Tuesday - Safe and Sound

Update!
Cutie pie Tuesday has been safely returned home to his owners! Husband called the vet, the vet did a 3-way call to the owners, and the owners did a happy dance when they heard the good news.

Turns out, Tuesday's real name is Leo and he lives about 6 houses down the street. Tuesday, I mean Leo, decided to dig his way under the fence and into freedom... even if that freedom only lasted a mere 6 hours... in a strange bathroom.

Happy trails, Tuesday. Perhaps we shall meet again.

Tuesdays with Morrie...Tuesday?

This morning was like every other typical workday morning: I hit the snooze button for an hour, Husband grumbles that he doesn't care what time it is, and we both roll around until 8:00 AM or so when we finally decide to throw ourselves out of bed. Okay so wait, it wasn't typical... Husband decided NOT to get out of bed when I did and proclaimed he was working from home today. Okay fine. Nothing out of the ordinary - he does that sometimes.

I left the house around 9:00 and started driving down the road. "Shit. It's trash day. Oh well." Husband always seems to pick Tuesdays to stay home. And he's the unofficial-official trash-taker-outer. So I figured we'd have a smelly garage for another week. Which really wouldn't matter anyway because I'm a little nuts when it comes to air fresheners, like so nuts that we actually have one in the garage. I don't know any other garage in America with an air freshener, but I'll tell you what - it's kinda nice to breathe in "clean mountain spring air" instead of stank ass rotten chicken. I bet you want one in your garage now too, don't you? Thank you Frebreze.

Husband called around 10:00 AM, I figured to say that he had joined the rest of the working world, but instead he called to tell me that he took out the trash. Excellent! And found a dog. Whaaaat??!

Apparently some little black lab puppy (6-8 months old, we'd guess) came bouncing up to Husband and was just like "hey what's up." So Husband looked around to see if bouncy puppy had a bouncy owner perhaps. No, no bouncy owner. Hmmm. So, like I said, Husband called me to ask WTF to do. He made a make-shift leash with some rope and just tied it to his collar and started to walk him around the neighborhood.

"He needs a name," husband said.

"Tuesday. His name is Tuesday," I said while giving myself an imaginary pat on the back for being so damned creative.

So now Tuesday is hanging out in my master bath eating some Beneful (because I'm also so damned nice and brought some nom noms home from the Target for him) and is completely pissing off the kittehs. They are like "WTF is in my bathrooms?! He better not gets teh toona nom noms. Teh toonas are not for sharing. Especially not with doof dog."

So now we have pissed off Murdoch, confused Moose, and happy Tuesday hanging out at home with Work-From-Home Husband. And I'm here. At work. Blogging about the ridiculousness. What the hell do I do with a Tuesday?

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful

Husband and I traveled to Greenwood, SC last weekend to see our friends Emily & Michael that recently moved there. [We miss them dearly and secretly hope they come back to Charleston. Immediately.]

On our 3 hour trek to what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, we got a little stir crazy. GPS took us through some Podunk town called Saluda. The only thing is Saluda was a rape van...
As soon as Husband and I saw the rape van parked in someone's front yard with a big "for sale" sign stuck to the front windown, we both, in unison, proclaimed "Hey, we could buy that rape van!" Then we looked at each other, furrowed our brows and grunted. Does that mean we have to buy it then??

So after driving through miles of nothing, we eventually were spit out into the middle of Greenwood. Who knew? We got the grand tour of their new home and then they left. Michael the denist got called in to work for a few minutes, so they both had to leave as soon as we got in. We didn't mind... there was beer in the fridge. So Husband and I crack open some beers and head to the back porch. Of course I had to have a coozie for my beer... it's only right. I gave them away as favors at my own wedding for Christ's sake. I have to have a coozie. So I take it upon myself to rummage through every drawer in the kitchen in search of the perfect coozie. And wouldn't you know it? They actually have a whole drawer devoted to coozies. Hooray! So I rummage... and I dig all the way to the back because I could see a bottle coozie in hot pink. Oh that shit is MINE. So I grab it, and cock my head at it because it actually reads:

Now this coozie is right up my ally! Emily hadn't even used it though! There was still a little piece of styrofoam inside. I figured she wouldn't mind if I broke it in for her. I told Husband it was probably a gag gift from someone because that just wasn't an Emily-type of coozie [read: Emily is classy. Me, not so much.]

They arrived back home in no time and came to find us enjoying their beer on their back porch. Hey, you don't have to tell us twice to make ourselves at home.

I proudly showed Emily the ridiculous coozie I pulled from her coozie drawer and she doubled over in hysterical laughter. Whaaaat??

"I BOUGHT THAT FOR YOU!!!" Bahahahahaha!!!

Oh.my.god. I cracked up. So basically, I dug through her 25+ coozies, scouted out the most ridiculously tacky one I could find, claimed it as my own and then I was told it was actually purchased for me because I'm THAT TACKY. Ha. And how appropriate is it that I would find the dumbest coozie in the whole bunch.

I used that tacky shit all over town and proudly displayed my hot pink beer holder to everyone who would glance my way.

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, hate me because your boyfriend thinks so!

The Chomp Chain

I know, I know, I've been MIA and it's completely unacceptable. I blame my job 100% for throwing me the most bat.shit.crazy week of my life last week. I think I had a nervous breakdown on Wednesday. Here's hoping that this week I make it to at least Thursday.
Whatever.. that's [somewhat] irrelivant as it's not really fun news and doesn't have a damn thing to do with the chomp chain.

So... the chomp chain. Okay, so I'm a big nerd. Seriously. I had to pause Dr. Mario on gray-box Nintendo 3 years ago so that my [now] husband could propose to me. I play old school video games way more than any give 26 year old working woman should. We even have those Gamer Chairs that rock [literally, like back-and-forth, not like "ohmygah, these chairs are awesome," I mean, they are awesome, but they rock too...] and we have wireless controlers.

So... the chomp chain... I'll get to my point. Just give me a few more paragraphs. We have Wii. [That's a hilarious sentence.] And on Wii, there is a game called Mario Party. For those of you unfortunate enough to have not yet experienced the Mario Party, let me explain:

First, you get a group of 4 nerds, such as Nic, Husband, Brudder & Billy.
Then you fix your drink of choice.
Then you fight for a Gamer Chair.
Then you select your stupid little character.
And then, you guys all race around this little e-board and challenge each other in little mini-duals.
One such dual is quite possibly the most foul thing to hit Nintendo in all it's 20+ years of life.

What is this dual?
None other than Scrubbin' the Chomp Chain.

You remember the chomp chain, right? It's that scary cannon ball with teeth tied to a chain. He tries to bite your ass every time you get near him.
Okay, so the idea of the game is to wash off as much paint as you can - apparently a group of a-hole paint-ballers attacked the chomp chain and now he's a rainbow of disaster. Why you actually want to get him clean after he's been trying to attack you all these years is beyond me.
And how might you clean the chomp chain, you ask?

You totally bust out your best jack-off motion. I shit you not. The faster you can jam your Wii remote up-and-down, the faster you clean your dirty little chomp chain and the closer you are to victory [and perhaps orgasm. Hey, whatever floats your boat, right?]

Funny how a man always seems to win at this challenge.

So needless to say, this ridiculous little game became a topic of conversation at a happy hour a few weeks ago, and now it's one big running joke. Think of every bad phrase you have for whacking off... and now add one more: scrubbin' the chomp chain.

Ugh.

And on a side note, our friends Richard & Angel just got back from NYC and visited Nintendo World. And can you guess what they brought back for us as soveigners?? CHOMP CHAIN key chains!

Bahahaha.

I'm a nerd. One big chomp chain scrubbin' nerd.