two dolla

eating john mccain’s face

I stopped by the gas station on the way into work this morning. The General and I are in the habit of getting 44 ounce sodas pretty frequently. We don’t buy pop at home, so this typically lasts an entire day… sometimes two. This morning, I grabbed a 32 ounce cup of Cherry Coke and decided to get a donut, too. Next to the SuperMom donuts were some cookies. More specifically, there were some John McCain cookies right next to the old fashioned glazed donuts that The Boy covets anytime we go get a sugar breakfast on the weekend.

They were sugar cookies with white icing, and someone in the cookie decorating department wrote MCCAIN in bright red letters, complementing it with a portrait of his old wrinkled head. I looked all around and there were no Barack Obama cookies anywhere to be found.

My theories are as follows:

1. The VP of Cookie and Donut Decorating at Super America? Staunch Republican.
2. The Barack Obama cookies were more delicious and probably had loads of frosting and quite possibly a pudding-based filling.
3. This is how they do the polling and that’s why all of the Obama cookies were gone. (Props to Cindi for that theory.)
4. They only had McCain cookies because everyone in my neighborhood bought them one at a time and gave them to their painfully Democratic co-workers just to see what would happen.

I, of course, belong to the #4 theory. A few minutes after the grand presentation to my co-worker? It was deemed quite enjoyable to be eating John McCain’s face.

riley needs a trampoline

suddenly i want to go into a church

For the past two years, I’ve had some stellar Halloween Costumes.

2006? Shocker Man. A completely original costume, complete with swim cap, knee pads, and bright yellow goggles. It was award winning AND I raked leaves while wearing it… and holding the rake upside down, but that had nothing to do with the alcohol intake of the evening.

2007? Kevin Federline. I wanted to go dressed at Kanye West, but I’d just gotten laid off and couldn’t buy shiny white tennis shoes. Plus, it gave me the opportunity to carry a plastic baby doll purchased at the thrift store around in a plastic Taco Bell bag for a while. Then we popped the head off of the baby and drank out of it. That had nothing to do with any amount of alcohol intake either.

This year, I’m kinda stuck. First of all, I don’t really have a Halloween party planned where costumes are required and/or suggested. And secondly, I spend all day using my creative powers to find people jobs and convince employers to hire them.

I found one costume online that I can’t stop laughing about. It’s a Plus Size Jesus costume:

Nothing says Happy Halloween and let’s all celebrate this horrible Satan-influenced holiday like Plus Sized Jesus. I wish they had Plus Size BABY Jesus, and then I’d know, without one single hesitation, what I’d want to be for Halloween.

that sweet scent of urine

You know how they say dogs don’t do things because they’re mad at you or to get back at you? I kinda call that bullshit. You know why I call that bullshit? Riley’s never had a problem with the urinating in the house. He knows when it’s time to go to the bathroom, and there have been times when I’ve been sick, that he’s patiently waited much longer than any dog ever should to go outside to pee.

And now, about a month after Kentucky moved in, Riley’s decided it’s okay to pee in the house. Wherever he wants even. Just as long as he’s looking you right in the eye when he does it. What the hell is that about?

Sure, you can go ahead and stop him from doing it, but then he just runs around peeing all over the apartment instead of just once place. You can run outside with him, but then you have to clean up a whole line of urine from the third floor all the way down and out onto the front porch.

And I’m sure it’s not a urinary tract infection, mainly because he and I drink vodka cranberries with dinner every evening.

I threaten him with leaving him at the pound and sometimes murder; The General threatens him by reminding him that dogs are a delicacy in some countries. Nothing seems to work. I’m certainly not just “giving up”, but holy crap, is it getting old.