That Elf Is So Outta Here!

That damn Elf on the Shelf ~ I DID remember to move him almost every night this year.  But our Elf (no name…we don’t name things in our house) didn’t do any fancy, messy, crazy or creative things over night.  He barely got moved from one side of the room to the other.  The closest he came to doing anything unusual was when he fell out of the lamp shade and landed behind the couch.  THAT was weird because no one could see the little snot.  When we finally found him, I had to do some fancy footwork to move him to another spot, and make up a quick story about how he must have JUST flown in.

So, next year, I’m thinking we might just skip Elf on the Shelf, and go with “Margarita on the Mantel” instead.  I KNOW for a fact that I’d move THAT every night.  Heck, I might even move TWO.

Margarita on the mantel

And just because I like a list, here’s a few ideas for y’all if you’re tired of the creepy little guy…….

  1. Margarita on the Mantel
  2. Wine on the Windowsill
  3. Beer on the Bar stool
  4. Cocktails on the Couch
  5. Rum on the Recliner

I might have said this out loud, when our Creepy Little Elf was listening….I set my Margarita on the Mantel to see how it looked up there and, really ~ it was perfect.  Of course, I caught the sneaky little SOB trying to take a sip.

Elf looking at margarita

Hmmm, what’s THAT?


Elf on Buffalo with margarita

Needs a little more tequila…..


He is so outta here…..


Thanks for hanging out with me and reading what I write. If you loved this, share it with your friends and family…you KNOW they need a laugh :)

I hate spiders….

If you ever wondered how to get me to clean behind and under my couch, this is EXACTLY the way…

Have a GIANT Brown spider crawl down the side arm of my chair, directly beside the couch, making me leap up and scream, almost dropping my laptop in the process. I watch at the little bastard crawls down the arm of the couch, making sure to keep my eye on him at all times, and keep my dog away from him, sure he would eat him alive (the spider would eat the dog) because he is GIGANTIC. Even though Whiskey weighs 19 pounds, I’m sure of this like I’ve never been sure of anything else.

I see him crawl just under the couch, so I run to grab SOMETHING to kill him with, and my hands light on a napkin from last nights dinner, and I think it’s a very good thing I didn’t do a good job of cleaning off the table or I’d have to go ALL THE WAY to the kitchen to get something to KILL this GIGANTIC spider with.

He is just under the edge of the couch, waiting to attack me at any moment, and I reach in ever so easily, in case he swipes at me with one very long, reach-to-the-sky, leg and I die RIGHT THERE of a heart attack while he jumps up and down and shouts GOT ANOTHER ONE.

He slips farther under the couch and I can’t reach him, knowing I now must do what any person would do and move the entire living room furniture out and find him before he strikes again.

The vacuum is close by, so I begin moving the couch, and really there’s not exactly a place to move the couch TO because my house isn’t like those you see in magazines where the couch and chairs are all cattywampus and sitting in the middle of the room because there are acres of carpet and hardwood floor flowing from each direction but you look at that picture and think, yes that would be a really cool way to do my furniture but you glance at your living room and realize there are 4 walls or maybe 3 and this is the only place you can put your couch so it’s against a wall, and there are 2 end tables, one on each side, practically joined to the arms of the couch because that’s EXACTLY how much room you have but you’re able to get the chair to sit sorta beside it.

So I start to pull the couch out into the middle of the floor, one painful inch at a time, dragging it over the carpet and into the footstool, that there’s never really room for, but it’s a MATCHING SET and you have to buy the footstool, too.

I see Barbie dolls, tennis balls and trash, along with 5 socks, and I think, Hump…the washer didn’t eat my socks, and all this time I (along with the rest of the world’s population) have been blaming sock eating appliances for this when all this time it’s been the couch.

I throw away all the toys BECAUSE SPIDER JUICE may have touched them and I KNOW Tater doesn’t need to come into contact with that.  I take the socks directly to the washer, do not stop, do not pass go, just hold them by my fingertips  IN CASE there is something INSIDE the socks.  Hot water will kill them….yes?  Please GOD, say yes….

I vacuum up all the dust and dead crickets and stray paper clip and hair bows and rubber band and STILL don’t see that Little Bastard so I put the couch back where it’s supposed to go and take the cushions off, sure he’s RIGHT THERE ready to pounce on me when I remove JUST ONE Cushion.

But no, I only find enough scraps to feed a small child for 3 days if he was really hungry or just being stubborn.

I find more toys in the crevices of the couch, pulling them out carefully, maybe he’s hidden Underneath them and I don’t want to be surprised.  I use the horn of a forgotten unicorn to dig a tissue out of the vacuum that I sucked up in my hurry to get it DONE.  I can’t allow the unicorn back in the doll house because  he has been TAINTED by Spider but who knows how long he’s been there and I’m sure Tater has forgotten about him, and he’s trash, too.

I vacuum all the cushions and under the cushions and for good measure I vacuum the rest of the living room.  I put the pillows back and retrieve my laptop and keep looking for the little bastard.

But I never find him.  I am positive he has gone to fetch his 87 kids and all the other relatives you have when you have 87 kids and they are plotting a revenge and say WE STRIKE AT DAWN!!!!

I may have to move.

I hate spiders.

Wonder if I should burn this....

Wonder if I should burn this….


Thanks for hanging out with me, reading what I write and laughing with me.  I didn’t really laugh a lot with this one, but I hope you do….no really.  It’s ok, I laugh at me, too :)

Happy Flippin Birthday just got easier…

Happy Flippin Birthday!


Oh wait…it’s not MY birthday.  And it might not be YOUR birthday either. But I bet someone you KNOW is having a birthday soon….

And if you LOVE getting cards in the mail and LOVE sending cards to people, then THIS is gonna be absoflippinlutely Fabulous!

I’m so excited ~ and have been working on this for a while now ~ and they’re here!!

Birthday Cards AND Magnets are here!


But the coolest part?  I’ll even mail them to the birthday celebrating friend on your list!  Yep, all you gotta do is give me their mailing address and tell me what you want written inside the card.  I’ll take care of the rest.

Talk About E A S Y!!

Go to the “Shop” tab at the top of my page and scroll down through the 3 most popular cups and you’ll see them.  You could go ahead and get your entire Birthday Card YEAR out of the way with one click.  Hey, I’m here for ya :)

2" x 2" Rigid Magnet

2″ x 2″ Rigid Magnet

Front of Card

Front of Card

Inside Card

Inside Card

Just in case you were wondering, the Smoky Look is in.

It started out innocent enough.  My bestie (who said she wanted to be called “Lola” from now on in my blog…and that’s really the perfect name for her!), called and said she was getting off work early and did I want to meet her at the new makeup store.

Hmmmm, lemme think a minute.  Never mind, 10 seconds was all I needed, cause I was ALL in.

I had already showered, so that was a plus ~  no stinky Sasha in public.  I had on little makeup and had done hardly anything to my hair, (I’m thinking we’re going ‘Messy Casual’) but no biggie.  I mean, we’re just going to the make up store….maybe I could get some makeup there.  (I don’t think they had any hair help….)

Once we get there, we are stopped in our tracks by ALL the finishes for faces. I realize I am in WAY over my head.  I mean, I’m a ‘slap some foundation on, some blush and powder, swipe a few strokes of eye shadow on the wrinkled eye lids and add about a hundred mascara applications’ and I’m good to go.  But this…THIS was like Make Up for Pros.  Or at least people who did a lot more than I did.

The very lovely, very made up (BIG FLIPPIN CLUE), very friendly employee approached us as we were standing there, slack-jawed and confused.  I had hoped we didn’t appear that way, but apparently it was VERY obvious.

She said the words that I will never forget….and ones that I should run from if I ever hear them again:  Would you like a Make Over?

Sure! That sounds like fun.

What a sucker I am…..

I hop up onto the stool (fine…I crawl one bad knee at a time), hand my pocket-book to Lola and say, “Whatcha gonna do?”

Made up Employee:  Well, we’ve got some new colors that really POP and give a Great DRAMATIC look to your Eyes that I’d love to TRY.  I think you’d look beautiful with the SMOKY look.   (All key words I neglected to hear because the word beautiful was stuck in my ear.)

Me:  OKAY!  Sounds good to me.

HEAVILY Made up Employee: Great.  Just close your eyes and don’t peek until I’m finished.

I wish I could say I knew what she used, but I was a good little customer guinea pig, and didn’t peek one time.  And it’s a good thing, too, because if I had opened my eyes mid-makeover, I’m sure I would have left the store only half made up.  Which, come to think of it, might not have been a bad idea.

When VERY Heavily Made up Employee lady finished, she whirled me around in that tall bar stool with a back (thank the good Lord for that), and said “Ok, what do you think?”

I think my good acting skills took over because I did NOT jump up screaming and run from the counter.  What I did say was, “Well….I never used quite that much eye shadow before.  Are those ‘wings’ coming out from my eyes?  That’s a LOT of eye liner.  And I usually like a little darker lipstick.”

She told me the new ‘style’ was pale lips and cheeks and DRAMATIC Eyes for Fall.  I’m pretty sure she nailed it.

I waited until I got to the car to take pictures, but you just can’t see the VERY DARK AND VERY DRAMATIC look as well as I can when I look in the mirror.  Of course, when I got home and went over to Mama and Daddy’s to check on them, Mama asked what happened to my eyes.  I tried to explain it was the new DRAMATIC Look for Fall but I’m not sure she was buying it.  A dollar says she’ll ask Daddy if I got in a fight….

Might be a LITTLE Dark for my Dollar General Daytime Runs...

Might be a LITTLE Dark for my Dollar General Daytime Runs…


Thanks so much for reading what I write ~ I really appreciate it.  It’s even funnier is you’re drinking a margarita when you read it….or maybe it’s just funnier if I’m DRINKING a margarita when I read it….whatever. 



If you don’t ask, you’ll never know…..

I never mind if the cashier at the grocery store is new…..I consider it on-the-job training and I’m sorta like the trainer.  ‘Cause I’m ALL about my groceries getting to my house in the same shape they were in on the store shelves.  In other words, DO NOT put the bread or potato chips in the bottom of the bag with the apples on top.

Now Harold’s FIRST day had to be today….he was very slow, and deliberate, and slightly confused.

But that’s OK.  I know how it is.  I gently suggested he put the bread to the side.  And to show he was listening, when he got to the BOXED donuts, he put them aside, too and said he knew I wouldn’t want to get THOSE crushed.  Oh wait…what?  Hmmmmm……

He said he liked my tattoo, and told me how he was learning how to be a tattoo artist.  That was fine ~ a little chit-chat is a good thing.

However, I didn’t really need to know that his first self tattoo was when he was 14 and his mentor said he had to do another one because that one wasn’t legal.  Huh?  I may have zoned out for a moment when that particular diatribe happened. 

You see, Harold was a talker.  And I like to talk as much as the next person.  But the 3 natives behind me were getting a little restless, especially the woman holding the shopping basket in one hand and the gallon of milk in the other.

But what REALLY told me Harold was BRAND new ~ to the cashier position, to a grocery store, to LIFE ~ was when he scanned my bag of Yellow Rice.  Because this is the conversation that happened:

Harold:  Is that Yellow Rice Stuff any good?

Me:  Well, I like it.

Harold:  Yeah, I didn’t know if it was to eat or what.

Me:  I’d go with “What” Harold, because you just never know…

Bless. His. Heart.

yellow rice

The kind of Yellow Rice you Eat


Thanks so much for reading what I write ~ and if you love it, read it to someone else, too.  You can even take credit for thinking up that idea :)  And I LOVE a comment and will almost always answer back…you know, unless it’s crazy or something.  And really, we’re all crazy so it’s all good.  Cheers!

10 Reasons I’ll Never Be Miss America

APTOPIX Miss America_Cham640

Congratulations to Miss New York, Kira Kazantsev, on becoming Miss America, 2015 last night.   You go, Girl!   I know this is nothing I will ever do, and before you say, “Sure you can, just do it!” I thought I’d compile a list of 10 reasons why I will NEVER be Miss America ~ and I’m ok with that.  I’ll be something else….Miss Brownie, or Miss NCIS, or just Sasha….

1.           I’m old.  And I’ve been married for almost 31 years  (Yes, it was 2 husbands, but together, it’s almost 31 years –  ya gotta count it ALL).  So technically, I couldn’t be MISS America.  I could be Mrs. America, but I’m still Old, and all those Mrs. America women look young. And thin.

2.            I haven’t worn a 2-piece bathing suit since 1975.  And it was a little iffy then.

3.            I can’t go live for a year in a NY apartment and travel around the country making appearances.  I’d be too busy stopping to update my Facebook status with, “WOW ~ check out this place” or “What a stupid sign” or “Why would someone want me to stand in a room full of crazy people and wear a crown?”.   The Miss America people might frown on that…a lot.

4.            I don’t want to tape any part of my body and then go out in public hoping the tape stays put.  What if I sneezed?

5.            I don’t like to wear heels and hose.  I really prefer to go barefoot, and I’ve never seen a single State parade on stage barefoot.  And does anyone else think it’s odd that they wear those high, high heels with their bathing suits?  Have you ever worn high heels with YOUR bathing suit?  I usually wear flip-flops and a big hat.  And lots of sunscreen. And a cover-up….and have a towel, a chair, a book, sunglasses, radio, phone, camera, snacks, drinks and anything else I can possibly carry so I don’t have to go back to the car.  Now THAT would be a good Swim Suit competition:  How many trips does it take Miss North Carolina to get all the stuff outta the car?  Only 1?  WIN!

6.            I don’t have enough hair to wear a crown.

7.            I’m not real good with people judging me.  I’d be peeking out of the curtain, waiting for the judges to say something, flash a little number up or make some cross eyed secret message to each other and I’d be stomping on the stage, acting all “WHAT?  Whatchu talking about?”

8.            My lips are really thin.  Plus lip liner just lands in my mouth wrinkles and looks a little like dirt.  And I don’t have pretty, perfect, white teeth so my smile is usually always ‘closed’.  I think it’s a requirement that you have to smile the entire time there’s a camera in the room with you.  And show lots of teeth.

9.            My talent would consist of French Braiding a moving head of hair and making a mean Margarita.

10.            My idea of an evening gown doesn’t cost more than 6 months of mortgage and can be bought off the rack at Steinmart.   Besides, all those sequins look pretty heavy.   And I don’t need any more weight added to my body.  Anywhere.

And there you have the top 10 reasons I could never be Miss America.  There are about a million more reasons, but I thought the top ten would be a good start.

Now, where did I put my flip flops…..


Thanks for reading my blog ~ if you want to leave a comment, I promise I’ll read it and respond because I LOVE comments.  And if you really love it, share it with your friends and have a margarita while you’re reading the blog out loud.  At the bar.  With other people near by.  It’s even FUNNIER then!  :) Cheers!

Just One Word…..

In 1991, I got my first tattoo.  This was in the days before everyone had ‘ink’.   Back then, the only people you saw tattooed were bikers, ex-cons and sailors.  But I REALLY wanted a Tattoo.

So I got a teeny, tiny rose on the inside of my ankle….and I LOVED it.

I knew I wanted another one, but just never got ‘around to it’.   I thought about it often ~ when I’d see other tattoos, beautiful pictures of body art or a really cool song lyric would roll through my head.

And I knew I wanted it somewhere I could see it…so that took out about 1/2 my body as canvas.  When you take away my face and other ‘not so desirable’ places to have lots of tiny needles stuck in your skin for an hour, it boiled down to my arms, and legs.

I wanted to get a tattoo on my wrist ~ and I wanted just one word.  And so the search began.

I thought of every word I loved, all the words that meant something to me, that made me who I am, that summed up my thoughts and life and soul.  I drew on my arm, put on temporary tattoos and used sharpies to write scrolling letters, hoping something would jump out and say, “THIS IS IT!”

Yeah.  That never happened.

Years went by ~ no tattoo.   I told myself I’m DEFINITELY getting one….as soon as I figure out that elusive word I wanted inked permanently on my body.

Flash forward to 2014 ~ and my best friend’s 3oth birthday.  When we talked about what she wanted for the grand occasion, she was very quick with her answer, although maybe a little hesitant…..she said she wanted us to get tattoos together.

And I KNEW that I had the chance to make up my mind and finally get that 2nd tattoo…only 23 years after the 1st one.

Do you have ANY idea how many WORDS there are in the world….how many song lyrics, how many PICTURES of one word tattoos, and ideas and OMG PINTEREST!!  There are hundreds of THOUSANDS of pictures of tattoos on Pinterest and I spent HOURS looking at them all.

Then about 3 weeks ago, after spending HOURS looking again on Pinterest at all KINDS of body art, my eyes grew tired and I get up for something to drink.  As I poured my Sweet Tea, I glanced over at the dining room and there…..above the table…..was the sign I had made several years ago with the ONE word I used to describe myself.  A wave of emotion hit me as I KNEW that word was THE one.


My brain is scattered, my life is scattered, my thoughts, words, actions and laughter ~ it’s all scattered all over the place.  It’s the way I AM.  And you’ll never guess who gave me that words years ago when I was searching ~ Mac.  Just as I knew it was the perfect word then, I knew it was now.

But I wanted just a little bit more ~ and when I saw a feather with a writing tip on the end on one of the endless Pinterest searches, I decided to add that as well ~ I’ve loved words and writing all my life and it just seemed to fit.  (Of course, that moved it from my wrist to my arm.)

Yesterday was Tattoo day ~ Jamie at Artistic Pursuits did a fabulous job and I love it.

IMG_0437 IMG_0439 IMG_0442





















Now I’ve got to start thinking about my NEXT tattoo, but I’m not waiting 23 years this time :)

PS ~ The scattered sign I got years ago that served as my inspiration was created by the ever talented girls at Cocky Robins.

scattered sign





Dusty Memories….

(Part of this story first appeared on my Facebook page on Saturday, 8/9/14)

We are all piled in Mac’s truck…family and friend, and we’re headed to my parents house for the last load…the last pile, the last box. Moving men are just ahead of us, prepared to sweat and lift and move and push and shove (Thank GAWD) while we pick up, pull up, pack away and prepare to move everything that’s left OUT.

Then the For Sale sign will go up and that house will be a memory. It holds no special memories for me because I never lived there….my childhood home was in many places, moving as often as we did. But all my parents stuff was in this house and it won’t all fit in the new, smaller place next door to me, so lots of it will go in storage until a time comes to go through it all and sort and decide what to keep and what to toss.

Mama wants to keep everything, so we will…..I see I come by that honestly….and there are patterns, jewelry, photos, notes and strings of yarn, all knitted together with 87 years of life. Some of those things hold special memories for my parents, some just a reflection of an earlier time, a tiny nugget of a different place, a different life. I’ll never know all the memories, or what the small things mean and I hate I missed out on that story.

We’ll work together, packing and boxing the last remnants, and labeling so we’ll have a clue what each box holds when Mama wants a recipe or a pattern…

In the corner of the living room, under a box of pictures and receipts, covered in dust and memories is my old piano stool.  When I was 5 or 6, Daddy bought me an old, upright, used piano for $50 and I’m betting it was part of a payment for carpenter work he did for many of our friends and friends of friends.  I was in Heaven and couldn’t WAIT to start taking lessons.

But I HATED that piano stool…I wanted one like the piano teacher had ~ the long, sleek bench seat that you could raise the lid and stash sheet music and lesson books inside ~ that was the seat I knew was the best one for playing the piano.  I had NO use for that rickety, small, uncomfortable OLD stool.

piano stool

As time went by, the stool went along with us everywhere we moved.  The last I remember it being used was as an extra seat when company came to dinner ~ a rare occasion.  I began to see the beauty in that old stool ~ the glass balls for feet, the well-worn, smooth wood on the seat, the hand carved legs.  I have no idea where it came from but that’s on my list of stories to hear ~ very soon.

Today, the stool sits in my living room ~ waiting for Tater to spin ’round and ’round on it, and maybe sliding it under her own piano one day, taking lessons….and wishing she had a long, sleek bench of her own….

At 51, I think I have YEARS to go before I have to do this….but I should be more careful, more sharing, more aware and tell my family the stories I want told. They might not listen, but I hope they hear what I’m saying and remember it when I turn 87 and am packing all my treasures in a box. I’m gonna go ahead and make up some labels that say, “Glitter” because I feel pretty sure I’ll have LOTS of it by then.


Thanks for reading my words ~ If you LOVE them lots, share them with others, too…..Your mama (and mine) would want you to share :D


Just Zip It!

I rarely write two blog posts about the same exact thing, but I HAD to follow-up the GENIE ZIP BRA! story (if you haven’t read that one yet, it might be good to start here).

Many of you sent me messages about your own Genie Bra, both the non-zip kind and the kind I have, the GENIE ZIP BRA!   You loved it, you hated it, you tried it, you tossed it.  BUT, several of you said all I had to do was STEP into it, and I wouldn’t have the struggles of getting it on.  Of course, I had shoved it in a drawer after my ‘adventure’ and hadn’t gotten around to getting it out and trying it again.

Well, after this week of search and rescue, every bra I had was still either in the dirty clothes hamper, in the washer or not quite dry in the dryer (ok, that means BOTH my good bras, and the one worn-out, stretched-out, ragged one).  And Whiskey had a vet visit….and I really need to wear a bra out in public or someone might think I’m smuggling cantaloupes.  (At least cantaloupes are in season…it’s hell in the winter.)

So, as I dug around in the drawer, my hands landed on the GENIE ZIP BRA!  And I decided at that moment, THIS was the time to try it again.  I mean, I was only going to the vet…no make up, no hair fixed, sweats and a t-shirt.  The GENIE ZIP BRA seemed like the perfect solution.

I zipped it up and began to step into it.  It slid up my legs just fine, and I’m thinking….”this might work!”  Of course, then it hit the “Butt and Gut” part of my “Butt, Gut and Boobs”  body and it hesitated, probably analyzing the ratio of elasticity to material built-in, preparing to stretch to the max at any moment.

But it slid up and over, and arrived at ‘The Girls’…and then easily encased both, creating the perfect Uni-Boob with only minor adjusting.

Hmph….how about that.  I got it on with minimal twisting and shouting and it was semi-comfortable.  Yes, this MIGHT work.

Off to the Vet we go ~ it’s a quick visit, just a well check, some meds and we’re almost ready. The Vet leaves the room to get some free samples for us … and while he’s gone and I’m playing with Whiskey, I begin to feel something in my shirt.  And then a loosening…almost like I’m taking my clothes off.

I look down and realize ‘The Girls’ are a little looser, not quite in the uni-boob form they were mere minutes ago.  When I take a quick peek inside my t-shirt, my eyes widen at the zipper slowly moving DOWN the GENIE ZIP BRA!, releasing ‘The Girls’ at an alarming rate.

I can hear the Vet talking JUST OUTSIDE THE DOOR and walking back toward our room…I don’t have time to lift up my t-shirt and begin zipping up the GENIE ZIP BRA!  Besides, I KNOW how well that works.   I try and hold ‘The Girls” close together, but that’s about as useless as tits on a bull (ya’ll know I HAD to use that, right?).

As the Vet comes back in the room, the zipper is continuing to slide down, making ‘The Girls’ drop lower and lower, and I continue to try and hold them up and together with my arms, held slightly askew, not exactly crossed and not hanging straight down like I’m trying to catch a basketball (well, 2 actually).  I mentally hurry the Vet up, thinking if he finishes talking in the next 3 seconds, I might be able to get out of there with some sense of normalcy.

As he finishes up, he tries to hand me the bill and says, ‘Just see Susan on the way out and she’ll get you set up for the next appointment’.  My arms are frozen, because I know if I move them, ‘The Girls’ will finish their free fall.  I stand there, glossy eyed, willing him to just lay it on the table, hand it to Tater, drop it on the floor or make a paper airplane out of it.

Finally, I tell Tater to grab that as I pick Whiskey up and head out the door.  As I stop at the counter to talk to Susan, I am forced to put Whiskey down and retrieve my checkbook from my pocket.

As I make that movement, the lowest pieces of zipper make their break from each other and ‘The Girls’ are free….luckily the counter is high and it’s not THAT obvious.  However, the zipper on EACH side of the GENIE ZIP BRA is now directly under each arm….sticking straight up and creating a tent-like feature just below the neckline of my old, cheap, thin t-shirt.

It is at that moment that Tater realizes something strange is happening inside my t-shirt….she has been holding Whiskey’s leash, playing with him and not paying me any attention….and neither has Susan.  She was busy doing Susan stuff.

I was this close to escaping that office with my GENIE ZIP BRA experience all to myself, but my darling Tater had to exclaim, “Sasha, what happened to your boobs?” loudly enough that the 100-year-old man who lives next door surely heard her.

That also got Susan’s attention and she looked at me, her eyebrows raised in anticipation of the answer, sure to be good and juicy.

I had absolutely no choice but to say, “they just decided they needed to be free today” as I picked up my dog, gathered my stuff and headed out the door, feeling the swing of things with every step I took.

And THIS is why Tater’s baby doll has a new bathing suit, nude colored and with a zipper in front.


I couldn’t exactly take a picture of what was happening, but here’s a picture of a zipper and THIS is what I saw when I peeked.


Thanks, as always, for reading what I write, laughing when it’s funny and writing to me with your thoughts ~ I always appreciate you sharing my stories with others and making them laugh, too.  Cheers!


Heartbreak and Joy ~ courtesy of a little Whiskey

I don’t want another dog, especially an inside dog.  We have 2 outside dogs, and 2 cats, that come and go as they please.  I am in animal nirvana ~ cuddles and love at my will and nothing to tie me down if I need to go somewhere for more than one day.

Let me be clear… I DO NOT WANT ANOTHER DOG.

However, Tater’s other train wreck of a family get her a dog at every new place they land, and then when they leave the place or the person, the puppy never follows.  I have dried so many tears about lost puppies, missing animals and heartache at what could have been and wasn’t.

Two weeks ago was the LAST Straw. Yet ANOTHER puppy taken away and the tears that came reminded Tater of all the other lost animals and anguish she suffered from every move.

OK OK OK OK OK OK OK.  I’ll get a dog.  An INSIDE dog.  I don’t WANT an inside dog but it’s what this baby wants and it’ll make her feel better, so we’ll get one.

But, since I know I’ll be the main caregiver of this little animal, (I’m not THAT stupid), I get to decide on what kind of dog.  And I wanted a Puggle.  OMG, if you haven’t seen them, google it.  Wait! No…just read on….

Now, we are rescue and animal shelter people.  Hell, we’re animals-seen-on-the-side-of-the-road people.  Even my full blooded boxer was a rescue after his mom died when he was 7 days old.  We have a beagle that was a rescue from a beagle rescue group and the cats just kinda showed up. (I’m pretty sure there’s a network of underground animal leaders that take strays to good homes…we must be on that network SOME where.)  So I started my search online for a Puggle….and it didn’t take long.

Saturday, we just missed one as it was adopted before we got to the shelter.  I had emailed a group about 100 miles away, but that one wasn’t really available.  Sunday I was looking and happened to look AGAIN at the local county animal shelter and THERE was one.

We called, they still had him and we left immediately.

We met “Eli” and immediately I knew THIS was the one.  After about an hour, he was ours and we headed to Pet Smart to get all the stuff he’d need to be our new baby.  He was 1 year old, already up to date on shots, neutered, crate trained and house broken.  I mean, really…the perfect dog.  He never barked the entire time we met him and had him.

Pet Smart is in a very large, very busy shopping center that includes a Super Wal-Mart and about 30 retail shops.  We got out, walking  him on the leash and went inside…picked out a crate, pillow, toys, brush and harness.  When Mac was slipping the harness off him he slipped out of the leash, too.  He was walking slowly and I went after him….which is when he picked up speed and hauled ass.

The story would end here, but the door happened to be open and out he went…looking for freedom and the family he left behind.  I, along with several other kind, helpful, gracious people chased him all over the parking lot, watching as he dodged cars and people, running just out of reach of helping hands.

Two younger and faster teens chased him down a huge embankment, behind Urgent Care.  They lost sight of him by the time we got there.  We continued searching and calling…looking and yelling…crying and walking.

It was time to pick up Tater…this was to be a surprise for her and I THANK the stars I didn’t tell her about him.  I left to go get her and Mac stayed to search some more.  When we got back, we told her we were helping someone look for their dog.

We finally went home almost at dark.  After a shower, I came back and left a crate, food and water, hoping he’d come back.

I was heartbroken, sick with guilt and ‘if only’s’.  I wanted that little dog SO much.  Mac was upset as well, but asked why I was SO upset…after all, I’d only had him for less than 2 hours.  I simply couldn’t explain it….there was some bond.

Monday morning, Tater and I went back, spending hours driving around the shopping center, neighborhoods close by and calling out his name the entire time.  Tuesday we repeated this effort. I had already called the animal control, all the vets, stopped by businesses and stopped the mailman and utility workers I saw out.  He was no where to be seen or found.

Wednesday morning I had an appointment so I couldn’t go early and look some more.  At 10:30, Animal Control called and said someone had reported seeing a puggle running through their yard.  Tater and I jumped in the car, I cancelled my appointment and we were off.

This kind, kind man and his son talked to me and let me wander around his very large yard  ~ he confirmed it was ours from the picture, but they weren’t sure which way he ran, because he was FAST.

Tater and I drove around for 5 hours, hitting all the neighborhoods, going around in circles and parking with a hamburger, water and food, while calling his name over and over and over and over….I did tell her we were trying to adopt this little dog, after she heard me tell the story so many times and starting thinking about it. She said, “OH Thank you”….but we still had no dog.  I may have shed a tear at that moment.

Finally, ready to give it up for the day, I made one last circle of the area in my truck…just as I was ready to turn for home, I looked over and he was standing in that same yard! As I ran to get him, he dashed away, but I decided to hang out in that yard until he came back.

After an hour of calling and walking the grass bare, I looked down and he stood there, just out of my reach….I could just see him thinking…’What?”

I grabbed the food and went toward him as he ducked under a fallen tree, surrounded by thigh high bushes, limbs, briars and kudzu.  It’s important at this point to say I was wearing a knee length denim skirt and flip flops cause I didn’t have this adventure planned when I left the house.

I headed in, flip flopped feet being as stealthy as I could, tossing food at him as he hid under the tree, just out of reach.  I kept moving, tossing and calling.  Finally straddling a tree limb (and I hope NOTHING else) and seeing blood run down my legs from the briars, I was close enough to grab him.  I drug him out from under the tree, slapped the leash on him and yelled for Tater to come around the other side of the ravine.  I was also thinking how smart it was of her to put on fur lined boots in the 90 degree weather….who knew she’d be the one prepared.

I called Mac, who had made it home….he said he’d meet us at PetSmart to get his stuff…..and where I carried him in my arms the entire time, with his leash on and firmly wrapped around my hand, my arm and the buggy.

And NOW, I’d like to introduce you to Whiskey…..I changed his name because the little SOB NEVER once came when I called him Eli, and if I never say that again, it’ll be too soon!


There were SO many wonderful, caring people that stopped to help me look, ran after him, took my number to call and just said, “Good Luck”.  This tells me there really are kind and good souls in our world ~ so I say Thanks to Karma and everything and everyone else I prayed to that we’d find our Whiskey.

And now, when I ask, “Can I bring Whiskey?”, it’ll mean something TOTALLY different…it’ll mean I have to carry 2 things :) 

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