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Posts Tagged ‘rubin’My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amendsTuesday, December 1st, 2009We picked up Terry’s new (to him) car today:
And then shortly after this photo was taken, we handed it over to the person who REALLY runs our house:
I’d say more about this, but I’m in the middle of knitting the car a blanket to keep it warm at night, and then I thought I’d take it out a nice cup of tea. So, yeah, that whole “not getting attached” thing? Not going so well, actually. Now: what should we call it? Tags: car wars, rubin, Terry
Posted in Entries With Photos, In My Life, Things I Bought | 14 Comments » In the doghouseTuesday, September 29th, 2009Remember the shirt Terry got for completing his 10k run on the weekend? It was white. Pristine. It had the name of the race on the front of it, and, this being the first race of this type Terry had ever competed in, he was fairly pleased with it. So, last night before bed, he took his brand new, sparkling white t-shirt, and he laid it out with the rest of his clothes, so he could wear it to the gym this morning. Well, this morning came, and Terry got up and reached for his (brand new, sparkling white) shirt… And then Terry recoiled in horror, screaming. Because on the shirt was…. was… PEE. Yes, pee. SOMEONE had peed on Terry’s pristine white shirt. Here’s a clue: it wasn’t me. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Terry. This leaves only one real suspect:
He did try to put the blame on TED, but Ted was out partying at the time, so we know it wasn’t him. We’ve tried to piece the events of last night together, and we can only assume that at some point while I was in the bathroom taking my makeup off and Terry was in the office finishing up work, Rubin has snuck into the bedroom and exacted his revenge on the white shirt. It does appear to a be a completely motiveless crime, which is confusing, but then again, Rubin moves in mysterious ways, his, er, wonders to perform, so he doesn’t necessarily need a motive for these things. Strange Things About This Event: (other than the obvious) 1. Although Rubin will pee inside the house if he’s left on his own (or if he can sneak downstairs at some point), he does NOT generally pee upstairs: he seems to understand that this would be crossing a line from which there would be no coming back. So he doesn’t do it… UNTIL NOW. 2. Rubin has been trained to come and “tell” us if he needs to go out. He did not do this, even although Terry was right there. This suggests that Rubin deliberately targeted the white shirt and used stealth manoeuvres to pee on it. WHY? what did it do to him? 3. Although I know this post is going to generate a lot of “helpful” advice about how awful Rubin is, and how he needs to be trained, OMG, he actually hasn’t peed on any of our clothes since he was a puppy. The last time he did this, though, the item in question was ALSO a white shirt belonging to Terry: a pattern? In conclusion: Rubin has basically peed all over Terry’s achievement with the run. Terry is not happy. The white shirt is currently being disinfected. The entire bedroom, in fact, has been disinfected. Rubin, meanwhile, is under close surveillance. I’ll keep you posted… Crime Scene, Do Not EnterWednesday, August 26th, 2009Yesterday I was working away at my desk when I happened to look round to find that OMG, there had been a MURDUR! </ Taggart>
This photo doesn’t really do the scene justice, because there was stuffing EVERYWHERE. Whoever the victim was, it was clear they had been, not just killed, but also skillfully disemboweled. Closer inspection, however, revealed not just one, but TWO possible victims:
On the right of the picture: Bluddy. So called because he is a BLUE version of BUDDY. This unfortunate creature is “Buddy”:
As you can see, Buddy hasn’t been well for quite some time. My mum performed pioneering surgery to sew his face back on after the, er, event that led to its removal, but ol’ Buddy, he just hasn’t been the same since. Sometimes he can’t even remember who he is, the poor guy. We keep him around now for purely sentimental reasons: he was Rubin’s first toy, and actually, we’ve had Buddy longer than we’ve had Rubin, because as soon as Terry and I knew we were definitely getting a dog, we rushed out and bought Buddy for him. When we brought the young Rubinman home, Buddy was bigger than him. Then a year later? Buddy was dead. Shame. Anyway, back to our crime scene, and as I’m sure your keen minds have deduced, our victim was not, in fact, “Bluddy”, but …
Yes, it’s the DUCK! Who is simply known as, er, “Rubin’s Duck”. Or who WAS known as “Rubin’s Duck”, past tense. I don’t think that duck will ever “quack” again, somehow, which is a shame, because it does actually “quack” when Rubin presses it with his nose. DID actually quack. Of course, we didn’t have to look far to find the alleged perp: he was standing right there at the scene of the crime, looking strangely pleased with himself:
He’s all “Yeah, I did it. SO? I’d do it again…” And he would. For now, though, his work here was done:
Still looking inappropriately smug, considering he just disemboweled one of his best friends. That’s the closest we can get him to sit to that dustpan and brush, by the way. Not that I want to spoil anyone’s illusions of how Rubin is a WOLF or anything, but he is TERRIFIED of that thing. Any closer and he will totally lose his mind. I think it must come to life at night and attack him or something. This concludes our investigation into the Sad Case of Rubin’s Duck. Don’t have nightmares, folks… Stuff. In the form of a list.Friday, July 31st, 2009Because I am lazy: 1. I still haven’t found The Dress. This is much to the distress of Terry, because it seems that I just can’t stop talking about it. I mean, I thought I’d maybe be OVER IT by now. But no. The loss of my preshus dress is as fresh and as painful as it was on that dreadful day that I realised it was gone. GOD. 2. I have, however, bought another dress. It didn’t really make me feel better, to be honest. I mean, it’s a nice dress and all, but it’s JUST NOT THE SAME. 3. See, still can’t stop talking about it. 4. On a positive note, I haven’t lost or broken anything else this week. Not that I know of, anyway. I DID think I’d lost Ted this morning when I was making the bed, but it turned out he was just hiding under a pile of Terry’s clothes. Here’s what he was wearing:
I just hope Nike are paying him well, is all I can say. 5. When I was coming out of the gym yesterday, SLEET started falling out of the sky. And, OK, it only lasted for a few minutes, and then we were back to brilliant sunshine (then torrential rain. Then brilliant sunshine. Then thunder. Then torrential rain. Then brilliant… oh, you get the picture.), but still, SLEET. Sleet. 6. Because of the whole non-stop-rain thing, my lawn hasn’t been mown for three weeks now, and has consequently grown into a small jungle. I’m actually afraid to let Rubin out there in case he never finds his way back. (Thought: could The Dress be in the Jungle Garden?) Weirdly, though, all of our neighbours still have perfectly manicured lawns. HOW DO THEY DO IT? Are they mowing their lawns during the middle of the night or something? No, really, how? 7. Number 6? That right there tells you why updates have been few and far between this week, because THAT’S how interesting my life has been, really. 8. At least Rubin has been helping me with the blogging, though:
Gardening with RubinMonday, July 13th, 2009I hate gardening. And, yes, I know, I’ve already made my point about that, thanksverymuch, so don’t worry, this isn’t going to be YET ANOTHER POST about how much I hate and resent the fact that I work hard all week, and then on the weekend, instead of relaxing, or doing something nice, I have to do hard, manual labour in the freaking GARDEN instead. Well, to be fair, it kind of IS about that. But it’s mostly about Rubin. Because Rubin is insane. And as much as I hate working in the garden, I’m pretty sure Rubin hates it even more. You see, Rubin hates being parted from Terry or I (or my parents, or Terry’s folks, or whoever his “humans” happen to be at any given time). On Saturdays, Terry goes hillwalking with his friends, which means it’s just me and Rubin, therefore I am the chosen human who mustnotbeleft. Unless, of course, I leave the barrier at the top of the stairs down by mistake (Terry had to make a “barrier” to place at the top of the stairs, to stop Rubin going down and peeing on the washing machine. We call it his “perimeter”. As in, “Quick, Jack, set up a perimeter!”), in which case he will be more than happy to leave me all by myself, while he goes downstairs to pee on the aforementioned washing machine. And sometimes the sofa. Anyway. So, Rubin and I are alone together, and I go out to GARDEN. (Did I mention how much I hate… I did?) Rubin cannot be left in the house, or he barks the place down. (Note: he doesn’t do this if we leave him to actually go somewhere. He’s fine with that. It’s only if I go outside and he knows I’m rightthere but he can’t get at me. Then he barks like a crazy thing. Which, of course, he is.) So I have to take him with me. This is OK while I’m working in the back garden. There are a few horrified minutes when the lawnmower gets switched on and Rubin reacts with shock and awe, but after that he will relax and go about his business, leaving me to go about mine. (Unless The Man is out in the garden behind ours, because if Rubin can see anyone AT ALL while he’s in the garden, he will start barking at them like a crazy thing, and when I come out to bring him back inside, he will run away and force me to chase him.) When I go round to the front, though? All hell breaks loose. I can’t take Rubin into the front because the garden there isn’t fenced in, so he could – and would – run out into the road. Having him on the leash isn’t an option while I’m operating a lawnmower, and you can’t tie him to something stationery either because he would freak out. So I leave him in the back garden. (I’ve tried putting him back in the house at this point, but he knows I’m out there and he gets hysterical. Like,REALLY hysterical. And he tries to climb the furniture so he can get out of the window.) But the back garden has a wrought-iron gate. HE CAN SEE ME. But… he can’t REACH me. And so he goes hysterical. You would be amazed by how much noise a small dog can make when he really puts his mind to it. The whole time I’m working in the front garden, Rubin will be barking. He will not stop. He will not take it down a level. No, he will remain utterly hysterical for as long as it takes for me to return to him. And then he’ll start up all over again when I return to The Front to pick up my gardening stuff. Solution? Well, I can’t very well leave him barking like that, so this time? I had to pick him up and CARRY him with me. Like a clutch bag, basically, with him tucked under one arm, while I used the other to pull out weeds and people walked by going, “Who does she think she is, Paris Hilton?” . Rubin was perfectly happy with this. He just sat there like a little lord, gazing around the street like “Yoos better not mess with me, right?” And all was calm once more. (And I know what you’re thinking: I could just have waited until another time, when Terry was home to look after the dog, but unfortunately you can’t really do that in Scotland – if you get a brief window of dry weather, you have to grab it before it’s gone.) And that was how I passed my Saturday morning: carrying Rubin around like a furry clutch bag while I weeded the garden.
On Sunday, though? On Sunday I bought shoes:
Tags: gardening, prada, rubin, shoes
Posted in Entries With Photos, Fashion, Rubinman, Things I Bought | 16 Comments » Nuthin’ mo’ bettaMonday, July 6th, 2009On the way back to the airport last week, we passed a restaurant that had the tag-line “Nuthin’ mo’ betta’.” No, seriously: it was written just like that. We didn’t stop there, unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) so I can’t confirm whether there really IS anything “mo’ betta” than Billy’s Shrimp Shack, or whatever the hell it was called, but it kinda sums up the holiday for me – and I should add here that I do not mean to imply anything about Floridian grammar by that statement. (Although, note to Disney: “sweets” does not have an apostrophe. Just FYI.) For me, there is nothing, er, more better – no, it’s no use, I’m not going to be able to keep writing that, sorry – than being on holiday, and since I’ve been home, I’ve had the worst case of post-holiday blues ever. Ever. It’s not just the weather. Sure, the weather is part of it, and a pretty big part at that, but just to pre-empt all of the people who will want to tell me that OMG, the weather was just FABULOUS here while I was always (Seriously, why do people do that? Why are they always so keen to tell you how wonderful the weather has been while you’ve been on vacation? Is it to try and make you feel like you shouldn’t have bothered going? Because it doesn’t work, if so. It’s like all those people who go, “Well, you don’t have much of a suntan!” as if they want you to feel like you have somehow FAILED at vacationing or something. But I digress.), the weather isn’t the only thing I miss. It’s all of it. Everything, right down to the sound of the crickets at night and the smell of the mall on my new sweater. Silly things. Inconsequential things. Things you don’t actually travel to see, but miss like hell when you come home. Oh, and the weather of course. And Sephora. So I’ve been feeling pretty sad these past few days, and although I always feel sad when I come home, this time the feeling has been much harder to shake than usual. Rubin, however, has been doing his very best to cheer me up. He’s been staying with Terry’s mum while we were gone, and while he was there, he managed to eat three pineapple cakes and a Kit Kat over and above his allotted food and treats. (Yes, I know dogs aren’t supposed to eat chocolate, but he stole it out of Terry’s mum’s handbag and suffered no ill effects, even although he ALSO ate the wrapper. He stole the cakes from her bed, where she’d placed them for a few minutes to keep them out of his reach while she unpacked her shopping. I have no idea how he got onto the bed, because he can’t normally do that. He must’ve REALLY wanted those cakes, is all I can say…) Terry’s mum and Keith, her partner, are absolutely amazed by his capacity to eat, and to keep on eating, even although he must surely to God be full, and can’t possibly be actually TASTING anything, on account of he’s swallowing it whole.It amazes me, too. Anyway, it’s good to have him home, even if it’s not good to actually BE home. Since we landed on Friday, I have spent more or less every waking moment searching online for holidays to anywhere. Terry, meanwhile, has been making this: Packing a Suitcase: an excercise in procrastinationWednesday, June 17th, 2009I think I may have managed to conquer the packing. It took most of the day, though, because according to my Twitter, I first started to “think about” packing my suitcase just before lunch yesterday. Here’s what I had by 10pm:  packing fail In fairness, though, that goldy/bronzey thing is my makeup bag, and it took me a LONG time to pack IT, because that’s just my travel makeup bag or The Travelling Makeup Bag, as I think I will call it from now on. THIS is my real makeup bag. I mean Big Ass Box:  The Sephora Case o' Doom Distilling the contents of this into that was a long and arduous task, and I guess the fact that I found it hard to leave the comfort of my computer chair, where I spent many a pleasant hour yesterday reading blogs, tooling around on Twitter and doing anything, really to not have to pack, made it even harder. Like, look, this is Pinky:  My main man, Pinky Everyone say, “Hi, Pinky!” Haha, I made you speak to a stuffed rabbit! Hee! Pinky is my travelling companion. Well, other than Terry and my parents, obviously, but none of them are pink, and they don’t like being squeezed when I’m scared the plane is going to crash, which is all the time. So Pinky is like a kind of stress toy. He stands in for Ted, who doesn’t vacation with us. (He’s just at that age now, where he’s all, “You guys are lame, I want to party with my friends!” He’s going to Goa this year, apparently.) (Note: Pinky came free with a handbag I got, and didn’t actually have a name until a moment of stress somewhere high above the Atlantic one year, when he was named in a hurry. And clearly I suck at naming things under stress. Another reason never to have children - I’d probably give birth and name it “Screamy” or “Bloody” or something.) Anyway, several hours later, I ended up with a packing win, of sorts. This is one side of the case:  Suitcase: one side of Pretty full, no? But look! Here is the other side:  Suitcase, other side of Lookit all that lovely space! Space which I will be able to fill up with… oh:  "Take meeeeeeeeeee!" He’s going to stay with Terry’s mum while we’re gone. He will be treated like a small, furry Overlord there, and will eat much better than he does at home. But I will miss him, and every time I look at his little face, I want to cry. So, moving on, let’s weigh the suitcase (minus dog) with the handy gadget Terry bought for this purpose:  The Weigh-In You can’t see from this photo, but it came in at about 14 kilos, which gives me 6 kilos of shopping to bring back with me. Yay! I win! Although not really, because GOD, shoes are heavy, and I might want to buy shoes… If I do, though, I will also have access to The Shoulder Bag With a Face:  The Bag With a Face Seriously, it has a face, no?  Ahhhhh! It’s drooling at the thought of all of the lovely shopping it will carry. Or maybe it’s just planning to eat my head when I go to sleep tonight, who knows? And with the packing of TBWAF (which is actually much bigger than it looks here and is a bit like a Mary Poppins bag) I was finally done:  Phew! Time on completion:  whoops So it’s a good job I don’t have to get up, like, really early tomorrow or…. oh. Now I just need to take stuff out, put it back, add more stuff, remove stuff and then, at the last minute remember that whoops, I haven’t actually packed any knickers/sweaters/bikinis/delete-as-appropriate, and we’re good to go. Anyway, our flight is early tomorrow morning, so we’ll be staying with my parents tonight, because they live closer to the airport, and also, because it means we can mess-up someone else’s house when we get up at stupid o’clock tomorrow, rather than our own. Assuming we make it there safely, then, I’ll see you on the other side!  "Buh-bye!" Ted is waving goodbye. Also: is clearly drunk. GOD. A picture is worth a thousand blog postsWednesday, May 6th, 2009There hasn’t been much time for blogging this week. Well, there’s been time for BLOGGING, obviously, because, well, that’s pretty much all I’ve done. But I’ve done so much of it here, here and here that there just hasn’t been time to do any of it, er, here. Sorry. I’d say that all work and no play makes Amber a dull blogger but I guess you already knew that. So! Other than the almighty blogathon that has been my week so far, nothing has happened. I mean, AT ALL. I haven’t yet succumbed to swine flu, which has surprised me, really, because normally if there’s a flu going around, I will get it. Sometimes twice. I’m guessing Swine Flu is probably waiting until I go on holiday next month before it gets me, because, you know, no point in ruining an ordinary working week when you can ruin a much-anticipated holiday instead, is there? (Did I mention I’m going on holiday next month? I am going on holiday next month. Yes, I am going to Florida. I cannot. wait.) Anyway, where was I? I’m sure there was a point to this entry, but dammed if I know what it was. Look, here is a picture of my dog!
And we can only really guess at the ways in which this incident traumatised Ted, because here is what I found him wearing when I walked into the bedroom yesterday:
You see what I have to put up with? A Guest Post from Rubin: WATERGATEFriday, April 10th, 2009 I'm laughin at yoos! Yo, peeps, Rubinman in da house! Yes, it’s really ME, the R-Man! I’m here because, it’s like, I read Amber’s last entry? The one where she’s whining about me peein on that “radiator”? And it was as I thought. They see me peein’: they hatin’! So, like, here’s my side of the “story”. I think you’ll find it’s quite different from what Amber tries to to tell yoos. So, I have called this entry “Watergate”, and the reason I have done that is because it’s about me peeing in the house. Hee! Do you see what I did there? Do you? Do you? Anyway, yes, I have been peein’ in the house. Like, A LOT. I’ve not just been peeing ANYWHERE in the house, though: the Rubinman is more cunning than that. No, I’ve been peein on the radiator in the office, and I’ve been doin it every chance I get. Which, like I said, is A LOT. Before I go any further here, I just want to clear one thing up. Amber and Terry? Them? They’re all, “Wah, Rubinman! Peeing on the radiator is not big and is not clever! Wah!” But, as with so many things in life, They are WRONG about this. Wrong, wrong, WRONG. They are so wrong they could not BE more wrong. Because peeing on the radiator IS big. And it IS clever. And don’t let anyone ever tell yoos differently, kids, srsly. Here is how I do it, just in case yoos need any tips: I wait until They go to see “Gym” and THEN I do it. They go to see this “Gym” dude almost every day. WHO IS HE? Who is this mysterious “Gym” and why do they go to see him so much? (Also, I gotta say this, but they dress like a couple of asses when they go to see “Gym”. Sorry, but it’s true. Lycra pants, Amber? Really?) Anyways, I put up with this “Gym” crap for a while. And then one day I was just like, NO. ENOUGH. I’m not puttin up with this ONE SECOND more. Because I like it to be all about me all the time, you know? And when it’s all about “Gym”, it’s not all about me? So, like, this “Gym”, dude? He is takin the attention that is rightfully mine. Srsly, I am ALL about the attention, so I am totally goin to hunt down this “Gym” and I’m going to bite his bum. It’s, like, Gym? If you’re readin’ this? You better worry, dude, and I’m not even jokin. So, it’s like, that’s the story of WATERGATE. (God, I totally crack myself up sometimes, I really do.) I’m goin to keep doin it until they crack. I think that might have been today, actually, because when they came into the office and they saw the pee, their faces were all mad and they were, like, goin insane? Hee! And what’s funny about THAT is, they haven’t even found the pee I did ON MY OWN BED yet, either. LOL! Smell yas, RUBIN P.S. WRONG  No one puts Rubinman in the corner! My Life in a ListThursday, April 9th, 2009Absolutely nothing has happened here since The Great Wall of Clothing was removed from my hallway, so this is one of those completely pointless list posts, which I’m pretty sure no one will read anyway, because you’ll all be off enjoying the Easter break. Speaking of which:
a) It’s the start of Spring. b) You get chocolate c) You don’t have to actually DO anything, unlike, say, Christmas, which involves many, many hours of shopping, and not the kind of shopping that’s fun, either, let me tell you. d) Did I mention the chocolate? Now that I’m completely self-employed, I managed to completely forget about Easter this year until yesterday, when I suddenly realised I don’t have to do any work tomorrow, and can have a long weekend. Yay!
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