Category Archives: venting

Dang Dog

I want to kill love my dog. She’s normally a decent enough dog as long as you’re not another dog and are a person with a penis.

Sure, she begs like she just got out of a concentration camp, but that’s just because the Hubs we’ve encouraged her. She even moans and growls to insist on treats in the morning.

But I can ignore all that. I can even ignore the way she ignores me to sidle up next to the Hubs and show her clear preference of humans in the household. Daily.

But as of today, she moved past annoying and into getting dropped off at a faraway, unnamed location expensively bad dog.

While waiting for us in the car, she chewed almost all the way through a seat belt. WTF??

She was extra frisky on our run this morning, yes. Much to the amusement of other walkers, she dragged me down the road as she frolicked in and out of mud puddles at high speed. Spring had sprung in her walnut-sized dog brain.

But she has never been destructive like this. Even as a puppy, she rarely chewed through anything. Maybe that one strap on my Teva sandal when I wanted a new pair of sandals anyway. But the freaking seat belt of my car?? Do you know how much those cost?!

I’m trying to plot my revenge, but it’s hard when she still just ignores me.

Here’s a video of another bad dog. This one’s cute, like every bad dog that isn’t mine. Just don’t show this clip to my bad dog and give her any more evil ideas.

Do you have a bad dog??

Summer is a Battlefield

Last weekend, I dragged the Let the dog in! household to a civil war re-enactment, but since the civil war was more sad than funny I know nothing about the civil war, how’s about we talk s’more about summer with the kids out of school, ‘k??

It starts off with a gorgeous image, a vision of calm, peaceful order and an appreciation of community and the natural beauty in all life.

You imagine you’ll have lovely, relaxing chats with your friends and neighbors.

As the natives declare they’re BORED get restless, you quickly realize you have a big, white target “X” on your back.

You scramble to entertain the enemy your kids with music and fun, perhaps an outdoor concert.

But even the littlest soldiers revolt.
(with the very littlest fighters yelling, “BANG,” instead of firing an actual gun)

Before the actual altercations began, you fashioned yourself the guy with the biggest, loudest gun on the field, but, alas, you need to fix a martini a reality check.

In the end, your fate turns out more like the band.

And your living room, strewn with popsicle sticks dead bodies that no one is picking up…

If you’re lucky, some summer camp instructor angelic vision will come to pray for your soul.

What month is this? September, right? Whaaa?

Do you have war on your hands or a peace treaty?

Summer Imagined v. Summer Real

Are you having this problem? In your head, you figured when school let out that you and your kids would do all kinds of amazing projects, day trips, maybe even camping?

Then, two days into it you realize you have serious crankiness issues.

And not just with the kids, but with yourself.

We were going to make art books. Instead, we are making ice cream runs.

We were going to go to the beach. Day 1, we got the bottom of our foot scraped by barnacles and are “never going back to the beach again!”

We were going to read, read, read. Instead, we are marathoning Phineas and Ferb.

I guess there is still too much time to correct course, but each summer I forget my margarita recipe the uphill battle from the year before. Same soldiers, different battlefield…

So, how’s your summer going? Are you doing what you intended to do?

And most importantly, do you have a good, strong cocktail recipe to share?

The Breastfeeding Doll: and the problem is…?

WARNING: stereotypical mom rant forthcoming!

I’m sure you’ve heard about that doll, the Breast Milk Baby, and I read a few articles on parent reactions to it.

(Hey, it’s got a pacifier! Some parents would object to that!)

I figured all the hub-bub was mostly media created on a slow news day. Real people wouldn’t object to such a basic concept, right?

But after reading a local Facebook friend’s poll that asked if his friends would buy such a doll, I guess I was wrong once again.

Stunned is how I felt reading the 40 comments about how “creepy” and “gross” that sounded, how little kids don’t “need to be exposed to such things at such a young age”, and even that it “might encourage earlier sexual behavior.”


Are you people for realz?! A doll that holdontoyourhat doesn’t come with a bottle and pretends to be fed from a mother?! This is outrageous??

No, I’m outraged that so many in our society wring offensiveness out of a basic, healthy, mammalian behavior.

God forbid young girls (and boys, right?!) learn at “an early age” that boobs have a purpose slightly more important than bouncing in a wet t-shirt on a beach in a reality show.

Yes, Virginia, my girls had a job and they did that job well!

We’re not all livin’ on a farm anymore, and all our pets are fixed, so just where is a kid going to stumble onto casual viewing of breastfeeding? Maybe at their house (if they’re not an only child like mine), maybe at a park, but mostly nowhere.

And is breastfeeding sexy? How will donning that toy bib and holding a plastic doll up to the flower nipple inspire hot, lascivious thoughts? (I’m talking about the intended use of a suckling doll, people; don’t go all Deliverance on me now!)

News flash: If you’re really breastfeeding a baby, then you are sleep-deprived, undernourished and overtired. Yeah, that’s hawt.

You wanna complain that dolls should not have specific functions, like walking, talking, pooping, growing hair, or breastfeeding, and that kids should to pretend that Ken has a wiener their dolls can do all those things. Fine. I hear ya. I’m all for imagining you’re on a hot beach with a sweating Paolo and margaritas wild characters and crazy story lines.

But object to this doll for these other reasons? Laughable. A disgrace to mammals everywhere.

What do you think about a breastfeeding doll? Do tell!

S.A.D.? Be h.a.p.p.y.

We in the Pacific Northwest have been deluged by rain daily and I’m dying here helpmehelpme. And by “rain” I mean webbed-toe-inducing-gargantuan-puddle-creationism-no-bulb-bright-enough-black-at-noon-depressing storms.

Oh, sure, they come and go. And come back again with a vengeance and waaaaahhh-where’s-my-mommy??.

So, here’s my perfectly and desperately reactionism thought out answer to grappling with these Godforsaken, incessant tempests:

1. Go to
2. Click images
3. Enter these words, in this order, “baby animals.” (I will not, repeat, not be responsible for what may turn up if you flip the order.)
4. Sip Grey Goose with twist of lemon while scrolling down.

You’ll get the likes of this:

We’re all good, now, yes?

No guarantees, but it might work for fights with spouses, filing taxes, enforcing bedtimes, cancellation of your soap opera, crash of stock market picks, running out of coffee, school field trips, flight cancellations, and shrinkage of your favorite cashmere sweater.

Yes, I feel better already. *sssslllllurp*