Queen B Designs

Hey, y'all!

So HUGE news over here. We (Madge, my Mama and myself) have officially launched Queen B Designs!

Queen B Designs started as a flicker of a dream in the head of a little, oddball, fuzzy-haired fat girl more than 25 years ago. And over the last year has grown from three folding tables in my garage and the support of my husband and BFF into a REAL THING.

All those reams of paper I used up and colored pencils I ground into stumps weren't wasted. Nor were all those art sets, Pawpaw bought me that I burned through. And I suppose all those many many days my Nene spent teaching me to sew and allowing me to play in her fabric were more than just a way to entertain a restless little girl. Mawmaw's time answering all those quilting questions were well spent.

I don't know how I got so lucky in my life to be surrounded by a family who supported and enriched me creatively. But I am thankful and grateful nonetheless.

So if y'all have time, go and check out the fruits if our labor. It's a work in progress, kind of like Madge, Mama and me.

http://queen-b-designs.com

Follow us on Twitter: @queenbdesigns

Friend us on Facebook!


-- Post From My iPhone

Slide

About a year ago we bought an insert for our sliding glass door that was equipped with a doggy door. A modern engineering marvel! Do I even have to tell you how thrilled we were to find out they made something like this? A solution that didn't require major construction! A miraculous invention, I tell you! Our lives would be forever changed!

Except for one problem: Of the three dogs exactly NONE of them would go near it.

We tried everything. The husband bribed them with treats. I screamed when That Dog The Size Of A Donkey -- the same dog the SPCA claimed would "be the smaller than Toto" -- pooped directly in front of the doggy door rather than set a paw through it. The husband went so far as to climb through it and SHOW them how it worked.

But nothing convinced them to use it. So eventually the doggy door went away. We were defeated and took it down.

And year past and our little family changed dramatically. In January we lost our old sweet Pug and were completely devastated. We swore we'd never have a third dog again. Then three days later brought Gibbs the Pug home. He was just a few weeks old and so small he fit in the palm of my hand.

Suddenly it's eight months later. Time just blew past and that tiny creature is not so itsy anymore. Also, he likes too poop in my closet. Because why the hell not! Seabiscut is already shitting by the glass door. Why not just make the husband the mayor of Craptown while they're at it!

Which brings us to the return of the doggy door.

The husband, head popper scooper, has had enough. Now he's working fulltime from his home office and needed the dogs to be able to let themselves out. Apparently stopping a conference call with the president of a major oil company so your yapping dog can take a shit in the yard is considered poor form.

So the door insert returned.

And so did the dogs' standoff.

For days, the husband tried to get them to use it. After a week of no dice he finally threw them in the yard and left them. It's 110 degrees here and we figured they'd eventually get used to the idea and bite the bullet. I know I'd climb my fatass through a little door to escape that kind of heat. We figured if they so it once it will click. Right?

Uh. No.

They did eventually come through it to get back into the house. Once. But you would have thought they were storming the beaches of Normandy on D-Day.

Only this ended with some wiseass dropping trou and taking a dump in the enemy's foxhole. Yes. I'm serious. That big fuzzy fucking dog WAITED until he was back inside and pooped on the floor.

And so I lost all hope and the husband's blood pressure went so high steam literally came out of his ears.

Having been soundly defeated, we gave up and life went on. This time the door remained up. We were both too shattered to move it. And so things went. Until I found myself sick and sleeping, propped up on the couch... Within sight and sound of the doggy door.

One night during my infirmary, as I lay snuggled up, I heard the distinct sound of the doggy door being used! Hooray! Yes! A victory! Except all the dogs were laying on the couch with me.

Uh oh.

Of course my mind immediately assumed a horned, venom-spitting predator was coming through after us. And I screamed for the husband. But he was in the other room and sleeping hard. Also, why were the dogs not freaking out? And OH MY GOD WHERE IS MY CAT!!! What if she's they prey!?!

So I scream GERTRUDE! Then I whistle for her and then scream her name over and over.

Wild thoughts raced through my head. What if some rabid dog has broken into yard, found the doggy door and came into snatch my cat?!?! My sweet Gertrude! No not my Gertie!

THE DINGO ATE MY BABY!

And then I hear a meow. A faint little meow. So I call her again and am answered by another meow. A few seconds later I hear the flap of the doggy door. And then the pitter patter of Gertie's tiny feet on the wood floor. As the relief washes over me, the reality of the situation strikes. The dangerous predator IS Gert.

Now its like three weeks later and the fucking cat is the only animal at our house that will use the doggy door.

Morning. Noon. And night. Flap. Thump. Flap. Thump. In and out.

Gert has tasted the sweet freedom of the backyard and will not be shackled by the man. No longer will she be oppressed! Free at last! Free at last! Can I get an AMEN, brothers and sisters of the Internet!

Can you imagine! This is the same animal that stole someone's pet hampster. And ate it.

It's only matter of time before the neighbors unite and storm our home with torches and pitchforks in search of the seven-pound serial killer.

But Ripken says not to worry. They'd have to crawl through the portal to hell/dog door to get to us. Only Satan himself can so easily pass through, which his why him's sissy has no problem making the trip.

Besides if they did make it through the tiny, evil square of doom, they'd never make it past the piles of dog shit.

Booby traps are only one of Riken's many free "services".


-- Posted From My iPhone

The Horse

At the very end of a long week, I was one of three people left in our office this afternoon. The silence from the other 20 or so people being absent amplified our every action. And thus provided me with an awsome tidbit to share at next week's staff meeting.

The following is an actual conversation I overheard today:

HIM: "Hey, I emailed you that horse video I was telling you about."

HER: "Yeah, I was just about to watch it..."

DRAMATIC PAUSE and GASP

HER: "Oh. My. God. THAT. Thing. Is. Gigantic!!! How is that even possible?!?"

HIM: "I know, RIGHT!"

HER: "You HAVE to send me more of those!"

Annnnnnd scene.

I don't know what the horse was doing in that video, but I DO know what I'm going to imply when I retell this story to everyone else in our office on Monday.

-- Post From My iPhone