Monthly Archives: August 2015

My dog likes to roll in poop


Last week my dog went outside and rolled in poop, twice. I do not know why dogs do this, but mine takes great delight in it, the fresher the poop is the better…He was in heaven, but he smelled more like something that crawled out of a sewer drain. I had to put his back-up collar on him after his first bath and the second time I replaced the back-up collar with a really pathetic looking thing I bought at the Dollar Tree, I think it was probably really for cats, but it was better than nothing.

I took him with me to PetCo to pick out a new collar. Unfortunately while we were in there he pooped. I’d like to say that I didn’t kick the doodie underneath the aisle partition, but I can’t say that.

Attila modeling his new collar.

Attila modeling his new collar.



Death by cinnamon rolls


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I live in fear that my death will somehow be connected to the opening of a pressurized Pillsbury cinnamon roll container.

I can never open them with the cool confidence like my mom always did…just one good smack on the counter and “poof”, it was open. She didn’t even flinch. I am not so unflappable. No matter how many times I open one I still brace myself for an explosion akin to that of Mount Vesuvius that could somehow put an eye out or cause some other heinous injury.

So I timidly swat at the counter, vaulting backward (just in case). Of course it doesn’t open, so I whack it again, a little harder and then harder. Now I’m getting irritated so I begin to pummel it against anything I can find to hit it on and just about the time I think it’s going to do serious damage to one or more kitchen appliances, the canister bursts open. The popping noise scares the bejeezus out of me and I almost have a heart attack.

I worry that some day they will find me on my kitchen floor still clutching a can of Pillsbury Orange Sweet Rolls, with icing, and that’s how it all will end.


Oat Eater


My ex, Chip, in an attempt to be healthier, bought some steel cut oats to eat for breakfast. Alas, he said they tasted godawful so I said, “Lets make them into cookies. I bet a bunch of sugar and butter will make them taste a lot better, so today he brought them over. Later, I left the house for ten minutes so I could go to Green Hills and get some butterscotch chips and in that small span of time guess who got up on the counter and ate the entire container of oats? I walked in, kicked off my shoes, went to the kitchen and thought. “What the heck is this stuff on the floor that feels like little rocks? Wait a minute, where are the oats? Where is Attila?” I found the container in the dining room, empty, and Attila on the couch looking woeful and guilty….bad dog.

It’s just as well. I has dawned on me that I don’t have a hand mixer to use because I used mine to mix up some grout last week and there is still some on the beaters that won’t come off and I need to buy a new one.

Oh my Lord, the dog, whose rear end is pointed right at me, just farted and the smell is putrid.attila oats



Went to my mom’s house today…used her bathroom while I was there and saw this. When I questioned her about her ‘decorations’ on the toilet seat. She said, “Oh, that’s where the paint wore off. Bill painted over it, but it came off so I covered it with these pink smiley faces.” I guess it’s hard to find a pink toilet seat these days, however I did find one on Amazon and could have this year’s Christmas gift all wrapped up. One question; Should I get the ‘new’ or the ‘used’ one?  Or maybe I  should just leave it this way.  At least someone is happy to see you.11241617_969667129731253_6351609906442110528_n



I left work early today so I could go to a doctor’s appointment. I only had ten minutes to get all the way across town so I sped like a deranged lunatic down the road. I did not let the ROAD CLOSED sign deter me from my mission…nope, I drove right around it and through a construction site, much to the dismay of the men working there. I squealed into the medical building parking lot, flew over two speed bumps and finally skidded into a parking spot coming to rest right outside the door to my doctor’s office. I shot out of my car like a rocket and ran inside to check in with the receptionist. That’s when she told me that my appointment is for TOMORROW. I think while I’m there I will have them check my oxygen level to make sure my brain is getting the proper blood flow.



Fervidly singing along with Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic” at a stoplight on the Belt, my foot slipped off the clutch and my car lurched ahead into the intersection, fortunately not far enough to arrest the momentum of the cross traffic with the side of my car. Clearly, I was not in control of myself. Maybe while I’m in heavy traffic I will listen to ‘Fresh Air’ on National Public Radio and save Van the man for the open road.

Old People Driving Cars


This morning on the news I saw footage of an elderly woman who had gotten confused, mistaken her gas pedal for the brake and drove her car through the front window of the St. Joseph Family Care Center, the poor dear.

As my friend Vicki will attest, old people and cars can be a lethal combination. Case in point: her father Larry, who has finally quit driving, thank God! The last time I rode with him he became so engrossed with his opining on about “young people these days” that he became completely unaware of his surroundings and absentmindedly drove right through several stop signs and red lights oblivious to the honking, swearing, and middle finger displays aimed in his direction. He had a close encounter with a squirrel who escaped, just barely, with it’s life, and he came within spitting distance of taking out a bus stop full of school children. Not to mention the numerous curbs that were run over and medians that just “jumped right in front of the car.”

By virtue of having lived forever, he knows it all, and has solidly immutable, and often completely bat-shit crazy opinions on absolutely everything. I just love him, but at the request of his entire family and the Department of Motor Vehicles, he has relented and is now letting someone else take the wheel.

It always scares the crap out of me to see some doddering old couple shuffle their way through a parking lot and spend much of what’s left of their precious time on earth trying to remember where they left their giant boat of a car. Then they do the endless, fumbling search for their keys. Once the proper key is located on their giant key ring loaded down with every key they’ve ever owned, it takes them ever so long to get the key into the lock. Once the doors are open, they remember that there is something they need to put in the trunk and so, again, it’s a search for the right key and the procedure begins again. By the time they finally get themselves actually into the car, several small Slavic countries have changed names at least twice.

I do realize that very soon I myself will be one of these doddering old persons unable to find my car in the parking lot and making the security people at the mall drive me around in a golf cart looking for my black Toyota RAV4. It will only be after I make a phone call to my son Ben to come and get me that I will be reminded that I traded in the Toyota two years ago and bought a silver Nissan, oh yeah.

So in the future if you get stuck behind me driving 20 mph down the Belt and swear you will never be a slow driving, blue haired, support hose wearing Yoda, just remember: at your age, that’s what I said too.