A Little Piece of Work....

Check it out! My friend is hosting one of my flash fiction stories on her blog. Kinda AMAZING!

The Realm Of DM Kilgore: Short Story Saturdays ~ A Fantastic Short By Guest...: The beach was silent.             The ocean swallowed the sun on the horizon. Waves lapped softly against the sand. A little girl ...

New Addition to the Family!

See? I didn't try and fake you out this time. 

See this face?

This face is getting a brother on June 29th.

But literally- they'll be brothers. Same breeder. Same dog parents. Same human parents.

Fate says I? Yes, says you.

Ooh, I just can't wait to see the new puppy's wrinkly guts!

Many... many... weeks.

(Note: I had this originally on my other blog, but realized it belonged here.)

Being a military wife means that my husband and I sometimes go weeks without even talking to each other. Many weeks.

Many, many, weeks.

When he's gone, things change. I realized as I poured the last of my frozen strawberries into my Vitamix (thanks Mom!) that it had been almost two weeks since my last serious grocery run. The thought of running to the store flittered through my mind and right back out. I said what I always say.

Nah. I'll go tomorrow.

If I'm happy with a strawberry-chocolate-almond milk-protein shake for dinner, there's absolutely no reason to put my bra back on and go to the store. So, as a result, dinner looked like this:

But that's only because my fridge looks like this:

Then I settled on the couch and my TV selection was this:

Photo credit: http://tvsurveillance.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/cheers-1007.jpg

So I went to the bathroom and my sink looked like this:

Which inevitably means that the pile of clean laundry I put on my husband's half of the King-sized bed looks like this:

And then I realized that having a husband around at least provides an impetus for me to do everyday life things.

Except for Cheers. That probably shouldn't be everyday.

When he's gone I always miss him. Always. But the independent girl inside me stretches her cramped muscles for the first week or two, and enjoys the freedom of living on sweet potatoes and bacon. (Who wouldn't?)

At least I get to cuddle with this guy every night without husband hogging him.

It's been awhile...

For the record, I love you guys.

And I love this blog.

But I started another blog in the meantime. This one I will have to keep up with if I want to one day feed my children.

I'd really appreciate it if you became a follower. Or at least commented. Or clicked on the link. Or sent me to an agent for my manuscript. Oh wait, it's at the editors...

kcrosswriting.com

I bet most of you didn't know I was a writer. Well... now you do!

He's really a gentle beast...

This is what happens when you run 'really fast' into another store while 36 eggs lay "hidden" underneath the pillow your dog is sitting on.

When I found the guilty party, he was cradling an egg in his mouth. Just sitting there, looking around, holding the fragile egg in his massive mountainous canines... undisturbed. Miraculously, no eggs were harmed or broken. Except, on final tally, one whole egg was missing...

For the record, I giggled uncontrollably.

Husbands Best. Day. Ever.

I heard a cry come from our the back bathroom the other day, so I quickly ran back to see what was wrong.

Nothing was wrong.

Husband just needed to show me the happiest invention he'd ever seen AND demonstrate how it works.

\

Best. Day. Ever.

Unicorns... and husbands.

I found this picture as my desktop today.

When I asked husband why he chose a unicorn, he said, 

"It was the first thing that came to my mind."

Not sure what that's saying for Husband, but sure smells like revenge to me...

He is now protesting me posting this by sleeping with his head at the foot of the bed.

If You Break It....

I just wanted to send this info into the Universe and see what comes back:


I ate five Chocolate Chunk Cookies today.
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But on a serious note, Husband broke his toe.

I'm sure there's a way to rotate the photo, but I have a fault for apathy.

It's the left pinky toe, if you can't tell. Spiral fracture, clean break. Not a pretty night. (This happened last week, btw. I'm blogging early on it.)

Die Thin Mints! DIE!

I know.... I KNOW.

I'm not a very good blogger.

Got it.

I never promised otherwise.

Remember when you were a kid, and you'd go to mall? In the mall was a tall, skinny little booth with drapes that you'd step inside and take pictures with your bestie? It would print out five minutes later and you'd each take a strip?

I don't know why all of these are question marked?

Anyway, that's what I did with the boys. Only we weren't in a mall. Or a booth. We were in a car. Outside of Wal-Mart, where we finished off a box of Samoas in five minutes. Just kidding. We were leaving the dog park, just minutes away from getting said Samoa's. Either way...

Curse those girl scouts.

 Do you know how hard it is to take a good picture of a dog AND Husband? It didn't matter in the end.

I couldn't get either of them to take this seriously.

Here We Go Again..

Husband is so lucky he has a nurse for a wife.

For those of you who thought my sonic-ice-with-3-cherries post looked like a festering wound, I am here to prove you wrong today.

THIS is a festering wound.

It is also an arm which is 3 days post poison ivy/oak/sumac exposure.

And this is 4 days. I'm disappointed in my timeline. The bee sting was so much more dramatic.

Don't worry. I assessed for early signs of compartment syndrome (despite husband making fun of my questions) and convinced him to go to sick call this morning after formation. The doctor validated me by asking the same questions I did (for compartment syndrome- who's laughing now?!) His right arm is 1.5 inches larger than his left. Sweet.

He got IV solumedrol and was the freak of the clinic.

It's a good day to be him.

This Post Is A Crime...

You know how California is known for Hollywood?

New York for Times Square.

Colorado for Weed.

Idaho for Potatoes. (Yeah, while I'm on it, why is Idaho the 'Gem State'?)

Fayetteville for Crime.

I first became concerned when, our first day here in North Carolina, our bank warned us renters insurance up to $10,000 was 'basically required' in Fayetteville. 

Kind of like water.

A lady at church warned me to burn all my documents and watch my wifi if I value my identity.

A woman at the Sheriffs office told me that security systems installed in the houses were considered 'standard' but screens on the window were classified under 'upgraded.'

My neighbor, John, said I shouldn't worry. People are only shot around this neighborhood if there's a reason for it.

So I'm sure I put my neighbors at rest when I went around the neighborhood with my rather vicious dog to ask what kind of security systems they had. There's nothing creepy about that.

"Hi, my name is Katie. My husband and I just moved in. I'm curious how much security you have going on around here. Are those cameras? Any blind spots? What's your schedule like? Are you home much? Cute dog, is he nice? Does he bite? Does he bark when people walk up? Have you ever caught anyone? What did they do wrong?" 

Creeper.

Just kidding. Actually, it turns out my neighbors are quite strange. But nice. One of them explained, in a very deep, masculine, masochistic way, that every now and then he "goes on patrol around the backyard" and shoots off his .45 just so people know not to mess with him. (Where he shoots it, I didn't ask.) Then there was a kind black man who admitted that the sole purpose of one of four camera's is to check and make sure his son is doing his homework after school.

I end the day now with a pointless blog post.

And no pictures.

A Wretched Truth

Husband gets a lot of heat on this blog, so I figure I'd throw him a metaphorical bone. Although it's all in hypotheticals, of course.

Maybe I'm in Denver for Christmas.

It's possible I drove 5.5 hours to Atlanta at 6 am to fly out, instead of the closest airport in my city so, if I were to take the dog (who does that anyway?!) then his flight would be only 3 hours.

Speaking of dogs, there's a chance I brought Ryker with me.

It's plausible to assume I was a little anxious about flying the dog with me. If, in fact, I did pay $200 one way to fly him, and will have to pay $200 again to fly him back.

Perhaps I had a few tears appear in the corner of my eyes as I left him with the very kind Delta representatives. Hypothetically, it could have looked more like a monsoon as it down my red, splotchy face. Or a deluge. Then again, perhaps not.

If this did occur, then it would also be believable that I asked no less than five different Delta representatives to ensure that Ryker was actually put on my plane. Including the obvious questions, "Will he be cold? Is it dark? When is he put in?" As if I hadn't done five hours of research...

In the unlikely event that I would have talked to all of those people, it would have been because of my innate goodness trying to prevent a hideous, dangerous scene in Denver when they inform me that my dog was in Milwaukee on accident.

Maybe I let Ryker out of the cage as soon as I saw him without regard to the fact that we were in the middle of baggage claim. Nor would I have cared if he was so excited to see me he spritzed all over the carpet. Maybe he did that. And if he did, maybe I didn't care.

And then that creates the potential, in such an unlikely situation, for him riding on aunt Sarah and my laps the entire ride home.

Potential only.

Possibilities only.

You get the pathetic idea.

Clocks and Flowers.

Typically, I'm not crafty.

Sarcastic, definitely. Word-oriented, yes. Aware of my surroundings, most of the time.

I went to Hobby Lobby yesterday to buy a huge clock,  (Isn't it great?)

and decided to finish a project I started like 17 months ago. So, as far as my track record is concerned, I'm right on time for finishing. It only took me like thirty minutes and two store associates to figure out what I wanted to do. Even then, I didn't really take their advice.

But I did fake myself out when I walked up to the nearest cart, saw a hot glue gun in it and walked away before I realized it was actually mine.

Ha ha.

Just to be clear, husband told me he hated that color of mustardy yellow when I tried to include him in my decorating scheme for the front room, and really didn't want it to be a base color.

Since he failed to agree with me, I ignored him and continued with the flower arrangement anyway.

How many husband's does it take to change a lightbulb?

Conversation. Of. The. Day

Husband is standing on the kitchen counter replacing the light bulbs in their new house. Katie is walking back into the kitchen after taking her multivitamin. Ryker is sniffing out a dead spider, undecided as to whether it deserves to be eaten if it's not going to put up a fight first.

Husband: Well, honey, we have a problem.

Katie: What?

The room is still cast in dim shadows despite his obvious attempts to bring light to the kitchen sink/cupboard area. Bulb boxes are scattered in disarray everywhere, as are the trails of cookie crumbs where Husband has walked.

Husband: This one is beyond me.

Katie reaches over to a different light switch and flips it. Light floods the once dark crevices of the sink and cupboard.

Husband turns to his three boxes of Creme de Menthe cookies to make up the room in his body for all his lost pride. Ryker abandons him as well as the shriveled spider.

... and THAT is why I won't miss Alabama.

Husband and Katie are standing in the driveway near the Jeep.  A massive Budget truck the size of several small states is in front of their house. The carpet men are working in the background, the morning is crisp. Ryker is doing nothing in the car because he still can't sniff out the crazies for us. A woman in a Ford Explorer pulls into their isolated dead end street and turns around in front of their house. Husband and Katie watch in surprise. No one pulls into their isolated dead end street and turns around in front of their house. 

A kind appearing middle aged woman with gray-blonde hair and a clean outfit climbs out of the drivers seat. She waves and heads towards their pile of garbage a few feet away.

Woman: Hey! How are ya! Moving, huh?

Husband: (in a somewhat perplexed voice that seems to ask who-is-this-woman?): Yep. Heading out soon.

Woman: Oh, that's great. Going out of state?

The Woman begins to sift through their jettisoned cardboard box. She lifts up a discarded bag of packing peanuts to see what's underneath as the conversation continues.

Husband, with several blinks of doubt: North Carolina.

Woman: Oh, that's great. You must be military?

Husband (With his head tilted to the side as she lifts up a see-through bag of garbage and rotates it to peer through the contents.) : Yep.

Woman: My husband was in the military, all that moving! Definitely not fun.

Katie: Looks like it is for some.

(Just kidding, Katie didn't really say that. She just stared and blinked in confusion as the woman continued to pick apart the garbage pile.) Husband casts Katie a look that asks is-this-woman-really-making-casual-conversation-while-sifting-through-our-garbage-pile? and then walks to do something in Rhode Island, I mean, the Budget Truck. The woman sets aside a few more piles of packing peanuts and lets out an exclamation.

Woman: Phew! My exploror stinks.

Katie (with her hands in her pockets as she makes herself comfortable on realizing the woman is there to stay.): Oh no, that gasoline smell is from the lawnmower box there. Yep, that one. Gas spilled from it. Apparently the tank wasn't as empty as we thought. We went ahead and mixed it with laundry detergent.

Woman, laughing in reassurance and revealing the fact that she doesn't know laundry detergent and gasoline are incredibly explosive: Oh good! (Picks up another bag of trash to inspect through.) What a relief! Thought it was my car!

Katie: Oh no, your car is safe. (Our garbage isn't, however.)

The woman makes a little more small talk, but dismayed by the overwhelming power of gasoline that pours from the rest of the filth, eventually straightens up in defeat.

Woman, with a friendly wave: Well good luck to y'all! And travel safe!

The woman drives off in her Explorer to make more friends and Katie walks away to the snicker of the carpet men.

I don't really like you, Ahnold...

What is this, you ask?

This is the face of a man becoming a little boy. The happiness of watching a man movie like The Expendables 2 has him shouting advice to the actors and laughing with delight as the .50 cal's come out.

There's so much testosterone in the room I'm going to grow a beard.

Nice To See You Too ....

Conversation. Of. The. Day.

Katie gets out of car to walk towards Husband who was been gone for a month, she hasn't seen in two weeks and hadn't spoken too for over seven days in a row. She's dressed up with a skirt and curly hair for Husband's graduation ceremony. Her make up is great and the morning beautiful and frizz free. She's so, so excited to see him again.

Katie: Oh hi hunny! It's so good to see you! I've missed you!

She's beaming, he looks so handsome, if not very tired. She holds out her arms for a hug.

Husband: Hi. Nice boots.

Katie stares at him with a sudden and very real understanding that he's been in testosterone land where macho army men gather in masochistic groups and grunt. She smiles sweetly, thanks him, gives him a hug and...

Redeems her revenge via blogpost.

Happy Hour Indeed

BEST. DAY. EVER.

I got three cherries in my happy hour diet cherry limeade from Sonic.

&*(#$)(*#%^)#@)!!!!

I'M SO ANGRY.

That's why I'm yelling at you in capital letters.

I'll spare you too many gory details, but the situation went down like this:

I was at PetCo with Ryker, walking around so he could get in a few smells and I can recall with fondness the days when we could buy him the cute toys. The ones he destroys in 15 minutes. A lady walks up to me, and the conversation goes as follows.

Crazy lady: Oh. My. Gosh. A vizsla. Where did you get him? How old is he? He's adorable! Ohcomeandgimmesomekisses!

Ryker wiggles happily over. He's too young to sniff out the crazies.

Me: His name is Ryker. We got him from a breeder in North Alabama.

Concern creases her face in an instant. She stops petting Ryker and looks at me in anxiety.

Crazy lady: Which one?

I tell her, and she stands up.

Crazy lady: You're going to have health problems. And have you fixed him? Yep you have. That was wrong, you shouldn't have. You should have waited until 18 months. You're a first time owner, aren't you? I can tell. This is why you need a Vizsla contact like me. You've done things wrong. But you didn't know.

Stunned, I stare at her and try to answer.

Me: Really?

Crazy lady: Aren't they great to train? The six month rescue I just took in, I've only had for a week and a half, and she's already squared away and totally obedient. It's just that easy, you know, when you know what you're doing like I do. Do you run him? How far?

Me: Sometimes on leash, mostly off leash. If it's on leash, only 2-3 miles. But that's not very often.

Crazy Lady: You're running him too much. You're going to damage his growth plates. I know, I have six Vizsla's and a rescue. They call me the crazy Vizsla lady around here, isn't that right Ed? (She yells at an employee walking by. He nods politely and continues on his business because HE can sniff out the crazies.) I've had them my whole life. Let me give you my information, I'll hook you up with every single Vizsla owner or breeder in the business around the world. That's what happens when you've been in the business as long as I have. Ask Ed, he knows. I'm here all the time. That energy he's got is pretty typical of Vizslas, can you handle it?

At this point my blood is bubbling in my skin, and I can't take it anymore. I unleash on her all the fury of a first time mom to a stranger who dared educate her on how to raise her perfect child.

Me: Excuse me, but who are you to question if I am qualified to take care of this dog? This is MY dog, and I have done a damn fine job of raising him, and I'll continue to do a damn fine job of raising him without your contacts or help with it, thank you very much. Don't you dare tell me there is something wrong with him. He's a perfect dog, from an excellent breeder I plan on buying from again despite your incredibly rude reference to them. Who are you to know anything about me and my dog? I hope you realize you have just pissed off the wrong unemployed woman with a lot of time to raise hell in your life. You're lucky there's not a lake around, or I'd throw you and your narcissistic self love into it you southern biddy!

The woman stares, flabbergasted. Then, with tears in her eyes, she profusely apologizes and takes her leave with her metaphorical tail between her legs. Ed strolls by and gives me a high five, whistling as he goes and disappearing at the end of the aisle.

OK FINE.
It didn't exactly end like that.

More like me excusing myself after she handed me a paper with her facebook, her email, her phone number, her social security number and the library of congress reference number to the book she wrote about how great she is. In my passive-aggressive rage I crumpled it up in my fist once outside and threw it in my car with a cry of rage and the wish that Husband had been around to open his can of Army Infantry kick ass.

Then I did the only thing there was left to do.

I called my mom.

Stupid Little Rattles.

Husband and I have great ideas.

The problems come when we drag other people into them, like Husband's parents.

This picture is a summarization of the view while on the partial night hike we took them on this weekend, in a sincere attempt to show them a good time.

Our style.

When Dahrl was here in August we went on a hike at Pine Mountain a little later than expected. It ended up getting dark, we stumbled our way through the last mile via moonlight and had a great time. We've been talking about doing it again ever since.

Except Husband forgot to check the lunar calendar.

To say that Cindy-Mom and Father Stephen were troopers would underestimate it. The stumbled through an hour and a half of nothing-to-see-blackness. (Except for the little red light attached to Ryker's collar that bobbed incessantly as he ran... non stop.) They even laughed when we got lost, found out we were on a horse trail, and had to double back.

To say that Ryker was tired would overestimate it. He was fine.

To say that the suspicious little rattle that began as soon as Ryker began sniffing out a certain spot with particular interest didn't worry me, would definitely underestimate it.

I'm not overly fond of suspicious little rattles in a dark southern wilderness during a month known for snake to be mating when you can't see the ground and your dog is overly curious.

I thought, and still kind of do, that hiking in the dark is a new sensory experience. You pay attention to everything, (especially the prancing red dot that's leading the way) in a way you don't when you can see. Like the sounds of the forest in the wind, or the sudden whisper of birds taking off. The milky way coats the sky in a fog when there's no flashlight to blind your night vision. If you stop, and listen, you can hear the leaves fall.

But then I thought, meh. It's just a walk in the dark and a few lost toenails after all.