The Cranberry Battle

The offending item was dried cranberries. They were expensive, disgusting, and I was NOT going to bring them home with us.

Rex and I have a game we occasionally play at the grocery store (because maturity is overrated). If Rex puts something in the cart that I don’t want, I try to sneak it out without him noticing (and vice versa). You might think, “Wow, how lame. That would be easy.” If you’re thinking that, you’ve clearly never played this game with Rex.

He knew I didn’t want the cranberries (first mistake on my part). He put them in the cart anyway. Game on.

It wasn’t two aisles later that he stopped, looked in the cart, and immediately started a frantic search. He found them by the peanut butter. “Nice try,” he said, “but you’re going down this time.”

I waited about ten minutes, and then I asked him to go get a can of corn that I forgot to pick up. While he was gone, I disposed of the cranberry bag. When he got back – you won’t believe this – he was carrying another bag of cranberries! He said, “I got the corn. Oh, and I picked up another bag of cranberries since I bet you just hid mine.” He looked in the cart and then let out a triumphant, “HA! GOT YOU! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” People started looking at us weird.

A few minutes later, I successfully hid the new bag. We were on our way to check-out. I thought I might win…then he stopped us by a display of Jewish food for the Passover meal. “Wait a second,” he said suspiciously. “Let me check something.” Blast.

“Where are the cranberries?!” he asked.

I had hidden them long ago at that point, so they could have been anywhere. I threw my head back and let out a loud, “MUAHAHAHAHAHA!” Now people were really looking at us weird.

“Fine,” he said. He looked around. “Hey, we forgot to get matzo crackers for our Passover meal, didn’t we?” He grabbed a giant box of matzo crackers and added it to our groceries. It took up literally half of our cart. “And we should make sure we have enough,” he added. He put another box on top of that one.”

“What are you doing?!” I grabbed the box. “We’re not even Jewish.”

“We need more crackers!” he said. He put two more boxes on. The pile of cracker boxes was almost as tall as he could reach. “Tell me where the cranberries are, and I’ll stop adding crackers.” He grabbed another box.

“Okay, okay!” I surrendered. “The cranberries are in frozen foods. I forgot exactly where.” He immediately ran to frozen foods, like someone was going to see them and take his precious cranberries. I started putting matzo crackers back.

We finally got to the check out, and all of the items (including the cranberries) made it onto the belt. Rex got a text, and when he pulled out his phone I realized that this was it: my last chance. My buzzer shot. Now or never. I swiped the cranberries off the belt and put them by the magazine rack. The store was busy, and the people in line on both sides of the aisle must have thought I was nuts. He put his phone away. I smiled sweetly.

As Rex was bagging the groceries at the end of the aisle, he suddenly said, “Whoa…wait wait wait…where are the cranberries?!”

“I’m sure they’re in there,” I said. “Keep bagging. It’s busy in here.”

The Meijer employee spoke up. “Um…I don’t remember ringing up cranberries.”

Shoot. “I’m sure you did,” I said. “Seriously, you’re fine. Just keep ringing.”

“I’m not sure…” he said. “Well, maybe I did. I ring up a lot of stuff. I could have subconsciously rang them up and not noticed.”

“I’m sure that’s it.” I said.

“Hey! Who’s side are you on?!” screeched Rex to the teller. “Where are my cranberries!?” Rex was laughing, but the worker looked freaked out. He put his hands up in defense. “Hey, I’m totally biased here. Not on anyone’s side, I promise. I don’t know about the cranberries, I swear.”

(I ignored the fact that “biased” was not the correct word to use there). I felt bad for the guy, so finally I said, “Okay fine. I’ll get the cranberries.” But, astonishingly, in the two minutes of this exchange, someone grabbed the cranberries from where I left them by the magazines. I’m not kidding. There were a lot of people in there, so it could have been anyone. I started laughing. “They’re gone.” I said. “Seriously, I left them right there. I promise. They’re gone.” Swish! Buzzer shot was IN!

Rex laughed and threw his hands up in a “why me?” gesture. “FINE! I can’t believe you did that!” The awkward teller looked at us, thoroughly confused.

“So…should I keep ringing, or… um…are we still concerned about the cranberries?”

“Nah, you’re good man,” said Rex. “She won.” The confused teller finished ringing up our groceries.

SSUUCCCCCEESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!

A few days later, I bought the bag of cranberries and left it in the front seat of Rex’s car with a little heart taped to it. I bet they tasted pretty good, but there’s no way they tasted as good as my victory.

Rex is Sick, but We're Buying Dinosaurs

Rex is sick. He came home from work today and said he was feeling tired, so I told him to take a nap. He said he didn't need one. He looked pale and exhausted, so finally he said he would "go lie down in bed for a little while." (Ahem...that's a nap)

I walked him upstairs and asked if he wanted any tea or a cold washcloth for his head or anything. He said no. I said I would leave him to his nap, but he said he wasn't going to sleep (yeah, okay). He asked if I would stay and talk to him.

I talked to him for a couple minutes, but I could tell he was falling asleep. I started to leave, but he asked me to keep talking. Maybe he likes the sound of my voice? I have no idea. He clearly wasn't paying attention to what I was saying.

Then I started having fun. I said, "I'm thinking we should order the triceratops before we order the pterodactyl, because shipping on the triceratops is going to be ridiculously expensive, but the pterodactyl could probably fly here and save us a lot of money. What do you think?"

He said yes, that he totally agreed.

Then I said, "And I've been giving some thought to the T-Rex...I don't think we should buy that one after all. I mean, the sheer size of it means that it is going to be way more expensive than the others, and we only have a two-bedroom house. Where would we put it? So I think we should skip that one. Is that okay with you?"

At first he didn't answer, so I tried again. "Rex? Is that okay?"

"Yes," he said, "I already said yes. Great idea."

I smiled and tried not to laugh. I knew he didn't want me to leave, so I sat on the bed for a few more minutes to make sure he was fully asleep. I looked at him a couple of times, but I think watching someone while they're sleeping is just about the creepiest thing possible.  I mostly picked at our comforter and got disgusted by how many dog hairs I found.

Finally, when I was sure he was sleeping, I gave him a kiss on the forehead and crept out of the bedroom. Now, and hour later, he's still sleeping.

He was right - he definitely didn't need a nap.  Now where can I buy some dinosaurs?

NYE 2017 - Pugsley's Adventure

This post was written a while ago but never made it to the blog - oops!  So, a little late...here's my New Year's Eve adventure!

It was supposed to be a nineties party.  I was looking forward to dancing to NSync, rocking my scrunchie and body glitter, and using a beanie baby as a socially acceptable accessory. It didn't quite turn out how I anticipated.

Rex and I were visiting friends in Detroit for New Year's Eve.  They suggested this party at a local social hall.  I didn't even know social halls were still a thing, and I was picturing the 1950's dance halls where people are all, "May I have this dance?" and then they sock hop and drink fizzies.  Except it was a nineties party, so I amended my view to replace Elvis with Britney and replaced the poodle skirts with polyester windbreakers.

My friends and I got pretty dressed up for this.  I had a high pony tail on top of my head, denim like whoa, and a dog beanie baby peeking out of my wallet.  Rex wore a windbreaker jacket and a backwards baseball cap.  We were ready to party like it was 1999.

WELL.  When we walked in, I saw men in tuxedos and realized, "Okay, this is not what I was expecting."  We'd already paid the cover to get in, so it wasn't like we were going to leave.  We couldn't go, but we looked ridiculous staying.  Lots of the guys were super dressed up, and many of the girls were...not wearing much.  Honestly.  I've been in Victoria's Secret dressing rooms where people had more on.  Lest you think I'm simply a girl who's never been to a real party, let's please take a moment to remember that I LIVED IN LAS VEGAS.  I have seen my fair share of sexy.  At one point I saw a girl, turned to my friend, and said, "I literally don't understand the physics of that top.  How are her boobs staying in the fabric?"  It was low cut, wide cut, all the cut.  I have to believe her boobs made a break for freedom by the end of the night, but if they did then I missed it.

Let's review: I was wearing "denim like whoa," a sky high ponytail, and my husband was in a windbreaker and a baseball cap.  Our friends were dressed like us.  The four of us stuck out like the Fresh Prince when he got to Bel Air.  I guess it wasn't a dress-up party.

Also, there was no dancing.  NONE.  We stood there awkwardly for a minute before my friend said, "Oh my gosh you guys, I am so sorry...should we leave?  We look ridiculous."  The thing is that I am very cheap, so I didn't want to leave when we'd already paid.  I said, "No way!  This is cool. We'll rock these outfits and...um...find something to do."

The star of the night was Pugsley the beanie baby, who gave us lots of photo ops and took us on an adventure.  Now I get to share that adventure with you.  Happy New Year, y'all.

This is how it all started.  I put Pugsley on a railing and said, "Look, Pugsley's having a great time.  He hasn't been out in decades."  Then we decided to let him really live it up.

This is Pugsley waiting outside of a bathroom.  Despite the writing on the wall behind him, he got no action.  Bummer.

This is Pugsley being the ref for our table hockey game.  For the record, Rex and I won.  We did have the ref (literally) in our back pocket, so that might have helped.

This is Pugsley keeping guard in a creepy stairwell so that we didn't run into any rapists or serial killers.  That would have been a sucky way to start the new year.

In this bathroom, I said to the girl on the right, "Oh my word, I love your top.  Is it a bra or a shirt?"  Because I honestly could not tell.  Her jacket is covering it up in this picture.  The funniest part was when she responded, "I have no idea...it could really be either one.  I just thought, 'this is cute!  I'm wearing it!'"  Pugsley had to get a picture with them.  The girls are now major Pugsley fans.

We decided to head downtown to watch the ball drop.  Pugsley hailed us a cab.

It was almost midnight, so we had to hurry up.

Pugsley finally found something from the nineties! Time to party like we're installing this storm drain...

Downtown, Pugsley fell in with a rough crowd and picked up a bad habit...  Don't worry, he swears 2017 will be the year he quits.

He found his way back to us and perched on Rex's shoulder to watch the ball drop.  Happy New Year!

When we got back to the apartment, Pugsley told his friends all about his adventure (the friends were going to go with my friends but got left behind).  The spaniel was clearly appalled - look at his face! - but I think the sheep has been around the block once or twice.  He looks bored.  I guess maybe he'll show us how to party next year.

When Your Celebrities...Aren't

I've covered in other posts that my husband loves grouse hunting, and most people have no idea what that is.

Today he was listening to a podcast about grouse (because that is apparently a real podcast topic, people).  He got super excited and said, "Christine!  You would not believe who this guy got as a guest speaker on his podcast show!  It's a huge celebrity!"

I could not for the life of me think of a "huge celebrity" who has ever expressed a modicum of interest in upland bird hunting.  Well, I'm pretty sure the British royal family bird hunts in Scotland or something, but I sincerely doubted the QUEEN was a guest speaker on this dude's podcast.  So I said, "Who, Rex?  Who's the huge celebrity?"

His eyes got wide with excitement as he said, "The senior adviser to Dogtra!"

I said, "Wow!  That's amazing!" because clearly that was the only appropriate response to that revelation.  In my head, however, I said, "Note to self: Google 'Dogtra.'  Or did he say 'Dogstra'?  Crap, I already forgot.  Figure this out."

So then I Googled "dogtra" when he wasn't looking, and I found pictures like this.  I'm still not sure what the company does.  Is that a shock collar?  Is it a GPS collar?  Is it something else totally different?  MY HUSBAND HAS THE WEIRDEST HOBBY.

While looking at these pictures, I found myself thinking, "What does this senior adviser even do?  Does he advise on collar design?  Marketing?  Field testing these things on actual dogs?  What is this company, and why is this man a huge celebrity in the grouse hunting world?"

Then eventually I gave up because I think this is one of those things that my husband loves, but try as I might I don't think I'm ever going to fully get it.  I don't have to get it to be pumped that my husband heard a great podcast from the senior adviser to Dogrta!  I can probably get you the link if you want it.  This is clearly a big deal.

Trolltally Strange

I wrote this post a while ago, but in the interest of Christmas and toys and such...here it is now!

Right now I'm watching a YouTube video of a screechy person opening troll doll toys.  I'm sitting with my three-year-old niece, and this is one of her favorite "shows."  It's not a show.  It's a person opening toys.  The voice is...how can I describe this?  Think of the high-pitched voice that people use when they talk to babies, but then raise it another octave, make it way too excited, and then put it on the living room surround sound.

"THE NEW TROLL DOLLS ARE OUT! AAAEEEEEEEE! WHICH ONE WILL WE OPEN?  OOOO!  LET'S LOOK AT THIS FASHION GIRL, WHO HUGS ALL OF HER FRIENDS EVERY HOUR ON THE HOUR!"

I'm sorry, are the excessive capital letters annoying you?  I promise it sounds a thousand times worse if you're listening to it.

Also, whose brilliant idea was it to make a character who hugs all of her friends every hour on the hour?  If anyone tries to hug me at three o'clock in the morning, they're probably going to get punched or kicked.  Ask my husband if you don't believe me.

Hold on, we have a new toy:

"WOWIE ZOWIE!  LOOK AT THIS NEW NAKED GLITTER TROLL!"

To be fair, if my skin was glitter I would probably be naked all the time too.

I'm supposed to be getting work done right now, but I can't tear my eyes off of this spectacle.  My face is a mix or horror and intrigue.  This video, my friends, has almost a million views.  A MILLION.  Apparently this is a whole channel dedicated to buying toys and opening them.  This culture of three-year-old consumerism is completely new to me.

Oh no, the one year old is trying to plug the laptop cord into his mouth.  Gotta go.

In case you want to view the horror for yourself, I'm putting the link here.  Warning: if you open this at work, make sure no one else is around.  Everyone who hears you watching this video is going to think you're a freak.

CLICK HERE IF YOU DON'T VALUE YOUR EARS

The Well-Trained Dog and the Living Cardinal

How much do you know about grouse hunting?

If your answer is, "What the heck is a grouse?" then you are in the vast majority of humanity.  I was you once.  Then I met my husband.  Now I'm married with a hunting dog and a coop full of training pigeons.  Life comes at you fast.

**Note** In case you care, a grouse is a bird.  It's about the size of a chicken.  Also, since we get this question a lot, no our pigeons do not die in the course of training.  They're homing pigeons, so once the dog finds them in a field then we launch them into the air with a pigeon launcher (yes, this is a real thing), and they fly home.  Okay.  Glad we covered the logistics.  On to my story.

Yesterday I tried to get our dog Ruby to come in from the back yard.  I called her, but she wouldn't come.  I went outside to investigate, and she was on point.  This means she was frozen in place, pointing out a bird for a non-existent hunter to shoot.  I think it was a cardinal or something.  Definitely not a food bird.  I didn't take a picture, but here's what our type of dog looks like when she's on point:

My husband wasn't home, and I couldn't remember what he usually says to make Ruby break point.  I tried a few things:

"At ease!"

"Un-point!"

"You're free!"

"GREEN LIGHT!"

Nothing worked.  She moved only her eyeballs to look at me like, "Hello...shoot the bird..."

She's fifty pounds, so I wasn't about to go pick up her frozen-in-place body and haul her inside (on second thought, it would have been hilarious if she tried to hold the pose while I was carrying her!).  Suddenly, I had the perfect idea.

I went inside and pulled out our Wild West board game called Bang.  There's a cap gun in that game that's really loud.  I walked back outside and tried to call Ruby in again.  She stayed on point (shocker).

I pointed the gun in the general direction of the bird and shot.  BANG!  Ruby was satisfied and immediately ran to me happily like, "Did you get it?  Wasn't that awesome?!"  Whatever, dog.  I probably gave the poor bird a tiny heart attack.

Now our neighbors probably think we're the nutter house.  Well, that ship probably sailed long ago.  They're simply marking this up as one more reason to move:  "Hey, Maude! Crazy chick next door is shooting cardinals!  Did you call on that house over on the other side of town yet?"

IT WAS A CAP GUN, PEOPLE.  NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE MAKING OF THIS BLOG POST.

Living in the Inside of a Butt (and How I Avoided It)

"Does our house always smell this way?!"

I had just gotten home from an overnight trip, and my house smelled disgusting.  If I had an air freshener to describe the smell, I think it would have been called "the inside of a butt."  Or, alternatively, it may have been closer to "food someone put in a garbage disposal...five weeks ago."  Whatever it was called, it was bad.

This made me wonder - what if our house really smells that bad all the time, and we don't notice it because we live there?!  Are we known on our street as the stinky people?  Do my clothes smell like that?  This was completely unacceptable.  My husband said it wasn't that bad, but he also has no problem with the smell of pickled eggs or deer guts.  He's not a very good judge.

The next day, as soon as I got out of work, I went to the grocery store and bought all of the cleaning supplies.  I bought a dishwasher cleaner, a garbage disposal cleaner, a refrigerator cleaner, new cat litter, new bedding for the rat (long story on the rat...), something to wash surfaces...cleaners I'd never heard of but that looked pretty clean...the person at the checkout must have thought I was nutty.  I went home and went on a cleaning rampage.  It was an all-out war: me versus the smell.

I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned.  I went through all of our food and threw out anything questionable.  I cleaned out all of the pet areas.  I threw the rat in a pot of water in order to clean her.  I couldn't catch the cat to clean her, but also I think she would have scratched my face off if I'd tried.

By the time my husband got home, I was a bit ragged.  My hair was in a messy pony tail, and I was wearing stained sweatpants and a neon green crew neck sweatshirt.  I thought my house was much cleaner (even if I was dirtier), and I couldn't smell the smell anymore.  Still, I wondered if maybe I'd just gotten used to it because I'd been wallowing in the stench for a few hours.  My husband asked if I could run to the grocery store with him.  PERFECT: the opportunity to exit the smell chamber and then come back.

At the grocery store, I discovered an aisle that I forgot to pillage previously: the air fresheners.  How did I forget the air fresheners!?  I squealed with glee and started pulling things off of the shelves.  Did I want my house to smell "fun and flirty" or "crisp and clean"?  "Sweet and sassy" or "floral and frisky"?  How does something smell frisky?  Is this the same base scent as flirty?  I could also choose scents such as clean linens, midnight woods, Hawaiian flowers, or new car smell.  So many choices, so few rooms in my house.

I started throwing things in the cart.  There were wall plug-ins, order absorbing gels and beads (better buy both to see which works better), spray scents, wax melts... I wanted them all.  My husband walked into my aisle and said, "What are you doing!?  We do not need that many air fresheners!"

I got a wild look in my eye, waved my neon green arms around, and said (a little too loudly), "I WILL NOT LIVE IN THE INSIDE OF A BUTT!  I WILL NOT!"  Some other people in the aisle gave me a strange look and scuttled quickly away.  My husband laughed, put his hands up in surrender, and said, "Whatever.  You are strange."

I asked him which sounded better: clean linens or fresh linens?  Because you want linens to be clean, but also everyone likes the scent of fresh.  How was I supposed to choose?!  Here's how: buy them all.

I ended up going with a linens theme and basically bought all of the linen scents.  I put a plug-in in one room, some scented beads in another, gel in another, etc.  I still don't know what originally caused the bad odor, but I can confidently say that my house no longer smells like the inside of a butt.  Instead, it smells like someone recently hung up fresh, clean linens.  It smells just like that, assuming that the place they hung the fresh linens was in a chemical factory.

Here's a thought I just had: what if the unfortunate smell was simply my husband farting right when we walked in the door from our trip, and I did all of this work for nothing?!

Alas.  We shall never know.  In other news, come on over - my house is clean, and it smells great.