This morning Tripp The Pig Dog shit three times in the course of thirty minutes. Only once in the house, so I guess there’s that.
I’m not in a writing mood.
It was supposed to be warm this week. It’s supposedly seventy degrees out there, but I can’t tell. It’s cold. Cold, I tell you. And it’s screwing with my planting plans.
The Schnauzer ate some kind of unidentified, mummified rodent-type thing this afternoon. Now we know why she has ass breath.
A while back, as part of my ‘lets be more green’ initiative — and by initiative I mean craziness – I decided to only buy dry beans, never canned. The reasons were many — I have a local source of dry beans, they’re cheaper, they’re easier to store, and so on and so forth — but all it really accomplished is us eating a lot fewer beans because I never remember to soak them overnight. I’ve been craving chicken chimichangas and refried beans for weeks. Do you think I remembered to soak those bitches? Of course not. Do you think I’ll get up and do it right now while I’m thinking of it? Of course not.
You may have noticed an extra snarky bite to my posts, tweets and facebook statuses lately — that and the cussing — I’ll just apologize now. My hormones are being jacked about again in the name of figuring out what the heck is wrong with me. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
What else… ?
I want a 7D for Mother’s Day. Unfortunately, I misplaced my money tree. Anyone want to donate? Canon? No? Figures.
First world problems. Meh.
At the end of the month The Pacas have an appointment to get a haircut. I’m really just looking forward to their appearance going from ridiculous to super-duper fabulously ridiculous. They have no purpose but to entertain me. What can I say?
And at three-hundred words of randomness, I think we’ll call it a day. I’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe.