Just one of those days

So, I went to wal-marte (said with a french accent, because it of course sounds better, but really, why do the french get the credit for having the high quality sort of accent, I really should not partake in the boosting of that stereotype)...and there were NO CARTS!! No hand carts, no shopping carts to be found. Here's how it unfolded...
- walk in and see that one man asks the other man if he can use his cart as he is leaving the store and obvs. done with it. (I think to myself, odd, but perhaps he is too lazy to get his own).
- I walk into the store to the greeter who says "good-night" and find no hand baskets in their yoush (pronounced like "usually" without the end) place by the fantastic plastic looking donuts that are 1/2 off because they've been there a year. (I think odd that the guy just said good night when I was entering, and found it perhaps a new unique welcome I should begin using, and then thought better of it. Next I thought where in the hell are the handbaskets, better go get a cart).
- I walk back out the doors to which I recieve a "good night" again and back into the entry way to get a cart. The man handing out carts is missing and there seem to be no carts for the man, if he were there, to even be handing out. (I think good night is growing on me as a perfect anytime/universal greeting and I also think that perhaps the man who hands out the carts has now moved to greeting and that's why he's so confused as to what to say, then I realize where the hell are the carts?)
- I look again, still no carts. This is Wal-Mart, folks, are you serious?
- I begin to look around for cameras assuming that I must be on candid camera, for this cannot honestly be happening. No cameras, but prepare myself to not look retarded in my following actions, because there is about 100% chance they are there and I have just missed scoping them out.
- Man walks in and his wife asks him to grab a cart. Both look over into the "cart dungeon" (usually filled with dingy, germ infested, silver with purple plastic handle carts) and are surprised at what they see. No carts, of course. At this point, his wife makes the "well, make yourself useful" face and he diligently sets out to find a cart.
- Being the lazy person that I am, and with no one to make the face at me to get me moving, I look out the door and see a man bringing in one row of carts. I patiently wait.
- I get my cart as they rumble through the dungeon and turn around just in time to bump into the man who had set out to make his wife proud, and my approach was clearly the better mode of action.
- No candid camera, man gets his cart, I get my cart...
- of course my cart has one wheel that is frozen straight, and I can't back up nor go forward without a very abrupt course of straight lines and screeching.
- I turn around to change carts, because mine is clearly non-functional and realize the whole row that just came in went out like "fresh meat" at a carnivore party, and all the happy cart-pushing folks are walking by me as though I just got screwed. Well, clearly, they are correct, I did.
- Here we go again, now I kind of wish there was a camera, 'cuz, seriously? Once again, too lazy, and the little cart man is diligently attending to the lack of cart problems and quickly shows up with round #2 delivery.
- I greet him at the end of the dungeon and thank him for round 2, he looks confused, but sort of nods and continues working.
- I get my cart and begin the whole shopping idea one more time, but this time, the rest of the crowd needing carts has grown and as I begin to back up a few steps to push my cart into the store, it as though I am completely in the way and get pushed by the cart-hungry shoppers behind me.
- I manage to fend them off for the moment, push past the donut sleds that are clearly a road-block for parents trying to get kids into the store, and I'm on my way. Jalapeno peppers here I come.
Let me just tell you, the Wal-Mart experience has never let me down. Don't go that often because it is always an "experience" and I'm not always in the mood, but every time I do, it is just such a great snapshot of the American public, that really, how could you go wrong?

Oh, The Joy of Having Dogs

So, as we all know, my dog's are like my damn kids. Pretty much the same for all those who have a dog(s) and no kids yet. Things prob will change when I do have real kids, but until then, my dogs seem to be sufficing. This was their last week in life, with two lovely catastrophe's.
#1) Rob picks me up from class last Friday afternoon, and he has the dogs in the car with him, 'cuz he just picked them up from playing in the backyard at grandma's (his mom's) house. We bring them home and give Harley a bone and Diesel usually stands eagerly around her head trying to get the scraps. Well, today she is having nothing to do with the bone activity, and is simply sitting in the middle of the carpet staring off in a daze. Not totally unusual, but yes, a bit. Next, Rob calls her to jump on the couch with him, and she just looks at him, and then she begins to sort of tremor. At this point, I am involved in eating my lunch, and am not paying much attention. Rob, however, being the doting father of the little shit (a.k.a. Diesel), is very concerned. He asks me, "babe, is she okay? Isn't she acting funny?" To which I reply, "I don't know, why? What's she doing?" I look up from my sandwich and don't see anything too major, so I go back to eating. Next, Rob proceeds to see if she will jump up on his lap on the couch (this is usually her favorite thing while they watch football all Saturday). She just looks at him and then turns away. Now he's really concerned and gets on the floor with her, but she's just not into it. My sandwich is now consumed and I begin to observe. She's still shaking, but not siezuring, so I'm not sure what to think. Well, we haven't quite caught on yet, so she deems it necessary to make it very clear...
She promptly marches to the middle of the living room carpet and vomits. Rob is sort of in shock (myself as well, because in her three years of life she has never vomited. Harley, she vomits all the time, but not this one), and asks how to clean it. Well, being the veteran vomiting dog owner that I am, I simply get the dust pan (don't let the dog eat the vomit, it's gross, and they always seem to try) and begin to slide it under and get the big stuff (if you are ever in this situation, a flat edge under the mass is the best beginning step). Once the dust pan contents were flushed down the toilet (after observing them, of course, to make sure nothing is out of the ordinary), and the soaking up with just normal paper towels begins. Basically, we got it all cleaned up and she begins to heave again. At this point, I scream (always scares the dogs, but that's the idea, so that they suck it back in for a minute and you can grab them), and the pick-her up and take her to the tile where she can vomit and it is much easier to clean. Alright, two down, you might think that's it, but it's not...Two more times after each prior cleaning. Well, now that's weird and her tremoring has still not gone away, in fact it's worse. At this point, I'm thinking poison or something that she's gotten into in the backyard. However, she's out there quite frequently and usually nothing occurs. We take her to the vet anyway (at Rob's pushing), and he does the normal checks (Ya know, everything you do at home to make sure they're still alive like temperature taking, feeling the stomach and making sure it's soft, color in the gums comes back for dehydration, heart beat, etc.) Well, she checks out fine (surprise, as we already determined that before we went, but had to pay someone to confirm it). The vet asks if she's eaten anything. We say not that we know of. He asks what the vomit looked like. We respond nothing abnormal, just the normal digested food at the first and then into the foamy bile when there's not much left (that's the normal cycle). He gives us some anti-vomit stuff, says take it easy and $95 later, we're on our way having gotten really nothing except no more carpet stains out of the visit. Well, she doesn't want dinner or her treat in her crate, weird, but she's got an upset stomach, so prob normal. Well, next morning the tremors are back and I let her out of her crate and she's goes straight to her bed in the living room. This is NOT normal, as normal path involves a first stop in the kitchen for breakfast. Well, she won't eat breakfast and she hasn't drank anything in over 24 hours. At this point, I drain the tuna juice out of a tuna can to see if she wants that. Nope. Next, gatorade. Nope. Okay, so not any better, and pretty much looking worse.
At this point I call Rob to have him go check the backyard (obvs. It's not too poisonous whatever it is, because she is still alive after 24 hours, but perhaps it'd be good to know anyway). His response after he checks: "Well, nothing really odd or out of place but there is this purple liquid sort of stuff on the concrete." My response, "Well, what the F* is the "purple stuff" babe? (In my head, I prob would have figured it out prior to calling. At any rate, he goes back in to determine that it is Moonsand. For those of you not familiar, it is modern day play-doh (like wet sand feeling in different colors that you can mold, etc.). I get on the internet to see what it contains. I find it is non-toxic to kids on almost all sites, and that's good, but I also find a handful of sites saying that dog's love it (of course they would, it's nasty)and when they eat it they often end up getting intestinal blockage and have to have surgery. Well, that's great.
Okay, intestinal block. Doesn't seem like it, she's been pooping. Perhaps the block is farther up in her tract and she's clearing out what's below it. Still peeing, breathing, no eating. Well, let's give it a while. Call my mom, she's been scarred by the loss of too many dogs from random things and says go to the vet. Call the vet first to see if there is really any need for concern if she's still pooping, etc. Of course, they say better come in and make sure it's all good. So in we go five hours later, 'cuz she's still not normal, and this time she checks out good, but better do an x-ray for blockage potential. X-ray comes back pretty normal except there is quite a bit of something in her stomach (yes, prob moonsand, although unfortunately bright purple does not show up on x-rays)and she's hasn't eaten, so not really normal. Well, something else for laxative sort of stuff, and we're on our way to make sure she poops purple for the next couple of days, and we should be good. Well, two purple poops later that day, and we're golden. The little shit is just fine, but she'll never eat moonsand again. If she's stupid enough to try, I'm not stupid enough to let her.
#2) The day after Diesel feels better, we go to the park for our normal walk. They are off the leashes because Harley loves to run. Well, Harley makes her normal rounds along the duck pond and then I notice she is taking a while, at which point I look through the bushes to see she has found something (obvs. foul and god-awful) to roll in. I begin to yell at her and move closer...she's not moving...Up and roll one side, up and roll the other, roll, roll. Okay, now I'm pissed 'cuz the longer the roll, the nastier the shit must be. Well, at this point she has gotten enough of it, and comes back over near us. The cloud of stench that follows is indescribable. To the point where we are kicking at her to stay away, and fearing we may gag or vomit. Now the walks over and we have to put her in the car. I kid you not, windows all down, and sweatshirt covering my nose and mouth, my eyes are still watering and I'm dry heaving.
The discussion turns to who gets to wash her, and unfortunately I get the short straw (Rob is usually awesome and always does it, but seeing as how bad it was, and they are my dogs, I couldn't expect him to have to). Next, gameplan on how to get her upstairs and in the tub ASAP. Rob is going to take the dogs (harley not on a leash, as we can't fathom touching her), and lock her in the bathroom as soon as he gets in, after taking off her collar and soaking it. I will follow (the stench even in the open air stairway is quite apparent, even though I'm a good 50 yds. behind), get on my rubber gloves, and put on my nasty clothes to go put her in the tub and clean her. I am prepared and arrive to open the bathroom door, however, as I swing it open, I catch myself mid-dry-heaving and now need some sort of a mask (mind you we did have the fan on and she had only been in there less than a minute or two). After getting the mask (bandanna around my face) I am ready to face the beast and in I go. Well, we got it taken care of, and four shampoo/condition sessions later, she almost smells non-rancid again.
Oh the joy of having two lovely little life companions to keep my otherwise routine life just a little interesting!

Yet another "Fix-it" project

So, here's the deal...
I took down my Christmas decorations, and with them came the wreath that was so beautifully displayed above my mantle. Well, now I was confronted with a blank piece of drywall above my 1st fix-it project, my mantle. Of course, I had to find a painting, and obvs. I wanted one of those awesome mountain landscapes from a gallery in Park City. Yes, I know which one, I have been looking at it every time I go up there for many years now. At any rate, the price of those pictures are needless to say, a bit too much for the budget. And, I am not quite that well established in life yet to feel as though I deserve one. At this point, I had to start thinking of smaller things I had bought in the past and had stashed away somewhere. Well, I thought of one, a cool picture of a rodeo clown (very artistically done, and ripped, etc) that I had given Rob a few years ago and he hadn't yet found a place to hang.
Now the project begins: hanging this rather heavy painting on drywall. So, I set out to find the two studs because those will obvs. be the best bet for security. I find them, and sadly enough, they are set too far apart to leave the picture properly centered above the mantle. (side note: I'm not even sure that the mantle is centered above the fireplace to begin with). Well, now we're down to the next option of "drywall anchors." I'm sure you've all dealt with them, those annoying little plastic screw sort of looking sheaths that go over the screw, expand and "grab" the drywall as they go into the wall, and provide an anchor for a painting.
Okay, so we've got the anchors and the supplies, we just have to hang it. Easy, right? think again (at least we did). I begin by drilling a pilot hole, ya know, a small hole so that the plastic itself doesn't crumple from trying to bore through the wall itself. Got the pilot hole, now begin to screw the plastic anchor into the hole. Turn, turn, and oh boy, it's shattered. Rob's turn....Turn, turn, and it crumples. Except this time, it was about half way in, and the crumpling leads to half of the plastic anchor being stuck in the wall when we go to remove it. Get the pliars. Get it out. Try again, a bit bigger hole (maybe that was the problem)...not the problem, crumples again, gets stuck again, and this time, won't even come out with pliars, just pulls off so that the plastic is flush with the wall. Well, clearly, we leave it there and start with a new hole. What intelligent person wouldn't?
At this point, we look on the internet and make sure we are not missing anything. Well, they all say to do what we've been doing, but one site says to make a pilot hole large enough that the anchor can be pushed into it almost all the way and "tapped" in the rest of the way with a hammer. So, here we go (mind you we are now dealing with drilling holes about the diameter of my index finger)...drill the hole. Put in the anchor, it fits most of the way, tap it, it's flush with the wall. Awesome, well now wasn't that easy? NOT REALLY...We must now screw the actual normal metal screw into the anchor to add the proper support. Hand Rob the screw, he begins to twist it into the anchor and then I hear an uh-oh. I look up to see that the screw is only about 1/2 way in, and the anchor is also about 1/2 way into the wall (ya know, being pushed through the wall). Rob now asks me what he should do. At which point, being the genius that I am, I figure, try to screw it back out. That is all well and good until the screw comes back out fine, but leaves the anchor still pushed 1/2 way into the drywall.
Genius thought #2: Okay, so screw the screw back into the anchor and hopefully it will grab onto the anchor more, before pushing too much farther into the wall, at which point we can pull them both out. One slightly flawed error in my thinking...The anchor and screw simply push completely through the wall (there is nothing behind it, clearly, in afterthought, seeing as how it's around the fireplace) and we hear them drop into the space behind the wall (I'm assuming onto the top of my fireplace, but who really knows what's behind the wall). Well, that didn't work. CLEARLY. Okay, so we finally figure it out, the good old method of using normal screws and putting them into the studs. Needless to say, it's hung, off-center, and thankfully covering the four to five gaping, index-finger sized holes in the drywall (some still filled with anchors and some not). That should be a fun patching job before I move out.

Holidays are ending...

So now that the holidays are over, I must admit my house is feeling a bit empty. I finally got all the decorations taken down, and yes, my real tree got out the door before it left needles everywhere. For all of you feel that cleaning up the needles on the way out the door is a must for Christmas experience, don't worry, I did that already on round one. By round one, I mean that this was my second tree for the season. Here were the following real Christmas tree experiences that I was lucky enough to enjoy this season:
Tree #1) We headed to the "pre-cut" tree lot right across from Target on about Dec.7th. Yes, I understand that it still means I have three weeks before Christmas, but the tree was already cut anyway, so what should be the difference if it sits in a parking lot or in my dining room? Well, as luck would have it, I have very little room for a tree next to my dining room table, so I needed a tall and skinny tree, in order to be just perfect. We begin to walk through the tree assortment, and they are all very cute trees, nice and round and wide, etc. Clearly not what I wanted, so I head to the back corner and find a lovely Charlie Brown Tree..tall and skinny and sparse, like I wanted. I find the perfect tree, and I did notice a tinge of lighter green in the needles, but I assumed it was just because that tree was a different type than the others. Oh boy was I wrong...First off, I find it and it has no tag (hmmm, strange). I ask the guy if it's for sale, and he says it is, and then he gives it a "fresh cut." Well, we get it home, put all the lights on, and next thing you know, it's drinking no water. My boyfriend has never really had real trees, so he convinces me that it just doesn't drink that much and it's fine. Although I knew that my trees from childhood always drank about a 1/2 gallon a day or so, somehow I was convinced this one was just "unique". I was convinced until about five days later when I accidentally brushed it as I was vacuuming, and it rained pine needles on my head. SUMMARY ROUND ONE: I bought a dead tree, put it in my house, decorated it, swept pine needles for a week, admitted defeat, took decorations off, drug it out to the dumpster.

Tree #2) Round two began with me being overly neurotic about getting the tree in water fast enough after the "fresh cut" so that the end doesn't "sap over" before it starts to drink water (I have thought that potentially this is a cause of the first tree death, but not really true since it was still only ten minutes before it was in water). So there ends up being a place that looks like a real ghetto tree farm right across from my apartment complex that one random night had a lit sign that said "Cheap Christmas Trees." Having already bought one, I was sold with that sign, as "cheap" was a key word. However, I never saw the sign on again, nor did I ever see a soul inhabiting that muddy parking lot with trees in it. I convince Rob to come with me and check it out, but his lower back is hurting so I have to do all the driving and carrying, but he did get out of bed to come with me. So it's just short of a blizzard, and we drive over to the "tree farm" where we pull in near a little run-down trailer/outhouse and hope that someone will emerge from somewhere to help us. I see the Christmas trees that have been cut, they are under a ton of snow, but I decide to go find one while we wait for a human. One by one I proceed to pick them up from the ground, shake them off, and stand them up for Rob to judge if it's good or not. We finally find one just as a man emerges and stares at us. I figure I will have to begin the conversation after about a minute, so I say, "How much are these trees here?" A long, awkward pause and then a response, of $20. Wow, this was a good choice, I think to myself. I pay for it, and then pick it up to carry it to the car. He looks at Rob as if he's confused as to why I am doing the work, and then hesitantly offers that he can carry it because he has gloves, but then he realizes I have gloves as well and quickly revokes his offer. At any rate, we get to the truck and I ask if he has a saw to give it a fresh cut, because I have no saw. This sort of sets him back a bit, and he walks away for a minute. He returns with the rusty and flaked skeleton of what some may have previously called a hand saw. As we put the tree up on the tailgate to cut it, I realize there is a copper nail stuck in the bottom, and I'm wondering how he's gonna manage to cut that with a not-a-saw. Well, he gives it quite the valiant effort for about ten minutes, the whole time cursing his friend who "must have moved that brand new orange saw that worked great and they had just bought yesterday." Finally his patience runs out (mine had been out since two minutes into the ordeal, but I didn't dare say anything) and he goes to look for something else. Needless to say, he comes back another five minutes later with a huge metal cutter (like what they use to cut the lock off your locker in kindergarten). Sort of like the jaws of life but not quite on such a grand scale, and whammo, the bottom of my tree is pulverized, but hey, whatever works, at this point I'm already over it. Now I just have to get it home and get it in water, fast. Well, we arrive home and try to put it in the stand.
Summarized story of the stand: I went to Shopko and all they had was a giant tree stand (like heavy duty for a 12" wide tree and up to 102" tall the label said). Needless to say they had no normal stands, and so although my stand was the size of my tree, I figured what the heck, it would definitely do the job.
So we put the tree in the stand, and go figure, not even close to fitting. Well, like I mentioned before, there are two major factors operating in my frustration here: First, Rob is out of commission for doing anything because of his back and second, We don't own a saw. I realize, as these two things cross my mind, that there are about four to six good size branches that need to be cut in order for it to fit. With new found optimism I announce that we could use a Leatherman (pocket knife) saw for this, and it'll be fine. That optimism dies out about half way through the skinniest branch as my knuckles have been skinned on the bark because the handle is too short, and the branches are soggy and more than flexible because they are wet from the snow. Well, long story short (or not so much because it's already long), about forty minutes later and about double that many curse words later, I rise victorious from the carpet with bleeding knuckles and a tree that is now only about three feet tall.

In the end, the tree was perfect, lovely, drank tons of water, and barely even lost a needle. Ghetto tree farm gave me a very lovely and perfect "cheap christmas tree," Next year they'll just have to remember to actually have the saw that they love to talk about, and NOTE TO SELF: trees without sale tags and lighter green/brown needles are most likely dead, don't buy them.