The most horrible smell ever

I bought a new fancy vacuum cleaner this weekend, it is self-propelled and has lots of attachments. I have been vacuuming everything. The house is spotless and I was pleased that for once the house did not smell of dog. When I returned home this evening, I opened the door to the most horrific smell ever. My first thought was the boys had died and decomposed in the 4 hours I was gone. Then I saw that they had knocked over the trash and the containers of leftover Indian food I had last night were on the floor and clean. Truck has what might be described as a sensitive stomach, which results in a gas problem under normal circumstances. Indian food really does not agree with the dogs. I may make them sleep outside tonight.

House Rules

Momma is not a good driver and appreciates the offer of assistance, but it is difficult to drive when a large beast is in your lap. Everyone must stay in his assigned seat.

As you both are underage, you are not allowed partake in the drinking of bourbon, even if momma falls asleep and the bottle is on the floor.

Momma is uncomfortable in the presence of penises and therefore they should be kept from sight at all times.

When you kill an innocent creature outside, you are not permitted to bring the torn remains inside to show momma, especially if she is still abed.

When Momma is kissing a boy, like the tree man (who never called), you are not run at full speed into his side knocking him into the kitchen cabinets. I know you are playing, but sometimes your beautiful smiles are taken for a snarls.

And for Christ’s sake, stay off the goddamn coffee table!

My death wish

Today was one of those days where the ex was inflicting his pain and I was letting it get to me. Then on the advice of my internet boyfriend, who told me to stop being so damn depressing and blog happy (I am paraphrasing here), I decided that I needed an adrenaline kick. I considered going over to my favorite bar and picking up some bored businessman, but I am cutting back on floozy behavior. So I went home and took Pasha for a run. I am not much of a runner and I haven't eaten since Tuesday, after 2 miles I ended throwing up water on the side of the road. But this is what I needed to change my depression into anger, which I took out on Truck.

Don't worry, I did not hurt my baby, but we did wrestle until I was exhausted. I am sure I will be black and blue tomorrow. The thing about wrestling Truck is that I know he could seriously injure me if I made a mistake. He would not hurt me on purpose, but he is 100 pounds of muscle breed to fight. I rarely play rough with the boy because I do not want to encourage any sort of aggressive behavior in him, but sometimes rolling around on the floor with him so satisfies this death wish that I have. I always feel better after I do something that could potentially kill me.