Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The Naked Truth About Doggy Fashions

Dear Otherwise Sane and Savvy People,

Why do you put clothes on your dogs?  It's not cute.  It's creepy.  

Dogs do not care about clothes.  They have practically no fashion sense.  What they DO have, however, is a head-to-toe fur coat that is NOT meant to be covered up by a Schnauzer-sized, beaded, ripped up, off-the-shoulder Flashdance t-shirt with four matching ballet slippers.

This is wrong.   Very wrong.   It's the equivalent of us humans wearing fur coats as underwear.

Dogs are not naked.  Not ever.  They do not need clothing.  They have no awareness of their "nudity," nor do they care.  

Ever seen a dog lift his leg to pee on...well...just about any stationary object, with his goods hanging out for everyone within eye-shot to see?   Of COURSE you have!  Did he seem embarrassed that you saw him that way?  Of COURSE he didn't!  Any creature who will get his jollies on your leg, poop in your front yard, then come inside and lick himself clean at your feet while you try to eat your dinner is not the least bit concerned with modesty or societal expectations.  Promise.

So, to you wonderful and perhaps slightly off balance ladies (or homosexual men) who love your pets:  If you REALLY love them,  please stop embarrassing them--and your poor husbands (or life partners) who are forced to parade them around the neighborhood on a diamond studded leash--by making them wear tutus and tiaras.  


Proud owner of a perfectly well-adjusted, naked hamster

p.s. Sorry I'm not sorry

Sunday, April 10, 2011

The Bread of Life

I've been on a weight loss journey for a while now.

Around 28 years or so.

So I'm an expert.

When it comes to dropping pounds, the concept is pretty basic:  Calories in-calories out.  Expend more than you consume.   How you eat those calories doesn't really matter so much, at least as it relates to weight loss.  Of course, eating 1,500 calories per day in orange cocaine (aka Cheetos) is not going to provide you with much in the way of nutrients, but a person CAN lose weight eating like that.

Armed with that solid bit of knowledge, I've decided that my newest fat busting endeavor is going to involve toast.  Lots of toast.  Maybe nothing BUT toast.

This guy speaks to me:

My comfort food bestie isn't ice cream or warm chocolate cake or pizza or Twinkies, though I fully admit that I like those things.  When the kids are all tucked in and it's time to self-medicate, I'm all about the bread, baby.

Yeah, toast!

Whole grain goodness, warmed to perfection and topped with melting butter.  Does it get any better?

I realize the OTHER health "experts" out there may take issue with my approach, but really, what do THEY know?  How can they even call themselves experts?  Have THEY been trying and failing at weight loss for 28 years?  I, on the other hand, have tons of experience in this area.

Literally. Tons.

This business of trying to eat a well-balanced diet hasn't worked out so well for me to this point.  If people--and I use that term loosely here--like Lindsey Lohan can survive on nothing but booze and...well...MORE booze, I'm wondering if all that junk about fruits and vegetables and protein isn't just a bunch of media hype.

Perhaps, like Miss Lohan,  I'll just pick one thing that I really, really like and stick with that.

Yeah, toast!

...and chocolate milk.  Oh all right, TWO things.

Sorry I'm not sorry.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

And the eyes have it

Day seven:  The lost boy

Day seven's post is essentially a continuation of day six.

My youngest son and I had an incident today while shopping which very nicely illustrates the point I was trying to make in my last post.

Parenting is painful.

Today's hurt brought to you by:  irresponsible mothering and a very naughty four year old who, by the way, is incredibly handsome with big blue eyes and even bigger eyelashes and is my baby and therefore can do just about anything he wants.

I may have sort of accidentally misplaced him at the store today.  But it was only for like 8 minutes. 

Like YOU have never done that.

When I realized he had disappeared, I sent his three older, more obedient siblings out on search party duty.  It quickly became apparent that it was time for mommy to panic.   And panic she did.  

Of course, it wasn't until I had combed every last inch of the store for several terrifying, stroke-inducing minutes that I found him, with one of the store clerks, near the front entrance.  Isn't that always the way it goes?  The lost kid is always in the last place you look.  The woman was obviously interrogating him, but for once he was minding his mother and refusing to talk to any stranger who endeavored to try and help him.  

Upon further investigation, I found out that he had first been spotted in the electronics section, crying and looking lost.  Keep in mind, this was the opposite end of the store from where the rest of his family was shopping.  The next sighting was...

...wait for it...

...wait for it...

...wait for it...

In. The. PARKING LOT!  A nice man (thank you, Lord, for letting that man NOT be a homicidal pedophile), had found him wandering around outside--on a SATURDAY--busiest day of the week--looking for his mommy.  He was kind enough to bring him inside and alert the store employees.  

This kid is like a foot tall, for crying out loud!  And weaving in and out of weekend shopper traffic like a midget with a death wish!  

Guardian angels saved him in the parking lot.  But once he got inside and his mommy got a hold of him, it was those big, blue eyes that saved him from a good neck wringing.  Mommy was more interested in hugging his neck at that point.  Score another one for the peepers.

Rest assured, the boy got a good talking-to about all of this when he got home.  When I finished my rant and ended it with the million dollar question, "GOT IT?" he promptly looked up at me with his baby blues and responded with a very timid, "got it."   

He's now sitting at the counter blissfully enjoying a bowl of homemade ice cream.  He deserves a treat.  He had a hard day after all.

Sorry I'm not sorry.  Scratch that.  For this one, I AM sorry.  I hope the little man won't need TOO much more therapy after the events of today.  Maybe we'll get the group rate.