The Napkin Diaries

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.

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?

One of our first nights at the resort was spent exploring (it is unfair for you to assume I can keep track of the nights considering a drink was in at least one of my hands during almost every hour of every day). It was a bit maze-like and you can easily find yourself asking "how the hell did we end up here? And where the hell is here anyway?" We heard some music coming from somewhere, so we kinda bumbled toward the sound. We turned a corner, and all we see through a small doorway is a half-naked group of girls that moderately resemble the Pussycat Dolls.

Dave's response to the sight: Did we just find the strip club?!!

We would too. If ever there were a couple of maniacs to randomly stumble upon a strip club in the damn middle of a foreign country, it would totally be us. So, instinctively, we wiggled our way to the doorway to peek inside to see exactly what the hell was actually going on.

Not a strip club... but rather a mock performance by 5 mediocre Mexican girls. The "lead singer" did resemble the real PCD lead but the dancing was atrocious. They were all sloppy and droopy and off beat. Ugh. I could have done a much better job. And the thought did briefly cross my mind to march my tipsy ass up to the stage and push little miss "PCD Nicole" out of the way. After the bad rendition of the PCD group, oddly enough, a Michael Jackson rendition came on, which of course, turned out to be quite eery since he passed away the day after we saw the little skit. Weird, huh?

The following day, we relaxed out by the Snack Bar Pool and we happened to be sitting close to the cabana that housed all the yum-yums. Little did we know, this cabana belonged to a bird. A very angry, aggressive, pissed off bird. After reviewing his jerk-like characteristics, I appropriately named the little asshole none other than Jerk Bird. Man, Jerk Bird was pissed.off. If you were a bird, and you got anywhere near him, or his cabana, or any of the tables near his cabana, he would fly straight at you, get right up next to you, puff up, scream and flap his giant puffy wings until you got the hell out of his space. Jerk Bird was quite the jerk, indeed. And he had a very particular schedule. He'd fly in around 8:00 AM to clock in and he'd leave later in the day around 6:00 PM. Seriously. Mexico apparently hired the meanest crow (or something resembling a crow) they could find to watch over the Snack Bar to ensure no other bird came anywhere close. Oh, Jerk Bird. He was there everyday too. Occasionally, he'd take a break and hang out next to the pool and wiggle around in the water to take a bath. And on really special days, he'd poop in the pool right after he was done with that bath. Nice guy, huh? I bet Jerk Bird started Bird Flu with his pool-pooping antics. Jerk.
So the last topic of Blog 2 in the mini-series: Sake. We had made reservations at the Asian restaurant called Sensai on Night 2 or 3. I was having a hard time deciding what to drink. Beer was too heavy, I was sick of the fruity frozen shit and I wanted to catch a good buzz without too much effort. Therefore, the drink selection for the evening could only be one... or two... things: bitter house wine and bitter house sake. No delicious fruity flavors to mask the distinct afterbite that makes me involuntarily click my teeth either. The wine was basically straight vinegar and the sake, like all unflavored sake, tasted like hot vodka. We... no Husband... ended up making friends with the couple to our right. They were young and apparently were also looking to destroy their livers via sake shots. Every time the waiter came around, another round of sake came too. Husband talked sooo much. You know Husband is drunk when he busts out his bar stories... the rounds of sake were coming so much that I didn't realize the waiter had kindly placed a full shot glass conveniently behind my elbow. Apparently, I was going to grow fingers from my elbow and grab the glass, or so the waiter thought. Pfftt, no. I knocked my big ass elbow right into that sneaky little shot glass and poured the hot vodka right down the front of me. My blue/white striped dress because quite see-through in the white sections and my thighs were burning from the hottness... oh, and it looked like I peed myself. Moron. I opted not to tell anyone, but instead act as though I took the shot and carefully wrap my arms awkwardly around my middle. Riiiight. I eventually just started flapping my dress and grinding my napkin into it. And I just took more shots to forget that I cared that I looked like a dumbass. Husband continued to tell stories throughout dinner. From what I understand, he doesn't recall anything he ate, but remembered that it was good. How sad to not remember eating fried ice cream... damn you sake! *Shaking fist. We continued our binge right over into Onyx (the Privilege bar). And exactly how did I know when to stop our binge? When Husband thought we were in Barbados. "Husband, do you know where we are? I think we should call it a night... you seem... tired." Bah! As any good wife would do, I kindly reminded him of his little mishap with geography and ensured that he did in fact know we were in Mexico. Not Barbados. *Smirk

Up Next: Hottest Place on Earth & Extreme Zip Lines

I've accidentally (or completely purposefully) spoiled the crap out of my cats, Moose and Murdoch. The spoiling started with the occasional cat treats and little toy mice to play with and has somehow progressed to real tuna twice a day and live rodents to play with. I take full responsibility for the tuna (we will discuss the rodents momentarily). I introduced them to tuna once and that was that... now they scream at me in little cat meows that translate to "feed me noooooow. Too-naah noooooow." If the screaming doesn't work, then Moose will walk on my face or put his paw under my nose (my cat is trying to kill me). I'm not kidding, he will walk across my face, ensuring as many paws as possible draggg across my cheek, or he will trample my hair, or when I turn my head and make him walk aroun... I mean OVER me, he'll eventually get irritated enough that he'll just poke me on the nose with his little kitty paw and then just cover my nostrils completely and leave his paw there until I open my eyes, pet him, and immediately go to the kitchen to feel my poor little attention- and tuna-starved kittehs. Ohhh kittehs.

So, the whole live rodent thing. NOT my fault. I do not take responsibility for this one. Murdoch isn't nearly as interested in reptiles and insects quite as much as Moose. Murdoch will swat at something or put his paw on top of it and then call it a day and roll over on his back and demand bellyrubs; much like this little kitteh (except Murdoch is more of an economy-sized, 12 pounds of tuna-stuffed fat now, instead of a fun-sized ball of fluff):

Moosey Mooserton (Husband has actually made a little theme song for him so when he walks into the room, Husband is like "And now it is time for the Moosey Mooserton Shoooow! Starring Mooooseeey Mooooosterton! *Breaks into jingle... Ah dah dah de de dee dah dah dee dee dah dee!" And then sometimes he will bend over and wrap his hands around Moose's fat tuna-belly and make him hop up and down. It's sinfully entertaining.)

So, Moose likes live toys. And yesterday, he got to have a bit of an adventure...we all got to have a bit of an adventure... with a lizard. See, I let the little fatties out on our screened-in porch because they like to roll around in the sunshine and sit on the grill. I always try to check for giant bugs or lizards before I let them out because I really do not want those things coming inside. Two kittehs is enough pets for me. Do not need/want slimy or multi-legged pets also. Well, I didn't inspect the porch as much as I needed to because about 30 minutes later, Moose comes in with a dangly green lizard hanging from his mouth. Lizard lips. You'd think he would have learned from his last lizard incident not to bring them inside because last time, he wasn't biting the lizard... the lizard was biting him! But nooooo.
So I freak out, shriek, and throw myself in Moose's general direction with my finger perfectly poised in pry-open-mouth position. First try and I was able to free the lizard from Moose's jaw but I was not, however, quick enough to catch the little green bastard while trying to hold back two giant fat cats from chasing after it. Hell. Lizard loose in house. I shrug and say "Well, he'll eventually come out and hopefully when he does it'll be high enough for him not to get bitten by kittehs."
Well, I was correct in my statement. The little guy did come out of hiding after about 30 minutes and he was climbing up the corner of the wall next to our cabinets in the kitchen. This situation made it glaringly obvious that Husband and I aren't exactly stellar at coming up with reasonable plans while trying to think quickly on our feet. Nope.
So, okay, I see the lizard on the wall and say something like "ahh haa! He's come out!" And I walk toward the kitchen but I'm kinda panicky because I'm like "how do I catch him?! What if Moose jumps on the counter? What if the lizard jumps on me?!"
So Husband is like "Okay, get a cup and I'll go get one of those pieces of decorative bamboo and I'll use it to push him into the cup!"
Perfect!
So I hold the cup under the lizard and he runs higher up the wall. Uhhhh... now what? So I get up on the counter top and hold the cup under him while Husband just kind of shakes the bamboo stick in his direction as if he was trying to will him into the cup by waving a magical decorative bamboo stick. Right.
Well, it kind of worked because the lizard did turn to start coming back down the wall. Yes, he was aiming straight for the cup - perfect.
Orrrr not.
He aimed for the cup, but then opted for my hand instead. So, here I am, standing on my kitchen counter with a red cup in one hand, my husband swinging around a stick of bamboo, and a lizard coming straight at me. He bypassed the cup and climbed onto my left hand. "Okay, I can deal with this, I can just walk him outside with him on my hand."
Orrrr not.
He made a break for it... straight up my arm and onto my shoulder. I froze. I stuck both arms out in somewhat of a scarecrow position, shrugged my shoulders up, spread my fingers, and opened my eyes really wide. Craaaap.
So now, I'm standing on my kitchen counter with a lizard loose on my body! After I lost sight of him, I squatted down and turned my back to Husband so he could give me an accurate account of where the lizard was heading. He was on my ass. Quick little bastard.
Husband grabbed him by his ass and plopped him down outside on the rocks out back. Lizard kind of sat there, much as I had just done on the counter - arms all wide with a confused look on his face "What the hell was that?!" And then he wiggled away.
Never a dull moment in the Kuhlman home...

we had this massive family reunion at the beach last week. my mom's side of the family, minus her alcoholic brother and 98 year old grandmother all made it down from deleware or raleigh to carolina beach, north carolina. we stayed in this friggin mansion of a place called skipper's crew. even clicking on the link doesn't really do it justice... but needless to say, it was the mother effing bomb.
so dave and i drove up there tuesday night when i got out of class. which meant we were driving in the middle of the damn night. we began our 4.5 hour/310 mile journey at 10:30 pm. idiots. i drove. well everything was cool or whatever until we get on this road named "74" or "76" it was both. whatever. probably because it was uber sketchy. first, we were the only car on the road. period. and it was all foggy and creepy as shit. and dark. we thought we might run over wombats. don't ask. so we pass this huge field filled with life-size figurines of like yogi bear and betty boop. what? i mean, are they serious? two questions came to mind: (1) who the fuck lives out here to put this shit here and (2) who would drive all the way the fuck out here to purchase this shit? wtf. i almost ran off the road. seriously. so weird.
next, a few miles up, we pass the only house on the road that is across the street from the only towing company. the house had a minimun of 20 cars parked in front. you know those canibals throw down spike strips, or as i referred to them - spokes - and made cars like me wreck and then then capture the passengers, kill them, eat their brains and keep their damn cars. crazy bastards. and they use the tow truck in case there is a struggle of sorts. you know it's true. go watch the hills have eyes or wolf creek. it happens, man.
then we passed the strip club a few miles after that. a little puple shack that said something like "wanda's exotic dancing." well, apparently wanda was allowing illegal sex acts and drug participation to occur with her customers and exotic dancers because we saw the little purple hut later that week on the local news being raided by the cops. they took those hookers to jail. crazy hookers.
and a few miles after that we thought we were possibly being attacked. there was this flashing strobe-like light flashing so brightly that i thought it might be god. or a ufo. unfortunately, it was nothing that interesting, just some skeezy antenna with a strobe light affixed to the top. i nearly ran off the road again. i thought it was jesus, man. you'd run off the road too. then i thought it might be the the crazy canibals and got all flustered and i had to turn the air up because i started sweating. and we still had a good two hours to go...
lucky for us, nothing else creepy happened and we were soon done with the road from hell. for entertainment purposes, we chose to speak like pee wee herman and scream nonsense such as "giant underpants!" it never got old. mostly because we were delirious.
we finally got to the house at 3:00 am. whereupon we had to take the motherfucking elevator to our floor. that's how sweet this place was... we had an elevator. be jealous. and as the elevator doors opened for the first time, i was greeted by the sweet sweet saying of "its five o'clock somewhere" in what appeared to be my handwriting on some cute little artsy fartsy sign. foreshadowing at it's finest.
we were awaken the next morning to aunt barbie and aunt janice staring at dave and i saying "oooh he's cute." poor dave. i warned him though. he knew the murphy side was nuts. dave slept most of the day, i got sunburnt and rode some gnarley waves on my boogie board. when i came in later, famished and crispy, dad informed me that my car had been attacked. by mother fucking ants. oh hell no. apparently dave left a tasty coke can in the car and the bastards found it. all 8 billion of them. seriously, every single ant that was at carolina beach was on my car that day. gross. we eventually bought ant killer and sprayed the bitches to death. now everytime i get in my car i get a little high from the lingering fumes. again, gross. and there are little dead ant bodies on my dash and console because i have yet to vacuum. gross.
that night, we got waaaaasted. my cousin david went to pick up his way awesome girlfriend, loren, from the airport that night and they were supposed to be back around 9:00. well the doorbell rang around 9:00, so me, my dave and michael got on the elevator with our whiskey and rode the bitch down. however, it was not david and loren to greet us. it was this poor confused delivery girl. we invited her to ride the elevator with us to find out who ordered food. someone on the first floor did. so at least she came to the right house. i know she thought we were insane. i mean, we were, we were all sunburned and drunk. and we had a stool in the elevator incase anyone got too drunk and had to sit down while riding. dave took advantage of this.

loren and david finally arrived. and we continued our drunkfest. we were supposed to not cuss because my little cousin david (yes, another one -- there were 4 daves total this week) was on the couch next to us in the kitchen. that kid heard every word under the sun that night. and we'd always sssssshhh each other after we said 'fuck' or something, which only exaggerated the fact that we said fuck. eh well. at least he won't be naive...
so at some random moment, david the big cousin got on the elevator. when the elevator came back up, it was empty. it completely baffled us that no one was there... remember, we were really drunk and apparently forgot to remember that there were two other floors in which david could have gone on. whatever. so loren and i get on the elevator. i pull the stool over because i know i am way too wasted to actually stand while riding this machine. we go down to the first floor where some of the cousins and aunts are... i peek my head out of the doors and i'm basically cracking up and loren tells me in the loud drunk whisper to "be quiet and they won't see me" what? does that even make sense. either way, we didn't speak to anyone that saw us and just shut the doors and went back upstairs. david eventually returned from his adventure.
later, i wanted to suggest that we send things to different floors via the elevator. you'd think we'd never seen a damned elevator the way we wanted to play with it. so okay, there was this gigantic silver statue in the corned of the cute blue and yellow beachy living room... of a mother effing bald eagle. really? wtf. this thing had a wing span the legnth of at least one of my arms and had to weigh at least 695 pounds. an estimate, of course, but definitely something like that. between being so drunk i had to sit down for the elevator ride and not being able to control the volume of my voice, i concluded that attempting to move the laquered beast statue may prove to be a very unwise decision. the bird continued to stare at us for the remainder of the night from its creepy little corner. i never got to let it ride in the elevator. poor bird.
the rest of the week we didn't drink nearly as much, but instead spent most of our time fighting the waves on our wicked boards. i got pretty beat up a few times by the sand and my boobs fell out once, i think it was overall unsuccessful, but it was really fun to act like i was 7 years old. oooh and i got to eat like 2 pounds of freakin crab legs. if i had to replace sex with one thing, it would be crab legs. actually, i might take that back. because i mean, i like sex, and crab legs are nothing like it, however they are equally as good, well almost, on a totally different playing field. whatever, the damned crustation was good. that's all i'm trying to say. gah.
we only got to stay through friday, but it was super fun to see my crazy family and let them all meet dave. i think there was a total of 22 of us in the house. i mean, the bitch could sleep like 25, had 8 bedrooms, 8 bathrooms, 3 decks, a pool, an elevator and a wicked awesome platinum eagle. what more could you ask for? and it was ocean front. we win.