For Clifford. 1998 to January 31, 2016

We had to put our kitty to sleep yesterday.

We found out about a month ago that he had a cancerous tumor under his tongue. These types of cancers in cats are very aggressive, so they tell me. It was harder and harder for him to eat and he drooled a lot. He started pulling his fur out, from frustration I suppose. I don't blame him, I probably would too if I couldn't bathe myself, couldn't eat, and walked around drooling all the time.

Clifford always had a "pissed at the world" look on his face.

It was hard to watch him decline because he's always been a bit of an asshole. He used to bite my ankles in the morning if I didn't feed him fast enough, and he'd bite the kids' ankles just for the hell of it. He loved to make them scream and run from him down the hallway.

He wasn't even afraid of my brother's 5 foot iguana that lived with us for a short time in 1998. He took over the iguana house as his favorite napping spot.

"Guess I'll go find some kids to bite now. Later, Scale-face."

Most recently, he delighted in knocking over full cups of liquid whenever he could and chasing our other cat around the house if she was eating more than her share of the cat food (in his humble opinion).

My sister's 40 pound dog, Buddy, was deathly afraid of him ever since an altercation in 2007. My sister and I were in my bedroom and Buddy was in the hallway with Clifford. Next thing we knew, Buddy was wailing and Clifford was just sitting there with his ears back and his tail waving back and forth. We didn't see what happened, but after that, Buddy wouldn't enter a room if Clifford was there. We think Clifford pulled a gun on him.

Here he is last year, posing for his layout in "Playcat" magazine.

To watch him go from such a lean, mean, badass to the thin, drooling, ragged creature in front of us broke our hearts. The only real peace he had was when he slept. So we decided it was time to just let him sleep.

That's such a hard decision to make for your pet. To decide that his breakfast Saturday morning was the last meal he would ever have, that his nap on my pillow was the last time he would sleep in our bed. That his purr the night before was the last one I would hear from him.

But Clifford was sick and to wait any longer would have been miserable for him. He was counting on us to know when the right time was to let him go. It really was the last loving thing we could do for him. I know that.

Clifford (named by our kids, after the Big Red Dog) was 18 so our kids pretty much grew up with him. He had a special bond with my son and would often sleep in his room, so my son went with us to the vet..

When it was time, Cliffy was surrounded by the people he loved, all petting him.

The vet administered the shot. Cliffy tucked his furry head down into the blanket we had wrapped him in, just like he would do at home before he fell asleep, and he was gone.

The house feels different without him. I awoke early this morning because I thought I heard him purring by my head.

Our other cat, Molly, went tearing back and forth down the hallway like she was being chased, just a little while ago. I think Clifford was after her, just like old times.

For Clifford. Thank you for letting us have you as long as we did. You were a real arse sometimes, but we loved you.

Sadly,
Lori

6 Tips to Get You Blogging Again......No Matter How Long it's Been

This month is the first time I've blogged in over a year. Six posts in and it feels like I'm catching up with an old friend.

Even though it feels comfortable to be back at the keyboard, my old insecurities still creep back in. What if I'm not funny or interesting? What if I have nothing to say? And worst of all, what if no one reads my posts?

But I'm learning to have a different mindset now.

I'm learning to say, "Screw it. Just write."

Yeah, Shakespeare...that's me. *snort*

I was thinking about why I went so long without writing. It started with my back problems, but that eased up over several months. Finding time to write was always an issue because I worked full time...but I've been part time now since last August.

Then I thought, maybe I only want to blog when I'm happy, when things are going well in my life. I think that's partially true because I tend to clam up when I'm depressed or overwhelmed. I retreat and hide and wait for things to be better.

But then again, I've blogged about some pretty unhappy things happening in my life too, like dealing with my daughter's addiction (a story I really haven't finished because of events that were too painful to put out into the eternity of the Internet).

This past year though, I have to say that I've been pretty happy. There were some unsettled feelings and stress when we decided to short sell our house and we had to move and didn't know where to and didn't know if we could find a rental that would let us take our zoo with us. But in the big scheme of problems, that's not an earth-shattering one.

But still, I didn't blog. And even though overall, I felt happy, I did feel like there was something missing.

Then I had an epiphany.

It's not that I blog when I'm happiest; It's that I'm happiest when I blog.

Huh. Who knew? It only took me 6 years of  blogging to figure that out.

Here's a few other things I've learned (and am learning) this month that have helped me get back into the groove of blogging. Actually, they're helping me carve a new groove because the old one really wasn't working too well. Maybe they can help you too.

Or not. What do I know, I've been away for a year.

1. Just start

When my husband asked what my post was about I told him it's about how to blog again after not doing it for a while. First he said, "BOR-ing." He's only interested in posts where he or his dog play a prominent role.

Then he said, "You just said how - you just blog again."

So there you have it. Just blog again. Just start blogging. Just sit down and type.

Give a reason why you were away, if you want. Or don't. Write about what you did yesterday, last weekend, what you're thinking right now, how you're now known in your neighborhood as the crazy Christmas cracker people...it doesn't matter. Just get something out there. Trust me, it will feel good.

2. Focus

This one is a problem for me. I sit down to blog, get sidetracked, then run out of time to write a post and it doesn't get done. Here's what happened yesterday when I tried to work on this post:

1. Picked one of Mama Kat's prompts to write about.
2. Typed one line.
3. Tried to block cat from walking across keyboard.
4. Tried to block cat from walking back across keyboard.
5. Took picture of cat walking on keyboard for Instagram.
6. Spent 5 minutes deciding which filter to use and another 5 looking for hashtags.
7. Studied picture before posting and realized how messy my desk was.
8. Went on Pinterest and looked for pretty desk organizing ideas.
9. Put junk from desk onto floor and went looking for cat (who had completely lost interest) to put her back on keyboard for a new picture.
10. Gave up on wrangling cat and tried to think of next line for post (even though I'd completely lost interest).
11. Decided maybe this prompt wasn't the best one for me and looked at the rest of the choices.
12. The cat returned.Tried to block her from walking across keyboard again.
13. It's time to get ready for work.

I'm still working on this one, but I'm going to start by taping the word "Focus" to the wall by my computer. And by locking the cat out of the room.

3. Make a Schedule

I thought that working part time would give me all kinds of time to blog. This has not been true. I have a lot of things to squeeze into a morning before I go to work for 5 hours, like Pinterest, T.V. and making comics. No really, it's important stuff. (Important. Stuff. Top. Men.) I realized I need to have a schedule in order to blog consistently and not drop the ball on all the other things.

4. Walk Everyday

One of the things I squeeze in to my mornings is walking our dogs. I know all the health benefits of walking and all that, but I really was just walking them because they needed it, not because I did. But I can't believe how much more energized and efficient I feel when I get back from a walk. Triumphant, even. Like I'm ready to tackle anything, including blogging. It must be the Serotonin rush.

She's not mine. She's clearly better trained than my dogs.

5. Write the Unhappy Stuff

Like I said earlier, I'm not very good at this one. But I have seen where writing during difficult times is therapeutic. Also, the blogging community is very supportive and you may find some unexpected words of wisdom that actually help you through your situation. The reverse is true too - your experience may help someone else going through the same thing.

After all, there's not an experience out there that someone else hasn't gone through too (for the most part). Blogging about it and finding those others makes you feel not so alone. As humans, we all relate to vulnerability. This was overwhelmingly true for my experience with my child's addiction.

So, instead of retreating when the bad stuff happens, try to write about it. Not every detail, because some things are too personal...but some of it. Just to put it out there. It will help you remain consistent with your blogging too.

6. No Cooking on Blogging Nights

Lastly, for heaven's sake, plan to have leftovers on the nights you need to get a post out in time for a link-up! All that time I spent cooking dinner tonight, I could have spent finishing this post so that I could be watching American Idol right now with the hubby instead of listening to him calling me from the bedroom, "Honnnneeeee, it's oooonnnn!" Refer back to the scheduling thing.

(And can someone put me in a class on how to write shorter sentences?)

7. And Speaking of Link-Ups...

Here's a bonus tip for you - if you're hesitant to start blogging again because you're worried about coming up with ideas to write about and don't want to just write about what you did today (and I can't blame you because most of my days are snoozefests) then find some blogs with link-ups. (Does that have a dash, or not?)

These are blogs that have a weekly prompt or theme that you can write about, then you link up your post and everyone else who links up reads and comments on all (or at least a few) of the linked posts. You have something to write about, you get a little exposure for your blog and the comfort of knowing at least a few people will read your post, and maybe you make a few blog friends. Win-win-win.

On that note, this post is for Mama Kat's Workshop link-up for the prompt "Write about something I learned this month."

And oh, have I got a doozy of a post for one of her prompts next week: Write a post inspired by the word "shocked."

A-Learnin' and a-bloggin',
Lori

Lazy Wives and Honey-Doing Husbands

Last weekend my sister and I drove to California to see my mom. Monday happened to be her 76th birthday, so we were excited to spend her birthday with her.

My hubby wasn't near as excited to have me gone for 3 days. As much as he hates chores, you'd think he'd be doing back flips when I go out of town because that means my Wifeinator vision isn't honing in on some project for him to do around the house or yard.

But no, he always misses me when I leave, which is very sweet.

So I did what any good wife who is leaving for 3 days would do for her sweet husband who is going to miss her.

I gave him a Honey-Do list.

Fred's Honey-Do list complete with a brilliant poem

If I were any kind of respectable blogger I would have taken a picture of the list before I left for my trip and before he had crossed off 3 of the chores. But, well, it's me, so...

But more importantly, those crossed off chores aren't crossed off because he didn't feel like doing them. Nope.

HE ACTUALLY DID THEM!!

The hubs will be less annoyed with me since there's a picture of Captain Kirk in the post.

Anyhoo, back to the road trip.

Aside from the fact that we bicker like kids about the temperature in the car, I like taking road trips with my sister. I made a playlist for us that included Neil Diamond's Forever in Blue Jeans and a bunch of Simon and Garfunkel for old time's sake because our mom listened to them when we were young. Then to get our girl groove on, it was TLC's No Scrubs, Miranda Lambert's Mama's Broken Heart, and Bounce by Sarah Conner, among others.

How I captured this with absolutely no cars on busy Highway 15, I have no idea.

We had a lovely, lazy visit with my mom and stepdad. They're retired, so this post from a few years ago pretty much sums up every visit.

Except this time, mom had a birthday, so we took her to see the movie Joy, then to her favorite Thai restaurant.

While we were waiting for our food, I asked mom what was the most important lesson she's learned in her life thus far. She didn't hesitate. "To love," she said simply. Poignant words from a woman who didn't find her true love until she was 67.

Then we asked everyone at the table the same question.

Her husband said, "To trust people."

Their friend who is 85 said, "Always be positive."

My sister said, "Be patient."

I said, "Don't judge."

Good words to live by, I say.

A summation of 327 years of life experience.

My beautiful mom is on the right in the snappy stripes.

You ever notice though, no matter how old you get, you still revert to a kid around your mom? I was trying to help in the kitchen and ended up making messes left and right. When I wasn't making messes, I was coloring with the Colorify app (which I just discovered) on my iPad, and of course had to show my mommy what I made.

It made me laugh, so I made a comic about it. (To make it bigger, click on the square with 4 arrows on the lower right. Click it again to return to normal size.)



While I was reliving my childhood, Mr. Wonderful was holding down the fort at home with the dogs, his chores, and the "mess" I made at home before I left.

We left on a Saturday, so as per the usual, on Friday night I had a couple bottles glasses of wine. Wine makes me snacky so I made some popcorn and apparently didn't clean up my debaucherous (and this is now a word, I've decided) mess before I hit the road. He sent me this text:

He really does crack me up.

All good things must come to an end, as they say, and so did my lazy fun. My sister and I headed home.

Saw a train on our way home. I asked my sister how many hobos did she think were on it and she told me I watch too much T.V.

Fred and the doggies we're happy to see me and I was happy to have clean floors. And a funny hubby.

Lazily,

Lori

That Time My Sister Was Ready For a Fight

Linking up to Mama Kat's Writers Workshop today. The prompt is to write something inspired by the word "fight."

That's an easy one for me. But I have to warn you that there are a few F-bombs in this post. I thought about watering down the language a bit, but that would mean watering down my sister and I just can't write her any different than she is.

I started to write this, then realized this was a story that required some wine to tell. So now I'm back with my third glass and can begin.

As a matter of fact, this story all started with a bit of drinking. Mostly by me. A little by my sister.

It was about 9 years ago and my youngest sister (not the one I was drinking with) was pregnant and asked me to be her birth coach. She was having a home birth and my second child was a home birth so I wanted to show her the video tape of my experience.

I remembered that my ex-husband had mentioned a long time before that he had the tape. I have no idea how he got the tape. I doubt in his hurry to leave me to be with the girl he met on the Internet, that he thought, "Oh yeah, let me just grab that birth tape and bring it with me for movie night with my new girlfriend."

Maybe he asked one of the kids for it years later, I don't know. What I do know is that I wanted it back. So I called him and asked for it. He said no, he wanted to make a copy of it first and he didn't know when he would get around to it.

Why in god's name would he want a copy of it? He was barely in it. I was the star of the show. I'm the one walking around butt naked in it. It was my sweat and grunts and tears and...naked ass in it! Why would he need a copy?

Really, what bothered me wasn't so much that he wanted a copy, but that he wouldn't give it back to me when I asked for it. He was just being difficult. So we had some heated words back and forth and he made it clear he wasn't giving it back to me anytime soon.

I was HOT! It takes a lot to make me angry, but I was over the top with frustration, anger, and outrage. I knew I was overreacting a tad, but there it was.

"Give me my birth tape, dammit!"

But there was more to the story. There is always more to the story when emotion is involved.

You see, we had been married 12 years and for at least the last 10 of them, I suspected my ex was having affairs. I would straight out ask him and he would deny it. Again and again. We finally divorced with him never admitting to all those years of suspected infidelity.

Fast forward to a few days before the birth tape conversation with him. We were having another telephone conversation about something to do with the kids and I don't remember how it started, but he admitted to me that he was not a model husband when we were married. He "had some fun". That's code for "boinked everything in a skirt."

So I was hurt. Oh, I knew deep down (in that place inside you that you try never to go), even while I was still married to him, that he wasn't faithful. But to hear him finally admit it brought back all the misery and heartache I felt when we were married, with the added bonus of newly confirmed betrayal.

And for him to add to all that hurt by not doing me the simple favor of handing over the birth tape when I asked for it was just too much to take.

Like Goldie Hawn, I was having ALL of the feelings.

It was about that time I brought out the wine and called my sister. The non-pregnant one.

My sister had been there for me through all the ups and downs of that marriage, and everything else in my life. She's younger than me, but has always been protective of me. Maybe because her personality is stronger than mine. She's not afraid to say what she thinks and stand up for what she believes. She was and still is, my hero.

She came over and listened to my sad tale and the more I whined (and wined) about it, the madder she got. She was ready for a fight.

After listening a while, finally, she said, "Let's go."

"Go where?" I said.

"That no-good-f*cking-motherf*cker is giving you back your birth tape tonight."

"Ok." I said.

And off we went to my ex's house.

I don't remember what time it was, but it wasn't too late. Maybe 9:00 or so. I knocked politely on my ex-husband's door. No answer. His car was in the driveway so we knew he was home and him pretending not to be infuriated my sister.

"Oh, HELL no," she said and proceeded to pound on the door with her fist. BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM! "I know you're in there, you motherf*cker, you better answer the door!" she screamed, as she continued to pound BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM...

He answered the door.

I don't remember the exact conversation but it went something like this:

My sister: Give her the tape!
My ex: No.
My sister: Give her the f*cking tape!
My ex: No.
My sister: Give her the damn tape you no-good-f*cking-motherf*cker!
My ex: No.

You ever watch the show Cops?  You know those crazy people on there that call the cops for the stupidest reasons and you watch them and think, "Man are you stupid. Get a grip."

I was one of those people that night. I saw that my sister was getting nowhere with him so I actually called the cops. I at least called the non-emergency number, but still. I'm embarrassed by this fact now.

Here's how that conversation went:

Cop: Hello, Metro.
Me: I need to report a theft.
Cop: Is the theft ocurring now?
Me: Yes. Well...sort of. My ex husband took something of mine a while ago and won't give it back.
Cop: Uh huh. What did he take?
Me: My birth tape.
Cop: Your birth tape?
Me: Yes, a video tape of me giving birth to our daughter.
Cop: Were you married at the time of the tape?
Me:Yes.
Cop: Then it's half his.
Me: But I'm the one naked on it! The tape belongs to the one naked on it!
Cop: (Bitches be crazy.)

The officer was clearly divorced and had something against his ex-wife (I thought, at the time) because I got no sympathy whatsoever from him.

I realized I was not getting my birth tape back that night. Tired and emotionally drained, my sister and I drove home, birth-tape-less. Our only comfort was knowing that we pissed off my ex enough that he wouldn't be getting any sleep that night.

Two days later, my ex sent the tape over with one of my kids.

So what did I learn from this whole sordid story?

This:
Wine is liquid courage.
My sister is a bad-ass.
When you're angry and hurt and upset, doing something stupid feels better than doing nothing at all (I said FEELS, not IS).
And hide any video tapes you don't want to fall into the wrong hands.

And that, my friends, is what I think about when I hear the word "fight."

Embarrassingly,
Lori

***So...I just want to add something here. Every tale is told from the side of one person. I'm sure if my ex were to tell this story, he would tell it differently. I would appear much more insane and unreasonable in his version and he would have a good reason for not giving the tape back immediately. And his version would be right too - just from a different perspective. I'm only sharing my side of this story because in retrospect...it's pretty darn funny. It's not meant to put my ex in a bad light. We have both grown since we were married, and are different people now, happily married to the persons we are supposed to be with.

A Weekend With the Wifeinator

I don't really have anything specific in mind to write about today, so I'm just going to tell you about my weekend, which like our New Year's Eve, was wildly exciting and eventful.

It started Saturday at 7:00 AM when I got up because I got tired of covering my ears so that my drooling cat would stop giving me wet willies.

No wait, actually it started Friday night when we went out to Chili's because I had seen a commercial for Chili's enchiladas a couple days before and told Fred to take me there Friday because they looked dang good. Apparently I'm weak minded susceptible to the power of suggestion. The enchiladas were, in fact, (and I just typoed "in fat". Talk about a Freudian slip!) delicious. Fred had ribs and this little fact will come in to play in a minute.

So I get up at 7:00 to find eight piles of dog barf on the bedroom carpet. Nice. I knew exactly who the culprit was.

Don't let his cuteness fool you. I call him Diablo for a reason.

Remember those ribs? Mr. Wonderful brought some home in a doggie bag and even though I told him not to, gave them to the dogs. The other three chewed a little on theirs and then lost interest, but not the little cutie in the picture.

We could hear the little barf machine chewing on his bone under our bed off and on during the night. Unfortunately, we did not hear any barfing or we may have prevented a pile or two from happening. Apparently he binged and purged all night.

Anyway, I have to hand it to my very not-a-morning-person husband. This is a man who can barely remember how to make toast in the morning, let alone clean something. While I was ranting about the mess and that this is a rental, and the carpet will be stained, blah, blah, blah, he stumbled to the garage, got the carpet shampooer, and had the whole mess cleaned up before I even had my coffee.

Of course...it was his fault...but still. Brownie points for the hubs.

We had a 9:00 AM appointment with the repair shop to get some work done on my Tahoe so shortly after the barf bonanza, we had to head out.

This meant I would be riding back from the repair shop in Fred's car. I know Fred dreaded this because the interior of his car is in, shall we say, less than pristine condition. The man sweeps and mops for me though, so I'm not complaining.

...but I have to admit, when I got into his car it was like I became the eye of the terminator. My computer flicked on and everything I looked at appeared in crosshairs with a description in courier font next to it.

The Wifeinator (Picture snagged from here: aptoid.com)

I could hear the computerized voice in my head: Scanning. Scanning. Target identified. Lunchbag. Dirty. Should have been  brought into house yesterday. Scanning. Unidentified object on floor. Appears to be apple core, but subject does not eat fruit. eRRor. eRRor. Retrieve for examination later. Scanning. Trash from prior lunch in back seat. Subject appears to have eaten unauthorized meal at Jack In The Box. Alert! Dietary breach! Lecture sequence activated. Continue scanning...

You get the idea.

It was a delightful drive home for Fred.

After his nap, we went to the grocery store and I told him I would make him manicotti for dinner. Fred's not a picky eater per se...but he doesn't like anything new or experimental. Deviations, he calls them. Like adding spinach to manicotti. I suggested it and got a blank stare. "Why?" was all he said, plaintively.

Since I didn't want to argue with him and the man did shampoo the carpet at 7:00 on a Saturday, I made it "sans spinach." We had a delicious Olive Garden style dinner without the wait and with cheaper booze. Then we watched Cinderella (the one from last year with Rose and Daisy from Downton Abby in it) and that was our Saturday night.

I told you it was exciting stuff.

Oh wait, I forgot, we got into a whole conversation about how no one wants to hang out with us and I reminded Fred that people do want to hang with us, but we're fuddy duddies and stay home all the time. Then to try prove his point, Fred texted some friends we hadn't seen in a year and asked if they wanted to see a movie Sunday and they actually said yes.

Score one for the crazy cracker people.

So Sunday we saw Revenant. Riveting movie with gorgeous scenery! It's hard to believe it's based on a true story.

Afterwards, we went to eat and compared kid horror stories. And by kid, I mean our aged 22 and up kids. They complained about their daughter's hookah parties and the clothes she wears when she goes out at night and we lamented about our daughter's drum circles and how she dances topless around a bonfire.

Kids.

We talked so much after we ate that it was time to eat again when we got home. Hello, manicotti leftovers. A new Downton Abby and just like that, our exciting weekend was over.

My spinachless manicotti

Till next time,
The Wifeinator

Rockin' New Year's Eve with LJ and the Funky Bunch

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away (before my year-long laziness blog hiatus) I used to participate in Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop every now and again.

One of her prompts this week (or it may have been last week, I'm not sure...I'm confused) is: If the way you spent your New Year's Eve is any indication of how the rest of the year will go, how would you say your future is looking right about now?

Well, we live in one of the hottest New Year's Eve destinations in the world, so of course we partied, drank, and got rowdy on the Las Vegas strip.

And by partied I mean hung out with 4 dogs and 2 cats.

And by drank I mean I chugged a bottle of wine while Fred guzzled his usual milk.

And by got rowdy I mean we bickered over which movie to watch and argued about what Tom Hanks really meant when he said "Ken's working on it," in Apollo 13.

And by strip I mean our couch, then later the little strip of space in our bed that's left for me to lay in by the time all the pets climb into bed with us.

So yeah. Wild times going on up in here.

At 6:00 PM I was optimistic. "We're staying up till midnight!" I declared, gesticulating with my wine glass and sloshing wine everywhere.

"Right," said Fred. (And see what I did there?) "You better pace yourself with that wine then, party girl."

We planned on having a movie marathon but between Cable TV, HBO, Starz, Netflix, and Amazon Prime, couldn't find a damn thing on to watch. We ended up paying $5.99 for an On Demand movie that Fred got tired of after 30 minutes. So he watched war documentaries or The Big Bang Theory, or something, on the bedroom TV and I watched Sex and the City episodes on HBO in the living room.

We shouted back and forth to each other with suggestions of what we could watch together. That's the beauty of living in a small house. Conversing without even being in the same room - and not by texting. I'm beginning to love little houses.

Our favorite movie is Apollo 13. We quote lines from it to each other whenever appropriate, which surprisingly, is pretty often.

Source: avclub.com

Like when Bill Paxton says to Kevin Bacon, after Kevin stirs the oxygen tanks and the service module explodes, "I just asked you what the gauge was readin' and YOU DON'T KNOW!"

"I just asked you what the gas gauge was readin' and YOU DON'T KNOW!"
"I just asked you what the thermostat is set at and YOU DON'T KNOW!"
"I just asked you which dog peed on the floor and YOU DON'T KNOW!"

See what I mean? But I'm getting off track. And if you haven't seen the movie, you likely don't share our enthusiasm for it and have probably stopped reading at this point.

But anyway...Fred found the movie on Primetime for $2.99. But we had just spent $5.99 on a movie we didn't watch, so I didn't want to spend more money on another movie that was on TV all the time, but happened not to be on New Year's Eve. Because, cheap.

After another half hour of bickering over whether we should spend the $2.99, I gave in. I didn't want to spend the whole evening in separate rooms, after all. Bickering is so much easier when you're both in the same room.

By then it was about 9:00 and someone very nearby was setting off fireworks which made one of our dogs, Gracie Lou, beside herself with fear. So me and the doggies (or as Fred calls us, LJ and the funky bunch) piled in the bed with Fred and we watched Apollo 13. Gracie Lou buried under the covers as close to me as she could get without crawling inside me. And all was well.

The aforementioned Funky Bunch. Gracie Lou is on the bottom right, with her new Christmas toy.

Except for our ongoing dispute about whether Jim Lovell fully trusted Ken Mattingly to get the reentry plan up to them in time. The way Jim Lovell says, "Ken's working on it," always sounded to me like he had his doubts about 'ole Ken. Fred, of course, says no way.

We finally agreed the only way to know for sure is to ask Tom Hanks, if ever we have the opportunity. If he's smart, he'll file a restraining order about now.

Now it's going on 11 and because I was laying in bed already and was drunk had drunk a whole bottle of wine, I was pretty much done and fell asleep. Fred woke me up at 11:45 but Gracie Lou was still shaking and terrified and I didn't want to move her, so I fell back asleep stayed put.

And that was our New Year's Eve.

So what does this tell us about how 2016 will be?
1. We'll probably watch Apollo 13 455594 more times in 2016.
2. We'll probably quote from Apollo 13 593486739 more times in 2016.
3. We'll bicker and I'll give in to keep the peace.
4. Our movements and activities will be dictated by our pets.
5. I'll be drinking wine.
6. Fred will be a smart ass.
7. We'll spend a lot of time alone in our cozy little house. because no one else can stand us

But you know what? I'm okay with that. Our dogs think we're delightful.

Cheers,
LJ and the Funky Bunch

P.S. To Mama Kat: I went by the prompts that were in the email I got on Monday the 4th, but on your blog I see you have different prompts so I wasn't going to link this up because I naturally assumed I'd been away too long and was just massively confused. But then I saw others seemed to be confused too and were linking up posts for the prompts in the email so I went ahead and linked because everyone else was. And yes, if they jumped off a bridge, I would do that too.