Fail

You know you've become a lazy (lousy) housekeeper when you have to use a Clorox wipe to clean off the Clorox toilet wand before you use it because it's just too gross to touch. Eww.

Over the Beagle Limit

Daisy usually likes having her picture taken but, like Bruce, she does NOT like having her sleep disturbed. Especially if it's just so I can blind her with the flash. She has been my victim ever since I got my new camera and she's tired of the "momarazzi".

So like I said, the vet tells me she has an anxiety disorder. I did indeed tell him it was probably some sort of puppy PTSD, or Beagle Bipolar. Hehehe. But it goes so far beyond that with this dog. She's dumb. In fact, she's a complete moron. I have never before met a dog that can fall up the same three stairs every day no matter what. Up the stairs, mind you. Today she went to get out of Bruce's new truck and snout planted on the driveway. Right now she has a giant sticky spot of barbecue sauce on her noggin from a rib I tossed to her. Needless to say she can't catch.

Daisy also has this terrible habit of dumpster diving. Well not actually dumpster diving because our dumpster is far too tall for her to get into. Though I do see her eyeing it occasionally like she'd really like to try scaling it. But she does go through every other trash container in the house including the one in the bathroom. She's a crafty little pooch. The can in the bathroom has a pedal, a vintage beauty can from about 1950. I assumed that because it was stainless steel and had a pedal that she wouldn't be able to get into it. She can't figure out how to climb stairs but she sure as hell figured out how to open the trash can! And if she finds something really yummy in the trash, she likes to take it in the bedroom and roll on it. On the bed. And she prefers...ahem..unmentionables.

In spite of the fact that she currently reeks of garbage, pee, and just general dirty dog, she has decided that she loves me and I love her back. Since Bruce works days and I teach at night, Daisy and I get a lot of quality time during the day. Basically we're left alone together far too often. Note the orange claws. They were lavendar last week.

"And three little lines..."

I'm not allowed to measure things in our house. Mostly because of the incident with the stairs but also because one time Bruce asked me how long something was and I said, "14 inches and one...two...three little lines." Apparently that was not the right answer.

We also learned I have zero depth perception to go along with my masterful measuring skills. Bruce asked me to cut out a piece of plywood to make the new landing for the attic stairs. I was very proud of myself when I measured and drew out the whole thing since it has a ton of angles and corners in order to fit around doors and walls. Apparently, even though I followed the rules and "measured twice to cut once" my measuring skills are so horrid that when we went to lay down the cut board it didn't fit. At all. In any way. In fact it looked like a dyslexic blind toddler cut it. Seven cuts later Bruce jammed it into place and we don't talk about it. Ever.

In February Bruce was getting ready to fly to San Diego for business. I helped him pack his suitcase with the suit we scrambled to get (that's a whole other story) and the 500 other things he needed. By the time we were finished the thing weighed a ton and Bruce was sitting down to do his pre check-in thingy online. Apparently it asks how heavy your checked bags are. Approximately.

I lifted it by the handle, thought for a second and said, "It's approximately two Daisies heavy."

What fresh hell is this...

This is today's project. Eventually this room will be Bruce's man cave but for now it's a breeding ground for mold. It's also apparently the room where coolers go to die since we found three of them in there, none of which belong to us.

Daisy was not at all pleased that we were once again moving her dirt. The vet tells me that she's got an anxiety disorder. I told him it's probably puppy PTSD from the number of times we've dropped construction materials on her because she refuses to wear a hard hat.

So the goal today was to rip out the remaining drywall and the nasty, moldy pink insulation which was going quite smoothly until Bruce pulled down a strip of insulation and found this:

And yes, it's live. So Bruce goes to get his little magic wand that tests the wires. Not only is that random mess of wires live but so is the electrical outlet we found buried behind the drywall on the opposite side of the room.

Bruce calls this his concerned face. Obviously he's far more used to this than I am. I'm all hyperventilaty like, "We almost died in a fire!" And since we watch way too much Holmes on Homes, I yelled, "That is SO not up to code!"

Bruce then decided we should cut the power to the room before we finished the demo since I have a bad habit of hurting myself while working on the house and I'm thinking he was picturing me accidentally jamming the crowbar into a live wire and just...yeesh.

There's a nice handy electrical breaker in the garage that's labeled "Room Above Garage" so Bruce ran down to trip the breaker. The funny part of this is that none of the four breakers actually turned the bedroom off. After a bit of finkling around (yes, that's a real word. Because I said so.)it was determined that the breaker that actually turned off the bedroom was the breaker for our bathroom...all the way across the hall...which we also discovered powers our hallway light in the stairwell. And the outlet in the garage that the compressor is plugged into. Oops. So basically our shitter was powering the air tools. Who says you can't power machines with methane?

Bruce: You've got to be kidding me. You've got to be kidding me!
Me: Honey, have you met this house? It's so not kidding.

So while Bruce continued to mutter about "what kind of idiots pull this shit when building a house", I went downstairs and threw the giant pile of garbage in the dumpster. At least now we won't die in a fire.

"I just bought a bag for my balls.."

Last week Bruce's beloved Chevy Tahoe bit the dust. We went and shopped around until he found the love of his life: a hooker red Toyota Tundra. Since he has a boat a trailer hitch is a necessary accessory for his new toy and this morning he was laying in bed looking up hitches on the internet.

"Hey look at this. They have a section that's simply called 'Balls'. Hehehe."
Of course I giggled because come on, that's funny.

After deciding on a hitch he turns to me and says, "Look, I even got a bag for my balls."
It's a good thing I was finished with my tea by the time that gem came out of his mouth.