The Austin Chronicles - Part 4

You ever have one of those moments where someone says something seemingly innocent and insignificant, but later on you realize those words were the most profound statement EVER?

Yeah, well that picture up there reminds me of one such moment.

Back in August 2001, Stew and I were living in Washington. State, not D.C. We selected a local breeder and drove out to Puyallup (pronunciation: pew-al-up) to go select our brand new, 6-week-old Chocolate Labrador Retriever puppy (translation: money pit). Everyone had told us to choose the puppy that runs up to you and wants to play, because that is a sure-fire sign that the puppy will grow up to be vibrant and full of energy (translation: a combo plate of hyper and stubborn. with a side of crazy). Sure enough, one cute little brown furball wobbled right up to us and started licking my hand and chewing my thumb (translation: Pick Me!). I scooped him up, he snuggled up to my neck and I. Was. Sold. The breeder's young daughter exclaimed "That one's named Buster. Cause he'll bust your house up!"

Pause for a moment to let that sink in. Because I should have. And didn't. However, Little Buster (translation: Austin) had already stolen our hearts. And our common sense too, apparently.

On our way back home, we stopped at the pet store to pick up some last minute essentials (translation: stuff we forgot to buy BEFORE getting a dog). We browsed through collars and leashes and toys for a few minutes until Austin spied an employee tediously stacking VHS tapes (it was 2001, remember) to display on the end of the aisle. Austin jumped straight out of my arms and proceeded to haul his tiny, 10 lb. body right towards the 4-foot-tall tower of videos. At NASCAR speed. I yelled his name, "AUSTIN!" (translation: stupid move on my part because the poor dog probably still thought his name was Buster). I rounded the corner just in time to witness him plow right through the display and send 300 video tapes crashing to the ground all over the place.

The kicker? Those videos were DOG TRAINING VIDEOS (translation: irony. and shame).

We purchased one out of necessity (translation: guilt) and sadly it didn't teach us how to prevent Mr. Buster Brown from eating the baseboards off the wall. Or to poop standing still. Or to stop eating Irish Spring Soap. That would have helped. However, with the aid of that video, Austin can now sit, lie down and stay, all by commands given via sign language (translation: cool party trick).

Moral of the story: Pick the fat, lazy puppy who pays no attention to you. Then have his teeth and legs removed just in case.

I'm just sayin'

Chipotle: It's chi-pote-lay. NOT chi-pole-tay.

That's all for now...

SnoBloggery

#6 - Hansen's Sno-Bliz

I'm pretty sure that when I get to heaven one day, heaven will have its very own Hansen's Sno-Bliz. It is THAT good. I could ramble on for a while like I sometimes always do, but this time I won't. Plus, they have their own website here which is something you should totally check out.

My Strawberry Shortcake with Condensed Milk was to die for. Similar to heaven.

Go to Hansen's. Wait in line. It's worth the wait. Similar to waiting in line for the pearly gates.

Extreme Makeover: Stewzie's Garden Edition

Before:

This is the listing photo from before we bought the house 2+ years ago.

Before:

This is what it looked like the day we started the whole shebang. I refer to the overgrown bushes as The Four Afros. Kind of like The Four Tenors, except without the popularity or vocal range.

After:

After we failed to yank out The Four Afros via ropes tied to Stew's trailer hitch.

After we (Stew) failed to remove The Four Afros via chainsaw. And axe. Simultaneously.

After our neighbor succeeded in digging up The Four Afros (and 1/3 of our lawn, but not his fault) via Bobcat. (Thanks neighbor!)

After 5 trips to Lowe's, 4 yards of dirt, 3 tipped over wheelbarrows, 2 long weekends, and 1 change in color scheme....

VOILA!

Window Boxes:

Herb Garden: Mint and Rosemary

Herb Garden: (from top) Basil, Cilantro, Sage, Chives, Green Onion

In case you're a garden nerd and want to know specifics, here's what we planted. Firepower Nandina, African Irises, Ascot Rainbow Eurphorbia, Guara, Aztec Grass, African Marigolds, and of course, Loretta.

Whoa, Black Betty, Ram-a-Lam

Because she's a Chevy Blazer and not a human, I'll never get to photograph her losing her first tooth, going to prom, or any REAL milestones. Keep on truckin' Black Betty!

Rock of Ages

Ahhh, my brother Jeremy (a.k.a. Brotherford B. Hayes), (Hi Jeremy!) Where do I begin? Let's start here. In the 1980s...

Being the oldest child in the family, I often used my wisdom and power to torture manipulate my younger brothers. Specifically the red-headed stepchild middle child - Jeremy. Since I practically invented the whole "work smarter, not harder" way of thinking, I developed quite a few INGENIOUS techniques along the way.

For instance: To get my little bros to perform miscellaneous household chores that otherwise would have been my responsibility, I invented what I like to call "The Point System". In actuality, it was more of a scheme than a system, but whatever. IT WORKED. Whenever I needed my bed made, the trash taken out, etc., I'd con the little sheep into doing said chores by promising that I'd give them POINTS! Vacuum my bedroom? 500 points. Bathe the cat? 1,200 points. Take the blame for spilling a whole glass of Caffeine-free Pepsi behind the sofa? 13,752 points. And guess what? They fell for my evil little plan, because, let's face it. Who doesn't love POINTS!? After months of me shelling out hundreds of thousands of meaningless points, Jeremy finally wised up and inquired as to whether or not these points would ever add up to any sort of tangible reward. Crap, now I had to come up with a prize on the fly. So I offered him the choice of either a rock (that I found in the driveway), or a Hot Wheels car (which was already his to begin with), because I'm generous and resourceful like that.

He chose the rock. Which he proceeded to shove up his nose. And could not be removed via home remedies such as picking, blowing and/or shoving a pair of kitchen tongs up there. This was followed by a trip to the ER. Which was followed by precise medical extraction of the rock. Which was followed by (I assume) ridiculous medical bills for my parents to pay. Well Mom & Dad, in lieu of payment, you should have offered the health insurance company POINTS! Problem solved.

Fast forward to 2010. Jeremy and I were going through a rather large box of mementos (not to be confused with Mentos-The Freshmaker!) that my mother had saved for each of her children over the course of our childhood. We browsed through old kindergarten photos, finger paintings, sports medals and the like. That's when we stumbled upon what looked like, well, MEDICAL WASTE, and we were all "Mom, why does Jeremy's box have a shriveled up bag of MEDICAL WASTE?" My dear mother, sharp as a tack, took one look at that bag of MEDICAL WASTE and was all "That's the rock! THE rock!

And folks, here it is, in all its post-nasal glory. Behold, THE rock:

Warning: The stunts described above were performed by Jeremy Mohr, who has extensive experience of doing dumb stuff that lands him in the ER. Jeremy is practically a trained professional. Do not attempt to try this stunt at home.

Mysterio Predicts

My awesome friend Lisa (Hi Lisa!) is due to have her first child any day now. Actually she's measuring like she'll possibly give birth on her Aunt SUZIE'S birthday, but that's a whole different story...and just for the record, if Baby Lisa Jr. decides to arrive on my big day, I will be OVERJOYED to share such a fabulous birth date with this little one...

So because I'm not exactly the type to buy a baby anything remotely cutesy, and if I ever come across any gift that even so much resembles embroidered pastel-colored teddy bears, precious moments figurines, or WINNIE THE FREAKING POOH, my gag reflex immediately goes into action.

My solution? MYSTERIO. Apparently he predicts your baby's future profession. With like 37% accuracy. Pretty good odds if you ask me. But you really shouldn't be asking someone so horrible at math.

Lisa may not know the sex of this baby yet, but he/she already has a solid future. Lisa can rest assured that her offspring will have a sought after career as...drumroll...



Dear Future Baby Hog Calling Champion, I can't wait to meet you. And have Stew teach you the fine art of hog calling.