Time Flies

Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday, sweet Piglet....
Happy birthday to you!

It's hard to believe that the Piglet is one today. In one year, my little man has learned to laugh at burps and other bodily functions, stick his finger in his nose, exhale after a long pull on the sippy cup as though he's drinking a fine brew, and run pasta sauce fingers through his blonde locks of hair at least once a day. That's my boy.

Hmm.

Is this supposed to be a suggestion? A direction? Gus needs this sign hanging right over my couch cushions.

Sigh.

I would like to nominate myself as a mere peripheral character in the life of the Piglet. His first words are officially as follows:

1. "Guh!" (Gus)

2. "Bah!" (Roomba)

The Hoochier, The Better

All you poll-voting skeptics, I'll have you know that the ugly painting fetched the high price of ten smackaroonies on Saturday! That's right, campers. Ye of little faith who chose the comforter as the grand winner? It didn't sell! Nope, nope. Neither did the answering machine with red blinky light, if you can believe it. But the teacher bracelet? It went with another of its kind, two for a dollar.

The garage sale overall was a success, I'd say. I'd rate the people watching an absolute ten. I've never had a ton of experience with yard sale folk, but I tell you, there's a special breed out there who prey on yard sales. They fall into a couple of categories:

1. The hardcore professionals. These folks expertly skidded to a stop at the curb, cast a disparaging eye over our lot of goods, then lead-footed it out of my hood to the next one. They were clearly seeking something of value, something worthy, something other than my tables 'o junk.

2. The nosy neighbors. These are people who live in my neighborhood whom I may or may not know, who basically want to look at my stuff. They never buy anything, just scope out the goods and hang around to gossip.

3. The non-English speaking population of North Texas. I mean, the entire population. Thank goodness I know my numbers in Spanish, or it would've been a long day. These folks were the most enthusiastic shoppers. They tried on my clothes in the driveway, jangled my teacher bracelets on their arms, and then? They haggled. I had stuff marked to sell. CHEAP. But none of them wanted to pay asking price no matter what. It was great. Some woman had an armful of clothes and an arm of bracelets and I just looked at the mound and said, Five dollars. Four? she asked. Fine, I said. I was giving stuff away to get rid of it.

Speaking of, it amazes me what people will purchase used from strangers. The first thing to sell? One of those egg crate mattress pad things. For five dollars! Are you kidding me? Also? An old bed in a bag set that reeked. We took it out of the attic and when I dropped it on the ground, the smell that puffed up from it gagged me. Another five dollars. Ew. All of my teacher bracelets and both boxes of hair dye. And clothes? The hoochier the better. Not that I wear hoochy clothes, but I have to tell you that the shortest, tightest, lowest, sheerest clothes got snapped up in a hurry. Stuff that I was selling because I have, um, outgrown them were sold to many a woman 3 or 4 sizes larger than I. It was all good fun.

My favorite moment had to be when Mr. Pigs got tired of everyone talking him down and refused to back down on our $1 pricetag on a VCR tape of Austin Powers, The Spy Who Shagged Me. He was serious. Turns out, so was the buyer as he left the tape with us. Whew! I'd hate to lose that flick for anything less than a dollar.

Aside from the entire pregnancy I saw hanging out from between maternity shorts and a halter top, that about covers the hightlights. I'm up $150 and down two hours of sleep. Fair trade, I suppose. Thanks for your help, and remember - the hoochier, the better.

Price check on aisle 4

I could use some help in the pricing department. Ignore everyone else and state your own honest opinion. Remember, this is a yard sale.

1. Gently used queen sized quilt with matching shams. Not ugly.

2. Framed, matted 2'X3' print of mountain scene. Ugly.

3. Costume cheapo jewelry, slightly out of style. Necklaces, bracelets and earrings.

4. Used books, mostly hardbacks.

5. Random unused candles, some large.

6. Two boxes of hair dye. Brown.

Go ahead, call me vain.

'Ol Gus had his annual check up on Friday and it was an adventure for us all. I'd never braved a dog and a baby to the vet at the same time. All morning, I planned and I plotted, even losing some sleep the night before trying to figure out the easiest way to get all three of us to the vet's office on time. Everything was organized: leash and harness laid out by the door, treat ready if bribery was necessary, stroller and toys set up and in car, Cheerios ready if bribery was necessary, my purse was out, my phone was on, I dressed in loose, comfortable clothing that wouldn't show fur, and I was ready!

Leaving promptly 20 minutes early per my plan, I breathed a sigh of relief to see Piglet strapped in, Gus happily hanging slobbery dog face out the window and we were on our way. Then, I glanced in the rearview mirror and gasped in horror. No! This could not be happening. In all of my intense preparations, I had somehow neglected to pluck my eyebrows or put a lick of make up on my face. You must realize that being a true g.r.i.t.s., I do not leave the house without make up on. I don't wear a lot of makeup, but I consider a courtesy concealer/foundation swipe, some chapstick and some eyeliner much like I consider my pants: quite necessary. Except today in all of the intense planning, I had somehow forgotten. Alas, it was too late to go back; I was just going to have to deal. It's not like I know anyone at the vet's office anyway.

For all of his bad traits, Gus has always been a star at the vet's office. His svelte appearance and lithe physique always garner showers of praise from the staff. Slenderness is greatly admired in a beagle, and it's always been a little source of pride for me, the perfect pet owner. Except somehow this year, Gus has managed to gain 6 pounds. I did the math. It would be like me gaining 20 pounds in one year. Not good. Instead of my usual accolades, I was shocked to receive a straight-set mouth and an eyebrow furrow, the vet equivalent of a slap on the hand. What was this? They must have been mistaken. I am an exemplary dog mom. We weighed him again. 30.6 pounds of beagle. Hmmm. Something has gone awry. I mean, sure he looks a little....rounder, a bit like a sausage perhaps. Sure we haven't walked him nearly as much, or um....at all really. And maybe he's eaten just a few pieces of additional baby-flung food each day hour. But six pounds? Really? I hung my head in shame.

Then came the visit with the doctor. We waddled Fatty McChunkerson on into the examining room to be told in no particular order that he was obese, had bad breath, a dirty ear, long nails and deplorable dental care. I'm surprised no one called the SPCA on the spot. To add insult to injury, I was handed a tiny prescription pill-sized bottle and told to fill it halfway with fresh feces. Gus's fresh feces. There is no scooping implement attached to this meager device, I will have to employ a plastic spoon or the like. At this point, even that task sounded more fun than being here with my unplucked eyebrows and ghoul face being shamed about my dog parenting skills.

Then? The doctor begins to befriend me. She has a nine month old son and lives in the same part of town I do. She proceeds to do what can only be described as chatting me up as I try to slyly cover various parts of my bare acne-prone face with what I hoped to be a hand in a thoughtful pose while having a coherent conversation. I'm always on the lookout for new friends with babies and she's even home part of the week. Plus, we have an obvious need for help in the dog department. Short of putting two fingers over my eyebrows entirely, there was nothing I could do there. I tried to scrunch them thoughtfully together; maybe furrowed together, the sprouty hairs would look like one independent unit. I'm pretty sure I came off as a distracted freak with a tic.

After my interview, I trudged dejectedly to the counter to check out. I spent far too much money and left with promises to return the now pre-paid poop vessel of nastiness and bring Gus back to have his decaying teeth cleaned. Then? The doctor walked me to my car and talked to me for 15 minutes about baby related things in broad daylight. There was simply nowhere to go. I'm sure this all sounds very whiny and vain, but that's where I do my best work. What's a girl to do? I'm feeling the urge to go touch up my concealer.

Big Brother Breakdown

I shamelessly admit to watching Big Brother. All three times a week, it's recorded and viewed the same night. I talk to the players, giving them advice and game strategy, but they never seem to listen. I do not watch the live feeds or the Big Brother After Dark, just the show itself, and I quite enjoy it. Sure, I probably lose 20 or so brain cells each time I watch it, but those were my spares anyway. Who wants to know what I think?

Here ya go. I think Eric was an obnoxious dork whose claim to fame in life will be that he was America's Player. He was a good choice for this role, as he is the only one who would have actually thought it was cool. He and his eyebrow. I can totally see why he had the hots for Jessica.

I will not understand in a million years why she was interested in Eric. How is that possible? I thought for sure that it was all 100% "I'll kiss a toad for half a million dollars" strategy, but then when she was voted off, she said it was real? Some HUH? Are you kidding me? Shudder. Clearly, something psychological happens to you when you are trapped in a house with that selection of people. It's like her brain shut down and forgot what other men are out there. She thought her total worldly selection consisted of a forty something who dubbed himself Evil Dick, a 5'7" rodent with a wiley eyebrow, or a bumbling oaf with child molester eyes. I guess she made the best choice, but I think I'd just pass.

There's something very wrong with Zach. His eyes have that roaming, creepy quality that says "I'm not all here, but let's see what we can cook up anyway." Words seems to take twice as long to process - it's almost like you can see them cycling through his thick brain and then.....wait for it.....Bam! The light goes on and he gets it. I can't fathom that he's still there. Obviously, he was presumed too dumb to be a threat. If they'd have shared their brains, Jen and Zach might have been a good alliance.

Dick and Daniele...ugh. Sadly, they've played a good strategic game. I thought Jessica had too, but she got mixed up with the Little Shrew, so her game was up the creek in the end. Back to D&D. They're just so dysfunctional. They should've been cast on Jerry Springer, not Big Brother. On one hand, they make for good TV, but on the other hand, all they do is whine. Dick acts like a ten year old boy in a grown man's body. Daniele....argh. She just caaaaaaaaaan't saaaaaaaaaaaay anytheeeeeeeeeeeeng without whiiiiiiiiiiiiining! Her life is so HAAAAAAAARD! And I thought the Nick thing was weird, considering her boyfriend at home. I wonder what he thinks about her moaning about his loss for all these weeks.

Things I want to know:

1. Why aren't they showing the people in the Jury House? I always like that part.

2. Why haven't they shown follow ups on people from last year? I like to see what the losers do when they aren't on a reality TV show. This show can't help but attract losers because it has to be people who can take 3 or 4 months off of their job.

3. How come they stopped telling people that Eric was America's Player when they got voted off? Was it in case he won? I was confused about that.

I guess with the choices remaining, I would like for Jameka to win. I think she's been the nicest and is the most deserving of those left. Second choice: Daniele. I suppose. Just because I can't stand the other two. Your thoughts?

Why does a little boy get these?

Yo no se.

So, this is what I'm facing:

Somehow, by a week from Saturday, I have to turn this mess into a profitable garage sale. (If you see a gift you have given me, I apologize in advance. I'm sure it's in there accidentally.) I'm not sure how many of you have heard, but the Pigs Family is going to be moving back to the east coast sometime next summer. I know you will be sad to lose my rants about the freakishness that is Texas, but alas. Pigs must head homeward. Twenty hour car trips with a Piglet ain't gonna happen. [Sidenote: Have any longtime readers noticed the decline in number of anti-Texas rants? I think it may have grown on me. Not everything, don't get all excited. I've just gotten used to it.]

Returning to my point: How the heck do I go about attacking this situation? I have a few questions to ask seasoned pros. It should be noted that my supplies include my garage, one large table, a few medium sized boxes, and the ability to purchase stickers. I'm open to suggestions as to supplies I may need to borrow/find.

1. Clothes. Do I hang them? Where? Stack them? How?

2. Prices. I have no idea where to begin. Items in question include clothes, shoes, seasonal stuff, linens, answering machine, candles (unused), tacky old teacher gifts, fake flowers.

3. Would CDs sell?

4. Advertising. When? How?

I think that about covers it. The last time I participated in a yard sale, it involved Eddie. Despite great efforts, she failed to sell her bridesmaid dress from my wedding, which she hung alluringly from a tree branch, but I did manage to make a $3 profit on her ugly green shoes from my wedding. The best part about the yard sale was when she would choose one particularly garish item as the "secret buy" and when someone would purchase it, she'd start shrieking, "Whooooop! Whoooooop!", like on the Price is Right when someone wins something, and would race across the yard to award the winner a prize, typically some other garish item that wasn't selling. I vividly recall a Christmas pot holder? It was an interesting experience, but not particularly useful in this case. Help?

Are you for real?

Alright, people, are you kidding me? Nearly 50% of you would choose to be obese? For real? My analysis of that dilemma, much like a game of Would You Rather....

I'm assuming that the condition described would be ever-present. For example, if you chose to be obese, but in generally good health, I would guess that the weight would always be there. I realize that the good health part is kind of unlikely, but still. I just can't imagine that being my first choice, especially knowing that I couldn't lose the weight. I mean, I think about bathing suit shopping and airplane seats and mean students.

Now the hair thing - my personal choice - would also always be there, but there's so many options for hair. There's bleach, there's Nair, there's the trusty razor. There's laser hair removal, there's tweezing, endless possibilities. Unlike the option for chronic acne, I suppose. Acne's a beating now matter how you look at it. I'd be interested to know why the 4% of folks selected that one. Just curious.

Now, the one that concerned me the most was the quarter of readers who elected to have no friends in favor of one of the less than fortunate physical attributes! I can't imagine that. No friends? That would be my absolute last choice, my personal nightmare. No phone calls? No one on your IM list? Nobody to shop with? I shudder at the thought. I must have people around me at all times. That has been one of the biggest obstacles to staying home with Piglet. I have to actively plan and seek my social life because personal interaction simply must happen. I love to talk. Talking on the phone, talking in person, while walking, over coffee, between tennis points, at lunch, in the yard, I have to talk. Chat. Converse. Gossip. How can there be 12 people out there who can live without that joy? How? I remain perplexed.