Dude acts like a lady...

All of the guys at work are being big babies today.

I tried to be considerate, but it seems that they're all dealing with their time of the month because THEY ARE SO SENSITIVE.

I don't know what is going on, but I'm hoping that it stays in the month of September.

And yes...I know. This completely negates the great, peaceful feelings from yesterday.

And all I have to say about that is that I would offer them a hug if it would help. But because they're all manly, they don't want a hug because that would interfere with the slamming of doors and staplers. One thing's for sure - they definitely don't want to TALK about it.

GAH.

In the dark

Character is what you are in the dark.
-- Dwight L. Moody

Joe (the boyfriend) and I were talking the other day about religion, faith, and spirituality in general. And I suppose that remnants of that conversation are still on my mind.

I have appreciated and loved the part that my spirituality has played in my life. But these days, I'm aware of how often I hear someone say that they're religious and yet their actions don't seem to come close to matching the faith that they're professing to others. I'm aware, acutely, of the times that I have done the same.

Why is it that we, as a people, seem to be so quick to point out others shortcomings? We judge others by their actions and judge ourselves by our intentions entirely too often.

It feels lighter - doesn't it - to forgive others and ourselves?

So what if, instead, we all tried to be the best authentic self we could be?

Not because it gets us a better seat in heaven.

Not because others are watching.

But because it's the right way to live. It's less stressful on our own bodies. It's more harmonious.

It facilitates peace - internally and externally.

Slower than a running toilet...

This past weekend was FABULOUS.

First, I got to see a friend from Boston that I hadn't seen in about 12 years. I'm not really allowed to write her name, but let's just say that she writes over at turleybenson. It was fantastic and I have decided that she, her husband, and her baby need to move to Denver right about now.

AND I ran in a really fun 5K.

I know - you guys don't come here to read about the kind of healthy living crap that I write about on my other blog...but it was great - so I'm writing about it here.

First of all, the 5K was a part of the Oktoberfest celebration that was going on in Denver. They were encouraging people to come dressed in their finest German wear OR to dress like David Hasslehoff. Let me just say that the costumes were pretty darn funny.

I knew that I didn't have a German costume to wear, but I opted to wear my "Great American Beer Festival" (which was also going on this weekend) shirt with braids...see?

The picture was taken by my wonderfully awesome boyfriend...one that I'm liking more as each day passes. He won MAJOR boyfriend bonus points by driving me to the race and being with me before the race started. And his reaction to me having a new personal record for a 5K?* Perfect. I've decided that I'll be keeping him, at least for now. :)

Anyway, the race started and I was feeling really good about how I was doing...except for one small thing. Actually, it was a rather big thing.

I was running slower than a toilet.

That's right, folks - that toilet can run about an 8 minute mile. I'm not really sure HOW it can run that fast, but the entire first mile, I was thinking about all the times I prank-called people in the 7th grade asking them if their refrigerator was running. When the person undoubtedly said "yes", we'd shout "Well, then you better go catch it!"

I was trying to think of a joke that would be appropriate for a running toilet, but I really can't think of one. Mostly because the running toilet is so bizarre, I think it's very existence trumps all jokes.

If you're wondering WHY there was a running toilet and how that fits into some sort of German theme, it's because Denver Water actually sponsored part of the run. On the back of this toilet was a big bumper sticker that read, "Running toilets waste water." And just so you know, this was the friendliest toilet ever. He waved at cars that were stuck at stoplights and high-fived the cops that watched us run.

Before mile marker 1, the toilet stopped on the side of the road next to a cop. I'm not quite sure what happened, but I never saw it again.

Maybe it had to go to the bathroom.

*I'm thrilled because I shaved 1:20 off of my best 5K time - which was just two weeks ago! I'm still not fast - my race time was around 35 minutes...but I'm getting faster every race. I feel great! In fact, my only regret is not starting my health kick sooner.

I would say "Mystery Solved" but it kind of just brings up more questions...

I found my fun pants from two nights ago.

They were hanging on my coat rack in the stairwell on the way to my basement on a hook that is normally reserved for umbrellas.

Just hanging there.

And when I saw them, they actually looked like they belonged there...almost as if that's where I *should* be hanging my fun pants.

WTF?

I hope it was good for someone

I'm sick with a cold. It's one of those colds that comes with a whistling in my nose every time I breathe. The type of cold that means that I have tissues stuffed into every pocket of every piece of clothing that I'm wearing. It means that my hands are chapped from being washed often and my nose is red from all the wiping.

It's sexy.

So last night, I opted to take some NyQuil...and then later took some Tylenol PM. See, I was out of regular Advil and I had decided to take a boxing class at the gym yesterday. So I knew I was going to be sore and taking pain medication (albeit no anti-infamatory medicine) seemed litke a good idea. The only problem is that when I took the Tylenol PM, I had forgotten about taking the NyQuil. When I remembered it, I figured I had about 7 hours of sleep ahead of me, so I probably wouldn't oversleep or anything. It was probably going to be fine.

This morning, after hitting my snooze button for an hour and a half (I'm not kidding), I walked to the bathroom to take a shower. Around the time that I got there, I realized that I wasn't wearing any fun pants.

To be clear, I went to bed wearing fun pants.

So I shuffled back to my bed and I'm not kidding you, my pants are NO WHERE to be found. They're not mixed in with my covers, they're not under the bed. They're not in the bathroom and they're not in the fridge.

I lost a pair of fun pants last night...and that sucks because I LOVE that particular pair of fun pants.

Maybe this is one of those things I can blame on living close to an electrical pole.

Tales of the Fourth Grade...SOMETHING

Let me start this post by saying that I wish I could quit laughing long enough to actually BE embarrassed about this post. It's just that this is too damn funny.

Dude. I can predict THE FUTURE.

Lemme' back up.

See, when I was in fourth grade, I had a friend named Leah. She was the same one who may or may not have kicked my ass in a dance off with a one-legged girl. Anyway, Leah is and was ADORABLE. She was cute, petite, and her mom did her hair in the most amazing ways. And although I clearly pined for boy named Josh Hernsberger, Leah was the one that won his affections - or at least his attention. Because I'm pretty sure "affection" shown in fourth grade involved pushing the girl down on the playground and perhaps calling her a "poopy head."

ANYWAY, I clearly remember being in the bus and thinking about (aka PREDICTING) the future. I remembered thinking that one day Josh would be sorry for not choosing me. In my mind's eye, Josh and I would meet at a high school reunion where he would realize the error in judgement. I would walk in wearing some sort of flowing skirt...the wind would be in my hair (in a sexy, tousled way) and I would be drop dead GORGEOUS. Leah would walk in and would be a shrunken, shriveled mess - probably with warts all over her face and DEFINITELY with cooties. Josh would be too stunned by my beauty to speak. He may or may not have "Dream Weaver" playing in his head. Eventually, we would talk. We would laugh about the old days. And then he would invite me back to his mansion to watch MTV and we would live happily ever after.*

I've had the option of adding Josh as my friend on Facebook for quite some time. In fact, when I first saw him as an option to add on my friend suggestions page, I laughed.** I didn't add him because somehow that would be less funny. I did, however, add Leah. And as luck (or good genes) would have it, she's just as cute as ever.

So fast forward to today...err...today-ish.

'Member this post where I mentioned Josh Hernsberger in my plea/bribe to God? How about the one where I mentioned Josh Hersberger again? Well, if you read the last one, you'll see my tiny little PS at the bottom - one where I predicted that Josh would eventually find out.

Apparently, Josh knows how to Google. Or one of his friends do. Or maybe it's a stalker. The point is, someone Googled his name. And then they copied the links. And then they sent them via email to what seems to be about eleventy hundred people.

How do I know this? My hits on my website counter spiked - even though I hadn't written anything in a week or so. And when I went into the history to see WHY it spiked I found a couple of these:

In case you're new to counter reports, this says that google sent this person to my blog after googling his name. Up until now, the highest number of referrals was the one where I put a picture of Pete up.

As I looked through more of the counter history, I found lots of ones that indicate that someone sent emails with the links to the two posts to various people in the US.

Honestly, I think it's HYSTERICAL. I mean, for a half of a second, I wondered if he could sue me for slander or something... but then I thought that if the bloggess can write about William Shatner and she doesn't get in trouble, I'm probably safe with disclosing a crush that happened 25 years ago.

So, to Josh or his wife or his friends or his mom or his dog or his stalker: Hi. You should totally come over. I even have MTV.

* The MTV thing was important, because my mom would not let us watch MTV.

**I whited out the faces because I don't know if it's okay to put peoples' picture on the web without their consent. And let's be honest, Debbie's baby is probably evil. I do NOT want to mess with that baby.

More fun than you can shake a baby at...

One of the perks of living where I do is that there is about ZERO coverage of any cell phone carrier. Actually, that's not true. It seems that you can have just enough coverage to leave about 4 seconds of information on a voicemail or perhaps tell the person on the other line that "I am hearing some static and I might drop the ca-."

In fact, if there was an emoticon map to demonstrate the coverage of the Denver area, it would show that I live in the center of a frowny face surrounded by miles and miles of happy faces. I LIVE IN A FROWNY FACE.

:(

I can't tell you how fantastic it's been to be worried about my dog, finally get enough of a signal to call the vet, eventually getting to talk to the vet only to hear those three tones that indicate that the call has been dropped. The dread of realizing that you've got to go through all of that again before the office closes in five minutes is awesome. It's thrilling to be sharing sweet words with a boyfriend only to realize that he's no longer at the other end of the line. And when you FINALLY get to call back, the mood has dissipated. Sex-ay.

So I finally decided to get a home line installed and after figuring out which bundle can save me the most money, I had a phone line! Well...really, I had a phone number and the date when everything was supposed to magically work.

Some women dream of their wedding day. But not me. Each night leading up to that date, I'd go to sleep envisioning actually being able to talk on the phone without screaming "can you hear me now?" and "is this better?" It seemed almost too good to be true. I even went to the store to pick out a brand new phone with the boyfriend.*

The day of, I figured I should probably figure out which jack to plug the phone into. Sure, my house was built in 1882, but I figured that the crackwhores had to call out for pizza from somewhere. I was positive that I had a multiple jacks.

So I checked the bedrooms. Nope, none there. Was there one in the living room? Nada. Surely the kitchen has one, right? No. Not so much. Turns out the only jack I had was in the dining room. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DINING ROOM WALL. Right. So my postage stamp of a place has a jack in the middle of the frickin' room - the only room that WOULDN'T make sense to put a jack anyway.

"It's okay," I thought. "I'll make do." But it turns out, I couldn't even do that.

I'm sure you'll be SHOCKED to hear that the day when it was supposed to be turned on? Yeah... it didn't work. Turns out that people who could die in a fire due to bad wiring aren't exactly concerned about being able to call out for help.

So I made another appointment to have a line technician come out and when he arrived at my house with a Bluetooth headset in his ear, the first thing he said was "Gah! I can't get a cell signal in this neighborhood. It sucks!" Personally, I think I deserve at least a gold star for not ripping his arm off and beating him with it.

He assessed the situation and then said, "Just so you know, hooking up this phone line is going to be a b!tch." Is it sad that I just shrugged? I'm now immune to any handyman, mover, electrician, or phone tech saying that something about my house is less that desirable. TELL ME ABOUT IT - I live this dream DAILY.

So three hours later, my phone line was working!! I had a new jack in the second bedroom!! I'm pretty sure that the happiness that I felt is akin to what new mother's feel when they first see their babies for the first time as that is precisely how happy I was. I was GLOWING.

Approximately 15 minutes later, I got my first telemarketing call. And then another one...and then another one. So in the 3 days that I've had service, I've had about forty hundred telemarketing calls and also apparently a stalker (Cynthia Gonzales) who cannot stop calling my house during the day.

To make matters worse, apparently the phones that I have have a ringer setting of "SURE TO MELT YOUR EARDRUM!!!!" and it's next to impossible to turn it down. Seriously. Someone calls my house and it's like the loudest sound EVER echoing off my walls - like the sound out of a science fiction movie where "one guy touched the wrong thing and the world is going to melt in 15 seconds" kind of sound.

So last night, at around 1:38 in the morning, I heard the ring of my phone and finally surrendered my will to live. I'd put up a good fight, but after weighing the effort that it would take to pry a hand away from my ears to actually answer the phone, it seemed like it would just be easier to hold my breath until I passed out. Only the ringing/buzzing/clamoring wouldn't stop.

You'll understand my delight when I found that the guy on the other end of the line was so drunk that it was hard to understand what the words he was slurring together in a "sentence" were supposed to be. Basically, the gist of the phone call was that I was supposed to go ahead and buzz up his girl so the she could go through the back door. I'm pretty sure that that'd code for sex, but at that point, I didn't even care any more. I told him that he had the wrong number and after he repeated some string of numbers that may or may not have been my new number, I reassured him that he did not have the right number. And then, because my day job kicked in, I told him to "take care and have a nice day."

Having a home phone? It's turning out to be the best decision ever.


*There, I said it. I have a boyfriend. And he's fantastic. His concern over me picking out the best and most cost effective phone was just about the cutest thing ever...it almost made this whole ordeal worth it.

My Scarlet Letter

My first break-up was horrible.

In fact, there are a few people that read this blog that are probably nodding their heads so vigorously right now that they might fall off their necks. See, I was in my freshman year in college and I started dating one of the first guys that showed me attention. My whole life up until that point seemed to be filled with guys that I liked but didn't like me back. I know...it's the story of most people's lives. Anyway, my first boyfriend was in college. He was tall and oh my goodness did he have a mullet that was EPIC. Despite the mullet, I got really attached to him - very quickly. He was my first kiss and my first love.

A few short months later, I realized that I no longer wanted to date this person...I realized that I'd rather take my chances with other people. So I broke things off with him. He sat there, crying in my bedroom saying, "But I thought that you were 'The One!'" I can't even remember all the guys that have said that to me when I've broken up with them...which is amazing since NONE of them actually asked me to be "The One"... but now we're getting into a different post topic. Anyway, after I broke up with him, I felt so good...for about 12 hours. And then OH how I wanted him back. Of course, then he wanted nothing to do with me.

So I cried almost all the time. I didn't eat (or at least not much) for weeks. I couldn't go to my Chemistry class because it reminded me of him (he was a Chemistry major) and if I did, I ended up crying through it. If I had to count how many times I cried to my friends Joella and Jon, I'd say that it neighbored close to eleventy hundred.

The worst part was going to sleep. Because I would inevitably dream of him. In my dreams, things would be fine again - we'd be in love and we'd laugh at how the whole break up was a big mistake... But then I'd wake up and have to face reality all over again.

I was not with him. I was alone. I'd mourn all over again every day - practically soaking my pillow with fresh tears. It was, in a word, absofrickinhorrible.

These days, I'm finding myself in that similar situation. There is an issue - one that I have spent many tears on - that has plagued me the past 6 years of my life. At first, it was horrible just dealing with it...but eventually it became almost a part of myself. I accepted it and hated it at the same time. For a short while, I thought that the burden would be lifted from me. But it turns out, that is not the case. I've learned to live my life as if everything was the same...and most of the time I find myself being very happy. Because I'm not faced with this issue daily, it's easy for me to forget that it *is* an issue.

And then, when I least expect it, it pops up again. It IS like waking up from a fantastic dream... and a part of me mourns all over again. I realize that for some reason, one I can't pinpoint or blame on any one else, this issue will never fully go away. It affects other people. And the guilt? Why, that's nothing compared to the shame.

It's like having to wear a scarlet letter on your chest day in and day out. And then, unexpectedly being able to go to a party where no one knows you so that you can wear any outfit without that "A." You have a fantastic time... only to come home and see the entire wardrobe (A's and all) waiting for you - right where you left them.

It's like re-injuring yourself.

Or maybe it's more like getting a paper cut in the same area over and over again.

It doesn't ever seem to heal completely...and sometimes I wonder if it ever will.

Stereotype

For the ladies out there, I have a question for you. Is it just me or are you discouraged when the following scenario happens?

There is a car in front of you that is swerving, driving horribly, changing lanes without turn signals, being a slow merger or being just a general dorkfish when it comes to driving. When you happen to pass them, you notice that it's a female. And she's on the phone or texting or doing her make-up or knitting or anything else that she shouldn't be doing...

Because when I see that, I want to shake that woman and tell her that she is perpetuating the stereotype that women are bad drivers!

Alternately, when it's a guy, I'm slightly relieved.

Just me? Okay then.

The Silver Beaver

It's probably a well known fact that I giggle at inappropriate times - like when people say "do do" or "poop" or "#2" or "pianist." If it isn't a well known fact, well... it should be. What you may not know is that sometimes usually I stick my foot in my mouth.

As an example, last weekend, I went to visit my friend Kelly. We ended up meeting with her mother-in-law to get something for the dead people duvet. And the mom? She looks SO much like her son (or vice versa) that I couldn't help but tell her that. She said something like, "I know. He does look a lot like me - he even has my hair!"

I said that it was uncanny how much they looked alike...and then I took it a step too far with: "Like, you guys have the exact same face! I mean, they're almost interchangeable!"

And then she made a funny face. The kind of face that lets you know that you said something NOT OKAY.

I get that face a lot.

So I tried to fix it with, "I'm not saying that you have a masculine face. Or that he has a girlie face. No. Your faces are fine! " Needless to say, my qualification DID NOT FIX IT.

So when Kelly suggested that she, her husband, his mom, and I go out to lunch the next day, my eye started twitching. OMG - the PRESSURE! I was all, "I did that damage yesterday in 5 minutes - and you expect me to behave for an HOUR?"

Turns out, I did a good job of NOT talking. I did my best to ask questions to the MIL that were appropriate. I did a great job.

UNTIL... They were all talking about how the dad (who was not present) has done a lot in his lifetime for the Boy Scouts. I know nothing about Boy Scouts. There were no little boys in my family so basically all I know about them is that they know how to tie knots and they sell popcorn.

Anyway, someone actually said, "Yes - he's actually done so much that he got a Silver Beaver!"

I almost did a spit-take with my water. I looked wide-eyed at the people at the table and they were completely serious.

All I could think to squeak out was, "I'm sorry...Silver Beaver, did you say?"

And then here were the comments:
"Yes, yes! They don't give Silver Beavers to just anyone, you know."
"You have to work REALLY hard to get a Silver Beaver."
"You can't ask for a Silver Beaver, you know. You just get one - it's a surprise."

There were others but I think I blacked out because there were so many jokes FLOODING to my head all at once.

(sigh)

For the record, I really wanted to have the title of this post to be "How I know I have the humor of a 13 year old boy..." but it turns out I've already used that one. Probably not a good sign.

At this rate, I'll be ready to die in 5 years

'Member when I went speed dating a few months ago?* Me too! :) I made a joke during that post about my "Bucket List" and how, after being begged not to leave a guy at the bar, it had gotten one item shorter. Well, you may be happy to learn that I just scratched another thing off of my list!

This past weekend, Kelly and I were on our way into a fabric store in Peoria, Illinois when I heard all sorts of hooting and hollering - only it sounded like it was coming from GOD.

Turns out, God was not hooting and hollering...but rather the cell phone tower repair men located 40 feet in the air were. They were waving and waggling their parts in our general direction, which as far as I know, is something God typically doesn't do.** As soon as we were out of sight, the hooting stopped. When we came out of the store, the whistling started again so it was clear to me that we were the objects of desire.

I was thrilled.

I know some of you may roll your eyes and are about ready to send me a message about how women shouldn't be objectified. "Women are people too!" you might be thinking. But you're wrong.*** Because, really, don't all of us want to be objectified on SOME level? It's all well and good to be complimented on being smart and funny, but what about the stuff that REALLY matters - like our looks?****

Anyway, it does occur to me that we were probably a good 40 years younger than the median age of the person going into that rural fabric store. AND that the cell phone waves probably warped their brains and/or eyesight so that they couldn't see us well anyway. BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT. The point is, some half-blind guy who is used to looking at grannies thinks I'm worthy of being oogled.

Dream big, people. Because it could happen to you too!


*So that's actually where I met the guy that I'm dating now. For the sake of (almost) anonymity, I'll call him J. I am really enjoying my time with him. He has me laughing much of the time and when you combine that with the fact that he's a genuinely nice guy? Well, let's just say the only way I could like him more right now is if he fed me Reece's Pieces. He's supportive, sweet, thoughtful, and smart. I feel like I should throw in a disclaimer to say that I don't know him overly well, it's only been two months, that things could still go wrong and blah blah blah. But I don't really feel like qualifying it. While I'm not in love, I'm pretty darn happy dating him mostly because I actually ENJOY being around him. (gasp!) I look forward to the time that we spend together. It's like we're friends but with chemistry... and all I'm saying is that it's about frickin' time.

**Church might have more attendees if God would revisit His stance on waggling, hooting, and hollering. I'm just saying.

*** Clearly, the lesson here is that women are not people.

***Yes, yes. I'm kidding.

I see dead people...no really

So in January, I took a fantastic trip to go see my friends Ginger and Lisa in Dallas for a much awaited Girls' Trip. We had a heap of fun and I am really looking forward to the next trip!

At any rate, we went to Ikea on the trip and I found a really cool duvet cover. The duvet cover was a dark blue on one side and a bright green color on the other side. I thought it was quirky...but cool. It had two "people" on it and I thought that it was neat. The people looked like they were holding hands and sleeping...and I mean, how sweet is that?

So we got home from Ikea and I put the duvet cover down on the bed - spreading it out. At that point, I asked Ginger and Lisa if they thought it was cool or just a little TOO quirky. Ginger said something like, "I don't know...it's kind of creepy."

And that's when I saw it for what it was - it looked like two chalk outlines of people. Chalk outlines of DEAD PEOPLE. Did they die in a fire? Were they Branch Davidians? Maybe they had a gas leak in their home...WHO KNOWS.

So I decided that was more than a bit too creepy for me and decided to go about changing the duvet - but knew that I couldn't do it without my friend Kelly's help. Kelly is my best friend and is the one that made my fantastic quilt last year. I went to visit her this past weekend and making this duvet cover better was one of the many fantastic and fun things that we did. I even posed as one of the dead people (hey, beer may or may not have been involved) with her dog. Please note how bad her dog is at playing dead.

Anyway, after many beers and hours of sewing, we figured out a good solution. Tada!

It's no longer two dead people on each side. It's CHOPPED UP DEAD PEOPLE on each side. Way better, right?

Humming

OH MY GOSH.

First of all, my company won a free breakfast from Panera. I won't get into the details of how we won it (because it'd be easy to track which company I work for), but let's just say that I'm excited.

I love bagels AND they are providing coffee. I do love coffee; it tastes sooo good. It's rare that I have coffee though. First, since the quality of coffee in our lunchroom is equivalent to the toilet water in most prisons, I don't drink the coffee that's at my workplace. Second, I used to brew coffee at home, but when my house was on the market a few years ago, I realized that coffee smells in the home wasn't a great way to sell the house - so I got out of the habit of brewing coffee and into the habit of drinking a Coke Zero in the morning to wake up. Now, since my new place is itty bitty, I don't have room for a coffee maker (no really) so I have just stuck to my Coke Zero.

SO this morning I had my normal Coke Zero and because I had a bad headache, I also took some Excedrin. Excedrin has caffeine in it.

THEN I saw the bagels and coffee in the lunchroom.

I've had two mugs of coffee.

My body feels like it's shaking and humming. I feel like a spaz. I am acting like a spaz.

Just be thankful that this blog post didn't come out with all of the words in all caps and jumbled together BECAUSETHAT'SWHATIWANTEDTODO.

I've created a MONSTER

So...Chassis is fine. After blood tests and urine tests, we've found out that she just had one heck of a bladder infection. She's been on meds (again) since last Wednesday and as of tonight will be on a new set of meds for the next few weeks. They'll test her again next week to make sure that the infection is going away and then after that, I may be able to convince the bank to let me keep my house.

Alright. I'm kidding. But let's just say that if you want to buy plasma, I have some I'd be up for selling really cheap.

The great news is that the antibiotics this time around are really strong. And in case you didn't know this, that means that she could have diarrhea. And in case you didn't know, diarrhea from a 175 pound dog is, in a word, absolutelyfreakindisgusting.

SO to counteract that, she needs to eat food with her meds. It's hard to get a 175 pound dog to do anything she doesn't want to do - and eating is one of those things. So I've discovered some great treat options to throw in her food bowl so that she'll eat the treats and the food. Yay team!

But now comes the problem of getting the meds in her mouth. One of the best ways I've found is to slather these two huge pills in peanut butter and then plop it in her mouth.

It's important to note these two things:
1. Chassis does not enjoy having things shoved in her mouth, so she's quick to spit it out.
2. Holding her mouth closed so she swallows is effective, but it's kind of like a test of wills. She doesn't want to swallow and I want her to. She will stand there for 15 minutes with it in her mouth, not swallowing JUST BECAUSE SHE CAN.

Because of the standoff, she has learned that she doesn't like to take her pills. BUT she does love the taste of peanut butter.

So our twice daily routine is this:
1. I encourage Chassis to get up from sleeping to get a treat.
2. She raises her head and looks at me.
3. I encourage her further (note: this usually means using a higher tone of voice such that my neighbors will start to wonder if Minnie Mouse is at my house).
4. She eventually gets up and lumbers towards me.
5. I get the peanut butter/pill combo at the ready.
6. I take a deep breath, put her in a weird headlock, and try with all my might to pry her jaws open. This is usually accompanied with me praying/pleading with Chassis to please just open her mouth.
7. Chassis smells the peanut butter and because she loves the taste of it, she starts drooling. Profusely.
8. My hands, after being lubricated with slobber, start slipping over her mouth and mouth flaps*...my grip starts to falter!
9. Chassis, sensing weakness, will try to squirm from the headlock position, making peanut butter smear all over her face and/or what I'm wearing.
10. Repeat steps 6-9.

Eventually after several shots of alcohol, lots of cursing, and a little crying, the pills actually manage to get in her mouth and she swallows them.

In case you're wondering, it is exactly the amount of fun you think it is.


*Mouth flaps are my way of describing her lips....they're actually flaps of lip material that completely cover (aka flap over) her bottom jaw when her mouth is closed.