You would see the following…

Gchatter:
Me: We talked about you last night.
Friend: Why did y’all talk about me?
Friend: Did you say I have a drinking problem?
Friend: Because I don’t.
Friend: I don’t drink during the week.
Friend: But when I do drink – I over indulge.

Text messages from my mom:
Mom: Shingles are here. WW knows to go to the window to watch. I must get on a diet. Fatness is not pretty.

Text messages with Ashley, my co-worker:
Me: My car smells like cat pee. It’s the air. Gross.
Ashley: That’s nasty. Worse than feet.

Yesterday I took Wallace for his daily jaunt around the neighborhood. He lives for this, y’all. Like, as soon as I walk in the door he starts begging for his walk. And, you can’t even say the word “walk” or he’ll start turning circles and barking. In my house, if you want to keep your sanity, you have to spell it out: w-a-l-k. He’s pretty smart, though, so I’m sure before long he’ll figure that out, too.

Anyway, after our w-a-l-k, I had to water the flowers that my mom planted for me. She buys them and puts them in the ground, and I attempt to keep them alive. (So far, so good – but I’m going out of town this weekend, so…I’ll keep you posted.) So, I’m in my backyard, earphones in ears and water hose in hand, watering flowers and dancing around to Material Girl by Madonna when it happens.

My dog, who was crouched down like a tiger next to an azalea, pounces on my leg and plants his teeth into my ankle. I screamed, “OW!!!!!!!!!! WALLACE!!!! WHAT THE F**K?!?!”

Well, I scared him half to death because his little ears went back and he ran for cover. Feeling guilty for scaring him, I snatched my headphones out of my ears to comfort him (He was, after all, just playing – he didn’t mean to bite my flesh, he was going for the shoe…I hope.) and I heard noises. People noises.

Not just any people – my next door neighbors. And their two kids. They were having their family dinner outside last night.

Whoops. I guess when their four-year-old uses the f-word, I’m to blame. Maybe I should train myself to spell out curse words.

In case you missed it, check these out:

Nice guys really can finish first. In line at Krispy Kreme Doughnuts the morning after his win.

Photo credits: Top photo, me. Bottom photo, Greg Carswell of Krispy Kreme, taken from The Augusta Chronicle

Toto (er, William Wallace) and I are back in our house and boy are we glad. I loved the hospitality that Cecilia and Valorie showed me last week, and Wallace had a wonderful time (as always) at his grandma’s pad, but it was time to come home.

I opened the door to my house with trepidation yesterday and fully expected to see a mess. The word on my street was that my renters…well, they were fond of the liquor. So much so that they drank all of mine, and invited my neighbors over for some, too. (But they did pay me back for it AND left me a bottle of Grey Goose, so luckily I didn’t have to act all redneck on ’em.) Much to my surprise, though, the place looked pretty darn good. They even stripped down the beds and took out the trash for me. Somebody’s mama raised them right.

I love Masters week in Augusta, but I’m really glad for it to be over. I feel like someone hit me with a truck and I sort of look like it, too. My give-a-damn was definitely busted by Sunday. This is one of those days where I would like nothing more than to go home and drink a glass of wine. Only…I don’t have any.

Dang renters.

Yep, it’s mine. It’s too bad that I won’t get to enjoy it, because starting today, strangers will be there.

I am not exaggerating when I say that if I needed to use my floor as a plate, I would.

In other news (and in case you care), my daily blogging will pick back up next week. Don’t give up on me, folks. Stalking golfers and hanging out in hospitality tents won’t last forever. Damn.

Homeownership finds me doing things I never thought I would do before, like meeting with the termite inspector for my annual report. The good news is that I’m termite free (knock on wood…get it?), the bad news is that my termite inspector kind of insulted me.

Now, I don’t think termite man (his name was Mike) really meant to be insulting with his question (and to be quite honest, I guess it’s a valid one), but – some things just should only be asked by people who know you very well. Not by people you just met.

Upon reviewing the termite report card, he looked at me and said, “So, do you live here all by yourself?” I replied, “Yep, all by myself. Well, and with him (pointing to my dog, Wallace).” With a puzzled expression he responded to my statement with, “Why’d you buy such a big house for just one person?”

Well, Mr. Termite Man, maybe one day I won’t be the only person living here – but maybe I will. What’s it to you, exactly?

After he left, I thought of the scene in Under the Tuscan Sun where the main character has a mini-breakdown over buying a house “for a life she didn’t have.”

This is the scene:
Frances: This house has three bedrooms. What if there’s never anyone to sleep in them? And the kitchen, what if there’s never anyone to cook for? I wake up in the night thinking,”You idiot. I mean, you’re the stupidest woman in the world. You bought a house for a life you don’t even have.”

Martini: Why did you do it, then?

Frances: Because I’m sick of being afraid all the time. And, because I still want things. I want a wedding in this house, and I want a family in this house.

That’s why, Mike the Termite Man. It’s called hope.

If your hand is raised, I would like to slap you around.

Today has consisted of many, many phone calls. That tournament is just around the corner. And, guess what? In case you were wondering, I still can’t get anyone tickets to the Masters. (But thanks for asking random man from Arizona, lady from Florida…and Dad.)

This Monday has made me well aware that I will have renters in my home next week – yikes! Time to start cleaning like a mad woman. I’m ok with the dust bunnies under my bed, but I’m fairly certain my “guests” (are they guests if they are paying you?) won’t be amused.

BlackBerry Messenger Chatter:

With Ben…
Ben: I’m in the mood to do some serious spring cleaning.
Me: Me too. Only scratch the word “cleaning” and insert “shopping.”

With a friend…
Friend: Everyday I hear the woman in the cube next to me talk (rather, argue) with her children. It makes me want to get my tubes tied.
Me: I almost just wet my pants.
Friend: Today, her child (she has three) called crying because she could not find a hair brush.
Me: Yeah, well, I couldn’t find one today either, but I just went with it. Had to be at work at 7:00 – figured no one would notice.
Friend: The reason that I don’t want children is not because the child called her, but I sat here thinking…if my child called me with that sob story, I would drive home, find a brush and hit her with it. It was at that point I realized I shouldn’t reproduce.
Me: On the contrary, I think that is the exact reason you should reproduce.

*Title totally stolen from someecards.com.

If someone tells you they fully understand the health care bill, they are either:
1) A really, really smart person (who should probably find some other things to do)
2) Lying

If you are like me, and the mere mention of the words “health care bill” or “health care reform” make your health decline, I have a nifty little link that you are going to love. Click here for a synopsis of the bill from the consumer’s prospective.

Hat tip, BT. Thanks for the linkage.