The Blog of Bex

About a month ago we got a puppy. We called her Honey because her coat is kind of honey colored. Plus my husband said he wouldn't live in a house with a dog called Princess Butterfly (what my 6 and 7 year old daughters wanted to call her). She is a mutt (my favorite breed) and was just 6 weeks old when we got her. One day I was complaining to a friend about picking up piles and puddles that Honey had provided in our home. My friend told me about Poochie Bells. She said that you order the bells online ( www.poochie-pets.net ) and they come with instructions on how to train your dog to ring the bells when she'd like to go outside. Sceptical? Yep, me too. But I went online and bought it anyway (I'm such a sucker). They had a wide variety of material that the bells can be on. I got to choose from Deluxe, Solid, and Stripe collections of ribbon. They even had a Country Club version. Naturally I went with the stripe. (No self-respecting mutt would want to ring Country Club bells...

I did the stupidest thing today. I was getting ready to go out for drinks with my husband and the people from his office. Eager to make a good impression I decided to wear makeup (it was really for the safety of all involved). Anyway, I was about done with it and got out the mascara. Today I am feeling SAUCY! Today...TWO coats of mascara! After applying my luxurious two coats I stopped to appreciate the noticeable difference between my 'before' and 'after'. Not too shabby! Now, ready for the coup de gras, I picked up my bottle of perfume and gave a gentle pump. Right into my eyes. Naturally my eyes involuntarily squeezed shut from the pain of having an alcohol related substance squirted into them. My carefully applied double coat of mascara - which normally takes ten minutes to dry on my lashes - was now, in an instant, hermetically sealed into the skin surrounding my eye. And did I mention that it hurt like a mother fucker. Or is that Mother Fucker? You know what I mea...

There is something extremely undignified about holding onto the end of a leash while, on the other end, a dog is taking a dump. Let's face it - dogs look really funny when they are doing their business. And the body language is inmistakable - the back is hunched over, rear legs spread far apart, tail is sticking out (doing this weird twitching - not unlike a subtle toilet flushing motion), and then there is the look in the dogs eyes. Either she is trying to remember how to multiply fractions OR she's taking a dump. At any point, it is not like there is anyone on the planet who wouldn't see (at first glance) what exactly is transpiring. When I am walking my dog I don't think much about her shitting. Unless someone else shows up. Then, I shift my body weight to one foot often with one hand on my hip and make small talk ("Finally got some rain, eh?"). And I look up at the trees or the sky and pretend that the cord that I am tightly gripping doesn't attach me ...

I think that I might be a cheap bastard. And here is why - I really hate it when I'm getting ready to pay for something at a store, the clerk looks at me with big puppy dog eyes and says, "Would you like to give a dollar to end world hunger? What about a dollar for breast cancer? Don't you even like women? Would you give a dollar to end all worldly pain and suffering?? What kind of ass ARE you anyway?!" I always say no thanks with a hopefully polite expression on my face. But it makes me feel bad. Well...not so much bad as in I should have given up my dollar. But it annoys me that they ask. And they ask when my money is out. So they KNOW - for a fact - that I do indeed have a dollar to spare. And then after I say no an uncomfortable silence falls between us. I try to think of something nice to say about ANYTHING while the clerk angrily scans and throws my eggs towards the bagger (who is openly staring at me with his mouth ajar). So then I start overcompensating for my...

The other day I was in my car at a stop light. Suddenly, the driver door of the car in front of me opened. The guy driving started leaning out of his seat. I figured that perhaps his coffee had gotten cold and he wanted to dump it onto the curb (rather than waiting to hit a bump in the road and slosh it all over the car and/or his pants - come on...it's happened to all of us). Instead, he leans out of his car and dumps HIS ASHTRAY onto the curb. It was packed to the rim with cigarette butts. And I remember thinking WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THAT???! So here he is - with something so putrid and disgusting that he simply cannot wait until he gets to his next destination to get rid of it - and he just dumps it in the street. Like it's no big deal. Like I'm not going to have to look at his chewed on butts for the next 18 months until they either blow away or are eaten by a desperate animal. I have friends (and family) who smoke. In fact I've smoked before (in Paris. You kind...

This video has two parts. The first one shows my husband (on the phone) and our son, Jax. Amanda makes a brief appearance, too. The second part is Jax and me. I have no idea what cracked him up but I love the video.