What Happens in the Car Wash...

...goes on someone's blog.

I try to keep my car clean. It's not easy in the transition between winter and spring, when it's 80 degrees F on one day and 30 on the next with snow on the ground. All this results in me dropping an entire paycheck's worth of quarters at the car wash.

And here's what I saw.

Two stalls were open, but I noticed there was something sitting on top of the drain in one of them. So, I pulled into the other and then peeked over. It was a box of Remington bullets. On the drain in an empty stall. Okay, weird.

Yet not as weird as the over-sized load in the bed of the pickup truck today. First, I thought it strange that a pickup truck would have a load in the car wash. I "dropped" a couple of quarters, and then had to drop a couple of more because the first ones didn't roll far enough.

The owner of the truck was just finishing spraying down his hot tub. It was too big to fit flat in the bed, so it was propped up over one of the sides of the truck.

I've always drooled over owning a hot tub, but I always assumed that cleaning it wouldn't involve manhandling it into your truck and driving to the car wash. Also, I figured that the electronic controls are waterproofed to some degree, but to a high pressure sprayer on the exterior paneling?

What kind of party did that man have where it became necessary to load up his hot tub and take it to the car wash? On second thought, I'm sure that knowledge would disturb me.

Saxon vs. A Pile of Snow

Our bag that we use to tote firewood from outside unexpectedly gave in to gravity last night and fell over. This startled Saxon, the lovable hellhound, who had been mostly curled up by the fire. I say mostly because he has never seemed to master the ball. He curls up, but his feet always stick out like prongs.

The bag of firewood tipped over. His reaction, growl at it. This action reminded me of another story from when he was naught by an alien looking pup, the time he lost a fight to a pile of snow.

Here is the dog.

Here is a pile of snow.

(Not the pile of snow, because alas, I was without a camera.)

We had taken the dogs out to the Lawrence Bark Park, which is worth the drive. It's about 13 acres of fields, streams, forest and clearings for dogs to get into much trouble. We usually only take the dogs there in winter because there are rattlesnakes. I know this because a) my brother-in-law saw one and b) Saxon found the frozen corpse of one and thought it was the greatest toy ever.

On this winter day, the snow had all melted from the grass except for one large pile squatting near the edge of the field. I assume some kids had tried to build up a fort or something because there are no roads to plow in this clearing. Anyway, Saxon, who a little less than a year at this point, had seen snow before so I didn't think he would suddenly freeze with his hackles up.

I looked around for deer or a bobcat. Nope, nothing. And yet, there was the dog with a growl resounding in his throat. Meanwhile, the other dog was trotting ahead, nose to the ground, without a care in the world.

Saxon barked. Hackles up, he started to circle the pile of snow. It finally occurred to me that he'd never seen snow piled up before, especially when all the other snow had melted. The animal let another canine snarl tear from his throat, a sound to send terror into the spines of any small, furry animal. And, let's be honest, any ape-shaped animal too.

However, the snow staunchly held its ground in the face of the approaching, menacing dog.

Again, Saxon barked and circled closer. The snow still had not made a move. Ears back, hackles up, growling like a beast, he neared the snow. Finally, he'd circled within a few feet, and snow hadn't reacted at all.

The dog lunged.

I don't know if he was trying to bite the snow or if he was just trying to aggressively sniff the pile, but either way, as soon as his nose touched the icy coldness, the poor creature was off for the treeline like a rifle shot. He tripped over his tail twice.

Snow 1, Dog 0

Happily, the event did not traumatize the animal and today he is up to the task of subduing all manner of wild snows that dare enter our back yard.

Bachelorette Cake Pan

Note: This is a story about a Bachelorette Party, so it comes down to an adult joke/misunderstanding. I don't really like doing adult-themed subjects online since the net is so very public, so this may be the only one you'll ever read from me. It's just an honest, funny story. Anyway, don't read this if you're too young to go to a bachelorette party.







I would like to point out that I am one of the youngest of all my cousins. Not the youngest, but not too far off.

My cousin Leigh was the first of us to get married, so she got the kick-ass, buy-everything-in-the-store-who-cares-about-the-price-because-it's-on-dad's-credit-card party.

My other cousin Marcy and I dangled cut-out streamers across Marcy's living room. I taped them up with my eyes closed. Many fuzzy (possibly furry) decorations streamed across the space, but I didn't actually look at them. I especially didn't stare at the plastic crown with its wobbly "family jewels" on it. You know which jewels, and if you don't, I told you up at the top not to read this.

If I had a magic mirror and could use it to send a message across time, I know for a fact that I would not have believed myself if I told myself that this wouldn't phase me in a few years. I might have been a little freaked out by the talking mirror though.

Marcy's huge labrador Dexter also helped to decorate by grabbing the fuzzy decorations and scattering them about the room. He was perfect ambiance since his nickname is the S&M dog. He's entirely black (think black leather), has a spiked collar, and will walk up to you, arse first, demanding to be spanked. With fuzzy handcuffs between his fangs, he was perfect!

The room became a palace of phallic imagery, laced in more pink than I've ever witnessed before in one location. I'm sure at least 30% of it was on my face. All that was left to do was make the cake.

Baking! That would get me away from the decorations! With a thunderclap trailing my heels, I flew into the kitchen. I flipped on the oven and start mining for a cake pan underneath the sink. I'd just set the two round cake pans on the counter when Marcy exclaimed, "Not those! We gotta use the special one!"

Oh. Okay. I ducked back down and continued my under-sink spelunking expedition. A minor cave-in of cookie sheets crashed down, burying a deposit of casserole dishes. Any hope of discovering other cake pan strata instantly vanished.

Marcy started to pick through the grocery bags on the counter. "No, it's around here somewhere. We've gotta find this pan. I've got the different colored frostings, the whipped cream and the chocolate sprinkles all ready to go! Where could it be?" She flipped open her phone - this was in the days of yore and flip phones - and dialed her sister Kelly.

Across town:
Kelly didn't even notice her phone ringing as she rummaged through the over-filled trunk of her vehicle. Uncle Scott sifted through the other side of the paraphernalia. Kelly briefly wiped the sweat from her eyes as she tried to find her current college freshman report card.

Kelly, who can not only do an amazing karaoke of "It's Raining Men", was very smart. "It still can't believe my art teacher gave me a B on my design project!" She shoved aside a backpack full of either books or bricks, either way it carried the same weight.

Scott gently picked up the penis cake pan between two fingers and released it from the depths of the trunk into the sunlight. "You only got a B?"