Friday, October 26, 2012

My Dog on the Blog

Last weekend we found ourselves all in the same room for once watching Disney's new show Dog With A Blog.

This is not a review, but I will say this: Talking dog + over-used smartass kid actress we've seen in bit parts on other Disney shows finally got her own show. Enough said.

And while we were watching, our dog Bruce was just glaring at me, clearly pissed because his numerous requests to simply post on MY blog (as opposed to having his own like Stan the dog in the show does) fell on deaf ears. Now I feel bad.

Well fine Bruce, here you go. Post on my blog. Go for it.

So without further ado, here's our dog Bruce.

Hello My Mom's Readers,

It's me, Bruce. I've been begging for months to get a little gig on the blog, but Mom kept saying "no." I think she got an idea that we might get rich now that she saw that other dog with his own TV show. Too late dumbass.

Anyway, typing is really hard! Opposable thumbs are way underrated.

Now I finally get to introduce myself! I'm #6 in this family. Justin arrived after me. I'm lucky to even be here. JakeRyan scammed my mom three weeks after my predecessor died (he claimed he was going to help Uncle John move a dresser) and just showed up at the house with me. She was totally pissed, she said the F-word, but couldn't turn me away once we told her how the selfish bitch (and I'm not talking about a female dog) that had me first was getting rid of me. Mom and Dad guess it's because I have bad hips.

For 11 months of my life my name was Brewski, but when I moved here my mom thought that was crass to have a dog named after alcohol. Since she doesn't believe in changing dogs' names, she shortened it to Bruce. It's really awkward when we meet a human with the same name. There was one time when the pest control guy thought she was screaming at him and telling him to be quiet. Other than that it's only been him and the guy around the block. That guy's dog's name is Martini. I'm sure Martini doesn't run into humans with that name. Irony: that dog is named after alcohol. I'm also known as Brucie-poo and Brucie the Wonder Dog.

Most days I feel like a piece of furniture around here. This is possibly because I'm actually the size of a coffee table and I don't get a lot of attention. I'm not fat, I'm just big-boned even though the vet put me on special food for large-breed inactive dogs. I weigh the same as my mom, but if anybody ever called her "large-breed" they'd get hurt.

A typical day for me begins with a walk to the bus stop, a jaunt to the back yard for my first of three human-sized-craps, then I take a nap on the floor of Mom's office. I like to snore while she is on conference calls. Then I watch as she Swiffers up enough of my shedded hair to make a Yorkie.

Last week Mom slipped in my slobber on the tile and that's all I have to say about that. Who am I kidding? It was hilarious!

OK, I'm outta here. Stay tuned for the next installment of Bruce on the Blog (I just made that up) where I tell you how I got a hole under my tongue and it cost $1,000 at the vet to fix. Well that was pretty much that whole story...but Mom has video.


Wednesday, October 17, 2012

WTF Wednesday - The "Unspoken Halloween Rule" Edition

Now that I'm an adult, I can appreciate Halloween as a little kid's holiday. I host about 30 people at my festively decorated house and have a little party. JakeRyan puts lights in the yard and all.

Having my own children has slowly brought me around and I no longer hate Halloween as I did for most of my life. For years I was a Halloween Scrooge because I never, not even once, had a costume of my own choosing as a kid.

Still, I have one pretty big Halloween pet peeve: Teenagers past reasonable trick-or-treating age walking around in huge packs in half-assed costumes (think T-shirts or just a crazy hair-do), ringing people's doorbells for candy. I was in 8th grade the last time I trick-or-treated. I was 13 and felt like a huge moron mingling with my three classmates among a bunch of little kids dressed as Care Bears and Ninja Turtles. 

Although I'd never turn a teenager away (mostly because they are also now big enough to kick my ass and that would totally ruin the holiday) I have an unspoken rule. See below. - Simple Rule: If your boobs are bigger than mine you're too old to be trick-or-treating at my house. Keep walking.

I just think if they're old enough to have a job in which they can earn their own money to BUY THEIR OWN CANDY, they're too old. 

I think as a candy-giver it's awesome when a little princess walks up and you can tell her how beautiful she looks. Or a kid in a super-hero costume who thinks they're a total badass - awesome! Or even a 1-year-old who is too young for the candy anyway... But a teenager in a Halloween t-shirt? I'd love to tell them to pound sand. "Here, have 75 cents worth of candy that I paid for with my hard-earned money. Would you rather I just give you the cash so you can put it towards your next iTunes purchase?" Or better yet, they can have candy if they can give me a good explanation of why this candy wasn't important enough for them to bother with a real costume. And please don't get me started on the Slut Suits. I can't take it.  

There are, perhaps a few exceptions to this rule. Maybe if you were escorting little kids or if your own parents were with you maybe. 

So I ask you: How old is TOO OLD to trick-or-treat?

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

WTF Wednesday - The "Giant Urinal" Edition

I recall my grandfather once referring to a public pool as a "giant urinal" and that colorful, yet revolting, comparison pretty much solidified how I would feel about them for life. He was a wise man.

JakeRyan and I took the Suitcase Kids to a 100% kid-geared hotel in Orlando for the weekend. We chose it because of it's giant 4-level water play area with several big slides, yadda yadda. As the kids darted away to begin their day of chlorinated play, I screamed the obligatory "stay together" knowing darn well they wouldn't. Within 5 seconds, I was lucky to still have sight of one of my children. It was Justin, the shrimpy kid whose height was being measured by a lifeguard for the first of 100 times that day.

There I was, standing in ankle-deep water with my dry bathing suit cover-up still in it's rightful place, slides in front of me, pool behind me. I needed to make a move. As much as I wanted to be a cool mom and join in, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. My feet were already contaminated and that was enough for me. I might have imagined my grandfather looking down on me from heaven (this is arguable) muttering something about Fromunda Cheese. (Google it)

I politely observed the kids going on and off slides from the ground as JakeRyan (who happened to have stitches and was forbidden by his doctor to swim at the time) dutifully walked up the steps and kept watch from a few levels above. He knows a losing battle when he sees it.

I maintained a solid stance, eyeballing and scrutinizing every person I saw, kinda like my own little Mean Girls movie in my head. Eww. Gross. She shouldn't be wearing that bathing suit. Is that a sweater or his back hair? Dear Lord, you just look dirty...

And all the people I watched were being sloshed by water. Water dripping over every inch of their bodies going back into the same receptacle that feeds the slides my kids were loving. 

And then before I knew it, the kids ran right past me into the pool. EWWWWWWW! Sharing the same water as those...PEOPLE!

Side note:
I used to try to deter the kids from drinking bath water by calling it "Butt Soup." I explained that butts are dirty and they're sitting in water, thus Butt Soup. It was pretty effective.

This was a colossal pot of Butt Soup! Nobody was swimming in this pool. They were just sitting there festering. It was a giant bath tub and all of their juices were being combined. I wouldn't get in to investigate, but I'm sure there were plenty of loose hairs floating in the film of sunscreen and e coli at the top of the water.

In my defense, I would have totally gone for a dip if none of the following people got in:
  • People who sweat
  • People who urinate
  • People with dirty feet
  • People with dreadlocks
  • People wearing bandaids
  • People who SHOULD be wearing a bandaid
  • People with green snot dripping from their nose
  • People with balls of deodorant in their pits
  • Oh God! Anyone with balls! 
  • People who suck in pool water and spit it out, thus having spit bubbles on their chin
  • People who have recently touched their own crotch
  • People who have recently touched someone else's crotch
  • People who might fart in the pool thus making it a jacuzzi
  • The mother who used her own hand to wipe her kid's green snot - this was me. I did that.
"Are you coming in Mommy?"

"Nope. I'm good."