Cat Piss, Elephant Piss, or Husband Piss. Hey Neighbor Take Your Pick...

The pizza delivery man probably was a little taken aback when he delivered our pepperoni pie and there was a crazy woman in a blue bathrobe, pink slipper socks, and a brown Snuggie yelling towards the door, "SORRY ABOUT THE PISS SMELL!!!!"

I think my husband's latest Facebook post captured it best. Our cats are engaged in a turf war with a neighborhood cat. And the other cat's way of "dissing" our "sons" was to piss REPEATEDLY on our concrete front steps. Bren said it was the other cat's way of "talkin' shit". We are a little bitter about being part of the collateral damage.

The responses that Brendan got on Facebook were hilarious! One of his long time college buddies just said:

"BB gun and a night scope."

Someone else said:

"Piss on your neighbors' front step and show them who's boss."

I really liked the last one...and then I remembered...my husband DOES have a penchant for pissing on things. Remember THIS post? Brendan enjoys peeing on random things: dead fish floating in the pond on his way home from work, his kid brother, his nemesis' car grill (so when he started the car it would heat up and smell like piss for eternity), and random homeless ladies while drunk in the Florida Keys. In Brendan's defense...he HAD been driving for hours before becoming intoxicated and unbearably full bladdered. And when he had started peeing in that vacant building and realized that the mound of garbage he chose as his ideal urination vacation hot spot was ACTUALLY a sleeping woman (she shouted, "hey, hey, hey") he DID move over a couple inches. The core of his being is basically good.

Anyhow...knowing that this pissing retaliation scheme is plausible (I have the able bladdered husband to prove it)...now we just need to find out which neighbor owns that f*cking cat.

At least we can be happy that our anonymous neighbors don't have an elephant...but then they would be much easier to find...

Oh yeah....and we gotta stop ordering pizza...the piss smell kinda kills my hankering for pepperoni, and now the pizza guy thinks I'm a f*cking Snuggie wearing nut job.

That's all for now,

Brandi

Leapin' Lizards....

A man in New Zealand was arrested at the airport trying to smuggle out....are you ready for this?

Wait for it....

43 Geckos....in his Fun-derwear...I mean underwear!

Almost certainly, all of the geckos were on international "insurance" type business...and this German bloke was just giving them "first class" travel accommodations. Retch! Is that a gecko in your pants...or are you just happy to see me? That guy up there can put me in his....OK never mind...I'm married....and I'm sure my husband would look as good as Becks in nut huggers. Thankfully, he does not attempt to pull that "look" off. Becks looks like his trying to smuggle more of an iguana than a lizard...sigh.

Continuing with the "Party In The Panty" theme....my wonderful husband gave me the best birthday ever! No perverts....I wasn't talking about sex. I arrived at work to find a beautiful bouquet of lilies, came home to a bottle of champagne....and a scavenger hunt. Presents hidden all over the house...slippers, bathrobe, new James Patterson novel, Cd's, and a photo in a pretty bone picture frame. But the picture in that frame...was friggin' awesome. It was always my vision to have a picture of Brendan and I duelling with swords as the header photo on this blog. The fact that we playfully banter/argue....that is where "Duel Living" came from. I just never got around to creating something that would capture that idea. Brendan did.

It took him 6 long hours of Photoshopping Genius. My sword is way prettier than his. In the real photo...I was holding my bouquet....we should've done this in the first place.

And lastly...the funniest gift of all...and what is allowing me to post about underwear....yet again...was found hanging from the rafters in the basement. I was met with a blindfold and a cardboard tube...and a pinata. So I whacked away...and out spilled....underwear???

"It's a panty pinata!!!!" cried my husband!

All in all, whether geckos or pinatas....a party in the "pants" is the best "party" of all.

That's all for now,

Brandi

THEY SAY IT'S MY BIRTHDAY...

Apparently, the patrons of a Holiday Inn chain in Britain weren't getting a "good night's sleep". So...the sleep genius/dumb ass head honchos over there across the pond at the Holiday Inn came up with this new and innovative idea to offer human "Body Warmers".

With the cold snap happening in Britain lately...the Holiday Inn brainiacs thought guests would sleep better if their beds were warm and snuggly when they came in from the cold. This "complimentary service" provides clients with two people in "sleeper suits" who will get under the guest's covers and warm the bed for 5 minutes. Uh....anyone else think this is freaking CREEPY!???

I mean, who are these bed warmers anyway? Are they random hobos from some park bench? Or maybe they are "Professional" bed warmers that got a degree from some bed warming university. Did they have to pass some sort of exam where they had to get the bed to a certain degree and the chilly guest/guinea pig just had to fall asleep? Was that an instant A?

I don't know. I don't think I would take advantage of this complimentary service. I have never been one to have one night stands, threesomes, or casual pillow talk. I mean what do you say as these human bed warmers are leaving? "Was it good for you?" "Uh...call me?"

Nope, I think I'll stick to the good ol' fashion ways of warming up the bed: electric blankets and farts. I apologize to any hobos that I may be putting out of "work"...but I prefer my own flatulence to yours. Sleep tight...don't let the bed warmers bite.

That's all for now,
Brandi

P.S. just for purely selfish reasons...today is my birthday...and I love comments on my blog about ANYTHING more than candy, flowers, or cake. Happy birthday to me!

The Doctor Is Out.... And Happy Birthday MOM!

Apparently, part of being a interior designer is also being a marriage counselor/prayer group member/mental health counselor/babysitter. I wasn't aware of this when I started on this career path. You would be amazed at how many fighting couples walk through the doors and open up their closet full of skeletons....to ME...and I am forced to listen. You would be appalled at the way parents just leave their children unsupervised. You would be stunned at the things that people ask my opinion on. I thought I was decorating their homes...now I'm holding hands and singing friggin' Cumbaya.

Today, I worked with an older couple...we'll call them Bob and Enid. Enid wanted a beige sofa. Bob wanted a soft sofa. Enid wanted to see sofa legs. Bob wanted to see no legs. Enid wanted linen....Bob wanted microfiber. Get the point? I pulled 10 fabric choices...Bob liked the 5 on the left...Enid liked the 5 on the right. I gave them cushion options....Bob liked the down cushion...Enid liked the foam and poly fill. I gave them swatches...they gave me a migraine. I felt like telling Bob to take Enid home, give her a little "slap and tickle" and to come back tomorrow when they'd loosened up a little bit. I mean really? How did they make it through 50 years of marriage if they can't even agree on a f*cking couch?

Awhile ago I helped this guy...we'll call him....Lenny. Lenny....had a SEVERE case of OCD. He wore rubber gloves out of the house (he lived with his parents...he was in his 40's). He had a weird fear of gum on the ground...so I guess the gloves were like his gum force field or something. ANYWAY...he came in to find furniture...none of which he would touch or sit on....for a new apartment which he was going to be moving into. OK...simple enough...but for some reason...that simple transaction between client and design consultant became more like patient/psycho-therapist. He called me multiple times a day/week. We discussed how the furniture was to be assembled. Would it be put together where anyone was chewing gum? Were the delivery guys going to be wearing the same gloves they used to deliver everyone else's shit? Did I believe in God? Did I think God/Church could help him with his OCD? Did I like the recliner or the arm chair better? And on, and on, and on. One day...Lenny called AGAIN...I sat down at the desk and prepared for another 45 minute Q and A session about the sterility of bubble wrap...but he surprised me. He said that being a person with OCD was extremely lonely...and in me...he had found a friend. Basically...he asked if we could hang out sometime (with my husband included). I was speechless. I mean, I didn't know this guy from Adam...and here he was trying to date...us. I decided the "relationship" wasn't going to be healthy. I didn't want to get into a situation where I was giving advice on a topic I had absolutely no experience with. I didn't want every conversation be about if my hands were clean, my shoes gum free, my relationship with God...what the best brand of bleach was. So, I broke up with his answering machine...and I blamed it on my husband...you know the whole OCD cock block routine...I figured he'd understand.

I am lucky I get to do what I love. And most days...I do love it. But....THE PEOPLE!!!! I sometimes just feel like saying....

"You should get a divorce....green goes really well with that."

"You're a nutter...get some shock therapy and sit on this lovely chenille sofa with the turned leg when you get home...I promise it will make the voices go away"

"Your children are the devil's spawn...we don't sell cages or straight jackets here but this floor lamp could double as a bat with which to knock your little f*ckers upside head."

"I don't know if I believe in God...but I definitely feel like I'm in Heaven on this bed...and I hear Angels singing when it's paired with that dresser."

"Thank you for your business...now can you please shut the f*ck up??"

Maybe that last one is a little severe. What do you think?

On a separate note..............

That's all for now,

Brandi

Boring Award Show Strikes Again....

Seriously...how boring were the Golden Globes? Yeah, there were pretty dresses...sparkly jewels...newly unveiled nip/tucks. But...who f*cking cares?

In light of everything going on in the world right now, my heart just wasn't in it. I barely watched. I hoped for my favorites to win...most didn't. I swear it's all fixed. James Cameron paid off the Foreign Press. Mad Men is beginning to madden me. What the hell kind of category is television series/comedy/or musical? Why did Mariah Carey find it nessessary to show off her tits...AGAIN? I hate the word tits. I strongly dislike Mariah Carey. (Sorry E.L.) Did anyone else think that Mike Tyson was more excited about The Hangover winning than any of the rest of the cast that ACTUALLY was in the movie for more than like 5 minutes? What a friggin' tool! Go get another "tribal" tattoo on your face Mike...and don't ever speak in pubic again...your voice makes me want to rip my own ears off. Film/Television awards shows need more exciting moments...they should invite Kanye to the Oscars...now that's entertainment!

I'm boring myself here....so I'll see you Wednesday.

That's all for now,

Brandi

Truth Be Told...I'm Less Young Than Old...My Feet Are Cold...This Rhyme's On Hold...

My birthday is coming...and I have a slight problem. I may be only turning 31, but my body feels more like 81 (achy). My social life is more like 51 (boring). My ass is like 61 (Saggy and flat). My boobs are like 11 (non-existent). My face is like 21...which is obviously OK, but...I'm just sick of people telling me I look "cute" (I hate that word...cute) and so young...and am I old enough to be married, decorate their living room, order a cocktail? That gets annoying...I know, I know, I should be thankful, but sometimes youth is confused for inexperience, or naivete, or stupidity. My mind fluctuates between 11 and 71 (infantile yet forgetful). I get the giggles when I hear the word penis...but sometimes I can't remember what a penis is. I laugh at stupid commercials...then I forgot that I ever saw them. I drive really slow in neighborhoods...but really fast on the highway...then I mix them up. (Sorry about your trash can Mr. Neighborman) So am I more young than old? More old than young? Let's see....

I'm Old: I would rather sit in my recliner and watch reruns of the Cosby show than go out to the latest club.

I'm Old: I got my first cell phone last year, never turn it on, and refuse to relinquish my land line. I will never text. I will never tweet. I really want a Jitterbug... That's all I REALLY need is a cell phone that says: Operator....Tow....911. Simple. Easy. Understandable. No lame ring tones. No stupid buzzy tweety twittery vibrating. Just a extremely large buttoned cell phone named after a kick ass swing dance!

I'm Old: I do not know how to scan anything onto the computer. I do not know how to "Upload" a photo onto the computer. I do not know how to "Unzip" a file. I have no f*cking clue what the difference between a J Peg or a PDF or PDQ is...whatever...I don't know what they are....I know what P's and Q's are....and I mind them.

I'm Old: I miss Ann Landers.

I'm Young: I have yet to start reading the Obituaries. Rest In Peace Ann Landers.

I'm Old: I play Canasta, Cribbage, Pinochle, and Dominoes online.

I'm Young: I play the above ONLINE.

I'm Old: I have the night sweats and hot flashes of a menopausal woman.

I'm Young: I have the attitude, bitchiness, and that whole monthly bleeding thing of a normal chick my age.

I'm Old: I like my vegetables soggy.

I'm Young: I eat Reese's Peanut Butter Cups for breakfast, or lunch, or a snack...well any f*cking time I feel like it...cuz' they're awesome!

I'm Young: Is that a zit on my chin? I'm going to be 31 for $%^&*sake! When do the wrinkles cover up the zits...you know kind of sag over the blemish...lap over the pustule?

I'm Old: What were we just talking about again?

Anyway, my birthday is coming whether I like it or not. I have to start working on those "goal" thingys that I had laid out back in my 20's...you know...kids, home, career...the usual. I guess in that way...I'm still pretty young...I have a lot left to accomplish...but I just know that I could do so much more in life with a handy dandy Jitterbug and a big glass of Ensure!

To Your Health!

xoxox,

Brandi

Vampire Penguins And Zombie Guinea Pigs Are Awesome...

I was perusing some of the "Blogs of Note" on blogger today...and I came across this gem....

http://sleeptalkinman.blogspot.com/

You gotta check it out! A wife records her husband talking in his sleep every night...every night! And let me say...this guy is awesome. Here's a preview:

"Vampire penguins? Zombie guinea pigs? We're done for.... done for."

"Well that's just great. Peanut butter in my crack. Goddamnit."

"I can't control the kittens. Too many whiskers! Too many whiskers!"

I can relate in some small way to the wife of that husband. Brendan is a moaner. He moans in his sleep...and agrees a lot too. He is constantly saying UM HMM...UM HMM....UM HMM...like he's listening to a really really detailed story...taking it all in....and just...ya know...agreeing. It's kind of in this sing songy style too which makes it really cute...or annoying...depending if I am trying to sleep. UM HMM...

Of course I try to take advantage of all of this "consenting"..."hey Babe...can I go on a shopping spree tomorrow?" "Hey Bren...can I quit my job and become a reality TV watcher/reviewer...but basically just watcher?" "Hey Love...can we hire a maid, a driver, and rent some kids to play with from time to time?" And then I wait for the inevitable sing songy UM HMM granting my latest whim...but without fail...every time I actually have a great idea...he wakes up and says...."SHH...it's sleeping time."

F*CK SLEEPING TIME...you were just agreeing with the Sultan Of La La Land and all of his half assed requests...but when I want something that will benefit US (you would really enjoy seeing me in my new wardrobe while I watch America's Next Top Model) you wake UP??? Figures.

Once....just once, I would love to have him acquiesce to one of my rather small requests...and when he does....maybe I'll just be waiting there with a recorder like the wife of that Sleeptalkinman! UM HMM....

That's all for now,

Brandi

Snot Duty...All In A Days Work...

I like my job...generally. I deal with a lot of bitchy, wealthy women who don't have any sense of taste, tact, or humor, but it's ok, because I just suggest they decorate their living rooms in puke orange...tell them it's the latest rage...add a little paisley in a pus green, and send them on their way. They fall for it...these rich, tasteless ladies. Like putty in my hands...I just knead them into submission, and they pay me for it.

Rich Bitchy Women: "Really, this orange color..."

Me: "It's called Mac N Cheese..."

RBW: "Right...Mac N Cheese...you really think this should be on my bedroom walls with the...uh...yellowy/green settee in the uh paisley?"

Me: "Oh yeah...it's the tits. All the rage in Dubai this year. You will be the talk of the town! And by the way...it's pus green...the color...it pops!"

I do have a lot of down time. Idle, lazy, Facebook perusing, ass picking down time. I'm not good with down time. If I was home...down time is golden....at work...down time is torture.

I ask for projects all of the time. Please, please, please give me something to do!!!! Load me up with tasks where I can get lost in time and the minutia. But...sometimes this isn't a good thing.

If you need me tonight...I will be cleaning snot off of the windows up by the "North River" bedroom set. Yup...I'm not reallly planning on getting lost in that minutia. Don't get me wrong...I'm not too proud to clean snot. I am an interior decorator/furniture sales associate/snot cleaner upper...and I'm damn proud of it. But I would have rather continued to pick my ass than clean what someone else picked out of their nose. TOO LATE!

Ask and you shall receive. Down time = Snot time. If you've got time to lean...you've got time to clean. Blah blah blah. I was hoping to inventory our wall of fabric samples or something time consuming like that...but I should be thankful I'm not licking the toilet bowls clean. I love my job. Well, I like my job. Well, I have a job. Yeah, I have a job. Hallalujah!!! Please let me know if anyone needs any design help anytime in the future...I hear Snot Yellow #241 is making a comeback!

That's all for now,

Brandi

The Side Dish....A Husband's Worst Nightmare

I will never claim to be a food connoisseur. I know what I like...and I generally will try anything...unless it contains fish...that's a no no.

I hate to cook. I don't know if it's because I don't know how, or if it's because I just don't like to do it...probably because I just don't like to do it...I'm lazy. I never learned the little nuances of cooking...where does the marjoram go? How much clove do I put in the rice? Does the raspberry truffle taste like it needs more bay leaves to you? You know...the basics.

So Brendan and I made a deal. He would do all of the cooking and I would do all of the clean up and the dishes. Pretty fair...pretty fair. And Brendan isn't a bad cook or anything...far from it...he's way better than me, but............he has an "issue".

Side Dishes.

Huh?

Side Dishes.

He makes f*ckin' weird side dishes. No, wait. It's not that the side dishes are weird, they just don't usually match the main dish...and that can be interesting. Still don't understand? Try these on for size...

Tacos and Mashed Potatoes

Ham Sandwiches and Canned Corn

Steak and Tater Tots

And my recent favorite...Some kind of Lunch Meat Sandwiches and Brussel Sprouts

And in Brendan's food world...rice goes with anything...be it beans, chicken, eggs, sandwiches, or hamburgers. Rice makes the meal. I think he heard too many Rice-A-Roni commericals growing up or something...it has now become the Boston, Massachusetts treat.

I should be thankful that he does all of the cooking (and the grocery shopping)...and I am...I really am. I am not hungry, though I have gone hungry on a few occasions when my Love has experimented, but I resort to granola bars or cereal. I think we need to get back to basics. Brendan needs to learn the food pyramid again, and I just need to either suck it up and eat my bagels with their side of tortilla chips, or learn to cook myself.

I guess I'll just suck it up. Cooking f*cking sucks! And in the future....our children will be the topic of conversation at every play date as all of the other kids speak of what they ate over at little Gustav Octavian Yeager's House (this is what my husband wants to name our child) Chicken Nuggets and Eggplant...Grilled Cheese and Beets.

That's all for now,

Brandi

Come Out Come Out Where Ever You Are!

Today, I am forlorn. Usually I am opposed to it...lorn that is...but today, I for it.

Max...."the grey one"...my cat...doesn't like me anymore. Somehow, he got a scratch on his right eyeball, and it's all squinty and cute. I can't tell if he's mad at me because I've been calling him Popeye or because Brendan and I have been holding him down 3 times a day to put 2 different jellies in his eye. My guess is the jelly...but I'm taking it quite personally.

Max has always been a lover. We call him "The Neighborhood Whore". He flits from house to house soliciting belly rubs, food, love, attention. He has been found numerous times inside our neighbor's homes...laying on their sofas, eating their other pets' food. He worms his way in...and stays. He's adopted the 80 year old man next door as his best friend. He follows him on his walks around the cul de sac...and awaits the impending rub down/cool down on the front steps. This is Max...the lover.

Max has always been a drama queen. Since he was a kitten, he would attempt to break out...he never mastered that one (though he obviously mastered the "break in"...just ask the neighbors). He has always gotten his way...another scoop of food, a 4:oo am cuddle (it is difficult to refuse a 15 pound kitty sitting on your chest and licking your lips and head butting your face), the never ending game of in and out...in the house, out of the house....in the house, out of the house.

Max has always been a brat. He has this stare...his jealous stare. It's like I hear his voice through his eyes...a cross between Stewy from "The Family Guy" and Eeyore...he hates any attention that is not completely on him...especially if it is being paid to his brother Gus. Of course, when either Bren or I see this face...we go running to console our jealous little man...,"oh Max, we love you too...come cuddle...kiss kiss, love love." And we're right back in his furry little pocket once again.

Today I am forlorn because Max isn't being a lover, a drama queen, or a brat. He's hiding from me...under the bed, in the basement. He isn't purring for me, isn't showing me his fat little belly. He shrinks under my touch and leaps away. Like a child saying those 3 horrible words to their parent....I feel it in his eyes...."I HATE YOU!"

Today I am forlorn because I remember saying that to my father. I HATE YOU. He was probably doing something for my own good...feeding me Lima beans, brushing my hair, putting jelly in a scratched eyeball...but I didn't know it. And even if he told me that he was doing it for my own good....maybe I just didn't understand.

My cat is hiding under the bed and I am having a total meltdown. Okay, not entirely...but damn it kind of stings. It took over 30 years and a cat to make me realize how many times I must have stung my father the way that the scratches all over my arms are stinging me right now.

Kids can be little bastards. I know I was. I know I probably never said I was sorry...but I am. Hate isn't in my vocabulary when I speak of my father. I get it now. Max will come around...hopefully his eye will heal, and he won't get too fat from all of the extra food and treats we are plying him with to win back his love....but he'll never say he's sorry. He doesn't need to...he's a cat.

That's all for now,

Brandi

"OLD LONG SINCE" or Long, Long Ago

Auld Lang Syne literally translated means: "Old Long Since"....or long, long ago.

Basically the song Auld Lang Syne says: Let's drink for old time's sake....and isn't that what everyone does?

"For auld lang syne, my dear,

for auld lang syne,

we'll take a cup of kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup !

and surely I’ll buy mine !

And we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,

for auld lang syne."

I just wanted to say...that if I drank...I'd raise my glass to you all on this the start of a new decade...the beginning of new friends...the memories of old...the spirit of kindness in or out of a cup....the wishes for good things to come for us all.

Happy New Year My Friends!!!

That's all for now,

xoxox, Brandi