Greetings, blog people!
I'm a Scorpio, and I love long walks through the neighbors' lawns where I can poop in large quantities so they know I've been thinking about them.
And exactly what I've been thinking about them.
AND, if the vet has it right, and I'm really nine years old, that would put me in the Year of the Ox on the Chinese zodiac.
Silence, whippersnappers.
Mom's friend (the other Andrea) asked why she hasn't posted on the blog in a long time, and Mom blamed it on...whatever.
Then there was something about no motivation or inspiration. And some crap about candy. So her friend sent her this:
Mom felt so inspired that she promptly started to eat the candy and told ME to write a post or she'd make me live outside the rest of my life. Without candy.
Woof. I am Gracie.
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Upholstery is not my forte.
Did you know forte is pronounced "fort," and not "for-tay"? While "for-tay" is a widely-accepted pronunciation, if you love being right (at the cost of your only friend thinking you are an idiot), pronounce it "fort." It's a great conversation starter.
It's really not a great conversation starter.
Wine. Wine is a great conversation starter. Especially if you are talking to yourself. I have tons of experience with this, so let me know if you need some pointers.
I bought this chair ra-cheer.
I'm pointing out the three-year layer of dust, because people always seem to notice it anyway, and think I'm completely oblivious. I just want you to know I totally notice this stuff after I take pictures of it, and I still post it for billions of people to see.
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How excited are you to see my laundry room? You're SUPER excited, you say?
Have you no life?
If you missed part one, you can see it HERE!
I did things a little bassackwards with this project, in that I showed you part of the finished product prior to demonstrating the carnival of chaos this room once was.
But here's a little glimpse of cuteness before we get to that:
You're in for a treat, because it looked so much worse before.
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Hello, and a warm welcome to new readers! Old ones, too, right?
It's no secret that with pretty much everything I do, I enjoy it more once I've established a deep, meaningful relationship with someone in my current wine collection.
Well, the cat's out of the bag meow, at any rate.
We've put the finishing touches on our tiny laundry room, and I'm going to share my cabinet with you today. While it's not technically a liquor cabinet, I suppose you could use it in any capacity you see fit. I'm actually using it for its intended purpose, which is to hold laundry stuff, because I don't need to hide my alcohol yet.
There are lots of cute laundry décor ideas out there, but none of them really suited my fancy, so I made up my own.
You may be picking up on a theme on this blog.
Most laundry loads are broken out into two major categories, right? Whites (or lights) and darks.
It just so happens my wines of choice are broken out in the exact same way! I decided to incorporate my favorite drinking buddies into my laundry design. I really don't think it's that much of a stretch.
But that might be the wine talking.
Here's what I came up with:
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My Reesie-Pie just turned one year old. That's twelve months in baby years. I just turned five hundred sixty-nine months, in case you were wondering. I'll wait while ya'll get your calculators out.
She's growing so fast! Isn't she beautiful? Grandi thinks so, too.
Of course we had a smash cake, but more on that later. Can we have a year in review? Because I certainly don't know where the time has gone!
The day she was born. Be still my heart.
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Holy dog poop.
Mom hasn't let me write a blog post since March.
MARCH, I SAY!
But I got sick. So she's feeling a little sorry for me. As she should.
Woof. I am Gracie.
It all started on Labor Day weekend. I was minding my own business, chasing down unsavory characters in the neighborhood (my usual daily enterprise). I felt fine during the day, but in the middle of the night, I became afflicted with nausea. Naturally, I vomited on the blanket covering Mom and Dad. But I was quiet and stealthy in my vomiting, because I didn't want to disturb them.
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Hello and welcome back!
If you're joining us late, you can catch up on part one of the guest bathroom HERE.
For those us who haven't already had too much to drink this morning, you might remember we left off with the vanity Phil built for The Room Where Dad Poops Every Morning.
It looks totally amazing.
But this is NOTHING compared to how this room looks now!
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Greetings! I've been absent. During that absence, I switched my e-mail subscriptions over to Mailchimp, and I don't know if those apes will successfully deliver this post. To anyone. Ever. Let me know, will ya?
In the meantime, I'll endeavor to write a read-worthy post and pretend there is someone out there who will at least take a peek. Otherwise, what's the point?
We've been living in our new home nearly four years now, and our guest bathroom is still unfinished. While that might sound like a terrible inconvenience, no one really likes us enough to want to be our guest in the first place. Probably because we make you bring your own beer, wine, and food, and insist you bring us a supply as well. (I like any Sauvignon Blanc as well as Apothic Dark for future reference.)
Or, perhaps it's because Gracie refers to the guest bathroom as "The Room Where Dad Poops Every Morning."
That's right. There's a toilet, but unless you want to wash your hands in the bathtub (or in the toilet you just defiled), you must find an alternative soap-and-water source.
So, why does Philly poop here instead of in our beautiful master bath? It's simple. There are two creatures indigenous to this particular bathroom that are terribly important to his "process."
First? The Squatty Potty (or, as I call it, the poop stool--which is a bit redundant and makes me giggle). Second is Mr. Kindle, upon which Philly ruthlessly battles Spider Solitaire while taking care of business.
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I can admit it.
I've been letting Gracie do all the heavy lifting around here lately. What little lifting has been done, anyway.
Phil and I tend to hibernate over the winter and lose all motivation to do anything and everything.
Except eat. We never lose motivation to eat. Because there's delicious wintertime comfort food to be had, and we look forward to putting on our thirty pounds of winter fat.
Each.
At least it gives us something to bitch about come springtime.
Nevertheless, I will continue to let Gracie have the run of the blog whenever she feels compelled; but, in the meantime, I have a furniture makeover for you today! And it's about bloody time, because it's for Reese, and she's already seven months old.
Holy poop-filled diapers. How did that happen so quickly? And why am I so late with this project?
Before you know it, Reese will be old enough to see that her Grandi occasionally swears on the blog.
In my defense, the kids have been renovating an old house and they are finally getting ready to move in. So, as far as I'm concerned, I'm not late at all, because I'm a wizard. And, as we all know, a wizard is never late, nor is she early. She arrives precisely when she means to.
Now, onto the buffet.
Only the finest for my grandnugget.
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I know. I know.
Mom promised you a furniture post, but like the good ratter I was bred to be, I nosed my way in yet again.
Personally, I find the title of this post rude and offensive. Psycho Dog. As if.
First of all, I'm not a D-O-G. I'm a Schnauzer. You didn't know there is a difference? Yes. There's a great difference.
Also, Mom happens to think I'm a complete psycho when I'm in the car. I think I'm completely amazing.
Woof. I am Gracie.
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I hope you're enjoying my taking over Mom's blog as much as I am. I also hope she trims my toenails soon, because it's becoming increasingly difficult to type.
She swears (a lot) that she's going to post a furniture project again soon (for that Reese-Baby, no less), but I just happen to be providing convenient blog fodder for the moment.
Woof. I am Gracie.
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"I've been taking up every spare moment of Mom's time."
This is the lie Mom wants me to tell you so you're not mad at her for being absent from the interwebs since before December. Instead, she wants you to blame ME for her truancy. Moi. Gracie. Because I'm a dog, and she doesn't think I'm capable of revealing that lie to you gracious and kindhearted folks.
Oh. And she's going to force me to tell you a couple stories I'd rather not discuss.
Because they made me get in trouble.
Woof. I am Gracie.
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My bladder has gone rogue. I had surgery almost four weeks ago, and I still leak piddle like a sieve, and I'm so embarrassed. I heard Mom say diaper the other day, and I don't think she was talking about the Reese-Baby.
Speaking of the Reese-Baby, Mom made this adhorrible picture of me and the Reese-Baby all smooshed together. We are a few of her favorite things, so let's see what we look like as a dog-baby stew, right?
She calls it Grace-Swap. She thinks she's so clever.
Woof. I am Greecie.
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Whoa. Thank goodness you're here.
I made two very important stops the other month. The purpose of those stops will reveal itself shortly.
Do you remember this?
And this?
Yeah, I'm way fatter than that now. What did you expect? My granddaughter was ready to come bursting forth from the womb at the moment I began typing this. And I've been gaining gran-pathy fat.
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I want to eat The Cat.
I want to eat The Cat so badly I think she would be the tastiest of morsels.
My cat-eating plans continue to be thwarted.
So I will wait. I will be patient, even though that is not in a Schnauzer's nature. I will give Mom, Dad, and Cat a false sense of security.
Then I will make my oh-so-delicious move.
Woof. I am Gracie.
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It's obvious when a bowl is empty, right?
It's a basic assumption we can recognize an empty bowl when we see one. Sometimes that empty bowl will stare us in the face, and yet, we look beyond it.
At other times, that empty bowl will slap us in the face and demand to be recognized.
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It's officially mimosa time.
Why does everyone say "sip mimosas"? I heard these words fall out of my own mouth, and the lie echoed loudly in my ears. Let's slam mimosas. Because at least that has the ring of truth to it.
And I'll have none of that pulpy orange juice. If it doesn't flow willingly down the gullet, it tends to slow down (and, thus, ruin) the experience.
Better yet, let's make mimosas with apple cider, vodka, and bubbly. Because fall has arrived. My daughter, Emma, found this recipe and we had to try it out. Yum yum.
I love drinking with children.
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Hello, and welcome to my wall! I like to call it the vomit wall, but I thought you might not have come for a visit had I called it so.
I'm quite sure you're all familiar with the gallery wall concept. I'm not plowing any new ground here, except for that in my own home. If you're unfamiliar with this ingenious design concept, you won't be for long.
If you are a minimalist and hate this type of design, continue at your own risk. You've been duly warned.
The purpose of this project was not to hide my big-ass TV. Or even my big ass. I've read quite a few posts on TV gallery walls, and the reason for their gallery was to "hide, camouflage, or disappear" the flat-screen.
Unless you hang a whale on the wall in front of my TV, you're going to see it.
Personally, I don't mind the big black blob on the wall. It helps me see Chris Hemsworth better. I do mind the endless space around the big black blob. It's a blah blob.
Bob Loblaw Law Blog. You, sir, are a mouthful.
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I don't know how to begin this post. I suppose I will simply begin writing, and the words will come.
Some of you are aware I became a grandmother last week.
(I'll pause here a moment to bask in the warmth of your disbelief.)
I don't know how it happened, but somewhere between sleeping and waking, this sweet baby boy grew up. Not that he had far to go, mind you. I swear he was using my uterus as a frat house, since he came out mostly grown at ten pounds, ten ounces.
Twenty-five years ago.
Toting an empty beer bottle.
While driving a car.
Blasting AC/DC.
And sporting tats.
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Phil's out playing with his deck again. By himself. Where everyone can see.
As if the neighbors didn't have enough to complain about.
Here's where we left off with our $437,000 deck:
What's that? You don't think it looks like a $437,000 deck? In all honesty, neither do I. Except for this next bit.
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