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Some quick stories from my life:
First, I was showing my class some clips from Western movies so we could talk about the mythology of the West. So I had to set up the movies, and get the VHS tapes all cued up. The batteries for both my DVD player and my VCR are dead and I felt too lazy to run to the store. So I stood in front of my TV for about three hours, fast forwarding, pausing, rewinding, etc., instead of making the five minute run to the store. Because I’m clever.
Second, my little dog is having surgery today. It might be bad news, so I’m not in the best of moods. Either way, my vet informed me that she (my dog, not the vet) has to lose ten pounds. So I can’t even comfort her with snacks and treats when she gets home later this afternoon. Of course, she’ll be all drugged up so I probably wouldn’t want to give her Beggin’ Strips anyways. She will most likely be earning her nickname, Pukey, tonight.
Speaking of dogs, yesterday I had to go to a friend’s house to borrow some Westerns. They have two dogs, and I’m not quite sure what I was thinking when I didn’t change out of my skirt before heading over there. One of the dogs, well, let’s just say, got fresh with me and I wish I had been wearing pants.
Third, a little story about the bravery that is Ace. Last night, I was reading in bed and I had my dog up there with me, since I felt badly that she was going under the knife today. While reading, I hear some rustling noises next to the bed. Assuming it was my cat, I hollered at her to stop playing under the bed. The noises continued, and then I heard my cat knock something over upstairs and I was pretty sure the rustling noises coming from next to my bed weren’t her.
I had an empty department store bag next to my bed, since I was going to be cleaning out my closet. I looked at it, and the bag moved. At this point, picture me standing on my bed, clutching my ten-pounds-overweight dog in my arms, and trying not to pee my pants. Except I wasn’t wearing pants, because it was hot last night, so I was just wearing my pajama top.
At this point, I start calling for the cat to please come downstairs, since I’m not sure if it was a mouse or a snake. I found a snake in my yard last year, so this seemed like a distinct possibility to me. P.S. I am PETRIFIED of snakes. The cat, of course, had already heard me yelling at her, so she (in typical cat fashion) refused to come downstairs. I had to leap (yes, LEAP) off of my bed to run upstairs to get her. I then threw her at the bag, shouting that she needed to kill whatever was there.
She proceeded to play with whatever it was (which was, in my mind, getting bigger and more poisonous by the second) for about five minutes. Deciding she was going to do jack in this situation, I talked myself into picking up the bag and taking whatever creature was in it outside. The bag was still moving at this point. After ten minutes of talking myself up, I was finally able to do it and I flew up the stairs, muttering under my breath, “Please don’t let it be a snake, please don’t let it kill me, please don’t let it be mouse babies, please don’t let it jump out of the bag at me.”
But I realized when I got upstairs that I couldn’t go outside in just my pajama top, so I had to hold the still-moving bag in one hand, while pulling some jeans on with the other. And I didn’t want to go bare-footed, in case it was a snake and it crawled over my foot, so I grabbed the only pair of shoes by the door. Which happened to have 2 ½ inch heels.
So I’m outside in my pajama top, jeans, and high heels, preparing to empty the bag and run like hell should it be a snake. I was seriously in a cold sweat. My brave animals, by the way, were sitting in the doorway, watching disinterestedly. I opened the bag, dumped it upside down, and out came a . . .
. . . big bug. A June bug, I think.
I swear to God, I looked over and my cat was smirking at me. I wasted about twenty-five minutes of my life being COMPLETELY freaked out by a bug in a bag.
I then called my dad to congratulate him on raising such a courageous daughter. Even my dad laughed at me.
End of story.
First, I was showing my class some clips from Western movies so we could talk about the mythology of the West. So I had to set up the movies, and get the VHS tapes all cued up. The batteries for both my DVD player and my VCR are dead and I felt too lazy to run to the store. So I stood in front of my TV for about three hours, fast forwarding, pausing, rewinding, etc., instead of making the five minute run to the store. Because I’m clever.
Second, my little dog is having surgery today. It might be bad news, so I’m not in the best of moods. Either way, my vet informed me that she (my dog, not the vet) has to lose ten pounds. So I can’t even comfort her with snacks and treats when she gets home later this afternoon. Of course, she’ll be all drugged up so I probably wouldn’t want to give her Beggin’ Strips anyways. She will most likely be earning her nickname, Pukey, tonight.
Speaking of dogs, yesterday I had to go to a friend’s house to borrow some Westerns. They have two dogs, and I’m not quite sure what I was thinking when I didn’t change out of my skirt before heading over there. One of the dogs, well, let’s just say, got fresh with me and I wish I had been wearing pants.
Third, a little story about the bravery that is Ace. Last night, I was reading in bed and I had my dog up there with me, since I felt badly that she was going under the knife today. While reading, I hear some rustling noises next to the bed. Assuming it was my cat, I hollered at her to stop playing under the bed. The noises continued, and then I heard my cat knock something over upstairs and I was pretty sure the rustling noises coming from next to my bed weren’t her.
I had an empty department store bag next to my bed, since I was going to be cleaning out my closet. I looked at it, and the bag moved. At this point, picture me standing on my bed, clutching my ten-pounds-overweight dog in my arms, and trying not to pee my pants. Except I wasn’t wearing pants, because it was hot last night, so I was just wearing my pajama top.
At this point, I start calling for the cat to please come downstairs, since I’m not sure if it was a mouse or a snake. I found a snake in my yard last year, so this seemed like a distinct possibility to me. P.S. I am PETRIFIED of snakes. The cat, of course, had already heard me yelling at her, so she (in typical cat fashion) refused to come downstairs. I had to leap (yes, LEAP) off of my bed to run upstairs to get her. I then threw her at the bag, shouting that she needed to kill whatever was there.
She proceeded to play with whatever it was (which was, in my mind, getting bigger and more poisonous by the second) for about five minutes. Deciding she was going to do jack in this situation, I talked myself into picking up the bag and taking whatever creature was in it outside. The bag was still moving at this point. After ten minutes of talking myself up, I was finally able to do it and I flew up the stairs, muttering under my breath, “Please don’t let it be a snake, please don’t let it kill me, please don’t let it be mouse babies, please don’t let it jump out of the bag at me.”
But I realized when I got upstairs that I couldn’t go outside in just my pajama top, so I had to hold the still-moving bag in one hand, while pulling some jeans on with the other. And I didn’t want to go bare-footed, in case it was a snake and it crawled over my foot, so I grabbed the only pair of shoes by the door. Which happened to have 2 ½ inch heels.
So I’m outside in my pajama top, jeans, and high heels, preparing to empty the bag and run like hell should it be a snake. I was seriously in a cold sweat. My brave animals, by the way, were sitting in the doorway, watching disinterestedly. I opened the bag, dumped it upside down, and out came a . . .
. . . big bug. A June bug, I think.
I swear to God, I looked over and my cat was smirking at me. I wasted about twenty-five minutes of my life being COMPLETELY freaked out by a bug in a bag.
I then called my dad to congratulate him on raising such a courageous daughter. Even my dad laughed at me.
End of story.
posted by Ace | 2:11 PM
4 Comments:
You have the best sense of humor!!! You should write a book because I honestly laugh out loud when I read your blog. Look forward to it everyday.... sad, not psycho!
I think it is a possibility the dog was acting out, because she sensed the big hail storm coming today or else she thought your skirt was made of Beggin Strips.
OMG! Hilarious! I almost tumbled out of my chair but I guess that'll teach me to sit in such an un-ladylike manner. I can just see you running out with the bag-o-bug, I wonder why you didn't just have the neighbor come over to take care of it. :)
Of course your dad laughed at you. Sure, the situation warranted a good laugh, but not only that, would you have expected anything less from him?
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