So… it’s finally done. The end of the world is upon us because same sex marriage is now legal. Or perhaps absolutely positively nothing will be different for me when I wake up tomorrow.   You know, since I won’t be busy planning a wedding since I’m not gay. Just like it will not be different for all the other hetero people on earth, even the ones all busy with the ‘’It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve’’ picketing and the gnashing of teeth about the whole thing causing the Armageddon. I guess it will be different in that they might need to find something new to hate on. Silly me; the legality of same sex marriage is not going to stop the haters from hating. That’s like saying legalizing pot is going to stop the weed from being delightful.

Anyhoo…. In case you didn’t notice from the intro, Ralphie Nugget celebrates pride. He would like to officially celebrate pride on Facebook, but his human is too dumb to figure out how to do it on his page. So only his mama’s page has the official celebrate pride photo. Nonetheless, Ralphie is a huge celebrater of pride, along with diversity, freedom, recovery, birthdays, and good times, c’mon.

Granted, he is just a dog (and some would argue next in line to fight for marriage equality after last week’s Supreme Court ruling that will ruin life as we know it), but his logic seems to be sound. Ralphie believes that everyone should have the right to be as miserable as opposite sex married couples. I mean, let’s face it, if being married were all that grand, the haters would be too busy enjoying the company of their opposite sex spouse to be out picketing.

With that being said, we also support the right of the picketers to picket and say whatever the hell they want, regardless of how ludicrous or hateful it may be. Free speech is what keeps this crappy website going. I would recommend, however, that perhaps the picketers do a little work in a soup kitchen or pick up some roadside trash once they are done vomiting their hate-filled invective. You know, to counterbalance the venom. Said the pot to the kettle.

And now, back to the topic at hand. We don’t discuss homosexuality and the fight for marriage equality very often at Chateau Nugget (pronounced New-zhay) because 1. We think it should be a non-issue, and 2. Because we are too busy being distraught about Jon Stewart leaving The Daily Show. (Stew Beef!!!!) Plus, because Ralphie can’t read (yet), he is not aware of the debate our nation has been undergoing regarding marriage equality. This is what Ralphie knows: the dog park is way more fun when everyone plays together instead of when they fight. Also, if a dog wants to hump a dog of the same sex, as long as the humper and the humpee are happy, no one else cares.

As a dog, he understands that other dogs bite. Sometimes it is a dog he thought he knew and shared a kinship with, only to be disappointed to find the other dog is not balanced enough (thank you, Cesar Millan) to be able to accept a change in his environment without attack. Ralphie has learned that the best recourse is avoidance of the unbalanced. Every once in awhile, though, there is such an unbalanced beast that it is dangerous to the community as a whole and must be reported.   And here it is: Josh Robinson. Please do everything you can to protect yourself from this vicious attacker, aka Beware of Dog.

But enough of the negativity. This is a time of celebration! You know why? Because a celebration is not a celebration without cake! And cake is the best! So get to the nearest bakery and get yourself a rainbow icing cake and let the celebration begin! Damn, now I’m hungry. And I digress; back to Ralphie…

Usually at this point I would try to pull it all together with a nice, witty wrap-up, probably mentioning how humans have a lot to learn from dogs. But today, because Ralphie Nugget cannot speak (yet), he would like me to summarize this way: Please send Milk-Bones. Thank you.


Shameless plug to those of you planning a wedding: A Little White Wedding Chapel, Las Vegas; make sure you have Elvis sing.




How can anyone believe a man who says he knows how to fix our country when he can’t figure out how to fix his own hair?


Trump 2016

Trump 2016


It is unclear to me why I have always wanted to go to Greece, so I will blame literacy. At some point in time I’m certain I read something about how awesome Greece is and decided I needed to be part of that. Same thing with Easter Island. Not sure how or why, but it came to my attention that I needed to see the moai. After looking at a map, I settled for seeing one of the moai at the Smithsonian. Easter Island is really far away and officially nothing to do there but look at rocks. (In retrospect, Greece was a bit like that, too. But I’m getting ahead of myself.)


Moai of Easter Island - old rocks on barren landscape

Moai of Easter Island – old rocks on barren landscape

Acropolis in Greece - old rocks on barren landscape

Acropolis in Greece – old rocks on barren landscape

Anyway… When Travelzoo offered up a super cheap, ten day trip to Greece, we decided to go. Before pulling the trigger, we discussed how difficult our prior trip to the Mediterranean had been on our weak bodies and how we had vowed to never return to Europe. Then, like Mama Dugger, we forgot about the labor-esque pain involved in travel and decided to have another vacation baby. And off we went to Greece. Thanks to Obama visiting the City of Brotherly Love, we were delayed on the Philly runway for over an hour while Air Force One took off, making the flights to and from Greece over ten hours long. I believe sitting contorted in the plane realizing we had not yet left America, we still had a 10+ hour flight ahead of us, and we were already miserable was when we first realized maybe Greece wasn’t our best idea.

And so began the vacation of “Greece is… fine.”  We started at Kamari Beach in Santorini, which we soon learned is the Jersey Shore of the Mediterranean: so much big hair and so many mullets; such bad teeth; so much bedazzling; so many ladies over the age of 40 buying their clothes in the juniors section; so many bad tattoos. To wit: if someone tells you that your Hello Kitty tattoo looks like a spider, probably a mistake to get that tat. But the beauty of the landscape more than made up for the questionable choices of our fellow travelers. Greece really is as pretty as a picture.

Kamari Beach, Santorini

Kamari Beach, Santorini

And the food. Ahh, the food. The Greek food is SO good and it is nothing like Greek food in America. If you are eating Fage and think you are eating Greek yogurt, I am here to tell you that you are wrong. Greek yogurt is entirely different—different texture, different taste, different consistency, different weight, different everything. Well, they are both white, but that’s about where the similarities end. Greek yogurt to American Greek yogurt is like HoHos (may they rest in peace) to Swiss Rolls. The Swiss Roll is a fine food, but it will never be as wonderful as a HoHo.

Greek beer is even better. The three most common Hellenic beers–Alfa, Mythos, and Fix–are all lagers, so they taste like beer should taste. They are light, refreshing, and served ice cold. None have the consistency of cough syrup, nor do they taste like raspberries or chocolate. They are the perfect drink for sitting at a taverna by the sea and watching the world go by.   We took to this routine like a local. Well, except for the smoking like a chimney part that the locals like to participate in. We are far too weak to be smokers.

It is quite possible that we found ourselves spending so much time in the tavernas because we found the Greek food, drink, and people to be so delightful; or perhaps it was because our hotel room contained a trash can full of poopy toilet paper rags that could not be flushed down the crapper. Yes, you read that correctly. In Santorini, it is customary to flush only your bodily output, not the TP used to wipe your ass. Am I the only one thinking that would have been something nice for Eugene Fodor to include in the Greece travel book I depended upon to prepare me for my Greek adventure? I’m not saying this would have kept me from going to Greece, but it certainly would have saved me from the gross out factor once I arrived. FYI: I have learned (Thanks, Beth) this is also common practice in parts of Chile, so plan your vacation to Chile accordingly.

In addition to the poop rags in a bucket thing, there were no wash cloths. I was prepared for this one, however, since it seems Americans are the only people obsessive about cleaning themselves thoroughly. At least this one is. The hotel was lovely and the room was exceptionally large for Europe, but it was impossible for us to get a good night’s sleep on the hobbit cots. Two twin beds were expected; beds the size of crib mattresses and seemingly stuffed with straw, not so much.

After three days in Santorini, including one spent doing volcano sprints to Ancient Thira because I refused to be outdone by a young lady wearing a sundress and shower shoes and carrying her purse up the side of the mountain, it was off on the ferry to Mykonos. I had done my due diligence for Mykonos and highlighted all the sites I hoped to see in my sub-par Fodor’s travel book, expecting it to take at least one full day—perhaps two—to see everything. Yeah, we were done in an hour. Hora is a very small town.

We were able to kill some time looking at a map, since in Greece a map is more of a suggestion than actual directions. So we went back to doing what we do best—eating. Mykonos is where I learned what baklava is supposed to taste like, and that ordering a beer to drink with your wine is not frowned upon. By this point we had grown accustomed to the over-sized serving portions and ridiculously cheap prices, but we were taken aback when the waiter brought us shots of ouzo at the end of our meal. You know, just because we had been there twice. When was the last time that happened in America? Yeah, never.

We drank beer with wine

We drank beer with wine

Our Mykonos hotel had beds that were comfortable and, even better, there was no sign over the toilet advising that my poop rags should not be flushed. Good times! Also, there were two beautiful wash cloths on the sink when we arrived. Heaven, sheer heaven! Oddly, the second day there were no wash cloths left in the room, and when I asked at the front desk if I could have some, I was told they ‘’would see if they could find some.’’ And that was the end of the wash cloths. And the hot water.

Day three in Mykonos is when the inevitable happened: we started getting a sick. We spent the day at the pool of the hotel, since we had already seen the town—twice—and were not feeling strong enough for any additional adventures. It was a lovely and relaxing area, as long as you didn’t need to breathe. The main highway was directly on the other side of the garden wall, so the aroma of diesel filled the air. But thanks to our stuffy noggins, breathing was becoming a relative term anyway. That night, our plan to get a good night’s rest before the six-hour ferry ride to Athens the next day was kiboshed by the coked-up Asian in the room beside us, who played the TV at volume 20 while yelling at the TV at volume 40 until, around 2 am, he apparently decided to start throwing his furniture against the walls.

Hotel garden - Mykonos

Hotel garden – Mykonos

Because I am a chronic over-packer, I brought cold medicine on the trip; however, I did not bring enough for two people for multiple days. Once on the ferry, I discovered that Hall’s cough drops were the only option for cold relief. It’s the ‘’put some ‘tussin on it’’ (Chris Rock; Google it.) of Greece. Sadly, my goal of catching up on my rest on the ferry was foiled by 1. A father-son duo sitting beside us and failing to use their inside voices, and 2. A group of folk singers that struck up an impromptu jam session which lasted for hours. I was torn between being grateful that I was experiencing something unique and wanting to poke everyone’s eyes out with sticks. In the end, I sat and stewed in my own evil while waiting for the Hall’s mentho-lyptus to stop my coughing fit.

Here’s something: Athens has five million people. Also, there are almost 1500 Greek islands, with only about 250 inhabited. File this under ‘’learn something new every day.’’  Unsolved mystery:  Why does Mykonos hate Ibiza?

When we walked into the hotel in Athens it was lovely. It’s a four-star hotel in a nice section of the city. The staff is very attentive and welcoming. (What Henry Miller wrote about the Greeks in the 1940s is still true; they are a wonderful people.) When we left the lobby area and walked into our hotel room, we were assaulted by the stench of cigarettes, urine, and vomit. Even through our clogged heads, the place reeked like a frat house after pledge week. Since the décor was from the sixties, I’m certain the stench was older than my total bad ass husband (PTST). But at this point, we were surviving only by counting the minutes until we got to go home. So we fell face first into the biohazard beds and listened to people yell in the hallways for the rest of the night.

Our one day in Athens was spent at the Acropolis with twelve billion of our fellow travelers. It would have probably been a better choice for us to just stay in the neighborhood of the hotel and relax instead of hiking another mountain to see an old pile of rocks, but I feared I would be struck dead by Zeus if I were in Athens and did not visit the Acropolis. True to what our tour guide said, it was a magical experience. But it’s a little difficult to enjoy the magic when you are constantly being shoved and elbowed by people determined to do whatever it takes to get the perfect photo with their selfie sticks. Nontheless, you will not find a Youtube video of me shoving a selfie-stick toting idiot off the side of the cliff, but it was close.

The Acropolis is currently under renovation, so we have a lot of pictures of the Parthenon covered in scaffolding. Which is fine, since you cannot get a shot of it without the rest of the people holding selfie sticks in front of it anyway. We did get to see enough of it for my total bad ass husband (PTST) to declare the Parthenon is the original Legos. He also noted that Greece, a bankrupt country, has better roads than West Virginia. I believe this was the extent of his impressions of Greece. And then, finally, it was time to return home.

The original Legos - with a few billion selfie-stick toting tourists

The original Legos – with a few billion selfie-stick toting tourists

In the end, the only thing really wrong with Greece was the people visiting it. Well, plus the trash; there was a lot of trash. But no bums. That was a pleasant surprise–no one asking “Braidy, lady?” or “Tic Tac, ma’am?” or “Spare some change?” or looking for a random act of kindness. Although one young gal did almost lose her hand when she offered my sick husband a ‘’free’’ rose.

Having realized the “Greece is… fine” sentiment is due mostly to our miserable souls, the world’s worst travelers have committed ourselves to a future of staycations. We are confident that our free time will be better spent at home. Well, except for the part where we are going to Niagara Falls in September. There ya go; we have learned nothing. We are idiots.



After enjoying slightly over a month of living on the dole, we are back to being productive adults here on earth. Or as some (dbags) call it, citizens of the world.

My total bad ass husband (PTST) has obtained a new job doing the same thing as before–working with computers. I have given up retirement and rejoined the work force in a new field–unloading the delivery truck at TJ Maxx. We spent our down time in meditation and reflection, focusing on making ourselves better people. Yeah, no. We went to Greece. Because that’s what all fiscally responsible people do when they are jobless.

Having enjoyed a year of living a life of leisure, I found I missed working. Not the 60+ hour weeks of “doing a deep dive” or the working weekends and nights because “this has been escalated to VP level” (what the manager hears: this is very important and must be done right away; what the engineer hears: this goes right to the bottom of my To Do list), and certainly not the ‘’we’ve come a long way, got a long way to go’’ team meetings; but once all the projects I listed out to do around the house were done–or at least the ones I will ever actually do–I missed being gainfully employed. At the end of the day, there were only so many times I could walk the dog around the block, only so many flowers I could plant, only so many trips to Walmart I could make, only so many conversations about the dire road situation I could have with the neighbors. I had to admit I am one of those weirdos who actually like to work.

So when I saw the sign at TJ Maxx seeking employees to work 20-25 hours per week in the supply room, it seemed like a perfect fit. And there you have it; how hard could that be?  Well, let me tell ya…

4:30 in the morning is an ungodly hour; even the dog refuses to wake up at that time. Fortunately after two weeks, I have shaved 15 minutes off my morning routine and can now lay up in bed until 4:45. Also fortunately for me, deer apparently never sleep. So there are plenty of them to guide me to work by darting, or meandering, directly in front of my car as I drive.

Here’s something: when you spend your entire career sitting in front of a computer, your body does not care to stand up for five straight hours, much less spend those five hours unpacking boxes and sorting clothes. My body has expressed this displeasure in numerous ways, most obviously by head to toe pain. My finger muscles are sore. Who knew that was even possible? Liberace, that’s who. He was genius.   Anyways, I expected tired legs and feet, exhausted fingertips not so much.

In happy news, I am pleased—and shocked– I have been advised my lunch can be placed in the refrigerator without fear of having it stolen, as long as my name is on it. If this turns out to be true (I remain doubtful), it will be the first time in all my many, many, many, many break room experiences in which my Diet Coke does not go missing before I have the chance to swill it down.

In unhappy news, I have learned that people steal crap. And I mean that literally. I have found evidence of people stealing an $8 Iphone cases and $4 earrings. Really? Is it really worth burning in hell for a pair of earrings that is going to turn your lobes green? Do you really think your Iphone needs a case to protect it from the flames of Hades so you hear Satan static-free when he calls you to stoke the fires? If so, might I refer you to the fine, fine Nicolas Cage vehicle of 2000, The Family Man; to quote Cash, “Character. And for what, for nine bucks? That’s just so disappointing.”

Body pain and the evidence of the demise of morality aside, I am enjoying being back to work. At least today. We will see what happens tomorrow when I have to crawl out of bed before the birds…

Next up: Greece is… fine.