True Love

Thor's First Test Drive

Tiki taking a nap

Thor's First Finished Product

Kirby Taking a Nap

Bunny's New Boyfriend

Bunny used to have, in addition to her spouse and dogs, a special friend. It is possible that he was here before Mr. D. I can't remember for sure. It just seemed like he was always there and there was no point to trying to have a life that didn't include him. Last January, the unthinkable happened. I was devastated. I know I couldn't live without my special friend for long, and that I would have to find a new special friend.

There are lots of inferior candidates out there. If you want to see him in a flashy color, like a prom date in a baby blue tuxedo with ruffled shirt, then you pretty much have to go with The Artisan. He's flashy, but small and underpowered. You can tell he's popular with dilettantes and posers because he's widely available in pretty much any crappy store with a kitchen department. Also, the fact that he's available in so many colors makes him perfect for the woman who cares more about how things look than about how things are.

My old boyfriend, well they don't make them exactly like him any more, but the classic Heavy Duty boys are always in fashion. Or they should be. They are getting harder and harder to come by. These days, they assume that if you aren't going for looks, then you must be going for size, hence, The Professional. But really, what woman needs that much mixer? The extra quart is just kind of....there, not doing anything useful or serving any purpose. I don't need him to be pretty. I don't need him to be gigantic. I just want someone who's there to be himself, doing like he do, day in and day out, complimenting my attributes and combining with Bunny to make a beautiful partnership that will last for decades, and handle biscotti dough.

 

Why is Dirtbunny so tired today?

WARNING: THIS POST IS RATED "P" FOR POOP!

I think Kirby is in love with his vet, Dr. Ginger. She's shaped kind of like me, and has hair kind of like mine, but she's younger, her boobs are bigger, and she's got a nose stud. I'm a little jealous. It hs been about three weeks since we last took him to the vet, and I suppose he's a little lonely for her, so he's decided to have ... oh hell I'm just going to say it .... diarrhea. He's happy and goofy and in a wonderful mood, but he has to go. A lot.

Last night, he went five times. The first three, Mr. D took care of, which is not to say that I didn't get to hear all about it. Mr. D does not like being woken up in the middle of the night for dog crises. I'm hearing impaired, so I can often sleep through dog drama, but he can't, and he resents it.  So after the third time, he announced that he was done and he stormed off to the other room and closed the door behind him and left me alone in the room with a sleepy and confused Tiki, an illin' Kirby, and a very expensive persian rug that I like very very much. Naturally, because I was so addled with sleep, I promptly went back to the land of nod.


Two hours later, Kirby woke me up. I don't know how, because he never barks and he won't try to nudge me awake or anything, but there he was, pacing the floor, looking up at me, and panting like crazy.


I have a theory that most people are either asleep or awake. Not me. Under the best of circumstances, I have a long period of about 20 minutes to an hour, depending, of semi-conscious where-the-hell-am-I and I have a very hard time forcing myself awake. I was able to register, barely, that Kirby needed to go out. A little while later, I realized I was going to have to take him out. Then I decided I needed shoes and pants and glasses, and I managed to drag myself up and stagger (literally. I was stumbling and weaving.) around to get shoes, and on the way, I stepped in.... umm...... something squishy on my expensive rug that I like very very much, and so then I ended up wiping my feet on the bathroom rug before I could put my shoes on, only my feet were still a little......ummm......smeared and Kirby was dancing around saying HURRY UP I GOTTA GO!!!!! and so I staggered out to the kitchen with my smeary feet. And then I remembered that Kirby likes to wander outside at night, so I needed to leash him, and that meant I had to find his bling and that took a while and Kirby is about to explode but we finally make it outside, me staggering and weaving the whole time. Poor guy. We spent about ten minutes out there in an lightning storm while he took care of business and tried to feel better and I managed not to lose my balance or fall down.


Next, we went in. I took off my shoes and wiped the smear off my foot. Then I wiped his poor little doggy butt before he wiped it himself on my furniture and then I got to clean the.....ummmm.......stuff off my expensive rug that I like very very much. There was a moment there when I thought I was going to vomit on top of the, um, stuff, but I managed to keep it down and then I finished and took the cleaning stuff out to the deck to put in the poop can just as the skies opened up on me and got me good and drenched. By now, because of the storm, Tiki was all upset and anxious, so the three of us got in bed, they put me in a rather constricting sandwich nd we finally, blessedly, fell asleep, and stayed that way until my alarm went off at 5:45 am. At which point I hit the snooze for half an hour, and then I sat up and groggily stared at my cup of coffee for about fifteen minutes, and then I started to drink my coffee and I slowly woke up.



Four things:



1. That coffee didn't just come down from the sky. Mr. D brought it to me and set it down by my bedside for when I was ready for it. He makes awesome coffee.


2. These are the shoes I wore outside last night:

They don't match. I suppose it's a big accomplishment that I got Kirby outside safely at all. They still have, um, stuff in them that I have to clean up at some point.

3. We are going to the vet today. hurrah

4. I did a really good job on the stuff that was on the rug, which is rather remarkable in light of the problem with the shoes.

Footie, Food, and Fiber

Footie

The World Cup is over, we have a winner, a loser or two,  a great number of national sides who deserve to be proud of themselves, and a handful of national sides who tolerate bad behavior from assholes but otherwise deserve to be proud of themselves.  There were--what?--33 matches?  32?  Dirtbunny watched them all.  All of them.  She has made a handful of new FC Dirtbunny call-ups based on what she saw. 

First, welcome Diego Benaglio, Swiss goalkeeper.  He's a monster.  grrrr.  Also, from the German national team, Arne Friedrich (an underappreciated defender), and--gulp--Bastian Schweinsteiger, warrior midfielder.  I know, I was really down on Schweini a few years ago, but he has won me over with his consistently good play and newly-mature attitude.  Also, he reformed the hair.

Second, welcome to the Uruguayan Diegos:  El capitano defender Diego Lugano, striker Diego Forlan, midfielder Diego Perez, and defender Diego Fucile.  The last one gets in because if I'm going to call up a bunch of Uruguayan Diegos, why not all of them?  It's fun to be arbitrary.  Oh, and welcome Xavi.  Your call-up is way overdue.

August in June

According to the National Weather Service, the 6 am temperature today for my zip code is 81 degrees (27 C).  It's not even July yet.  I don't think I'm gonna make it to September this year.

John Harkes is a moron

One of my friends suggested to me that John Harkes is not an idiot for referring to the mythical nation of Slovania because it's possible that he's using the Slovenian pronunciation.  I was skeptical at the time, and now I know it's wrong.  He's an idiot.  There is no Slovania, the German coach's nickname is not Joe Chee, and the great Italian goalkeeper is not known as John Loogey Buffon.  That's a trifecta of stuppid right there from a supposed football expert.  No way a guy who likes to watch Joe Chee and John Loogey and the Slovanian national team is so much more sophisticated than the rest of us that he knows something about the pronunciation of "Slovenia" that the rest of us do not know.

I love being right.

Also, the Italian team are the Azzurri, the English are the Three Lions, and the South Africans are the Bafana Bafana.  There are the Elephants, the All Whites, the Indomitable Lions, Les Fennecs, the Seleccao, the Oranje,  the Black Stars, all sorts of variations on the color blue, and the Socceroos.   The German National Football team is Die deutsche Fußballnationalmannschaft.  What does that mean?  It means "German National Football Team."  Those romantic Germans.   Imagine that on a poster, why dontcha? 




I love mocking the Germans.

Can you smell that?

If you ask Mr. D, he will almost invariably say "no."  His official position is that he can't smell anything.  So when you overhear him muttering this to the Yarn Bandit:

I can't stay mad at you, even though you reduce our environmental conditions to that of a hellhole.

...then you know you have a serious problem.  It's not like we don't clean up after the devilish urinator--we do--but he can be really sneaky, and it's hard to get it completely out.  Over time, and especially when it gets hot and humid, an above-and-beyond-the-call cleansing of the Hellhole is unavoidable.  And so, this morning, we rolled up the rugs, salvaged the salvageable rug pad and tossed the others, and took the rugs out to be professionally cleaned.  We will be back to the bare wood floors for three or four weeks.