This is a boring post. But at least I'm not telling you too much about yesterday's visit to the vet.

Okay, listen.  This is the last time that I'm going to hound you to go enter to win the HomeGoods gift card on my reviews page.  The sweepstakes ends tomorrow, so you totes need to head over there to enter a comment.  Or chirp about it.  You and I both know you want to go shop at some HomeGoods.




I was going to post yesterday, but didn't because I had to take my little furry child to the vet, which proved to be quite traumatizing--both for the dog and for me.  After I dished the DISGUSTING deats to Cassie, she swore that if I posted them on the blog she'd unfriend me forever.  So I won't, but let's just say it was awful, and that afterward Mitch wouldn't even look at me, and I wanted to forget the whole experience so I went home and took a nap until almost 10:00 pm and only reason that I even got up then was because Matt had made chili dogs and Alexia fries for dinner, and I couldn't resist.

Poor little handled pup.

Anyway, aside from that, there's not much going on at la casa de M Cubedo.  You know, except for my recent mastery of Spanish.  Right now all of my energy is being consumed by the last week of school, which is simultaneously the easiest and the hardest week of the year.  The last week of school also really distorts my understanding of time; I did not know that time can, in fact, stand still.

Earlier this week, I was crazy productive at school--so productive that now I don't have much to do during my planning period.  Yesterday, then, I decided to take some pictures of what the last week of school looks like in my happy little room.  This was also a chance to play with Ann's 50mm lens.  If I could marry a camera lens (and if I wasn't already married to a human fellow), I would marry this lens.  But, alas, I'm neither into committing myself to inanimate objects nor am I a polygamist.  Oh well, can't please all the people all the time.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, what my classroom looks like.  This is really just a glorified version of that whole "what's in your purse" bull jive that I think is stupid, so I'm kind of a hypocrite.  Sorry about that.

Here's what makes me happy at work (oh, and I posted about the classroom itself a long time ago).

Freedom Tomorrow! 

Picture that I took in high school of one of my scariest and most hilarious teachers, Randy Richardson.  Occasionally the students will ask me if that's a picture of my husband, and I'll tell them that yes, yes it is. 

Better for grading your essays, my sweet!

Textbook accounting is the most fun.  And by most I do mean least.

Old magazines (early '60s) that I scored from the media center.  The kiddies love them.

                                                                   I am a schoolsupplyophile. 

This is the greatest stapler in the world.  If you have to staple things ever as a part of your job, treat yourself to one.  It has the best sound, and it staples stacks of papers like it's goin' out of style.  

Not that stapling stacks of papers was ever in style, but you know what I mean.

 No desk is complete without a Mitchouette.

 Kind of a writing utensil hoarder.

 Shakespeare insult mug, you whoreson villain!

Well, I told you that this post was boring.  I'm going to go see if Mitch and I are on speaking terms again.  If not, I'm going to suck up to him with slices of cheese and prosciutto.

Stinkin' Up the Joint.

 

I love Mitch.

Did you know that?

Yeah, I love him.  I really, really love him.  I love his crooked ears and his fuzzy tail and his singing ability and his mouthiness.

I do not love his latest, shall we say, idiosyncrasy.

Mitch has gas.

Bad gas.

Last night I had fallen asleep on the couch, only to have the worst smell of all time tear me from my slumber.  I was freaking out, demanding that Matt help me find the steaming pile of shit that was somewhere in our house.  The smell was just SO AWFUL. 

But there was no steaming pile of shit.  There was just a farting dog.  A really cute, really sweet, REALLY stinky dog.  It's been so bad that today I had to open all of the windows (fortunately, it was gorgeous outside) and spray a bunch of black raspberry vanilla room spray all over the house.  So then the house smelled like black raspberry vanilla room spray and dog farts.  Fantastic.

And I feel really bad for the pup, because to produce such a god-awful stench, there must be some discomfort inside his little dog body.  From what I've learned from the internet, the cause of the gas could basically be anything.  Most likely, the cause is our allowing him to lick the plates after taco night on Wednesday.  Let me say it first: I am a terrible mother.**

Anyway, I just wanted to know if anyone out there has home remedies for dog flatulence.  I'll make a big pot of chili and some burritos for anyone who can tell me how to get this dog to stop stinkin' up the joint.

Can I give him beano?

(It'll be a while before I'll be using Mitch as a nap pillow, that's for sure.)

**If the insane flatulence continues, Mr. Mitch will be visiting his vet on Monday morning to make sure it's not something serious. 

That Bitch! (A Post from Mitch)

Does anyone else out there hate their mom? I know I do. I mean, she's usually alright, and she makes great cookies and dog treats. But sometimes she's just so annoying! Like yesterday, when she was singing some song from Glee, but changing all of the words to be about me. Nice idea, sure, but I don't know if you've ever heard my mom sing.

It sounds like a dying cat, and I hate cats.

I marched my dog body into the room to howl at her--telling her to shut the hell up!--but she interpreted it as me wanting to sing with her. Two things about this: 1.) Doesn't my mom know that dogs can hear much better than humans, and that her horrendous singing voice might be painful for me?, and 2.) She's not allowed to watch Glee anymore.

And then there was the Christmas light episode. Yeah, it was about as much fun as it looks. "Oh, how sweet! A dog wrapped up in Christmas lights! Isn't that darling??" No. No it's not darling. No it's not sweet. It's abuse, and I'm going to report her.

And as if that weren't enough, bitch tricked me into going to the vet this morning. THE VET! Apparently I needed a heartworm test because she missed my medicine. You know what that's called? Neglect. Seriously, I'm reporting her.

At the vet they decided that they should also clip my nails. Now, I hate having my nails clipped about as much as I hate cats and bicycles, so to describe it as "unpleasant" would be an understatement. They put me in a muzzle. It was humiliating.

But I did get a cool bandage that made me feel like a race horse.

And I did act so pitiful on the way home that I got her to stop at McDonald's. And I did steal all of the pillows when we took our 3-hour nap on the couch today. I heard her complaining that her neck hurt. Yeah, yeah, poor mama. Uh huh.

I think she needs to go to the vet.

At least I've still got Daddy.

Bad Day (a post by Mitch)

It's pretty much been a terrible week for a dog. I hate the Fourth of July. What kind of stupid human holiday is this? All they do is set off loud booms all night and freak me out. I hate it. My mom says those are called fireworks, and she really likes them, but I hate them. People are so stupid sometimes.

I had just recovered from the stupid holiday of America when my evil, deceptive mother asked me if I wanted to go for a ride in the car. I mean, of course I want to ride in the car. "To the bank! To the post office! To the park!" I was thinking. But no. I should have known. She'd been saying stuff about how Tuesday would be a bad day for a dog, but I ignored her (she says dumb stuff a lot of the time).

I should have known when the car ride was taking a lot longer than usual. And then we arrived there. Had my horrible mother taken me to the park? No. The bank (to get a treat from the teller)? No. The post office? No. The Cupcake Emporium? No.

That bitch took me to the vet. I'm so mad at her right now I could just bite her.

It was the worst vet appointment ever! (Well, second worst. That time I broke my foot when I was a small pup was pretty terrible.) They violated me and poked me and even cut my nails. I was trying to go for a Guinness World Record with my nails. AND, I'm fatter now. I've gained a pound. This weight gain is not good for my dog self-image. Then they put me on the table that goes up and I freaked out some more.

The vet is actually a pretty nice guy, but I hate what he and his evil assistants do to me. I shake and get so nervous, and I don't even have time to talk or hang out with the other dogs.

I used to poop on the floor when I went to the vet, but now that I'm 5 I can't do that anymore. I've matured.

Anyway, I think I'm going to spend the rest of the day on the couch watching reruns of the Westminster Dog Show and looking out the window.