Wednesday, November 24, 2010

When I Become Ruler of a Small Island, I will Open Grocery Stores, and People will Buy Their Produce by the Tz

Grocery shopping is awesome! It's like going to a concert with a buffet and a lottery!

concert + buffet + lottery = awesome!

Mainly because I get to howl, at the top of my lungs in the car, to the music I like while driving to the store (because I shop alone), and because I love all the money I save using coupons. AND because the store I shop at plays rockin' music from the 80's and 90's. Except for that cover of "Like a Prayer". The chick singing that song sounds like she's preforming in a local theater musical. Drunk. They could take that version out of the musak loop...and they could wipe off the check out line belt tops more frequently but...

So I have a very OCD stream-lined way of shopping. I am so fanatical talented I can picture each aisle and write my list in the order of the items in the aisles.

I use exactly 2 cart wipes every time.

I shop the aisles first, then the perimeter.

I even group all my items together while loading them onto the belt, ya know, like fruits, veggies, meats, frozen foods, toiletries, boxes, cans of like items...

And I always buy myself a Coke.

Then I get home, and wipe down all the items and my fridge with a bleach towel before putting everything away.

Grocery shopping is awesome. I get to fill my house with food. *feeling all warm and thankful and fuzzy*

But, there is a conspiracy tucked quietly into a certain corner of the store...

See, once I get to the produce section, I become paranoid and irritated...well, more so than usual. There was that one time someone stole my cart w/ bananas in it (something I liken to the experience of alien abduction) and then there is my on-going mistrust of the produce scales, that's the real conspiracy!

I am pretty sure the scales are rigged to show produce weighing-in less than it really does, so you'll bag up more and not notice the insanely high price you pay when you check out. How can I possibly pay $10 in bananas when they are 39 cents a pound? Again with the bananas. Frickin' driving ME bananas...

OK OK. That was a slight exaggeration. But still. Those scales are not to be trusted. I am 88.2% sure of that!

So there I was, needing to buy some red potatoes in bulk, and I knew I didn't want to bag over 3 pounds, but at the same time, I knew I couldn't trust those cold, slimy scales hanging from the ceiling like robotic money grabbers...

Then it hit me.

For the past month or so, I have been carrying around three pounds nearly every second of every day! ZIMMY!

Yes! I have been a home-grown, domestic version of Paris Hilton, carrying Zimmel around Bookstores, Best Buy, soccer games, Starbucks and Dick's Sporting Goods, to name a few places...SURELY my under-used muscles could determine what 3 pounds feels like!

So, I bagged my potatoes, and gingerly cupped them in the crick of my arm, and began petting the plastic bag of taters ever so gently as I cooed, "gooooood little boy!" while walking circles around my cart, and ignoring the wide stares I was suddenly garnering as I assessed the approximate weight of what would become smashed taters on Thanksgiving Day.

"Yep! That's about 1 Zimmy!" I declared victoriously to my new oglers.


So now, I shop with even MORE money saving confidence, because I no longer weigh my produce by oz. or lb. in those scandalous scales; I weigh by tz.** (Tzimmy).

1 tz. = 3 pounds


8 small red potatoes = 1 tz.

this + this = this
+ =

Isn't that great? Now I can coddle and stroke bananas, onions, peaches and tomatoes with confidence in order to determine if they weigh more than a tz. or less than a tz.

Or, I could simply kangaroo up with Zimmy (he often rides inside my zip-up hoodies and pokes his head out of the top of the zipper. I tuck the bottom of the hoodie under his feet and we are good to go) at the store and perform a little surprise juggling act to amaze store employees so they won't kick me out for bringing in a live animal before I get to buy my organic naval oranges.

Either way this new system of weighing items simply adds to my grocery shopping pleasure. Awesome.


**Tzimmel is the nickname a dear friend invented for little Zimmel, which works out perfect for my new weight conversion abbreviation. She knows a lot about dogs, especially her dog. She picks out red potatoes by measuring them against the size of her dog's poo. That way she gets the perfect size for her famous potato au gratin. Hmmm...I might skip her au gratin...

Sunday, November 21, 2010

You Really Don't Notice Dog Hair when the Hairs are the Size of Eyelashes...

*Blowing dust off the blog...a-gain*


So, I went rogue, again, a real Jack Bauer move. The past 3 1/2 months have been dramatic and life-changing. Mainly because of the 3 1/2 pound terror who took over our lives...and I cut all my hair off. See how Jack Bauer that is? The makings of an awesome episode, with plenty of explosions, and awesome hair. And possibly a flea killing...

Tiny Terror Dog + Awesome hair + Explosions + Flea killing = Jack Bauer.

I was never super good at math...

So, maybe a handful of you all are wondering how we are all managing with Zimmel, eh? Well, let's give a real quick update:

-Zimmel no longer has worms/coccidia/giardia. However he replaced all these monstrosities with gas emissions that should be reported to the EPA, or at least investigated by a

-Speaking of his noxious gas (see explosion pic above for visual reference), it stems from his posh-life of eating super high-quality, unbelievably expensive food and treats, seen here:

He eats better than us, but if you sit with him long enough, you may think we feed him directly from a land-fill...

-Zimmel is no longer in danger of passing out from low blood sugar, and therefore I do not have to feed him Karo Syrup from a chopstick, the diet of celebrity champions. What?

-Zimmel no longer has to have any contact with the outside world, EVER, because he is fully potty trained using his inside, best-invention-ever Potty Park. I do not miss standing outside at 2am, in my PJ's and hubby's shoes, being freaked out by cave crickets and garden spiders on my steps, or grabbing leaves, rocks, or partially chewed-up ants out of Zimmel's mouth. Really I don't.

-Zimmel can execute about 7 amazing doggie stunts, and I expect to be called by any late-night show host, preferably Conan, very very soon...

-Zimmel no longer fits under the bathroom faucet for a quick shower.

-Zimmel made it through all of his shots. Maybe I should say I made it through all of his shots. The Vet clinic LOVES Z (I noticed all the cute little hearts they drew around his name on his file), and, even after all of my crying in the examination room, on-going gibberish about rabies fears, and arguing over when/how he gets his vaccinations, they seem to love me too. I just might bake them cookies.

-We are actively searching for the cutest Christmas sweater and reindeer horns ever made for little Z. Any suggestions would be much appreciated, as would hand-made gifts. I can send measurements. This is his leisure sweater...his ears are blurry because he is about to take flight:

- And as you can see from the tiny picture above, Zimmel is THE cutest dog EVER, and none of us can control ourselves when we are with him; we constantly stick our faces in his face and make silly, gushy, nonsensical noises. In fact, if you were a fly on the wall, you would witness all of the following, right before you were killed with copious amounts of Simple Green:

Audge: "Awwwwww! He is SOOOOO CUUUUUTE! He is SO ADORABLE! Mom, isn't he just SO ADORABLE?"

Me: "For the 2,638 time today, YES!"

Jake: "I want to hold him!" *tries to snatch Z away from Audge*


Zimmel: *Squirming* "Grrnnnnrrrglagnrrrr!"

Jake: "Moooooooom! She won't give me Zimmel!"

Me: "BLAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! In 10 minutes you will switch!"

Yes, Z now works in shifts. He is passed back and forth and manhandled every 10 to 15 minutes by greedy, eager children whose hands are smeared with chocolate and boogers, meaning he never gets a real solid chunk of time to sleep, eat, or to sit in silence with a bone. This might be why, when he finally escapes, he bolts for sanctuary under my legs, or the park-bench sofa. Either way he is still the most patient Chihuahua in the world.

My frantic house cleaning/constant freaking out/ perpetually Googling dog diseases tendencies have slowed down since he is now healthy, and therefore the 10 pounds I lost, and was thrilled about losing, are slowly creeping back on. I am once again behind on laundry, and not so motivated to have every dish clean and in the cabinet. My vacuum is actually back in the closet and my carpet still has a few fibers left, even though it has been vacuumed so much I am sure the padding has disappeared. My nose hairs and fingerprints are growing back because my bleach usage has slowed down as well, and finally, I am eating again, attempting to blog, and watching ridiculous Youtube videos.

So you see, as much as my life has to offer to the ever curious reader, the blog has fallen by the wayside, since during this time of trial I only had enough energy left at the end of the day to play scrabble or Frontierville on Facebook or cry.

And with that, I am now about to make a full-hearted attempt to get back into the hobby I love, blogging. And, to thank you readers who have decided to come back and read, I leave you with this, knowing it will most certainly bring you back for more. I love you all, you are SO ADORABLE!

Zimmel doesn't bark, I kinda wish he did this. I love Steve Carrell, and this weird dog:

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