Another stupid fish story

So for those of you who know me and those lucky enough to be getting to know me :) , must know that I enjoy fishing from time to time. A very theraputic sport that allows me to float around in my small inflatable raft and take in the awesome scenery that keeps me in Colorado. A week ago, more or less, I had a very successful day at Dumont Lake just east of Steamboat. Successful, in that, it was a beautiful evening, I caught six gorgeous fish, and Lenny (the 9month old terror puppy) had a blast playing in and around the lake. We raced home with our trophy fish on ice intending to clean the fish at home. It is fall here in Steamboat and as soon as the sun starts to go down, it is getting quite chilly. So, the thought of cleaning the fish at the lake was just too cold for me. Much better to be in my nice warm garage! Remembering the stench from the warm weeks before, when I had put the fish guts in the trash can, I had hoped that my dear Mark would perhaps take the bag of fish guts and dispose them at his office dumpster. Monday morning rolled around and the fish guts remained on the shop table in the garage. Tuesday rolled around and the fish guts remained in the bag in the garage.

I have been on a diet and trying to eat well during the week. On this particular Tuesday, I was scheduled to eat a tuna sandwich. (Do you see this story tying in together at all????) Anyways, since I'm on this diet, I make the trek home to make my tuna sandwich. I venture into the backyard to check on Lenny and for some reason he is glued to the garage. I proceed to investigate and voila', there are fish guts strung from one end of the garage to the other and Lenny is looking down in shame. Gag! Gag! Gag! I decide that I have to pick them up then and there because I cannot continue to allow Lenny to feast on rotting fish intestines and such. After feeling the vomit rise in my throat several times, I manage to get the remaining fish guts back into a bag and then double bag them. Taking the bag to my own car, I decide that I am going to have to take control of the destiny of these fish guts and dispose of them myself. Gag....again.

But, now I am starving, did I mention the diet? Grrr! Ever try to eat a tuna fish sandwich with rotted fish gut smell on your hands? I was so hungry, yet so smelly. Fish smell does not go away after washing your hands 51 times. I know. I did it. So, here I am, trying to throw pieces of tuna fish sandwich into the air and into my mouth so my hands don't go near my nose and gross me out. Needless to say, I only ate half of the sandwich, Lenny got the rest.

You'll shoot yer eye out !

Accidents always come in threes! Thank heavens I didn't have access to a Red Rider BB gun or I would have been in trouble yesterday. After hearing my stupid ramblings, you'll appreciate why I've decided that I rather like my new black eye!

Now, lets just say it all started with the makings of a sty! Yes, girls, a sty in my eye! Don't ask me what a sty is, but whatever this painful bump is underneath my lower eyelid is, I am choosing to call it a sty. Cause it sounds cool. So, my sty-eye is already sore and looking good, mind you, when I decide to wrestle with my loveable baby dog, Lenny. Now, for those of you that know Lenny, he is adorable and huge at the same time with paws that could squash a watermelon better than a sledgehammer (for those of you who remember Gallagher). All it took was one swipe with the paw and I ended up with a nice deep scratch along my upper eyelid on the same eye. Cute. He looked at me with his baby dog eyes and was forgiven in an instant. But, now I was looking a bit abused. Did I mention that it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon? Yes girls, a perfect afternoon to go fishing. I had broken my fishing pole the weekend prior and all I needed to do was to re-string another pole and voi'la - I was off fishing! I found the perfect rod, the perfect wire, perfect reel, so there I sit on the front porch stringing up the new magnificant pole. During this tedius process I took the upper end of the pole off to make the pole stringing process a bit easier than trying to work with the full length of the pole. By placing the lower pole between my knees, I could concetrate on tying perfect knots and getting my lures ready. Damn! Dropped the lure. Reach down to grab it off the porch just as the end of the pole gauges my eye. Yep, blood running down my cheek making Mark consider 9-1-1 on the speed dial. Now, fortunately, I missed my eye BALL by a mere centimeter, but ended up with a nice cut just below the sty. Kinda hoped I'd hit the sty and kill two birds with one stone - OR - kill two stys with one pole - something like that.....

So, I am rather proud of my black eye, cause it could have been so much worse. So girls, if you start getting a pimple on your ass - don't, I mean DON'T go near a fishing pole !

How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll tootsie pop?

Things I thought I didn't know. What have you learned about life thats worth sharing?