danceswithgary: Fractal (Apophysis-Lilac)
Our hearing checks out, and yet...

Him: no gut...asses...morning
Me: 🤔You have no gut classes?
Him: Yoga, but that works.
danceswithgary: (Personal - Double Trouble)
Sorry, no pictures this time.

I'm in a grumpy mood because my sleep schedule (such as it was) is really screwed up. Lately I've been lucky to fall asleep by 2AM then the puppies are up at 6AM. We've gotten into the bad habit of bringing them back into bed with us after they've been out to take care of business and we all snooze until 10ish, which means I wake up feeling like half the day is already gone again. It's actually silly of me because it's not as if we're late for work. *rolls eyes*

To add to the grumpiness, we have an idiot cardinal that has been bashing itself against the upstairs and downstairs windows all day long trying to drive away that rival he keeps catching hanging around his territory. We've closed the blinds to minimize the reflection, but it doesn't matter.




*clenches jaw some more*

I suggested putting up an owl or hawk silhouette on the windows, but Gary insists it will scare away the other birds he feeds. I'm about ready to put them up anyway but, with our luck, the crazy bird would take one look and bash even harder.

"Look, that smirky red bastard has minions!"

To add to the aggravation, Tessa has turned into a YLDFH (Yappy Little Dog From Hell) when she's outside. When I'm out with her, I work on correcting her and even pick her up and take her back inside when she won't obey. Not Gary, though. He'll let her bark away (and sometimes Molly joins in) and I end up slamming out of the house and screaming, "Tessa! NO BARK!!!!" like a banshee.

Gary will then look at me and say something stupid like, "They're barking at the ducks (or squirrels or birds - pick one)," and I try to calmly explain - and usually fail - that I don't give a fuck what they're barking at, unless it's coming to fucking eat them they only get three barks.

That brings me to the rather large male turkey that wandered through our backyard yesterday, adding to our wildlife collection. Now, while I'm really not concerned that a turkey or deer will actually eat the puppies, I'm now looking at the venison, turkey, and duck snacks in our cupboard and thinking I'll steer away from buying them anything bear-shaped in the future.

God, I need more sleep.
danceswithgary: (McShep - Not So Much)
This morning:

"It was your mother's birthday yesterday and you didn't even call her. Why don't we go over for a visit and we can take the girls with us? We can stop at the bank and the grocery store too."


"I'm going to take a shower and get dressed."

"Okay. Leave the bathroom door open so the puppies can whimper at you like they do to me."

"Ha. Ha."

Twenty minutes later, I'm showered and dressed and making sure the blanket in the travel crate is clean because the girls had a bath last night.

Gary comes inside carrying Molly and Tessa and they are filthy.

"What the fuck, Gary? I expected to clean their paws at the most! I wouldn't have taken my shower yet if I'd known you were going to let them roll in the mud!!!!"

He walks past me and up the stairs to the bathroom and proceeds to fill the tub while offering the world's weakest excuse.

"It's not my fault. They just ran around the back yard. It's not like I could control what happened."

"They're called leashes, Gary."

He's up there cleaning them (and then himself) and I'm down here exercising restraint and not continuing to berate him through the bathroom door because I'm damned if I'm going to shower and change again.

danceswithgary: (Personal - Double Trouble)
One of my favorite Gary stories is the day he came home from work pouting because his frozen Swedish meatball entree 'only had Swedish.' It's become a catch-phrase for when something we expect doesn't happen or is missing (and it amuses rather than frustrates us).

Tonight, the puppies first had to suffer through us eating macaroni and cheese without sharing - not that we've ever shared, but hope springs eternal in little puppy hearts and minds. Then, I had them practice 'lie down' and rewarded them with the peanut butter-flavored heart cookies instead of the Greenies I was also holding in my hand. They both sat there looking at the cookie on the carpet in front of them then up at me, back and forth, pitiful little puppy eyes insisting they 'only had Swedish.'

When I was finally able to stop giggling at them (and at Gary who said I was being a mean mommy making them eat the first treat before they got the second), I asked them to 'shake paws' and rewarded them with their meatballs Greenies.

Then I giggled some more.
danceswithgary: (McShep - Not So Much)
I know it's important, my 'I've fallen and I can't get up' lifeline, but I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to someone calling me when I have my cell phone stuck in my cleavage. It's on a lanyard, but tucking it in my bra is much safer for the puppies when I bend over. I also ended up turning off the vibrate option as another safety precaution after I dropped threw a glass when Gary called.

I don't get many calls because people know my voice is unreliable. It's mostly my sisters, doctor offices to remind me about appointments, and Gary.

And the same little old idiot from Gary's bridge club that calls every damn month - at least three times because he obviously keeps losing his list that tells him who he's called to see if they'll be playing. I get the call because when I left work and turned in my cell phone, I acquired Gary's and he picked out a shiny new one. Everyone got Gary's new number and the bridge contact list was updated and handed out.

That was over two years ago.

Today's call came while I was washing dishes and already in a foul mood because the skin on my fingertips is splitting and my back hates bending over the sink. Thankfully, I wasn't rinsing a glass this time.

Me: "Hello?"

Idiot: "Hello, Gary?"

Now I know my voice is raspy, but.... Of course, I recognized his creaky old voice immediately and I'm immediately pissed because dammit here we go again.

Me: "No, this is his wife."

Idiot: "Oh. Is Gary around?"

Me: "No, he's teaching. (skiing)"

Yes, I was being obnoxious and not at all helpful.

Idiot: "Well, is he going to be around Sunday night?"

I'm thinking 'What the hell?'

Me: "This is about bridge, right?"

Idiot: "Yes, I need to know whether he's going to play next Thursday, so I'll call back Sunday night."

Not if I can help it. Now I know Gary's going to be playing, but I'm sick of this monthly go round where I field the calls and tell Gary to fix it and he says it is and I KEEP GETTING THE DAMN CALLS!

Me: No, you should call Gary on his phone and find out if he's going to play. This is my phone and your group has had Gary's phone number for years. Call him, not me.

Idiot: "Oh. Do you have his number?"

Rather than telling him to find the correct list and use it, I give in...just a smidge. I repeat the number three times very slowly then hang up with a clipped goodbye.

I tuck the phone back in my bra and go back to washing the dishes.

Gary's phone starts ringing in the living room where he left it plugged in for recharging.

Guess I won't be calling him if I fall and can't get up.

*rolls eyes at two idiots*
danceswithgary: (Rodney - Genius)
Gary has been waging a battle with critters abusing his birdfeeder located in the backyard just at the tree line. The deer love to stop by for a snack and, a few weeks ago, a raccoon tried to abscond with it. While Gary doesn't mind that the birds have to share, he wasn't happy about the destruction.

Gary's solution was to repair the feeder (the raccoon tore it apart a bit) and put it on a pulley system so it's about ten feet off the ground on a narrow limb to discourage the raccoons.


Me: You do realize that when you go on a two-week ski trip this winter the birds won't get fed because I am not slogging 50 feet through the snow to fiddle with your 'system' in freezing weather?

Gary: I know.

Me: Just checking.

It worked for two days, then the rope broke (who knows how long that piece had been moldering in the basement). He went back to the store for nylon rope that won't rot.

I'm upstairs and I catch sight of him lugging the extension ladder out to the back then trying to wrestle it into extending while he had it standing up. I headed outside when I saw him nearly tip over twice, envisioning back surgery in his future. By the time I got out there, the ladder was on the ground and he was still trying to extend it and it was sticking.

Me: Did you try some WD-40?

Gary: Huh. That would probably help, wouldn't it?

Me: That's why I used to get paid the big bucks. *sigh*

The ladder extended, Gary wrestled it back up, and then I watched in disbelief as he rested it against the narrow branch the pulley was already attached to.

Me: You're not actually going to climb the ladder while it's resting against an inch-thick branch and five feet out from the trunk!

Gary: I can't reach it otherwise. I was perfectly fine the last time.

Me: I can't let you play outside by yourself anymore, can I?

He lived and the birdfeeder is back in business.

Idiot man's guardian angel deserves double overtime and hazard pay.


danceswithgary: (Default)


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