We’re in the midst of a “warm” snap, making the weather feel more like The Swamps of Louisiana than crisp NorthCarolinaLand. Apparently it’s effing with everyone’s sinuses too. I feel a little crappy, so does Dave, and Dave tells me his trainer Jeremy feels not too hot either.
Dave and I have decided we don’t have seasonal allergies after all. We’re just allergic to humidity.
Through unanimous decision, Greening in the House of S will be discontinued until further notice. And by “greening” I mean making laundry detergent. Someone (who looks a lot like me) tackled the laundry room last on moving day and could only salvage a few important gifts. All of our camping gear, a toaster oven, a microwave, and oodles of other stuff went to The Barney Farm. My laundry detergent making supplies went to Papa’s. I think. And because start up costs aren’t feasible right now, Dave and I have decided to just use GreenWorks. Until someone tells me GreenWorks is no different from using Gain. Then I’ll pitch a fit and justify the cost of Seventh Gen.
We also (gasp, horror) bought a roll of paper towels, at first because we couldn’t get to our OTHER towels, and then realized there are a few jobs that just REQUIRE towels in paper form. Only two really, and those two fall into the same catagory, so, you know, I don’t feel so bad about the decision.
Those two jobs for the noseys out there: Draining greasy things and cleaning up greasy messes. You see, try as I might – and believe me, I’ve really, really tried – I just canNOT get the smell of rancid oil out of my towels after they’ve been used to clean anything oily. And the smell spreads, y’all, like the plague. I can get it out of the spread-to items, but NOT the originator. I’ve tried presoaking, I’ve tried extra rinses, I’ve tried dry soaking WITH Dawn, I’ve tried presoaking with Dawn. I motored through HALF A BOTTLE OF DAWN, Y’ALL, the same bottle of Dawn we’ve been chipping away at since August 09. No, really. I’ve washed and washed and WASHED. And washed! to no avail. They will NOT come clean. So, I keep them segregated. “These towels are for oily clean up, and these towels are for everything else.” Of course, this master plan doesn’t always work out the way I want. Plus, I packed ALL our towels together in one big box for the move. ALL of them: hair towels, body towels, washcloths, kitchen towels, hand towels. Any and all terrycloth went into that box, including the rancid oil towels. Needless to say, I’ve washed some effing towels since I got to NorthCarolinaLand. But I’m happy to report, with the exception of the possessed rancid oil towels, everything else smells awesome. Like, not just clean, but really good. I think it’s the GreenWorks. Anyway, so we’re back to paper towels for messes we know we can’t wash out. And that’s the point of this paragraph.
Still procrastinating with the unpacking process. I just don’t see the point. We have no friends here, thus no visitors, and I really REALLY doubt Dave’s going to just up and invite coworkers over. I’d gut him.
Finnigan’s manners are cultivating, albeit slowly. He’s so smart, y’all, but he’s SO excited and energetic. He really has no control over himself sometimes. I’m think about investing in another clicker. I think he’d really take to clicker training. He’s very reward-driven.
Once Oliver relinquishes his testicles, he’ll be a MODEL citizen. He’s almost got it down. He’s a perfect gentleman in the house, but he forgets himself in public. I’m SURE it’s the extra testosterone.
Daisy’s old hat at this apartment living act. She missed her leash and is ALL ABOUT her walks. We’ve also got a handle on her potty time too. Now, these next few sentences are over-share and dog-butt-centric, so if hearing about my pet’s butthole and bowel movements just isn’t your thing, skip ahead. Anyway, we (finally!) wrangled everyone into the bath on Sunday. Oliver still smelled slightly of cat pee (I’ll tell that story later), Finn has dander issues that require constant attention, and Daisy’s little hineyhole has been big and puckered lately, even after pooping, and she’s be buttdragging more than usual. She squealed when I tried to express her glands, so Dave held her head. Despite protest, I gave her butt a good squeeze. The first squeeze let out the typical santorum, but not enough to equate her discomfort. Squeezing again, I felt something pop, kind of like a big juicy zit. The stuff that followed that sensation looked like the stuff that comes out of a big juicy zit, and there was a good deal of it. She must have had a blockage, which both explains the consistency of her santorum, her constantly puckered butt, and her reluctance to poop normally. That evening, Dave took her for a walk and reported back that her poop was not only more abundant than he’s seen it in a WHILE, but it was the right consistency too, and Daisy wasn’t at all reluctant to let loose. Moral of the story, express those glands.
Okay, enough about Daisy’s butt.
This just in! I found my camera! Let the photofest begin!
So, tell me Meagan, did you laugh, gag, or both?