She’s 6!

No longer a baby, but still the sweetest little girl … incredibly gentle and kind-hearted. She loves her friends, her family and every real and stuffed animal she meets with every ounce of her little being. I am so proud of who she is … even when she is being slightly devious (usually when fighting with Anabella).

As I say in every other post about the girls, the last six years have flown by. Now she’s in kindergarten and talking about what she wants to be when she grows up. However, she swears that she is going to live here and take care of me forever (Dan is still a question mark), so I guess I’m covered.

And this is my sweet baby coming to rescue me after an unfortunate trampoline accident at her birthday party. It’s nice to be loved so much.

It’s been nearly two weeks since we had to put Winston down. And I think I can finally write something about him without bawling like a big baby.

Winston was the cutest puppy. I remember when we went to pick him up … he was all wrinkles and cuteness with a lightning bolt mark on his head. The breeder called him “Flash,” which is totally ironic considering that is the last word I would use to describe him.

As a teenager, he was a major pain in my ass. He chewed everything. He couldn’t get up and down the steps in our first house, so he would bark from the downstairs to let us know that he didn’t enjoy being down there alone. Once he figured out that wasn’t going to change, he started gnawing on my furniture at night. One night I came down to find him standing (and leaving crazy scratches) on my brand new Pottery Barn coffee table. He would sit under my desk and make crazy noises until I played with him. This was a common sight.

Then we got Frankie, and Winston instantly loved him.

He was by far the most gentle dog I have ever known. He took years of torture from the girls during their toddler years … poking, smacking, riding, etc. … without a single growl or sideways look. I can’t tell you how many of these photos I have:

And this is how I choose to remember him now, smiling and enjoying the sunshine.

I didn’t realize how much I would miss him … he wasn’t a very active dog, but he was always there. Sleeping on my side of the bed, snoring like crazy, or at the end of the couch. Snoring like crazy. ha.

You were a great dog, and we will miss you very much, Winston.

Last week my mom and I took the girls shopping for back-to-school clothes, then to lunch and to Visible Changes for haircuts. The guy cutting Scarlett’s hair seemed nice enough, but when I looked over mid-haircut, I noticed something …

The tattoo on his arm? Yes, that does say “Blow Me.”

WTF? I’m not prude, and clearly I enjoy the occasional curse word, but really? Permanently on your arm? And you work in a public-facing job? With children? Maybe I should get “WTF?” tattooed on my forehead. I’m sure no one at my office would mind.

Luckily Scarlett was too blissfully happy to be getting a haircut to notice. Thank goodness it wasn’t Anabella, because she would have totally caught it and the questions would not have stopped. And I’m not in the mood to explain blow jobs just yet.

A friend and I were recently discussing Mexican Coke, when the Dr. Pepper equivalent came up (because Dr. Pepper shut down the plant, which I hadn’t heard about). Due to my old age, I couldn’t remember what they called the Dr. Pepper version, so I Googled it. This was the first thing that came up in the search results.

That’s right … 24 bottles of Dublin Dr. Pepper are selling for $9,999 on eBay. That is cuckcoo! Seriously, I love Mexican Coke and would be very sad if they closed the plant that makes it … but I wouldn’t pay $100 for 24 bottles of it, much less $10K. It definitely tastes better with real sugar, and I GET why people cherish it, but WTF? I need to go back and see if someone actually bought it.

So, I’ve posted about this before, but apparently some people aren’t getting the memo. Your car is not a person. It’s doesn’t need eyelashes … or in this case, a mustache. (Dan’s thoughts? “That gives new meaning to the phrase ‘mustache ride’.” Ugh. Men.)

I’m willing to give a pass to the folks who decorate their cars at Christmas with wreaths or deer antlers and noses, but this is just stupid.

Stop it. Get a pet.

I rarely write about work, mostly because I am extremely happy there and that is boring, but I got so heated at work last night that I feel the need to share. The whole story isn’t worth telling, just a moment of complete hypocrisy and unfounded accusations on the part of a known douche, but it totally threw me into one of those moments. You know, the moment where you just want to scream at someone and punch them in the face because they are so f*cking ridiculous that your head almost explodes. That was me. Red-in-the-face, ranting-and-cussing mad. And at the exact moment that I decided to hit mute and scream “Oh my God, you are f*cking asshole!” at the phone, the poor cleaning lady opted not to come in and empty the trash in my office. Ha. That will teach her.

Luckily my boss was sweet enough to let me rant and rave until I felt a little better, but I have to say the absolute hardest part of working in Corporate America is holding my tongue and not calling B.S. when I see or hear it. Seriously. The self-control last night was just short of a miracle or some sort of divine intervention.

P.S. Any other Zoolander fans out there? I adore Will Ferrell in that movie.