Half-mad

It was late, very late when the dog jumped on my head. I pushed him away with a mumbled "no Jackson" and went back to sleep. A few minutes later I felt something warm at my foot. In my sleep state I push my foot down into this warmness trying to figure out what it is. I figured it out really quick. My eyes flew open and I jumped out of bed as I realised that the warmth at the end of my bed was dog pee. Wait.. before you go into the whole, "he tried to wake you up" this dog can jump up and down from my bed with no problem. I would have much sooner forgiven a floor accident than a bed accident! So I take the dog out. It's two in the morning. I took him out at 11:30 so he's only had a few hours to fill his bladder. I know he hasn't drank anything because I put the water bowl up so he couldn't. Did I mention the dog is picky? He has to have the PERFECT spot to poop in the yard. Oh, any old spot in the house will do, but the yard... now that's a different story. He must pick out the best pooping atmosphere available. It takes him forever. Meanwhile I'm counting my hours of sleep in my head trying not to rush him. If you rush him he just takes longer. Finally, business is done, I go back inside, strip my sheets, cuss the dog and go back to bed.

Jack is a pup. He's a good pup, who is being house broken. Although there are times when I think I am the one being broken. He's lovable, playful, and fun to watch as he races from one end of the house to the other. He also has a shoe fettish. He doesn't really chew too much on the shoes, (maybe because I have slapped him with them) but he does love to drag them to his lair, which is under my chair. He brings all of his "fresh kill" to his spot. At the end of the day he will have at least two pair of Mary's flip flops, one of Brenden's and one of mine under the chair. This is mixed in with a couple of Barbie shoes, a toy cat, chew sticks (unchewed), and chew toys. It's cute, but annoying. He doesn't really chew on any of it, he just brings it to his spot and sits with it, like he's guarding it from Tilly. Tilly just ignores him and sits on my bed like "momma loves me more".

Anyway, Jackie is getting better with the whole potty training business, but still has some accidents. Bren and I have started a little game coming up with new names for Jackson's accidents. For instance Bren may tell Mary that Jack has left her a present in the bathroom. Or that Jack has some warm steamy goodness in the hall for Mary. Mary hates this of course, and hates picking up the poop. I noticed that I was picking up most of it and told Mary that I would get rid of Jack if she didn't start helping with him. She simply shot back, "If you do can I get a kitty? They use a box." No.. no cats. She has started helping more. Last night Jack had pooped in Mary's room (a little part of me is glad he's starting to have "accidents" in her room only). I told her this morning. She didn't want to clean it up. Bren pipes in "Jack baked you some warm breakfast biscuts Mary." I thought this was hilarious. Mary, not so much. From Dog logs to breakfast biscuts. Priceless.

Just one crappy little story about a teensy part of my life.

Is it just me?

Today I went grocery shopping. Grocery shopping, with coupons, at Wal-Mart during the first of the month. It was busy. Of course it was, it was Wal-Mart. I get up to the register and find one with a reasonably short line. I wait in line for my turn. The young boy at the register greets me with a listless "Hey." and begins scanning my items. Right off I noticed how incredibly slow he was. At first I thought maybe he was just being meticulious about how he sacked things. Oh no, not so. There was my bread sitting happily next to my toilet bowl cleaner. My vanilla went into a bag by itself. A big bag with nothing but a 4oz bottle of vanilla extract in it. A carton of orange juice with dog bones and sour cream with cans. Hmm.. I think, maybe he's just new. I wanted to give him benefit of the doubt but inside I was starting to get irritated. This is when scanner boy stops scanning and digs in his pocket. I stand there watching him thinking "what the hell is he doing?". He digs out his cell phone, looks at it, puts it on the counter turns to the register, stops, and turns back to the cell and proceeds to text someone. I am dumbfounded. Did this little slow ass punk just TEXT someone while checking me out? How freaking rude can you get?? This question need not be asked because my good buddy Mark who has on a shirt the exact color of lime sherbert and a gray baseball hat cocked sideways and with the bill turned up gets another text message that has to be replied to right away. So again he stops in the middle of weighing my grapes and replies to his text. At this point the mean hateful bitch that lives inside of me is screaming to get out. I want to jerk the cell phone from his hand and do my best softball wind up and send his phone flying across the store. I want to tell him to stop wasting my time. I want to jerk that dumb looking hat off of his head and stomp on it; twisting my foot back and forth to make sure I crush it all up and get it good and dirty. I then want to tell him in my best Dirty Harry voice "You waste my time, I waste your stuff. Got that, punk?" I don't of course. I wait patiently while Mark slowly goes about ringing me up and then get the hell out of there envisioning breaking his phone and maybe an ipod just for good measure.

I find it so rude that people have no decency. I hate it when they bust out the phones right in the middle of lecture, or decide they have to take a phone call in the library. Maybe it's just me, but it irritates me so much!

Tune in to next weeks bitch-a-thon to hear all about people who use handicap stickers when they aren't.