Hide-a-puppy

So last night after posting my blog, feeling a little delirious from wine and exhaustion, I had a really good idea.

For the past ten months, Beloved Puppy has lived in our home, and for the past ten months, I've been trying to find a way to trick Beloved Husband into letting her sleep in our bed. Success had continued to ellude me on this one. Luck would have it that I'm persistent, so despite Beloved Husband's continued protests, it hasn't shut me up. I keep pace.

So I decide that at long last, I've got the solution: hide Beloved Puppy in the bed before Beloved Husband climbs in. And then turn off the lights and pretend to sleep.

It played out like this:

Quick kiss to husband who is diligently working on computer. "Night night" and a dash down the hall to the bathroom.

Brief teeth brushing episode. Skip the floss. Splash water on face. Screw my normal 40 minute primping routine. I've got a puppy to smuggle.

Lure puppy into bedroom. Puppy seems to think I'm trying to get at her with some sort of ointment and is a bit wary. Utilize husband's sock as a tempting puppy treat. Catch puppy.

Lift.....big.....puppy.....into....ugh....bed. Breathe.

Attempt to hide puppy under covers. Climb into bed. Strategically position feet over puppy for additional camoflouge.

Fall asleep.

Enjoy small dream.

Wake up ten minutes later. Find husband removing puppy from her ingenious hiding spot.

I do not view this so much as a failure as I do an amping up of the challenge.

August

So I realize that last night's post was crap. I'm a bit rusty. Sort of like the tack that punctured the ball of my foot last weekend. Yummy.

If my blogging talents (which I realize far surpass those of most common bloggers) seem a bit rusty as well, please note that I'm writing at midnight. After a glass of wine. And a nap. And a day longer than I care to realize. Yet I cannot keep myself away. I'm a blog addict. A bladdict. Or blog-dic.

So while "Prius vs. Sentra" is a fairly present part of my life right now, it's not the only part. Sure, my car has a low dangling front bumper. (BK knows something about that.) And now a similarly low dangling back bumper. Basically, my car has a FUPA. And an FBPA. The B is for Back. You figure it out. We're not friends anymore if you don't.

Regardless of the Sentra's FUPA and FBPA, my life does have other updates. Here goes.

Will run in race this weekend. Will not win. Do not care.

Continue to receive monthly doses of menopause in the bum. Have realized that true friendship is perhaps best described by somebody willing to shoot up your ass on a monthly basis. And remember what cheek she hit up last, even when you do not.

Husband continues to be massive sex-pot. Not sure I've mentioned this before. Beginning to believe he may be a waist up nudist. I can (and look forward to doing so) live with this piece of knowledge.

Have become aware that the woods behind my home are infested with wolves, coyotes, and a strange man sporting a blue t-shirt. Perhaps we'll revisit this one at a later date.

No more organic clothing at the office. No more hemp. And devestatingly, no more patchouli. Traded in for Tahari suits and the most decent smelling perfume I could find at TJ's. Thanks, J-Lo. Am wondering if and when my co-workers will realize that I inconspicuously own and wear one single pair of heels each and every day. Aforementioned sexy husband has informed me that it would be "unprofessional" to wear my new favorite Harpoon beer t-shirt to the office on casual Friday, despite the fact that I assure him all co-workers prefer Bud-Diesels (aka, "Rowdies").

Am amazed at the fast pace of life in summer, and by the way lightening and cricket filled nights can take my breath away.

Prius vs. Sentra

To my extensive fan base:

Do not give up on me yet. I think of you often. Actually, I think of my blog often. And how freaking hilarious I find myself. And what a shame it is that the world is no longer getting a weekly dose of my glory. So here's the update.

Yesterday, I was rear ended by a little old man on my way to work. Pretty sure he damaged more than a few brain cells. I wasn't actually looking to off-load any of those, but hey. So I get out of my car all upset that I've been rear ended, and he says to me, "do you know what I was doing?" and I'm thinking..."okay buck-o, maybe I just don't want to know. Maybe I'll just be content to realize that whatever it was led you straight into my trunk." Still, he was inclined to share. So he says, "I was reading the newspaper." That's the best he can do? And then I notice that I've been hit by a Toyota Prius. A really pretty blue Toyota Prius. And so I'm thinking to myself, I can't get this guy's information. He's socially AND environmentally conscious. And studious, clearly. So I let him drive off. No phone number. No name. No license plate number. And no. No insurance information.

Let's suffice to say that I got in my car afterwards and realized that perhaps my decision would rapidly be leading to regret. I'd like to think that if I'm going to let random people hit my car and then just drive away, I'd at least choose a beautiful man who had been caught up by my beauty and desperate to talk to me...not a shriveled little eco-bunny. So from now on I'm driving to work with a pen and paper on my lap in desperate hopes of catching the news hound in the Prius so I can scribble down his license plate number. Maybe I have a concussion.