Frick!

I don't have many vices. I am pretty clean living except for an occasional night out and a bottle of wine. I'm an accountant, so I pay my taxes and I do have a neatness compulsion. So, pretty tame really. That is, except for one thing. No matter how I try, I cannot give up the spicy words. I just can't. I have given up all hope of ever kicking the habit. I've even hit rock bottom and it just doesn't seem to matter.

Rock bottom, you say? Yes, and as usual, I blame it on Blake. First off, the episode of which I speak happened to occur at Babies R Us. Already, you can see that this is going to be bad. Secondly, I was wearing flip flops. I know that this particular type of footwear is not to be worn in the presence of my husband. However, I continue to ignore that fact. As I started to take a step out of the door, he stomped on the back of my shoe with an unusual amount of force. I guess he was really ready to get out of there. Well, it hurt. It f$#%ing hurt. It also made me really angry. So, my immediate reaction was -in a not soft voice - "f--king A!" Yeah, I scandalized a few new parents in the Babies R Us vestibule. Ear muffs!

Besides the fact that I dropped the F Bomb at a baby store, I had to use possibly the stupidest, most nonsensical F Bomb word combo. What does that even mean? Oh well, my point here is that no matter what I do, these words are in my heart and usually on the tip of my tongue. It's a sad state of affairs.

My sister said that sometimes a spicy word is just what you need. The situation is such that no other word or combination of words can really convey the emotion in quite the same way. So, in effect, it's emotional shorthand. No need to elaborate, no need to add anything. Everyone, sometimes even people that don't speak the same language, understands.

So, I don't know if I'm OK with this particular bad habit. But, as I get older I am learning that some fights are just not worth it. Most of my self-improvement effort is tied up in not weighing 300 pounds, so I don't have a lot left to resist some foul language now and again. So, f--k it.

If Ever I Become a Criminal...

...this is the kind that I would be. The one change I would make though is that I would not ever hold a gun to someone's child and I probably wouldn't hug everyone until after several glasses of wine. Other than that, I could easily slip into a life of crime if it involved swiping wine and cheese. Oh yes I could.

Another news story I found particularly amusing is here. The title of the article on Slate's home page was "What it Feels Like to Be Gored By a Bull". Seriously, could you resist clicking on that? I couldn't and it took me to the story that I've linked to. Now, the story itself was pretty great with stats about deaths and injuries due to gorings since the start of the tradition of the running of the bulls celebration in Pamplona. But, of particular interest is the stat regarding gorings in las partes honorables.

Before you assume that I enjoy a good racking (sp?) story, this isn't America's Funniest Home Videos. No, the part that was interesting was the term las partes honorables. I don't think I need to go into how brilliant this obvious bit of irony really is, but really I do love the Spanish language and culture.

I think I need to dive back into some of my Gabriel Garcia Marquez stash after reading that story (I am sorry to have left out the accent marks in the above name, but I don't know how to get them in there with Blogger).

--------------------

I took Cayton to her swimming lesson last night and I think I learned something about my best girl. She's always been a pretty easy going kid and I've not really had to deal with a lot of irrationality from her. But, last night was really the icing on the cake.

Let me set this up... She hasn't had a lesson in over a year, so she was a bit hesitant at first. She didn't want to walk into the water so I had to carry her. Once she was in the water, she was stuck to me like fly paper. I had to pry her off of my neck (careful not to pry off my top along with her), and pull her through the water a couple of times before she got comfortable. But, I could tell that she wasn't totally happy.

The thing that impressed me though, was the fact that she didn't cry. Instead, I noticed that she had a sort of "hunker down and get through it" look on her face. She paid attention to the lessons and exercises, did what she had to do and then looked at me, "time to go?".

I think for her it was bit like riding a roller coaster. You dread it all through the line, get into the car with butterflies in your stomach, scream like hell through the whole thing, and then sigh with relief when it's over. But, as you step off the car, you realize that you had a blast and that you must, must get in line and do it all over again.

She ended the evening with a smile on her face and so did I. She was excited about getting home to Daddy and supper and I was happy to think that she might just have an inner strength and determination that will serve her well in the future (or at least in the pool).

For Me, She Can Stifle the Urge...

As I mentioned a few posts ago, I am trying oh so hard to lose a couple (or 5 or 10) pounds. These attempts usually involve lots of exercise and time at the gym, and this time is no different. But, I'm already tired of the same old thing so Sunday night, I decided to go for a walk. As with most of my ideas, there was something wrong. This time, it was that I was going for a walk at about 8:30. Being a bit skittish about walking in the near dark and the obvious likelyhood of being kidnapped and all, I decided to take Sophie - my most fierce looking pet.

Of course, fierce in this case is relative. But, she is a pit bull mix, so she's a lot more menacing looking than Harvey the fluff ball. So, I had the dog, the iPod (which I stole from Blake who is still quite under the spell of his iPhone so he didn't notice), and a watch so that I could make sure that I didn't exercise one minute longer than I had to.

About 30 seconds into Fix You (which, by the way, just kills me), Sophie spotted the first of about 30 woodland creatures that was apparently trying to commit suicide. First, it was a single brown bunny. Sophie's ears perked up, she threw her considerable low slung weight against the leash and off we went. Now, my girl Sophie usually has a beatific look of sweet stupidity on her face, but at this point, it was all murderous intent. Not one to bark, she peeled her lips back and flashed her not unimpressive teeth at the poor little rabbit.

Thanks to the fact that I regularly tote around a 25 pound two year old, my guns (OK, somewhat toned arms) were strong enough to hold her back, but just. She stopped throwing herself against the leash and she turned to look at me. I think in that instant I saw a flash of disdain, maybe a bit of irritation at my squeamishness in the face of something so ordinary for her. I can't be sure, but I think she was judging me just a little.

So, the walk resumed and about two seconds after the first bunny encounter, I noticed Sophie perking up again. Since I have famously terrible eyesight, it took me a couple of seconds to see that there were THREE bunnies just sitting in the grass alongside the road. Expecting Sophie to throw herself against the leash, I braced for the pull, but this time something strange happened. I saw her dig in with her front paws, but then noticed that she just glanced at me, flipped her head forward and pranced on as if she hadn't seen three delicious bunny steaks just waiting for her.

This went on for the rest of the walk. She would notice a bunny or a cat, prepare to go after it, pause and then decide to pass it by. We walked for a total of about thirty minutes and I would estimate that she turned down at least ten bunnies, 3 cats and maybe two yippy little dog/rat thingys. Plus, given that she can snag birds out of the air, maybe a couple of those too. I can only conclude that Soph had decided to spare me the gore that she so obviously craved. I can't tell you how I appreciated that concession on her part. Starting now, I will no longer think of Sophie as a quietly stupid dog. She's a stone cold killer and she is just humoring me, for now...

Sophie sees all with her evil eye...