Stopped at Vaccination Station: I DON’T WANT SHOTS FOR WHOOPING COUGH. I’m not telling you again!

My titles keep getting longer.  I can’t stop them.  They’re like poison ivy–spreading.  They won’t be stopped until we put them in scalding water and cut their fingernails so they can’t scratch themselves.

Speaking of scratching.  I’m thinking about taking some classes.  And… to sign up for classes at a new college you need shot records.  Which I don’t have.

I called my mom.  “Mom,” I said, “do you have my shot records?”

“I’ll look.”

A couple days later.  Mom calls back.  “So, what if I can’t find your shot records?”

“Did you put them in the ‘special place’ where you put my birth certificate you can’t find?”

“Quite possibly,” my mom said.  (My mom is the best, most wonderful woman in the world!… she just has trouble remembering her special places!!!).

Then, I called my former college and high school, neither of which knew I existed.  What?  Did I die, and I just don’t know it?  Graduation ceremonies should be called, We’re Going To Act Like We Never Heard of You Ceremonies.

So I called the college I’m trying to go to and I said, “I can’t find my shot records.  What should I do?”

“Did you get your shots in this state?  I can look them up if you did,” he said.

“No,” I said.

“Does your mom have them?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Does your high school have them?” he said.

“No,” I said.

“Does your college have them?” he said.

“No,” I said.

“I usually just tell people to get them again,” he said.

“Is that okay?  Can you OD on vaccinations?”

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“How sure are you?” I asked.

“Fifty Fifty.”

“If I get measles.  I’m going to mail you some.”

“Okay,” he said hesitantly.

“Thanks for the help,” I said.

…to be continued.  Wednesday, I’m going to tell you how I resisted ENORMOUS peer pressure from nurses, who were coming after me with needles filled with deadly diseases.  Ahhhh!!!!  And why my arm hurts like hell.

Until then, check out this group pic of me and the three hounds.

Fannon Fatty Fat FAT fATNESS FaT fat Camp

We started fat camp!  Me and Mr. We’ve Had Them Since They Were Tiny are on the express train to skinny.  TOOTTTT!  Hopefully.

Here’s the deal.  Fannon Fat Camp is a competition.  We are competing against each other for the next month to see who can lose the most weight.  The winner?!? Gets $500 to spend on them self (insert dreams of bags and shoes here!)
That money is mine!!! 
We haven’t really discussed where the money is coming from yet.  It’s not like we have a box full of hundreds.  However, the voice in the movie Field of Dreams told Kevin Costner, if you build it, he will come.  So, I think if we build this program, the dollazzz will come.  Hopefully, they won’t land in the middle of a corn field, but in my wallet.  
Since we got married (ALMOST TWO YEARS AGO!)  I’ve gained about fifteen pounds.  Boo.  What makes me the most mad about the weight gain: I don’t even remember having fun stuffing my face!  It felt like automatic marriage weight.  It just popped on.  Bloop! Bloop! I guess I need to plop on a treadmill.  
Fannon Fat Camp started Sunday, July15th it ends Sunday, August 19th.  So please send Mr. We’ve Had Them Since They Were Tiny some meat.  He can’t turn down meat. Preferably, send him some steaks.  Not spoiled ones.  I don’t want him getting a stomach bug and throwing up a lot– then he could probably win.

Here’s a picture of the dogs and me in a field of dreams.  I feel like they should be in every post… since they’re the reason I’m writing this blog!

Fifty Shades of Pink

Hey readers.  A.k.a. my mom.  A.k.a sometimes I click on the blog posts five times to make it look like people read my blog.  We’ve all got to do what we have to do!

Onto the subject at hand–or paw.  Fifty Shades of Pink.

Pink looked like he had been in some sort of fight club this week.

Sores all over his body.  Missing hair.  Bloody spots.

Here’s a pic of the tamest scratches around his face.

Also, he was missing huge patches of fur from his belly.  And the spots kept getting worse.  More oozy every day.  He looked pitiful.  He scratched everywhere, and his eyes said,”help me.”

So we took him to the vet.

He tried to escape. “You can’t keep me in here! A dog has his rights!”

Next, he tried to beg and plead.  “Let’s get out of here, please! I’ll be good. I won’t listen to Rick anymore!”
He finally gave up.  “I’m up here but I don’t like it…or you.”
The doc came in and tested for a couple things.  Eventually, he said Pink has a skin infection.  Gross, Pink!  Apparently the vet has seen a lot of these cases because of the heat.
Pink is on a strict diet of kibble and antibiotics.  I made an exception yesterday after I burned breakfast, and gave him some eggs.
Crazy revelation of the vet trip:  Pink weighs 80 pounds.  He’s the small one.  That means Rick has to be about 100 pounds!
Crazier revelation: we scheduled their neutering appointment.  August 1st is Neuter Day!  Boys say good bye to your boys!
Anyway, take care of your self readers.  You don’t want to get a skin infection.  Because if you have to go to the Doctor, a less appealing appointment may follow…

Pups and Pops

The dogs and I are living parallel lives.  I went on vacation and saw “pops” on the beach.  They’ve started eating “pop”sicles to stay cool.  Completely parallel.  Like we’re basically the same, except I’m a person and they slobber all the time.  


Check out these firework “pops” on the beach!  Like electric cotton candy.  The only thing more amazing and beautiful would have been … nothing really.    

Before we watched those firework pops, the dogs got their first taste of these pops.  Popsicles.  They think their “pops” are as awesome as the ones I saw at the beach.

The triple digit heat is forcing us to practically empty our freezer.  I started just throwing ice at them.  But extreme heat calls for extremely sweet measures.  Please don’t be mad at me for giving my dogs sugar.  Remember when they ate poison?

Rick and Pink’s crazy mom Hannah got really into the popsicles.  She ripped mine away from me  RIGHT OUT OF MY HAND WHILE IS WAS TRYING TO TAKE A PICTURE OF HER!!!  I’d call her a b… but that’s just what she is.  Not a big enough insult.

This is my favorite picture.  Pink focusing so hard on eating his green popsicle.  Rick slobbered on his nose.

Rick likes blue raspberry.  He’s Pirate Rick Blue Beard.  His squinty eye could use a patch. 

After the dogs got good and sugared up, we left for the beach.  We had a great time.  I may have had too good of a time.  I’ve been talking about getting a tattoo for years (at least one and a half so years plural may be an exaggeration).  I want a tat SOOOO bad. I want a stereotypical, cheesy, downright ridiculous tat. Of course, I jumped on the first henna tattoo I saw with flames.  



It’s a baseball with flames.  I’ll have it a month.  My semi-permanent baseball may not have been the most ridiculous thing I did all week.  Notice, I’m wearing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich shirt. Fortunately, I wasn’t alone.  Here are my girlfriends… also sporting the incredible work of art.

 Here’s Mr. We’ve Had Them Since They Were Tiny.  He wouldn’t wear the peanut butter and jelly shirt.  But, he didn’t stop me from getting the tat. The flaming baseball and I appreciate you, good sir.

 Here’s my FAVORITE pic from my entire vacation.  Here I was, moving in for the romantic couple pic, when my trigger finger struck too soon.  I’m frozen in time in a look of love, and his face…priceless!   

Hope you’re having a wonderful summer.  Stay cool, eat some popsicles like Rick and Pink.  Also, don’t forget to look for some extraordinary “pops.”  We only have a few more weeks left.  I’m going to try and find a “pop” a day.  Something amazing.  Hopefully, it won’t be any amazingly destructive activity from the pups…perhaps another henna tattoo?!?