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Let's Go to the Doggy Beach, Each, Let's Go Get a Wave
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I think I can probably make it bloggy-official: I'm addicted to Instagram. If you haven't done so already, follow me so I can follow you back! (Psssst, click on the big icon above and it will take you straight to my page!) Instagram is a lot of fun - Twitter can get a little boring (and I can get a little too
lazy to try to decipher all of the #hashtagnonsense###) so Instagram gives my brain a break and I am free to just scroll through and
see what's going on in people's lives rather than reading about it. I also enjoy using Instagram because I feel like, a lot of times, I have fun pictures that I would love to share with you all, but they would make for an odd compilation, mix-match, hodge-podge post. So follow me! theAFwife is my username.
Speaking of hodge-podge, random picture posts, that's actually what I'm doing today (hip hip hurray!) Over the weekend, Hubs and I took Diezel to the doggy beach here and he learned to swim. Absolutely adorable! Diezel is such a little rascal - it was like over stimulation times fifty billion when we finally got to the beach. Not only were there dozens and dozens of dogs, but there was also the water...something he had never been in or seen before (with the exception of baths, rain, and playing in the sprinkler). With my recent Instagram kick, I just had to take pictures of his little doggy self swimming in the bay.
Headed to the doggy beach! Diezel hates car rides for some reason...he whined the entire way. I was about ready to pull my hair out.
Swimming to daddy!
Awww!
He was dead tired on the drive home...it was quiet and peaceful :)
I bet you were all "aww-ing" and content for the post to end with that last *adorable* picture of Diezel. But wait - there's more! I just
have to share this with you guys. Those who are already following me on Twitter and/or Instagram have probably already seen and read about this particular predicament I found myself on Monday morning, but I wanted to be sure that you all got a chance to read about it.
We all know how much I love coffee. Especially lately with Hubby getting me up around 5:45 - 6:00 each morning. It most definitely takes a toll on you, the whole getting up ungodly early deal, which is precisely why I
need my coffee in the morning. So, as I mentioned already, it was
MONDAY FREAKING MORNING when I staggered my way into the kitchen, heave-hoing each leg over the baby gate placed in the bedroom doorway. I propped myself up on the kitchen counter to prevent myself from tipping over in my almost drunken-like stupor. I made my way to the coffee maker, somehow managed to get everything measured out and put where it belonged, and then made my way to the living room sofa to sit down and do my morning devotionals. I read. I journaled. I glanced at the cable box clock. Over 40 minutes had passed and my coffee was
still brewing. I walked over to my coffee maker to see what the hold up was to find that only 2 of my
10 cups had brewed in the whole 40 minutes that had passed.
What the deuce???? I thought to myself. I was still kind of groggy when I decided that I would take a shower to help pass the time. The coffee would have to be done by the time I was finished. A grand total of an hour and a half later, I hear nothing but silence in the house. The coffee pot had stopped it's labored lugging and finally spat out my coffee. So I thought. There was a grand total of 3 cups (enough for me to fill up my coffee cup
one time) and, as I tried a little sip of the sludgy liquid, I soon discovered that it was
extremely condensed coffee...we are talking I may as well have just ate the grounds.
Like I said,
MONDAY morning. I need my freaking coffee. My techie/research/technology-dependent self instinctively did what any technology age nerd would do: I Googled it. Ol' Google informed me that cowboys used to make coffee by boiling the grounds in a pot of water over a fire. Obviously I wasn't about to start a fire, but I figured why not try to boil it on the stove? Seemed logical right? Then I remembered the grounds. I didn't think I would be able to handle glugging down the gritty grounds, but it had been at
least an hour and a half since I woke up and no one was pulling the wool over my eyes: I would
out smart those stinky coffee grounds with my ingenius creation:
Yah, take that gritty grounds! I ain't no dummie!
But the coffee (and the grounds) had the last laugh as the appearance of my "coffee" began to turn a sludgy, muddy, mucky, dingey brown stew. Things weren't looking too good at this point.
Coffee anyone? Did you spot the ground son the sides and the floaters? Ick!
After attempting to strain out the grounds with my above-shown ungenius idea (do I even need to say that it didn't work?), I figured that ladling the coffee out and into my cup would just be easier. So I did. And the coffee tasted like dirty water. Not even a slight hint-o-coffee was present. It was a coffeeless morning for this chick. It wasn't until around 3 p.m. that I finally figured out how to fix my coffee maker. Bet your bottom I made and drank an entire pot of coffee regardless of the time!
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