Munsch on this, Shopaholic...

Good Families Don't bribe each other with gifts or promises of Something Good . You can paint your house however you want, Purple, Green, and Yellow, for all I care, but all I see is WHITE! You can Show and Tell your story to the world, throw yourself in a Mud Puddle, or even refuse to Get Out of Bed, but it doesn't change the fact that I am NOT coming when it is 50 Below Zero. Now, if you don't stop with the Murmel, Murmel, Murmel, you will have to Wait and See if I will EVER come visit you!

Now I Have To Go because I am supposed to see you tomorrow in Atlanta and I have NO CLEAN CLOTHES to pack and I'm So Embarrassed that my house looks like Pigs! live there.

And yes, Shopaholic, I know A Promise is a Promise and I promise that I will Love You Forever
From Far Away, but you are always in my heart.

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Trump that, Shopaholic. I know my Munsch!

For the love of sand...

My dear darling older sister, whom I will call "Shopaholic", misses me very much. She lives WAAAYYYY up in Indy away from me. And she has been begging me to visit for the past year. I actually planned to go--even looked up plane tickets for February. Then yesterday, my dear, well-intentioned sister posted a new blog. She meant the blog to be a cutesy idea of what her dogs are like in the winter. So, I'm reading and scrolling down, and suddenly--this picture fills my screen:

THIS IS MY SISTER'S FRONT YARD. And I was like, seriously? She wants me to come THERE to THAT? You see, I live in sunny Florida. THIS is MY town in January:

Tough choice, isn't it?!?

Battle of the Pink Bow...

For those of you who have the joy of owning a small pup, please meet Sophie.

Sophie is my almost two-year-old Yorkie (and, boy, is she in the terrible twos!) She refuses to be fully potty-trained. Oh, she'll stay outside for two hours, but when she comes back in, she runs to the puppy pad to relieve herself. Doesn't matter if I beg or plead or bribe her. She does as she pleases. And I relent. Just as I relented and gave up trying to crate train her. Just as I relented and finally allowed her on the furniture (thanks, Sara, for teaching her to jump!). Just as I relented and allow her to think she is a cat and eat cat food. She is simply too cute for her own good.

There is only one thing that I insist she does that she hates--the bow in her hair. Yorkies are adorable lap dogs. Yorkies are MEANT to have bows in their hair. They practically come out of the womb begging for you to tie their pretty hair up into a topknot and secure with a colorful bow. Sophie has worn hairbows since she was a teensy, tiny pup *flashback*

AWWWWW, she was so LITTLE! Anyways, ALL Yorkies love hairbows--hairbows are their crowning glory.

All Yorkies except Sophie, that is. Sophie HATES her hairbows. When I purchased my extravagantly expensive pup, I also purchased a surplus of tiny hair bows. I have hairbows in every color--purple, blue, pink, yellow, etc. I have swirly bows, sequined bows, double bows. Not too much to ask for a pup to comply to, right? I even take her to the "puppy spa" to get all decked out and beautified. Pretty nice Mommy, aren't I?

First thing when we get home, Sophie prances around and shows off her adorable cuteness. And then she does this:

And her Mommy rants and yells at her to stop, to which Sophie responds:

And then she ends up looking like this:

And Sophie's Mommy sighs and wonders why she pays good money to have her pedigree pup groomed to perfection when she would rather look like a puppy from the pound....so I give up the Battle of the Pink Bow for tonight. But the WAR continues tomorrow...maybe with a green bow....

to come...

My soul has been churning today...I got nothing done at work. I don't have time to blog right now as I'm off to say goodbye to a friend, but there is more to come...

Channeling one-eyed Jack...

So this lovely foggy morning, I hit snooze too many times and finally roll out of bed with twenty minutes to get to work. I jump in the shower for a quick perk-me-up and hurry to get dressed. The whole time, I'm trying to shake off the morning blurriness. I get dressed fast, cuddle my pup a sec so she won't think I've abandoned her yet again (although she's pretty happy cuz Mommy took her to the spa yesterday!), and rush out the door. Meanwhile, I'm still feeling all cock-eyed, out of sorts. I get down the road and am rubbing my eyes, thinking, Man, I've got to get more sleep cuz everything is fuzzy. Then it dawns on me--I'm missing a contact.

Now, for those of you who don't know, this is a bigger deal than one would think. Without my contacts, I can't see my hand in front of my face. I probably can't see past the windshield. However, I still have one contact in this morning, so that eye compensates and my world just appears in a sleep-deprived haze. Silly me realizes I slept in my contacts last night (something I never do) and woke up missing one (which is probably why I never sleep in them). But in my haste, I failed to put in a new pair. So I turned around and came back home. And since I'm already late to work at this point (note the clock says 9:04 a.m.), I figured, what the heck?, I'll blog.

I now have a renewed respect for Alisha's little one-eyed kitty, Monkey, whom we affectionately call one-eyed Jack. No wonder he seems a little slow--he's missing a contact.

Did I mention???

Did I mention Sundays are my favorite day of the week? As I sit at home on this Saturday night, I CANNOT wait for Sunday!

and so it begins....

Inspired by my much funnier sisters, I am entering the world of blogging. I delight in reading posts of others, so hopefully someone will have a smile from having a glimpse into my world. I am sitting at my computer, avoiding housework at all costs, listening to...well, let's just say Alisha is mad cause the season is technically over, but my cd's are still in the player. So Amy Grant is belting out "Sleigh Ride" in the next room. Haha, I love Christmas. Only eleven months from tomorrow, for all you who want a head start on the Christmas shopping!

Speaking of Alisha, she (my wonderful best friend) is also avoiding housework. She's napping. It's five p.m. on a Saturday night and we are at home with no plans. THAT's how you know you're getting old. Or tired. Haha...toldja my life was boring.