The Book of Max, Chapter 1

You may remember Max from this incident. If not, Max is one of our two dogs - he is a Boston Terrier and our other dog, Flynn, is a German Shorthair Pointer mix. Flynn is afraid of the camera so you probably won't see many pictures of him here. But he does exist.

Max is part of the reason I haven't been visiting blogland much lately. He's sick and has needed some special attention the last few weeks. I try not to make this blog a Diary of Debbie Downer, but I need this right now.

Max came into our lives 3 years ago. Sparky and I lived in a duplex we were renting with our friend Lindsay and her big, beautiful Black Lab, Reyse. For my birthday (February 17th, for future reference) Sparky's gift to me was a dog - but one I picked out on my own. No surprises. None of this cute, cuddly furball with a ribbon around it's neck stuff. I contacted Jennifer at
Mid American Boston Terrier Rescue about a few of the dogs they had available for adoption. We had just bought our house and would be closing and moving in one month. I didn't want to put a dog through more trauma than necessary so I let Jennifer know this in case they thought it would be a problem.

The dogs I was interested in had all been adopted and Jennifer thought the move might make for added stress for one of the poor pups. However, she would keep me in mind for any other dogs that came up for adoption.

A couple weeks later, Jennifer emailed me about a dog that was being fostered in Newton, about 45 minutes from Des Moines. An older couple had actually adopted him but Max wasn't mixing well with their cats so they had to give him up. They were keeping him until he found a new home. Jennifer sent me this photo collage:

Aaaannndd... my heart melted. I forwarded the message to Sparky and asked if we could meet Max. Later, I found out that Sparky had thought Max was ugly in the pictures (he doesn't think that anymore) but he was willing to play along.

IF we were going to take Max home, we wanted to make sure he and Reyse got along so that weekend Sparky, Lindsay, Reyse and I packed up the car and traveled to Newton to meet this guy. We pulled up to a nice farmhouse and were greeted by an adorable older couple. They had Max in the backyard for us. We walked around the house and through a gate where a black and white monster waited for us. He was barking and jumping as soon as he saw some new friends.

While I was leaning down to introduce myself and Max launched himself off the ground, full force, to greet me with a kiss. We smacked into each other in the middle (I ended up with a fat lip) but that didn't deter Max. He jumped and barked until I was sitting on the ground with him getting covered in kisses. His foster parents looked on and said, "We've never seen him do that to anyone before." Love. (We later learned that this actually was a fairly typical Max greeting but I felt special at the time.)

He gave Kurt and Lindsay similar greetings and then moved on to Reyse, who was exploring the expansive backyard. After a little butt-sniffing and sizing up, Max proceeded to mount and hump Reyse, despite the size difference. Clearly, this one was going to be in charge. Fortunately Reyse is a fairly passive dog - so they got along just fine. We spent about a half hour playing with and learning about Max. He had been found roaming around in Kansas City, no license or microchip. He had been trained by someone because he was housebroken and knew basic commands. His age hadn't quite been determined with any certainty but he was an older dog. His teeth were fairly worn down like an older dogs but the vets thought it was because he had been in a kennel at one point and had chewed on the bars (this didn't surprise us later). He acted like a much younger dog than his teeth showed so the guess was that he was around 6 or 7 years old. Besides kennels, Max also liked to chew on his leash when out on walks so his foster dad had put some plastic tubing around his leash to keep Max from chewing through it.

In that short 30 minutes, we had found our dog. I think it was a little unexpected for his foster parents. Even though he was terrorizing their cats, they wanted to keep him - I think the cats only won out because of seniority. I called Jennifer to tell her we wanted to take him home and find out what the next steps were. She suggested we take him that day for our "trial period" (ha!). It broke my heart to see the disappointment on the old couples faces. They packed Max's things up, kissed him good-bye and stood in the driveway while we pulled away.

We made it back to the duplex where Max quickly made himself at home.

A Fashion Statement

It's New York Fashion Week and there are plenty of fabulous clothes to talk about but I don't have any business discussing Tibi, Temperly, Tory Burch and the like. A little number in the mall did catch my eye this week and I just can't resist commenting on it.
Check out what made an appearance in the Juniors Department at Dillards:


Initial thoughts? Probably not my fave color choices, not so crazy about the wonky, ill-made pocket...No that's not all. Take a closer look. Do you see?

For the pre-teen who just doesn't have time for first and second base.

Did I mention this was in the JUNIORS department of a fairly nice department store. Excuse me while I state the obvious - but the skirt can be completely unzipped! I mean, I've heard of easy access but this is a little ridiculous (and lazy). No teenage girl needs to be advertising...that. Come on designers, department stores and parents - can we please stop indicating to our daughters (full disclosure: I don't have children yet - but I was one) that we want them to be prostitutes-in-training?! How about we let them be girls for a little while?
I suppose that even if you don't buy it for them, at some point they will probably leave the house in something sweet and frilly and then change at their bffs house into something like this:

Your honor - may I please enter Exhibit A into the case of Kelly v the Fashion Police.

Craft FAIL

I read a lot of blogs written by Craftees. People who restore Goodwill finds from the depths of hell, make artwork from materials that cost less than two dollars, go on baking sprees, cook things without using a recipe and just create all around fabulousness (I'm looking at you Poverty with a View and bigger, better, best). I'm jealous of them. I love that they post all kinds of great tutorials that I can follow but I want to be able to look at something, wave my magic Craftee wand and create something that people adore.

So imagine my joy when I spotted these pretties in the dollar bins at Michaels

and some V-day inspiration came to me. Why - I could spray paint these little frames a lovely shade of pink (because what could Craftee doesn't adore spray paint), throw some cutesy scrapbook paper in as a background and then cut out coordinating L, O, V and E letters. Are you picking up what I'm putting down? Cuuuuute, right?!
Well, it sounded like a good plan. I picked out four frames and some hot pink spray paint. With my 40% off a full price item coupon, I spent less than $10. Woo-hoo!! Let's go!

Mistake #1 - the frames. Picture frames are easy to spray paint, right? You pop off the back take out the glass or plastic and go to town - no fuss. Unless you fail to check your frame construction and discover during craft prep that the back looks like this:

Excuse the blurry shot. I have unsteady and unmanicured hands.

So backing is attached and so is the plastic. Hmmmm...let me think about this. OK - so it's not as easy as it was supposed to be, but I can make this work. The filler paper (is there a technical term for that?) can be trimmed down to cover the plastic. Voila!

Mistake #2 - the paint. I found the perfect color among the selection at Michael's. It was a deep hot pink called Rhine River Rose. It was a Krylon H2O Latex paint. Spray paints are all the same, right? WRONG. In my case anyway. Even if I had googled "how to use latex spray paint" BEFORE I commenced my disaster-making ways, I would not have found anything to deter me from the path I was about to go down. No one else seems to have a problem with this paint. In fact, every blog/website sings it's praises - "it's low VOC," "you can use it indoors," "it dries so quickly," "mistakes clean up with soap and water." No one has written, "Latex spray paint will turn your Valentine's Day craft into a gooey, sticky mess like this:"

This picture doesn't do justice to the epic disastrousness I created.

That's a little better.

"And because won't even be dry a full day later OR wash off with soap and water, you will have hot pink fingertips for three days." Nope - everyone else seems perfectly fine with it.

OK - so mayyybe I shouldn't have painted in the garage in sub zero temps. Since it is low-VOC paint - I probably could have used the slightly warmer if slightly more dungeony basement. Maybe the right temperature would help the paint dry.

Mistake #3 - the paper. As you may notice in the above pictures, the brilliant idea of using paper to cover the parts that needed spray paint protection did not work. Because, genius, what happens when coated paper gets wet? It curls up. Good call on that one.

I'm going to give it one more try before I trash the project. I am going to attempt to re-paint in the basement in hopes that the "quick dry" claims exist in the recommend temperatures. I will attempt to wash the spray-painted clearness with soap and water. If that works, I'll store them away and deal with the paper next year. If not, I'm sure I can buy what I'm looking for at Target.

Birthdays and Black Eyes

My birthday is quickly approaching. While trying to decide how to celebrate, I have been thinking about birthdays past. One party from a few years ago is reason to follow the tidbit for this installment of Momma Says Monday. Let's take a look back...

My friends and I were discussing what we should do for my 26th birthday; over beers, naturally. I threw a party bus out there (yes, I decided that my friends should get me a party bus for my birthday. Narcissistic much?) and we thought that sounded like a great idea. A little research and a few phone calls later and we were ready to roll.

During the pre-party, what would prove to be a fateful prophecy came from some of the avid Arrested Development fans, including myself, Sparky and my sister, Libby. While talking about the (dearly missed) TV show, the topic of "hop-ons" came up. We related the episode to our adventures to come that evening and warned everyone, in the words of Michael Bluth giving advice to George Michael on driving the stair car,

"Be sure to watch for hop-ons. You're going to have some hop-ons."

Fast forward several bars and many beers later; a bus full of couches (yes, couches) and fairly intoxicated twenty-somethings rolled into the last bar for the night - Miss Kitty's. Some of the group headed into the bar straight-away but several remained on the bus to finish additional beverages.

Then, a not-so-gentlemanly-and-verrrrry-drunk young man boarded our craft. Seeing this, Sister Libby recalled the "rule" we had established earlier in the night and quickly sprung into action. She attempted to inform our new guest that we were no longer accepting RSVPs for party and asked him to remove himself. However, I believe all that came out of her mouth was, "It's a hop-on! NO HOP-ONS!! NO HOP-ONS!!"

The next part is still a bit of a mystery to all witnessed/experienced it. And, none of us - especially me - are entirely credible sources. It seems that several of us jumped in behind Sister Libby as she berated the guy off the bus. She did not feel that he had quite gotten the message even after he had left and continued to communicate this to him after he had started to walk away. From what I remember, he did not appreciate this and he grabbed her and shoved her against a nearby (parked) vehicle. Did I mention that Libby is my younger sister?

Here's an equation for you... birthday girl + far too many drinks + hop-on man throwing sister against a car = x

X = an enraged, drunken big sister who immediately proceeds to rush to the rescue. That is, if rescue includes yelling profanities in the face of the d-bag who did this - only to be tossed to the ground by him. And by tossed, I mean grabbed by the shoulders and thrown to the concrete, head first.

Libby was shaken up but alright. The birthday girl, on the other hand, came to with my head in my friend's lap staring up at their stricken face. Oh, and with pain shooting through my head. I'll spare you the exact words I was babbling as I tried to determine if I was going to die in the bar parking lot. My friends assured me I was ok and got me back on the bus (during this time, our new *friend* had been tracked down by some of the gentleman accompanying us and received a stern talking to).

Then the ambulance showed up. And the police. I was questioned about the incident but between my partying and what-turned-out-to-be-a-concussion; I was completely incoherent. Nice. After checking me over, it was determined that the growing lump on my forehead warranted a trip to the hospital. Sparky and I were newly engaged at the time so as they strapped me onto the ambulance bed and started to pack me in, I was calling out, "What about my fiiiiiaaaanceeee! I can't leave without my fiiiiaaaanceeee!" Seriously.

The last thing I really recall about that night is hearing the EMTs call me in to the hospital as an "intoxicated white female with a head injury." To which my response was, "Ohhhh noooo. It's my biiiirrrthdaaayyy. I get to be int...intoxss...intoximicated," followed by tears of embarassment and sorrow about my "ruined" birthday (at least I still knew enough that this was embarassing - that's a good sign I suppose).

After a trip to the ER, I was sent home with a mild concussion. I sported a lovely bump and very black eye for a few weeks. Those eventually faded. But I'm pretty sure the limited memories and my feelings about hop-ons never will.

Happy Groundhog Day!!

I am so over this winter. I swear, if Punxsutawney Phil sees his shadow and runs back into his warm little home in the ground, I will fly/drive/walk to Gobbler's Knob and pull him out of there until he agrees that spring is just around the corner.