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November 25, 2003

Bathing Cats and Employment!

Morning conversation with Mister:

Me: Max may be allergic to this colder weather or something because he has a little bit of the ‘tail where it attaches to the back’ area dandruff.

Mister: Really? Well, have you bathed him lately?

No. I mean, I have never bathed a cat in my life.

[all shocked like] You haven’t?

Um, no. Our family cat, Lucy, was with us for uh…. 16 years or so and she never had a bath … ever.

Well, maybe you should give Boo [Max] a bath.

I wouldn’t even know where to begin my love. Maybe Maxxie has the allergies because he is more of a pure bred cat and Lucy was more mutt-like with none of the kitty dandruff/allergy stuff….. Hmmmm

Well, from what I understand it is sort of the same concept of washing or bathing babies.

Babies huh?

Yeah.

Really?

Yeah, … well, you put them in a bucket…

[I interrupt braying laughter.] Inna bucket? -snort- Heh, you bathe babies in a bucket?

No no no no… you bathe cats in a bucket….

Heh heh, inna bucket… [I had the thought for a marketing ploy … “Bucket O’ Baby” and continued to laugh]

[Mister continues over my chortling with a sound explanation] No, sheesh, you put cats in a bucket with warm water, but make sure their little front paws are on the edge of the bucket so they feel safe….

Maybe I’ll just call PetCo to see if they do kitty grooming.

Why? You don’t want Boo-kitty to associate you with him getting a bath?

No, not really, and I also would like to keep my skin in one piece.

He doesn’t have front claws anymore.

Nope, but he still has a mouth full of sharp teeth.

…. Ooooh, Lookit what’s on the History Channel….

************************************

So, I am going to call PetCo today to see if they do cat grooming. I have some reservations about giving him a bath because I don’t want to mess up the ‘natural order’ of things, yanno?

In other news, I GOT A FRIGGIN JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Rockin! Woo Hoo! Yay!

I start next Monday. I am so pumped!!!!!!!!

I get this whole week to get my stuff in order. I have the Thanksgiving Holiday to spend with my family… and then I go back to work on Monday. God Bless a friend of mine. She and I were on the same committee for planning a convention once a year for a local chapter of Association Executives. I won’t mention the whole thing here, would hate to be found via Google on that. Annnnnnnnnyway… when we had the wrap-up meeting a few weeks ago, I mentioned that I was looking for employment.

Bada-bing, Bada-boom.

She called me later that week and asked what I was looking for. I told her Association work, mainly event or meeting planning. She said that she knew of a company looking for someone. Several interviews ensued and POW! I got the job!

The match is perfect!

I could not be anymore excited!

Thank all of you who sent me notes, comments and emails (phone calls too) of encouragement. I really appreciate all of the positive reinforcement. Thank you.

Have a great Tuesday and be Thankful for your loved ones!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

P.S. Note to self. You are such a dork. I just sent out my notify that a new update was on the way and I actually took a glance at the list of notify-ers. My old work email was on there so I could make sure the notify list was really working. Yes, I am a dumb ass. No, I don’t need to be reminded.
There really was a reason for it. When I first started my diary, nothing worked correctly. I removed that email address just now. JUST NOW. All emails that didn’t go to myself, my co-worker or my boss at my old job went directly into my boss’s email bin.
The reason for this explanation is that: I have updated twice since I was let go. I am sure that hand-boss is receiving the “update notify” information. A Direct link to my diary.


If you are here ex-boss, please note that you are reading my personal thoughts that were written in during my personal time.. Please leave. Thank you.

December 27, 2004

I did find true love on the Internet. Once.

I had just gotten back from Vegas. My feet were aching and I had a bruise under the toenails of both big toes from my feet swelling in the Vegas heat. Being on your feet for 14 hour days and then going dancing at Ra several nights in a row was not the smartest move I had ever made, but it sure was fun.

I was lucky enough to catch an early flight that night and I got back to my apartment and climbed the three flights to my little haven with the chilly air conditioning and my comfy couch.

It was so quiet. The only noise was the steady hum of the air conditioner, the drop of the ice in the icemaker and the baby box fan on my bureau in my bedroom.

Too quiet.

It was too late to call anyone to go out, I was beat anyway. I still needed to do laundry and get myself put together for work in the morning.

I slipped Al Green's Greatest Hits into the cd player and pushed play, then I started the laundry and sat down at my computer.

I checked my email, nothing new, just a couple of pieces of spam, a few notes from Kim, one from Amy, one from Kate and… hmmm, what’s this? A note asking me to come into the IRC channel I used to frequent. Apparently there was some pretty juicy gossip afoot.

I logged into IRC, did the password thing, hopped into channel and immediately got bombarded by a bunch of newbies with private messages asking “Age? Sex? Location?” I ignored them or told them to collectively fuck off and found my girlfriend Amy, she was an operator in the channel and she was the one who asked me to come in when I got home.

Amy: Hey chica.
Me: What’s up?
Amy: You’re never going to believe this…
Me: Try me..
Amy: First… how was your trip?
Me: Stop stalling… it was fine, give up the gossip sweets.
Amy: Well, Marcus was in here earlier and he was asking about you.
Me: Marcus? No shit? I thought he’d given up. Last thing I knew, his ex-wife moved back to town and brought his kids with her.
Amy: Well check this out….

Amy told me that he had been in the channel and she was curious, so she pinged his IP address and did a “whois” on his nickname to see if it was him and what channels he was in. Some very interesting information came up when she did that.

He was visiting some “married-but-bi” channels or something.

I was aware of Marcus’s leanings hence the ex term in front of the boyfriend moniker. There was more, so very much more as to why we weren’t together but I was done with him and not really worried about his sexual orientation.

Amy: That’s not really the reason I asked you to come online.
Me: What’s the deal?
Amy: Did he ever take a picture of you?
Me: Ames, how long was he hanging around? Since God was in short pants right?
Amy: Riiiiiiiight.
Me: Oh, no.
Amy: Oh yes.
Me: What did he do?
Amy: Well, he’s in some gay/bi/married channel or something and he has a picture of you that he’s sending out as himself with the name of Amanda on it.
Me: Isn’t that his ex-wife’s name?.... Oh shit.

So, a fun filled evening of finding out what pictures of me were floating around some sleazy channel (and the Internet) was the order of business. I called him on it and seriously considered putting an ad with his real home phone and address in a gay men’s magazine or just making neon flyers and passing them out down in the gay district of Dallas… but alas, my nice side won out and I just placated myself with thinking of him working at Burger King.

I was so exhausted and lonely and tired of the bullshit.

All of the years of swallowing the bitterness. All of the darkness I kept hiding within myself. All of the forced grins when I was grimacing on the inside.

I was done.

All I had ever wanted was to love something and be loved.

The games and being used were wearing me out in a big way. I had been used financially, emotionally, sexually… you name it.

I fell, like so many women, into a trap of basically “playing with whomever came to the door”. I was not choosy. I didn’t feel like I had any right to be. After all, I was just some broad with a college education, no family, no boyfriend, no history (that I wanted to share with anyone) and no future. And to top it off, I had a tubal pregnancy/miscarriage and a divorce under my belt.

What a catch.

I decided that I. Was. Through.

Right then and there.

I told all of my on again and off again boyfriends that I was done with them and for once in my life I burned bridges and ended friendships. I ended a friendship with a girlfriend that was not mutually beneficial. You ladies know the type, those girlfriends that take and take and take. They demand you be somewhere and then take some more, they wear you down with their drama and their neediness.

Emotional vampires. All of them.

I let them all go.

I stopped reading Vogue and Cosmo and anything that would make me feel more like a humongous piece of shit for not having a man and not being a size two at 5’8”. Fuck them too.

I spent hours and hours with Stacey at various bars and hangouts finally venting my frustrations and lancing my bitterness. Slowly the torrent of hate, frustration and anger eased to a trickle. God love her, she endured probably more than a girlfriend has a right to ask another one to, and for that, Stacey, Thank You.

Then I got online and found the perfect man. Shut up. I did find true love on the Internet. Once.

I searched and searched for him. I looked high and low. I looked in Dallas and the surrounding areas. I asked friends (the ones I had left) and neighbors. I consulted the newspaper and the want ads.

I found him.

He was young, well muscled, quiet, kind of shy and had the prettiest green eyes I had ever seen.

I went to pick up Max on June 17th, 2002 at the Irving SPCA. They had him listed as a Russian Blue, which I believe he is partly. They had him named Smokey. He was placed in the pound, which is a no-kill shelter, on February 5th, 2002. He was a fully intact male until June 5th, 2002. For those of you who don’t know, that means that he was most likely locked in his tiny little kitty cage for those 5 and one half long ass months.

They didn’t have the funds to fix him until then, and they won’t let them out with the other cats until they are spayed or neutered.

When I went to go meet him that day he was sitting on the floor in the cat room with all of the other fixed cats. He had his eyes on the floor, his little front paws tucked under his chest and he just sat there. I let him smell me and he was totally uninterested. I could have been a piece of peat moss.

I pulled him into my lap and that’s when I noticed the abysmal shape his coat was in, there was feces in his tail from his litter box not being cleaned out, his fur was dull and lifeless and he had dander all over his fur. It looked like he had dandruff.

He didn’t resist me, he just sat there. He didn’t react to me petting him or arch into my touch. My heart almost broke.

I had to get him out of there.

I filled out the paperwork without breaking into tears and gave the lady $75. She gave me a cardboard box with holes in it and Max went into it willingly enough. I fled from that place and called the vet closest to my house and told them I was on my way.

I took Max to the vet, then to PetCo. He got a clean bill of health at the vet and some new cat food, a new litter box, new food dish and water dish, new litter liners, new litter, a new collar, a cat brush and a Kitty Kat Alpine Climber (complete with kitty kat crack) at PetCo. I took him everywhere… just inside the box. And I talked to him for the whole three hours it took us to run those errands.

I got to the house and I took him and all the kitty accoutrements upstairs to my little air-conditioned quiet abode. I put down the box, but left him inside of it. I got his water and his food set up, his litter box and his Kitty Kat Alpine Climber (complete with kitty kat crack) set up in the corner and I talked to him the whole time… then I let him out.

I sat in the middle of the living room floor with the kitty brush and let him wander around my little one bedroom, one bath apartment. He looked around for what seemed like forever and then came over to check me out.

I held the brush out to him and then started working on his coat, he rolled over like a dog and started purring.

He lets me sleep on him, hug him, cry on him and sing to him… and he doesn’t complain all that much about my singing.

Who says you can’t find love on the Internet?


December 7, 2005

Door to the kitchen? O-Pen. Cat? Nowhere.

Last Friday evening I came home from work a bit late. Mister was working his ass off and I had a project to finish and a hair appointment after work. I do most of my calling while on the way home from the office around 5:30 or so. So there I was chatting when I pulled into the driveway of our house at like 6:30.

I always hit the garage door opener when I am like two houses away because it makes me feel all warm and cozy to see the door already on its way up when I round the bend of the last fence and can actually see my driveway.

I was chatting away to my mother (who is doing quite well, thank you all for your good thoughts and prayers) and telling her that I just cut off my hair. She was very excited as she has been trying to get me to cut my hair off since Methuselah was in short pants.

As I was getting off the phone with momma, the other line beeped and I answered it with a hearty, “Holy CRAP!” It was Amy and I had not heard from her since… oh… 1975 or so. See? If you call me, I quickly hand over the soft core cursing as a greeting. I’m neighborly like that.

Ames and I chatted for a bit about her family and the kids’ school and how J. will one day cause her to go absolutely bat shit crazy. They are two peas in a pod, those two.

I gathered up my armloads of work stuff and personal stuff and Elvira – who weighs in at like 12 pounds – and got out of the hoopty.

I walked into the garage, still on the phone with Ames, and said, “Shit… the door to the house is standing wide open.”

I asked Amy to stay on the phone with me in case some crazed nut job wanted to put me in a well and tell me to put the lotion on my skin, or else I would get the hose. Also, because I was pretty sure that Max the fat grey wonder had escaped, I wandered around the first floor calling for Max while searching for the hidden serial killer.

Buffalo Bill did not come out of the closet at me or smack me with his creepy nipple ring or anything… so I only had one issue to deal with.

Max.

Damn cat.

I hung up with Amy and went upstairs to grab Mister’s mag-lite [Side note: Why does every man have one of these? Is it sort of like a rite of passage? When you get to be 25 or so is it mandated that you have to purchase a mag-lite or you will be thrown out of the man clan? Kind of like women and Corning Ware?] and I headed outside… in the dark… to look for a grey cat.

I started in the back and swept the alleyway with the beam from the flashlight and then headed west to walk the block. I came out of the alley one house down from mine, crossed over the street and looked in everyone’s bushes.

That sounded a little kinky.

I came to the front of our house and there, crouched in a ball of grey fur was Max. He was hunkered down next to the neighbors’ fence. When I spotted him, I called him to come to me and he… fucking… ran.

Gah.

He went along the entire front of our house in a modified crouch run and I swear I could hear him thinking, “hup hup hup hup hup hup”. He jumped into the flower bed and let out a tiny little, “meeeee?” and then took off again. He got to our fence, sidled up to the (other) neighbor’s fence… that is missing a slat… and dove through.

I followed him, I went through our gate on that side and when I got around to the back of the house he was in the garage, at the door to the house.

His tail was puffed out like he had just been posing for the arched back cat of Halloween pictures and he looked up at me and then pawed the door. “Meeee?” [purrrrrrrrrrrr] “Meee?.... mmrrrrrowwwww?” [purrrrrrrrrrrr] Like, “Let me in. I’m ready to go back inside. I had fun. It is cold. My tail is huge. Why are you swinging the tall man’s mag-lite like that?”

I let him back inside and he started immediately into his 2 minute aria of, “Gimmefood, Gimmmeeeee FOoooooooooooooOOOD! I am starving, can’t you see??? Gimmeeeeeeee! Mee?” All the while rubbing against my –


/small veer

Ya’ll? I started writing the above on the evening (9:30 pm) of Wednesday 11/23… I left the office in a huff that evening after putting the finishing touches on my nightmare of logistics that were to be the next thirteen days.

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving with Mister. We had dinner out. Out (!)? Yes, out. It was awesome and the company was amazing.

That Sunday (the 27th) I left for the first leg of my three city conference and I just got back last night.

I am beat.

Let’s see if I can even remember what I was talking about. All I know is that it was something about Max… the escape artist. /end veer


All the while rubbing against my – black pants, depositing as much of his fluffy grey fur as he could in one pass and then going back for the other side. I love this trick. He is good at the shedding, I tell you what.

I gave him some of his (::cough::) diet cat food and then went back to check on the door. Why had it been open? The twist lock works perfectly well. Then I pushed on it, and it opened with little to no resistance.

Max is always streeeeeeetching up along a door or wall and then he paws it like he is rolling up bread dough. As a matter of fact, when he sits on my lap he circles like a bird dog for a few minutes then he kneads my legs or my tummy. We ask him, “Maxxie? You makin biscuits?” as he works my thighs and belly into a suitably comfortable form.

So if he were to push on the garage door? If it were not properly closed… yeah, he could push it open with his kitty muscles.

On that Saturday Mister and I went to run some errands, get my left blinker fixed and to see Jarhead. (One word review… meh.) Mister followed me home from the dealership and when I turned the corner, the garage door was on its way up… and the door to the kitchen? O-Pen. Cat? Nowhere.

Gah.

The boo-kitty doesn’t have any front claws. He is not supposed to go outside. But he? Yeah, he thinks he is fucking Columbus. He stalks us throughout the house. He paws at us when we are coming up the stairs and he jumps out from behind the door and smacks me on the butt if I get up to pee in the night. Like, “Tag… you are it lady. Sleep? We don’t need no steenking sleep.” He is a dog cat. He fetches, he does tricks. He comes when he is called…. UNLESS he is outside.

So I went for the mag-lite and did the same sweep of the surrounding houses I did before. No cat.

Gato incommunicado.

I stayed out for a long time, and it was cold. I finally came back in the front door and Mister called to me from his office… “Baby, the cat just came in. He hollered at me from the garage and I let him in.”

I almost cried. I thought that he was really gone this time. Stupid door. Now, as opposed to using my garage door opener, I get out and use the key pad just so I can catch an errant kitty if need be.


Anyway, the past few days have been a beating. And I? I look like I took one.

Seriously. Thursday morning (12/1) I was in Houston and my wake up call came in at 4:30 am. I was struggling to wake up from a Tylenol PM induced haze and I answered the phone … quite aggressively. I grabbed the phone and promptly stuck my face with the pointy corner of the earpiece. I smacked myself right below my left eye… on the corner of my ocular bone.

I tell you what. I am one sexy bitch with this shiner.

It started out as a pretty good sized bump with a small blue bruise, about the size of my thumbnail. Since then, it has… uh… spread out. And the colors are quite impressive too.

I haven’t had a discolored face in a long time. Not since I caught a pop fly with my right eye while playing softball, thus ending my spectacularly short career playing any kind of sports with balls included.

Heh… balls.

And being a married woman the first thing out of everyone’s mouth is, “If you look like that… what does he look like?” It is hard to convince people that I am not a battered woman. Yesterday? While in San Antonio… a guy told me about the shelters in the area. I mean, after all… you have to be a special kind of stupid to crack yourself in the face with a phone.

One of my committee members actually said, “Yanno, I saw you Wednesday night… and Thursday morning you had this (points to my face). That is the only reason I don’t think that your husband did it. He’s not in Houston right?”

I appreciate all of the concern, really. And the joking, “Hey, tell him to hit you where it doesn’t show.” Well that? I really didn’t appreciate so much.

I’m back ya’ll. I’ll try to update again after I finish all this paperwork.

Much love and watch out for those phones, they are wily bastards.

Oh and please… send me your photos for the Cheese Off. I am thinking that I am going to pick a winner soon.
Go to this link here for information… and email the pictures to me at this address (just click babies).

April 21, 2006

I've never sent him to a prison and had him drown for my entertainment before either.

A few Sundays ago Mister and I moved our bed over to the new house so we could actually stay there. So the past few weeks have been a litany of packing stuff at the old house and moving it to the new one. Every day on the weekends and every night when we leave work we致e been going to the old house to knock out a closet here and pack up the pots and pans there.

The cat (formally known as Maximillian MaGillikitty the Third) has been very meow-y and mournful. He hates that we sold the old furniture last Friday and is all, 展ho moved my cheese, bitches?!�

We talked about when the best time to move the cat would be and decided that he should stay at the old house until we get everything situated in the new one so as not to freak him out any more than he already is.

The actual MOVE (it deserves capital letters) is tomorrow so I called a local cat place that specializes in the caring and grooming and boarding of the feline persuasion and booked Max a Cat Condo for tonight. I will pick him up tomorrow when THE MOVE is complete and we have his litter box all set up and there aren稚 scary movers coming in and out and leaving the door open and all of that noise.

Let痴 look at this for a moment shall we?

The cat is old, as far as cat痴 go. When I got him from the Irving SPCA they said, 徹h, he痴 uh� two. Or five.� And he has been my little kitty companion for the past four-plus years. His teeth are not attractive, one fang is broken in half and his breath smells like buzzard barf (tm Sars). We brush him almost daily and he loves to bite the little slicker comb and he has been accused of having a sordid affair with the Furminatorゥ grooming utensil. We feed him expensive prescription cat food to help with his urinary tract propensities and he gets his shots all on time. We have had his teeth cleaned and his breaks and pads rotated.

What I am trying to get at is that we take very good care of our little boy but damn, there is only so much I can do for the poor guy without the help of a professional.

So I asked the cat people if they could bathe him.

I know that I致e never bathed him. I know that Mister has never bathed him and I am going to lob a fairly good guess out there that the Irving SPCA people never bathed him either (what, with all the poop in his tail-fur when I adopted him). So, he痴� an older cat, around 9 years of age (at the vet痴 best guess)� and he痴 never been bathed. I asked the cat people what all is entailed in their grooming and their process sounds quite benign. They don稚 clip short haired cats so there won稚 be any loud, buzzing noises close to him and they dry them; after their three step bathing process; in a walk through dryer, a fairly quiet machine. So quiet in fact that the lady said most cats fall asleep during the drying process.

Have any of you had experience with this kind of stuff? Cat bathing? We致e moved Max twice already and he痴 never been one to mark/spray or act out� but then again, I致e never sent him to a prison and had him drown for my entertainment before either.

I am sure that is exactly what he is thinking right now.

This morning when I went to the old house to pick him up he was all, 滴ey, hey, hey� Hi. What痴 up? Wanna brush me? Look at me, I can run to the fireplace and pointedly look at the cat brush. Wait a second, why are you putting me in that box again?� I felt so bad. Ya値l Know.

He has been so sweet. Well, I致e been lucky and he痴 always been sweet� but he has been so happy to see us every day when we come over to pack. He normally meets us at the door to the garage when we come in as he has since we moved into that rental house so, meeting us at the door is no biggy until you consider that we have been in and out, moved and sold his furniture and generally jacked up his Kool-Aid. He is so forgiving that he has put away his great distaste for black garbage bags and has remained in my lap while I flap the bag around to throw something away or put together a bag of clothes for Goodwill.

He is such a sweet boy, I feel guilty for boarding him and getting him bathed before he moves into the new house. I know it is the best thing for him but damn� ya値l should have seen him holding on to my neck with his little front paws when I put him in his cat condo this morning. Talk about breaking a girl痴 heart.

July 7, 2006

Are you sure it isn't a rabbit? What about a rat?

Max: Lookit me. I am cute and cuddly and also quite a snuggler. I will love you and shed on you and make biscuits on your belly.

Self: I know buddy but your big daddy over there�

Mister: � What?

Self: Well, it goes like this Max, my little love�

Max: Oh shit. I can see where this is going. You would suck at poker� SUCK! Your face gives it all away.

Self: It won稚 be so bad my love.

Max: [releases a baleful puff of fur in response]

Self: Come on now Max, it isn稚 that bad. It is just a dog. A puppy. You値l grow to love him I promise.

Max: That痴 a pretty tall order there Dionne Warwick� why don稚 you tell it to your Psychic Friends Network.

Self: Oh. My. God. You are not even old enough to make references to some cheesy ass 1980痴 soothsayer.

Max: Soothsayer? SOOTHSAYER? Did you really just say soothsayer? And I am too old enough� and for your information Miss Traitor, I can watch VH1痴 I Love the 80痴 just as well as anyone.

Self: This is not about your VH1 addiction and we both know it. If you would just meet him�

Max: A dog. You brought a DOG into this house and you want me to be all cordial and shit?

Self: That would be nice. Yes.

Max: [sighs and turns his back]

Self: Look, you are going to have to meet him sooner or later.

Max: Do you not love me anymore?

Self: Oh honey, it isn稚 like we are trying to replace you. You are still our baby and always will be. No matter what you do, we will always love you and provide a home for you and brush you and give you nose rubs and you can head-butt us and make daddy sneeze�

Max: Is this about the ass-ing incident?

Self: N---

Max: Or because of my breath?

Self: N---

Max: Or because of my girlfriend?

Self: Boo, the ass-ing thing was an accident. You had no clue the lawn guy was going to start the leaf blower right next to the window when you were sitting on the back of the couch. And that stuff came out of the fabric anyways. And the breath? Uh, we-� no baby, your breath is fine. [gag] And last but not least honey� your girlfriend? Is a large, black leather tote. You have great taste in purses my little furry one, but in women? Not so much.

Max: So, where is this new member of the family? If I have to meet him, I have to meet him. Just expect to give me lots of brush time, attention out the ass (sorry, no pun intended) and treats. Lots of treats. Screw this Science Diet Prescription shit. Bring on the bacon!

Self: Mister? Would you bring the puppy over to meet Max?

Mister: Oh� sure�

Mister walks over and hands me the puppy.

Galen: So, you are the resident cat around here huh? Hmmm� may I taste your tail?

Max: What the fuck is that?

Self: Max, this is Galen, Galen this is Max. Galen, please stop trying to eat Max痴 tail. And Max? Watch your mouth young man.

Max: Is that a rabbit?

Self: No, Galen is a puppy. A baby dog. You have met dogs before.

Max: Are you sure it isn稚 a rabbit? What about a rat?

Self: Galen is not a rat.

Max: Can I eat him?

Self: No sir, you may not eat him. He is a puppy, he may just be two pounds of cuteness, but he is a puppy, not a snack.

Mister: This isn稚 going well is it?

I would like to report that Mister finally got the puppy he has wanted for years. Little Galen is a healthy, happy eight-week-old puppy that already has the basics of housetraining down after just a week in the SuzannaDanna household. Not one accident [knock on wood].

Max, however, is still not pleased.


October 16, 2007

The Princess and the Pee

Good morning poppets. I am ranty. I had a very strange day/evening yesterday that has bled into a strange morning today. Not too sure how many of you out there are into reading about the random minutiae that is my life but I have just about had it and want to share this award-winning bullshit with you, because that is what I do. I give, I am a giver.

Let me back up a few days. Over the weekend as Mister and I were being as slothful as we could (we were going for a record) I made mention that I needed to clean out the cat box. You know. One of those things you know you need to do but just the thought of it makes you throw up in your mouth a little bit. Right?

Max is a clean boy. He doesn’t even like to get in the litter box. He perches. He is a percher. He puts all four paws on the rim of the opening to his litter box and balances there precariously. It is like a mini kitty circus. Only trick? A cat taking a shit while on the tight rope.

He’s also not very bright. Don’t tell him I told you this or he would be mortified. He may be a little stupid, but he is prideful (and pretty). I had to go to an enclosed litter box many moons ago because sometimes he would perch... and have his ass facing the wrong way and just shit on the floor.

He also doesn’t like to touch the litter. So he doesn’t cover anything. He perches, does his business and then does that kitty-rake move on the inside cover of the litter box, the floor, the wall next to the litter box, the dryer... anything and everything that does exactly the opposite of covering his... waste. Nope, it just moves the air around better so we can all share in his gift of cat ass.

Which is lovely. And probably what brought up the thought in the first place. [As I walk by the laundry room.] ::Sniff:: “Hmmm, I need to clean out the cat box. Thanks for sharing Max.” “Mrow.” “No really, it’s lovely. Makes my eyes water and wonder why you won’t cover your own shit... but... thanks again man.” “Mrow. Purrrr-chirp.”

So the weekend goes by. Guess who doesn’t clean out the litter box? Me. You got it in one.

Okay, now that we’re up to speed, I will get you guys caught up on what happened yesterday.

Yesterday morning I was getting dressed and mind you, it had been storming all night. Massive lighting shows and thunder crashes. Huge rain drops pelting the windows and the roof. It was so loud. I was having some seriously jacked up dreams and they kept getting interrupted because of the light show and subsequent BOOOM!’s that were going on outside. Mother Nature was upset about something and showing it. So as I was getting ready I thought that I would take a bag, throw my make up in it (so I could leave early to help with the mess of traffic that I was sure was awaiting me outside), throw the shoes that I wanted to wear with my outfit in the bag, turn up the hems of my pants to my knees, wear flip flops and arm myself with a golf umbrella and make a mad dash to the car.

I did just that. Well, I tried to do just that. I left the make up off, folded my pants up to my knees, put on the flip flops, alarmed the house, stepped outside and locked the door then turned and opened the golf umbrella. It was coming down like... did any of you ever see “You, Me and Dupree”? You can admit it. I’ve seen it. But you know that part where it is a torrential downpour and the other two are in a car and they come to a T intersection and there in the headlights is Dupree sitting on a bench sopping wet? Then a bus comes by and sends up this massive tidal wave of nasty street water? Well, it wasn’t totally like that. But close.

It was coming down in those big fat raindrops that splash when they hit the ground so I was all sassy and thinking that I was so smart to wear flip flops and roll up my pants (which is totally a hot look) then I got to the sidewalk, the rainwater washed over my feet so I stepped into the grass and looked into the street. There was a mini creek of rainwater that went out to the ass end of my car, it was the same size on both streets and too wide for me to jump, so I just stepped into it and when I took my second step and tried to lift the foot behind me there was a sucking noise and the little mini creek took my motherfucking shoe.

I watched as it got washed under my car and then I was frantically trying to get to it before it washed down a gutter or something. So I had a bag slung over my arm, Elvira on my shoulder, a massive blue and white golf umbrella... one motherfucking shoe and I was chasing a flip flop down the street.

I got it but by that time I was soaking wet all over, what with all the splashing and the rain and the bent at the waist running to try and catch a renegade flip flop.

So I finally got to work (and hour and 15 minutes to go 11 miles) and I rolled down the legs of my pants and put on my cute shoes and went into the office. I put on my make up but not before taking a picture of myself pre and post make up that some of you have seen. Scary huh?

It was a strange day with many interruptions and organization and throwing away of stuff from 2002/2003 and getting ready for the upcoming gauntlet that I call October-December. Basically here is my “I’m Gone” schedule. 10/19/07, 10/21-23/07, 10/29/07, 11/7-9/07, 11/25-27/07, 11/28-30/07, Mister’s company party on the 1st of December, 12/2-5/07... not to mention department staff meetings, full company wide staff meetings, and the Thanksgiving Holidays. Suffice it to say, yesterday was kind of full.

I got home last night after stopping by Wal*Mart (shudder) for some packaged salmon, sun dried tomatoes in oil, that awesome Champagne salad dressing and filling up my tank with gas. (Remind me to give y’all that recipe for Salmon Pasta Salad. Easy and yummy!) When I walked in the house I (have an issue and have to clean the kitchen before I cook... anything... it’s a sickness, I know... but just let me have my thing... deal?) cleaned the kitchen, made the salmon pasta salad* and then let it cool in the fridge for a bit.

*When I went to drain the noodles I had to use a spatula to knock the strainer off of its’ perch on the third shelf. I can not reach it so I use tools. Like a monkey using a stick to get termites out of a mound or an otter using a rock to crack open a clam or something of the sort.

Mister and I ate as we watched parts of Jumanji (don’t judge me) and as I got up to go put the plates away and to check on the laundry situation. I noticed it. A smell. I have a nose like a blood hound and I normally notice things WAY before other people. A reason I don’t smoke until after work is because I don’t want to smell like cigarette smoke all day. I don’t do many perfumes... don’t like the strong smell of a lot of things. Mister had walked by this smell on his way in from the garage and didn’t notice it.

It wasn’t cat ass. It was pee.

Okay, let me back up again. The laundry room light is one of those fluorescent thingies that has been flickering (seizure inducing flickering... migraine causing flickering) since... Oh, since we moved in last March. One night it decided that, “Sure, I’ll come on when you flick the switch, but... eh, not all the way. I think I am going to go with a dim setting. Okay with you? No? Whatever. I’m a tired fluorescent light.” So I went to my little desk and got this desk lamp. It is a cheap desk lamp but I didn’t care, I needed to do laundry.

It takes 60 watt bulbs. Guess what I have on hand? 100 watt. I stuck one of those 100 watt bulbs in that lamp, plugged him in, put him on a shelf and turned it on. It was like doing laundry on the surface of the sun. I could see microscopic lint, I can wash the hell out of clothes and now I can see while I am doing so.

So.... I noticed this pee smell. I don’t like the pee smell. So I put on my flip flops (the same escaping flip flops from yesterday morning) and went into the laundry room. I flipped on my little 100 watt lamp, squinted and noticed that the cat had either decided that he didn’t like the state of affairs in his litter box, or he had his ass turned the wrong way when he went to relieve himself. He had pee’d on the little rubber mat right outside his litter box.

This will not do, pig.

I cursed because I figured that this little mess could have been avoided if I would have just cleaned out the litter box on Saturday. But nooooooooo.... I had to watch Fight Club and um... several awful programs (and by awful I mean awesome) on Discovery Health Channel (there should be a lock on that channel... I should never watch it... I end up blubbering like a hot wet mess by the end of each program. Like this... go ahead, click on it. I dare you.).

So there I was cursing. I pulled the laundry basket-sorter thingy out into the hallway, I pulled the vacuum cleaner out into the hallway, I went back into the laundry room and then noticed that I needed a roll of paper towels to clean up the mess and the paper towels were on the.... third shelf in the laundry room. Can’t reach. So, like an otter with a fucking rock, I took a clothes hanger and pulled one of the paper towel rolls down off the shelf. The roll came down and hit the little 100 watt in a 60 watt bulb lamp, the lamp tipped over and I went to catch it as not to add glass shards to the things I had to clean up. But what I actually did was, catch the paper towels, knock the lamp further over and burn the shit out of my right hand on that super hot mega watt bulb in the lamp.

Hand%20vs%20Lamp%2010-15-07.JPG

See?

So the moment my supple flesh touched the surface of that bulb the bulb shorted out and I was plunged into darkness with a burned hand and cat pee somewhere around my feet.

Mister had previously retreated to his office to “look up directions for a class he has to attend in the morning” and all he heard coming from the back of the house probably sounded like a rhino getting caught in a painting scaffolding with a very loud and verbose vocabulary of obscenities.

I got the pee cleaned up, emptied and threw away the bad litter and refilled the catbox with pretty sparkly litter that is made up of angle dust and bunny humping rainbows. Which apparently is the only thing that Max deems worthy enough for him to shit on. Shit upon? Whatever.

Let’s look for a silver lining to this cloud.

Foggy%20Day%2010-16-07.JPG

Um. Nope. Fog.

There better be some amazing sex or some really fantastic cheese in my future. I’ve earned it.

February 28, 2008

Mister has found his love connection.

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.

March 3, 2008

Busy weekend. You?

So, I totally didn’t even tell my journal Happy Birthday or anything. I cannot believe it has been five years of this shit. As a birthday gift to my journal, I am going to fix it, or at least work on fixing the totally jacked up formatting from when I switched over from Diaryland to Moveable Type. I may even fix the links and upload the pictures.

HA HA HA! Oh, me... such a kidder. But I will totally make a half assed* attempt at fixing the formatting.

*Being honest.

I’m already on entry number 14.

Only three hundred and twenty-eight left to go! Go me.

We had a very busy weekend. Friday was all about the... um. What the fuck did we do? Oh! I went to Happy Hour with Stacey. It was one of those “You can’t come unless your name is Stacey or Susan” happy hours. But when she pulled up she asked if she could call her work buddy. Of course, so I called a girl I work with. Both of them hemmed and hawed and my co-worker surprisingly showed up and all was well.

Of course Stacey and I couldn’t rant and rave and do a whole emotional dump (which is what the normal “Can’t come unless you are one of us.” things is all about) but I don’t think that either of us had a bunch of personal baggage to rummage through. So it was nice. We had several beers, Stace split around 8 something and I stayed on until a bit after 9 pm.

Saturday was chock full of crap to do. Zeke had an appointment at the vet at 9:30... that lasted until 11:30... which was when the fence guy from Lowes© was at our house waiting on us. We left the vet with Zeke a bit shaky and headed for the house, dealt with the fence guy, got the quote, ate lunch and headed to my nephew’s soccer game. After the soccer game we hung around the jungle gym** for a bit and then headed to PetCo to get some treats for Zeke, return a bag of food and to try to find him one of those little doggy back packs that will sit high on his shoulders so he can feel like he has a job. We’ll put a bottle of water in each side or something, nothing big.

**Just thought about the “old” Troy. Trix, LuLu, Stace, Sil, Steph, you guys know what I mean. I miss him.

By the time we left PetCo it was time to run to the groomers. OMG. If you guys are in the DFW area, and need a grooming service please.... email me for their information. I will give it to you immediately. They were so awesome and kind. They got all of the mats out of Zeke’s fur and their little grooming trailer smelled like a spa. The best part was after they wet Zeke down for the first time the lady rubbed some icy-hot type stuff into Zeke’s hips so he wouldn’t hurt while they were washing and grooming him. It makes me want to cry because they were so gentle. I love them. I would list their names and their phone numbers to give you guys a heads up but they are kind, church going folks and I don’t want them to know that I say fuck... a lot... and talk about my uterus. And then say nice things like “rainbow humping unicorns” and then talk about mammograms. I’m a peach.

Small veer. Are any of y’all excited about these new modesty bras from Bali©? Or is it just me? And here’s where it gets weird. I’m excited as hell because I don’t want to wear a padded bra, but also... I feel kind of like “Fuck you Bali. These are my nipples.” Anyone? Am I putting way too much thought into this?

Fade Up.

Scene... Mother and daughter walking along a beach at sunrise. Barefoot, hopefully wearing something billowy or linen.

Mother: “Honey, something seems to be on your mind.”
Daughter: “Mom,” ::sigh:: “It’s just my nipples. They can cut glass.”

Camera follows small tear down daughter’s cheek.

Fade into product on clear lazy Susan (heh), bracketed by water lilies. All slowly turning to face camera.

VO: “Bali, when you don’t want to replace a sweater, because of your sweater monkeys.”

Fade out.

Okay. So anyway. The puppy got all cleaned up. I think I will have dog hair in my eyes for about a month, but that is okay, at least he doesn’t smell like a floater in the Trinity River anymore.

After the groomers we ran up to the Hollywood Video on Coit and 121. We needed to return a video that we have had for about... oh, three months. I walked in, nearly taking a header into a sign that was all “STORE CLOSING, EVERYTHING 30% to 40% OFF!” Excuse me? What do you mean you are closing? I just had the service for the other Hollywood Video store when it closed down and I finally stopped grieving.

Whatever Hollywood Video. My love for you runs long and deep but it did not keep me from plucking from your still dying corpse like a ravenous vulture. Oh, fuck yes I cleaned up in there. Brought out like 12 videos and I was in a HURRY y’all. I wasn’t even looking at everything. Some of that awesome movie goodness was not even five dollars. Boo yah.

We finally took the poor tuckered out dog home and watched some movies.

Sunday was basically shit because I had massive cramps. (See previous entry. Should have been titled, “Uterus = hate.”) And the dog is terrified of thunderstorms. No big deal when he’s sitting on the couch next to me. But yes, a very big deal when I have been up since 2 am this morning because a dog the size of a small SUV was trying to claw his way up onto the bed using my face. Mister’s all, “Just be calm, and don’t baby him. He is taking his cues from us about how to react to the thunderstorm.”

Um. HI! Have you met me? I fucking hate thunder and lightening... and clowns... and people dressed in animal costumes... and maggots... and gum in ashtrays and ketchup on plates... and saliva. (Mostly possessed clowns that come after you during a thunder storm when a tree with saliva in its’ gaping maw tries to EAT YOU***.)

***And not in a good way.

I tried to be all calm and assertive. But the dog was whining pitifully, the cat was running around the room hissing at the dog, Mister was snoring (and wearing ear plugs), “BOOM!” --- that was thunder--- and a massive dog would try to claw his way up onto my head and yet I was supposed to be all, “No. Down. Lay down Zeke. Good dog. Night.” And go back to sleep for another 45 seconds until it happened again?

So, yeah. Today? I am tired. My hair looks like a cat threw up a fur ball on it and then got a perm. It is cold as hell, I haven’t slept. My uterine area feels like the thunderstorms took up residence in there and I have a butt cramp in my left cheek.

How are y’all doin?

May 12, 2008

Rawr! Blood Thirsty for 3 Year Old Girls

I’m currently wallowing in self pity and a mixture of selfishness and angst.

Happy Birthday to me.

It’s all really no big deal of course, and I am probably (actually I am most likely) blowing this whole thing completely out of proportion but ... dammit, I’m cranky.

Let’s talk positives first.

We’ve discussed my love for Etsy.com yes? Yes. And because my husband listens and because I am not passive aggressive and or expect him to read my mind... I sent him a link to my favorites from Etsy and also another link with the word, “Want.”

I went to San Antonio Thursday afternoon for the shortest stay ever (less than 24 hours for a planning meeting on Friday) and was home before 8 o’clock p.m. Friday evening. Mister met me at the door in his t-shirt and boxers (because I like it like that) and was practically hopping from foot to foot with his excitement because my presents had come in the mail while I was out of town.

He sat me on the couch and opened a packet in front of me and told me to close my eyes. When I opened them he had a beautiful antique silver spoon bracelet in his hands. He put it on me and I was surprised to find that I was able to slide it on and off of my wrist like a bangle. It is so pretty and the pattern is from like 1949 or something.

Then he sprinted into the dining room and retrieved another gift from the table and made me close my eyes again. I did so and heard him wrestling with bubble wrap. I wanted to open my eyes because it sounded like he was fighting with the package and I wanted to see, but I kept them closed and because I am a freak and he loves me anyway... he held the gift up for me to smell.

I sniffed.

And sniffed again.

The fragrance of oil paints and varnish wafted up my nostrils and I asked to open my eyes. In front of me was this gorgeous diptych with all the rich colors that we have in our home. It is so pretty. Lookit....

birthday%20art%205-11-08.jpg

See? Preeeeeeeeeeeeeetttty.

It took us an hour and a half to hang them just off the foyer going into the living room. And I wasn’t even trying to help at the math part. We hung them side by side with about an inch in between them. I am so in love with this gift.

Saturday morning we got up early and ran around doing errands. I count about eight errands that I recall. And then we went to my sister’s house for my niece’s third birthday. Kids everywhere and balloons and cake and bubbles and squealing and sticky little fingers. It was precious.

After the party the six adults, Mister and I, my sister and her husband and my parents went to dinner.

This is how dinner plans get made with our family. “Oh, Sue and Mister are trying to lose weight, we’ll go somewhere healthy for dinner. What do you want Sue? You want what? Sushi? Okay fish it is. Hey gang!? We’re going to Rock Fish for dinner.” And throughout this whole conversation that my mother was having with herself the only thing I said (outloud) was sushi.

And they do not have sushi at Rock Fish.

It was a very nice meal and our waiter was attentive and the lady chef has a massive crush on Mister.

He held his hand up to tell her thank you for the food and compliment her... and to ask about turmeric and saffron in the rice... and she grabbed his big paw and held his hand as they spoke. She was totally in love with him. LURVE, I say.

He? Was a little uncomfortable... but she was good lookin and made great food... FLIRT man, Flirt!

We went back to my sister’s house after dinner to have my birthday cake. It was delicious. From Central Market and had fresh strawberries layered between white cake and ... just yum. I get the same cake every year. Or any time I get a cake... It is the same one I had for our wedding reception. My parents tried to get me to take the cake home but alas, I cannot be trusted with that much sugar flavored lard in the house.*

*Two weeks ago I was having massive cramps in the middle of a two and a half week cycle and I asked for some cookies and cream ice cream. Bryer’s. Mister brought some home and I ate the whole half gallon in a week. I cannot be trusted, I tell you.

So Mister and I went home and collapsed into bed.

Yesterday... my actual birthday... rolled around and we got up. Mister brought me breakfast in bed and then we did some other stuff. We went to lunch at Passado’s, then to Retro Revolution to buy a few more little fun things for my piercing and then to PetSmart for some cat litter**.

**I lead a charmed life, no?

We were supposed to go to see Iron Man because I am a twelve year old boy who happens to have a massive crush on wounded drug addicts. Ah, Robert Downey Jr... How I love thee? But Mister came down with a gigantic headache so I decided that I would take the dog to the dog park, BUT FIRST!.... I would swing by my sister’s house to see my parents who are staying in town with the kids while my sister and her husband escape for a few days annnnnnd introduce them to the dog.

Imagine the “But FIRST!” part in that cartoon guy announcer’s voice.

My parents are coming in town and staying with Mister and I next weekend. My mother wants to take me shopping for my birthday. We have an eighty pound German Shepherd in the house and my mother is afraid of... well, everything really. Small dogs scare her, large dogs scare her... birds... fish... air. (This is where I confess to really wanting a large rat to round out our household... but ferrets are more boneless and all around squishier, but smell worse. I can just see my mother. Handing her a ferret, “Here, hold this tube sock with eyes... “... and her reply? “Ew EW, gedditofffameeeee! Geddditoffamee!”)

So I loaded Zeke up into my car, Mister begged off of going because of said migraine headache thingy above... apologizing profusely for having a headache on my birthday. Poor guy. In what life did someone make him feel bad about something so stupid. I can just see his exwife, or mother... or some high maintenance girlfriend, “Hmmmmpff, you have a headache!?!?!? On MY BIRTHDAY!!!!?!!!? The nerve.”

Meanwhile, back in the storyline where I wasn’t going off track...

I got to my sister’s house like twenty-seven seconds later and Zeke and I popped out and went to the door. My mother and my niece answer, both with huge grins on their face and my niece starts calling Zeke and smiling at my mother and I. They stood back and Zeke walked in and went straight to the living room where my father and nephew were playing Wii. My dad was sitting on the floor and Zeke went and put his nose next to my father, my dad pushed his muzzle away gently saying, “Let’s not get to friendly too fast big boy.” So Zeke backed up and sat down then walked around sniffing.

My mother asked me to put him outside, so I did, with my niece following. She went out to play in her sandbox and my mother stood at the door... I am sure... just waiting for the dog to lunge at my three year old niece and have a mid afternoon snack of cuteness. My mother finally relaxed then tensed again. She called my niece inside and asked if we wanted a slice of cake. So I left Zeke outside and helped my mother with the cake.

Zeke marked a tree or two then came up to the sliding glass door and with my niece on one side and he on the other he wagged his tail and she pressed her whole body into the glass door, “Zeke, Zeke, Zeke... Zeke!” So I opened the door and he came inside. We all sat down at the table and had some cake. I asked Zeke to sit and then to lay down, he did as he was asked and then my niece wanted to talk to him.

She ignored her cake in favor of the dog. “Zeke, Zeke, Zeke... Zeke!”

This is the part where I tell you that my mother’s best friend when she was little was a German Shepherd named Jack. My mother was just telling me that Jack used to get in between her and her nanny, Rosie when my niece slipped out of her chair and came around the table to pet Zeke.

The first time my niece met Zeke she stepped on his hip, I think because she wanted to lay on him. Not out of malice. But that time, at the park, with her mother and father right there, Zeke gave her a “Woof!” as in, “Ow. That hurts, step off.” So she and most people under three feet tall make him a wee bit nervous.

After he barked at her that first time, she hugged him and he licked her hand. All forgiven.

In the kitchen yesterday she accidentally stepped on one of his back feet, he, of course, said, “Woof Woof!” and my niece backed up a step but then went to pet him again. My mother on the other hand grabbed the child from the floor and held her head to her breast like the demon dog (with no lower canines... he is old y’all. OLD.) was going to attack her grandchild.

The look on my mother’s face was pure terror. I picked up his leash and said, “Thank you for the cake, we’re gonna head out.” My mother told me to sit down and finish my cake. I sat. And she sat, with my niece in her lap, “Just don’t go next to the dog [niece], let’s just have our cake.” My niece? Quietly, “Zeke, Zeke, Zeke... Zeke!” She reached out a foot to him and he in turn gave her a paw. It was awesome. But my mother was terrified.

I shoveled a piece of cake into my face and tried to get out of there so quickly.

My mother insisted that I take the cake home. Just the day before she and my father both patted Mister and I approvingly on our smaller frames. “Well... You guys just look Great!” If this would have been a few months prior? My mother wouldn’t have tried to send the cake home with me. It’s weird how that shit happens.

I got Zeke on his leash and because (he is so incredibly menacing and blood thirsty for three year old little girls) I have to lift his old ass into and out of my little Chevy Equinox my father carried the cake out to my car for me, he put it in the passenger seat while I lifted Zeke into the back.

I told my dad thanks again for dinner and the cake and I went home. I got Zeke out of the back at home and then went to get the cake and my purse and keys out of the passenger seat. I tipped the cake and it fell, frosting first in between the front seats and into the console.

Awesome.

This was turning out to be a peach of a day.

The cat came and sat on my lap and Zeke put his head on my knee when I sat on the couch. It is almost as if they knew I was about to lose my shit. Mister looked up and asked, “So, how was it?” I mumbled something about a “Fucking Disaster” and then my face dissolved into a mess of hot tears and snot.

Mister came over and sat beside me and I had my three favorite boys all basically in my lap. The cat, the dog and my loving husband all trying to comfort me. I was trying to eloquently describe why it is so important to me that my parents like my dog. But all I came up with was, “Fuck it. Zeke is a part of our little family and... “ [hitching sob and then more crying].

I am a master at the English language.

I know on some level I was worried that my mother’s fear would instill fear into my niece, but my niece has no fear. She is a little warrior who loves tea parties and to shake her bootie. Maybe I am just so in love with this dog that it hurts MY feelings that my mother is irrational about how she feels towards a member of my family.

I had years of that when I was married to X. I knew how they felt, but I wanted to make it work. This? This is not a husband who will screw around on me and steal money. This? Is a dog. A sweet, gentle, kind, loving dog. He is big. But he is old.

Yes, yes, I know... “It only takes one time.” Whatever. It only takes one time for a lot of things, only one time to get pregnant, to get fired for doing a report the wrong way, to get hit by a drunk driver, to get pulled out by the rip tide... but Zeke hasn’t bitten my niece and he keeps giving her chances... chances to step on him, to love him, to be near him.

I’m going by there tonight to take my mother her gift for Mother’s Day, it didn’t come in until this morning. If she says one word about how scary Zeke is... or that they have decided not to come to the house next weekend. I guess I will just have to live with it.


About Animals

This page contains an archive of all entries posted to Suzanna Danna in the Animals category. They are listed from oldest to newest.

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