That Look Means You're Lucky I Don't Have Heat Vision

A story from a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away . . . .

On the recommendation of the sneaky liar, while in South Beach my friends and I sought out The Tides Hotel. The joint is well known for it's signature cocktails - martini's are just one of them. This is why we decided to attend (and what could be a better reason than martini's with Popsicles?) We sought, we found, we ordered . . . . .

However, upon our arrival and being that this hotel is a five-star joint, I decided to cover myself (it's great that you can walk anywhere in your swim gear in South Beach Miami and welcomed with open arms into any place; I absolutely love that, but that doesn't mean you. . . . errr. . . . um . . . . I should). So, I politely put on my workout t-shirt with my workout capri's. I consider it a nice t-shirt. It's from Pearl Izumi; not a battered, sweat filled, hole ridden, smelly cotton shirt you may find me wearing while working in our yard laying 11 pallets of sod. So, in what I assume is a decent shirt, I sit outside waiting for our drinks as well as my friends to join me from their restroom break.

As I wait, I am doing the people watch thing. I am having fun at gazing at the people's walking by, playing beach volleyball, driving in their Bentley's, dancing and basically being beach individuals. I am also sitting in what someone must consider a stylish piece of furniture. It is leather with a rounded top. It's new and fabulous, just like me. Or so I thought. Because as I was sitting there, a group of six well-muscled men walked by. One of these men spotted me sitting alone and turned to his friends, pointed at me while saying loudly enough, "Look dawg. . . Don't she be looking just like the Chucky Cheese mouse?" And he then started laughing uncontrollably.

vs

I sat there for a moment churning this around in my little head and realized that, yes, he was talking about me.

. . . Um. [blink blink] . . .

*crickets chirping*

WHAT? ? ? ! IlookliketheChuckyCheesemouse?!

I've been called many things, for example, a male German Soccer player, but the Cheese Mouse, really? So, um. Ow. Could the earth just open up and swallow me whole or better yet lend a giant stabbing spork? I didn't feel so fabulous. My friends may think I get offended when it comes to me and, well, they're right. I do. I was offended, but too taken aback to react. I can think of all the snarky responses now, but I was completely and utterly silenced into embarrassment by a complete stranger then.

I guess my one iota of saving grace, if there was any at all, was the fact that his friend, who apparently was the leader of the muscle gang, turned and took a slight uninterested look at me and responded, "naw dawg" while continuing on with his casual stroll; minions in tow.

I am so going as a cat this year for Halloween.

Can't Win For Losing

The husband and I have been blessed with a decent sized backyard. As a result we have loads of wildlife. Nothing of the coyote or mountain lion sorts, but lots of birds and rats with fuzzy tails. This is a great enjoyment to us and we do much to encourage visits, more so, permanent move-ins. However, I'm having a heck of a time catching said creatures on film. I took over 30 pictures yesterday and these are the only winners:

I continuously miss the greatest shots-that-even-National-Geographic-will-hire-me-for of all time! Or it's that I move to get the picture and the 50 different sorts of wildlife take flight in one big lift off. Yesterday, I was even crawling on my hands and knees in my house just to get shots through a window/screen that you see posted here. I'm not so good at this camera thing. Or it's my camera. Or both, because in my little head, it can't just be operator error. Seriously. I need help. So, I'm going to look for a new bright shiny camera as well as hunt for camouflage outfits. And not the bright orange please-don't-shoot-me either. Maybe even something along the lines of dressing as true shrubbage? The husband will be so excited! A new camera!

By the way, these are my heroes. They are going to catch those fuzzy tailed rats one of these days, if I only open the door. . . .

Your thoughts? Suggestions?

Guest Pawsting

Mama has been a bit busy lately, so I've taken it upawn myself to post on her blog.

I am Dixie. I am a Boykin Spaniel. I am full of muscles. The humans also call me Dixie Doo and sometimes, cuz I get sooo excited and knock the peoples over, they call me The Bulldoozer. I am a southern belle; I don't knock them over for nothing. I only want to knock 'em over cuz it brings their faces closer to me. I can sit on them and kiss their faces. Why would people not like that?

I love my dad. I love to give kisses when humans are lying on the ground, in the bed and on the couch. I am not supposed to get on the furniture, but I've been known on occasion to maybe get up there. It's Lola's fault.

I love to dig. I dig holes around the backyard. Mostly by the fence, cuz then I can get out and tackle neighborhood peoples. I can give them kisses too.

I love to run. I love to fetch. I really love to bounce. I can bounce almost 5-feet off the ground. Ahhh. . .the ground, I love to lick the kitty litter off the ground. Mama says that's gross, but I like the taste. Mama says not even the cats do that, but who really cares about cats anyways? Felines are not our friends. They're fun to chase. I catch them sometimes. Cats are the enemy to this entire earth. I get along with Mia Bella The Cat, but I want to eat Pontius The Cat. Dad doesn't like that, but I'll get Pontius The Cat when dad's not looking and every dog will be happy. Speaking of dad, I love my dad too.

I love to sleep next to my mama. Then she can't move. I got a new doggie bed yesterday. I love it.

I love to bark. I love to chase squirrels. I will catch them one of these days. They think they're pretty tough running up in the trees and on the fence. Get down by me and then we'll see who's faster. I also love to chase things called birds and things called balls. I love to run. I love my dad. I love to chew bones. I get lots of bones from mama and dad.

I love Lola. She's my best friend. This is her looking like she is yelling at me, but she wasn't. We were playing. Even if she does get mad, I don't care. She never stays mad anyway.

Mama came home from training today on her bicycle and said she saw two Mallard ducks. A boy and a girl. She said she wished she had her camera with her, cuz she said the ducks were sooo pretty. She also mentioned all the cranes and birds flying around all that water right now. I love water too cuz I love to swim. I love birds even more. I'll catch the birds one day. If I had been with mama today I would have got those ducks and brought them back for her and then she could have pretty ducks all the time.

This typing thing is a lot of work. I'm going to eat dinner. I love food. I can eat a lot.

Dixie out

Use It. Enjoy It. And Remember To Wipe Off The Sweat As a Courtesy to Others

I am very aware of my AWOL'ness these past few days. While I could give you a list of the things that have gotten in the way of your When the Godiva is Gone blog reading pleasure, I won't. Suffice it to say that I've been busy. Really busy. I am so supremely busy, it's taken me 5 weeks to get to the grocery store. Yes. I said 5 weeks. It got so bad that I didn't even have water in my fridge. Sure, the husband and I were able to eat out twice a day, but that is some serious jeopardy for the waistline as well as the fact that that even gets monotonous. I do like vegetables not strewn in butter soup now and then. Not to mention fresh fruit. I don't even like butter. . . .

Anyhow, I did manage to get to the grocery store twice yesterday. Once for lunch fixings and the other for dinner ingredients. In between, I managed to wake the graveyard working husband to attend the Pink Martini concert yesterday afternoon. Free tickets from a neighbor and a really good time. I still have the major grocery shop to finish, as well as to mow the yard and plant more bushes. I'm not even going to mention the flowers I have to plant - besides, the squirrels seems to think flower roots are their very own personal gourmet meal. I'm about to go and buy out this entire Longhorn city of its Cajun-burn-the-mouth-seasonings . . .

Finally, once the husband awakes today, we'll be hitting the CompuTrainer where he has informed me that I must begin to train on hills. For at least an hour. An hour of riding hills. Do you know what that will do to me?

the husband: you do realize that you have to start riding up some hills, right?
me: uh. *zombies*
the husband: you need to do that.
me: ugh. *zombies everywhere*
the husband: Jen. . . . *exasperation*
me: uh. I. Don't. Want. To.
the husband: it'll be good for you.
me: um. is there such a thing as easy hills? *what do you mean there is no tooth fairy*
the husband: *laughter*
me: seriously. I hate hills. I don't just sound like I'm dying going up a hill - I AM DYING.
the husband: it won't kill you.
me: what if I do die, then what?
the husband: you won't die.
me: what if I do?
the husband: you are not going to die riding your bike up a hill.
me: how do you know that?
the husband: because I do.
me: well, if I do die you're gonna feel bad. . .
the husband: You. Are. Not. Going. To. Die.
me: I could. . . .
the husband: cutitout! *walks away*
me: ugh. grrmph. mmmrzzzph. *more zombies again*

Currently, I am awaiting a call from my bank to inform me of my escrow situation where I can then politely turn around and share said information with my accountant. Taxes are such a lovely thing.

Today's list has only just begun and somehow is growing like sea monkeys.