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."

things that smell bad

Burnt hair. Sewage. Old Broccoli. These are things that smell bad. Now, you can add another to the list--putting a George Foreman grill in the broiler. Tonight, I was preheating the oven and started to hear sparks. I kept listening, thinking I was losing it, but they kept coming, so I turned it off and ran outside. I was talking to Matt, so I asked him if he had put anything in the oven.

"No. Wait. I did put the George Foreman grill in the broiler."

He did what?

Thinking that the broiler drawer was a storage drawer, he stuck the grill in there. Me, not thinking to check the oven for small kitchen appliances before preheating, was now cooking a plastic grill. This should be interesting.

I stood outside for a few minutes, waiting to see if anything was going to explode or start on fire. When I went back inside, the smell was awful. I imagine it to be what it would smell like if you took a pile of those horrid latex-y Halloween masks, poured old woman perfume on them, and started them on fire. Yuck. Then I realized that the stupid grill could easily be on fire, couldn't it? Equipped with a potholder and a box of baking soda (or is it supposed to be baking powder? I always get those two messed up), I opened the broiler drawer to find the grill. It was a little bubbly on top but looked fine otherwise. I tossed it in the sink and later threw it out. I hated that thing anyway. Now I finally have an excuse to go out and buy the grill pan I want.

getting dirrrty

America's favorite trashy diva was right to add a few extra r's into "dirty" because Vegas is not dirty; she is dirrrty. The warm weather has been great, but everything has turned to mud. On our walk today, a woman stopped to pet her, and Vegas, being so mild-mannered, kept lunging at her. The poor woman got mud spattered all over her face and glasses. She laughed it off, but I kept trying to restrain Vegas. She fought me and ended up on her back rolling in a mud puddle. It was incredibly funny and all, but my god, that dog was dirty. I took her home and exiled her to the backyard before giving her her first shower. She kind of liked it.

FRAP!

I have learned many new things since buying a puppy.
1. Puppies like chewing on expensive underwear.
2. Puppies love chasing empty plastic bottles.
3. Puppies have FRAP.
FRAP is (according to my new dog owner book) a Frenetic Random Activity Period. When Vegas has a FRAP, Matt and I warn each other by yelling "FRAP!" as we rush to the corner of the room. Seriously, her FRAP's are kind of dangerous. She jumps on the couch, bites on the curtains once or twice, races off to the bed and then circles back again. She does this all while biting at everything and everyone she passes. Watch your inner thighs during FRAP's. They're her favorite.

crashing

Okay, okay. I have been slacking again. This time I have a good excuse. I am in mourning for my precious car. Yesterday, on the way to work, a schmuck "didn't see the light" and ran right into me. It was my first accident, and though I was fine, it really shook me up. After a day of answering questions like "do you know if he hit his brakes?" and drawing diagrams with Matt on post-it notes, I didn't feel like doing much of anything. So, I ate brownies...and tonight, I hit the gym.

Oh yeah. And my rental car is a Chevy Malibu, and every time I think of it, I get that Malibu Musk jingle in my head. "Oo oo Malibuu". It's driving me crazy.

wanted: a flat kitchen floor

Nails are coming up through our kitchen tile. It's that stick-on stuff, and it's just not sticking anymore. Matt hates it and is determined to replace it. So, yesterday, like a tempting scab, Matt kept peeling up tile after tile, unable to stop. He only peeled them up halfway but wanted to to just "get it done" and peel it all up as if we had something to put down in its place. He eventually agreed that it was a bad idea and started patting them down again, but they refused to cooperate. Needless to say, it looks great.

try to contain your excitement

My, my life is exciting these days. Tonight, I shooed Vegas out of the window a few times and made pasty pie. I think I'll end the night with a little hot chocolate and light reading. Or maybe an episode of M.A.S.H. and a glass of warm milk (that one is just a joke but sadly isn't far from the truth). The most thrilling event was watching Vegas dig a hole in the center of our planter. I'm happy because the planter is filled with daffodils, which I hate. Since I don't like them, I turned a blind eye to the digging and went back to my quiet dinner.

how much is that...

doggie in the window? Well, yesterday, she would have been pretty darn cheap. I don’t mean that whole doggie window thing as a cute joke—she actually was in the window. I was doing the dishes and half-watching her. I could hear her whipping her rope toy around and having a grand old time. Then, silence followed by a few rustles. I walked in the living room, and she was on the bay window ledge. She had jumped on the couch, made her way through the curtains, and was playing up in the freaking bay window. Stupid me, I had left a blanket up there that she likes to chew on. I guess I figured she wouldn’t notice it there or at least wouldn’t find a way to get at it. I have been proven wrong. She did that a few more times last night before stuffing herself behind the couch to hide from me and my broken record of “Bad Vegas!”

stop stressing about distressing

Please do me a favor. If you ever visit our house, do not lay down on the floor in the living room and examine our couch. It is our first "real" couch-"real" as in not an old, cut-in-half, hand-me-down. It wasn't expensive, but it is leather, which means Matt is obsessed with every imperfection. While napping on the floor, he discovered that Vegas, too, is quite enamored with the couch. It appears she has attacked it on a few different occasions. We were warned about this. "Leather? You're getting leather with a dog? Good luck." Eh. I guess we'll just call it distressed leather and consider ourselves trendy.

no candle parties please...i'm only 25

I don’t have room for another woman in my life right now. I just received a hand delivered, handwritten, page-long letter from my neighbor, a woman named Joyce that I am told I met last fall while raking. Joyce would like me to come over for a candle party tonight to eat brownies and meet the neighbors. There is ABSOLUTELY NO OBLIGATION to buy anything (she used uppercase and underline in the letter, which is kind of a threatening way to say it). Am I such a bad person for not wanting to go? I’m 25, and when my friends have those kinds of parties, I go, but I don’t want to join the circle of 70+-year-old ladies on my block. I can easily stay home, but the problem with neighbors is that they know where you live. They can look out their window and see that your lights are on. Of all the blocks in Minnesota, I ended up on one that really is Minnesota-nice, and I just don’t have it in me.

no peace and quiet here

The sound of silence is no longer heard in our house. With Vegas teething and being housebroken, we are constantly praising (or, more likely, reprimanding). Here are the top phrases repeated daily:

1. “Good girl Vegas. Oh, you're a good girl-hey! Stop chewing on my arm!”
2. “Uh oh. She is doing her poop walk.”
3. “Sniff my foot. Did I step in pee?”

my gas company rocks

When I run into a little extra cash, after I buy new dog-snag-free jeans, I'm going to print up some t-shirts that say, "I love my gas company." No lie. I assure you that I am really in love with my gas company. They showed up on time this morning after a pleasant phone call and fixed our oven and furnace within a half-hour. They never fail to amaze me, and no, I am not a paid endorser.

plug

If you're in the market for a heart-warming tale, check out the Minneapolis Star Tribune's Home & Garden section on January 4th. I hear page 2 has a doozy of a story. You can also go to http://www.startribune.com/418/story/160514.html

poor vegas

So, this is what it’s like to have a sick kid. Vegas had an allergic reaction to her shots today, and after bouts of vomiting and swelling, she received another shot to stop the reaction. Matt told me that her face started swelling up, so I instantly pictured Will Smith in “Hitch”—only with fur. I asked if he took a picture. He didn’t have time. She had to spend the entire day at the vet for observation and “fluid therapy”—drinking water?

Anyway, it turned out to be an expensive and stressful day for us. I’m sitting here at work with a pit in my stomach and a nervous twitch. It’s hard to leave her at the vet with strange people and strange dogs when I could take her home and cuddle with her in our electric blanket. Poor thing.

what i learned today

So, last week, I was putting frozen garlic bread in the oven, but rather than pull the rack out and place it gently on the pizza stone, I kind of tossed it in. My aim was a little off. One of the halves ended up garlic butter side down on the bottom of the oven. A little smoke and sizzling later, and I had a charred piece of still-frozen bread. When I went to use the oven the next day, it smoked so badly I had to turn it off and employ my genius cleaning methods. I don't resort to cleaning the oven often, but this time, the smoke was so thick it would've set off the smoke alarm across the house. I took a big, metal serving spoon, wrapped it in wet paper towel, and started scraping the bottom vigorously. It didn't work that well, but I grew impatient and turned the oven on again anyway. Nothing happened. The glowing light did not appear, the oven did not heat up, the bread did not cook. Hmm. I did what I always do when something doesn't work and called my dad. I guess scraping the bottom wasn't such a good idea. I might have shaken the ignitor enough to break it. Great. I guess we'll be calling that handy repairman again. What was his name again? Robby? I better get him on speed dial.

waking up is hard to do

What is one to do on New Year’s Eve with a new puppy? Matt decided to tackle the Christmas decorations, and Vegas helped by chewing on the boxes and peeing on the rug.