I’m not sure what to do. There appears to be? no food left? in the house.

I just finished the last container of? Cool Whip and attempted to wash it down with some diluted Clover Honey. Yuck. Cooking Wine = Even Worse!

The only other food has white fuzz on it which I’m pretty sure is a bad sign. Even the dog won’t eat it. He’s hungry too. ?

Why doesn’t? Survivorman? cover these kinds of situations?

What would the Man versus Wild Guy Do?

Maybe I need to cut the dog open, eat him and use his carcass as a shelter to stay warm?

He’s not very big though….

….it’s either that or go to the grocery store….

HERE BOY!

I’ve decided to start? fasting. Eating just makes too much of a mess.? ?

I tried recruiting the help of my dog. Nada. More evidence that dogs are worthless. He just sat in the sink giving me “the look.” Dogowners everywhere can surely appreciate the “I’m Not Amused” look that you come to know and love.?

Well, time to go shop for expensive sporting goods that I don’t have time to use. Sure feels nice to collect that stuff and have it sit in the garage. Or maybe I should try to find another steal on a car to adorn the driveway?

My wife has a fondness for taking pictures of my underwear and posting them online. She views my dirty underwear as an inconvenience when she is trying to clean the house.

I view? them as art.

Warhol Ridgebacks Enhanced

Why watch American Idol when you can watch my underwear? (I particularly like this piece as the workout moisture gives off an eery glow at the impact point. If you look closely, you’ll notice that Paula likes this too.)

What fun would it be if the only remaining dog didn’t participate? Look how happy he is!

Finally, I present “Dinner for Ridgebacks.”

Enjoy this one while it lasts. I have a feeling my wife will blow a gasket and pull this one down for sure….

While peacefully sleeping and dreaming last night (no children or snoring wife), I contemplated the beloved Rhodesian Ridgeback…

[First - a little personal philosophy]

I strongly advocate putting resources to their highest and best use.? Some people see a rainforest, I see a Tom Fazio golf course with free Lemurs? for a hole in one. (No one really likes Lemurs anyway.)

Anyway………so, I’m laying in bed and? a great idea? hit me. Ridgebacks don’t really like the whole dog show thing. It’s expensive, wastes gas and causes unnecessary stress for all involved. So, what is the highest and best use of a Ridgeback? I momentarily thought of a fur coat. Sure, they’d be expensive (profitable) but so many other animals are already used for fur coats. It’s simply not novel.

Clearly, the Ridgeback was put on this earth for a reason. That reason is billiards (pool)! Although, I’m not a billiards fan, it’s absurdly obvious that the best use for a Ridgeback is as a pool table cover.

Their fur is so short. So supple…… (resilient too – maybe some ScotchGuard?)

Why use felt when Ridgeback is so much more elegant? All the best homes should have a Ridgeback pool table. I’ve contacted Better Homes and Gardens. Here are the rough plans.

1. Take one Rhodesian Ridgeback between 4-6 years of age (fully grown, but not yet discolored by age).

2. Mark the appropriate sections to discard.

3. Get rid of the waste product.

4. Find a proper size pool table.

5. Apply Ridgeback Fur and Voila!

Okay, maybe I have too much time on my hands with them being out of town. Maybe it is time for some Charles Bronson movies…..

As some of you may know, my wife and children left today to go to a dog show in Utah (PARTY – DEPRAVITY!). This means that she has no control over this blog for the next couple of days. This also means that I am left at home alone. Sure, I miss them already…..but I also get to do guy things, such as:

go on a run without chasing my son? on a bicycle (or pulling him when he gets tired)

watch old Clint Eastwood films instead of American Idol

and, perhaps most importantly, drink beer

Batman has the Joker.? Spiderman has the Green Goblin.? Paula Abdul has Simon.?

And me?? Well, for starters,? my nemesis isn’t a? person.? It’s a thing.? A place, really.? Sort of a household destination, if you will—one? that nobody enjoys visiting for long.? It’s……our laundry room.

Okay, so maybe my arch enemy isn’t as glamorous or exciting as most, but I’m telling you, my laundry room is possessed by the forces of darkness.? Or perhaps Rush Limbaugh—I have an understandably difficult time telling those two things apart.?

Seriously, though—my laundry room knows how to get its evil on.? I mean, how else do you explain the massive piles of dirty, smelly clothes that magically appear, even after I’ve just finished the fiftieth load of the day?? I’m convinced that I wash more clothes in one week than thirty Paris Hiltons’ could wear in a year.?

And how would anything rational explain the fact that I continuously leave clothes in the washer for too long, even though it seems as though I’m doing laundry non-stop, 24/7, like Carol Brady with a few (hundred) extra kids?? Forget the napalm— there’s nothing quite like the smell of mildew in the morning to make your nose hate your face.? And then there’s the dog food, which somehow? manages to jump out of the bag and onto the floor when I’m not looking.? Crafty stuff, that Evo.? I guess that’s what you get for an extra $20.00 a pound.

Honestly, you would think cleaning out the laundry room and keeping it tidy was a reasonable, attainable goal, right?? ? Well, for me, it’s about as attainable as climbing Mt. Everest, naked and barefoot, with a baby strapped on my back.?

And no chocolate.

I suppose I could tame the wild laundry room, if I really put my mind to it.? Provided, of course, that I’m prepared to ignore teething babies, querying four-year olds, hungry Ridgebacks, growling Rottweilers, and disgruntled husbands.? For about eighty hours straight.

Personally, I think clean clothes are overrated.? ? I mean, what’s a little baby spit-up, dog slobber, B.O, and four-year old slime among friends?? C’mon on, hang those baby blow-out pants right back up–she’s just gonna do it again, so what’s the point of washing them anyway?? ? Just think—we could single-handedly end California’s drought by banning the washing machine.

Exhibit A:? ? ? ? ? Be very, very afraid.

Exhibit B:? I’m surprised nothing has jumped out to bite me…..yet.

Exhibit C:? ? ? Those little round spots on the floor are dog food.? I’d pick them up, but they’d only be replaced by more.? Besides, Fergie likes a little snack while she stomps all over the clean clothes.

? Exhibit D:? Just in case you? were deluded enough to think? there was a semi-organized corner of the room.? If it matters, at least those piles are clean.

On second thought, I’m thinking a nudist colony might be in order.?

This morning, I turned on my TV to nurse.? And almost dropped my baby. The cacophony emitting from the usually tame Today show? nearly shattered my sliding glass doors.? ? ? Simultaneously, I tried to cover my ears, juggle my nursling, and grab the remote and frantically inch the volume down to a safe level (although in retrospect, I think the only safe level would have been “mute”).?

At first, I thought the bunch of mid-thirties guys performing what I suppose you? would call? “dance moves” (although? that’s up for debate) were a band of American Idol rejects.? ? You know—the horrifically untalented ones you cringe while watching at the very beginning of the season??

And then it hit me.? God forgive me, I actually? recognized that song they were singing.?

I was watching? New Kids on the Block.? Only older.? And lamer.? And even less talented than they originally were (if that’s even possible).

I’m not trying to be cruel—really.? They seemed like very nice men, er, kids, er—what the heck do I call them?—when they were interviewed between performances.? But honestly.? Shouldn’t there be rules about this sort of thing?? Like, in order to make a comeback, you had to have? possessed a? modicum of talent to begin with?? Because, seriously, if those guys hit one more off-key note, my windows were coming down.

And the dancing.? Or lack thereof.? I was crying and laughing at the same time.? Crying because those poor schmucks probably thought they actually looked good, and laughing because even my drunk husband can pull out better moves than that.? And he’s no Fred Astaire.

All I could think during this flagrant abuse of Today-show viewers was this—and here I thought I was embarrassing my kids with my blog.

I think my background in show dogs has really warped me (hubby would be happy to agree).? I mean, I know most parents notice little genetic things they’ve passed on, things like blue eyes, curly hair, etc.? But? are we supposed to? notice the totally random, not-so-cute? stuff?? Because I do.? Much to my chargrin.? And I figure it’s got to be because I’m always analyzing Ridgeback puppies, trying to figure out where they got their ears from, or the color of their? toenails, or maybe from which side of the family tree they acquired the special skill of opening cabinets to go trash-diving.

But? all of? that’s? okay, even expected,? when you’re breeding puppies.? Not so much when breeding humans.

So, all you dog people, beware—-and try not to breed for these things:

Exhibit A:? My husband and my son—take a look at those knees, that posture (Eek!? The physical therapist in me cringes).

Exhibit B:? My toes? and Finley’s toes? (Yes, you need to get past the fact that I haven’t had a pedicure in, oh….never, to appreciate that we both have the same long, crooked, and just plain ugly toes.? Actually, I take it back—I’ve had one pedicure in my entire life.? And obviously, it shows.? But seriously—how do women sit still for those things several times a month?? Sigh…and I wonder why my kids are fidgeters).

Wow, nobody bothered to inform me we have a new spot for storing our peanut butter.? ? I know—maybe? hubby was trying to consolidate the sandwich-making process.

If you judge the merit of your days based on the number of yummies? consumed (which I often do),then Mom’s Day was a? resounding success around here.

Let’s see—there was the chocolate shake at Ruby’s for lunch (my favorite chocolate shake in the whole wide world), then a Cold Stone cheesecake and berry ice cream right after dinner (yum!), and finally, the peach cobbler and ice cream for the post-dessert dessert (hey, we had an early dinner and besides, the cobbler was “no sugar added”).

I suppose today I’d better cut back to my typical two yummies, lest I start looking pregnant again (not to mention wonder why my normally mild-mannered 7-month old is bouncing off the walls).

The rest of the day was good, too—I got to snooze a little extra after the first nursing session AND take a short nap!? Ah, the? small joys in life really are the best.

As a special bonus, my daughter was over the grumpies from having either hand, foot and mouth or roseola.? Just one of the plethora of fever with rash viruses we can expect my son to bring home from preschool, I’m sure.? Nothing like a baby with a few high fevers for a good night’s sleep, I always say.

Anyway, the doctor first diagnosed teething, then hand, foot and mouth, and then concurred that maybe it sounded like roseola.? Tell me again why I bothered to haul my daughter into? the office, pay $30 each time, and probably expose her to much worse cooties in the process?

At any rate, here’s a photo of her rash (which she presented me with on Mother’s Day—how sweet!)—note it’s on her trunk and back, not her hands or feet.? You be the judge.

Well, at the very least, I’m guessing I don’t need to worry too much about any weight loss during her virus.? Maybe we can both go for the pregnancy-look together.