Master of the House

What does this look like to you?


A full bowl of dog food, you say? Funny, that's what it looks like to me too.

"Au contraire, Mama!", says Master Oliver. "Completely unacceptable."




Hear that? That is the noise Oliver makes when the food in his bowl does not meet his liking. You see, Picky Pom here only likes the red (meat) and green (veggie) pieces that come in his food. The tan (barley) and brown (wheat) simply aren't acceptable to his palate. So after he eats all of the red and green pieces, he will sit by the bowl and make this woofing noise until you come and: a) stir the bowl to reveal more red and green OR b) replace the offending tan and brown with a new helping loaded with red and green.

Spoiled much?

Nate says this is all my fault. He only does it when I'm around. Never when Nate is home alone. This happens at least once a week, usually more often. Yes, I know that I should not give in. I know this in the sane part of my brain. I never give in immediately. I am always going to STAND MY GROUND and SHOW HIM WHO'S BOSS. This turns into a Stand-off of Epic Proportions, where I continually scream, "Oliver, knock it off!" while chasing him away from the bowl and he defiantly returns bowl-side and continues carrying on.

The longest stand-off to date? 45 minutes. He can keep this up for 45 minutes!! Why is it that when we play fetch, he has the attention span of a gnat, but he won't be lured away from the food bowl with anything less than brute force?

Needless to say, 20 minutes into most stand-offs, the sane part of my brain is no longer functioning and the Dear-God-make-it-stop part has taken over. At which point, I stomp into the laundry room, slap food in the bowl and hurl it at him, muttering "Stupid dog!" under my breath.

Oliver 101, Mommy 0

Know what really grinds my gears?

{image here}

People who leave time on the break room microwave. Seriously? Are you so lazy that you can't press Cancel/Stop? Or better yet, set it for the correct time in the first place - the microwave will actually shut itself off for you, no extra button pushing required.

Oh the joys of going back to an office.

The Anti Eye Candy

Will someone please explain to me what the big deal is about Robert Pattinson?

I know all you Twilighter's are gasping and clutching your hearts at my blasphemy but honestly...have you taken a good look at him? He's just nasty. You can practically see the grease dripping off him. Ew. But somehow he is getting mobbed in the streets like he's freaking David Beckham or something. Seriously?

I just don't see it.

If you didn't know me better, you'd think I made this stuff up

The rather colorful history of my Dog Grooming adventures has been well-documented here at Unwrap Life. Last time I swore up and down that I had learned my lesson - nothing but on-site grooming for us from now on.

Um, yeah. About that...

In an attempt to bring order to my entire universe before returning to full-time work next week, I am on a full-scale cleaning binge, which apparently includes cleaning the furbabies. Sadly for me and my procrastinating ways last minute planning, the only mobile doggy salon I found doesn't have any openings until well into next week.

Which of course, means a trip to the puppy wonderland otherwise known as PetSmart, where lazy puppy mommies everywhere can get a last minute appointment for the privilege of paying ridiculous sums of money to have their furry devils darlings brushed, buffed and blow-dried.

We made it into the car without the spilling of blood or crushing of ribs and made our way to PetSmart in one piece. Leashes on and out into the parking lot we went - where Lola promptly wrapped her leash around Oliver's leg, halting all forward progress.

I put a foot on the handle of each dog's leash as I crouched down to free him. BIG MISTAKE. Lola saw her opportunity and bolted, taking a mad dash across the parking lot, leash dragging noisily behind her. I, being terrified that she is going to be hit by a car, give chase. Which apparently only encouraged her, as this is a super fun game! Poor Oliver is trying gamely to keep up as I run through the parking lot, alternately screaming and begging Lola to 'COME NOW!'. There was one particularly ugly moment where I actually managed to step on her leash, only to have it fly out from under me and nearly topple me into the very nice man who stopped to help the crazy lady. Embarrassing much?

I eventually caught her, beat the living daily lights out of her and then watched as she pranced prettily into PetSmart as if the raving lunatic in the parking lot had not the slightest thing in the world to do with her.

She's lucky she's so darn cute or she'd be so dead by now.

Ew, gross

Dear Construction Workers Next Door,

I may not understand what you said in your native tongue, but believe me I heard you loud and clear - lewd noises are universal. FYI - that type of behavior is not attractive in any language.

Sincerely,
Not a piece of meat

You know you're out of shape when....

....you go deaf, dumb and blind 15 minutes into your workout.

Ok, so for those of you who don't follow me on Twitter (and if you don't, you should!) you may have missed the entire boot camp fiasco. A few weeks ago, I signed up for exercise boot camp. I'd been thinking about it for months and finally talked myself into paying money for someone to yell at me while I ran laps at 5:00am. Fun, right?

So the night before, I lay out all my stuff. Weights and mat in the car. Shoes and socks by the door. I parked in the driveway so I could slip out the front door without waking the dogs. I was ready to DO THIS.

Drag myself out of bed at 4:45am and drive out to the park....to find no one there. Not a soul. I'm pretty sure even the birds were still asleep. WTH?

Called the chick, only to find out that boot camp in my area had been cancelled due to lack of interest. Surprised? Not so much. She claims to have emailed me to let me know. I think that was a load of bull. Whatever.

So I was disappointed......and also slightly relieved. Dodged that bullet, right?

Until Tuesday night's bunco group, that is. Turns out one of the ladies I play with goes to another boot camp in town and she invited me along. This one is at night. Suh-weet! Sign me up.

The trainer is really nice, assures me that I have nothing to worry about even though I am jumping into the middle of the class. Everyone else has been doing this for two weeks, but I'll be just fine.

Three warm up laps in, I am huffing and puffing like 80-year-old smoker. Six sets of lunges later, my face was cherry red and my shirt was soaked. Four sets of inchworms later, my vision was blurry and my ears were ringing. I was going deaf, dumb and blind right on the basketball court.

Trainer Matt comes over and tells me to lay down on the floor with my feet up against the wall. Not quite sure exactly what he said (I was deaf, remember?), something about blood pressure and the inchworms and my equilibrium. I wanted to die of embarrassment right then and there. I mean, who pansies out 15 minutes in?

After about 10 minutes, my head cleared and I finished the class. I was sure I was going to die (or at least puke) about a dozen times, but I made it through to the end and even actually enjoyed the stretching cool down.

So clearly, I am in worse shape than I thought. I'm still debating whether to actually join the class or not. Maybe it's a little too hard core? Or maybe I'll get used to it? I don't know. I've got until Friday to figure it out.

That...just...happened

{image via lolcats}

Just five weeks into the new part-time job and I have officially left my mark on the place. Unfortunately it was in the form of a gigantic hole in a roll up warehouse door and a gigantic scratch in the top of a box truck.

Not exactly what I had in mind.

We were getting new vending machines today. The boss put up the roll up door so they could back their truck right up to the building. Unfortunately our own box truck was parked inside the building and was blocking their path. They asked me to move the truck and being the ever helpful person I am, I grabbed the keys and hopped in. I've driven several box trucks, so only gave a passing thought to not doing it myself. Yeah, regretting that now. Turns out, the door wasn't all the way up. Just up far enough to make it look like it was all the way up. I realized this about two seconds after the awful, terrible, horrible, no good screeching noise and the Styrofoam storm that rained down on the windshield.

Box truck = 1. New girl = 0.

Sweet Carolina

Two weeks from today, I will be kicking it here

where I plan to stuff myself full of this

and drink copious amounts of this

and this

all while spending quality time with these people

in the only place that you can find signs as klassy as this

And I can't wait!

ETA - And yes, that is an actual sign posted in front of the local museum the last time I was home.

FML

I hadn't been home (from my first day at the part-time gig) for more than an hour when I got a call about an interview for a full time job. You have got to be freaking kidding me.

One of these days I'll learn my lesson

Apparently I am a glutton for punishment, having not learned my lesson the last time I took the furbabies to the groomers. That, or I'm simply dumber than a box of rocks. Take your pick.

The dogs were in desperate need of grooming and seeing as how my time as a Lady of Leisure is drawing to a close, I sucked it up and made an appointment for this afternoon. If you will recall from our last grooming adventure, car rides with my wee ones are about as fun as having your teeth drilled sans Novocaine.

The puppies can always tell when I'm getting ready to leave the house. Mostly because I put on real clothes (as opposed to my daily uniform of track suits) and am wearing more than basic lipstick. If they are so lucky as to be allowed out of the house with you when you look 'ready' to go somewhere, they will run immediately to the driver side door of the car and wait to be let in.

Oliver in passenger seat. Check.
Lola in lap. Check.
Wallet in pocket. Check.
Leashes in car. Check.
Keys in ignition. Check.

Just as I move to close the driver side door, Lola chooses that exact moment to leap to her death out of the car. Hello? You just spent the last fifteen minutes driving me bat crazy trying to get into the car. And just my luck, I totally caught her tiny body in the car door. She let out the most terrifyingly shrill shriek. OMG I just closed my baby in the car door! I am officially the worst puppy mommy ever.

Immediately I scooped her up, trying to assess her for damage. She's crying at a pitch I'm sure only other dogs and puppy mommies can hear. I can't tell if it's from fear, indignation or a crushed rub.

Do I rush immediately to our vet? Is that overreacting?
Do I cancel the appointment and just watch her at home and hope she doesn't die?
Do I take her anyway and politely inform them that, as World's Worst Puppy Mommy, I closed her in the car door and would they kindly mind watching her closely for internal bleeding while they clipped her nails?

In the end I decided to head toward PetSmart. If she stopped crying by the time we got there, I'd poke and prod her until I was convinced she was okay. If not, PetSmart has a vet right there and I'll beg them hysterically to please save my baby.

Fifteen minutes later, after much wailing and gnashing of teeth panting (a sure sign of a punctured lung!), we arrived at PetSmart. I set her gently on the ground so as not to jostle any displaced organs...and she took off running after another dog in the parking lot.

Um, yeah....clearly she's just fine.

I swear, this time is it. From now on, I'm shaving these dumb dogs at home.

Close, but no cigar

Dear Wal-mart,

Despite some less than stellar past experiences, I am a faithful Wal-mart shopper. There is just something so convenient about being able to complete your grocery shopping while getting your oil changed and then picking up a few plants for the garden on your way out the door.

However, the new thinner plastic bags you are using to bag groceries have got to go. While I appreciate your company's commitment to sustainability, I think you've made a mistake on this one. In theory using less plastic is a good idea. Unfortunately, the bags are so thin, everything has to be double-bagged, which kind of defeats the purpose, don't you think?

Nice try, Wally World. Better luck next time. Bring back the good bags, please.

Sincerely,
Sara

There are just no words...

There were many, many questionable ensembles at Monday night's MET Costume Institute Gala, but these two definitely took the cake. I understand the Gala is all about high fashion but I just don't see anything 'fashionable' about either of these. Seriously, they left the house like this?

{Leighton Meester via Fug Girls}

{Madonna via Fug Girls}

Waste o' my time

Today is the one-month 'anniversary' of my unemployment. So to 'celebrate' I went to a job fair downtown today. It's been advertised all over the radio, the newspaper and CareerBuilder for weeks, so I pre-registered, printed up my resume and made the 45 minute drive down there.

Job fairs are not what they used to be.

In case you have not had the privilege of attending one recently, here is a little guide to the new world of job fairs:

1. It is now acceptable to not shower before attending a job fair.
2. Good news! Bare midriffs are no longer taboo! Just make sure to wear your blingest belly button ring.
3. Double points if you show muffin top while sporting a midriff baring shirt and belly ring.
4. Baseball caps, spaghetti straps, and cargo shorts are all totally acceptable interview attire.
5. Can't find a babysitter? No problem! Bring the little one along. Nothing says 'dependable' like someone who can't find childcare for a 3-hour job fair.

I have never seen anything like it in my life. Over 2/3 of the companies advertised didn't even show up. There were a grand total of 7 'companies' represented - two of them were military recruiters, two were universities trolling for students, Pampered Chef advertising 'own your own business' crap, one staffing agency and one actual honest-to-goodness company.

I stood in line for 45 minutes to sign my name and check a box that said I pre-registered online. Um, hello? What was the point of registering then?

Then I stood in line another 45 minutes to talk to the one company actual company with a booth. All for this:

______________________________________________

Recruiter: You have a good resume here. You would qualify for job #343. You can apply for it online.

Me: I've been watching your website for a few months. What is the title for job #343?

Recruiter: Contract specialist. Just watch for it online and then apply.

Me: I've done that half a dozen times in the last three months. Any suggestions for actually getting an interview?

Recruiter: Not really. Just apply online.

______________________________________________

Seriously?

Butt Hole....or why I just don't understand men

After five years of marriage, I have learned that there are many fundamental differences in the way men and women think:

1. No matter how old they get, men will always think burping, farting and other bodily noises are hilarious.
2. His idea of helping with dinner involves moving the take out from a plastic wrapper to an actual plate.
3. A man will never learn how to load the dishwasher, no matter how many times you show him.
4. A man will never understand why you do not consider it fun to play video games with him. You will never get 'better at it' so long as he continues to shoot you in the back as you are running away unarmed.

These few things I know. This is the thing that continues to baffle and amaze me:

I walked into the bedroom the other night to see a fist-size hole in the back of Nate's boxer shorts. He is actually wearing them around the bedroom like this.

_______________________________________________

Me: You putting on a little peepshow for me?

Him: What are you talking about?

Me: There is a hole the size of the Grand Canyon in your boxer shorts.

Him: Oh.

He continues to get ready for bed as if the whole conversation never happened...

Me: Um, aren't you going to change?

Him: Why?

Me: You can't possibly wear those to bed.

Him: Why not?

Me: Hello? Your entire left cheek is hanging out!

Him: Who cares?

Me: Seriously? You're going to keep wearing those?

Him: (staring at me blankly like I have lost my mind)

Me: No. I can't sleep knowing you're wearing those. Please throw them away.

He heads towards the closet and I head to the shower. Five minutes later, I emerge, noting happily that he has indeed changed shorts and I am victorious....for about 30 seconds, until I spy the nasty, ratty, hole-y shorts on the top of the dirty clothes pile.

Me: Oh, no you didn't.

Him (all innocent): What?

_______________________________________________

What is it with men and their complete inability to judge when clothes are no longer appropriate to wear? Socks with holes, underwear with holes, t-shirts with holes. It's not as though you can't buy them 5 for $10 at Wal-mart. Heck, he doesn't even have to buy them! All he has to say is, "Honey, I need new boxer shorts." and they magically appear in his drawer by the weekend. What's so freaking hard about that?

I just don't understand. Men.

U-G-L-Y...you ain't got no alibi....

...you UGLY....you UGLY....

{image via Baker's Shoes}

I mean, seriously, who's supposed to wear these? A cross-dressing Bozo the Clown?

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

I've got all kinds of randomness floating around in my head today. Guess that's what very little sleep, a truckload of Aleve, and 36 straight hours of captivity on the couch will do to you.

So here are my thoughts in all their random, drug-induced glory.

1. The Good - I have a job interview! Woot, woot! It's a part-time marketing assistant position. I struggled a bit with whether or not to apply for something that was only part-time and requires a huge pay cut, but in the end it sounds like a really fun, interesting job so I went for it. Keep your fingers crossed for me on Thursday.

2. The Bad - I woke up yesterday in some major pain. I had a back injury four years ago that knocked me flat on my butt (literally) and required three weeks in a back brace and months of chiropractic care. I've gone nearly two years without a flare up but it appears my good luck has run out. I have been laying around on the couch with my heating pad for nearly two full days know but I still can't stand up straight. Moving from standing to sitting or sitting to laying is the worst. The chiro can't get me in until tomorrow so I am stuck like this for at least another day. I've seriously been considering this as an option for the better part of the afternoon:


3. The Ugly - To keep myself entertained I have been catching up on all the blog reading and random internet surfing that I missed last week while my sister was in town.

Wonder how many hours it took to put Lady Gaga in these hideous, skankalicious boots?

{image via perezhilton}

One-armed, er, sleeved bandit

{image via fug girls}

Don't get me wrong, I love me some Carrie Underwood and I was thrilled to see her take home Entertainer of the Year at the CMA's last night, but seriously, honey....this is what you choose to wear? Don't you have a stylist? Yes? Well then she should be shot. No? Then I'd invest in one, pronto.

I'm sure people are always telling you, 'You're so pretty, you'd look good in a potato sack', but darlin', it's just a metaphor. They didn't really mean that you should dress in a potato sack (or pillowcase as the, uh, case may be). And what's up with that hideous sleeve-that-they-forgot-to-attach-to-the-dress-so-we-just-hooked-it-to-my-necklace-instead? Sleeves are not accessories. Sweetie pie, less is more.

Better luck next time. Bless your heart.

The tax man cometh

Every year on January 1st I promise myself that I will get our taxes done the minute we have both our W-2's. And every year it's somehow April 1st before I get around to even thinking about it.

Guess what is sitting on the desk in front of me, staring ever so rudely while I try to read blogs, check email, procrastinate as long as humanly possible and catch up on Facebook? Stupid W-2's.

This is the first year since we've been married that I am going to attempt to do them on my own. Every other year we've had some reason or another to pay someone else to just do it for us. I tried that this year, but the guy at H&R Block kind of skeeved me out and honestly, I'm a little bit embarrassed to even call last year's guy so late in the tax season. Surely this can't be too hard, right?

At this point, I think I'd prefer this to spending the next two hours trying to figure out if I should subtract Line 452.b.ii from Line 987.g.vii, or was that Line 987.d.iii?

{image via active rain}

Seriously?

Who thought bringing MC Hammer pants back was a good idea?

{image via The Look 4 Less}

Except now they call them 'harem' pants. Because you know every independent woman wants to dress like a female sex slave. WTH?

Thundering incompetence strikes again

Today's conversation with the boss....
_________________________________________________

Boss: Don't panic or anything, but I've got something to tell you. {No good conversation starts out this way}

Me: Um, okay.

Boss: Apparently, you were terminated two weeks ago.

Me: {Crickets}

Boss: Remember when I asked for you to be paid for the off-the-books vacation days you didn't take last calendar year? Well, they assumed that meant you'd been terminated so they took you off the payroll.

Me: {Still struck silent by the sheer incompetence of our payroll department}

Boss: Don't worry, I think we have it all figured out but I wanted you to know....
___________________________________________________


Seriously? There are like fifteen people left on the payroll and you can't manage to pay them correctly? Did he tell you I've been terminated? No? Well then maybe you shouldn't take it upon yourself to assume what he meant when that is so clearly not what he said.

So this week I will be paid the three extra days vacation, plus the eighty hours of vacation that I am owed upon my termination. But not for the eighty hours I actually worked. Supposedly, I will be paid that NEXT pay period.

I am so going to end up getting screwed. I just know it.