in the words of pink, i'm not dead...

...I have just misplaced my camera dock. It's not really all that convenient to load pictures if you can't find the stupid thing. Too bad I don't have any kids to blame it on. Vegas doesn't talk, and Matt doesn't know what I'm talking about, so they're no help. I had a dramatic cop photo to share too. Technology sucks.

happy halloween!

Don't let the pumpkin fool you. We'll again be hiding out in the basement on Halloween. I have a hard time sharing candy with others.
p.s. Vegas says, "Boof!"

gweny gwen gwen

I knew Gwen Stefani was amazing, but she has now surpassed even herself. The woman has managed to work the puppet show song from The Sound of Music into "Wind it Up" ("High on the hill with a lonely goat..."). And she yodels. And she has a new line of Gwen dolls coming out. And those abs. All hail Queen Gwen.

breakfast in bed

It really was more like an early dinner, but, nevertheless, Vegas got the royal treatment last night. After her customary post-walk nap yesterday morning, she starting limping and looking morose. Last night, she was trying to walk on three legs like her dog pal down the street. It was really sad. So, after kicking her off the couch (Matt would have killed her) and lifting her into bed, I gave her treats and fed her out of my hand. And that, my friend, is how you know your dog has you in her pocket. While your dinner is burning in the kitchen, you give her your pillow and unload the treats.

the first snow

what time is it?

Well, it's no longer Flava Flav's time. Yes, sad to say, but The Flavor of Love 2 is officially over. Just when I thought my life was kind of dysfunctional and lame, I turned to my Tivo for a little dose of psycho New York, bumpy Delicious, and Mr. Flav himself. I couldn't help myself. And when New York got dumped and went on an f-bomb, thong baring spree, I had to laugh. Nothing like a little reality TV to boost the old self esteem.

welcome home tivo

Thanks to Mom and Dad Breitzmann and some well-deserved credit card reward points, I was able to finally attain every busy TV watcher’s dream: a shiny new Tivo. My friend, Andrea, has flaunted hers for a while, and Miranda on Sex and the City practically had a serious relationship with hers, so I figured it was high time I join their crowd. Now I hold the power to fast forward through Rachel Ray’s repeated blabberings of “yummo” and pause for Vegas’s bathroom breaks. And did I mention that the little Tivo guy is just so cute? He hops around and you just want to…man. I must be lonely. I’m making friends with an icon. Sad.

what goes bump in the night

Now, I'd like to preface with stating that I am not mean to Vegas. I treat her better than I treat myself. You saw the birthday picture. I got up really early to make that PB toast, and I sang "Happy Birthday" to her about ten times that day. So, it's like 3 this morning. We're dead asleep. All of a sudden, I hear this loud thud. I sit up, expecting to find Vegas on alert as well. Except she's not there. I peer over the side of the bed, and she's lying there, staring up at me looking completely confused. She had fallen off the bed. Now that's funny. She was not hurt, but it did take a good half-hour before she'd get back up on the bed again.

the art of poaching (eggs)

The other day I found myself bored. Yes, even with digital cable, there is often nothing on. Unable to peel myself out of my chair, I resorted to watching Martha poach eggs. Now I have never poached an egg before, so I actually found it interesting. She made two perfectly poached eggs, trimmed them up, and set them on the heel of the bread to dry off. How cute and seemingly easy, I thought! Wrong. I tried last night. The first egg instantly separated into a white cloud (picture egg drop soup). I was obviously too rough. I tried again more gently. This time I did achieve a somewhat solid shape with much fewer egg wisps floating around. I took it out and eagerly tried a bit. Ugh. It tasted like fish. Maybe it's because they're the eggs with extra omega in them. Maybe it's just the poaching thing. Either way, I think I'll stick to letting someone else cook my eggs.

happy birthday to veg

we was robbed

Suzanne did not realize she was being prophetic when she commented on our clean, relatively empty garage on Saturday. As of last night, our garage is even less cluttered. We're not sure if we left the garage door open or if someone broke in, but when I went out to the garage at 5, the door was wide open. The good thing is that we're fine, our cars are fine, blah blah blah. The bad thing? Now I have to rake! The thug stole our brand new, still-in-the-box blower/mulcher/vac. Dang! They also took Matt's prize ratchet set that I spent an entire Hardware Hank paycheck on back in high school. :(

heidi klum stole my saturday

Prior to Saturday, I had no opinion of super-über (she's super super) model Heidi Klum. I now love her. And hate her. She has stolen my free time with her horribly addicting show Project Runway. I watched it for the first time on Saturday...and sat through four-six (I lost count) hours of it. Do I really care whether Kayne is over the top or Michael has great presentation skills or Uli makes great use of prints? I obviously do since I couldn't get up to do a thing.

all about matt

Matt is now quite the roofing pro. The roof might not look quite as pretty as it once did, but it is officially patched.

He also had a softball breakthrough. He safely slid twice on Sunday. And the guys were proud of him for finally getting his new pants dirty.

He was obsessed with getting recliners but never ever sits in them. He occasionally sleeps in one of them, but whenever I'm awake, I steal the one with the "optimal TV view" as Matt says.

the lovely forecast

So, of course, we have a roof to fix, and this is what we have to work with.

da roof...da roof...da roof is, well, crap

What, you ask, is Matt doing on our roof? Yesterday our neighbor pointed out to us that a bunch of our shingles were falling off. Grrrrreat. Just what I wanted to hear. When we bought the house a year ago, one of the selling points was the "New tear-off roof in 1999". It sounded good at the time. Roofs are generally meant to last more than seven years after all. Evidently, not ours. Once Matt got up on our roof and held on for dear life, he discovered that entire rows of shingles just slid out from under him. Yes! Just what I was hoping. I love spending half the day at Menards and the other half throwing stuff up to Matt on the roof. He managed to not break any bones and get the job half done before leaving for softball. I can't wait until tomorrow night.

vegas's secret admirer

It was only a matter of time before Vegas snagged herself a boy/girlfriend. Today, Matt found a plastic bag hanging on our fence. Instead of the trash he expected to find inside, he discovered a fresh canister of tennis balls and a teething dog bone for Vegas. How sweet. It appears that our little girl has wooed some neighbor into buying her treats. Her sugar daddy remains annonymous. Maybe we'll catch them in the act next time.

thank you nfl

You might be aware of a little NFL schedule change this year that landed Monday Night Football on ESPN. Since we don't have cable, that leaves us SOL. I'm one of the cable holdouts that refuses to pay $50-60 per month for that which I consider an inalienable right.

Matt forced me to change my mind. When learning of the many lonely Monday nights he would spend without football, he demanded cable. "Damn it. I am a salaried professional. I can afford cable TV."

So, we dished out the cash for cable. Not regular old cable, however. I'm talking digital cable with the fancy remote (I want to mention here that the remote is used, like a hotel remote, and you know what you can find on those...I promptly Mr. Cleaned it) and receiver. I have never had so many channels, so many options to sit on my butt and load on the cellulite. Tonight, I watched the end of The Breakfast Club; saw Alton Brown cook up scallops three different ways; witnessed a light fixture being made out of contact paper; and am currently watching a tied Twins' game. I know I will regret this decision sometime soon, but for now, I'm going to focus on figuring out just what the hell is the appeal of Laguna Beach.

birthday cake ban

Damn birthday cake. It got me again. I devoured this one in five days flat. Pretty impressive, huh? Cake might as well be crack to me because I seriously can't stop. I don't even cut a piece and put it on a plate. I open the box and slowly cut off sliver after sliver, eating right off the knife, until an entire row is gone. It's quite pathetic. Because I lack all self-control, I have decided to ban my favorite food from the house altogether. Cupcakes are still allowed however. How can something so little be bad for me?

Don't answer that.

wifely advice

Never buy your husband a recliner...he will soon forget how to get out of it.

massive head cold maureen

Do any of you remember that sketch on SNL, Massive Head Wound Harry? Dana Carvey played this guy who went over to his friends’ house with this huge gash in his head. His friends are like, “Hey, Harry. How are ya?” Harry’s like, “Well, fine, other than the, you know, massive head wound I have.” And then, as if Harry’s life just could not get worse, his friends’ dog starts chewing on his wound. It doesn’t just nibble either--it really goes for it. It’s a super gross sketch, but since I saw it 15-ish years ago, I have never forgotten it. How does it relate to my cold you ask? It doesn’t. But doesn’t “Massive Head Cold Maureen” sound funny? I thought so too.

it's matt's 26th birthday..."and that's sexual"

Oh, Mr. Breitzmann has turned the corner to 30. To avoid sounding old, he repeated continuously, "I'm still mid twenties." To avoid feeling old, he went up to Soup for a little golf and liquor.

the fam

matt hitting his amazingly long drive on 4

sarah getting her crane machine fix

amy & scott

after a few vodka red bull's, matt does a mean "buffalo soldier"

vegas the love machine

I realized yesterday that Vegas has special powers. I suspected it a while back when she somehow convinced my dad, the dog hater, to pet her and give her a steak bone. Yesterday, she fully convinced me. We (as in Vegas and me) were chatting with Dee, our next door neighbor. Vegas jumped on the fence and clawed at her arms, leaving long, dirty streaks. When that was not effective at gaining more love, she pawed at her chest and glasses. Dee laughed. Vegas then chewed on Dee’s arms. Dee laughed and moved away for a second before petting her again. Dee then determined that Vegas was thirsty and proceeded to let Vegas drink water from her glass. Dee is sick and older, mind you. The potential for puncture wounds and butt falls was enormous. I was kind of glad when it was over and Dee left still hole-free and walking.

look ma--we match

After eleven long months of having an almost-cool bedroom, I finally dished out $20 for a comforter at Target. Yup, it happens to have the NYC skyline on it and perfectly match the rest of our room. Pretty cool, huh? Who cares that it's marketed for college freshman.

the great minnesota get-together (summer is ova)

Summer would just not be summer without a generous helping of batter dipped, deep fried, food on a stick. Enter the Minnesota State Fair. I took my niece Schyler this year and taught her all kinds of good things...like how to eat a deep fried candybar like a lady.

fergie ferg's in the house

So, I'm being mean here and might get a dreadfully catchy and somewhat bad song in your head. I have had Fergie's damn "London Bridge" song careening through my brain for days. I don't hate it or anything--I happen to kind of enjoy dirty songs about architecture, but come on. Every few minutes, I catch myself humming, "How come every time you come around, my London, London bridge wanna go down like..." I can't be singing this song at work! At this point, I would welcome "Tom's Diner" or "Jenny From the Block."

be still my heart...

...for I am living with my very own Weekend Warrior. Matt, still a softball rookie, had a run-in with second base on Sunday. When I asked him if it hurt, he modestly said, "Well, I guess I have this little tingle that could be called pain..." Man, what a tough guy.

we partied like it was 1999

There's nothing like a wedding to bring back that lovin' feeling. We shook it like polaroid picture and poured some sugar on me. I could keep going. We also rode the train...a choo choo ride it up. Congrats Kristina & Ben!

thirsty thursday

So, it was 4:30 on a Thursday, and I was drinking a gin & tonic. Yes, I was alone, and yes, I know that drinking alone is pathetic, but I wasn’t really drinking. I was doing three things: shopping online, breaking in the loveseat, and watching Seinfeld and the local weather. I just happened to be thirsty at the time. Anyway, it was a field day for the local weathermen and women—tornados here, baseball-sized hail there. Boy, were they excited. All of a sudden, I hear this scratching. This desperate, strange scratching. Vegas was outside, but she never scratched at the door. She would much rather launch herself full-speed into it and make a big thud. After a few minutes of listening to this unpleasant noise (recall here that my slow response time is likely due to the generous shot of Beefeater I gave myself), I decided to investigate. As I got to the kitchen, I heard this violent drumming. It was raining, might I say, cats and dogs. I opened the door, and a sopping wet Vegas shot past my leg, stopped, and shook. What a bad dog parent I am, eh? What's worse is that I did it again a few hours later.

new duds

We finally broke down and decided to buy furniture. Now it looks like someone actually lives here.

the new deal

So, after six years of living together, I have finally accepted that Matt is just plain bad at doing the dishes. I know that I’ve griped before, but this time we have found a solution: I do them instead. The mood in our house has since gone from confrontational to blissful.

The old way:

Me: “Matt, I swear, if you don't do the dishes tonight, I will dump them in the backseat of your car.”

Matt: “Go ahead.”

Me: Undecipherable growling followed by stomping and chocolate eating.

Now, the counter is miraculously clear every night. Matt spends his newfound free time sitting in his new recliner watching old episodes of Friends and real estate infomercials. I’m not sure that the new deal is really fair for me, but I figure I’ll make up for it by spending some quality time with my Visa card.

electricity, electricity

A few songs have been playing on repeat in my mind lately-namely when I'm blowdrying my hair and blow a fuse. See, the charms of an old house are many, but the drawbacks are a real pain in the ass. Like not having enough power to blowdry my hair in the living room when the air and fan are on in the bedroom. Geez. What were those 1940's builders thinking? One song is "The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song" by The Flaming Lips. You can hear it at www.flaminglips.com (it's on the "At War With the Mystics" album). It poses an interesting question for my underpowered self: "With all your power, what would you do?" Well, if I had power, I would first become less familiar with the dripping wet trek down to the breaker box.

summertime slacka

So, yeah. It's been a while. What can I say? It has been a beautiful summer, and Vegas kept us busy rolling in dead stuff left and right. If any of you are still out there, I make you a steadfast promise not to fall off the face of the earth for months again. Until, perhaps, next summer.
This week, I present...the guts of our summer vacation.

1. We went swimming at grandma's house.

2. We did lots of homework.

3. I ran my first marathon.

4. I learned that partially eaten shoes can, in fact, be comfortable.

veg, i think it's dead

I think I liked it better when Vegas just ate ants. Yesterday, I spotted a tiny mouse in our yard (I guess you can figure out what happened next). Vegas found it eventually and spent the next twenty minutes terrorizing it. She chased it , shook it in her mouth, flung it a few feet, and trotted around the yard with it I don't think she ate it, but she did play with it to death. Literally.

quote of the day

Matt: "If we have a daughter, I hope she's as pretty as Vegas."

view from the bay

To help further our quest for a more beautiful outdoor landscape, the power company decided to dig up our sidewalk and boulevard. Thanks, guys, but next time just send cash.

a moment of silence please

Never ever trust a dog around shoes. I mean this in all seriousness. Even if he or she has never touched a shoe, if you leave them out, you're asking for it. I admit that I've been lax in the area of shoe security lately. I just toss them by the door and leave them. Vegas usually pulls on the laces a bit and leaves them be. No problem, right? I should have known better. The first sign of trouble: she chewed through a shoelace on Thursday morning. Rather than take the hint, I ignored it. Tsk tsk tsk. Now look what my poor judgement has led to...

the victims

the suspect

work in progress

Oh, our lawn. It's a place of beauty. When the snow melted, and the grass started to turn green (in our neighbors' yards), we realized something was wrong with our yard. It's simple really-we have no grass. Refusing to pay more than $7.50 for a green yard, I went to Target and picked up some all-in-one lawn patch. As you can tell, it wasn't quite enough. I finally accepted that our lawn is one giant patch in desperate need of some TLC. Too bad we lack motivation. Just check out the leaf and stick piles that have been sitting there for a week. It's kind of sad if you ask me.

aaah...fresh flowers

vegas on a binge

Vegas digested a squirrel with no problem...let's see how she handles a few dozen olives, a banana pepper, some tomatoes, a piece of pizza, and steak. No, it was not buffet night at our house; I just let my guard down. Since Vegas was outside, I cut up pizza toppings and left them on the counter. When she finally came inside, I had forgotten all about them. Well, Vegas found them and scarfed them up before I even had a clue. She looked so happy. She didn't like the mushrooms though-she left those completely alone.

After dinner, she jumped up and stole the last piece of pizza from the top of the stove. So, I put her outside as a very lenient punishment, and our next door neighbor came out with steak for her. Some punishment that was.

attack of the killer bushes

I have a bad feeling that these innocent looking bushes are going to overtake our house. They are currently very small, but there are six of them. At first, I thought they were just little plants, but as I was driving around today, I saw them everywhere…and they’re huge. I’m talking five feet square here, and if ours grow at that rate, the entire first floor will be enveloped in pink flowers. I’m guessing that someone didn’t quite read the planting directions for these suckers.

squirrels beware

Vegas is readjusting to life back at home. She just returned from two weeks at her grandparents' house where she frolicked in the woods, went swimming, and napped on the deck. It must have been fun because she is entirely bummed to be home. We call her, and she ignores us. I hold out treats, and she looks away. I finally resorted to giving her peanut butter toast to try to win her back, but when I ran out, she went across the room to sleep. So, this is what we get for our undying devotion? For the big bucks we spend on cool toys and flavored chewies?

We were relieved (kind of) to find out that there might be a reason for her behavior. On our way to Easter dinner, Matt's dad nonchalantly said, "Oh yeah. Guys, don't be surprised if Vegas gets sick. She ate a squirrel."

Great.

I don't even like squirrels running around my yard, so I can definitely live without seeing one regurgitated on my rug.

Each time we left her alone after that, I was scared we'd come back to find something insanely disgusting. We didn't. We were lucky. Though a few weeks ago she seemed to get sick for no reason at all, she now has a stomach of steel. Phew.

still standing

Aah...two weeks across the pond, and our house is still standing. Sorry for not mentioning it, but I had to keep it on the dl. You know, someone could have read this, seen that our lavish house would be vacant two weeks, and pillaged it! They could have stolen our sawn-in-half couch! Or our folding kitchen table! Oh, to think of such things.

Well, we're back. And with spring here, things could get a bit interesting on our corner. We have to do a little lawn work. With Vegas in control of the backyard, it has turned into a whitish, dead chunk of grass. It's not pretty, and I really don't want to be that house on the block with the dead grass and leaf piles. So, until next time, think lush, green thoughts, and I'll go to the hardware store for some good old fertilizer and a sprinkler or two.

the stuff is working

So, I think the Smart Puppy food is doing the trick. Vegas figured out that all she had to do was move the towel that was covering her food bag and unroll the top. She chose to carry out her stealth operation when I was in the bathroom and unable to run to her room right away. Pretty darn clever, huh? She gorged for a few minutes before I could stop her.

gimme all your lovin'

If you walk by our house, you're likely to witness this scene. Vegas, with her irresistible gaze, urging you to stop and pet her. She has a distinct ritual for wooing passersby. First, there is playful barking. This is then followed by, or done in conjunction with, racing back and forth along the fence. When you're in petting range, she leaps onto the fence, pulling her hind legs off the ground to get just a little closer to ya. Then, if you pet her, she'll likely pee a little, lick your hand, and start chewing on your sleeve. Despite her tendency to chew, she does have quite the flock of admirers.

it's alive

Look! Something is actually growing on the side of our house. I have no idea what it is (and it looks like something is eating it), but I'm pretty excited. Everything I plant dies, so I was a bit leery of planting anything. This way, maybe we'll get a flower or two without having to risk me overwatering, underwatering, or just plain old killing it.

the queen of the house

somebody loves vegas

I can't tell you the last time Matt ate a porterhouse steak. It turns out our neighbors had them on Friday night, and lucky for Vegas, saved her both bones.

death of a shag

My new least-favorite sound is that of a dog about to throw up. That horrible heaving noise has been heard much too often in our house this week. Vegas is either sick or is making herself sick by eating too fast. I keep walking into the living room to find her sitting in front of a pile of puke, looking up at me with sweet, confused eyes. It always happens when Matt is at work, so I have cleaned up puke seven times since Monday. Yuck. Each time she gets sick, she runs for the red shag rug of course—the hardest rug to clean.

Vomit does not readily come out of shag. I did half-ass try to clean it but kept putting off lugging the carpet cleaner upstairs to do it right. Instead, we got it acceptably clean (acceptably clean meaning if it’s dark, you won’t notice it) and flipped the rug in half. Now she still runs to the rug…and pukes on the underside. The rug is a goner I’m afraid. I love it, but it has been through too much. It saw her through potty training successfully, but I think this week of vomit has killed it.

caught in the act

I thought dogs were scared of loud noises. Obviously Vegas is not one of them. Tonight, she knocked the pan right off the stove and proceeded to eat the leftover taco meat. We didn't exactly scold her for it. It was just too funny. At one point, Matt even flipped the pan over to show her where the rest of the meat was. I guess that was a bad idea. She probably thinks the stove is her own personal snack bar now. It's just hard to yell at her when she's so proud of herself. We're such softies.

so this is the real minnesota nice

Well, good old Mother Nature psyched us out today. On Saturday, I was out running in short sleeves. Today, I was out shoveling about 10 inches of snow. 10! My god. I got stuck in our driveway so I dug myself out and just kept digging. The amazing part of this story is that about halfway through the driveway, a van stopped by the house and two men got out. Get this-they offered to help me shovel. Whoa. It was a man named Dave and his son who live about a mile away. My next door neighbor also snowblowed a little for me. And while I regularly rip on Minnesota in favor of Wisconsin, I feel pretty darn lucky to be Minnesotan today.

three's company

We caved. We were good for a while, making Vegas sleep in the kennel every night. But she’s just so cute that every now and then we let her stay on the bed with us. Now it’s becoming more regular. It’s a pretty good thing. Matt isn’t much of a cuddler, but Vegas knows the way to my heart is to plop down right against my back, with her head in the crook of my knees. It’s the closest I’ve come to spooning in bed for a long time.

the art of negotiation

I've been eating my cereal and oatmeal out of mugs for two days now. The dishes situation is baaaad. It's so bad in fact that I made Matt a tempting offer. I'd do the dishes if he'd pick up the yard. The negotiations were short, and he quickly accepted. He's currently outside with Vegas, raking up the yard that she has managed to destroy in a few short months. I'm enjoying my side of the bargain. I'm clean, warm, and comfortable, sipping coffee in-between loads. My high school FBLA advisor always said I'd go into business. I guess she was right, because in my mind, I made one hell of a deal.

now that's feng shui

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but we live in our basement. That's where the TV is, so most nights, we retreat underground for a few hours of old Friends episodes or other mindless drivel. In the rarely-used upstairs, we have a beautiful, untouched leather couch. This past weekend, Matt decided to move it to the other wall, and it was like some kind of weird, furniture-moving ephiphany. Over the past few days, we have sat on that couch more than in the last six months combined. Maybe it's because you see it right when you walk in the living room. Maybe it's because we're tired of freezing down in the basement. I guess it doesn't really matter. Now I'm no longer annoyed about spending money on a couch that is never used. And we have good family time upstairs without the TV. You know, real high quality time spent telling Vegas to get down and stop licking the dishes in the sink. It's precious.

the sweet sound of a flush

I just paid $326 to flush my toilet. After 2 1/2 hours of banging and clanging, the Roto Rooter man was done, and our pipes were clear. For how bad he made it seem when he eyed up our problem, the carpet remained dry, and the basement floor only took on a little water by the drain. Not bad. As soon as he left, I ran to the bathroom, and pushed the lever. Aaahhh. It's amazing how lovely a flush can sound after being off-limits.

the dentist x 1000

Okay. I'm sitting here with a giant pit in my stomach. We called Roto Rooter, and the guy is currently in our basement. He walked in, looked at our full utility sink and clogged floor drain, and said things like "Hmm" and sighed a lot. Then, he hauled this giant machine, presumably the Roto Rooter itself, into the basement. He is now making the absolute worst noise ever. It's like a dentist's drill-only much, much louder. And the water is on our floor now too. And the phrase "replace the carpet" has already been uttered a few times. I am sitting upstairs envisioning our basement covered with a foot of crappy water. It's very comforting. At least I'd finally get to throw out that sawn-in-half couch.

"there's shit in the sink" (or why my night was nicht sehr gut)

These are words you never want to hear: “Maureen, there’s shit in the sink.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. There’s shit in the sink!”

And that’s when the night started going downhill.

After work, I fought the urge to nap, and washed our bedspread instead. As I was stuffing it in, I noticed some Kleenex in the utility sink. I thought it was weird but started the washer anyway. When the cycle finished, I went down to find the sink completely filled with this icky, bluish, Kleenex-y water. I thought it was simply a clog, poured in some drain cleaner and waited.

By the time Matt got home, the water had receded quite a bit, to reveal the worst possible scenario: the Kleenex was really toilet paper, and indeed, there was shit in the sink. Now, I draw the line at human waste. That’s when I play the girl card. I didn't just sit there; I did what I do best. I googled things like “waste coming up out of sink” and “sewer backup” to try to tell Matt what to do. It turns out that plumbing DIY sites aren’t that helpful. They all say in a lackadaisical fashion, just stick a bucket under the plug, open the plug, and fish stuff out. Sure, I could do that, but that involves seeing things I just don’t want to see.

So Matt plunged, and I was faucet girl. I ran upstairs to flush or run the sink for him so he could attempt to figure out where the problem was. I was thankful for my cushy role. At midnight we gave up. This morning, we were actually able to take showers like normal, but flushing was banned. I am going to cross my fingers that another bottle of drain cleaner will do the trick, but I think we’ll have to call in a pro.

by appointment only

If you know me pretty well, you know that my Tuesday nights always include watching Gilmore Girls. Yes, I know it's a show geared towards pre-teens, but it's good-really. So, we were sitting in the basement completely engrossed in the latest Rory/Logan love scandal, when our dying door chime started it's annoying whine. We looked at each other in amazement. Aside from planned visitors and the after school fundraising crowd, no one comes to our door. And if they do, we don't answer it. Tonight, we played the you-do-it-no-you-do-it game, and a few minutes after the fact, Matt crept upstairs.

"What should I do?" he asked. (We obviously don't get a lot of company)

He waited, silently poking his head around the corner to see if he could determine the source of the invasion. Nothing. So, he walked towards the door, and spotted a guy standing on the corner with a clipboard. By this time he realized that all of the curtains were open, so the guy was probably looking in and wondering why the heck this yahoo wouldn't answer the door. That's simple. We will answer the door. But only if you call ahead. Especially on Tuesday nights.

scooba diver

Dear Santa/Tooth Fairy/Potential Sugar Daddy,

Please bring me a Scooba. I will stay on the "Nice" list. I will start flossing. I will wear uncomfortable lace getups. I just really need a clean floor.

Everything in our house is covered with a layer of Vegas dirt. We're trapped in a wicked cycle of filth. I clean. She gets it dirty. I clean. She gets it dirty again. I get frustrated and stop cleaning. Take today for example. We went for a walk. She got full of mud from her belly down. Yuck. I tried to coax her into puddles to clean her off a little before going inside, but it did no good. She tracked wet mud (I sure hope it's mud) into the house before I could toss her in the shower. Now she's laying on our bed, giving it that nice wet dog smell.

If only I had a little floor-scrubbing robotic device to make my house shine. I urge you to consider my plea for help. Time Magazine said that it even scrubbed crusted food spots off the floor. Crusted food spots!! Can you believe it?

Please recall my promises if I receive a Scooba: nice list/floss/lace.

Maureen

what are you looking at?

This is Vegas giving me the evil eye even though she's on my side of the bed. Hmph. She is slowly usurping my role. Doesn't she know that I am the alpha female of the house? Obviously not. She lies next to Matt before I can get there. She hogs my half of the couch forcing me into a chair. Matt doesn't seem concerned, after all, she is "just a baby, Maureen." I think she has a darker motivation. Look at her eyes. She means business.

the warzone

Ahh...the dead of winter. I can't really complain since it's been relatively nice out, but I have a serious winter issue looming. We have no snow. Now I hate driving in snow. I hate snow sports. I hate when snow gets in my shoes. But I love its ability to cover up crap in the backyard.

With Vegas, I was determined to pick up the yard regularly. I wanted it to be clean so in the summer I could frolic barefoot in the green grass without worries. That just didn't happen. It was easy to ignore the growing disaster because it kept snowing and covering it up, but that just isn't happening anymore. Matt and I keep talking about it, keep throwing around the phrase "chisel them out," but we're still walking right past the yard every day trying to not too look.

Maybe I can find a good yard cleanup business in the Yellow Pages. I'm hoping to anyway because the idea of spending a cold afternoon with a garbage bag and shovel makes me want to move.

aim high

Vegas is deceptively small. She seems little but has an impressive reach. Anything we leave below three feet is fair game for her. While she likes plastic bottles, dirty dishes, and socks, her favorite thing is a roll of paper towels. Tonight, she was left alone for about two minutes and managed to snatch the roll of Bounty and chase it around the basement floor. Matt felt bad about wasting it, so as he ate his dinner, he just picked scraps off the floor. Let this be a little reminder for anyone who visits. Keep your socks high and your napkin higher.

vegas and her big stick

Vegas loves sticks. Last week, Matt took a giant branch from the boulevard and gave it to her. It was more like a small tree, really. It had to be five-feet long with many little branches on it. She has since stripped it bare and chewed it in half. You should see her put it in her mouth and plow through the yard. And to think I spent $10 on a multi-textured teething ring for her.

houseguest

After a crazy Saturday at the Mall of America, where we saw Santa (for real, it was him!), rode the Timberland Twister (it's surprisingly fun), and charged some Strawberry Julius's (I have a sad, empty wallet), Schyler put together her birthday present. It's a lego racer that has buzz cut saws and glows in the dark. They just don't make them simple like they used to.

peace pie

This ain't yo' momma's pasty pie. Yeah, so I got a little political today. Next I'll be burning my chewed up, holey underwear.

vegas may look innocent...

but she's a pistol. She pulled the curtain rod right out of the wall today.

vegas 7, matt 0

Ahh, another Super Bowl Sunday is upon us. Rather than have a party and, say, risk having some much-needed wildness ensue, we decided to stay in with Vegas. I made pizza, Matt pulled out the wine, and we settled in for the long, drawn-out game. We made it through the first 10 minutes without incident, and then Vegas struck. One of her favorite pastimes is jumping on the coffee table while we're eating and hunting for a quick bite. Tonight, she didn't get crumbs, but she did knock Matt's wine over. It created a nice, long arc of reddish dribble on the carpet. Now, I'm not a house cleaning wizard, but I seem to remember hearing that club soda is key to getting wine out. We have never had club soda in the house, so we settled for plain old water. After about 30 seconds of scrubbing, Matt decided that he couldn't tell if it had stained and went back to watching the commercials. His attention span was undoubtedly affected by the half-bottle he managed to drink before Vegas attacked.

grandma's in town

Vegas was on her best behavior when grandma came to visit.

oh, you're a pretty girl, aren't you veg?

I have realized that we are that kind of dog owner. You know the kind. They treat their dogs like people. They talk to them in public. They dress them in clothes (we haven't gone this far, but then again, Vegas is a bit big for yippie dog couture). I've come to this conclusion due to the following observations:

1. We call her things like "honey," "silly goose," and "cutey patootey."

2. We tell her things like, "You're so smart" and "Oh, I love you baby" and ask her how she's doing and what she thinks.

3. We're taking her to puppy kindergarten with a "Canine Coach."

4. We briefly considered taking her to doggy day care.

As long as she still sleeps in her kennel and poops outside, I think we're fine; however, I know there's a real danger that she'll take over the place. She's probably planning her coup on the back step as I write.

mind in the gutter

With clogged gutters, our downspouts are pretty useless. Don't despair, that $3 was not wasted; it has provided Vegas with hours of whipping-plastic-through-the-air fun. She first ripped the extension off a few weeks ago, and I ignored it. As long as she stayed outside and let me have a few minutes of peace (kids are a handful, aren't they?), I didn't care what she was chewing on. She has since fallen in love with that length of plastic and can often be found biting it while throwing her head violently back and forth. Now when I ask Matt if he took Vegas out for a walk in the morning, he often replies, "Well, no. But she did get some good romping in outside with the gutter."