Mister has found his love connection. (Suzanna Danna)

I am going to start writing this on Wednesday because I know I can’t finish it and hopefully by Thursday or Friday I will have pictures of a very sweet and lovable thing* to share with y’all.

*not my uterus.

Now, I want to talk about my uterus. For those of you who are sick to death of this shit, it’s okay baby. I understand. You don’t have to stay. Go over... um... Here... to Natalie Dee’s site. Enjoy a comic and a laugh. It’ okay. I’ll still be here when you come back. And hopefully by then I won’t be talking about my uterus.

So, we all know what happened last year in March right? For those of you who are new to the game, long story short... Operation Barren was not successful. The tubal ligation was not performed because of blah blah blah (not important) and I had just the ablation instead.

The ablation was to make my uterus uninhabitable for a fetus to grow rendering me barren. 90 seconds of electricity and burning off the lining of my uterus should have done it right? NO. I went a few weeks later and had an HSG, basically a fluoroscope into my princess with dye and right there in black and white my perfectly open and unaffected tubes flushed everything through, it was a total let down.

My shit is jacked up. I have already had a tubal pregnancy and a c-section to prove it. I don’t trust vasectomies and I don’t like the idea of anyone messing around in Mister’s junk. And if you haven’t learned by now, I am a wee bit of a control freak about the whole, “It’s my body and if I don’t wanna have a baby, you can’t make me... (screechy) Dammit!” thing.

So, today I went to see my OBGYN. He’s a cool kind of cat and I was referred by a friend’s princess who vouched for his awesomeness.

That was sort of awkward sounding. Sorry.

And... I just followed my own link and spent about 27 minutes over at Natalie’s site. So I have three minutes to finish this... or to just make a continuation.

Oh yeah, the OBGYN guy, let’s just call him a cooch doctor. No, that doesn’t trip off the tongue at all does it? Gyno-Guy? Yes, that is better. Okay, so I went to see the Gyno-Guy because... well, he had asked me to get a mammogram last year around March-ish. And I was all over that shit in a hurry.

So I got one on Tuesday of last week.

I was really expecting the results to be there at the Gyno-Guy’s office when I got there today, but no go. T’was alright, I had another issue I wanted to bring to his attention, and it’s not like you can get one of those placard signs with a light up arrow and just point it at your crotch to hope he is a mind reader and just gives you a pamphlet or something. Really, you can’t. I tried it. Doesn’t work.

So I went to have a consultation. That is what they call it when you don’t have to do any landscaping or even shave your legs the morning of your Gyno-Guy appointment... a “consultation”. (Just for y’all’s piece of mind, I did shave my legs anyway because you never know when a brother’s gonna be all, “Let’s take a looksee here... alrighty?” I didn’t shave one morning when I was going to the dentist and lo and behold, “Let’s take a looksee, shall we?”... So after the exam, I was putting my pants back on and... um, no? Okay fine. Then I’ll just end with “That’s what she said.” Doesn’t work there? Little help?)

At the consultation my issue de jour was, “Um... you know how you guys burned off the lining to my uterus? Well, see, here’s the issue, I have a Super Uterus and it regenerates. I have been having my cycle since last year about August-ish. What can we do to shut ‘er down? I wanted a tubal ligation and a side order of ablation to cut off the babymakin at the pass, see? And all I got was a lousy hospital bill and a regenerating uterus.”

I was nicer and probably a bit more eloquent than that, but y’all get the point.

And so did he.

He scheduled me for another “procedure” for 3/28/08 and he was pretty cool about it even when he said, “I can’t promise that this will work. From your HSG it looks like there is no blockage, so it should be okay, but if it doesn’t work, we’ll figure something else out.”

This SO better work.

More tomorrow.

I have returned, tis the morrow.

Too early for Ren Faire jokes?

Okay how about this. No more talks of my princess. I will just tell you one other thing. Or maybe two other things.

Thing the first. Mister has lost an ass load of weight. His pants are all baggy in the butt and he has to go to the next notch on his belt like every week. Between the two of us we have lost over 50 pounds since 12/31/07 and he’s the one that has lost over 30. Can y’all believe that shit? He is actually going for the “results not typical” thing. And yes, I know. Dudes lose weight faster than women. Not really worried about that at all, and I am proud as hell for the man but I just thought about something.

Even if I lose to my goal and Mister loses to his goal all the money that we have saved not eating out is going to have to go to a new wardrobe for both of us. I will still be a porch butt on a (thicker) stick with T-Rex arms and he will be eleventy feet tall with gorilla arms. Our hotness will eclipse the sun and we will become famous. I am absolutely sure that Brangelina will be replaced by Mistersan. The paparazzi (whom I affectionately refer to as the pa-pa-zao) will be all hiding in the bushes when we take the dog to the vet and shit.

Dog to the vet? Wait a minute Mistersan, you guys don’t have a dog! Remember the awfulness that was the crazy and mental unstableness and cat-beating-uppingness of the puppy Galen?

Thing the second. Yes, we do remember that. I finally got Pappa over to Mamma’s way of thinking. Selected rant on Mamma’s way of thinking, Take One. Selection taken from Saturday evening at the Rotary Club Gala after Mamma had a few too many Three Olives Cherry, 7UP and Soda’s: “Oh My God. Yes, the puppy is cute, but please do not get into a bidding war with some rich, retired Willow Bend guy with an ego the size of his money clip! Yes, the puppy smells good. Yes, it is precious. But honey, it is a PUH-PPPEEEE, Puppy! And a Shih Tzu on top of that. Do you know how many times we will have to let him out during the night? We haven’t seen the parent’s, we don’t even know the breeder! Oh, please. Fine, if you want him.... fine... “

Ten minutes (I’m hiding in a crowd with my hand over my mouth in abject horror as the bidding keeps going and I can’t see Mister) later I hear the winner got the dog for $1275.00 and I was about to order another drink. Mumbling, “Oh dear Lord, what have we done?” Mister comes over smiling. I asked him, “Did you get your dog?” “Yep, let’s go pay them.” “Well, fuck.” “I’m kidding, there is no way in hell I would pay that kind of money for a dog.” “Oh Thank God. Please, baby, please” (Petting Mister’s chest like a drunken country club member) “... next time you want a dog. Get a dog. Adopt an older one, one with an established personality who will not terrorize our home... and for Pete’s sake, get a bigger one!”

We went home and I proceeded to put Mardi Gras beads on the cat and Mister took pictures of me with the cat and I would totally show you guys the pictures because they are hysterical but I can’t bring myself to do it because... well, because I was squatting. And I don’t care who you are, squatting is not attractive on anyone.... Brangalina!

Sunday morning rolls around and I stumble out of bed at the ass crack of 9 am. A heathen AND a late sleeper. See? This whole barren uterus thing does have its advantages. Mister had been up for hours. And apparently what he was doing was drinking his coffee while perusing the PetFinder.com website.

He showed me several older dogs, he showed me several older/bigger dogs and I was happy. All he wants in a pet is for it to lie at his feet when he gets home from work. The cat tries, but then the sneezing (on Mister’s side) starts and Max flees to the safety of a no-sneeze zone.

With a puppy they are basically retarded until they are 2. (Herding and Birddogs – really any kind of working/sporting dogs not lumped into the same category... no offense y’all.) And puppies chew and ruin your carpet and furniture and every other word is “no, no no noooooo”.

I have always had older cats and when in Nac we had older dogs. And those were the best. I adopted Max when he was four or so and he is awesome. He’s a cat/dog.

Mister found this place south of Dallas and found his dogmate for life on the Petfinder.com website. He didn’t see the exact dog on their personal site so he called with a heavy heart asking if they had already adopted him out. The dog that Mister was looking at was a 7 year old German Shepherd named Andrew 711. He has hip dysplasia and was previously adopted and brought back by a family with smaller children who would try to ride the dog like a horse. He would voice his protest, not barking, but sort of grunting like, “Get off of my back you little shit, this hurts. I am not a horse. Lemme alone!” and so the family brought him back (with one 2 year old child firmly attached to Andrew’s back legs) to the rescue center and they gladly took him back after asking the people to please remove their child from the painful hips of Andrew.

Gladly Andrew was still there and Mister asked if we could come and see him.

We packed up and headed south. When we got there the place was wonderful, large expanse of land, clean runs a nice lady to greet us and when Mister said, “Hi, I’m ___ and I spoke with you on the phone about Andrew 711.” Her face lit up like the sun. She took us to him and he was sitting on top of a dog crate. Ashley said that he was more comfortable up on the crate than on the concrete because of his hips. There were three dogs in his kennel, a very aggressive black female (she was beautiful) and two submissive males. After watching hundreds of hours of The Dog Whisperer I was confident that a submissive (but not timid or skittish) male is what would work for our household. Ashley went into the kennel to put the leash on Andrew and to help him off of the crate.

We took Andrew out on a long walk and he was so happy. Mister took a knee several times to pet the dog and let him smell us. We walked for about an hour and I asked if Mister wanted to look at any of the other dogs. He didn’t want to but I asked him to just speak with Ashley about the other dogs, just to do due diligence on picking the right one for him. Ashley asked what we were looking for and then told us that she had over 300 dogs there and if we were willing to take a special needs dog she would show us to a few others. Mister kept Andrew by his side as we walked the property and met (and rejected) several other dogs. Mister had found his love connection (canine style).

We did the paperwork and then Andrew walked right to our Tahoe and put his paws on the back bumper like, “Alright, let’s get out of here!” We opened up the back and he tried to get in and then looked at Mister with his beautiful copper eyes like, “Little help with the back part there buddy?” Mister lifted Andrew in and crawled in after him. Andrew’s tail was a thumping and on the way home we stopped at PetCo and let Andrew pick out a bed (got a little extra padding to go under the heavily padded bed), got his food, the food we wanted to switch him to, one of those platforms to put his food up on to aid in digestion, a new collar, some treats and a toy or two.

We got home and Andrew and Mister walked the perimeter of the back yard, Andrew did his business and then he flopped down at Mister’s feet and grinned up at him happily. Y’all, I thought Mister was going to cry. Here was a calm, submissive, massive, beautiful, full blooded German Shepherd that had bad hips to Mister’s bad knees. They are a match made in heaven.

Sunday night we figured out that Andrew didn’t answer to the name Andrew. He came to whistles, clicks, “puppy”, “baby”, “hey buddy” and almost everything else so we decided to go on a name quest. He needed something that he liked and would answer to. We threw every name at him and he calmly would sigh or look away as if we had hurt his feelings with, Günter, Tanner, Wolfgang... ect. He just wasn’t having it. But he was very good about sleeping in his massive dog bed and waking me with a teeny whine and a blow fish puff of air in my face. I would wake Mister and he would take the dog out.

Monday rolled around and we were all, “Our fence is toothless, he doesn’t have an enclosure, we don’t have a doggie door, what are we going to do?” “Let’s leave him in the house and see what happens.” “Um, alright.”

I made calls all Monday looking for estimates for our fence. I had several people ask if they could meet me Monday afternoon. I asked for the rest of the day off itching to get home and see if there was a house left to put a fence behind and thinking that the dog would meet me at the door with the cat’s severed head in his mouth. When I got home Max was sitting in his normal spot, the window in the dining room watching the world go by and when I went inside this is what I found: nothing. No messes, the dog hadn’t touched the cat’s food or the cat’s water, the cat was alive, there was no marking or piles of poop. It was like... it was refreshing. The dog freaking rocks.

We can leave him at home, alone with the cat and no supervision while we are at work and everything is fine. He loves to lay by Mister’s feet and the dog and cat have an easy relationship of touching noses every once in a while. Our little family is complete.

And my parents are SO not behind this venture. My mother said, “I won’t come to your house for a year!” See you guys in a year then.

We finally figured out a name for him last night between our dinner, his dinner, a walk and watching Paranormal State**. His name is Zeke. Like it? He seems to.

Zeke%20profile%20in%20backyard%202-28-08%20cropped%20for%20net.JPG

This is a picture I took of Zeke this morning before I left for work. Isn’t he gorgeous?

**Freaking love that show.

Suzanna Danna

Princess of Irony

Mister has found his love connection.

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