I am mistaken. I always thought the socks escaped on Laundry Day--somewhere between the washer and the final dry cycle. I have been proven wrong.
Yesterday was not LD, and yet a Singleton Sock made it's successful break out sometime during the night.
Either that, or one of the FurBoys has become a SockNapper.
Actually, that could very well be the reason my right sock was missing this morning--I have seen Moggy toting one of Bandits toys around in a motherly fashion. He may view the rescue as the humane action since I'm overdue for a pedi.
And then there's Bandit. He definitely has perfected the Death Shake on both his toys and my socks. Although, I believe his homicidal tendencies are reserved for the toys. But I guess there is a first time.
It's a good thing I have a basket for the Singleton Socks who have been left behind--otherwise I might have been late for work this morning.
I may have to lie in wait some night to determine if I have a homicidal dog, a confused male-mother SockNapper, or if Doby is assisting the socks in the Great SockEscape.
Or maybe I'll sleep through it all and it will just remain one of life's great mysteries.
Welcome to the BOMB.
The Blog Of the "Mother" of Bandit.
The Blog Of the "Mother" of Bandit.
Bandit is my Hairless Chinese Crested--he's the "normal" one. I, on the other hand, am unrepentantly "pet-crazy." You know the type--the spinster who lives in the haunted house three blocks over with 72 cats...okay, so I don't have 72 cats, and my house isn't haunted--but my dogs wardrobe is better than mine! Need I say more? :~)
I've never been consistant at journaling, so the timing of my blogs will be sporadic at best. I just hope they are as entertaining to you as they are to me; however, be forewarned: Most of my blogs will be about The BaldOne. In spite of his Don King "do," I think he's just as cute as any of the Brothers B!
Now, if I can just remember not to get him wet--or feed him after midnight...
- My bags are packed and I'm always ready to seek out an adventure with Bandit and Moggy in tow. Bandit is my thirteen year old Chinese Crested, who I frequently call The Bald One or The BaldOne Boy (like he was one of the Baldwin Brothers). Moggy’s full name is Pip-Moggy. He’s my two year old gansta-resuce kitty. I couldn’t decide between Pip (which are the spots on die and domino tiles) and Moggy (or Moggie when I mistakenly thought he was a she), so I combined the two. Moggy refers to the British term for "cat of unknown parentage .” So in essence, I have an almost bald dog, and I’ve named my cat “Spot.”
Fun Stuff (I'm doing now or have done)
- Artistic Attempts weekly (alternating between Painting With A Twist, That Art Place, and Peniot's Palette).
- Bunko with the Belton Bunko Babes monthly.
- Participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge.
- Spades and Liverpool Rummy with the Spadetts weekly.
- The Mighty Texas Dog Walk, Austin (fund raiser for Service Dogs, Inc--they train shelter dogs to be Service Dogs, then give them free of charge to people with disabilities.)
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
I returned to work after a two-week vacation, a week of which was spent in Florida visiting Friends and Family. I really shouldn’t have requested my first Friday back to work off—but we had a full contingent—including the Float, so I did. The reason? My 40th High School Reunion Dinner was on Saturday in Florida. In the past I’ve left after work on Friday, or very early Saturday morning, attended the dinner, then driven back to Texas on Sunday. It’s doable. But I really wanted a less hectic weekend as well as spending a little time in NOLA visiting friends. Little did I realize how Drama-laden this trip would be. I normally have a little drama in my life. I tend to thrive on a little drama. I like a little drama. I laugh at a little drama—maybe not while I’m in the drama—more like after the drama. But this trip I thought of my red and white, crown-toped, Now Panic and Freak Out mug. Frequently.
The Reunion Dinner itself was relaxing and I was able to catch up with Friends I hadn’t seen or Face-Booked in a while. I saved money by staying in a Friends Guest Apartment in NOLA—a town I dearly love to frequent as often as possible. I ate fantastic food as usual. It was all very pleasant. For the most part. Until the Trip-Drama, Moggy-Drama, and Bandit-Drama almost sent me over the edge.
Anticipating the Trip-Drama, I developed an effective two-pronged plan of action. On the return drive from my recent vacation in Panama City Florida, I noticed a detour sign on the west side of Baton Rouge directing west-bound traffic to Hwy 190. Had I realized this was actually US Hwy 190 that passes within a stone throw of my Texas home, I would have followed their advice. However, I did not realize it and all of my atlases and maps were at home so I could not check to see how far out of the way this detour might take me. Also, traffic was backing up and I did not want to lose my place in line by pulling over and googling a map. As a result, I stayed in line and was stuck in post-Baton Rouge traffic for two hours. Back in Texas I looked at the map and discovered I should have followed the DOTadvice. This trip I decided to go the alternate route even though the detour sign was not posted. I love to explore and the time looked to be roughly equivalent. However, that was on the return drive—we’ll get to that later.
On the way to the Reunion Dinner I allotted 6 hours for the drive from NOLA to Crestview—almost twice the time needed, because in past years the traffic in and around Mobile has been stop-and-go, to the point I arrived very late one year. If I arrived in C-view early this year, I could always visit a friend who does not attend the Reunion Dinners. As it was, traffic was backed up even further and longer than ever before, and I arrived at the Dinner after everyone had been seated and the wait-staff were in the process of taking final orders. I placed my order and socialized with my table mates. I had a blast. It was great seeing friends I haven’t seen in 40 years, and catching up with others I only see on Facebook. The trip back to NOLA was uneventful.
The Moggy-Drama came in the form of my Domestic Short Hair rescue cat. In 2005, Hurricane Katrina flooded Bill and Alicia home in Gert Town. When they rebuilt, they split their home into a home and two apartments for a couple of Bills employees who were then homeless thanks to Katrina. One of the apartments is now used as the Guest Apartment for out of town friends—that is where we stayed. Gert Town continues to slowly rebuild even eleven years after Katina. Bill and Aliciasneighborhood adjoins his welding business and is located between Xavier University and the historic Art Deco inspired Blue Plated Mayonnaise Factory. It is a rough neighborhood with drug deals and drive-by shootings—their home sports a couple of bullet holes as proof. Friday night, after taking Bandit outside for his last potty-break of the day, Moggy decided he was going out on the town. I saw him through the glass storm door. He was lying in wait. I almost succeeded in catching him before he made it outside. Almost.
It took me an hour and a half to coax Moggy close enough for me to nab him and return him to the safety of the guest apartment…where I found Bandit demolishing one of his toys.
Bandit loves all of his toys to death—within the first few minutes of playtime. He had ripped off the leg of this particular toy, a brilliantly colored stuffed monkey, and given him a lobotomy the night before. I found him on this occasion disemboweling him. He loves to shred the stuffing almost as much as he loves to perform a squeekyetomy. I laughingly called this my Bandit-Drama. Oh for that to have been the case. Little did I know the true extent of my coming Bandit-Drama.
Sunday morning dawned on an overcast day—my favorite type of travel day. I was well rested and feeling refreshed—ready to tackle the drive back and looking forward to my planned detour. My SUV NavNinny (Navigation Girl—who I swear to you picks fights with me and pretends to not understand my accent—which is nonexistent y’all) fought with me tooth and nail. I finally shut her up. I had looked at the map and knew I would talk the “alternate I-10” aka US Hwy 190 to Hwy 171, where I could rejoin my normal route in Beaumont (or many places along I-10 once I cleared the construction zone), or go north to Jasper and pick up US Hwy 190 again. It seemed out of the way, but the time computed to roughly the same, and like I said, I’m almost always up for a detour. I opted to go to Jasper and see some new countryside. I would still arrive in time to rest prior to returning to work on Monday.
We arrived in some small town and I happened to see a cute bike hanging about the time Moggy meowed. I realized he had been in his carrier for a while and thought I should change him to the crate which is fitted with a litter box. I have previously tried him on a leash; however, he slinks on it and refuses to potty. So I turned into the parking lot of the antique store with this cute, aqua painted bike suspended from a fuchsia painted swing set frame. The bike had a bunch of spring flowers in the handlebar basket. Very cute. I took a photo. Then I set about rearranging Moggys accommodations. While I was busy with Moggy, Bandit hopped out of the car. I figured he needed to potty as well—I know I was ready to myself. However, Bandit disappeared. One second he was there and the next he was not. If dogs were involved in the Rapture I would have thought it had occurred—that’s how fast it happened. The parking lot was below at the bottom of a slight decline from the highway. I trudged up it. No Bandit. I checked the woods next to the parking lot. No Bandit. I walked around the back of the building. No Bandit. I backed the SUV back onto the highway and drove to the nearest house, and down their long driveway, all the time looking and calling for Bandit. Finally, as I was getting ready to give the home owners my contact information so I could get gas (I tend to drive far too close to empty), in case he showed up before I returned, I spotted him. He was between the carport and a fenced garden. I was very lucky to have seen the slight movement he made.
Relieved, I gathered up my BadBoy and we continued on our adventure. Only the fun of it had dissipated. Distracted by my thoughts I somehow lost US Hwy 190. I ended up turning NavNinny back on and meekly followed her directions, which of course did not get me home via US Hwy 190. Instead I came home a different way. A way she always wants to take me, even though it’s out of the way.
I think this weekend we will stay home safe and sound. No drama-laden trips…although….I haven’t been to see my Aunt in Dallas in quite some time and she’s been asking for a specific photo of Daddy…
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Saturday was a full and interesting day. Alicia and I "Found Dory," flew with an eagle, ate faux, weathered a storm, washed and gassed up her SUV, found a lost key, refereed playtime between Bandit and Hope, laughed over a ghost bike story, gambled, and finally matched BFF ink. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Friday night, Alicia's husband, Bill supervised us as he took us out on the town while ensuring we behaved. As usual, he had a daunting task. He took us to a really hot Cajun restaurant he called Joe's. But Joe's wasn't the actual name of the restaurant--just what Bill called it. Unfortunately, I will forever call it Joe's, because I cannot recall its true name.
At faux-Joe's I ate the Yumbo Gumbo--which lived up to its name. Luckily I know exactly where faux-Joe's is located, so I can return and try their boudin balls. And when I say faux-Joe's was hot, I mean it was really hot--their AC was on the fritz. But that's okay--because it gave us an excuse to try out the snowball place next door. Bill and Alicia, normally very health conscious, got snowballs that were stuffed with cake or ice cream--we decided it was due to the fact that snowballs drenched in syrup and doused in condensed milk aren't sweet enough. I didn't think my tummy would allow for a stuffed snowball on top of the Yumbo Gumbo, so I opted for a plain unstuffed snowball. It was okay. The snowballs topped with sweet condensed milk I've had on previous trips were much better, as were Bill and Alicia's stuffed snowballs.
Saturday Bill worked and then drove to Mississippi to look at a truck he was considering purchasing, so Alicia and I were on our own--without adult supervision.
We began our Saturday with an early showing of Finding Dory. Cute show. Not overly crowded with munchkins--in fact, we mostly had the theater to ourselves. The time and effort put into animation is amazing--even the short, shown before the feature, had about a gazillion people involved in it. And the previews we saw, were actually of movies I would pay money to see. A rarity in today's unworthy film climate.
After the show we went to the car wash and had her SUV washed. It lasted all of 10 minutes before we saw rain clouds roll in. And she swears we stopped and she filled up the gas tank. I didn't remember it. I must have been really engrossed in the real estate fliers I picked up at the car wash. On our drive home it looked like the neighborhood had received a little rain already, and the sky was clearing, so we thought we had managed to dodge the rain storm. Then we saw the lightening in the clear sky.
We raced home and made it with enough time to let my Chinese Crested (Bandit) and her Min-Pin (Hope) out in the back yard for a quick R&R break (romp and restroom) before the storm hit. During the storm that found her SUV--and evidentially knocked out the satellite dish, yet allowed local sleep-worthy programming (golf and a race car documentary) to air--we supervised our FurKids playtime. Bandit and Hope actually behaved for the most part. We didn't try to introduce my cat, Moggy, into the fray. After the T-shower, the cable was restored so we ordered a movie on demand, Eddie the Eagle. It was very uplifting and inspirational in a Rudy-ish sort of way. We both love Rudy so we enjoyed this movie as well.
Soaring with the Eagle whetted our appetite (actually, our brunch of movie popcorn, soft pretzel, and smuggled soft drinks wore off) and we decided to go eat faux--that would of course be my lame attempt at humor. We actually had Pho, which of course is Vietnamese. Unlike my stinker of a joke, the meal was very good. And right around the corner from the PWAT (Painting With A Twist) studio where I painted my Royal Blues one Mardi Gras (this painting happens to be one of my favorites I've painted).
At one point during the day we stopped at a service station for our gambling fix--i.e., to pick up a couple of PowerBall quick picks--I could use the $288mil, so I can purchase one of the million dollar creole cottages I found for sale in the French Quarter. It was at this time that I remembered Alicia needed to get gas. When I mentioned it she looked at me as if I had purple skin and a third eye--then she used her Psych Nurse Voice to gently orient me and tell me she already gassed up when she told me to roll down my window. I vaguely remembered her telling me to roll down the window earlier. I'll make the drive home tomorrow--the end of another fun vacation. Hopefully I'll remember to gas up my SUV before I get too far out of town--if I can stop giggling long enough to drive.
Alicia and I share a macabre sense of humor. She had me rolling as she told me the following story about the white bikes.
It seems the NOLA Mayor wanted to increase their number of bike routes to make New Orleans the most bike friendly city. Unfortunately, along with the increase in bike lanes, came a rise in bike fatalities. And along with the fatalities, an increase in white bike memorials much like the white crosses that memorialize highway deaths. None of that is funny. However, on her way to work one day Alicia saw a man of a non-native culture riding what she called a ghost bike. As she described the event, we got the giggles as we wondered if he realized what he had found (most likely stolen).
Speaking of found objects--I went out to my SUV to retrieve something at one point during the day, and I happened to see a single key on the ground. I picked it up and handed it to Alicia--she was thrilled because it happened to be the lost key to her Mississippi home.
Rounding out our day, we made an end of the day dash to WalGreens before they closed, for cat food for Moggy (my domestic short hair rescue kitty whose appetite has greatly improved since he went to the Vet last week). We also picked up supplies for caring for Alicias new tat.
Which was also my first.
Yeppers, we finally went and got our matching BFF tattoos--a smallish, thin line drawing of a cross, heart, and anchor. Mine is placed on my inner left wrist. Hers is on her inner right wrist. After I got mine, she confessed she didn't think I'd go through with it (but she said the same thing when we got the temporary henna tattoos while vacationing together several years ago). We've been talking about getting the BFF ink since before her B-day several years ago, but I admitted the reason I insisted on going first--I didn't want to give myself time to talk myself out of it.
We celebrated shared ink by having snowballs on Plum Street. This particular snowball place has always been closed when we were in the mood for snowballs. Their claim to snowball fame (besides being yummy) is placing the snowballs in Chinese takeaway pails (that have been lined with plastic to avoid drips). In true rebel fashion I chose the Amaretto. It had a light almond flavor--nothing like the liqueur of the same name.
And there you have it--our day of mischief and shenanigans--without adult supervision.