Have I told you lately you were a cripple? No? Hm, weird.

After all of the problems I've had with my hip (several injuries, surgery, massage therapy, chiropractic care), I was talking with my mom today and she said "Oh... that reminds me.  When you were born, your hips were abnormal so we had to put an extra diaper somewhere to widen your hips."

 

She went on to compare me to a child in a third world country (i.e. "Without that extra diaper, you would look like a poor kid").

 

Battling my urge to scream at her, I simply said "You never told me that."

 

With mild interest, as though we just found out we both like popcorn: "Yeah I can't believe I never told you that."  Like it's just some trivia that might be useful to know a few years into my hip and back problems.

 

 

For that matter, the grand prize goes to my dad, who never mentioned it at all.

Proving men wrong: Priceless

I'm going on my first vacation with The ex-Ex this weekend!  We're going to go camping in a cute Bavarian village.

 

When coming up with ideas for activities, I looked at the town's website to see what kind of tourist-y things there are to do there.

 

We both wanted to go to the brewery to try different beers.  I'm not sure how much it would cost to go there, but probably a few beers' worth.

 

Other than that, I found mini golf ($10 each), a coffee shop concert (free), and a Nutcracker factory ($1 admission).

 

He wants to go river rafting ($80 each). 

 

So what's this he says about me having expensive taste?

Because two wrongs apparently DO make a right...

Dear Every Single Person In My Workplace,

 

Thank you SO much for not informing me that you could quite obviously see my bra under my shirt.  You know how I love flouncing around like a drunken prostitute at work!  Thank you for helping me celebrate my individuality.

 

Sheerly,

The Accidental Buffoon

Because love and fear go hand in paw

Where have I been?

 

I went to North Carolina to visit my dad, then I flew back and drove 5 hours to eastern Washington to visit L for her birthday weekend.  Now I'm back at the office.

 

During my trip, I got to visit the dog, Liam.  He is what some might call the "apple of my eye" – he is adorable, playful, and has the most curious pair of eyes I've ever seen (all of these, of course, are qualities I look for in an apple).   Liam is about a year old now, and still acts like a puppy most of the time: he enjoys a good squeak ball and has yet to learn that I am not to be chewed on.

 

Since my dad is such a smart (over-analytical) man, we generally talk about Liam in terms of dog psychology (or, as I like to call it, dogcology).   For example, when he jumps up on the couch and stands over us, that is a sign of dominance.  Licking our feet would be a sign of submission.   We try to encourage the latter, but Liam doesn't always take the hint.

 

One night when I visited in March, we were laughing about how cute he is when I suddenly said: "You know, if he was any other animal, we wouldn't think it was so cute that he was trying to bite us.   'Oh, that's just the tiger, don't worry about it!'"  We all had a good chuckle as we gave birth to the idea that Liam was actually a wild predator plotting to kill us and take over the house.

 

During my visit last week, we continued the joke.  I asked my dad why we don't like having wild dogs or cats around, and he replied that wild dogs are a threat because they can get rabies and kill or injure humans.   "So… they're basically a natural predator?" 

 

"I guess you could say that."

 

"And we like to keep them in our homes, just for fun."  I entertained the thought of a rodent sterilizing and training an eagle to keep in its home.  "They're just waiting for the right time to strike."  We laughed and imagined all of the possible schemes in Liam's head.

 

Things got a little more serious the next day when we watched as Liam and the older dog, Lily, were "playing."   Ever since he arrived, Liam periodically attacks Lily in an attempt to establish that he is the dominant dog.  When she gets tired of this, Lily shows him who's boss by throwing him to the floor.   We stop them about half the time, when we don't like the noise or get annoyed on Lily's behalf.  This time, however, my dad and I tacitly agreed to watch the entire sequence unfold: two 70 pound husky mixes, teeth bared, wild-eyed, biting each others' flesh and tossing each other around.

 

Later that day, I commented to my dad: "Liam could kill us if he wanted to.   It would be pretty easy, too."

 

"I know, he could," My dad responded with a smile.

 

I thought, with the logic behind my strange joke, about people who are afraid of dogs.   Maybe they have a reason.  "Well… let's just make sure Liam keeps very clear on who is feeding him."  That night, I opted not to encourage Liam to sleep in my bed.

The nerve of some people!

As I was parking to go into the organic grocery store in my neighborhood, a black Hummer drove past me.  "They better not be going to an organic grocery store in that car," I thought while I glared at their tail lights.

 

Sure enough, they parked near the store.

 

"What a douche bag," I thought as I got out of my car.

 

I entered the store and saw the organic espresso stand, then looked down at my iced grande raspberry latte from Starbucks.  My virtual tail flew between my legs as I realized my faux-pas.

 

And then I remembered that while everyone could see the suddenly enormous Starbucks logo on my cup, nobody in the store except for me knew that there was someone inside who had pulled up in a Hummer.

Phhttt phhttt

Dear Boss,

 

Yes that farting sound every time I walk by your cube is me.  It is coming from my SHOES.  You can't wear socks with flats.  Stop looking at me funny.