Wisdom Nuggets: From Me to You

***This post is dedicated to my loyal follower McDowellbabe.  Thanks for keeping this dream alive!***

Don't start with me.  I know it's been approximately 4 years since my last post.  I know my one and only faithful follower (McDowellbabe) accounts for 786 of my 788 page views since June 2011.  The other two views are from me trying to figure out how to log back into my account.  I realize due to my last post being about dog s&*t, a pile of feces has been my main page post for about 1,400 days (not ashamed).

I have a lot I could talk about, but I must start with this...
The other night we purchased a plecostomus.  We have a small deck pond...it gets algae-ish....drives Mr. Robusto crazy...  Anyway, I walk up to the tanks to see which one might speak to me (I don't want to pick the wrong one, after all).  I was looking for optimal sucking power with a hint of whimsy.  Turns out they all look the same and they all just sit there sucking.  I decided to just let the fish department girl pick one out.  She had a name tag so it was all very legit.  As she is bagging him up, I start reading all about plecostomus on the information tag.  Record scratches...THEY CAN GET UP TO 24" LONG! WTF?!?  I'm not exactly sure why, but this freaked me the fuzz out.  I just picture him sucking his was to our back window and taunting poor Monde boy while we are away at work.  I decided to work through this fear the way I work through all my fears....I named him.  Now I am able to picture him as a retired telephone man from Maiden, NC.  He loves his grandchildren, his wife Carolyn, bass fishing on the weekends and volunteering with his local hometown fire department.  Good ole' Doug Melody.  All better.

Now before I move to the next topic, you should know it all started so innocently.  While browsing YouTube one day, Mr. Robusto and I made what I consider the normal YouTube progression.  Beginning with the safe crowd-pleaser “Frosty the Snow Goat” to a more focused topic “Twerking in Walmart” and somehow through the magic of YouTube suggestions, stumbled upon something different.  Full disclosure: It may or may not have been suggested after someone may or may not have searched for “bug removal from ear.” 

Anyway, that search result enables me to conclude with this nugget of wisdom:
Watching YouTube videos of a BotFly making a cozy home in a person’s head right before bed is probably not the best idea if:

A – You’d like to sleep without having some very NSFW dreams of being impregnated by larva.
B – You don’t have 45 minutes to spend the next morning inspecting every pore you can see for “bot-ish” traits.

C – You don’t want the continuous sensation of your scalp tingling and sprouting mysterious wiggling bumps.

I don't fancy myself a sheltered girl, but this?  This s*&t is crazy!  It’s hard enough for me to wrap my head around a fish that can swim up a pecker.  And please don't even get me started on Triatominea...

Let's face it...there's not a name under the sun that makes ANY of this last "wisdom nugget" more acceptable.

Well, at least I got the dog shit off my main page.

What's wrong with this picture...

 

Yes that's poop, and yes that's our patio. 

Happy Wednesday everyone.

 Let's meet the culprit, shall we?
 

We do not live in New York City.  We do not live in a small townhouse without a yard.  Our yard looks like this...

No, this picture has not been enhanced.  No matter what Monde might try to tell you, don't believe him.  It's all his.  That entire back yard is fenced and belongs to him.  Waiting for him to do whatever Great Dane activities he wants to do out there.  He can literally hunker up on over .5 acres of grass.  So imagine my surprise when I open the door to that mega turd on our patio.  It was straight up CSI crime scene material.  Monde tried to deny it.  He quickly scrambled for scapegoats.  Mr. Robusto was at work so that ruled him out.  Our neighbor's dog Levi is literally allergic to earth.  Granddaddy (Mr. Robusto's padre) prefers the comforts of his own camode.  We're all pretty sure MeeMee (Robusto's madre) never participates in this activity.  So in a last attempt effort to push the blame he pointed the snout at his sweet baby sister, Mossimo.

I love Mondrian.  I raised him from an 8 week old puppy.  Without going into the horrifying details, I know his poop.  The amount, the consistency, even the odor....like the back of my hand.  So I wasn't picking up what he was putting down (pun intended).  ***On a side note, I did leave it for Mr. Robusto to enjoy and discard of.  I didn't want him to feel left out.  Gotta use those triceps or you'll lose them!***  I'm not sure how he expected me to believe that a dog half his size did that.  It was record breaking in size....It was all Monde.  I was unsure if what I was feeling was disgust or pride.  In my household the two are confused quite often.  Either way, it was fascinating.  

So somehow I already managed to work a poop post into my second blog entry.  No complaining!  You were warned.  There will be more...many more.  It is a huge topic in the Robusto household (once again, pun intended).  As I write this, I have that same stirring of emotions coming up.  Disgust vs. Pride.  I'm going to go with a big fat PRIDE on this one.  I stand behind the poo.

For all those avid "Adios Mr. Robusto" fans, wander on over there and check out his attempt at rebuttal.  I do not "enhance" a thing.  Everything I write is the true accounts of the glamorous life of Senorita Robusto.  I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried! 

The First Official Blog-Off

For months now the masses have been pounding me with requests to start a blog.  Ok, by masses I mean Mr. Robusto and his padre.  By pounding requests I mean a friendly reminder every 4.6 days.  You get the point.  Before I go any further....No, Mr. Robusto is not of Hispanic descent.  Don't get it twisted, he absolutely wishes he was a Mexican wrestler.

My one and only is on the right.

He also manages to make every accent sound like his celebrity man-crush, Nacho Libre.  But sadly, he just 100% Americana Robusto.  Now that we've cleared that elephant out of the blog, hopefully my in-box won't be flooded with that ever present question. 

You might find yourself wondering, "How did these two amazing kids find each other in this crazy mixed up world?"  Well, that song goes a little something like this....The Beginning.

Whew!  Still with me?  While you were reading that, I was busy answering all the phone calls for my Pulitzer Prize nomination.  I believe more than one critic used the word "stellar" for that post.


Last night in bed, I proposed this to Mr. Robusto...A blog-off!  You read it here first!  I may trademark the term.  In my very blissful two plus years as Mrs. Robusto, I have realized that Senor Robusto and I have very different versions of how certain things transpired here at the pad or in our day to day happenings.  He has a charming way of "enhancing" his version.  This got me thinking, since the hubs has an uber popular blog himself (you can find that here) we should each use our tell our version of the same story.  We'll let our followers vote and determine which version they think most reflects the truth.  Save our families from having to hash it out.  I'm thinking this could be a once a week thing.  I don't want to overwhelm the senses.  But honestly, since I don't have any followers yet I'm keeping it at once a week to protect my pride.  


Here's the scoop...


I hate exercise, but I can tell time.  I wasn't aware that exercise minutes are longer than normal minutes.  Guess it is kind of like washing machine minutes?  5 weeks ago Mr. Robusto and I, in an attempt to be less "robust" started the couch to 5k program.  We run around our hood like "Just do it" commercials and feel pretty good with ourselves when we are finished.  I'm sure all you fit-eez are familiar with this idea, but for those of you who sway more toward the "run only when being chased" mindset, click here to catch yourself up on the program.


Now I'm the first to admit that my run is probably what most might consider a prelude to a fall, but nonetheless my heart rate stays pumped.  Last week, we started Week 4 of the program.  The hubs wears the watch because have enough on my plate with making it through alive.   Each session starts with a 5 minute warm-up walk.  I have noticed over the last few weeks that the 5 minutes has gradually lessened to what I feel is about 4 minutes 15 seconds.  I realize I'm not the one wearing the watch, but everyone knows womankind can just sense things.  Intuition if you will.  Can't agrue that fact.  I didn't say anything as my warm-up walks slowly diminished because I'm a go-with-the-flow kinda gal.  Where I start to take issue is the disappearance of seconds in the walking parts of the program.  I'm almost certain that the hubs takes the seconds off the walking and tacks them to the running portion because he's feeling froggy.  Can't prove it, it goes back to that intuition thing.  To keep him honest, I'm going to secretly wear a stop watch one day.  He won't know when....He won't know how...but he will be busted!


So head on over to the hub's blog to see how he charms his way out of this one!