There are so many things I'd like to write about. I'd like to rant about the people complaining and hating on Kirk Cameron for criticizing homosexuality and gay marriage on Peirs Morgan's show. He said, ”Marriage is almost as old as dirt, and it was defined in the garden between Adam and Eve. One man, one woman for life till death do you part, so I would never attempt to try to redefine marriage. And I don’t think anyone else should either,” Cameron said. “So do I support the idea of gay marriage? No, I don’t.” So GLAAD is slamming him and friends and fans are distancing themselves and calling him a hater. Of course this is his opinion. Piers knew this would be his position. Why is anyone surprised. Kirk hasn't been double minded on this issue. And he's not a hater. Conservative christianity is not a hate group.
I'd like to write about Rush Limbaugh and Sandra Fluke and the "slut" sh*tstorm. What a surprise. Rush said the American tax payer does not want to pay for her birth control. The government should not subsidize her sex life. Rush said, "What does that make her? It makes her a slut, right? It makes her a prostitute. She wants to be paid to have sex. She's having so much sex she can't afford contraception. She wants you and me and the taxpayers to pay her to have sex." I know it is utterly surprising that Rush Limbaugh made an inflammatory and provocative remark on his own show. I'm stunned. *not*
I won't write about any of that. I'm going to write about my dog. I have a dog. His name is Chet. He is very old in dog-years, but I don't know what dog-years are so I'll just say he is 15 years old. He is a Jack Russell Terrier. He is trying to kill me. He's been trying to kill me for the last 14 and a half years. So far, I've been smart enough to out wit him and avoid death. I have been injured, but not fatally. He has a few favorite methods. The methods mostly fall into the category of stealth operatives. His favorite is to lay on the third step down on the staircase. He usually times it for laundry day when I am toting baskets of laundry up and down the stairs. He prefers to lay on the third step from the top of the staircase just before I am ready to carry the basket of dirty clothes down the stairs to the laundry room. He's a clever one, that Chet. Fortunately, I'm still smarter than a dog, but I'm afraid my day may be coming.
Another of his modus operandi is to stay very close to my feet while I am cooking. He prefers to be nearby during times I am chopping with a very sharp knife or carrying a pan of boiling water to the sink. He is crafty and manages to get underfoot just at the moment I am walking the knife or boiling water to the kitchen sink. He's been known to bunch the small throw rug in front of the sink into an alternate obstacle for tripping. This way he can get me coming and going.
When he was a younger dog he made his attempts for my demise by pulling me into traffic during walks. He usually waited until we were near the end of our walk and he knew I was tired. He would take his opportunity and YANK me into oncoming traffic. I survived. I was injured a few times, but not fatally. Now that he is up there in dog-years he has developed a new method to try to kill me. He has developed the ability to emit the stinkiest gases known to man. They are released from both ends of his body, sometime simultaneously. It is truly his most effective weapon thus far. I sometimes wonder if I should take him to a vet because this odor is effective in clearing a room of any living creature in three seconds flat. Chet has a, seemingly, unending amount of these malodorous airs about himself. And, it seems, he can produce them at will. This odor can cause gagging and watery eyes. Seriously, the government could use it as a WMD if they could bottle it.
I have a dog. I never really wanted a dog. My son and husband REALLY wanted a dog. So, I have a dog. I know I won't have my dog for much longer. Sometimes, when he is sleeping, and he sleeps almost ALL the time, I wonder if he's still alive. I know I'll be sad when his time comes. I'll be sad, but I'll be safer. :)
31. Sunny days
32. Spring-like weather
33. Farm fresh veggies
34. Essential oil diffuser for my office
35. Pink grapefruit essential oil
36. Pink grapefruits
I'd like to write about Rush Limbaugh and Sandra Fluke and the "slut" sh*tstorm. What a surprise. Rush said the American tax payer does not want to pay for her birth control. The government should not subsidize her sex life. Rush said, "What does that make her? It makes her a slut, right? It makes her a prostitute. She wants to be paid to have sex. She's having so much sex she can't afford contraception. She wants you and me and the taxpayers to pay her to have sex." I know it is utterly surprising that Rush Limbaugh made an inflammatory and provocative remark on his own show. I'm stunned. *not*
I won't write about any of that. I'm going to write about my dog. I have a dog. His name is Chet. He is very old in dog-years, but I don't know what dog-years are so I'll just say he is 15 years old. He is a Jack Russell Terrier. He is trying to kill me. He's been trying to kill me for the last 14 and a half years. So far, I've been smart enough to out wit him and avoid death. I have been injured, but not fatally. He has a few favorite methods. The methods mostly fall into the category of stealth operatives. His favorite is to lay on the third step down on the staircase. He usually times it for laundry day when I am toting baskets of laundry up and down the stairs. He prefers to lay on the third step from the top of the staircase just before I am ready to carry the basket of dirty clothes down the stairs to the laundry room. He's a clever one, that Chet. Fortunately, I'm still smarter than a dog, but I'm afraid my day may be coming.
Another of his modus operandi is to stay very close to my feet while I am cooking. He prefers to be nearby during times I am chopping with a very sharp knife or carrying a pan of boiling water to the sink. He is crafty and manages to get underfoot just at the moment I am walking the knife or boiling water to the kitchen sink. He's been known to bunch the small throw rug in front of the sink into an alternate obstacle for tripping. This way he can get me coming and going.
When he was a younger dog he made his attempts for my demise by pulling me into traffic during walks. He usually waited until we were near the end of our walk and he knew I was tired. He would take his opportunity and YANK me into oncoming traffic. I survived. I was injured a few times, but not fatally. Now that he is up there in dog-years he has developed a new method to try to kill me. He has developed the ability to emit the stinkiest gases known to man. They are released from both ends of his body, sometime simultaneously. It is truly his most effective weapon thus far. I sometimes wonder if I should take him to a vet because this odor is effective in clearing a room of any living creature in three seconds flat. Chet has a, seemingly, unending amount of these malodorous airs about himself. And, it seems, he can produce them at will. This odor can cause gagging and watery eyes. Seriously, the government could use it as a WMD if they could bottle it.
I have a dog. I never really wanted a dog. My son and husband REALLY wanted a dog. So, I have a dog. I know I won't have my dog for much longer. Sometimes, when he is sleeping, and he sleeps almost ALL the time, I wonder if he's still alive. I know I'll be sad when his time comes. I'll be sad, but I'll be safer. :)
31. Sunny days
32. Spring-like weather
33. Farm fresh veggies
34. Essential oil diffuser for my office
35. Pink grapefruit essential oil
36. Pink grapefruits
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| Don't let this cute face fool you |
