All kinds of disturbing

When tearing out the hideous landscaping rock, I dug up giant clumps of roots that were halting our shovels' progress. I may have screamed at them, "I don't know what you think you are, plant, but I didn't give you permission to grow here so you've GOT TO GO."

We left a big bunch of them growing by the deck because they weren't hurting anything there and I was curious what they were. Turns out I killed a bunch of bleeding hearts. Threw them away. In the garbage. With a smile on my face.

We bought a new TV (OUR VERY FIRST FLAT SCREEN!) from a friend who is moving and didn't need this one in his bedroom anymore. I just realized I should have dunked it in Purell. Don't tell Gray.

Did I mention it's a 46" flat screen? And that we have it? In our house? Cause we do!

Things are just starting to grow here.

If you're lucky enough to live in a state in which spring began prior to May 7th, then I fucking hate you.

Kylie and I garage-saled our asses off on Saturday. She made me stop buying when there was no longer room in my car for another item. She wouldn't let me tie her to the hood. I love Kylie, but she can be really selfish sometimes. You should have seen how crowded my trunk hostages were.

I don't know what this thing is, but I want one for my very own self.

I haven't had a pedicure in a long time, but I wanted to wear open-toed shoes this morning, so I'm such a genius that my solution what to paint a non-matching color over the existing, comically-grown out polish. The result was a horrible mash up that part melted crayon, part gangrene. It didn't occur to me that I could, oh, you know, REMOVE THE GODDAMN POLISH FROM THE TIP OF MY BIG TOE.

And then I realized you can see my non-painted third toes, anyway.

Here's a word of advice to all you ass hats on Facebook whose only photos are of themselves posing shirtless in front of a builder-grade bathroom mirror with their camera phones: Not only do we not wish to see fourteen *slightly* varied poses of your jaw line, but next time you might want to include a friend in your photo. So we think you have friends. Hell, even a stuffed abominable snowman is better that what you've got.

And oh yeah: I have shingles.

Don't the graphics make them look like more fun? Because in reality, they feel like a semi ran over my shoulder, then it backed up over the other side of my shoulder, and also the semi's eighteen wheels were made from rubberized spider poison and the hounds of hell.

And because I've only read of youngish people getting shingles, and because I don't have the time/inclination to make my very own Shingle Tribute video, may I present to you Heather's:

SHINGLES! from dooce on Vimeo.

P.E.C. for Short*

We dog-sat over the weekend for Flute Randi, whom I've decided to just call "Flute" from now on because I'm tired of typing her entire name, and really, how many penis-free "Randi"s do you know?

Flute went to New Ulm to get fucking blitzed on good ole' Minnesota beer at the Schellabration, that lucky bitch, and left with us her giant mattress spring wrapped in a buffalo muscle French terrier named Mac. Since I'm busy packing for our move, I thought it would be a good idea to have MORE fur in my house. I'm going to use it first as dog-scented packing material and then weave it into a fine wool and sell it on Craig's List.

Dis dog. He can haz adorablenezz.

Bampa hates having other dogs in the house, especially BOY dogs, and I think it has something to do with the fact that Bamps pisses like a girl, but it may also be because it means he has to share the treats. These two have met before, with mixed results, and I say "mixed" when I mean "hmmm maybe we should clamp Bampa's jaws shut with a rubber band like he's a giant, furry lobster".

Which is what we ended up doing, except with a Gentle Leader instead of a rubber band, but I can assure you if a rubber band of an appropriate size had presented itself, I would have used it instead. If I can put one in my hair, he can have one on his face.

The primary effect of the Gentle Leader was that Bampa spent the next 24 hours rubbing his face on every available surface, which was really very cute (unless it involved Gray's crotch) and which meant he was distracted enough not to notice when Mac moved in on his chick:

You can't see it, but my pretty pink lipstick is riiiiiight down there...

The red shirt in the photo is Kylie, and she's very clearly giving Mac the romantic signals (note the placement of one hand on his broad shoulders and the other in her crotch), and we were not surprised when this exchange resulted in a VERY! ENTHUSIASTIC! LIPSTICK! EMERGENCE! and we spent a short while discussing the implications of such a reaction.

I realized that if my virtuous, motherly touch ever provokes such excitement in Bampa, I will promptly chop off his lipstick with the nearest available weapon and teach him once and for all that incest is the work of the devil.

Or I'll take consecutive showers. I'm still undecided.

I have always been fascinated by the idea of the lipstick, though, and I believe my first eye-witness of the phenomenon was driving by a field in which an incredibly virile horse was grazing. I was very concerned for the health of that poor animal's private parts, which appeared to have been flipped inside out and then blown up like an unformed balloon animal. I was educated in the matter soon after, however, when I had the occasion to help a small Dotson get his rocks off.

Since I'm loathe to do any actual research, I must assume that the lipstick (aka Penile Extension Cord) was invented to accommodate the semi-long-distance mating rituals of the large-boned and multi-ton-weighing animals, and of course this line of reasoning  leads me to suspect that incredibly overweight people may also have a form of penile extension cord, or are in the process of evolving such, at the very least.

Having only reached a moderate level of chunkiness myself, I've decided that the answer to my question lies in only one place: Fattie fetish porn.

Stay tuned.

PS - He weally weally missed his mama. And also, his penis touched the chair, but Gray assured me that since he was "not lippy" at the time, there was no harm done.

PPS - I'm not even entirely sure that Bampa HAS a penis, such is the girth of his old man flaps and fatty tumors on his undercarriage.

*OMFG I just realized where the word "PEC-ker" came from!!!

House. Also, Poor.

So. We bought a house.

That's what we've been up to. Gray and I have been searching for the perfect property since March, and this is the third time we found "it," the difference being that this time, the buyer agreed with us.

I was thinking our life would slow down after the wedding, but I was wronger than wrong, because now we'll be packing and moving (did I mention this marks the fifth time I've moved in three years?), and Kylie is moving in with us at Longfellow Deeds for a couple of weeks before she leaves to spend her autumn months with her hot boyfriend in Europe (I know, FUCK YOU KYLIE, is right) and I'm starting over with The Month of Ramen coming up this Wednesday. I thought we were broke before, and now we're exactly $House Amount of Dollars more poor than before. Lucky for us, Top Ramen doesn't discriminate. And also, we own all our porn.

Well, Gray and I had an eventful weekend. So much so that I'm too exhausted to tell you about it right now. Instead, I'll give you the highlights of our time together:

• We went into church on Saturday. And I did not burst into flames.
• Gray rang a bunch of bells until he found mine.
• 3 Words: Hot.Dog.Burps.
• We got thrown out of the State Capitol by security.
• I bought candy. Weird candy. Fucking bizarre Mexican candy. It was almost as hideous as it was disgusting.
• Gray worked on his puzzle.
• I got naked in a strange woman's bathroom.
• We didn't know it was daylight savings time until Gray was an hour late for work. He entered to a round of applause from his co-workers. I like to think they were applauding his choice of wife.

I may need to make a vlog to explain this one...

You May Have Heard...

I have this friend who has every album, jingle, theme song, soundtrack, and (apparently) muppet musical known to mankind on her Itunes. And probably other stuff I can't think of because my Itunes consists of 40,000 Dave Matthews Band songs (and that's just his Live at Radio City disc set!) and a very large playlist under "metal".

So this friend created 4 separate, limited edition, individualized compilations for her friends for Christmas. And although I haven't know this particular friend too terribly long, I think it's fair to say she's got me fucking figured out. The first three compilations were 1) Christmas songs, 2) mommy/daughter ballads, and 3) dance music. And then there's mine.

Mine is called "Awkward & Inappropriate Song Mix." Fucking Awesome. It features such songs as AC/DC's Big Balls, The Internet is Made for Porn from Avenue Q, and Ben Folds' heart-wrenching cover of Bitches Ain't Shit.

And the best part? I found my personal anthem.

I think it's fair to say this friend has earned her blog nickname. From henceforth, she will be known as Kylie.

I Know I Had Another Midget Joke, But It Escapes Me Now...

Ok, so a few random updates I never got around to actually updating because of all the porn. And the midgets. Which, by the way, what the fuck, TLC? The Little Chocolatiers? ANOTHER MIDGET SHOW? I'm sure they're probably cheaper to film because they're so tiny, but you're not fooling anybody...the Gosselin children are IRREPLACEABLE. It's almost like the camera crews are no longer capable of filming humans over the height of 3 feet. Permanent neck crick, or something.

Anyway, so the fridge no longer stinks. It took 4 people and a hell of a lot of different screwdrivers to solve that one.

I think I broke up with Dr. Crazy Socks when I stood him up last week. It's ok, though. I think I need a shrink who appreciates the value of solid-color footwear.

Chantix is awesome. I haven't smoked since...honestly, I don't remember anymore. It's been at least one month, and according to the waistband of my pants, it's closing in on 10lbs. The best part is that I haven't wanted to smoke in the same amount of time.

I've only had one craving in all of that time, and since the craving coincided with my hot date with a younger woman, I'm not entirely sure what I was craving was a cigarette. If you know what I'm saying.

I'm saying that I'm hetero-flexible. Just kidding, Jesus.

Gray just started taking Chantix this week. Fingers crossed for him, huh?

I'm going to be offline until at least the 30th due to our impending trip Back Home. I hope to be safely south of the Mason Dixon before the Midwest gets nailed by this winter storm I keep hearing about from the Weather Terrorists. Assuming, of course, there is such a thing as "safely south of the Mason Dixon." (I've used that line about 5 times today and I'm not sick of it yet.)

I know you're all heartbroken over that, but I assure you that as long as you're well stocked with Hustlers, Skittles and cannabis...it will be like I'm not even gone. Or, if you're already stoned, then I'm already not really gone. I may even be INSIDE of you. Think about THAT for an hour and a half and then remark on the size of your finger swirls. It'll be awesome.

As for the TOTAL! MONEY! MAKEOVER! let me just say that I've paid off over $5,000 in old ass, sucky ass debt since May. Instead of making the minimum payment of $70 on my current project, I'm making a payment of $593. That's, like, a lot more money and the balance will be knocked out by February. It's fucking remarkable, ya'll. Not only that, but I can honestly say that this is the very first Christmas EVER where I didn't charge a dime.

THAT'S RIGHT, VISA. I paid cash. For. EVERYTHING.

::please hold while I run to Costco and ruin everything I just said by charging $100 to my Costco credit card because CHRIST, Mom, thanks for waiting until the last minute to inform me that what I should get for my sister for Xmas is a winter coat, because those things grown on trees PLUS I'm shooting down filling out of my ass these days, so SCORE::

Ahem.

To finish the update...I am neither pregnant nor engaged despite some rather zealous assurances from Gray to "trust him" and "stay tuned" and "if you let me do this thing I read about in Maxim WHILE I'm playing Call of Duty online, then we'll talk."

Although, I did read a short bio about a 16-year-old who is awaiting adoption in the Twin Cities. She is beautiful, smart, well-spoken, enjoys reading and writing, music, and family traditions. Ironic, huh? The part about the family traditions? So I immediately texted Gray and asked, "Do you want to adopt a black teenage girl?" to which he replied a very non-Christmasy, "No."

Apparently he hates black people. But it's probably for the best because I wouldn't have a clue what to do with her hair.

I aced both of my classes. Miraculously and with much drinking.

And my wack-job story Humility will be printed in Haute Dish, the online version. So technically it won't be printed anywhere. Just like it is now. Except now it will feel the disdain of the population of my academic community.

Good thing most of them only speak Somali.