Freaky Teletubby

Add this to my creepy baby products list. It's called the Peekaru, and something is wrong with you if you buy it.



I guarantee your kid will not be smiling or feel like it's popping out of your womb again. This looks more like a Teletubbies' freak hermaphrodite siamese sibling that was locked in a closet its whole life.

Big brother

I'd have to say that the dog is a pretty well-behaved little beast while we're gone, but I still like to keep an eye on her, so I have a webcam running while we're at work that I can check periodically. Or at least I did.



Apparently, she doesn't like being watched, so she took care of the "problem":



You'll notice that she didn't even touch the camera itself, just the cord, in three different places. She could have chewed it apart at just one spot, but she did it in three, just to spite me.

Elliot (no, not the dragon)

In an abrupt reversal in tone from my usual posts, I will speak of something positive today. We finally got a dog. The cats have been asking for one for at least a year, so we finally got them one, but it's not quite what they expected.



Her name is Elliot (Elli for short). She's an American Eskimo and Australian Shepherd mix, which I guess makes her an Australian Eskimo or American Shepherd, or maybe just a mutt. We took off work and drove up to Idaho (queue the banjo music) to get her. She's three months old and...uh...she's pretty big. This is the size of her paw:



According to my nerdy calculations (narf), she'll be as big as this by the time she's two:



As is typical for anything I do, a mess was created. She (the dog, not Di) barfed three times on the way home. My car smells like a farm, because her puke smells like cow pies. No joke. She was pretty filthy when we got her. This is what our tub looked like after her first bath:



Wait, that might have been after I took a bath. She refuses to use her legs for walking, so I have to carry her around slung over my shoulder. Lazy dog. I'm trying to learn how to say "I'm not buying you a wheelchair" in Dogish.

Magic gloves

I was thinking about doing a Radio From Hell-style "list of things that must go", but then I realized nearly every post I do could be considered an item on that list. So I won't do one. Just read all my posts (please).

Whatever. Anyway, that's not what this post is about. So as you know (or don't know, I don't care), we've been doing a lot of renovating on our new old condo, so we've purchased a lot of new light fixtures, paint, immigrant laborers, and furniture. For some reason, two of the new light fixtures we bought came with these:



That's right: Freakin' Michael Jackson's freakin' magic gloves. Although they are a little small for my huge, hairy, calloused man hands, that doesn't diminish their magical powers. With these babies on I can paint twice as fast, rewire a light without electrocuting myself, and heal sick animals with a single touch. Okay, not really. I just can't make myself throw them away. I mean jeez, when will I ever get undersized gloves included with a new light again? It's like finding my lost wedding ring in a box of cereal - it just doesn't happen often, or at all.

By the way, I hope the Cuban housekeeper who found my ring and then lied about finding it is enjoying it.