Luckily when I got up for my 3 am potty break I was able to wake JS long enough to demand that he hold me. And thus I didn't die of hypothermia. The long pajama pants and sweater were also a nice touch.

As I type in our cozy common room and sip my lovely rejuvenating java I am watching 'Cinecanal' which appears to be a CR movie channel. The beautiful thing about Cinecanal TV: The films are English with Spanish subtitles. It's helping me tremendously with my rusty Espanol. Not so much help with my ADD.
We'll just blame the sporadic and random bits of typed info on the crack coffee that I'm a slurpin' up like water. My heart may seize at any moment.

A rehash of Costa Travels Day One:

Our story began August 20th at 3:30 am at our house. I showered, changed bed linens for the Pooch-Sitter, and smashed anything and everything extra I could find laying about the house into my bulging suitcase. We sped down south and picked up D, LG and SK, our three 'single ladies' for this adventure. Which inspired JS to begin immediately singing "All the Single Ladies" for the rest of our vacation. He's so cute when he adds the jazz hands and the sashaying hips.

ATX airport was totally LAME because they refused to serve us any Cerveza before 8:30 am. Upon arriving in Dallas we were forced to make up for lost time and 9 am found us reunited with Graddy and Dub, well fed and inebriated. At least all the single ladies. The boys (JS and Dub) remained well behaved and sober.

D and I wrassled down the length of our airplane while boarding. The hysterical giggles and an impatient soon to be birthday girl made it so she couldn't keep her grubby mitts off me. But really. Who can blame her? She bumped me down the entire aisle even after I promised to push her down on the floor and sit on her head if she didn't quit pushing. We gave first class quite a show. You're welcome.

We ate a light lunch on the plane around noon and didn't see another meal until 7:30 pm. Which made for a tenuous and rather ravenous journey.

After starving for half of the day I was able to terrorize the car rental guy (who apparently is not, contrary to popular belief, paid to be nice. Yes, I did ask him.) AND THEN the leasing agent that gave us the keys to our home. Both leasing agents forgot to tell me that there was a 10% bank fee associated with the use of a credit card (these guys want cold hard cash ya'll) and I forgot that I shouldn't use the F word in public. Oops. My bad. We’ll l call it even. 'Cept I may have set America back in our Costa Rican public relations department by a few years... Doubly bad. Eh. Tomorrow is a new day and now I have a good skill to practice. Patience and grattitude while totally being taken advantage of in a foreign country. That and reading the fine print. Duh.

The country that we traversed between Airport Liberia and Tamarindo, CR is incredibly rural. Which may be a huge understatement. We have two cars, little Suzuki Vitaras and two pilots. SK and myself. My merry band of travelers included Dub, JS and Graddy. SK was left to chaffeur D and LG. I had my car load shrieking in fright around every bend and now NO ONE will volunteer to ride shotgun while I drive. Whatevs, pansies. They KNEW what they were getting into. Besides, Mamma was EFFING hungry and they wouldn't allow me to stop at any roadside eateries. I debated on smashing and snatching up a bit of road fowl, there's chikkens ever'where here but alas, none wandered into my path.

We raced to our house, dumped our bags off, turned on our air conditioning and scavenged Tamarindo for food and booze. We settled on a lovely dinner at Cococabana, a beautiful little restaurant and bar right on the beach. Our waiter Carlos bonded with D over his new tattoos and his pretty eyes but mostly we all fell in love with him because he brought us food. And it was delicious. And the bar tender was generous with his pours.

The locals and stray pooches are super friendly and you can literally get anything you want on the street corner. Cuban cigars, surf boards or corn rows. They've got it all. Right now we've already decided to bring home at least 3 dogs. I know Bella will be SO EXCITED to have a new sister ;)

Our house is SUPER fab but this town makes the Riviera Maya in Mexico look like the Four Seasons. It reminds me a lot of Brazil with poorer roads.

Our home has open air corridors and separate rooms. It's really beautiful with a pivate pool, gardens and fountains... But I'm only 90% positive we don't have bed bugs... Time will tell.

Now D, SK and I are off to get our exercise on! We've got some jogging and Crossfit WOD's lined up. And D's on a mission to see monkeys. Me? Not so much. I hear they'll jump on your head and pull your hair. Not cool. I'm going to need to wear some effing diapers for any of those shenanigans. I’m telling you RIGHT NOW I will shit my pants, y'all.

F THAT and good day.

Six Days and Counting!

2011-08-14T23:55:00.000-05:00

Six days. Only six days until we are partying in Costa Rica! I simply can't believe it. Better yet, I only have 4 working days until we hop a flight out of this dust bowl.

10 days!!! Only 10 days until my baby home-girl turns the Big 3-0! Wa-freaking-hoo!

I effing LOVE IT! I hope that D's 30th birthday is as magical and wonderfully awesome as my own. And I just KNOW it will be.

D and I have been best buds ever since we started the 6th grade, which is truly hard to fathom. Mostly because that was like 8 jillion brain cells and at least 5 lifetimes ago. Our love for horses and all things melodramatic brought our world's together at the tender ages of 12 and 11. And some how we've managed to remain connected through the wild years, some wild boys, hair school and college.

Most importantly D kept calling me all of those fantastical years when I was going bat-shit crazy and losing my mind under the pressure of doctor school. She even stuck by me during that first delightful year of my post-grad nightmare of a job, while I tried to stuff all that crazy back in. I cried every single time I heard her voice and she still kept calling. And it was the ugly type of crying that nobody but your very best girlfriend can love. Or maybe your mother... Well, love is perhaps the wrong word. Whatevs. My girl D has been around through some shizzle and made me laugh inbetween and during many an ugly cry session.

So this post is for D. Thanks for letting me orchestrate a fabulous Costa Rican birthday adventure and invite a bunch of my friends.

The Top 10 Things I Love About D:

1. Oh Sweet Baby Jesus! Girl. She'll make you LAUGH like no other.  Like hysterical laughter where you can't catch your breath and all your insides hurt. The kind of laughing that requires a change of drawers if you have a full bladder. Now then, if she would just let me write that book about her life and her fantastical shenanigans we'd have a New York Times best seller on our hands. Or whatever's better than that. THAT'S what we'd have! D, just think about it. You don't have to decide today.

2.   Her storytelling. Never was there a better story teller. The outrageous shenanigans she gets into and the amazing way she has of retelling her tales... Refer back to #1

3.  Her beauty. Inside and out this girl is GORGEOUS. She also has some smokin' hot tattoos that make her package even more bitchin.'  IF that's even possible. She's a show stopper.

4. Her loyalty.  D is as loyal as the day is long. Tried, tested and true. You can rest well in her company knowing that she's always there for you. That and knowing she'd totally shank a biotch for you if it were necessary.

5.  Her discretion. This girl has some Major-Classified-Grade A-Dirt on me and so far as I know, she's never told a soul. She's the only thing standing between me and political office.  Well, that and my total disgust for politics.

6. Her sense of humour.  She's really, truly funny as shit and she always has the decency to laugh quickly and honestly which makes a person feel all warm and gooey inside.

7. Her laugh. It's absolutely beautiful.  It's contagious and it generates enough energy to run a city the size of Austin, Texas for at least an hour.

8. Her family.  D comes from a tough, loving, good, honest country family that would give the shirt off of their backs to help a friend or neighbor. The kind of family you can count on no matter what. The kind of family that helped create such a wonderful friend.

9.   Her honesty.  Always delivered with amazing tact.

10. Her strength. Physically, emotionally and mentally this girl is TOUGH.  Let's put it this way... She's not someone you'd ever want to cage fight but luckily she devotes the use of her super powers only for good.

Plus One:  All the memories we have shared together and the ones yet to come. Jumping hay bales, laying in the heat of the day under a shade tree, taming a wild filly, saving birds and calves and sleeping in your Dad's barn. Wrestling in the tank, throwing cow patties, showing chickens and turkeys, our first kisses, riding our horses to Church, stealing a little brewsky from the neighbors, and super creepy Barney dolls that talk in the middle of the night when you are too young to be babysitting. Learning to drive, surviving our first loves, our first failures and all of our successes.

I love you D. I can't wait to see where the road will take us and all the great memories yet to come.

Happy 30th Birthday doll face!

P.S. This is an excerpt from a note I sent to Graddy today...

"Don't be alarmed, but after meeting the entire Texas contingent for our impending CR adventure I have some exciting news! A) Our trip is very much going to resemble a skanky episode of Big Brother. B) At LEAST one person is going to get voted off the island and it's NOT going to be D. C) This shall provide OFF THE CHAIN blogging material.

That's all and Good Day. XOXO

P.P.S. Are you alarmed? I said DON'T be ALARMED!! Okay... So maybe I'm just a LITTLE alarmed ;)"

Camping Tales: How we acquired the Ol’ Mallord and lessons learned on the trail

2011-08-04T23:24:00.001-05:00

I drove home from the office on a steamy Wednesday evening to find this gorgeous hunk of RV chillaxing in our driveway circa August 2010.

I immediately experienced the overwhelming and full spectrum of emotions that undoubtedly comes with the inheritance of a double X chromosome: Anger, that JS hadn’t told me what he had been conspiring. (If he can keep a 4 hour roundtrip RV transaction hidden from me, what other crazy shenanigans was he capable of!?) Sadness, that I had missed the road trip to pick her up. Disappointment that it didn’t resemble the 2010 models we had been viewing on-line. Elation, that we had a new toy. Curious wonderment as to how long JS would leave it in our driveway and exactly how long it would take our neighbors to start sending ‘love’ notes for its speedy removal.

Scheduling my first introduction to the Ol’ Mallard at night was a sub par idea. It smelled a little funny and its dark interior corners were worse than suspect. I spent the next few days zip lining between disappointment at its less than shiny condition and excitement for our future adventures. Truth be told, I didn’t join the Ol’ Mallard fan club until mid-camping trip on our first outing. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was a totally ungrateful, Snipey-Poo-Poo-Princess about the whole thing for at least a week… (Annnnd I don’t know HOW JS refrains from screaming at me or the occasional and mostly justified use of duct tape across my mouth… But YAY for his impeccable self-restraint!)

Any who, give a girl a little Tiki candle light and a few glasses of ‘River Poison’ and she can fall in love with anything. Especially a glorious camper like the Ol’Mallard. The Ol’ Mallard and I officially became BFF’s once JS removed the poop pipe from my bath tub and all its gory remnants were scrubbed away with heavy duty chemicals. Amen.

Now don’t get me wrong. The Ol’Mallard is in tip top condition and it was utterly spotless upon JS’s acquisition (minus the aforementioned storage of the poop pipe) because it had previously belonged to Bro 5-0 and Fam. The beauty of purchasing anything from Bro 5-0 is simply knowing that whatever it is, it has been impeccably maintained and thoroughly tested for safety and stability. But show a girl a sparkly 2010 model and then bring home a well loved 1980’s model and you can envision the avalanche of emotions it sometimes takes to beat back the old American consumerism culture. Kazam! Pow! Take that b!tc#es!

Back to camping. On our maiden voyage we learned a few very valuable lessons. For instance:

1. The neighbor probably knows what he's doing. Ask him for help. Entrusting your livelihood and the stability of your RV's foundation to an adult beverage enthusiast is always better than "winging it."

2. Learn from Bro 5-0's mistakes. Pump the black water FIRST. Gray water SECOND. This insures all the poop is long gone when you unscrew your pipes for storage purposes... Shower water dripping on your shoes is a-okay however, revisiting last nights dinner is not so cool.

3. We should pack less food, less dogs and mostly I should bring less luggage. 2 days camping doesn’t warrant the use of 2 suitcases, a full shower vanity and a back pack straining at the seams. What? Don’t judge me. The back pack had my SHOES in there!

Any ways, Prada P (who’s other aliases include: P-Diddy, Pretty Diddy, P-Dizzle, Stinky P, Peepers and most recently Peanut) was a nightmare resembling 96 pounds of smelly dog love banging around inside a tiny tin can. That likes to occasionally paw at the screen door. Which in turn makes JS homicidal.

Prada is 96 pounds of fur that resembles a smelly ottoman. A loudly snoring ottoman that refuses to budge so a person might actually get past her, unless you are precariously balanced above her. Once you have achieved maximum straddle capacity she THEN invariably panics, which involves lurching to a frantic standing position, removing unsuspecting toes, shin bones and any flooring in the process. Needless to say, she hasn’t been invited back for any more camping trips. Peepers gets to stay home with her Pooch Nanny and Bella gets to go camping. Bella the Barbarian in her 6 pounds of fury is the perfect fit for our lavish 100 square feet of Mallord living.

We have also learned that all vacations are better with a water feature and life is always peachier when there are Christmas lights involved. Christmas lights jazz up the front porch of anything year round and make for wonderful ambiance.

All of our camping thus far has revolved around rivers and most recently we branched out and visited a bad ass RV water park named Yogi. We’ve floated, kayaked, mountain biked and partied with famous bears. We may have even brought babies to tears on a hayride because we were a little too enthusiastic in our water balloon wars... But that's neither here nor there.

The point of this tale: Camping is marvelously rejuvenating. When there’s lots of AC involved.

The mornings spent in the wilderness of a well maintained RV park are fantastic for an enthusiastic blogger, biker, hiker or jogger. By the time JS rolls out of bed Bella and I have usually conquered several miles and/or an entire blog entry. It’s absolutely magic.

Now who’s up for my 31st Birthday Camping Fiesta!? You’re ALL invited and we’re headed here:

September 17th, just in case you've forgotten. Go ahead and get your cabins while the gettin's good. The Ol' Mallord is full ;)

Nipples...

2011-08-02T12:29:00.002-05:00

I sent this via an email to my home girl G Money the other day, and thought it should be aired in a more public forum. Mostly because she has not responded AT ALL... And I thought she would at least have commended me on the fact that I used the utmost restraint and thus did NOT add it to her very Churchy and familial comment thread that was a hoppin' on facebook. And I MEAN to tell you, it was REALLY, really hard not too... ;)

"Auto correct and such..."

So the other day my calorie tracker program wouldn't accept my spelling of Nutella... It helpfully kept switching the entry to 'nipples.'

Which is a little frightening for the following reasons:

A) The program might actually provide nutritional info on nipples. B) If there is nutritional info about nipples, it would have to mean people actually eat nipples. And C) I was eating Nutella while trying to get shredded.

Perhaps the program was referring to the 'buttery' or 'slippery' kind that is a delicious and calorific alcoholic beverage. Yes. I should like to think so.

Food for thought.

Good day and XO...

My Sh#! is Broken... And Other Important Lessons

2011-07-30T23:44:00.002-05:00

I learned a valuable lesson this week and I thought I would share it with you guys...

NEVER, EVER yell at your trainer. Ever.

This is about to get real folks. Real graphic. The squeamish should just go ahead and turn away. Quit reading. You've been warned.

Let's start at the beginning...

Wednesday morning I woke with excruciating menstrual cramps. If you can envision having a gut shot wound and intestines spilling out of your body, you might have some idea what was a happenin' to me this past Wednesday. But probably not. So let's move on.

I shot half of a bottle (slight exaggeration) of ibuprofen with my coffee, tequila and protein powder (breakfast of champions) and then hobbled to my 7:30 am appointment with Keith, otherwise known as Satan. Keith used to train professional baseball players so his idea of positive encouragement looks like, "You did a good job today... But I suspect you can do better."

And JS doesn't pay him to be nice to me. So it's almost okay. I'm trying to coach him on his positivity and he's trying to train me to keep my mouth shut. Ha.

Anywho, this Wednesday I started my session by telling Keith that I was 80% certain I would be puking from the pain that was my uterus, and he began our session by throwing up a little bit himself. Then he made me do 8,000 single leg RDL's, band walks and split squats. Things were getting a little tense after the 4th round because I had set a new record for underachievement due to blood loss. Keith's patience was wearing thin and the number of his antagonizing comments was growing large.

I was mostly just dizzy and nauseous in between the black-outs. And getting more irritable by the minute.

After attempting a few Russian leg curls, alternately known as the most painful exercise ever, (Slide your legs under a weight bench, raise your ankles in the air thereby smashing the delicate bits of your calves into the bottom of the weight bench, and then use your legs to hold your body as you lower and raise your chest from the ground) Keith thew it out of the plan due to my increasing belligerence.

Russian leg curls

Since we threw out the leg curls we added in back extensions with weight.

When Keith made the mistake of asking which weight I wanted, things got a little ugly.

I regrettably replied, "I want the 5 pound plate." To which Keith made the, 'You must have lost your mind' face and said, "5 POUNDS!? We don't use the 5 pound plate!"

And then I totally lost my shit.

"WHY THE F WORD WOULD YOU EVEN ASK ME IF YOU WERE JUST GOING TO BE AN ASS? WHY DON'T YOU JUST BRING ME THE EFFING WEIGHT YOU THINK I SHOULD BE USING?"

Blame it on the pressure the machinery was putting on my ailing uterus or blame it on the increasing antagonism, but needless to say, it wasn't one of my finer moments. The two other gym patrons watched to see what would happen next. For a few shocked seconds, nobody made a peep. Keith's face remained surprised and a wee bit confused as my insides turned to shameful and embarrassed jello. When a smile started to spread across his face, I knew I was in for a world of hurt...

He had two whole days to work on his retribution. We met this morning for a workout that we shall now lovingly refer to as, "Payback is a Mother Effer." It only took 4 hours post workout for my arms to seize so that brushing my hair has become an absolute no-go. Changing clothes has also become completely impossible, but that's okay because I totally look forward to wearing this shirt for the next 4 days.

In other news, I've also recently learned you should NEVER, EVER, EVER tell your trainer that you ate the whole pizza... Or drank the entire bottle of booze by yourself... But you already knew that didn't you?

When The Trailer's A Rockin'...

2011-07-22T08:28:00.001-05:00

...It means JS is chopping veggies for my latest foodie creation! (You guys should be ashamed of yourselves ;) These knives here in our RV aren't exactly Cutco. You've got to use a moderate amount of elbow grease to take down a little 'ol bell pepper.

We're camping our week away with JS's fam at Yogi's Yellowstone Park in the wilds of Waller, TX. I've come to the realization that our group is much too thin and we all have an overabundance of teeth to be hanging with this wild and woolly crowd. Think, 'The Clampetts' with really effing nice RVs.

JDS and Bella The Barbarian enjoying cuddle time

We're roughing it for 5 days and 4 nights out in The Old Mallord. We've got the A/C blasting, a small flat screen TV, a microwave and a stove, a brand new queen mattress, and a tiny compartment with a private potty and a shower. You know, REALLY roughing it. If it makes you feel any better, our men folk can't figure out how the water heater works, or maybe it's actually broken, I'm a little sketchy on the deets... Anywho, if you shower midday or later the suns solar rays have heated our reserve tank to a nice comfortable warmish temperature, and it's not really an issue.

Besides, I'm not really a big fan of bath time anyways. Most days I have to physically wrestle myself into the shower, preferring to let Mother Nature marinate me in her own juices. At least until I get a little itchy. Then I'll gladly volunteer for a spray down.

My aversion to water began at a very young age and continued through middle school where peer pressure and social norms began to dictate my hygiene. When I was much younger, like at least two years ago, a swim in the pool after a very long day would often suffice for a nightly bath. My poor Mother resigned herself to the ownership of chil'rens with green hair and stinky teeth to avoid our ritualistic knock down, drag out, 'Catch the Gator At Bath Time' match. But she was awfully wiley. Occasionally she'd outsmart the Gator and slam me under a bar of soap when my resistance was low.

There's even a few stories of the neighbors calling home to tell Ma that her toddler was headed north up the road at a good clip, buck naked of course. Baby Gator inherited some of Mama's wiles. If Mom turned her back for more than 3 seconds rumour has it, I was streaking around the neighborhood. But for the most part I outright refused to bathe unless I was visiting my Mamaw (pronounced Mam- aww). Mam had wiles of her own. She bribed us with graham crackers and milk and the reading of bedtime books. No less than 20 at a time would do. Mam also had the warmest, fluffiest bath towels. She would painstakingly scrub behind each knee and over each baby toe. She would then hand dry each of those little pigs with said magical towels. Like a good old fashioned baby spa. Mmmm, mmmm!

One time, before the Lifesaver candy became so popular, Sister and I were lounging in Mam's tub and generally wrestling over who was closest to Mam when our jostling had me choked on a hard candy. That little bugger was perfectly lodged at the distal end of my windpipe and I couldn't get a lick of air past. My eyes grew bulgy and my heart was beating fast as I felt myself tee-tottering on the edge of hysteria. When Mam cottoned on to the situation she whipped my ass out of the water so fast my head spun, soap suds and all. She then proceeded to Heimlich my slippery little bubble covered body until that ill behaved candy shot right out of my mouth. She never scolded us for eating candy during bath time, she didn't even blink an eye. She simply acted like performing the Heimlich on your 4 year old granddaughter was all in a good days work. Then she proceeded to lovingly dry each of my oxygen deprived little piggies. She was cool as a cucumber. Mam would have made one hell of a poker player.

But back to camping:

Bro 5-0, The Warrior Princess, GDS and JDS upgraded from The Old Mallord last year to a brand new Bad Ass Sportsmen Coach. Last night they invited us over to eat dinner and rub elbows in their new digs so I repayed the favor by promptly spilling my Vitamin Water Zero With Gator's Special Sauce all over their new rug. AND a sad little Baby Bella Dog. Oops. My bad. Bella sorta smells like she's homeless but otherwise everyone has recovered well.

So today whilst we're out camping I swiped this fab recipe from my friend Jules: One Pot Holiday Meal

And made the most delicious crock pot meal EVER!

After I had eaten my fill of scalding hot, burn your tongue right out of your face deliciousness, I ate my weight in rice krispy treats and passed the F out.

But before all that while the smorgasbord of awesomeness was cooking, we partook of Yogi's Water Palace. Excuse the poor quality iPhone photos.

Yogi's Dump Bucket

Hey Bobo! This guy likes to toot his own horn.
About 8 jillion times a day.

The Elusive GDS get's captured in action.
He looks as if he is preparing for an under water mining expedition

JDS helping me catch the elusive GDS on film.
Otherwise known as unsanctioned Baby Wrestling.

JDS challenged me to a race down 'The Slide of Death.'

After the ten minute hike that was climbing upwards to the top of 'The Slide of Death' I found myself in a full blown panic, sort of hyperventilating and repeating an increasingly hysterical, "Oh my Gawd. Oh my Gawd. Oh my Gawd." refrain. Luckily JDS talked me off the ledge of hysteria. He simply said, "Man up Aunt Gator!" Those profound words coming from the mouth of a 7 year old TOTALLY helped me find the courage I needed to slide.

I also reckoned death by water slide was preferable to the shame of climbing all the way back down those stairs and having to look all those brave babies directly in the eyes. Later I learned JS and Bro 5-0 had a wager going over which road I'd take. JS said he was 80% certain I would come walking back down those stairs and Bro 5-0 said he had dibs on my flip flops.  Bro had his money on 'death by heart attack.'

Ha. I sure showed them. And the rest of the entire water park. I courageously screamed like a two year old the entire length of that slide. After reviewing the emailed footage Papa G said he thought my screams had the mature tone of at least a four year old, and that made me feel so much better.

I barely survived that first trip down the water slide due to my severe fear of heights... And my fear of speed... And my new found fear of suffering an untimely death by catapulting over the side of a water slide...  But it was so awesome that we went back for more. Or at least until I ran out of skin on the top of my sad little toes. Ay Chihuahua. What a rush!

Now I'm real sorry to sign off but JDS, Bella The Barbarian and I must skedaddle. Daylight's burning and we have a bike tour to get to. Happy Trails Y'all!

Mexico Part Two: No Mas Tequila

2011-06-18T07:00:00.010-05:00

It took me almost an entire year to upload all these damn photos, so here it is! This here is the second and last part of my birthday Bonanza recap from Mexico September, 2010.

If you missed part one you can catch it here: Part One

The first night of our raucous vacation, JS and I had a quick spat over which of us was the coolest. Neither of us could resolutely agree that indeed, I AM the coolest, and seeing as how he had had his fill of pointless chatter and Princesses after our long day of travel, he decided he would not be eating dinner with the me and the rest of the gang. So off to dinner the merry gang went and Grumpus-Aurelius was left to his own devices.

5 hours later I found JS weaving his way around the resort in his swimming trunks and a much improved mood. He claimed he had no room key in his possession, so he busied himself at the bar all evening. The hysterical part was, for the rest of our vacation JS was on a first name basis with our bartenders. In every single bar. All eight of them.

Days 2-5 of our wondrous Mayan vacation went as follows:

Dub, Nina, G, Ant and Trisha took an all day shopping expedition to Playa Del Carmen and a dinner trip to Cabo San Lucas one night that they concluded was fabulous. The highlight being a cold CO cartridge being squirted unexpectedly into their backsides… JS still marvels at how differently our vacation could have ended if he and I had joined them on that invigorating little excursion. It’s quite easy to picture JS stuck in a Mexican prison for killing the well meaning and poorly trained Mayan barman that made the deadly mistake of trying to frost his tush. Yes. A much different ending indeed.

Thanks be to the Sweet Baby Jesus the butt frosting expedition coincided with our Spa day and thus JS was saved from the living the life of a fugitive.

My girlfriend D and I enjoyed a lovely couple’s massage that day (Since we signed up at the same time they thought we were a couple?) as JS monitored the toplessness on the beach. Those Europeans ain’t got no shame, which can be a truly beautiful and/or frightful thing. (Side note: I am SO getting a bikini because Dear Lawd, if they can wear it… SO can I. Side note from side note: Any and all pictorial evidence of me wearing any bikini will immediately be destroyed, as will the person who tries to acquire any of said evidence.)

Except for this picture, strategically taken from a distance. Brazil Nov 2010.

During our couple’s massage when D asked for more pressure, I somehow suffered an ass kicking by proxy. My masseuse really embraced that famous one liner, “Do WORK, son!” and I was actually in tears for a short span of time. Like 5 minutes. I attributed my ‘emotional release’ to the recent passing of my horse, the low back trauma I had suffered at her youthful expense, simultaneously combined with ‘The Man From Snowy River’ theme music (that shizzle is moving) and the deep body work over my broken low back. All in all it was by far THE BEST massage I’ve ever had.

JS had us all in fits of giggles when he retold the story of his massage. In Mexico there’s little to zero draping, which can leave certain ‘bits’ of your body out in the breeze if you will… So he’s laying there, face up on the massage table enjoying a nice calm revelry when suddenly his masseuse whips his leg over her shoulder, karate chopping and tucking the sheet to cover his man pieces in one nice choreographed move. Then he swears she punched him exactly five times in the hamstring.

I almost wet my pants when he revealed this little gem. So I asked him, “What happened to the other leg?” To which he calmly replied, “Oh, she did that one too. But I was totally ready for it then.”

Priceless.

The morning of my actual birthday we got up super early, packed our swim gear and headed into the jungle for our Tulum Xtreme excursion. I figured if I was going to die in a jungle, my 30th birthday was as good a day as any.

We were distracted from the ‘Xtreme’ part of the program by first touring the amazing Mayan ruins of Tulum. This included squinting at lizards and sweating profusely as we gazed at the remains of the awe inspiring stone buildings where almost an entire population was wiped out by good Christians and the diseases they brought to the indigenous people.

The mood and the temperature were significantly lighter on the coast line where we enjoyed snapping photos and drinking in the beauty of the Caribbean.

G and I tried our gymnastic moves off the top of a rock, in hopes of capturing some air on film… Annnnd once again I was surprised by my lack of coordination and grace. But mostly, every time I launched myself into the air I could only envision myself tied up in traction inside of a very scary Mexican hospital. With skills like my own, it's not far from a hop off of a little rock to a broken leg. Let's just say I was giving less than 100% on take-off.

Fail!

Win!

After touring Tulum we drove further into the jungle and I was talked into climbing a freaking crazy tall set of stairs to reach the zip line. At the top of the stairs I entrusted my well-being and 30 years of life to a 4 foot Mayan, a series of cables and a very tight, wedge-a-fying harness.  When it was finally my turn to 'zip' I yelled something along the lines of, “If you want me out there you’re going to have to Effing push me, because I refuse to jump off voluntarily!”

And THEN...  The tiny Mayan pushed me.

I realized amidst my sheer terror while simultaneously dangling at warp speed over a remote jungle in the middle of nowhere, far, far away from any medical help...  I had two taller, faster and even more terrifying zip lines ahead of me.

But we all survived. And it was AWESOME!

For our next adventure we had to repel down a set of stairs. Also terrifying. The wedgie somehow even more painful in this contraption.

The reward for completing our terrifying, sweaty adventures dangling from cables and ropes was dunking our bits in the coldest water known to man. (Our consolation prize was a traumatizing image of our guide "Guapo" with his extra large man bits accentuated by his repelling harness forever etched into our minds.)

We ended our Xtreme Tulum adventure with a guided tour of an underground water filled cave called a Cenota. It was pretty spectacular, awe inspiring and a teeny bit creepy. I kept hearing the theme music from Jaws and thus maintained a high level of vigilance, keeping my eyes peeled for any suspicious cave creatures. Someone (total ass hat) happened to grab my foot fin as I snorkeled by and I immediately suffered a mild cardiac infarction. And, might I ask, WHO THE F WORD DOES THAT!?

After I released my protective ink cloud I turbo propelled my head right into the low hanging cave wall in an attempt to shake my attacker. Luckily my attacker wasn't actually a shark as he would have had plenty of time to eat me while I floated in stunned silence only broken by the occasional muffled obscenities squeaking from the top of my snorkel, while the blinding pain dissipated.

Thankfully we took pictures before I concussed myself.

After the conclusion of our Xtreme Adventure we raced to the beach to catch some rays and decrease our sobriety. There was a tequila shot 'challenge' between D and JS. D won... And then I was almost forced to push her off a balcony... But she was spared ;)

Shades of Tequila

Another memorable occasion was the discoteca. We managed to drop it like it's hot and simulatenously scare all the other dancers off the dance floor. Apparently our moves were uber impressive and/or intimidating. You be the judge...

Another event sponsored by Tequila

Our magical trip and my birthday celebration ended much too soon and I smothered my friends with kisses before we parted ways. D, JS and I somehow managed to keep it real on our return trip with only 50 minutes between our international flight into Dallas and our flight from Dallas to Austin...

Hello, dummy? Did you forget about customs? Why yes. Yes I did. Thus D and I got to experience our first taste of barefoot running. (JS was smart enough to forgo flipflops and wear running shoes.) Listen hear y'all. A 1/2 mile full on effing sprint while wearing a skirt and slinging a heavy-ass carry on bag aint no joke. Hence my gimpy ankles. My body may never be the same.

We did however enjoy the male flight attendant fawning over JS with water to drink and napkins for his sweaty brow while the two of us ladies had nothing to staunch the flow from our faces our quench our throats. We decided that he simply thought JS was going to die which would further delay/ inconvenience our fellow travellers heading to Austin.

Needless to say, we all survived Mexico and we are now looking forward to Round 2 of THE BIG 3-0! Someone (D) is turning 30 (D) this August (Did I mention it's D?) and we are rounding up the same merry band of travellers + 2 new for a Costa Rican Adventure!

Lord, please help us all ;)

Super Secret Shenanigans

2011-06-17T20:57:00.000-05:00

SOMEONE in my house is taking riding lessons... And it's not me.

SOMEONE in my house is taking riding lessons, that swore that they hated horses. And it's not me.

SOMEONE in my house is taking riding lessons that swore they hated horses because they were fiscally ridiculous. Like inserting dollar bills (y'all) into a four legged machine that simply converts your retirement into manure after stomping your most favorite Baby Dog, colicking and making a quick trip to the horsey ER. AND it's not me.

SOMEONE in my house has stealthily amassed a library of horse care, conformation and riding self-help literature. AND it's not me.

Can you guess who has garnered himself a new polo pony? With ONE simple phone call?

I am flabbergasted. 100% flabbergasted.

I took him to ONE polo tournament. ONE! I leave town for 3 days! 3 short days!!

I hold a Mister Prado and one Ms. Sara Jane Farris responsible for this madness.

SOMEONE in my house says I can't ride his new horse.

Now which of you believes that?

saratogasaddlery.com

Toilet Time

2011-05-29T07:49:00.000-05:00

A few nights ago I almost died of fright.

But let me start at the beginning.

Halfway through the night I woke from a cozy dream with a straining bladder. Rolling over and ignoring it was no longer an option because I had already done that 5 times and said bladder had finally reached maximum painful capacity.

But why not get up the first time the 'ole bladder woke me you ask? Well... Because of the following:

1. Somewhere under the covers is an ear flapping time bomb known as the butt rat snuggler. Whenever she notices me shifting awake she bolts from the folds of JS' tush using only her sharpest toes to dislodge herself. After breaking the surface of the covers and reaching fresh air she immediately flaps her sonar devices (ears) loudly enough to wake the neighbors and possibly the dead, if they were somewhat light sleepers. This absolutely infuriates the Grisly Bear, otherwise known as JS, and can lead to a middle of the night (somewhat incoherent) tirade. Lives may be threatened and grudges will be held. Indefinitely.

2. Our bed is over 4 feet tall with a marvelous memory foam topper that is damn near impossible to extract yourself from without the help of a crane and, or a well placed, freshly sharpened Chihuahuan toe as incentive.

3. Somewhere down in the darkness is the sleeping Akita. She is guaranteed to wake just as you have carefully straddled all 96 pounds of her body, potentially throwing everyone to the ground. At the minimum you will sacrifice a delicate pinky toe to her senile flailing.

So this particular night I somehow manage to slide from under the covers without waking the ear flapper. The Akita is alerted to my presence because my ankles are so incredibly sore that I cannot walk in the middle of the night without a very loud shuffle, slide, shuffle, slide, kick ball change, shuffle, step. I'm certain she can't actually hear me but thankfully she can feel the vibrations. I make it to the potty without incident, a first in many days and proceed to blissfully empty my painfully full bladder.

http://www.flixya.com/photo/1888014/baby-sit-on-the-toilet-bowl

I'm just about to dose off in the darkness when I am scared to attention by a very loud girlish scream a mere 3 feet from my face. After levitating and loosing the rest of the contents in my bladder, I realize I'm not actually under attack. I have only startled my dearest JS with my stealthy potty presence. Apparently he didn't feel the vibrations.

I immediately scream at him because it's 3 in the morning and I have just suffered SEVERE fright if not, in fact, an actual heart attack.

"WTF JS!? HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE ME IN HERE!? WHY WOULD YOU SCARE ME LIKE THAT!?"

This seems to really amuse JS and he begins giggling. A lot. I bolt from the bathroom with my adrenaline laced indignity and stomp back to bed. I can still hear him giggling as I curl up with my sweet little Chihuahuan, who promises to never, ever scare me like that. As I eventually dose off I'm pretty sure I hear the Chihuahua giggle a little bit too.

GUESS what I have!?

2011-05-22T11:03:00.001-05:00

Can you guess what I have?

NOPE. Not a new Camaro. We already went through that. No point in even getting your hopes up. I can't buy the Camaro until I cash in JS' life insurance policy... And he looks pretty healthy these days ;)

So, back to what I do have... In my front yard!

BIG, HUGE, horse like deer... That have a thing for tasty sunflower buds. Ass hats. We'll see how they like cayenne pepper. But with my luck, they'll very likely be a mutant band of Cajun Deers.

The carnage...

The Perps

Can you guess what else I have?

A WHITE squirrel!!

O.K... So maybe he's just a tad bit yellow. Whatevs. I think we can all agree that even a yellow squirrel is way cooler than a plain old brown one AND it's totally ok, you know, if you're just a little bit jealous.

Of all the things...

I actually shot a video of me chasing him over to the neighbors this morning... Oops. You're welcome neighbor. But it's too large to post and I'm not savy enough to edit it. But you can imagine the glory: Awesome little yellow squirrel being chased by brown bully squirrel. He sees me taping and hides from the camera. He hops to the ground and hauls ass across the road to the nieghbors knowing full well I won't pursue him because I may or may not be running around in my front yard bra-less, sporting a baggy pair of JS's undies.

BEST of ALL... I have this little beauty!

And I post this picture at the risk of horrible things happening to me... Like the fear of one day having myself exposed on the internet while sitting on the potty or worse...

The camera shy and very ellusive BIG FOOT!

Or maybe that's my dearest JS fetching the paper in his undies.
tee hee...

Good thing no one took a picture of me chasing squirrels today. Trust me when I say it would have looked similar to the picture above if you just added my scary Medusa hair.
Now then... What's happening in your world?

Pipe Dreams

2011-05-21T06:00:00.001-05:00

I need a new Camaro

I woke up last week with a new revelation. I WANT a new Camaro. Bad. I think I’ve gone mad. And now I’m kind of sad. JS said that I better get a roomy version because if I brought home a new car I’d have to live in it… Dream crusher.

It was like I woke one day and I was struck with a bolt of consumerism lightening. It’s a very disturbing feeling because I have not EVER wanted a brand new car. One: I have always been a poor student and now I’m a poor newish business owner, and Two: I’m a Virgo with a huge OCD complex and given my poor driving history… New car + dent and/or scratch = months of therapy and/or costly insurance claims.

I KNOW better. I READ Dave Ramsey. I ALMOST have a savings account!

And now I’m a hypocrite because waaaaay back in the day I even tried to convince JS that a brand new “Farm Truck” was a really bad idea. He had his “Aha! She was right” moment, when a week after its purchase the farm gate smashed into its side. And again a few months later when he took out a few reflector posts in a well executed side slide right into a ditch. (Now listen here, just because one of those accidents was my fault doesn’t mean that a new truck was a wise acquisition.)

AND THEN more recently I discovered that not only did I really, really WANT a new Camaro… I NEED a new Camaro. Have you seen that thing? It’s a frickin’ revelation. But most importantly I think we can all agree that I would look super fly rocking less than 20% body fat driving a muscle car.

Yep. See. That’s EXACTLY why I need the new Camaro.

Check it:

It's okay to drool.

Boxing Epilogue

2011-05-20T16:35:00.001-05:00

So... I went back for more today. Dummy.

www.qoolio.net

I attended a boxing class this morning whereas yesterday I had a private lesson. Let's just say my friends, I found myself in a whole new world...

I wrapped up my hands like a big girl, pretty sure I was doing it all wrong but not willing to look like I was a beginner. Thanks be to the Sweet Baby Jesus I chose to wear the black top instead of the pink one I left laying on the closet floor. Although the purple shoelaces were definitely a good choice. Think mostly ninja with purple accents. That was me.

There were six full grown really sweaty men and one extremely red faced crazy lady with purple shoelaces in our class. We started with 5 minutes of jump rope but my gimpy ankles garnered me sprints on the ancient bicycle instead. I guiltily watched them make mince meat of 5 minutes. On a good ankle day I have trouble counting to 50 jumps without landing some heinous lashes to my body but those dudes had mad skills. There was a lot of criss-cross and double unders and all sorts of fancy speed steppin.' Clearly this wasn't their first rodeo.

When Bruce finally got off his phone, I was exhausted from watching the men jump rope and trying not to cry about how painful the bike seat was. Then we all got into the ring for shadow boxing in front of the mirrors. I only know one step and a few swings, add in the feinting and that's all I've got folks. I did my best to stay out of the other guys way and hoped no one was watching my pinata get all hot, red and drippy.

I'm not gonna lie... When Bruce instructed them to start sparring two at a time, I was a little frightened. My 'Boxing is TOTALLY AWESOME' bubble came crashing to the ground. It was like tires squealing to a halt when it dawned on me that one day I might actually get hit in the kisser.

REALLY? HOW COULD I HAVE MISSED THAT PART?

www.sportsencounter.com/news/boxing/pakistani-boxers-to-feature-in-combat-games-8192.html

I am a little ashamed to admit that in that moment of abject terror my next thought was: Is it too late to get a refund!?

I spent the next 10 minutes praying that he wouldn't make me spar with one of his man beasts and alternately that they wouldn't stomp me into the mats as they sparred RIGHT beside us.

Jesus heard my prayers and/or Bruce could hear the potential lawsuits stacking up against him and I was not asked to spar with any giant man beasts before we moved on to the bags. Ahhhh! My good friend Mister Punching Bag. The bag that would never smack me in the head or knock a freshly bleached tooth from my sweaty little head. How I missed thee!

Bruce changed up his taunting tactics and opted for Sissy Britches today instead of Prissy Pants.  He told the men that maybe they'd box better in stilettos and skirts seeing as they sucked so badly in their tennis shoes. He used a lot more humour with me than he did with his men. Which is good. I might actually cry.

The best part of the entire class was when Bruce squirted each of us with icy water from a spray bottle.  He said, "Good Lord girl. We need to wash some of that color off your face."

To which I replied, "Fat chance Brucey. Them's my unfortunate Irish genes."

After endless boxing drills we finished with real sprints outside for the men folk and more bicycle sprints for Gimpy ankle girl. I opted for higher resistance so I could stand up instead of risking my girlie bits to that rabid bicycle seat. All in all it was a good old fashioned ass kicking. We finished with another 10 minutes of core and all together I burned 946 calories.

In an hour and a half I lost (I swear to God because I weighed myself before and after) exactly 8 ounces of water through my knee caps. I looked around for comparison purposes and it seemed like I was the only one with dripping knees and shins. Neat.

So!  Can you guess what my new mantra is?

Original mantra: BOXING IS AWESOME!

New mantra: Please Sweet Jesus, DO NOT let me cry ;)