As usual, I got up at the crack of dawn this morning.
I just love that phrase, crack of dawn. It's so powerful like the crack of a whip. And man, did I ever feel that whip's sting this morning. We enjoyed a very late dinner out with our friends Tim and Michelleand so my head didn't hit my cushy pillow until well after the witching hour.
I would have loved to have snuggled under the covers until after the dawn's cracking, but the little crapheads, aka, the puppies were fussing loudly, in their best "POTTY NOW!" cries. And since all of the assholes in this house go into a state of coma-like hibernation when the puppies start yapping, it has somehow become my job to be the dawn cracker.
I shouldn't complain. They're getting better at this sleeping thing. 3:00 a.m. traditionally, has been their, "Heyyyy! We're up! Anyone want to join us for a rousing game of race around the room like puppies on crack?"
Now, here's the setup. The puppies' quarters are right next to my bedroom door. They've recently learned to jump out of their pen and I don't have the heart to set up Bella's old crate, so they have free run of the room. I know. I know. Crate training is supposed to be the bomb, but I'm just an indulgent mother when it comes to these babies and I always feel like I'm putting them in the slammer when I send them to the crate.
The tough part of being crateless is they've figured out if they bark and bark and bark and bark outside my bedroom door, they will eventually wear me down no matter how high I adjust the sound machine. And when I open the door at 3:00 am, bleary with sleep, their little bodies are just a-wiggling and they're all, "Hi! Hi! Hi!" covering me with wet dog kisses and jumping all over me, rejoicing. They don't listen to reason in the middle of the night.
I hate that about them.
I did figure out a really cool way around it this week, though. Their mother, Paris Hilton, sleeps in our bed wedged between the Hubby and me. She barely cracks an eye open when I heave my exhausted self out of bed at 3:00 am.
I think the term, "bitch" as it relates to the dog world, was labeled with her in mind.
Well, last week as I started to climb out of bed, she rolled over and groaned, like, "Could you get out of bed a little more quietly? I'm trying to get some sleep, here!"
I took one look at her and said, "What the hell am I doing?"
I got HER ass out of bed, opened the door just a crack as the wiggling crackheads tried to worm their way in and shoved their lame mother in with them, slamming the door behind her sorry ass.
Paris did try to scratch at the door as I heard the puppies climbing all over her. I opened the door and yelled like a sleep-deprived madman, firmly told her to go lay down with her offspring. The last few nights it's worked like a charm.
I think the bitch hates me now, though. She gives me the stinkeye as she's sprawled on the kitchen floor in the morning, exhausted.
Anyway, so this crack of dawn, after they'd worn themselves out racing around like Richard Simmons on speed, they were ready for their early morning nap.
I decided to climb back in bed and grab a few more winks.
I love that moment right before sleep comes, when all your cascading million and one thoughts ebb away, leaving you in a dusky place of nothingness as the gentle world of slumber overtakes you.
That was so not happening for me this morning.
All those million and one thoughts jackhammered at my brain, not letting up.
Thoughts like: I wonder where my purse is? I hope it's not on the floor where the crapheads will chew it into a million pieces of sleek, black leather bits. And on that note, why, when they have 3 gazillion chew toys that I've bought them, did they feel compelled to chew up my bra last week? And my favorite one at that, the one that made me look the least like the National Geographic Poster Girl. I'm sad that JD Salinger's dead. The world has lost a great literary voice, but since he was a recluse and 90, it's not like anyone had actually heard his voice in quite some time. So there's that. I want a Shark steam cleaner. I heard they have them at Costco. I need to get to Costco before they run out. I wonder if they'll have those garlic-stuffed olive samples today? Man, I love those. And that's weird, because I don't really like olives. I love garlic. I could bathe in garlic. Maybe that would keep all the Twilight fanatics away from me. I wonder if those weird, rashy bumps on my shoulder are from a Brown Recluse spider? If they are, all the skin around it will die and then I'll never be able to wear a tank top, again. That would suck since I live in Florida and I wear tank tops like 99.5% of the time. I'm really hating how Jay Leno is trying to come out the good guy in all of this. I love Conan. I always have. What did they mean when they said Conan's downfall was his refusal to become more mainstream and lose some of his quirky humor? That's the only kind of humor there is, in my book. Am I the only person in the world who never laughed at Jay Leno? Maybe I'm weird and no one tells me and everyone talks about my weirdness behind my back, "Oh, you mean that weird Joann? She's the queen of the weirdos." I guess if you ARE weird, you probably don't know it. That's why you're weird. I hope my new Facebook friends don't think that my profile picture is really me. This week is who's your celebrity lookalike, post it to your profile and pass it on. Mine is Annie Lennox. I've had a lot of friend requests this week. Boy, are they ever going to be disappointed at the class reunion if they think that's me. The class reunion! I wonder if my face would still be swollen for the reunion if I got a face lift right now? Or maybe I should just get one of those elastic straps that goes around the back of your head and pulls everything back. It sure would be cheaper. But, I don't think I have enough hair to hide it. Everybody would be like, "Uh, you've got a strap on your head." And then I'd be THE story of the reunion instead of all the hookups. "Did you see Weirdo Joann with the strap holding her face back?" I've got to get my ass, (literally) in shape. And stop eating the chocolate chip cookie dough as if it were from the fruit and veggie part of the food pyramid. Hmm...I wonder if there's any of that cookie dough left in the fridge? Maybe I should get out of bed and check. Yeah . . . no. I wonder what Bono's doing right now? Maybe I'll get up and Google him or Brown Recluse spider bites or why puppies eat bras. Maybe I should get up and check on the blog world.
Oh, yeah, the BLOG WORLD.
Not even cookie dough gives me that jump out of bed reaction.
And speaking of blogs . . . I did a little pictorial for my blog friend June of Bye Bye Pie, the partying place in the world of blogs. She was so very kind to highlight me and my drunky self on her post here.
Not only was I thrilled, I am like a cazillion more times thrilled to have made some new, fabulous friends in my blogdom. If you'll look at my blogroll, turn your head to the right—yeah, right there, you can check out some of their awesome blogs. I'm trying to add all my new friends, so you'll be seeing that list get fatter and fatter. *Big sigh* A girl can never have enough friends, especially friends who don't care if you're hanging out in your jammies and your hair looks like Don King at its best because you haven't taken a comb to it yet.
My Hubby finds it a little scary. He thinks my friends are all imaginary. But, they're not and they're talking about you, Buddy, so you better mind your manners around my friends.
And speaking of: Just for your info new friends, Hooters originated down here in the Tropics and even though they're cheesy and known for hiring gals with enormous Hooters who enjoy wearing panty hose under their 70's style shorts, we Floridians don't really think about the restaurant in that way. We like the wings, plain and simple. It's kind of like how a gynecologist reads Playboy for the articles. Same thing. So, I don't care that The Hubby stops by to get the wings. In fact, we ladies of the house are the ones who say to him, "Don't bother coming home unless you've got the wings." We're nice like that.
When you have some spare time and want a good laugh or some inspiration, check out my new friends' blogs. If you want to join our party, we hang out over at June's blog. Links up top. I'm too lazy to link it again, cause you have to copy and then paste into your link and then I like to change the color of the link to the pretty pink color. So, up top, Bye Bye Pie. You have to love animals and be willing to submit most of your free time to commenting. The party's always happening.
Today's Doooo Itttt Download: "For You" by The Boss. It's one of Bruce's early songs. Gosh, I love early Boss when he was hungry and not so preachy and not saddled with the ugly, bad-singing Patty. The only good thing about that girl is her pretty red hair. But, with or without Ugly Patty, Bruce is a genius writer who just happens to put it into song. I love him so much even if he likes the Ugly.
"Crawl into my ambulance, your pulse is getting weak. Reveal yourself all now to me girl, while you've got the strength to speak . . . I came for you, for you, I came for you . . ."
Even on the days that I feel no one's out there, I write. I write because it fills me up. I write because in my hopeful little heart, I think that perhaps someone's reading . . . besides my wonderful sister. I show up and carve out some words in the hope that someday I will be able to make a go of this writing thing. I show up in the hopes of you. I came for you, for all my new and old friends.