What the hell am I doing on this blog again?
I thought Mom turned in the keys to this old jalopy?
And what's up with this CornBread-19 thing? I personally love CornBread, but I've never been allowed to have 19 of them unless no one was looking. And I don't see what the fuss is all about, except it means my Hoomans are home constantly, and a girl can't get a decent haircut anymore.
Mom tried to do Eddie's hair once upon a time, but decided there are certain DIYs that she's not cut out for. You see what I did there? So, like an actual smart person, she donated the doggie clippers...about five minutes before the CornBread-19 thing started heating up. And my beauty shop shut down.
But I'm a hairy beast and I need some attention!
For the love of Dog. She bought more clippers. I'm doomed.
Woof. I am Gracie.
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Hello, my people!
Are you still there?
Are you keeping your fingers out of other people's noses?
Are you refraining from licking the canned corn at Wal-Mart?
Are you dug in like an Alabama tick? We are! Like two of them, actually, and getting fatter by the minute. I expect us to burst any moment now.
I know I've been absent for a very long time, and I was doubtful I would ever be back. But, circumstances dictate otherwise!
A couple years ago, I went back to work full-time, and that was the beginning of the steady decline of this here little piece of heaven on earth. But, since the worldwide CoronaCation has begun, I find myself with extra wine on my hands, and the need to boss Philly around. Fear not! I'm using my powers for good!
While I'm still working full-time (from home), I can start my day much earlier, because I no longer have a commute, and showers are optional. My bras are all on sabbatical until this is over. As are all depilatory devices. My moustache/nose hair combo should be in full bloom by the time I go back to the office. I can't wait.
But hey! Let's talk about how to build a wall! Actually, there are a ton of tutorials out there for doing what we did, and this is nothing original. Just like those thin mint cookies I just ate. Seriously. What happened to those?
Some of you remember where this wall started. A long time ago.
Awww...Eddie's rope toy! Miss you, buddy!
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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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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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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 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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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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