Birthdays, Blessings, and Bloody Fingers

So, I know I’ve said this before but, it’s been crazy around here.  If you were watching from the outside, you would think that I’ve had nothing but time on my hands, but the truth is, I find myself everyday wishing there were more hours in a day.  Anyways, the last couple of weeks have been a roller coaster, though I have to say, through all the things that have gone on, I would be a fool not to admit that I am truly blessed with some amazing people in my life.

Last week included a lot of moving and trying to figure out where the next chapter of my life would begin.  Without giving out too many details, I was laid off from my job, due to no fault of my own, and since part of my compensation was my house, I had to make the quick decision to move in with my parents until I can find something new.  Luckily, they welcomed me, and my three dogs, with open arms.   They even managed to make some calls and find a place for my two horses, it would have destroyed me to face the reality of letting someone else have them.  Again, I’m blessed.

Though I’m truly thankful for their kindness, love, and support, I can’t help but feel slightly humbled by this experience.  Sunday was my 31st birthday, I hardly find it glamorous to admit that I’ve moved back in with my parents at this age, but I have to put that aside and look at the big picture.  If not for them, I would be dogless, horseless, and quite frankly, homeless.

On Thursday, I got the call that I had to pick my mom up from work and take her to the hospital because my step dad had had an accident while at work.  Turns out, he decided it would be a good idea to get into a fight with a skill saw.  The saw won.

So after six to seven hours of sitting in the waiting room, we found out that he had completely cut his pinky finger off and the damage was beyond repair.  Now comes the wait to see if the adjacent ring finger will be able to be saved.  They are actually at the doctor as we speak to figure out the next steps on that one.  

At the end of the day though, it definitely could have been worse.  Thankfully it wasn’t his thumb, you have no idea how important thumbs are until you don’t have them!  My grandfather had, for as long as I knew him, a missing pinky finger from a similar accident.  Boys will be boys I suppose, they really should ban men from using saws!

I have to be thankful again, for the overwhelming outpouring of love and support that my family has received.  We truly have some amazing people in our lives, I can’t even begin to express how much those people mean to us.  

Being the somewhat morbid/gruesome person that I am, I started to post pictures of his hand because I honestly think it looks kinda cool.  But I refrained from that, because I understand some people have weak stomachs.  But if enough of you want to see it, I will happily share!

I guess that’s it for now, I know I keep promising to return to normal scheduling, and I will, eventually.  Things just need to even out a little bit, maybe I’ll try to harass the boy for a boy word later, as an effort to get back to some normalcy!




I used to live really, really close to a train track.  So close that, on occassion, the walls would shake when the train went by.  My proximity to the tracks wasn’t what bothered me though, it was the frequency of the trains, and the fact that I had to cross the tracks to get anywhere.  On top of that, the trains that went over those tracks were the longest trains in the world, it’s a fact, I looked it up on the internet, and we all know the internet never lies.

Anyways, I was happy when I moved, ironically, I was still fairly close to a set of tracks, but not nearly as close, and it didn’t really matter because I found a road that went under the tracks.  What a concept!  So my long, painful, rocky relationship with trains was over.  Or so I thought.

So I’m staying with my parents for awhile, they don’t live near any train tracks, but in order to get to where the horses are, I have to cross some.  Yesterday, I got stuck at the crossing while the train STOPPED, then proceeded to back up a few feet, and pull forward a little, then back up some more.

How is this legal?  Seriously.  What if you are having a heart attack and the ambulance is not able to get to you because the freaking train is stopped on the tracks, and you die!

I get it, trains have to stop occasionally and switch tracks, or whatever it is that they are doing while they are doing the bunny hop on the tracks, but isn’t there some better way to handle this?  And honestly, that’s not what my beef is.

What I’m complaining about is, the fact that trains seem to be chasing me down.  It’s like the train mafia godfather has a hit out on me, and he’s just biding his time until he finally pops me.  Until then, he’s just having a bit of fun.

Ugh, I guess I just have to live with the fact that trains are far more attracted to me, than I to them.  Anyways, while this blog was bouncing around in my head, a friend posted this video on her Facebook, and I found it rather relevant.

I have to say, though the message may be slightly morbid, as far as deaths go, these have to be the cutest, most amusing portrayals I’ve seen yet!

Side note…sorry for not blogging much lately, it’s been a freakishly crazy last couple of weeks.  Maybe things will straighten out…eventually.

This Whole Blog is Just Whomperjawed!

Slang is a funny thing.  I find it interesting how certain parts of the world have their different sayings and phrases that really make no sense to the rest of us.  If I were to be stuck in a room with an Englishman, and forced to carry out a 30 minute conversation, chances are that, even though we both speak English, at least 20% of the conversation would leave me scratching my head saying “What the heck did he just say?  Is he speaking English?”

How quaint, that language has evolved so much that we are able to manipulate it to a point that, in our own separate regions, we can come up with different sayings, and all automatically know what it means.  I was speaking with an English lady the other day, and she was telling me that her horse had “a bit of wind under her tail, and a bloody mind.”  I laughed, because I could tell she was joking about something by the tone in her voice, but I honestly had no clue what she had just told me.  I can only make a guess that she was telling me that her normally calm, quiet mannered horse, was feeling a bit frisky that day.

I came in contact with another individual from England a few months ago who told me to “Shove up a bit”.  I wasn’t sure how to respond to this statement.  Part of me felt that I had been insulted in some fashion.  The only phrases I’m familiar with that use the word “shove” are not really flattering.  “Shove off”, “Shove it in your mouth and shut up”, and “Tell him to shove it up his (you know what)” are not really things that I want someone to say to me.  I even enlisted the help of google, which didn’t help much.  So if anyone knows whether or not I was insulted, please let me know.

It’s not just limited to different countries either.  I can guarantee you that anyone visiting Texas from one of the northern states would spend most of their time running around with wide eyes, trying to find a “Texan to English Dictionary.”  Throw the twangy accents in to the mix, and that poor sap never had a chance.

I try not to include slangy sayings in my writing, because I have followers from all over the world, but it happens sometimes.  So, I thought I would clue you all in on some of the common phrases I may have said in the past, or will say in the future, just so you know what the heck I’m saying!

“Come Hell or high water”

Example: I’m going to make it to the wedding on time, come Hell or high water.

I don’t really know where this phrase came from, it’s origins have to be outdated because Texans are tough, and most aren’t scared by the idea of Hell.  We live in the “Bible belt” and aren’t really threatened by the idea of Hell.  And pretty much everyone here drives a big bubba truck, so high water isn’t exactly a huge issue either.  But this phrase basically means, I’m going to do what I said I would, no matter what.

“Fixing to”, “Fixin ta”, or “Fixin a”

Example: I’m fixing to go grab something to eat.

I’m guilty of using this one religiously.  I love this phrase.  It’s become so natural to me that I have no clue when I say it.  In fact, I’m pretty sure I was almost in high school before I realized that saying “fixing to” wasn’t proper English, and to this day, I’m not 100% sure I know what the proper phrase is.  I know in other parts of the country they say “about to” but I have no clue if that’s really correct or not.  This one basically means you’re getting ready to do something. (Is that the correct way to say it?  I’m still confused)


Example: You’ll never get that door open, the lock is all whomperjawed.

I love to use this one merely for the fact that whomperjawed is just a fun word to say.  Basically, if something is whomperjawed, you’re in trouble.  It means that something is either broken, or out of place.

“rode hard and put away wet”

Example: Have you met his new wife?  She’s sweet but she looks like she’s been rode hard and put away wet.

Having horses, I know where the idea of this one comes from.  When you ride a horse to the point of making it sweat excessively, and you don’t bathe them, and just let the sweat dry, it can be pretty unpleasant to the eye.  There are two uses for this phrase: the first being for someone (usually a woman) who has aged beyond her years.  Usually these women were once very pretty but have led a long, rough life and it has taken it’s toll on them.  The other, and less common use, is for someone who is very exhausted and looks like they are fixing to (I can use that one now!) fall over from fatigue.

Okay, that’s all for now.  Now that I’ve done this, I’ve given myself permission to use these phrases in the future, up to y’all (you guys, left that one out) to reference back here in the event you need it.

Now, to find out if I should “shove up a bit” or not….

The thing I hate about being a veterinarian

Not my usual blend of satirical happiness, but since I always wanted to be a vet, and went to school to be one, just never finished, I found this blog very interesting.

Side note: Things have been super crazy around here the last few days, I’m hoping things will let up soon and I can go back to regular posts!


In my day to day life as a veterinarian, there is something that I dread doing. This particular thing makes me squirm, twitch, drool and retch. I try to avoid it at all costs, and I consider myself to be blessed if I have technicians willing to do it for me. Want to guess what it is?

Expressing anal glands? (Nope. I secretly think it is rewarding to do this)

Doing a dental on a pus filled, rotting mouth? (Fun times!)

Sifting through dog puke to make sure it threw up all the rat poison? (Love it, even though I am a sympathy puker)

Draining a 4 day old, putrid, maggot infested cat bite abscess? (No, although dealing with maggot wounds sometimes makes me reconsider my career choices.)

As gross and vomit inducing as all of the above may be, the thing I hate doing the most as a veterinarian is…

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Boy Words: Volume 5

Today’s Boy Word: Old Peculier ( I know, technically two, but think of it as a 2 for 1 type thing)

I’ve said this before but, I’m not a huge beer drinker, but after knowing the boy, I have come around a little bit and refined my palatte, slightly. 

Old Peculier is the boy’s favorite beer.  I think mainly because of his fascination, and infatuation, with everything British.  But also because it IS pretty good beer.   A few weeks ago, the boy sent me home with a couple bottles of beer, he even managed to part with one of his precious “Old P’s” in order to let me partake in the refreshment.  

True to form, the beers sat in my fridge for awhile, but because of the craziness I’ve experience this week, I had already made a decision to drink one of them.  When the boy sent me today’s “boy word” there was no question as to which one I would be enjoying tonight. 

Without further ado, I crack open my Old P and begin today’s installment of “boy words.”


So, Old P.  Since I’m no connoisseur, I referred to the good ole internet for references as to how to describe this ale.

Appearance:  Pours dark brown with chunky lacing

Chunky lacing?  Okay, so this is probably where I show just how little I know about beer.  First of all, chunky is not a very positive word in my book.  I’m chunky.  I know that chunky is just a cute way of saying someone is fat. So in short, I’m drinking a dark, fat, lacey beer. Do you want one yet?

Aroma: Malty, dried figs, dates, and toffee

Umm, I’m holding it up to my nose as we speak, and all I smell is beer.  How do these people distinguish different smells?  Better yet, what the heck do dried figs smell like?  Am I just that uncultured?

Taste: Malty and creamy on start; roasted grains in the middle; semi-sweet nutty finish; well balanced; excellent taste 

Oh, oh, oh…this is the best part of the research..I finally get to drink it!  So, I’m a little confused about the whole, start, middle, finish thing.  I never knew tasting beer was so complicated.  I thought the purpose of drinking beer was to relax, unwind, enjoy yourself. 

Feel: Full creamy mouthfeel (chewy as mentioned) with very low carbonation, just a hint of it on the tongue

If there’s something chewy in my beer, I’m spitting it out.  That ain’t supposed to be there…what the heck does a chewy beer taste like?


Hmmm, well, that wasn’t exactly an overly appetizing sounding review now was it?  Well, take my word for it, it’s actually pretty darn good stuff.



My Phone: The Social Butterfly

I need a new phone.

It has been doing random, crazy things lately.  I don’t know how many people I have accidentally called in the last few weeks, but apparently my phone likes talking way more than I do.  It also likes to send random, very random, text messages to people, mostly the boy.  Thankfully he has come to accept these texts as everyday life.  And when I say random, I mean this:

Say Whaaaa?

It’s become a running joke, that aliens are trying to communicate with us.

Yesterday, however, it tried a new prank.

While taking a break from work, I sat down and checked Facebook from my phone.  Normally a pretty mundane task that I do on a daily basis, but this time I saw this:


I’ll admit it,I get excited when I see that I have notifications, it may be silly but it makes my heart smile when my friends “like” or comment on things that I’ve posted, after all, that’s kind of the point of Facebook right?

So I “clicked” on the notification link which told me that three people had accepted my friends request.

Ummm…first of all, I didn’t remember sending out any friends requests, secondly, I had never heard of two of the names in my life.  One of them, as it turned out, was someone that I knew from school all those years ago, so I was okay with that.

I have a couple problems with this.  For one, I don’t like to add friends to my Facebook if they’re not really my friends.  I get annoyed with half of my friends posts in the first place, I don’t need anymore drama than I already have, especially from people I don’t even know.  Furthermore, why are random people accepting my requests in the first place?

I guess I should be flattered, I guess I’m just THAT cool, everyone wants to know me, to hang out with me, I AM pretty awesome!

Or….maybe they just feel bad for denying friends requests.  They probably think I’m some sad soul, out searching for new friends, and they feel bad for me.  They probably think that I will jump off a bridge if they don’t accept my friends request, and who wants to be held accountable for that.

Whatever the reason may be, I’m sorry new friends, I’ve already deleted you from my list.  I know, I know, it was short lived, but I feel like I gained something wonderful from our relationship.  I never would have seen the coolest profile picture EVER.  Who knew that one person could stuff 5 billion drinking straws in their nose?

I probably should have kept that guy, he would have been great to have at parties.

Boy Words: Volume 4

I know I usually do these on Tuesday but yesterday just wasn’t a good night for me to blog.  So to those of you who were waiting with baited breath for this weeks edition of Boy Words, I apologize, though, I find it hard to believe that anyone other than the boy was really upset.

Anyways…on with the show!

Today’s Boy Word: Cylon

Let me start by saying; pre-boy Sam hated just about anything to do with science fiction.  I just didn’t care for it.  But the boy changed my mind on a lot of things, I entered the relationship with a fairly open mind, and accepted the challenges he presented me with.  I had never seen Star Wars, for example, which was just ridiculous in his opinion and he very quickly changed that, by making me watch all of them.  And I enjoyed it to be honest.

Another of these adventures that he sent me on, was Battlestar Galactica.  I had heard of the show and I didn’t really think it was going to be worth the hype that he made it out to be.  But like the good little girlfriend I am, I watched it.

I was pretty much hooked after one episode.  I would make dates with him purely for the reason that I could watch the next episode, that’s really all I cared about, he had nothing to add to the equation, except a home cooked meal.  That’s all that matters in a relationship anyways right?  Free entertainment and food?

Anyways, for those of you who have never watched this show (and for all intensive purposes, I’m referring to the newer series that began in 2004, I’m sure the older versions are wonderful, I’ve just never seen them) Cylons are the bad guys….or are they?

The premise of the show starts out as your basic “good vs evil” type drama and continues to throw different twists in from time to time to keep you guessing and asking who is good and who is evil.

Basically, humans created robotic drones and soldiers to do their dirty work for them.  Freaking lazy humans!  There are three types of Cylon:

Raiders, basically living spaceships


Centurions, robot soldiers


and “skin jobs”, the masterminds of the Cylon race that have mastered human form and, for awhile, go unnoticed as they live out their day to day lives amongst the human population.

"Six" as portrayed by Tricia Hefner, who, I just want to add, I've met in real life, and I can promise you, she is the most gorgeous woman on the face of the planet
“Six” as portrayed by Tricia Hefner, who, I just want to add, I’ve met in real life, and I can promise you, she is the most gorgeous woman on the face of the planet Source:



So the entire series is basically a long battle between the Cylons, whose beliefs are basically Christian, and the humans, who believe in several different deities, much like the ancient Romans or Greeks.  Because of the humans’ beliefs, Cylons see them as sinners, unpure, and feel that they do not deserve the lives they have, thus their justification for attempting to eradicate the entire human race.

And and interesting fact, for those of you that are still reading, Cylon stands for Cybernetic Lifeform Node.

So there you have it, Cylons.  I must say, I’m not overly proud of today’s edition of Boy Words,and I left out A LOT of stuff, but please don’t quit reading my blog, or future boy words…I just wasn’t feeling it today.

I’m sorry boy.

Poodle-Hoppers, Anyone?

A few years ago, people thought it would be a cute idea to start mixing different breeds of dogs and labeling them designer dogs.  You know the ones I’m talking about, you’ve got your malti-poos, yorki-poos, labradoodles…apparently mixing anything with a poodle makes for an amusing combination.

I’ve never been a big fan of the idea, in my mind, these mixed breeds have existed by themselves without human influence.  They live on the streets and in shelters, just waiting to die.

Well that sounded a little morbid now didn’t it?

Honestly though, I’ve always been a strong advocate for adopting rescue dogs.  Two of mine are rescues, and the only reason I have Winston, a pure breed, is because he was a Christmas present from my parents.  I don’t know for sure what Piper and Mama Sue are, but I can make an educated guess.

So, following in the form of the designer “breeds”, I have Piper, a schipperke/dachshund mix, otherwise known to no one but me as a “skipping weenie” and Mama Sue, a corgi/basset hound, or “bassorgi” or maybe a “corget”?

Anyways, I was bored last night (which usually means trouble) and I was perusing ads on Craigslist.  One ad, in particular, caught my eye.

“I am looking for a miniature teacup chihuahua.  Not just a miniature chihuahua, and not just a teacup chihuahua, these are smaller.  A friend of mine has one but the breeder she got hers from no longer breeds.  Does anyone know where I can find one of these cute little dogs?”

Yes, I admit it, it's cute...but still.... Source:
Yes, I admit it, it’s cute…but still….

A miniature teacup chihuahua?  Umm, hello!  We already have those, they’re called rats!

Hey!  I'm cute too! Source:
Hey! I’m cute too!

Seriously though, how small do we have to breed these things before you accidentally inhale one while eating your breakfast cereal?  Is there any reason that a regular sized chihuahua isn’t already small enough?  I used to see those things at the dog park and would have to consciously tell myself they weren’t ants, and I shouldn’t stomp on them.

There’s an over abundance of grasshoppers running around my house, maybe I should catch them and market them as micro mini teeny tiny itty bitty teacup hairless chihuahuas.

Oh wait…I forgot to add the poodle in there, it’s nothing without the poodle.

Oh Fortune Cookie, You’re Far Too Kind

I wrote awhile back about how I had managed to overcome my irrational fear of doing something, like going to a restaurant by myself.  The restaurant I referred to in that blog was a Chinese buffet.

I love Chinese food, what is there not to love?  How many other nationalities do you know have invented twenty thousand different chicken dishes that are, essentially, the exact same thing, just a different sauce?  And who would name an entire dish after a historical figure?

The Chinese, that’s who!  They were brazen enough to name an entire dish after a man who led troops into a bloody battle against their own countrymen.  I’ve yet to see Robert E. Lee’s Fricasseed Duck on the menu of any restaurant I’ve visited.

Without a doubt, though, the best part of Chinese food comes at the very end of the meal.  After you are finished stuffing your face with sesame chicken, pepper chicken, jalapeno chicken, orange chicken, and General Tso’s chicken, a bouncy little waiter will bring your check to the table.  In most restaurants, I don’t get excited about receiving my check, but I find myself exuberantly awaiting the arrival of my bill because I know that placed gingerly on top of that piece of paper, I will find an inevitably stale, oddly shaped cookie, with a mysterious message inside.


The other night, after finishing my meal and waving off the waiter for attempting to fill up my water glass for the fifteenth time, I hurriedly cracked open my fortune cookie.  There inside, on the tiny little piece of paper, was the sweetest thing anyone, or anything rather, has ever said to me.

“Everyone admires you for your talent and ability”

Now, I have had complimentary fortune cookies before. They usually show a great deal of faith in me, saying that my kindness will lead to great wealth or that success is inevitable. These little baked treats really believe in me, it seems, and constantly are urging me forward towards some sort of world domination.

This is a far cry from the end of most other meals. If I were to enjoy a nice burger at Jack in the Box, my food wouldn’t tell me anything nice at the end of the meal. In fact, I get the feeling it is just saying, “Way to go, tubbo! You just ate an entire day’s worth of food in one sitting. I hope you enjoy hardened arteries!”

There is no judgment from a fortune cookie, though. Just blind faith in me.

If someone were smart, they would create a type of fortune cookie for everyday life. Whenever someone is feeling down at work, a waiter would walk by, hand you a cookie and within seconds you would feel great due to a tiny baked good telling you that “a happy life is just in front of you.” It would be a great motivator for a company to have around.

Of course, this fortune seems a bit off. I mean EVERYONE? What are we talking about here? Do we mean everyone I know, everyone in the restaurant, everyone working at the fortune cookie factory? Surely we don’t mean everyone in the world admires me for my talents and abilities.

Don’t get me wrong. I have a lot of talents and abilities. I’m very good at tying my shoes, having done it every day for at least the past 20 years.  I can run a microwave like a pro, and I have the uncanny ability to find the bathroom in the middle of the night.

These just don’t seem like admirable talents to me.

Who am I to question a fortune cookie, though? They are (I assume) created by magic men who can see into the future. Surely they know something I don’t.

I just hope that knowing about this admiration that everyone has for me doesn’t go to my head. It would be very easy to start feeling overly confident and cocky knowing that everyone feels this way about me. I don’t want to become one of those inaccessible geniuses that spends their life alone because no one believes that they can measure up to their brilliance.

I guess I could just go to Jack in the Box if my ego gets too out of control. That burger will knock me down a peg or two.