Imagine, if you will

. . . me sitting in my big chair, in my most comfy-est pj pants, with a big ol' coffee and the best book ever in my hands, about halfway drunk, getting a foot massage by Sam Elliott or Harrison Ford and just recovering from the most intense orgasm I've ever experienced in my life. Are you picturing that? Okay, good. That is how I feel now that I am back from my selfish vacation. *big contented sigh*

I didn't do diddly squat. I shopped, I slept. I slept a lot. I got two new bras (I was only going to get one, but when the salesgirl told me they were buy one get one half off - well, how could I refuse that kind of a deal?) and some really cute pj pants with ladybugs all over 'em. I watched part of Crippendorf's Tribe, part of The Saint, and part of several other movies, but funny, I kept falling asleep. I am quite the party animal, lemme tell ya.

We did have one small snafu during the trip, though. Abby told Mr. Diva when he got home from work on Friday that Little Dog had just laid in the back yard all day and wouldn't play. Paul went out to check on him, found him in his barrel (He cut the end out of a 50 gallon drum and made a doghouse), just lying there, not moving. He couldn't coax him out with food or anything. He called me and I told him to just keep an eye on him, maybe he was tired from running around all night, maybe he was wormy. Well, when I called home Saturday morning he was no better, he was worse. Mr. Diva adamantly told me repeatedly that he was not taking the dog to the vet. I understood. Really I did. Again, I told him to keep an eye on him and I'd check back in in the evening. When I called him that evening the dog was nearly dead. He was just lying in the yard, moaning and he couldn't open his eyes. Paul shooed the kids in the house, stayed out in the yard and so kindly let me listen to the poor dog. I immediately started crying. Oh how horrible! He said he didn't think he'd live through the night. I told him to just shoot him, put him out of his misery and tell the kids in the morning that he'd died. They knew he was sick anyway. Well, my darling husband, for reasons unbeknownst to me, decided that instead of whitewashing it for the kids, he was going to tell them he was going to put the dog down. By the end of the phone call, all three kids and both parents were bawling. It was awful awful awful. Abby, who is always a little more mature than average, was okay; a few tears, but she really understood. Sam was crying pretty hard, but I managed to distract him with conversation about the day, what Happy Meal toy he'd gotten, etc. Kady, our precious third child, was inconsolable. I've never heard that child cry so hard. I was nearly hysterical myself, listening to her hurt. When I finally felt like she was sort of calmed down I had her put her daddy back on the phone, only to be met with his crying (in a manly way, don't get me wrong) and oh gosh, we bonded as a family, lemme tell ya. Mr. Diva thinks he was poisoned. I think he was snake bit. We'll never know. So Little Dog, RIP buddy. RIP.

I have oh so much more to write, but it's 8pm and I have to get my kids tucked in so I can go to Ladies' Night at the Big Fancy Casino and begin winning back all the money I spent this weekend! I wrote a big enormous post on Friday before I left, but the Evil Blog-eating Trolls of the Internet ate it when I hit post. I did notice that on the blogger homepage today there is a new feature that you can recover a post. Whoo hoo. Too bad that was 3 days ago. Oh well, live and learn.

Btw, is anyone else able to post on here???????? I have tried to post to Stormie's blog twice and it won't let me. I tried to post to Monkey's to no avail as well. What's up with that??? Of course, if you can't comment either you can't comment on here to tell me. So leave me an email, k? theredneckdiva@gmail.com Thanks!!