It's vacation time again - Riviera Maya! A week away from the dogs, the snow and the limbo that is my current living situation. I travel quite a bit so calling a vacation "a vacation" is sort of a joke, but I think I really need this "vacation." I adore Cesar Milan, infamous Dog Whisperer, and he often notes that dogs sense their owners' moods and react accordingly. Based upon my puppy's reactions, I'm frantic, stressed and a real pain in the ass. A week away will hopefully do wonders for my internal psyche and send positive, sane, calm vibes to the little hellion.
Most recently, Judge has a real taste for socks. I know this because he's pooped out two of them this past week...in their entirety. I think my dog must have the cleanest colon in town. He's always passing large pieces of his toys that I'm certain have a wonderful scrubbing ability on their way out. It's like those pictures of gators with their bellies cut open, revealing human limbs. Except Judge has fluorescent colored toy arms, legs and heads shooting out. The things this dog eats never ceases to amaze me. As soon as I think everything's puppy proofed he goes ahead and attempts to pull the coffeemaker, knife block or printer off my counter tops. Soon I will be living with an additional 2,000 sq ft of space to cordon off. Still not sure how to accomplish this. I'm considering an indoor electric fence/barb wire combo.
Aside from packing to move I've been packing for Mexico. This involves throwing every article of summer clothing I own onto my bed, trying to piece together a cohesive wardrobe that doesn't make me resemble a sausage or snowman. Why am I still holding onto things I wore in high school? Not only are they not in style, they are potent self-esteem destroyers. I could be a candidate for that show Hoarders. Apparently my figure has um...shifted in the past 10 years. Not entirely for the bad. I would have killed for the boobs I have now when I was 15, but I could definitely pass on the um...shapeliness of my booty. It's super fun trying on summer clothes in the dead of winter, right after the holidays, showcasing the Christmas cookies and extra helping of pumpkin pie I figured would be hidden beneath puffy layers of sweaters for a few months. Seeing as I detest dieting and exercise my options for improving this sad state are quite limited. Plan of action: Upon arrival, keep drinking until I no longer care if my snowballs are bursting from my top or bottoms get wedged in an ass cheek. Fingers crossed my cousin M forgets her camera.