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Wrestling, Packers and Doggy Diarrhea

17 Nov

It’s been a while since my last post so I thought it was time for a Mike-n-Lisa-n-Bud update. First, I do have to report that despite my best efforts I am still not a First Mate (not on the boat, anyway).  I did earn bonus points for my effort, though, so at the end of the day I’m happy. Mike is now Bud’s BFF and whenever we walk in the door Bud is on him like a cheap suit. I’ve given him seven years of his favorite dog food and loads of love; Mike gives him 5 days of NFL, lingerie football and Saving Private Ryan. Guess who came out the winner.

Men.

Over the course of the last few months Mike and I have learned a lot about each other. For instance, I’ve learned that Mike is extremely selective (translation: picky) about the foods he will eat. I tease him without mercy because, let’s face it; I’m pretty much a human garbage can when it comes to food while he is a card-carrying member of GPEC – the Grown-up Picky Eaters Club. He, in turn, gives me grief because I still haven’t mastered the art of backing into a parking space and parallel parking is not a skill I possess. More so, I refuse to learn how because as Bobby Brown once said… it’s my prerogative.

Mike has learned that I can, in fact, be bribed with cookies while I’ve discovered that he has a weakness for mashed potatoes and gravy. Unfortunately, both of us have realized that Bud and pepperoni make for a bad situation. Or to be more accurate, a shitty situation.

Last Saturday night Mike and I had gone out for the evening after leaving Bud in the back room with his bed, water and toys. Mike had put down a few pads in case Bud had an accident and boy, did he ever. We had just gotten back and I was standing in the kitchen when Mike opened the door to Bud’s “room.”

M: What the fuck?!? Bud shit all over my room!

L: What??

M: He shit all over my room then he walked in it! Christ! Did you put gravy on his dog food?

L: No. I was going to, but then I was worried it would upset his stomach.

M: Well, something sure as fuck upset his stomach. (grabs roll of paper towels)

L: Oh, I know what it was… I was walking him earlier today and he found several slices of pepperoni on the ground. He ate them before I could stop him. That had to have been it because he’s not eaten anything else other than his dog food.

M: I can’t believe he shit all over my room. (wipes up puddles of crap from floor)

L: Oh, honey, you know it was an accident. (trying not to giggle while watching him clean floor as that would be a HUGE mistake)

M: Yeah, yeah. (turns to Bud) You’re a shitty dog. (Bud wags tail)

L: See, he loves you. (walks into kitchen and claps hands over mouth to hold in laughter)

Needless to say, Bud won’t be eating pepperoni again anytime soon.

Once the shit storm blew over, Mike texted me Monday night asking if I wanted to watch the Vikings/Packers game with him. Actually, he asked if Bud could come over. I was just the driver.

M: Can Bud come over and watch football with me?

L: Bud doesn’t have a driver’s license and he can’t reach the pedals.

M: I thought maybe you could drive him.

L: Are you bringing him home tomorrow?

M: No, I thought you could.

L: I’m not making two trips so the dog can watch TV with you.

M: Oh. Well, I guess you can stay, too.

L: Gee, thanks. I’ll make sure you guys have some alone time.

So we’re settled on the sofa after dinner watching the game and good god, it was just brutal. The Packers weren’t satisfied with spanking the Vikings (end score 45-7); it was a smackdown from one of the field to the other. Mike is yelling at the refs (wisely I didn’t point out it wouldn’t help much because they couldn’t hear him), clutching his head and dying a slow death as the Vikings get reamed out.

Here comes the part where you learn a dirty secret about the person you’re dating. And this time, it’s my dirty little secret.

L: You know, I root for the Vikings when they play the Packers, but I gotta say I like watching the Packers. It’s just good football.

M: What did you say? (turns head very slowly to look at me)

L: Well… uh… they’re a good team. (verbally fumbling around now) And I like Aaron Rodgers. I mean, I’m a Vikings fan, but still… you can’t deny how awesome they look on the field. (wishing I had kept my Packers love to myself)

M: (quiet, serious voice) I don’t even know you.

We suffer through several more minutes before Mike announces he can’t stand it anymore and needs to watch something better. He’s flipping through the guide and I’m making suggestions.

L: Oh, House Hunters! How about the cooking channel? Maybe Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives is on!

Mike makes his selection and with the press of a button, I learn his dirty little secret.

L: Wrestling? You’re kidding me, right? THIS is better than the game?! Oh, hell no. I am NOT watching wrestling!

M: (grinning) This is good stuff, babe. Look, the Rock is on tonight. He’s been away for like, seven years.

L: I don’t care how long he’s been gone or where he went. (I do like the Rock, but I still hate wrestling.) You’re just doing this because of what I said about the Packers and you know it.

M: Nope, I’m not. I like wrestling. (still grinning)

Now it’s my turn to stare at him in horror. He’s not kidding. He really does enjoy watching WWE. I feel myself getting ill at the thought of watching steroided up men in bikini underwear fake pummel each other all night. Ugh. It’s a woman’s nightmare come to life.

L: I can’t watch this. I’m getting up.

M: No, stay here and watch it with me. (openly laughing now)

L: Ask Bud to watch it with you. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.

So the two men in my life watched their manly show together while I soothed myself by surfing celebrity-bashing sites on the computer. I felt better almost immediately.

I have since decided that if Mike is willing to overlook my Packer-love then I can overlook his penchant for WWE. It’s all about compromise (patting self on back for being so adult-like).

Oh, but Mike, honey… one more dirty little secret before I wrap this up. Remember when we were driving back from Wisconsin and you bought me all those cheese curds? Well, I spent Monday night watching the Packers play while eating my cheese curds. Guess I’m a cheesehead, after all.

Til next time,

Lisa D 😀

Bud’s Bachelor Weekend

19 Oct

Ma, we need to talk. You know I love you and all, but I’ve had some time to think while you were back in Mississippi visiting the family. I gotta admit, I was a little pissed at first when you just up and left me with Mike. I mean, come on… you know how I am about my food and my routine. I like a little bacon or cheese mixed in to give it some flavor. Was I supposed to believe Mike was gonna take that extra step? What if he gives it to me dry? I don’t do dry food. I also prefer to start my night on top of the blankets then nudge you awake so I can get underneath. What if he doesn’t let me under the covers? What then!? Panic was starting to set in just about the time I realized he probably wouldn’t call me his little pumpkin and kiss me on the head when he came home from work. How am I supposed to get through the next five days?

Well, as it turns out I had an amazing time while you were gone and learned a few things about myself. Number one: you have turned me into a girly dog.

EXHIBIT A.

The only comment I have about this photo is that I look ridiculous and all the dogs laughed at me. You thought I looked cute. I thought I looked like a short-bus dog. Thanks a fuckin’ heap, Ma. Mike doesn’t make me wear stupid clothes. He lets me be a guy. Yeah, that’s right. A guy. And you know what? I LIKE it! Check out the pix below from my manly weekend adventures.

EXHIBIT B.

Chillin' in the yard with Mike

Mike's pretty good at the whole scratch my stomach thing.

Yard work is tiring so I had to take a break.

FYI, riding in a truck is way cooler than riding in a car named Veronica.

Every guy has to have his own chair. Mike gave me a blanket, too!

No more Cupcake Wars, Ma. It's Saving Private Ryan or nothing.

Seriously, Ma. Sunday Night Football vs Jerseylicious. You do the math.

I know you were all upset I didn’t sleep with you Monday night when you got home. I had to teach you a lesson for your own good.  Things are going to be different from now on, Ma. I refuse to wear a Halloween costume even though you said I had to be a hot dog or a wizard. Put that shit on me and I swear I’ll tear it to shreds before we get out the door. I know you love me which is why I’ve put up with the clothes, the vanilla shampoo/conditioner treatments and I even let you spray Giorgio perfume on me. No more, Ma. Mike showed me how to be a guy and I am not a girly dog anymore.

Love, Bud

p.s. I’ll sleep with you tonight.

p.p.s. When we’re alone, I’m still your little pumpkin.