Is THIS Bliss?!

Lorina's Blog


Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

Halloween season is upon us! Yay! We already have one costume event – the Headbanger’s Ball – under our metal-studded belts, with possibly two more this week. Krispy Kreme’s Talk Like a Pirate Day on Thursday, where you can get a free dozen donuts for dressing like a pirate. Hell, I’d wear my pirate garb for no reason whatsoever, let alone for free food! And the next day is a Zombie Walk at the Steamtown Mall in Scranton. Don’t worry. There will be photos.

I’m planning Game of Throne costumes for Halloween itself. I’m going to attempt to be Daenarys, with Fritz as Ser Jorah. And sticking with the GoT theme, I’m making our Pekingese Beavis into Tyrion Lannister. He’s already an imp and has the personality to match. Ok, on a good day, he’s Tyrion. On a bad day, he’s more Joffrey. Aren’t I lucky?

The dog’s costume is done. Not only did I make him a red brocade doublet with black satin trim, but I went one more step into Crazytown. I made him a “Paw of the King” pin. What? He’s a dog. He can’t be Hand of the King.

Paw of the King

Sculpey clay, some acrylic paints, and a self-stick pin back, and I’m really happy with how it turned out. Since Fritz’s reaction was “Where did you get this?!” not “When/how did you make this?!” I’m guessing he thinks it’s pretty good, too.

Beavis as Tyrion

I tried to get him to hold the battleaxe in his mouth for the photo, but that wasn’t happening. Maybe I’ll have to whip up a Sansa or Shae costume for myself to accompany him if there’s any pet costume contests. Why not? I’m already nuts!

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Beavis Gets A Haircut

A totally different kind of before and after. No weight loss required. Other than maybe a few pounds of fur.

My Pekingese Beavis, before and after his hair cut. He’s a little bastard, hates to be groomed, nearly impossible to muzzle (yeah, the old “my dog has no nose” joke), and had gotten into some kind of sticky weed seeds in the yard, so he was even more of a tangled mess than normal. It took a full week to finally get him clipped to a point where I can walk him in daylight without being humiliated.

It’s still lumpy and uneven, because he gets too snarly and bitey whenever we tried to use the clippers, so I had to cut the whole thing with scissors. Like having a strange little bonsai dog.

A strange little bonsai dog with a petunia on his head.

A strange little bonsai dog with a petunia on his head.

It’s weird. We adopted him six years ago from a rescue group, and never had his coat clipped. It’s like having a whole new dog… but sadly, with the same old personality. I wish I could have salvaged his tail. It was a glorious plume before it got tangled and became dreadlocks. Now… he has a scorpion tail. Which fits all too well.

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No Comprende, It’s a Riddle

Things I don’t understand, in no particular order.

The Little Sad Pillow.

When Fritz first moved in with me, almost 12 years ago, he ended up staking claim to the right side of the bed, and to two pillows. At the time, they were both relatively new pillows, but over the years, one has become… a pancake. It’s about two inches thick, and when I put it in a pillow case, it looks like Kate Moss wearing a dress made for Queen Latifa. But he won’t let me replace it. I tried once. I swapped it out with a nice thick fluffy down pillow, and put Little Sad Pillow on the spare bed. It didn’t go well. That was about 8 years ago, and Little Sad Pillow is still going strong. Lumpy and flat, but strong.

And I know he’s not the only one. My father had a his own Little Sad Pillow. It may well have been from when he and my Mom first married in 1954. He took his pillow on vacation with him. Couldn’t sleep without it. A casual poll among friends shows that other spouses have the same attachment. I suppose it’s a good thing. If they’re so devoted to a pillow that’s long since lost its shape, perhaps they’ll have the same feelings for their wives once we’re a bit… uh… deflated.

Giving Things that Make Noise to Children.

Children, in and of themselves, are noisemakers. It’s what they do best. They squawk. They scream. They shout. They squeal like a dolphin in a net for no reason. They sing with abandon. They don’t have an “inside voice.” Therefore, they have no need for kazoos, whistles, vuvuzelas, horns, clackers, bells or whatever other method of amplification my neighbors’ granddaughter always seems to have when she’s visiting. Why does anyone think this child needs to be louder than she already is?!

I say I don’t like children, but really, it’s the parents and guardians that are the problem. If my dog was outside making a racket for hours on end like that, people would call the zoning board or the animal shelter and file a noise ordinance complaint. And before that would ever happen, I’d bring him in the house, because his barking drives ME nuts. But you can’t complain about kids being noisy or you’re Satan.


They’re smaller than cars. They’re way smaller than tractor trailers. Yet louder than both put together. Why do they have to be so frickin’ loud? I miss huge chunks of dialogue watching television if a motorcycle rides by. I can’t hear a damn thing until they’re about a half mile away. And that’s with the doors closed and windows shut. Damn this intersection!

The Kardashians.

Why do I even know who these people are?

Dogs’ Bladder Control.

No matter how long I walk our little Beavis, no matter how far I walk him, no matter how many times he pees during that walk, he always, always, always manages to save up one tiny little tinkle for the telephone pole in front of the house. Just a few drops, but a tinkle none the less. I once counted nineteen piddle stops in a three-quarter of a mile walk. That’s about once every 200 feet. And I’m not sure which confuddles me more, his ability to make so much wee, or the fact that I counted and calculated his wee frequency.

And We’re Back to the Bedding.

I have a bedding fetish. No, not like I want pleather sheets or anything, because that would just be gross and weird, and the thought of my sweaty ass sticking to… nevermind. I just like accumulating bedding. Sheet sets. Comforters. Duvets. Shams. Dust ruffles. And I want them to be pretty and match. But… no one ever sees them but Fritz and I, and most of the time we spend in there, it’s dark and our eyes are closed. The only time anyone who isn’t one of us sees the bedroom is when I’m giving someone who’s never been here a tour of the house, and everyone I know has already seen it.

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