New Definition of a Hot Dog

The stress of this past week has started to take it's toll on me. I've lost my appetite, I haven't slept well and I seem to have lost my drive to clean my house. (Alright, so I never had a drive to clean my house, but this is my post so shush!) After dealing with the fact that I've been banished from the family home, I decided to stop moping and just relax. Roll with the punches. So to speak.

Hee hee.

So I cracked open a bottle of red, grabbed a soft blanket and turned on the Grammy's. Can anyone please explain to me the phenomenon that is Justin Timberlake? He looks like a boy and he sounds like a girl. Don't get it.

I digress. After watching the assortment of hollywood's finest strut their stuff, and growing more tipsy relaxed with every sip of wine I took, I toddled off to bed.

Where I had the most incredibly erotic dreams. I dreamt of my husband coming home, taking me into his arms and well, let's just leave it at that. I'm supposed to be a mommy blog, not a soft core porn blog. And trust me, dear internet, the dream I had last night would make Jenna Jameson blush.

Just as my hubs, who magically looked like Clive Owen, but was still my darling Boo, was kissing my neck ever so softly and sensually, I woke up.

To find my damn dog spitting all over me.

Great, not only did I wake up to the crushing realization that I was still alone and not going to get any, especially not any from my husband who looked like Clive, but now I was covered in dog spit. While sleeping in sheets covered with dog hair.

Aren't I sexy.

So I did what any woman who has been alone for a month and hasn't seen a penis, I mean a man in a long time.

I closed my eyes and told Nixon, the World's Greatest Dog, Ever. to keep licking. A little to the left.