I used to be a blogger.

I don't even know where to begin.

So, we got our house. And we knew it was dirty, right? But I had no idea that it would take me three days to clean the kitchen.

Not kidding. Three days.

Or that the lime-green paint in the bathroom was some weird paint so that when I painted over it and pulled up the painter's tape? My paint pulled up with the tape.

And I had no idea that Lady Doodle would have massive diarrhea in my house. Or after her recovery, Lil' Frankfurter would pick up the torch with vomiting and diarrhea. And I certainly didn't anticipate that I would also puke my guts out, either from the power of suggestion or from an ulcer.

Yeah, I barfed. Wouldn't three houses and four poopy dogs make you sick to your stomach?

The great thing about my partnership with My Guy is that we take turns FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. This has been my week. And I've really done a bang-up job, if I do say so myself.

I woke up yesterday thinking, "No, no thank you. I don't care to move or get married or take care of two new dogs or interact with any human - including My Guy - ever again. I don't wish anybody ill, I'm just ... done. I'm all set. Thanks for asking."

But then I peeled myself out of bed and poured more anti-nausea meds down Lil' Frank's throat. I almost forgot that the pup was so upset at the vet that he'd literally shat on my person.

And then I went to Corporate Behemoth. And I guess I still have multiple houses and a fiance and a wedding date and four dogs. And it's OK.

In other news? Remember when Banjo asked, "Where was Krampus in all of this?"

Oh, Krampus the Christmas Frog. Of course he made an appearance during the holidays. Several appearances, actually.

This was my favorite.

Hey - a frog's gotta do what a frog's gotta do.

And yes, everything is about poop.