Cinco de Mayo 2

This is the second, consecutive (because if it’s your second why wouldn’t it be right after the first) year we’ve celebrated Cinco de Mayo. It started with me getting Molly (my Mexican sweet-faced dog) and has now turned into a reason to drink, like most Americans with no Mexican roots. 

Last night, we ate delicious Mexican food, had several drinks and met up with old friends. What was most interesting about the night was the conversations. Between discussing newly purchases (secretly jealous) homes, boyfriends in LA, awkward conversations about sex and ladies from Amy, talking it up about Catholic priests and books with neighboring drinking old men, and finally rock operas we had a great time. Some more than others, but then again it was a Tuesday.

I Swear, Dogs Are Worse Than Children

This morning Pippa was trying to tell me a secret; a secret about getting sick all over my house. First, I notice she threw up a little in Molly’s crate. This is normal with dogs as it is with children. Things go in and things come out both ways. I clean it up and move on with my morning. After my devotional, I walk into the thickest rank of a smell which was connected to a pill of non-processed dog food and poo so big that no dog Pippa’s size could manage.

Pippa’s poo has always been a topic of shear amazement. I’m not one for poo stories, but it never fails when someone is out walking with us they say “I’ve never see a dog so little poop as much as she does.” Much like a first time mother to a baby girl who is constantly compliment on her child’s “boyish charm”, I just smile and agree. Forget trying to remind them that she’s more a girl than a boy, it’s just the blue jumper and camo boots that give you that vibe. Never mind we call her “Billy” for sort of “Maryanne”.

My mother tells all the ladies she plays drinko bunco with about her unusual stool leavings. “It’s the size of a horse dropping, I swear,” she’ll yell as wine glass + bottle clank together in the background as mood music. Not that my mother is drunk, but we all know when the ladies in the neighborhood get together and are suppose to bring at least one bottle of wine good times are forth coming.

Back to the point: Pippa (my large poo shitting dog) got sick a multiple of three times today. Only one of them happened outside.

It’s funny how feeling sick and a whole bunch of poo brought she and I closer together today. Today my second dog and I bonded. I rubbed her belly, shoved Imodium and Pepto down her throat with a 7 mm syringe (parent’s note this) and let her run off her leash when we were outside.

It’s like when I was little and felt sick, my mom would dote on me making my illness seem like the only reason to love me that closely was for fear bad gas might kill her first born. I would often fake sickness to just come home and have some extra attention. Not to mention being home while I was suppose to be at school meant 5 hours of straight TV watching fun. I became quite the “Price is Right” expert.

In conclusion, no child chould do the nasty things I saw come out of Pippa today or Molly (that’s for another day). So, I think I’m ready for children and should just start adopting them. I got my dogs in Mexico, how hard could it be to get three boys and two girls across the boarder in an unmarked van?

Oatmeal Tuesdays

I’m finally back at work where there is Internet, wireless radio and my new G1. Yes, all is right when I’m at the office in terms of today. Well, minus that cup of oatmeal that over flowed in the microwave, me being late to work and everything else that went wrong. 

To give a quick recap on Thanksgiving and my move they were all good but with minor problems. The move was successful and I’m well underway at finding my home with my new roommate. The dogs love the apartment just as much as we do and we have fabulous neighbors. 

Thanksgiving was a lesson learned in that I will NEVER stay the night for Thanksgiving again unless my brother or other family are staying, too. Upon arrival to my parents house my oldest dog (Molly) attached my parents 14-year old, no claws cat. No blood except for mine as I attempted to pick the cat up and step on my dog. Zoe (the cat) decides I’m not worth trying to help by BITING the hell out of my hand. Seriously, she made me drip blood she bit me so hard. Those damn little sharp teeth only did damage to me. As I’m trying to get the cat’s thigh out of Molly’s mouth I’m getting blood on Molly, my pants, the ground and my shoes. Good times. Then, because my dad has absolutely no social skills I hear him yelling and cusing at my mom around 10 about it. Instead of telling me, “Hey, I would rather you not bring the dogs in the house if you’re going to bring them out here,” he decides it would be better to yell at my mom. Yeah, not ever doing that again. 

So as I heal both emotionally and hand-physically I find myself here on a Tuesday morning eating boiled over organic oatmeal not wanting to work. I haven’t had Internet in forever and feel like I haven’t been on this site equally as long. I haven’t used Twitter in ages too, but now I finally got my G1 so now it’s back on, bitches. Okay, you’re not a bitch, but I just like saying that. 

I can’t wait until I can get this site figured out. I had it and then I quit. So not sure what happened. I think I’ll call it laziness. Yes, that’s its name.

Gland Squeezing

Okay, that header is gross and I apologize for any mental imagery you experienced while reading it. I say that only because that’s how I spent the first half of my morning. Well, not necessarily how I spent my morning, but how Pippa did.

For those who do not have dogs or are considering having a dog there is one thing you must know: they have to have their bottom glands squeezed. Gross I know, which is why I take both my dogs to the vet and pay to have someone else do that. 

You know when your dog is needing this treatment when they scoot their bottom on the ground. I did not know this until I got Molly and the vet told me about it. First of all, humans DO NOT have to have this done. Second of all, why do dogs have glands down there that have to be squeezed? Third of all, gross. 

Anyways, I’m sitting at the vet’s office waiting for Pippa to be done and I start watching the people in the room. I start thinking how I could be a vet tech, how the woman after me in line should have worn boy shorts instead of a thong with those pants and how by just hearing the vet I knew he was gay. After discovering all these important things, Pippa was ready to go. When we got to the car, Pippa hops in and sits on the floorboard. Now, my girls typically sit on a yellow towel in the passenger seat, so when she did this I realized she was not happy with me. Soon enough she realized a fluffy yellow towel was better than all-weather floor mat and jumped up on the seat. With that jump I got a whiff of something horrible. 

This was an all time first for me. The last time I had to have Molly’s glands squeezed she stayed the whole day at the vets office. When I picked her up that afternoon it was like nothing had happened and her bottom was oh so happy. Waiting and then taking Pippa home afterwards was quite unusual and I half expected it to be no big deal. What I did not learn is, once the procedure is done the dog is given the opportunity to lick all things right again so by the time I get them I don’t even know what happened. This was not the case this morning. That whiff of whatever the hell that was could have knocked me out it was so bad. On the way home, Pippa and I were playing a game of who could throw-up first and she won. 

I’m sure she’s in her crate right now making all things right with her bottom again and secretly happy it all happened, but I’m just hoping that when I get in my car this afternoon it does not smell like THAT any more. I’m not sure who got the better deal: Pippa in a crate making it all better or me being forced to drive home with THAT smell hanging around? Gross.