Keeping up with the Joneses

Scott: The neighbors are peeping toms.
Kate: You don't think they're just looking at the rain?
Scott: No, they have big windows for that. They were watching me.
Kate: Did they catch you picking your nose?
Scott: Maybe.
Kate: Did you get a good one?
Scott: I was going to, but they were looking at me. It ruined the mood.
Kate: You'll get your mojo back, just wait.

By any other name...

Les Fleurs

A short list of projects needed to complete our home

Range vent hood
Garage door openers (2)
Gutters (?)
Master bathroom/closet
Servants' quarters
S&M dungeon
Holo-deck

I may have been improvising a bit there towards the end.

Obsession for Dogs

Blueberry?

Kate: You wash the windows and re-trim the door and weed the flower beds and water the lawn and work and I sit on my ass and read books.
Scott: I don't have a problem with that; just you do.
Kate: Yes, I do. And I'm growing into a giant frantic guilt-muffin.
Erin: Mmmm, muffin.

Veni Legi Vici Scholarship Foundation Annual Book Sale

The book sale this year was a tremendous success! Huge thank yous to all of those who donated books, hauled books, packed books, sold books, watched my nephews, and fed me during three days of book insanity. We did it!

Henry, of course, was a HUGE help. He counted books, made change, sold a book for A BILLION DOLLARS!, and was an all around sweet guy all weekend. Good job, buddy.

Photo credit goes to Kyle, brother-in-law extraordinaire. Thanks, man, for all your help.

Pedicure, doggy-style

Kate: "Scott, stop it. That's disgusting."
Scott: "It's only gross when he sticks his tongue between my toes."
Kate: "Not when he's chewing on your toenails?"
Scott: "No. But I wish he'd get his fangs under 'em and clean some of that junk out of there. Good boy, Hopkins."

A very, very, very fine house

So, I've had a few days off, and I needed a project.

Building this doghouse began as a very simple project, necessitating the use of very simple tools. Then Scott got involved (does this sound familiar?), and it became far more complicated (I'm talking to you, DAD). Then we had to insulate, and use the table saw, and fashion outlookers and fascia and drip edge. Then it had to match the house. These boys and their T&A. It's just a damn doghouse.

So here it is. Mr. Hopkins's house. He's been in it for a grand total of fifteen seconds. But it was a great fifteen seconds, let me tell you.

Not tutored?

The vet told us to restrict Mr. Hopkins's activity for 5-7 days. Right. Notice how crunched up and filthy his collar is - and this picture was taken two hours after we left the vet's office. "Oh, I just had major surgery? Really? Why haven't you thrown that ball yet? Play? Play?! PLAY, DAMN YOU!"

Five to seven days? Not on your life.

Masochism, defined

When in areas to which you are not native, or with which your digestive system is not thoroughly acquainted, it is in your best interests to order your meat products medium-cooked, if not well-done. However, when the meat product in question is a bacon-wrapped tenderloin with potato pie and spiced spinach, and you have already consumed more than your fair share of $15 glasses of sangiovese, it is understandably hard to resist ordering it bloody. Not rare, bloody.

In the car yesterday, between bouts of stomach cramps and vile asphyxiating gas (I was not driving because it was imperative for me to concentrate on not crapping my pants), I suggested to Scott that I would happily undergo another four days of this torture for just a few more bites of that delicious steak. God, it was good.

A short list of things Hopkins ate while on vacation in Arizona:

a pen
a stick
several rocks of varying sizes
a small notebook with "Red Feather Lodge" letterhead
a cigar butt (short, but not too big around)
several cigarette butts
a medium-sized piece of discarded drywall
dog poop
several of his own puppy teeth
a prickly pear cactus
Erin
an apple
half of a package of fig newtons (original flavor)

Oh my heck!

When I'm in Utah, I have a compulsion to drop the f-bomb more than usual. Also, "Goddamnit!" and "Shitballs!"

Dog Park!

We took Mr. H. to the dog park in Heritage Park today - and he loved it! I didn't think that he could be so well behaved off-leash, but he acted like a shy little boy the whole time we were there. He came when we called, he fetched, he didn't jump on small children. So proud.

Boob Tube

In our hotel room here in Prescott, AZ, we have two televisions. Two. Why they would ever think that two televisions are necessary in a room smaller than my kitchen is beyond me. We've been stuck here for four days and Scott doesn't want to drive the rental car because he's afraid that the wheels are going to fall off (which is not an unfounded fear, let me tell you - we actually stopped between Tusayan and Prescott to have the front tires put on the back just in case they decided to blow up in the middle of the highway); Erin doesn't want to leave the hotel room because, well, she's twelve, and there are TWO TELEVISIONS, for the love of God. Oak Creek Canyon is just down the road, and a ghost-town called Jerome, as well as the gimp zoo, and a whole slew of museums. But, no. We must stay here. With the televisions.

I've tried to hide from them. I tried taking a long bath, because the bathtub in this hotel is not scary like the one at the Red Feather *shudder*, but the tub here is very shallow and once I've gotten into a comfortable position, I'm mostly just soaking my butt while everything else freezes. I've tried to ignore it. I've tried reading my book under a pillow. Nothing works.

Erin has watched the same episode of The Penguins of Madagascar at least six times in the last three days. Also Sponge Bob and Homeward Bound (with the talking dogs), in addition to a bunch of ultra-snotty teeny-bopper shows on Nick. And Scott, my wonderful husband who I thought would be immune to its evil snare, must have the television on. Today he is watching golf. GOLF. There is no love for golf in our home. None of us have ever played golf, or will ever play golf, or watch golf, or read about golf, or care about golf. When I asked why in the hell he was watching golf, Scott said: "But there's nothing else on."

So, um, turn it off?