Dachshund for sale. Free or best offer.

With all the remodeling, we have workers coming in and out of our house all the time. And, we're basically living in the basement, since we haven't yet painted our living room ceiling, so all of the furniture is all smooshed together in other rooms.

If you're a dachshund with an inferiority complex, all of this turmoil means you're freaking out extra.

And if you're a dachshund with an inferiority complex, freaking out extra means peeing evvvvverywhere. Because marking your territory is obviously the most effective way to tell humans and canines alike that you are large and in charge.

Foxie Doxie is driving us nuts. In addition to marking his favorite furniture and bedding, Foxie actually peed on one of his toys.

Help. Us. Please.

We've tried the No More Marking spray. We've tried cleaners made with essential oils. We've tried yelling. We've tried putting his nose in it. We've even tried telling him that he's our favorite and that all of the other dogs defer to him and he's really the alpha but he doesn't need to stress about it because it's widely accepted as the truth, so he can just be all Zen and Yoda-like.

None of this has worked.

And after I scrubbed the tile floor in the basement for an hour yesterday - on my hands and knees - and he promptly peed on my clean floor? I have had it.

Seriously. Help us. Any suggestions?

Amended to say: He has a kennel, where he stays whenever we're gone. This is more of a marking-when-I'm-out-of-the-room sort of situation. Help!

I hope Neil Diamond and Barbra Streisand duet soon.

I'm watching the Grammys. A few thoughts:

• Is it a poor reflection on me as a person that I want to punch Taylor Swift in the mouth, like, every time I see her? Her constant look of wonderment looks like a giant put-on to me. Also? When she loses, she looks like a pissed off, spoiled child.


• Is it also a poor reflection on me as a person that while I'm sorry about Whitney Houston, I'm also disgusted by the "OMG, Whitney, nooooo!" hullabaloo? If so, I'm also guessing it's a poor reflection on me that I've been hollering, "Bobbaaaaaaaaaaye!" a la Maya Rudolph and laughing maniacally for the last 24 hours? I am so, so funny.


• I am super pumped that My Celebrity Boyfriend Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters a) kicked ass in their performance (like we expected anything else) and b) won some Grammy love. However, my distaste for Ryan Seacrest is compounded due to the fact that the Grammy folk cut off Dave's acceptance speech to introduce Seacrest. Not Seacrest's fault, but it just seems like he was somehow responsible. Perhaps he and Taylor Swift have an evil partnership to destroy American culture.


• I am old. I don't know 80% of the music. However, based on this broadcast, I'm not missing much.


• I can't believe Chris Brown has a career. He has not beaten any women during the live performance ... yet. At least not on stage. Backstage? Probably, yes. Several.


• Bruce Springsteen and Dave Grohl make me both hopeful and sad. I'm pretty sure that neither of them would stand for some smarmy Corporate Behemoth VP telling them that they can't fix a problem on their team unless they "show some passion" for their work. If I were a touch more rock 'n' roll, maybe I would tell him to kiss my ass. I would also wear jeans and leather at all times. And maybe I wouldn't be overwhelmed with sadness on a Sunday night over the prospect of going back to work tomorrow morning.

In which I am an ignorant tween.

Let me just preface with this: I hate baseball.

I know, I know. It's America's pastime. A game of tradition and patriotism. Got it. Personally? I find it even less exciting than watching paint dry.

Case in point: we used to go on family vacations to Minneapolis, where we'd settle in to watch the Twins. My mom and brother we ecstatic. My dad and me? Not so much.

I distinctly remember one Twins game where my dad and I spent 3 hours watching the overweight family in front of us eat nonstop. And then there was the family behind us with the gaggle of small, grabby children. Grabby children who had been brushing our backs and touching our seats all night. At about the 7th inning, the grandma of the grabbies proclaimed to the mama, "Why, Jill! Just look at all that mucus! He's sick!"

And my dad and I spent the rest of the game hovering on the edge of our seats, attempting to avoid the fountain of bodily fluid seated behind us.

I'm sure my mom and brother could tell you all about that game and whatever magic Kirby Puckett worked that night, but what I remember is obesity and mucus.

So, all this to say ... I don't know much about baseball.

Also? I didn't date much as a teen. I know you find this shocking.

Which leads me to ask a question to which I've never gotten a straight answer. And yes, I realize that my compulsion to never end a sentence with a preposition probably contributed to that dearth of dating.

When it comes to making out, what are the bases?

Seriously. Is kissing first base? Or is that just a given? Are there different bases for above clothes or underneath clothes touching? Have the bases changed, now that girls dress like hoochies and, if you believe the news, give mouth hugs to anybody who asks?

I can figure out what a home run is. I mean, I was raised on cable TV. But the bases? A mystery.

I am a married woman, so I have managed to have a somewhat successful dating life despite my horrible lack of bases knowledge. However, in my relationship with My Guy, I'm pretty sure he sees the bases like this:
First base: Kissing
Second base: I let her hold the remote. Not a euphemism.
Third base: Gettin' it on
Home run: She made meatloaf! And that's not a euphemism!

It can't last forever, right?

I just downloaded photos of my camera for the first time since August.

Yes, that was 6 months ago.

I rediscovered some great stuff. Remember that time the labradoodles got into a bag of fiberfill, but I couldn't bring myself to clean it up because a) they were so happy; and b) it made our basement look like heaven?
Ah. Good times.

But most of the photos are a series of before and during photos that document our current renovations.

This would be the master bath "before."This is the bathroom where we found a half-eaten bowl of rice and beans in a drawer.
After the demo, our driveway looked like this.Sadly, I wasn't able to salvage the shower or toilet for use as planters. I guess the landscape design will have to wait.

Sure, this looks scary. But it's a sign of fresh tile.Bet your living room isn't this spacious. Bet it doesn't have a mattress in it, either.And I bet your dining room is a bit more spacious.
Think we need to touch up?
It's overwhelming. But ... at least the house still has all the original doorknobs.
So, I'm gonna focus on that.