Let the dog in!

I have to give a Holla! to Mo’Nique. Yay, Mo’Nique!

Not because she gave an amazing performance in Precious which I have not seen yet but heard it’s great and it’s in my queue. Not because she won an Oscar on Sunday. Not because she’s inspired me to change my name to Wen’Dy. Not even because she told Barbara Walters about her open marriage which I could never handle without turning into a crazy-eyed, sleepless stalking beeyach.

No, it’s much simpler. It’s this:

Leg hair.

I know, men, you no likey. Well, as the hubs’ aunt says, “toughsky shitsky.”

What we women don’t say (although we may blog about and post photos of it…) is that shaving your legs is a pain, and in winter, especially, maybe we want a little more warmth, right where all that cold air comes up.

Particularly when you’re so fashionable with the bootcut pants that act like a wind tunnel in a winter storm.

Guys, if you really don’t like the hair, my advice to you is to get her some soft, fuzzy, KNEE socks. According to one study, it improves chances of orgasms, so everyone will be happier.

Besides, the older I get, the prouder I am that hair is growing nicely somewhere on my body, rather than thinning, graying, falling out and/or never returning.

Raise your hand if you’re with me on the hair! Oh, pit hair, too, I see!

We had a wee party, for a few small guests. A little laughter was shared and few happy grins.

Sure, they left a trail of glitter and itty bitty beads, but they otherwise acted sweet.

[And, no, I did not help the kid make these. We paid a local professional to show her. My craftiness does not extend this direction...]

Have I mentioned my other job? I took it because this job, writing here at Let the dog in! has turned out to be so incredibly lucrative that I thought, hey, why not take on another job like that? Then I could make double the dough!

Which turns out to be double of ZERO. Hey, lawyers are not known for their math skills…

Nonetheless, I’m writing with a fab group of women called The Mom Squad over at the Kitsap Sun newspaper’s website. Wonder how long it will be before kids won’t know what “newspaper” mean? Or even “paper?”

But that’s beside the point. The point is that you should be nice and supportive and go read about the humongous 37th annual bike ride called the Chilly Hilly (no, that’s not your bitter ex-girlfriend) that happened here this past weekend.

And even comment if you have second. You know, something like, “Wendy, this is awesome!” “Wendy, you’re the best!” or even “Wendy, when’s your book coming out so I can pre-order 20,000 copies for the orphans!”

So, thank you, in advance, you, wonderful, you.

I would like to dedicate this blog post to As the Worlds Turns, a soap opera that broadcasts its final episode later this year, after decades of my apparently meaningless devotion.

How can they do this to me?!

[Also, did I mention my mother is coming for a visit?]

We now join our story already in progress….

Ashley: But, honey, my mother is coming in two days and NOW you decide to repaint the guest room and replace all the trim and molding and rewire the room? Right when you’ve gotten out of the hospital from your brain and liver transplant?

Ridge: There, there, sweetheart (pats her head), I’m fit as a fiddle. Hand me that saw and we’ll be done in no time. (belches) Can you visualize it yet?

Ashley: But, Ridge, I’m not so sure about this. And what does a saw look like, anyway?

Ridge: It’s the metal thing over there plugged into the wall. But don’t–

Ashley: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Ridge: Don’t move, dear! Stay right there! I have a ziploc bag here we can put your foot in and get that sewn right back on, down at the clinic.

Ashley (panting): No, Ridge, no! You know I said I’d never go back to that place! I’d rather have one foot!

Ridge: Ashie, baby, that’s just plain gross. Besides, how will we dance the cha-cha at our wedding like we planned? Although, that could be kinky on the honeymoon. (shakes his head) No! Come on, Ash, let me take care of you…

Ashley (hopping): Ridge, I mean it! Don’t take me there!

Ridge: But why? It’s not because of that thing I had with Nurse Helen, is it? Cuz she meant nothing to me, baby. It’s over, I swear. I told you, I’m not the father!

Ashley: What?? Helen? My cousin, Helen, the nurse??

Ridge: Ash, focus, you’re bleeding! Let’s go.

Ashley: No! It’s just that…(looks away) I had a surgery there that didn’t go well. Just leave it at that! (puts out hand to stop him)

Ridge: Wha–?

Ashley: It’s nothing for you to worry about…(mutters) at least, not until the wedding night….

Ridge (not listening, of course): Ashie, baby, I’ve got your foot and you know, you’ve always got my heart, so let me take you to a doctor!

Ashley: Well, okay. But you have to hire someone to finish this job!

Ridge: Alright, if it will shut you up and get you to a doctor! I’ll call that new carpenter in town, I think her name was…Barbie.

Ashley: Barbie? My cousin Barbie is back in town….?

END SCENE

Will Ashley get her foot back on? Will Ridge call Barbie? Will Barbie…well, of course, she will. Tune in next time for another stirring episode of As the Dirt Builds!

[And, yes, the hubs is remodeling at the last minute, and yes, I got a huge splinter from having to put wood into the fireplace by myself. I am not over it.]

when the sun comes out, you might think it’s a good day to kill a stick and eat it because you can and you look cool, even though it hurts your gums.

or recall with a chuckle that dumb squirrel you practically ate whole except that he was faster and can climb trees.

but really what you want is to look pitiful so that your human will throw that dang ball for you and feed you that leftover piece of steak in the fridge that you swear you can smell outside right now.

yes, the ball, that is most definitely what you want.

and then, you want to beg some more to do it again, and again, and again…

you are going to throw it, right? i can’t think of a reason why you wouldn’t.

He was here last year about this time, the Townsend’s warbler. Now he’s back.

He’s small and jumpy, so it’s hard to get a decent shot. Blink, and he’s gone, that handsome devil.

Even this chickadee did a double take.

Who was that masked man?

Call me?

But since when do squirrels have a right to privacy? Especially when they do this right in front of your window?

I was hoping for a few “squirrel dangles off tree branch” shots but then he went in a different direction. It’s not my fault. He pretty much flashed me, that trampy furball.

Or maybe he’s a she. We could call her “Britney,” for example. He/she has too much fur, so I can’t tell if we’re dealing with a girl or boy. Can you?

(btw, if you can’t distinguish gender due to too much fur, you might want to consider those Valentine’s day specials at the Waxing Moon, an actual business.)

Maybe I need a bigger zoom lens…you know, for the next ho squirrel scientific research.

By the way, it’s exactly this kind of taunting that makes Becca love biting into her Christmas squirrel. She got so riled up, she almost let herself out again.