Moxi Goes Nite, Nite

   I absolutely HATE Moxi's bedtime.  I have read countless articles and done an abundance of research on parrots to know that they need anywhere from 8-12 hours of good sleep each night. 
   Being jobless, my schedule is not always very firm, but I try to keep the animals on somewhat of a schedule.  And Moxi's bedtime is around 11:00p.  This is when I can tell she's getting tired.  She gets a little ancy sometimes pacing back and forth on the couch or fluttering down to the floor repeatedly and then she'll settle into one spot.  I'll take her to her room put a piece of a pretzel in the brim of the big yellow cowboy hat she sleeps with in her cage, turn off the light and say, "Nite, nite.  I love you!"  Then I shut the door for the night and I make it a firm practice not to enter her room until I wake up (usually late) the next morning. 
   I've read a number of horror stories about people putting their birds (and/or toddlers) to bed who will shriek and carry on refusing to go calmly to bed, and seriously I don't get any of that from Moxi.  Typically she is ready for her 'nite-nite treat' and she lets me calmly place her on her comfy perch, where she side-steps over obtain her treat.  But the reason I hate bedtime, is b/c I know that I am going to be up for several hours after she goes to bed.  And I can't help but miss her.  Sad I know, but she is just soooo sweet at night.  After her little agitated phase, she'll hop down on my shoulder, burrow into my thick hair, and snuggle up next to my neck softly cooing.  As if I'm not hooked already???

I think it's so cute when she tucks her little beak behind her wing for a lil nap

Hit Woman for Hire

   Jamie is under the misconception that I am trying to kill him.  Well, that's just blatantly false.  Not only to I love him, but I NEED him . . . I mean who else is gonna suffer through all of my eccentricities, be willing to eat Mexican food nearly every day of the week, rush back to the market for a bottle of wine after a rough day, make me laugh so hard that I get hiccups almost every day, and sprint through the house and up a flight of stairs when I scream, "BUG!"  (As you've been made aware, the dogs are completely useless in this arena.) 
   But, never the less, he thinks I'm out to kill him.  One might wonder what would give him this horrific idea?  Am I perhaps trying to poison him?  (Easy on the cooking jokes here!)  No.  Am I trying to electrocute him?  No.  Am I trying to stab, shoot, or strangle him?  No, no, and no.  (Although, occasionally he does make me wanna strangle him . . .) 
   No folks, the method I'm apparently using to do him in is: shoes.  Shoes, bookbag, roller skates . . . sometimes the vacuum, just depends.  I have a terrible tendency to leave shoes most likely on the bathroom floor or in the bedroom at the end of the bed . . . and since Jamie usually goes to bed after me, it can be a little treacherous for him to make it to his side of the bed in the dark.  It's no picnic for me either to awaken from a dead sleep to a to a tall, dark figure lurking around my bedroom: THUD, stumble, stumble, EXPLETIVE!  I tried to help him out with a nightlight, but he kept unplugging it saying he couldn't sleep w/ it on, and I have gotten much better since I've gotten rid of so much clutter to move. 
   But then the other night all of the lights are on and Jamie is walking through the TV room when he kicks the dog bowl (which lay empty and had been shoved toward the middle of the floor by the dogs), and trips forward.  He turns around to look at the bowl, then gives me a glare: "Are you trying to kill me?"  First, the dogs put that bowl there.  Second, there are so many lights on right now you could probably see that bowl from the Hubble.  Third, I have some theories of my own: I'm kindof thinking that maybe you're just a little clumsy or perhaps too tall to actually see all the way down to the floor, or my personal fav theory your feet are just clownishly large . . . Whatever the reason, it is my solemn vow that I'm not trying to kill Jamie.  I mean I watch CSI, I would never get away with it.  How would I hide the body?  I mean I can't even lift an 80lbs bag of concrete!

Jamie and Me

Cheap Thrills

  I finished off the last of the peanut butter and saved the jar to give to the dogs.  The result was priceless!  Conker said, "We don't need no stinkin Kong!"  Kindof makes me think back to the days when Adam and I were little and my mom would wash out her empty Windex bottles and give them to us as squirt guns . . . aaah memories.

But the video of Gumbo was the best:



Conker and the PB Jar



Gumbo's tongue is just ridiculously long!



Chiquita REALLY got into it!

 



Fill 'Er Up

  I loooove going to places where you get to fill up your own drink.  I fully admit that I am one of those annoying people who makes their very own special drink concoctions at the soda fountain.  Little bit of this, little of that, sip . . . little more of that, sip: perfection.  I've found that the best concoctions always include a healthy dose of Root Beer and just a pinch of fruit punch.  This is why Jamie refuses to stand by me when we go to fill up our cups.  I think it embarrasses him.  He once told me that was something a five-year old would do.  I thought about it a minute and said, "Well, that's just silly.  I mean can a five-year old even reach the soda fountain?"  This is also the reason he stoutly refuses to allow me to refill his drink.  I usually try to sneak a squirt of something else in his Mountain Dew just to 'enhance' the flavor, and ya know to see if I can get away with it, so far not yet.  Don't judge me, I'm poor I gotta my kicks in where I can. :)

Keepin it Classy

   Woke up this morning with a crick in my neck.  I guess I just slept on it wrong.  I had job interview today (yay), but I'm fairly certain I didn't get the position (boo).  I was the fourteenth candidate that they had interviewed!  I digress.  On the two hour drive to my interview I could feel the tightness escalating in the right side of my neck and shoulder.  I tried massaging it and stretching it to no avail, so by the time I was on the drive back my neck felt like it was in full 'riggor.'  Don't you just hate that?  Makes the simplest things difficult.  Just checking my blind spot to change lanes turns into a whole body experience.  Because instead of just being able to turn my head and the neck, I now have to turn at the torso.  I have to say I'm sure it adds a creepy vibe for that person driving in the lane next to me . . . And just FYI pulling a U-turn apparently takes a great deal of neck maneuverability - trust me, I know.   Of course, I didn't realize this til I was already committed to the turn and ouch.  I made the most awkward and jerky U-turn in history today in the middle of Wade Hampton Avenue.  Kinda glad I don't live there.    
   When I got home after my hard day of not bringing in a paycheck, I asked Jamie to return to the market for a bottle of red wine (is he a catch or what?).  Here I am sitting on the couch Indian style in mismatched pajamas, blogging with a heating pad wrapped around my neck, drinking my coveted red wine.  (I know I paint a sexy picture, what can I say?)  And I'm not gonna lie, it hurts my neck/shoulder to even bring the glass up to drink. (insert pitiful whimper here)  Sooo, I'm thinking of how practical it would be to get a straw . . . or a sippy cup perhaps . . . no, I think a straw would work better.  Yeah, cuz we like to keep it classy here.  I would NEVER suggest this otherwise, but desperate times call for desperate measures . . .

Primed and Ready

   Over the course of the last year or so I have painted just about everything.  I've painted every room in my house (some of them twice . . . in fact, most of them twice).  I've painted furniture, appliances, a couple of paintings, and even my shower curtain rings.  What can I say?  I get bored.  So, this last week I embarked on my latest whim: painting my bedroom furniture.  The nightstand especially needed to be painted.  It went perfectly in my old bedroom that was lime green on the bottom and even limier green on the top.  (But apparently lime green walls are a turnoff to the vanilla people who have money to purchase a house, so I had to paint it neutral: as in beige as in blah.)  After that was completed my charming little nightstand stuck out like a sore thumb. 
   Previously, some brilliant aspiring artisan (who may or may not read this very blog . . . :) ) had painted the nightstand white w/ green accents and purple flowers.  But alas I finally decided it was time to paint it to blend in with it's surroundings better, hopefully help sell my house, and b/c, quite frankly, I've painted everything else.  So, I emptied the nightstand and dragged in out into the TV room onto a sheet in front of the television.  This way I could sand AND watch football: shizzam! 

Before.

   I sanded it down, and then a couple of days later I primed it.  I did the body first in a basic, white, fast-dry, water based primer (one that I've had in my garage for years and I use to prime everything).  I had just finished painting the drawer when Jamie popped in to check on my progress and give me some words of encouragement.  So, he was standing right there when it happened.  (As if I needed a witness to my crazy.)  Having painted all sides of the drawer I was balancing it on two fingers judging just how I was going to set it up to dry, when I lost control.  It started to lean precariously to the left, so I quickly over compensated pushing it to the right.  There I was bobbling this wet nightstand drawer like a hot potatoe.  Wet nightstand in front of me and a cardboard box by my foot, all sitting on top of a drop cloth spread out a yard around me on all sides . . . but noooooo I fumble the drawer end over end away from all of those safe places and it lands wet side down on my couch.  Crap.

Primed.

Newly decorated couch.

   First words out of my mouth, "Weeeell, that was unfortunate."  And, indeed it was.  Primer does not come off of anything, even in the best of circumstances.  Jamie tried to get the spotbot on it, but it dried rather quickly.  I suppose we'll just have to artfully drape a throw blanket over that part of the couch when we go to show the house.  Everytime I look over there I can't help but to sigh balefully.  I mean do these things happen to other people, or is it just me?  But looking on the bright side I have been wanting some new furniture . . .

Fast Learner

  Of course as Moxi's doting owner I have to say she is extremely intelligent.  She is such a fast learner, sometimes, much to my dismay.  For instance, one morning Moxi learned how to pluck the keys off of my computer keyboard.  Then that afternoon she executed the what I refer to as the "Pluck and Run."   And that evening, she finished perfecting her escape technique by running in a zigzag pattern while I'm in hot pursuit screaming, "Drop it! Drop the 'J' key this instant!"  Then when I did catch the little mongrel she stoutly refused to turn over the key.  She had that 'J' firmly between her beak, with her two spindly little legs firmly planted, and she was NOT giving it up!  Thought it was going to take the Jaws of Life to get it out!  Never fear I did get the key back and popped it back into place on the keyboard.  Whew.
   So, since I got my new laptop (an awesome refurbed Asus, thanks Jamie for finding it!) by edict from Jamie, Moxi is no longer allowed to perch on the computer.  Nooooo problem.  We would never want to be guilty of breaking Jamie's 'One Rule' . . . .

She's merely looking for something she lost . . .

Bird on the run.

Moxi: "This never happened."

Moxi: "I was never here."

She's just so cute here!

I mean seriously can she get any cuter?