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.