Squirrel or Dog? That is the question.

So for those of you who don't know this already, our dog Leira's favorite toy is her stuffed squirrel. (In all reality, it is no longer stuffed because she ripped all of the fun fluffy stuff out and it is indeed flat. Plus I don't really think it's a squirrel. Perhaps it's a cat...? But at any rate, it is not really recognizable now what type of "animal" it started out as...so we just call it her squirrel.)

And because of her love for her favorite toy, when I came across a squirrel costume in target around Halloween...I couldn't resist. I mean really? What is cuter than a dog dressed as a squirrel?

Can't think of anything can you?

No?

That's what I thought.

But I have a feeling that somehow during playtime with her squirrel and dressing her up like one, Leira might...just might be a bit confused.

This thought crossed my mind the other morning when I was taking her on her walk. We were quietly frolicking along the sidewalk when I saw a squirrel running across the street. It just so happened that a car was coming very quickly down the road (because people are stupid around here and drive too fast...ahem). I glanced up at the squirrel who had chosen that precise moment to sit and investigate an acorn....IN THE STREET!

Without even thinking, I yelled "Run squirrel run!" In which at this time Leira picked up her pace to full speed and started running as fast as she could.....

The squirrel made it but by this time I had another thought brewing in my mind...did Leira perhaps think I was yelling at her to run? Does she think she's a squirrel when indeed she is not? Have I given her some kind of inter-species complex?

I looked down in the middle of my thought process because Leira had come to a full stop. She was chewing on something she had found in the grass. I began trying to pry the contents out of her mouth and alas found that the object of which she was chewing was....

An acorn....

My God. What have I done?

Bless the Southern Culture

Growing up in the outskirts of Asheville, NC in Buncombe County, I learned many phrases that might seem unusual to any outsider. Upon thinking of this fact the other day, I found that many of these phrases include the word "bless". We southerners like to bless everything. Here are just a few examples:

"Bless your Heart."

"Bless him."[insert "I feel sorry for you" face here]

"Did you hear that crazy lady bless me out?" (I found that Andrew had never heard of this phrase and when I used it he looked at me like he was confused. I didn't hold it against him though...he's one of them northerners.)

"That happens too me every blessed time." (This one's a nicer way to use the word "f***".)

In church, we like to scream "Bless the Lord." a lot. But I have also found that this phrase is also used in other circumstances such as when a child does something cute or stupid. This is when your grandmother looks at you and shakes her head saying "bless the Lord you is and idiot."

And last but not least, "Bless my soul."

Let me just say, I am very blessed (ooh! that was another one!) to have grown up in a southern culture. It is part of who I am today.

Bless my little heart.

Punch bug, slow bug...it's all the same when your'e being hit by your mother.

My brother and I taught our parents the rules of the game "punch buggy [insert color here] back when I was in middle school....17 years ago.

Should you ever travel in the car with my parents in this day and age, you will be forced to hear from the backseat random bits of conversation interrupted by "Blue!" or "Green" and a swift punch into the opposite person's shoulder. And as if nothing happened at all, the conversation will resume.

For example, Andrew and I went to visit my parents a couple of weekends ago and this is the conversation we were forced to listen in on.

Mom: "I'm so excited about Jackson Brown, but I haven't brought myself..."Red!" (then punches my Dad mercilessly as hard as she can) to listen to him too much because i don't want to get too excited before the concert."

Dad: "Which Carrabba's are we going to?" (There are only two in Asheville and we always go to the same one so I'm not sure why he asks this question every time we go...it will always remain a mystery to me.)

Mom turns around to look at us in the backseat and is side-swiped by Dad's ruthless punch into her right arm "Silver" he yells.

Mom: without a bit of distraction, "where do you guys want to go?"

Andrew and I just stare completely baffled at the violence that sits before us.

On a slightly different note, I can't tell you how many times I have been driving my Mom somewhere when out of nowhere she hits me and almost startles me to the point I run off the road. I stare at her in the passenger seat looking so sweet and innocent, constantly reminding her that I am not Dad and that she almost gave me a heart attack.

Mom: "Oh I'm so sorry." (But it never stops her...nope. She still does it. She claims it's because she's so used to riding in the car with Dad. But I honestly think it's her way of getting back at me for giving her such a hard time when I was a teenager.)

It should really be a form of child abuse. I can see it in the headlines now, "Punch Buggy Lavender. It's Not To Late To Seek Help Now."

It could be the next episode on "The Closer."

An episode that I could completely identify with.

Obcession: Perhaps something of an addiciton.

I have a problem. That's the first step right? Getting through the denial...the denial of "I can stop any time." "I don't really need to spend the money so I'll pass." "One excuse after another until it hits....

No longer do you have enough space to put them all. No longer do you even have the extra corner to throw in another bookcase in order to place them. You're stuck and yet....you crave more.

That's right. You guessed it.

Hi. My name is Mary and I am a hoarder of books.

There, I said it. Whew. I fell so much better!

But seriously, when is enough enough? I tell myself over and over again, "Mary, there are so many books on your shelves that you haven't read...and even if you try to read 4 and 5 at a time, if you keep buying more, there is no way to catch up."

But the buying of said books continues. From classics, to memoirs, to cheesy vampire series' I tend to drift to in the "popular teen" section. (Hey! I said I have a problem. I never said I was proud of it.)

I walk into a bookstore calmly and think to myself, "I'll just browse. I don't need to buy."

But then I see a shiny new cover of an author I collect (never mind that I haven't even read one word of said author...but her covers are preeety and shiny and I find myself addicted to buying the whole series before I even glance at the first page.)

Then there are those authors I am so in love with because I have read everything they have ever written and the moment they release a new book it's like homemade brownies to a pothead.

I. Want. Them. All. (books....and brownies)

Is that really so much to ask?

Maybe I just need a bigger place to where I can put more bookshelves and therefore more books. That would solve my problem right? And then...it wouldn't be a problem anymore.

I. Am. A. GENIUS!

Ooh. I think I'll go browse on Amazon right now.

You know, just to look.