Getting used to the idea

I've got some soup in the microwave right now. As I was stirring it, I looked over and saw THREE hopeful faces watching my every move.

Oh well - the idea of one of them being a little black guy doesn't really bother me. And I suppose it is one of Mr. Abby's redeeming qualities that he gathers up all the homeless dogs.

SIGH.

Mr. Abby thinks we should call him "Gunny." I think that's a little dweeby, but would be amenable to the more familiar "Guns." I can think of all sorts of hysterical things we could call him, but even we live in an at least slightly PC world.

But I also think "Satchel" would be cool. After Satchel Paige - the Negro League baseball player.

Husbands gone wild...

You know, occasionally I find myself envying women whose men, when traveling, like to hang out in strip clubs, chase women and run wild.

Not mine. Oh no.

So I get this phone call. From a mildly inebriated Mr. Abby. He rambled on for a while about what a nice day his professional development class had at their picnic. Rambled on about the scenery and the potato salad.

Then, "Umm...I've got something to tell you. I'm bringing someone home with me."

I paused. "I'm not sure how to respond to that, honey."

"He's black. And tall. Well, he's not tall, but he will be."

"Oh Jesus Christ, did you find a Great Dane or something?"

"Noooo...a lab puppy."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"They said they were gonna put him to sleep!"

Sigh. So apparently, my goddam husband fell victim to some couple with a two-month-old lab pup that they found, and can't keep, and were going to take to the Shelter O' Death. So Mr. Abby, knowing that his wife loves all the dogs, said he'd take him.

I really don't feel the need for a third dog. Two is enough. But I love big black dogs, and we're easy touches, so we'll have a new Bad Dog here in a couple of weeks. I suppose, since our lives are already totally ruled by the dogs we've got, another one isn't really going to add that much headache.

But for the love of God - if I get another "I have to tell you something" phone call, it'd better involve cheap floozies and not something I'm going to have to take to the vet, housebreak and take for walks.

Barking at the Navy

I watched the Blue Angels show from the backyard earlier. They were, of course, highly cool.

Sparky has apparently decided that his official position is one that requires barking at low-flying jets. That was irritating. Kinda funny at first, since he barks and hops around in a small circle, but ultimately annoying as Hell.

Casey ignored the flights (hard to believe - you'd think with ears that big that she'd be hiding in the bedroom).

Dog Cousin Allie wasn't exactly sure what she was supposed to do. She barked with Sparky a little, but didn't really seem to get into it. In the end, she just layed next to my chair on the back porch and watched the world go by.

The park is packed still with folks who watched the airshow from there, but in a couple hours when it clears out, I think I'll take the pack down for a spin.

I hate cleaning

But Cousin R is dropping by to deliver Dog Cousin Allie, who I will be dogsitting for a few days. So I had to do something about the place. It looked a little like someone had decided to open an ammunition store/kennel.

It still looks like that, but now it looks like the sort of place where you'd actually go for all your ammunition and dog boarding needs.

"I got yer 5.56 62-grain penetrator on stripper clips, and I got a squeaky 'possum fer the little guy. You want I should bag 'em together or separate?"

Perhaps I have a future in this...

I cannot wait to get out of this place.

This is cool

I went to Ye Olde Liquor Store today, since I was out of liquor (logical, hey?). I was wandering around the wine aisles, looking for something to try, and spotted this:



I am familiar with Guy Harvey shirts . I make Mr. Abby wear them, because they make him Extra Handsome (they're well-made, too. I recommend them if you're into such things). I did not know he'd somehow weaseled his way onto a wine bottle.

I'm a fan, so it came home with me. I hope it doesn't suck.

Setback #1

On the old Not Smoking road. That would be putting on my belt and discovering I had to inhale to use my regular hole.

WTF????

Of course, all though I've "quitting" for all of 36 hours, I blame this shocking occurance on that (instead of, perhaps, the fact I haven't crapped in like 4 days).

So I am now sitting on the couch eating a tobacco plant. The entire thing. I'm also sucking down a pack of Lucky Strikes and I have an entire tin of Copenhagen jammed betwixt my cheek and gum.

Disturbing the peace

There I was, laying in bed this morning, trying to ignore the Bad Dogs (who wanted OUT!). I was forced out of half-sleep by ungodly jet noise from the Air Base.

Whuh? I was groggy, yes, but this was loud. Very loud. There's an airshow at the base this weekend, so I just decided it was some aircraft I wasn't used to hearing and went back to sleep.

Later, I cruised to Publix. I've still got the top down, and thus could clearly hear the sound coming again. Looked up (so was everyone else on the road - it was a dangerous ten seconds or so).

Ahhhh....that explained it. Unless the Thunderbirds have changed their colors, we have the Blue Angels in town.

I'd talk more about this, but Bill Whittle already did it, and he puts this better than anyone I've ever read on the subject. If you've got a few spare days, you really ought to wander over to his place and read the essays.

They taxied to the end of the runway, took off in a roar, and disappeared out over the turquoise and green reefs. Spectacular! Great show! Not sure it was worth two hours, and that one guy down there won’t stop talking…

"Launched on May 25th, 1953…powerful symbol of the American Indian…never missed a show due to maintenance problems, blah blah blah..."

Hey, thought the five-year-old, the jets are gone, show’s over, let’s get out of the heat...

But behind my back were six of America’s most powerful fighter aircraft and the best pilots on the planet, not a hundred feet above the water and racing toward the rear of our bleachers at nearly seven hundred miles an hour – just under the speed of sound. And I mean just under.

So when I looked down at this man in the blue jumpsuit, I couldn’t hear them coming, because they were only a few feet behind their own roar. And when he said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the United States Air Force---“ something caught my eye at what seemed like a few feet above my head. I saw a blur of silver and red, white and blue, and that’s about all I had time for, because the man shouted into his microphone the word “---THUNDERBIRDS!" and that’s when the sound hit.

And that was about all she wrote for little Billy. I was pretty much done after that.

Anyway, that's the sound I've gotten all day, and will get throughtout the weekend. Which is cool. I can see it a thousand times, and fighters just always make me grin.

In related news, Sparky disapproves of loud jets and has decided he'll bark at them. That is getting annoying.

Movie Night

So I watched "Jesus Camp." Then I watched "Children of Men." Frankly, I was hoping for more out of that one.

Now I'm on "Blood Diamond." I'm morally opposed to Leonardo DiC- Dicca- Leonardo Whatever. But I heard this was good.

Thus far, the money line? It comes as Leo is chatting up a reporter in a bar.

Leo: Let's go back to your place and see what's in the minibar.
Chick: I'm a print journalist. I drank it.

Based on my encounters with journalists of all stripes...yep. That's about right.

Good God...

I'm watching a movie called "Jesus Camp," which seems to be about...nutbag evangelical Christians in Missouri.

Full of conversations with nine-year-olds in which they recycle whatever garbage they're being fed by their youth pastors. And they have picked the nutty ones.

They're talking right now to some little blond girl who just said, "my favorite music is like Christian heavy metal and rock and roll..."

Oh, honey, let's talk to you again in six years.

I'm not a religous individual. I try to respect the beliefs of others (that is, I don't refer to anyone's God as "Santa Claus" in front public). But I'm also a big fan of moderation, and religious nuts of all sorts creep me out.

These folks, who've dreamed up a Jesus-based Pledge of Allegiance that they can recite before beginning their homeschool day to study how God created the earth 6,000 years ago... Ugh.

That's just creepy, and I don't care who you are.

UPDATE - Goodness. The youth pastors are now praying over the projector for their PowerPoint presentation. It was kind of touching and sweet, until they started speaking in tongues.

But I think I can agree with them that Satan invades meetings regularly via digital projectors.

UPDATE II -- Okay, it's done. These people deserve only my ridicule. And I quote, "and had it been in the Old Testament, Harry Potter would have been put to death!"

You don't like Harry Potter, you suck. End of story. I will continue to watch, but will share no more of this "Jesus Camp."

UPDATE III -- I lied! Rev. Ted Haggard (a perennial favorite of mine) is in the movie, preaching morality and spiritual warfare.

Florida - not sucking

After I banished the weird nicotine demons this morning (drowned 'em in French Roast, I did), I figured I needed to get out of the house.

It's been fabulous weather here lately, and I've got the top down on the Jeep. I'm not thinking I'll be putting it up again very soon, either.

Anyway, I figured I'd go to the beach and lay around, get a little sun.

I put on the bathing suit, then some shorts and a shirt. Then I realized I had a larger-than-a-silver-dollar size patch on my arm. So I moved it to my ass.

Went to the store, got some magazines, cold water, fruit salad and ice for the cooler.

Went to the beach, got some good sun. Saw a gal with the world's cutest little white female boxer. Read.

Abby, you ask, what did you read?

Duh. Guns & Ammo and Cosmo.

Ugh...

Okay...so about the nicotine patch. I picked up a packet yesterday at the exchange. I just passed a very long night, so let's take a look at the instructions again, shall we?

Some of the notes:

- nicotine can increase your heartbeat. OK - that explains the heart racing all night.
- if you have vivid dreams or sleep disturbances, you may remove the patch at bedtime and apply a new one in the morning. I didn't sleep more than 45 minutes continuously at any point. But the vivid dreams weren't all bad.
- while wearing the path, you may experience one or more of the following side effects: nausea (not yet - not inclined), dizziness (nope), dry mouth (oh yes, and let me tell you about my boogers!), diarrhea (great), nervousness or restlessness (fabulous), headache (not yet), vivid dreams or other sleep disturbances (yee-haw!), and irritabiliy (like anyone would notice).

I think I'm going to go to Starbucks now...

Jesus. In bed for nine hours, thrashing the whole time checking the clock, and the strangest shit dancing through my head. I'm giving this another night, then I'm going to try sleeping without it.

Cleaning the fridge

...Bad Dog style.

I ran out of wet dog food, so I cooked up a big pan of chicken hearts and livers last night. I gave them about half of it tonight, then, as I was putting the rest away, I tripped.

Launching hearts, livers and associated juices over the entire lower half of my (open) refrigerator.

Why, yes - there was swearing. Imagine that!

Anyway. I pulled the drawers and picked up the hearts and livers, and was left with juice and nastiness. I looked down at Casey. Casey looked up at me.

I grabbed on of my (oh so few) remaining cigarettes and headed out the back door.



Talk about saving time and energy. After she was done, it was just a matter of a little 409 and a wipedown.

Hey! Casey, goddammit!



I said the bottom! Clean out the bottom! Do not eat my cheese!

Twitchy...

I've been waking up with that heaviness in my chest. Not coughing, just heavy.

Last week I was running around the park. I was sucking wind - hard. I thought, "Jesus, this sucks."

Then I realized I had a carton of Marlboros at the house. As I ran along, I thought, "why don't I just finish that carton and call it good?"

I've been smoking Marlboro Reds for...12 years? Something like that. And I am not a light smoker.

So I decided that's what I'd do. Finish the carton, and that would be it. I won't buy any more.

Well, here I am with 16 cigarettes left in the last pack. I stopped at the pharmacy and bought jawbreakers, mints and sugarless gum. I also bought one pack of Marlboro Ultralights.

At some point in the next 24-36 hours, I'll be out of my faithful Reds. I've been practicing some, not taking cigarettes when I leave the house (because smoking and driving, folks, that is the best). I'll stretch the end of the Reds as long as I can.

Then I'll stretch the pack of Ultralights as long as I can. Hey - if I can make them last two weeks, that's fine.

But I think I may be able to do this. There's nobody here to receive the full force of my bitchiness other than the dogs, so that's a definite plus.

So...if the rants here take on a certain...enraged and bitter tone, you've been warned.

Sunday Gasping

So after I wore the Bad Dogs out, I took off for a little run. The weather is great, actually a little warm and sunny.

Did some sprinting mixed in with about three miles. It made for some serious sweating. But a good time.

Now - a shower and WalMart run seems in order.

Sunday Stroll

Agh!!!!

PUT. YOUR. DAMN. DOG. ON. A. DAMN. LEASH. Jesus H. Christ.

Particularly if you have THREE DOGS.

There's a spot near the house about three blocks long that runs behind some vacant lots. It's a nice place to take the dogs for a brief walk, because our sidewalks suck and I can let them all the way out on their extendo-leashes. So we walked down that path and to the very end of the area. I turned them around and noted a woman with two large pit-type dogs and one rat dog had wandered into the area. Of course, no leashes, and the dogs were NOT under voice control.

(Hint - if you're yelling at your dog and it's ignoring you, it's not under control)

One of the pit types came wandering up to the Bad Dogs (as I was walking to a spot where I could cut back over to the sidewalk). She was a Good Dog and they all made friends. I was in the process of dragging mine away, when the rat dog came tearing at us, barking hysterically. Casey set up to do a swoop-and-tackle intercept, but I wrestled her back to my legs. The rat dog continued to follow us, barking, while its person yelled at it from 50 yards away.

Listen, lady, my dog was set up to kick your dog's ass. Because your dog has no manners.

Now, Casey is a little lacking in the manners department. She does well off-leash with other dogs, but she is very into being the Alpha Female, and will kick asses to make that point. I recongnize that not everyone is cool with my dog laying a little pecking-order whupass on theirs, so I keep mine on a leash.

Idiots. Of course, this forced us to walk home via the narrow, crappy sidewalk instead of the nice grassy open area. Not that we're bitter.