Confessions of the Crazy Dog Lady

So, I haven’t posted in awhile. That, you can see. But, I’ve been a little busy writing on some other blogs, and have neglected this personal blog, well, because I can.

This morning, though, something happened that I couldn’t post on either of the other blogs, so, here you go, both of my readers.

Here’s the deal: my dog is a serial pooper.

I take her for a walk in a similar route, and she will always poop in the same lawn in the same place. Now, most of the neighbors know and love her, and I’m very good at cleaning up after her (not a trace!) but honestly, why always the same lawn?

This morning I took her around the block for a quick what for before going to work, and she pooped in the ‘little old couples’ lawn, you know, the semi-grumpy old couple, who I know, one of these days is going to come out screaming at me because my dog never picks another lawn to poop on.

I rarely look at the house when she does her duty, hoping that, ahem, they aren’t looking out and maybe just maybe they won’t notice that she’s now pooped on their lawn 10 times this week. But today, I looked up. And staring back at me, the little old lady who lives in the house.

And through the glass: “GET OFF MY LAWN” …

Guess we’re going to have to find another route.

Beauty Secrets Buzz: RefectoCil

How I Grew Back My Patchy Eyebrows and Stubby Eyelashes with Magic Serum.

So, I just love my eyebrow waxer. I hate plucking, and going to see Candice Kimberling Tarr at Salon 77 is a fun distraction. It narrows the pain window to a few seconds. Plus, Willamette Week once called her the Queen of the Brazilian. Not that I get one of THOSE, but she does a masterful job on my eyebrows and tints my blond lashes.

A few months ago, she finished waxing and said: “Um, T, you a little stressed out? Your losing hair in your eyebrows.”

I sat up racing for a mirror. I couldn’t lose my eyebrows. I liked my eyebrows. I’d never over plucked, so they were still quite shapely. Until this mysterious missing eyebrow hair patch.

Yes, indeed. Candice was right.

“Stress. Honey. It’s stress. You have to chill out. In the meantime, this will work,” and she handed me something called RefectoCil.

ACK! I couldn’t lose eyebrow hair. I looked in the mirror and sure enough, just call me patchy. A big ole chunck of hair was missing from the middle of my eyebrow. Ok, I was stressed. Does that mean my eyebrow needs to punish me, stressing me out more, thus adding to the patch problem?

I scowled at the RefectoCil. All my skeptical being wanted to tell her I had some magic beans for her, too.

She came back with a typical, no really, it works. You need to try it. Put it on every night, it’ll help fill in the hair and make your eyelashes longer. Oh Really? Hummm. Make my eyelashes longer. Maybe there’s some oceanfront property for her in McCain’s home state.

I sighed, and looked back in the mirror. This patch just wasn’t going to work. I can handle a lot. Patchy eyebrows is not one of them. I bought it. $25.

Then I took it home and started using it. Eyelashes and eyebrows. Nightly. Good little skeptical beauty soldier.

And then one day, my eyebrows were full. Ok, they could have grown on their own, but the hair perfect. Then another day, my friend told me I had long eyelashes.

Long eyelashes. The most insinsere compliment ever. Ha! I have short, stubby eyelashes. I looked in the mirror. My eyelashes actually looked longer. Fuller. Amazing. Now I have decently long eyelashes. Yippee!

So, here’s where I eat crow and tell the great and wonderful and amazing Candice, Queen of the Brazilian, thank you, I’m hooked, and I don’t leave home without it. You’ve got me, it’s amazing. It did everything you said it would and then some. Thank you.

Enjoy. Do you have any beauty products you were skeptical about but now swear by, or just products you swear by? Let me know here in the comments.

The Menagerie

Coming soon to a blog post near you, the history, details and the characters of the household menagerie. You’ll hear about the first addition, Christmas Squirrel, then the other middle siblings, June the Beaver, Kit Kat, Love Duck (also known as lucky duck while in Vegas) and now, Marmot.

DIY: How to tackle home improvement projects without killing yourself.

 

My parents were the king and queen of do it yourself. My mom owned a small town hardware store for years, and my dad can do everything. And when I say everything, I mean he can fix any car, paint the car, and then build the cabinets for the new kitchen, all at the same time. And my mom is no slouch either, setting tile, painting, and she can mud and tape sheetrock like a rock star. Straightest walls you’ve ever seen.

 

Despite the fact that I grew up with Mr. and Mrs. Fix-it, I really suck at home improvement stuff. And yet, over the last two days, I decided to tackle an outside painting project. As I sit here with ice on back and a little Vicodin in my tummy, time to reflect.  

 

Here are the top five things I learned in my recent foray into home improvement:

 

1. Know what you don’t know: I know very little about painting, so instead of going to a big box store like Home Depot or Lowes, where they don’t specialize in paint, I went to the Miller Paint store to buy my supplies. I asked them a lot of questions and they were really helpful, heading off a couple of painting disasters I would have paid for later.

 

2. Buy the best materials you can afford: I bought an expensive brush and really expensive paint. That meant I only had to do one coat of primer and one coat of paint. Priceless. But, I did buy a cheap bucket for the paint, which brings me to…

 

3. Gadgets really do help: I could have lugged the paint can up every time I went up the ladder, but instead I spent $2 on a plastic paint bucket with a handy handle that was easier to carry and meant less spills, and less wasted paint. I recently helped a friend paint indoors, and that tape/paper gadget was a lifesaver. I know I’m a klutz, so why tempt fate?

 

4. Know when to call a professional: In addition to painting the trim before putting the gutters on, I was hoping to scrape and paint the two dormers and top molding of the front roof line. Yeah. This is when I discovered that I’m terrified of heights. I crawled out on the roof with my little scraper, realized I was actually on the roof, then got an awful feeling in my stomach. Between feeling as if I was going to toss my lunch, breathing heavy and feeling my heart beat in my ears, I realized that although I’m fine on a ladder, I am actually terrified of being on my roof. Time to call a pro for that part of the job.

 

5. Don’t bite off more than you can handle: This is where I confess that I’m so sore I can barely move, I have bruises all over my legs and I can’t lift my arms above my shoulders. Yes, I probably tried to accomplish too much in too little time, and I still didn’t get it all done, since I’m a complete and total wuss about being on the roof. All in all, probably would have been more enjoyable if I’d spread it out a little.

 

As I look at what I accomplished, I’m very happy with it the result. It looks great. And in three days when I can lift my arms again, I’ll be even happier.

Punk Rock Self

pinkhair

Originally uploaded by Theressa Davis

I have a corporate job. You know, the kind where you have to look fairly conservative and responsible.

The thing is, sometimes I still feel like a punk rock girl in sheep-suiting.

I grew up in a small Oregon town where kids didn’t have strangely colored hair. Secretly, I always wanted to have purple hair. Or pink. Or blue.

When I was in college, I made friends with my hairdresser. He loved coloring his hair, but couldn’t … you know, the old joke about the barber. When he’d get a new color in, he’d have me come down and color his hair for him. Then he’d do mine. Blonde. Why didn’t I do it then?

So, recently, I found these pink clip in extensions online. I had to have them.

Punk rock when you want. Not when you don’t. Perfect.

Once in awhile I put them in a wear just them around the house. Vacuuming and such.

And I love them.

Robert and Dallas at the Beach

Robert and Dallas at the Beach

Originally uploaded by Theressa Davis

She looks so innocent. Really, she’s just trying to think of the next thing she’s going to eat. Like underwear, a wallet, mail (only the most criticial mail, of course) and oh so much more.

The Dog Who Eats Everything.

Let me introduce you to Dallas. She is my 10 year old weimaraner.

She’s mostly a wonderful dog. Great personality. Lots of fun. Understands most full sentences (really).

But there is this one thing…in all of her 10 years of living, she hasn’t gotten over eating things. Usually, really important things.

So, a few weeks ago, she ate my underwear. Now, I say this now, not because she left part of it for me to discover, but because I had to pull it out the other end, several times, on its way out. It was one of my favorite pairs, too.

Then there was the ‘energy bar incident’ as we call it, where she ate eight small energy bars, FOIL and all, then proceeded to puke one a day for eight days until they were all out of her system. Every night I’d come home to, yes, one more energy bar.

Three nights ago she ate a random sock. Just the foot part. You know, leaving just the part that goes around your ankle, like you were going to wear it as a leg warmer. If she’d done the other one I could look like that chick on Flashdance.

Two nights ago, she committed the same crime twice, she ate my husband’s walllet. (Yes, this is his second wallet in 6 months.) The leather. The liner. Everything but the metal money clip. Oh, and she chewed on a few of the credit cards, ate the money in it and put a tooth hole in his drivers liscence. This morning, I found a poop closely resembling leather in the front yard. I didn’t dig for the money. Nope. No sir-ee, we’re not digging for that one.

So, she’s 10. I’m thinking that this might be a permanent condition. Oh boy. Hide the leather.