Saturday, April 28, 2012

Poopy Protest

Our dog Andy is such a good boy, everyone wishes he was theirs. Friends and acquaintances will say silly macho crap like...“Yeah I just don’t like small dogs." but once they meet Andy they want to kidnap him.
Where’s Andy?” “Are you bringing Andy?” “Hey, if you guys ever need someone to watch Andy for you…” “I don’t usually like small dogs, but Andy is different.
He’s that wonderful.
So you can imagine my surprise when Andy started acting up, shortly after we moved.   
It was evident he didn’t dig the place, he certainly didn’t dig the isolation. He was used to seeing people and strangers who gave him attention on a daily basis. But now, Andy would walk around the house whining. Look for people on our walks outside, only to find trees and grass. He also didn’t want to be by himself, he would follow me from room to room. Bark at the door when we would leave to go out.

 Soon Andy started to show his disapproval of the new place in a much more noticeable way. My husband and I would come home after grocery shopping or what have you. To find Andy had left a gift for us in the kitchen. I first assumed I hadn’t let him stay outside long enough to go to the bathroom. But it soon became apparent this was an act of rebellion.  No matter how empty I was sure his bladder was. He would always have at least a tablespoon of pee, or a solitary nugget of poo for the kitchen. He was making a statement.
   I thought I could fix this with clever dog psychology. Whenever we would go outside, if he went to the bathroom. I would give him a small training treat and praise the crap outta him. As though watching him poop or urinate was the most fantastic awesome thing ever I had seen. Chris Angel eat your heart out!
                    OMG THAT WAS INCREDIBLE!!!!!!
You get a gold star!
    I was sure this positive reinforcement idea would work. But no.

 It worsened when, I could not even take a shower without Andy using that small time frame to desecrate the kitchen. Even if I took a super quick shower, I would come out to find dog statement on the floor. I felt partly responsible for Andy’s behavior. I was sure he was picking up on my unhappy vibes about the new place. I don’t like living here either but I’m not about to poop on the floor. I eventually started bringing Andy into the bathroom with me when I showered. He would lay on the bathroom rug and look pitifully at me through the curtain.  I didn’t want Andy to think being put in the bathroom was a punishment.
So I whenever I showered, I would give him a training treat. Soon, Andy was glad when I took my showers. Because it meant he was getting a treat. After which he would lay on the bathroom rug, be content and wag his tail. Then another awesome thing happened. He stopped using the kitchen as a bathroom when we went out!  I’m not sure how bringing Andy into the bathroom with me while I showered, taught him not to pee in the kitchen. But I didn’t care, I was just glad he stopped doing it.

 But now I have another problem. Andy has now associated me going into the bathroom with him getting treats. One Saturday when I went to take a shower. I left Andy with his Dad/my Husband.  Well according to my husband, Andy did nothing but sit outside the bathroom door crying to be let in. Once I opened the door, he trotted inside, sat on the bathroom rug and looked at me expectantly.

By now he will occasionally go into the bathroom without me. To sniff the rug, as though treats spring from it without human aid, like magic.
It’s to the point where even if I go to use the toilet, Andy wants to be present for it.  He sits on the bathroom rug in front of me and just stares.

  Sometimes begs for attention. I’ve created a monster, but at least there are no doggie surprises being plopped on the kitchen floor any longer. So I guess I can deal with this new Andy Oddity.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Lonely Birfday

My husband cannot be in town for my birthday next month, he has a business trip. :(
 So I will be spending the day with Andy dog and a giant cake. I will probably watch some movies and pass out on the couch after too much alcohol.
My husband says we will do something fun to celebrate over the weekend. So maybe we could.....spend the day with Andy dog and a giant cake. Then watch some movies and pass out on the couch after too much alcohol?
 I'm not good at planning things.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Foot Fetish Freaky

I can nit-pick any part of my body and say how I dislike this or that.  But not my feet, on that I must concede de-feet.  I have super nice stompers, they are shapely, well maintained and a nice pale pinkish color.
More than once in my life have I seriously considered making a farthing or four off of my fabulous feeties. I don’t have a foot fetish myself, but the idea seemed so harmless. I didn’t see any reason why, I shouldn’t get a foot in the door of this business. But upon doing actual research, I discovered that having nice feet is not enough. Oh no, foot fetish enthusiasts want your feet to um…do…things and um…go places.
 No thanks! Not my tactile tootsies! The very thought of some strangers um.. appendages… um…dangling around my precious pedicured peddlers, no way! Needless to say I seriously underestimated the involvement these fetish people have with feet. 

 My ideas were much more whimsy, by far. A website, whereby patrons could patronize pictures and videos of my feet. I didn’t have any intention of doing explicitly naughty things with my feet.  Just indirectly haughty things. Oh hush, if the shoe was on the other foot and the foot was as nice looking as mine you’d be thinking the same thing!

My foot persona would be Fifi Le’Foot!
The site would be various pictures of my feet on a pillow, walking around, trying on shoes, having lotion rubbed on them, being sprinkled with glitter. Maybe my feet want to go into water, so I dip a toe in but burr its too cold!
 Stuff like that, stuff I could live with. Honestly I wouldn’t give a crap about family and friends knowing I ran a foot fetish site, as long as my feet were respectable! Making monies off people into looking at feet, who wouldn’t respect that kind of gusto?
  The very worst I had intended was to have my feet spanked with a paddle, and even that idea was stolen from “King of the Hill.”
The site I wanted would be quirky and pretty much devoid of X-rated stuff. The pantomime style adventures of a set of fabulous faux French feet! I would never reveal who the set belonged to or communicate intimately with fans. The most I would offer, would be an annual Christmas card.
  But no, the foot fetish world is too freaky for me. Looks like I will have to keep hammering away at my current boring and totally respectable job.    

Friday, April 6, 2012

Greeting cards

 My sisters Birthday is in a few weeks, in the interest of not forgetting. I got her birthday card early. I dislike shopping for greeting cards, they haven't changed a bit since I was a kid. Everything is a monkey or an old lady or some shirtless wank in a cowboy hat. Feh!
Where are the type of cards for people like me? The type of sentiments that express how I feel about deep, stirring emotions? This is the card my sister should be getting.

 Happy early birthday sis, I made you a fucking card all by myself!

Making this card for my sibling, got me thinking of all the other cards I could have sent to people over the years.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

The crow wars

In my lifetime, there have been several revealing documentaries, and studies done on the life and behavior of these neato birdies.  They’re super smart, and actually keep their young with them a few years before sending them out on their own. Also in my lifetime I have scooped up many a injured crow and other birds off of streets. In order to take them to a rehabilitation center for wild animals. So I just figured as far as crow karma, I was set for life.
While living at our old apartment building. I heard residents and staff members complain about the aggressive crows that hang around the building. Apparently they dive bomb passersby, and actually scratch and peck at them. I never had such an incident happen to me while living there. I chalked it up to crow karma, yay me.
One morning as I took Andy out to pee, on the 3rd floor roof top garden. I heard a crow cawing madly…the sound got closer…then something buzzed my head. It was a freaking crow, he landed on a pole and continued cawing at me. I ignored him and continued walking Andy about.
Buzzed me again, except this time he used his talons to grab onto my long luxurious hair. I waved an arm at him and he flew off onto a pole, clutching the trophy of a few strands and continued to caw at me. I figured he was just an @$$hole, so  Andy and I went back inside. On the numerous occasions I took Andy to the rooftop garden. I was repeatedly dive bombed and harassed by this mean crow. I got wise though, whenever he was about to dive he would CAW! CAW! CAW!  As he if he was saying DIE! DIE! DIE! So when I heard this battle cry I would simply wave my arm up in the air, the crow would  freak and retreat. Problem solved? No.

 The crow then got wise, and started implementing silent attacks. So I got wise again and just kept an eye on him while in the garden. There was no attack that I couldn’t see coming and after a while. The crow stopped diving at me, as long as I kept him in my sights. Yes, the bird with a brain the size of a peanut, had met his match. So he went and got some friends. Next day as I was with Andy on the rooftop garden, I kept my eye on that crow. He oddly enough was keeping directly in my line of sight. As I was busy watching him, his buddy dive bombed me from behind.

He landed next to his comrade and shared what I can only describe as a crow giggle.
 I began to hate the crows…
 They were in perfect position for me to wind up and hurl a bag of Andy poop at them. But I couldn’t bring myself to harm them, …but I was thinking about it.
 I lamented to our jazzy concierge about the flying meanies, he explained to me that the crows had built a nest in the rooftop garden tree. And because they are so protective of their babies, they dive at anyone who dares go into the garden. That should have made me feel maternal and sympathetic to the crows. But instead the Bond villain in me smirked at the thought of using the crow babies to my advantage.
Protective of your darling little ones, eh?  That gives me and idea, Muahahahaha! Where’s my white suit!?"
 My plan was to hide in the bushes until the crows went off to find food. Then sneak up to the nest, put humorous mustaches and hats on the nestlings…maybe monocles.
And also leave a note saying something  like…”I touched your babies!”  
Ya know, something to let the parents know all their efforts are in vain and they are messing with a seriously disturbed human. But my husband dismissed the idea as “Crazy”. And that maybe I should have a drink. Eventually, when I took Andy out to pee late at night or in the early morning. I brought a gigantic umbrella with me. It was ridiculous, I got odd looks on sunny days. I told people I was Dracula because I thought  “The crows are out to get me!”  might sound weird. It worked though, the crows were sufficiently stumped on how to overcome the umbrella.
Eventually they just stopped bothering. So that’s the story of how I overcame crow oppression without having to fling a bag of poo at them.
The end.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Sprunging Spring

My two favorite seasons are polar opposites. Autumn, when days begin to darken and everything starts to die.  And Spring, where everything is coming back to life and the sun makes some brief cameo’s. Summer and Winter are both too extreme for my liking.
 This past winter seemed especially harsh, maybe its because I’m not used to being snowed in, having grown up in a desert climate and all. I felt like a freak those many months, wrapped up in hoodies and kimonos, trying to keep the warmth in. Putting sweaters on my dog. I’m sure I must have scared the fedex guy more than once.

  But now it is Spring and everything is so different. I even have new rainbow pajamas.
This year is going to be an exciting year, I foresee many awesome things happening.If luck is with us, we may move back into the Emerald city and leave this boring island........and Tom Jones will ride a unicorn.

Spider killer que'st que c'est

While showering the other day, I noticed a small spider in the upper corner near the shower head. I don’t like spiders, but was feeling groovy that day. So I decided to let him live, let bygones be arachnids.  I spare you little spider, go your way in peace!
 Then the spider decided he was not satisfied with the corner. He started crawling onto the ceiling, creeping to the space above my head.
I then splashed water up on to him. He plummeted to the shower floor and was subsequently washed down the drain. I’m firm in my belief that I acted in self-defense.

 Yet as I watched him get sucked into the watery abyss. I wondered, “What the hell were you thinking Spider!?” I mean C’mon, if anything I’m much bigger than you. Had you had succeeded in jumping on my noggin, you still would have been washed into the drain.
You must be an idiot, what the hell do spiders have to do in the bathroom anyway?
 Are you a pervert spider? Like into cross species peeping, you just happen to die while doing it?
Are you suicidal? Lost your job wrapping flies, can’t feed your 900 belligerent children? So you took out a life insurance policy so your kids would get the money after you died from leaping to your death from my bathroom ceiling? In any case, you’re dead now.

Monday, April 2, 2012

Tussin Trauma

When I was a kid, there was nothing that could not be cured by either Advil or Robitussin (Tussinfor those in the know). On the occasion I wasn’t faking illness, my Mother would administer the cherry flavored Tussin of doom. The devil in a bottle bringing destruction to this world. I hated the stuff, it’s viscous and tastes like Lake Erie. No matter how sick I was, it would take forever to coax me into taking my Tussin. My Mother would sit there and tell me “just drink it real quick” and I would hardly taste it.
 That’s what the viscosity is for, it makes it impossible to slam the medicine down. Tussin oozes out of that plastic urine sample cup and clings cloyingly to your tongue. I used to count on chasers to save me, but it never worked. It doesn’t matter what you chase it with, water, juice, soda nothing will save you. It’s evil.
 I was certain, that Tussin was designed to torture children. That it was most likely formulated in the dungeon of a crumbling castle by a group of hunch backed child hating scientists that “Muahahaha’d” through their work week. 

Eventually I would down the horrible brew, make a whiskey face, then go into a coma for 2 days. Despite the ghastly flavor of Tussin, it is to this day my go to drug when I am sick. Now that I am an older mature adult, I’m better about taking my medicine.  
Recently I was sick, and asked my husband if on his way home he would get me some disgusting Tussin. He brings me home a bottle that says “Tussin” on the front. Not the brand Robitussin, just Tussin. It was a generic, I asked “What the hell is this?”
“It’s Tussin.”
“It’s not Robitussin.”
“You said Tussin.”
“You jerk, you know I meant Robitussin.”
“It’s the same stuff.”
“The hell it is!”
    Alas I was too sick to not take it. I pour it, and set it on the counter just staring at it. 
It's not as though I can call my Mother and ask her to pester me over the phone to drink it.
 After my wincing at the goo filled cup. My husband yells from the other room “Just take it, already!” I slammed back the imposter Tussin. It was horrible, it was like drinking death. So I guess Tussin is Tussin no matter what.