Meet The New Boy In My Life

I've become pretty darn lousy at this blog upkeep thing ... and I'm not sure if that's about to get worse or better ... because, now, I'm head-over-heels and all-consumed with a special someone.

Meet Huck.

Ah, Huck, the name built for limericks. While you'd think that was my intention, I actually named him after Huckleberry Finn, the Mark Twain character. I was originally going to go with Ponyboy (a la The Outsiders) but the more I've gotten to know this little bugger, the more a Huckleberry he's become. I will, however, always advise this dog to stay gold.

The stats on Huck:

• He's a rescue from an organization called A.R.F. Ontario.
• He's just shy of three-months old.
• We think he's a boxer-shepherd mix, but a few people have pointed out he has some mastiff qualities, too. Bring on the big poops.
• He's probably about 14 lb. right now with the potential to become a whole lot bigger in the coming months.
• Napping (complete with feet-wiggling dreams) is a favourite past-time, followed by munching on smoked rawhide bones and hooves, followed by farting.
• He is not a fan of car rides, the plastic squeaky toy I bought him, or how those poor kids STILL haven't learned how their long-winded dad met their mother, already.

Huck is so sweet, I can barely stand it. He has a lot of nice manners and a willingness to please, but I'll be starting official puppy training next week so that he'll be the dearest and happiest dog on the block.

I'm so in love.

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Yes! We Have No Bikini Stories Today!

I am back from vacation, all. And, yes, it was a dandy time even though the resort lacked the Argentinian football team that I was pinning all my slutty hopes and dreams on.

Sigh. For shame.

And since I'm disappointing you with that, I'll add one more sad fact into this blog post:

I didn't wear the homemade bikini and therefore avoided the humiliation that was greatly foreshadowed in my previous post.

Sorry.

I brought it.

I put it on.

And then I felt a familiar feeling.

I looked in the mirror in the hotel room and could see that I was already starting to sport the Coppertone Girl look. But there wasn't an adorable black poodle tugging at my bottoms, but my old nemesis, gravity. And this was without the weight of water dragging my drawers down, so Newton only knows how long they would have lasted had I dog-paddled to the swim-up bar done a few laps.

And, yet, I still considered going out to the pool like that. For the blog. Because I am that much of a whore for an awful story to tell.

But then a voice I so rarely hear peeped up.

"Jen ... what about your diggimy?"

"My what?"

"Diggimy. Or is it dimnity?"

"Come again?"

"You know, that thing that you're supposed to have? The belief that you're better than that so you act better than that. Diginimy."

"Wait. Do you mean DIGNITY?"

"Yeah! That's it! Dig-ni-ty," the voice said, familiarizing itself with the word for the first time in years.

I glanced back at myself in the mirror and could see that the voice was right. That there was no diggimy or dimnity in exposing anyone's eyes to the Bikini Bottom Blowout that was getting worse by the second.

So I instead put on what was my most matronly of bathing suits and promptly burned the only skin the suit exposed, my armpits.

Sorry.

But the trip was overall pretty fun. So fun in fact that certain details cannot be revealed or I'd be straight-up murdered by my travel buddy. If I were to edit out any words that would require a Daddy Disclaimer, the trip could be summarized as: tequila, sun, ceviche, tequila, catamaran, Americans, tequila, sunburn, weird ice cream, tequila, mojito, tequila, Thank-God-no-one-here-has-a-camera.

Weeeee!

And now I'm back and trying to settle into reality.

Weeeee?

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Happy Birthday To My Mom! Now Let's All Look At Her Ass.

(My hot mamma, about 40 years ago. And, yes, she looks exactly the same now.)

Happy Birthday to the best mom anyone could ask for!

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I'm Basically The Worst Unemployed Person Ever

Image Source: FunCheapSF

... because instead of refining my résumé for the millionth time and glumly living off of Sapporo Ichiban, I'm going to Mexico this week.

HEEEEEEEEEEEE!

It's my incredibly irresponsible way of rewarding myself for not having a job or a husband anymore. (And I must say, I've really excelled at both.)

I'm going with a girlfriend who also had a crappy 2012. We've vowed to make it one of those trips where the details of what goes on during it aren't allowed to be shared with anyone we know, and that probably includes "The Internet". (Sorry.) Just know that in reality, I will most likely spend at least two days of this vacation watching episodes of Friends dubbed into Spanish in the hotel room while I recover from a sunburn brought on by falling asleep by the pool. But let's all at least pretend that I'm going to have a wild and glorious time in the land of sun and tequila, ok?

After booking the last-minute deal, we started diving further into the reviews of the resort and there was one - a complaint - that gave both of us hope that it may indeed be a dandy of a trip after all:

... everything was great until a new group of guests came in, which unfortunately included a couple Argentinian football teams. These guys were interested in anything in a skirt ...  

To which my friend and I responded:

Oh, please, Baby Jesus, make it so.

And if going to Mexico isn't indulgent enough for someone with no income, yesterday I went and got eyelash extensions (so that I didn't have to bother with mascara on the trip), a manicure and a pedicure.

You see, I received a bit of Christmas money from my grandfather, and I'm pretty sure at the bottom of the cheque it said, "For whoring it up." - so I kind of had to spend it on this:

Local Business Plug: I am wearing zero make-up in the picture, and look at how dolled-up my eyes look! If you want to get eyelash extensions in Toronto, I highly recommend Balanced Beaute - she is so good, won't make you look cartoonish, and is probably one of the most affordable pros in the city. Yay!

My other bit of prep work from this trip actually saved me money: not buying food. Not buying food meant I couldn't eat anything, which resulted in me going down a glorious 11 pounds since Christmas. Thanks, starvation! High five, desperation! This weight will all come screaming back on as I stuff my face at the resort's buffet and swim-up bar, but whatever.

The final thing I did in anticipation of going to Mexico involved harnessing my very novice skills as a seamstress: I made my own bikini. I can already smell the humiliation that will surely happen while wearing this. Not simply because it's a bikini (GAH!) but because I chose the fabric based on how pretty it was and not based on the trivial matter of how well it deals with water. Heh. So, you have that account to look forward to, readers.

I'll probably do one more tiny post this week, but that will likely be it until I get back. And then hopefully I'll become a bit more regular with the updates and thoughts and first-world gripings after that.

Your notes from my previous post were all really appreciated. How did such nice people end up stumbling on this blog? Boy, I'm lucky.

Adios for now, muchachos!

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