So many funny things have happened during this remodeling "adventure" but the experience has pushed me to a point of exhaustion that prohibits my brain from blogging…not to mention the 1/2 inch splinter in my left pointer finger keeps me from typing. But alas, today the humor was too good not to share.
I've been up since 2 a.m. I have been painting since 6:30 a.m. This information is relevant only in that it may help explain my state of mind and maybe so you will be impressed at my restraint.
So the Orkin guy arrived around 8 a.m. He is a tall, lanky fellow…who is missing many of what I refer to as "critical" teeth (meaning ones that are located in the front) and those that he does have are all jockeying for a position directly in the middle where they are proceeding to rot. I explained to him upon his entry that I hope for his sake this is the worst sight he sees today (the condition of the house, not the bugs because there don't seem to be any yet).
He walks in and quickly starts to tell me about his own remodeling project that has been underway since Hurricane Rita. I don't know exactly how long that is…but I'm guessing he isn't a very speedy worker. He tells me about his pink bathroom and I show him mine…he describes his orange tub and I show him mine…this continues as he sprays. We end up in the kitchen and he looks at the floor and says "Man I really like this tile!" He said it with such enthusiasm as he leaned in for a closer look at the worn and tattered linoleum that I personaly find to be more of a hideous optical illusion that should have seizure warnings. He continued with "y'all has done some nice work in this kitchen!"
Now for all you nice do-gooders I will have you know that my mouth graciously thanked him for his compliment…but my brain was SCREAMING for me to speak…and it said…(in the voice of Stewie) "Well for heaven's sake good man, do let me run to the bank right now…I'm going to cash in my retirement, drain my savings, and steal whatever the little old lady at the counter has too! Let's get you out of this drab brown uniform and launch you into the interior design career you deserve!"
See what being nice did? It kept this man from his calling!
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sunday, June 13, 2010
A Snaking Suspicion of Conspiracy
I’m posting this entry to make anyone who feels like they might be having a bad day put their miseries into perspective. While many people experience a problem or two throughout their day…not many could handle the barrage of semi-catastrophes Tim and I often find ourselves in and keep their sanity and sense of humor in tact. While there is still humor…I’m sure you’ll see this joke is actually on us this time. Here goes the conspiracy theory.
So it had been a hectic week and Tim was the mood for lasagna. Saturday was spent mowing and doing other household crap so I thought it might be nice to invite a couple friends for dinner the following night (to spread the love and calories). I pull out my phone and start thumb pecking to a friend… “would you and Bob like to come over for dinner tomorrow night.” I half expected a denial but much to my surprise I got my reply within seconds, “when do we eat?” So I sign myself up for my famous lasagna and a raspberry swirl cheesecake. Granted they are both a handful but my neighbor has made me feel like I can do anything (she refers to me as Betty…as in Crocker). It’s no big deal…I can whip up some stuffed peppers for dinner…spend the evening with my cream cheese goodness and wrap up lasagna the following afternoon and even have time to relax and watch a movie. Let the fun begin!!
Forgetting that we are renting an older house with all the quirks and charm that they bring, I inadvertently used the garbage disposal and after dinner we realized the water was standing in the sinks…draining at a snail’s pace. Following some expletives and a short tantrum in which he accuses me of putting everything short of human limbs down the little magic black hole, Tim decides he will wait until morning to snake the drain and fix the problem. So I crank out my cheesecake (dirtying more dishes than I ever thought I had) and pile the dishes in the dishwasher (after all it will be fixed in the morning and I can run a quick load before dinner). Morning comes far too soon and after a couple cinnamon rolls, Tim was trying to snake the drain with his little hand held thingy. It of course did not work and he was off to Ace to rent an automatic snake. He arrived, the snake was waiting, and he knew this was way too easy and he was right. The woman refused to rent to him because he still has a LA driver’s license. He offered many other documents to prove he now lived in TX, but to no avail. He asked for a manager…she said she was the manager…so he went up front and asked for a store manager. She arrived and said that when the hurricane was here, people would rent things and not bring them back. He looked around and informed her that 1. There is no hurricane now and 2. She had 7 employees and only one customer so maybe she should rethink any residual income she could scrape out of this Sunday. She was guarding this snake like it was her first born or at least something we would want to run off with. I mean seriously, in a time of crisis who is going to immediately scheme to steal a 300 pound contraption which takes up 3/4 of the get away vehicle? Any such reasoning would be lost on her. (And I still am left wondering why people in a hurricane would steal drain snakes...is there not more pressing issues besides plumbing?) She offered a solution…if he knows someone who does have a TX dl, they could rent it for him with a $25 cash deposit…otherwise, he would need to put down a $500 deposit. Now only a simple mind would find the former alternative better than the latter but he agreed to the deposit and brings home the monster snake…drags it in the house…only to realize it will not fit down the pipe and weighing in at a whopping 300lbs this sucker is not going up to the pipe on the roof. So back he goes…I told him to be careful because if he slammed on the brakes that sucker would be in his lap…he heeded my warnings and was very careful only to be cut off while entering the parking lot…at which point the beast flopped over and did some minor damage to my interior.
His hopes are revitalized when he realizes they have a “junior” version of the snake which is what he has used before (yes we have done this before) and said he would like to rent it instead. His hopes are then dashed when she refuses to rent it to him because it’s “not what he needs for the job.” After a few rounds of … “You need this”… “This won’t fit, I need that”… “No you need this” he finally decided she could shove it right up her ass and left with nothing. He came home and gleefully took an anxiety pill and decided to dink with it a little more (to no avail) and finally decided to head to Lowes for a more powerful hand snake. At this point my phone rings and my door bell rings…which created quite a dilemma considering I had just stripped down to get in the shower…so I answer the phone (it was my neighbor) who then tells me to get the door (where there is no one standing) and then calls me back to tell me her husband has located a snake (it was probably him at the door)…so I call Tim to tell him the good news. “The neighbor has a snake!!” His reply was “okay, what do you want me to do?” “I want you to come home and get the damn thing!!” Thirty minutes later I heard him climbing up on the roof and went out to investigate…this is rich!
Me: Did he bring it?
Tim: Bring what?
Me: What is that?
Tim: The snake I bought at Lowes.
Me: Where is Bubba?
Tim: He’s at his parent’s house. I drove by and saw his car on my way home.
Me: So why didn’t you stop and get the snake? Is he going to bring it here?
Tim: I doubt he’ll bring it home…he’s probably going to kill it.
You might have to read it twice…but I only had to hear it once. I just stopped. I couldn’t say anything for a few seconds beyond “are you kidding me?” Why would you not interpret the word “snake” in the context of what has been going on all morning? Yes, indeed…he had interpreted it as an actual snake and was actually confused as to why I wanted him to stop his current search for a “pipe snake” to stop and help the neighbor’s in-laws with a slithering snake. But alas he pulls his head out of his a$% and goes to retrieve the snake…only to return moments later with another little hand jobby which will not do the job.
Up on the rooftop Tim will go…to make the kitchen water flow. At this point I am building lasagna and running in and out to make sure he hasn’t fallen off the roof and plunged to his death. On my second trip out he looked worried… “Did you get it?” I asked with such hopefulness. “I got it in…now I can’t get it out.” At this point I knew not to ask if he was kidding and told him to just get off the roof. By now his little FukItAll pill had fully worked its magic but I was still frantically running around trying to get things ready for company. On the verge of my meltdown Tim mentions "I don't see what the problem is...I'm in a fine mood now." I told him to be grateful we are not living on the rim of a volcano as those would be his final words at which point he decided to get busy and help a bit.
So 3 dishwasher loads of dishes were washed by hand and dinner was ready on time…but alas…no drain as of yet and relaxation has eluded us both to say the least. But every difficult situation should teach a lesson and thus I have tried to find one here. Never again will I invite anyone over for dinner…no good can come of it and problems will arise where before there were none. Goodbye socialization…hello hermit-hood.
So it had been a hectic week and Tim was the mood for lasagna. Saturday was spent mowing and doing other household crap so I thought it might be nice to invite a couple friends for dinner the following night (to spread the love and calories). I pull out my phone and start thumb pecking to a friend… “would you and Bob like to come over for dinner tomorrow night.” I half expected a denial but much to my surprise I got my reply within seconds, “when do we eat?” So I sign myself up for my famous lasagna and a raspberry swirl cheesecake. Granted they are both a handful but my neighbor has made me feel like I can do anything (she refers to me as Betty…as in Crocker). It’s no big deal…I can whip up some stuffed peppers for dinner…spend the evening with my cream cheese goodness and wrap up lasagna the following afternoon and even have time to relax and watch a movie. Let the fun begin!!
Forgetting that we are renting an older house with all the quirks and charm that they bring, I inadvertently used the garbage disposal and after dinner we realized the water was standing in the sinks…draining at a snail’s pace. Following some expletives and a short tantrum in which he accuses me of putting everything short of human limbs down the little magic black hole, Tim decides he will wait until morning to snake the drain and fix the problem. So I crank out my cheesecake (dirtying more dishes than I ever thought I had) and pile the dishes in the dishwasher (after all it will be fixed in the morning and I can run a quick load before dinner). Morning comes far too soon and after a couple cinnamon rolls, Tim was trying to snake the drain with his little hand held thingy. It of course did not work and he was off to Ace to rent an automatic snake. He arrived, the snake was waiting, and he knew this was way too easy and he was right. The woman refused to rent to him because he still has a LA driver’s license. He offered many other documents to prove he now lived in TX, but to no avail. He asked for a manager…she said she was the manager…so he went up front and asked for a store manager. She arrived and said that when the hurricane was here, people would rent things and not bring them back. He looked around and informed her that 1. There is no hurricane now and 2. She had 7 employees and only one customer so maybe she should rethink any residual income she could scrape out of this Sunday. She was guarding this snake like it was her first born or at least something we would want to run off with. I mean seriously, in a time of crisis who is going to immediately scheme to steal a 300 pound contraption which takes up 3/4 of the get away vehicle? Any such reasoning would be lost on her. (And I still am left wondering why people in a hurricane would steal drain snakes...is there not more pressing issues besides plumbing?) She offered a solution…if he knows someone who does have a TX dl, they could rent it for him with a $25 cash deposit…otherwise, he would need to put down a $500 deposit. Now only a simple mind would find the former alternative better than the latter but he agreed to the deposit and brings home the monster snake…drags it in the house…only to realize it will not fit down the pipe and weighing in at a whopping 300lbs this sucker is not going up to the pipe on the roof. So back he goes…I told him to be careful because if he slammed on the brakes that sucker would be in his lap…he heeded my warnings and was very careful only to be cut off while entering the parking lot…at which point the beast flopped over and did some minor damage to my interior.
His hopes are revitalized when he realizes they have a “junior” version of the snake which is what he has used before (yes we have done this before) and said he would like to rent it instead. His hopes are then dashed when she refuses to rent it to him because it’s “not what he needs for the job.” After a few rounds of … “You need this”… “This won’t fit, I need that”… “No you need this” he finally decided she could shove it right up her ass and left with nothing. He came home and gleefully took an anxiety pill and decided to dink with it a little more (to no avail) and finally decided to head to Lowes for a more powerful hand snake. At this point my phone rings and my door bell rings…which created quite a dilemma considering I had just stripped down to get in the shower…so I answer the phone (it was my neighbor) who then tells me to get the door (where there is no one standing) and then calls me back to tell me her husband has located a snake (it was probably him at the door)…so I call Tim to tell him the good news. “The neighbor has a snake!!” His reply was “okay, what do you want me to do?” “I want you to come home and get the damn thing!!” Thirty minutes later I heard him climbing up on the roof and went out to investigate…this is rich!
Me: Did he bring it?
Tim: Bring what?
Me: What is that?
Tim: The snake I bought at Lowes.
Me: Where is Bubba?
Tim: He’s at his parent’s house. I drove by and saw his car on my way home.
Me: So why didn’t you stop and get the snake? Is he going to bring it here?
Tim: I doubt he’ll bring it home…he’s probably going to kill it.
You might have to read it twice…but I only had to hear it once. I just stopped. I couldn’t say anything for a few seconds beyond “are you kidding me?” Why would you not interpret the word “snake” in the context of what has been going on all morning? Yes, indeed…he had interpreted it as an actual snake and was actually confused as to why I wanted him to stop his current search for a “pipe snake” to stop and help the neighbor’s in-laws with a slithering snake. But alas he pulls his head out of his a$% and goes to retrieve the snake…only to return moments later with another little hand jobby which will not do the job.
Up on the rooftop Tim will go…to make the kitchen water flow. At this point I am building lasagna and running in and out to make sure he hasn’t fallen off the roof and plunged to his death. On my second trip out he looked worried… “Did you get it?” I asked with such hopefulness. “I got it in…now I can’t get it out.” At this point I knew not to ask if he was kidding and told him to just get off the roof. By now his little FukItAll pill had fully worked its magic but I was still frantically running around trying to get things ready for company. On the verge of my meltdown Tim mentions "I don't see what the problem is...I'm in a fine mood now." I told him to be grateful we are not living on the rim of a volcano as those would be his final words at which point he decided to get busy and help a bit.
So 3 dishwasher loads of dishes were washed by hand and dinner was ready on time…but alas…no drain as of yet and relaxation has eluded us both to say the least. But every difficult situation should teach a lesson and thus I have tried to find one here. Never again will I invite anyone over for dinner…no good can come of it and problems will arise where before there were none. Goodbye socialization…hello hermit-hood.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Play Dating Questions
So my neighbor tells me her kid has a “play date” today and it got me thinking about how little I know about play dating…can I call it that? Being without children myself (other than the four legged ones) I have questions!
Here’s what I want to know….
Who gets to pick the location? Is it the kid who has the best toys or the mother with the most booze? Are there typically snacks involved? Who is responsible for feeding and repairing any broken skin, bones, or feelings? Do both parents have to stay for the date? Is that a date in itself? Or does one get to go? Cause if one gets to go…then this is just a way mothers have found to scam other mothers out of free babysitting!
If there is a toy dispute…is the favor with the play dater because it is actually his toy or the play datee because he is a “guest?” Is there a ref in place to settle such disputes? Or do you just go with the “whoever had it first” theory…in which case I guess it would default back to the play dater since it is his toy and thus he was technically in possession before the play datee. (That can be argued either way so I guess the smartest kid would win.)
Now what if a kid isn’t in school and thus doesn’t have any friends in place…how does he find a “date?” Is there a site like Match.com for play dates? Is there like a list of things they like or deal breakers? I can see the profiles now!!! “Tommy enjoys picking his nose, eating foreign objects smaller than his fist, and terrorizing small animals.” “Suzie likes to cut hair, microwave her Barbies, and play quiz games for which she has already memorized all the answers…children who smell like feet need not respond.”
These are things I want to know!!!
Here’s what I want to know….
Who gets to pick the location? Is it the kid who has the best toys or the mother with the most booze? Are there typically snacks involved? Who is responsible for feeding and repairing any broken skin, bones, or feelings? Do both parents have to stay for the date? Is that a date in itself? Or does one get to go? Cause if one gets to go…then this is just a way mothers have found to scam other mothers out of free babysitting!
If there is a toy dispute…is the favor with the play dater because it is actually his toy or the play datee because he is a “guest?” Is there a ref in place to settle such disputes? Or do you just go with the “whoever had it first” theory…in which case I guess it would default back to the play dater since it is his toy and thus he was technically in possession before the play datee. (That can be argued either way so I guess the smartest kid would win.)
Now what if a kid isn’t in school and thus doesn’t have any friends in place…how does he find a “date?” Is there a site like Match.com for play dates? Is there like a list of things they like or deal breakers? I can see the profiles now!!! “Tommy enjoys picking his nose, eating foreign objects smaller than his fist, and terrorizing small animals.” “Suzie likes to cut hair, microwave her Barbies, and play quiz games for which she has already memorized all the answers…children who smell like feet need not respond.”
These are things I want to know!!!
Friday, October 9, 2009
A Theory Worth Testing?
Today's Quote: "Some people drink from the fountain of knowledge...other just gargle."
I am beginning to think that the further South you go, the more literally minded the people are. Every now and again my dry humor would be lost on some unsuspecting moron in Shreveport…but Beaumontians take it to a new level. It’s not a retarded literalness, however, it is more of a kind-hearted concern for what you are saying and taking you very seriously. Let me explain…
Yesterday was the dogs first day of doggy day care and in an attempt to use every moment of my “alone day” wisely, I decided to start out with a McDonald’s iced coffee to get me going. I pulled up to the window, placed my order, and proceeded to the first window. After she collected my money, I found myself stuck there with two cars in front of me. She was standing there…just inches from me…with the window still open…so I felt the need to fill the void with some of my classic, sarcastic conversation. I asked what they would charge to just start an IV to infuse me with iced coffee. She looked a little confused, so I continued. “You should suggest that…you could get promoted!” Again she looked lost but she started to smile so I thought maybe I was getting through. “Just think, they could get some chairs like the blood bank and set them up along the front there. Then we addicts could come in, get wired up on iced coffee, and then be on our way!” Now her smile was gone…she looked up and to the left…and it occurred to me…she was deep in thought!
Finally she was prepared to speak. “They would probably charge an arm and a leg for something like that” she said like she was afraid I would be disappointed. “Oh well, maybe they should just sell it by the gallon jug,” I said while thinking “why won’t this damn car go!!!! For the love of Christ and all that is holy, how many sausage biscuits could one car order?” I really wanted out of this overly serious conversation I had unintentionally started. But no such luck. She went on to explain exactly how iced coffee is made…right down to how many packets of coffee are used for each pot!
Finally! The car pulls ahead and I left her…she was about halfway through the process of taking ordinary coffee and turning it into iced coffee goodness…but I had to move on with my day…and my life.
The underlying lesson: Make no smart ass comment to a stranger unless you are prepared to weigh the pros and cons and present a fully thought out business plan.
I am beginning to think that the further South you go, the more literally minded the people are. Every now and again my dry humor would be lost on some unsuspecting moron in Shreveport…but Beaumontians take it to a new level. It’s not a retarded literalness, however, it is more of a kind-hearted concern for what you are saying and taking you very seriously. Let me explain…
Yesterday was the dogs first day of doggy day care and in an attempt to use every moment of my “alone day” wisely, I decided to start out with a McDonald’s iced coffee to get me going. I pulled up to the window, placed my order, and proceeded to the first window. After she collected my money, I found myself stuck there with two cars in front of me. She was standing there…just inches from me…with the window still open…so I felt the need to fill the void with some of my classic, sarcastic conversation. I asked what they would charge to just start an IV to infuse me with iced coffee. She looked a little confused, so I continued. “You should suggest that…you could get promoted!” Again she looked lost but she started to smile so I thought maybe I was getting through. “Just think, they could get some chairs like the blood bank and set them up along the front there. Then we addicts could come in, get wired up on iced coffee, and then be on our way!” Now her smile was gone…she looked up and to the left…and it occurred to me…she was deep in thought!
Finally she was prepared to speak. “They would probably charge an arm and a leg for something like that” she said like she was afraid I would be disappointed. “Oh well, maybe they should just sell it by the gallon jug,” I said while thinking “why won’t this damn car go!!!! For the love of Christ and all that is holy, how many sausage biscuits could one car order?” I really wanted out of this overly serious conversation I had unintentionally started. But no such luck. She went on to explain exactly how iced coffee is made…right down to how many packets of coffee are used for each pot!
Finally! The car pulls ahead and I left her…she was about halfway through the process of taking ordinary coffee and turning it into iced coffee goodness…but I had to move on with my day…and my life.
The underlying lesson: Make no smart ass comment to a stranger unless you are prepared to weigh the pros and cons and present a fully thought out business plan.
Monday, September 28, 2009
My Furry Little Porn Star
In spite of 2 long (and hot) walkies and a bath, Bon Jovi was still wound up last night. Lucky for me…he found his frog…or should we say…his lover. He actually went to the door of the room the frog was in and did his smoke-detector-like bark until Tim opened the door…at which point he dashed in, grabbed the frog, and trotted back to the living room to commence his business.
A few times throughout the evening I noticed he was either busy with the frog or sprawled out on top of it…panting in exhaustion. I asked if he needed a drink…a cigarette maybe…but he seemed happy to just share time with is furry green friend. Eventually we decided it was time for one last trip out to tee tee before bedtime. I noticed something weird when I picked him up to carry him to his personal outdoor toilet…but thought nothing of it.
Then…as I put him on the bed…I felt it again…I still wasn’t sure what it was…it felt like a lump on his belly…did he get bit by something? Was he swollen? Was it a tumor? Ummm. No. He had a boner. I rushed him in to Tim to show him what I had found (all while my little Jon Bon Jovi was completely oblivious to my upset…he was just looking around as if to say “hey, I thought we were going to bed…where we going now?). Tim was no help…responding with… “that’s my big boy”… followed by (in that sing-song voice many people unconsciously use with a baby) “does my big boy have a boner?”
Ew.
So I checked it a few more times and realized this sucker wasn’t going ANYWHERE. I had no idea who to call about a doggy boner…but I knew the Emergency Vet in Shreveport could usually answer questions…so I dialed the number. I kinda saw it coming while it was ringing…and then it happened as the nice woman answered the phone…I realized I had absolutely no idea how to ask what I needed to ask.
I prefaced with “I have a 9 month old dog who was just fixed a few weeks ago and he’s been playing with a big stuffed frog all night.” She accepted this information with a uh-huh (and I’m pretty sure she was nodding her head) so I continued. “Okay, so like you know the Viagra commercials right?” (viiiiva Viagra…). Thankfully she knew the one. “Okay, so the commercial says if one who has taken this medication was to have an erection lasting more than 4 hours should see his doctor right?” Again I got the uh-huh but I can actually hear her face twisting into a knot. “I mean I don’t get it because I wouldn’t think a doctor would be high on the list…maybe a hooker…but I can’t see a guy sitting around for hours in the emergency room, explaining this to a million nurses, waiting on an actual doctor…all while wasting a boner.” She started to chuckle…I just figured I may as well help her along…after all…if we take it too seriously…it would be embarrassing.
“So my husband is impressed with his stamina…but I’m a little concerned…is a four-hour boner an issue for a dog?” That did it…I could hear her stuffing it back…but I knew that upon hanging up the phone…she was going to need dry pants.
She very nicely explained the dangers of the predicament (in that very elevated tone of voice you use when you are fighting back the gut busting shrieks of laughter). Apparently, if it says “out” too long, it can dry out and he could “lose it.” I was like “lose it like it will fall off?” No…she explained if it dried out it could do damage and need to be removed. She suggested I put something on it and put him in a dark, quiet place to “calm down” and check him in an hour or so.
So I hang up the phone and report my findings to Tim. His mouth drops open in horror as he shrieks “LOSE IT????” as if we were talking about his tool. “What do you mean lose it? I don’t want my big boy to lose it! Oh my God what do we do?”
I, being the calm mother, started pilfering through my bathroom cabinet in search of some lube for my dog. I had some Vaseline…but it was Chamomile and Lavender scented (works great on tired feet). He immediately said it would probably work…but I had the sense to read the label… “if ingested…seek emergency care and contact poison control” I read aloud. Ok, so if we put this on his wanker…it is very possible we will be headed to the vet with a poisoned, horny, yet lovely smelling dog.
I opted for some wanker medicine I had gotten a few weeks ago for a mild “wanker infection.” It had similar properties to lube and it had to be safe to ingest or it wouldn’t be for doggy wankers. Tim rolled him over and rubbed his belly so I could administer the treatment. It did NOT help any when he kept saying (in his Jovi voice…as we frequently speak for our dogs) “yeah…lube me up mommy.” I quickly spread the cream around with a Q-tip and plopped him on the bed for an hour of dark, quiet, and Desperate Housewives.
After the hour was up, I rolled my sleeping boy over for observation. To my dismay…there it was…staring back at me as if to say “hi there!” Tim had the idea to give him a warm bath…I opted to call the woman back. It didn’t take much to remind her who I was (I was sure she had gotten several calls since our last). I just said, “okay, so I called a bit ago about my porn star…” She was concerned the problem had not yet alleviated itself and somehow got on the subject of a pot-belly pig she once had that would hump random stuffed animals. Now as funny as this was…and it was funny…I was worried about the whole “lose it” thing. She was just about to help me come up with a plan (which I’m sure would have involved me staying up all night to lube my dog’s tool) when Tim came out the backdoor…holding a wet pup…and almost screaming… “It’s in!!”
I relayed this to the nice woman, who was relieved, and thanked her for her help. It wasn’t all the way fixed, but it was indeed a huge improvement.
So what does this teach all of us?
1. 4 hour boners are bad news for human and canine
2. Vaseline is not for eating
3. Tim can indeed fix anything
A few times throughout the evening I noticed he was either busy with the frog or sprawled out on top of it…panting in exhaustion. I asked if he needed a drink…a cigarette maybe…but he seemed happy to just share time with is furry green friend. Eventually we decided it was time for one last trip out to tee tee before bedtime. I noticed something weird when I picked him up to carry him to his personal outdoor toilet…but thought nothing of it.
Then…as I put him on the bed…I felt it again…I still wasn’t sure what it was…it felt like a lump on his belly…did he get bit by something? Was he swollen? Was it a tumor? Ummm. No. He had a boner. I rushed him in to Tim to show him what I had found (all while my little Jon Bon Jovi was completely oblivious to my upset…he was just looking around as if to say “hey, I thought we were going to bed…where we going now?). Tim was no help…responding with… “that’s my big boy”… followed by (in that sing-song voice many people unconsciously use with a baby) “does my big boy have a boner?”
Ew.
So I checked it a few more times and realized this sucker wasn’t going ANYWHERE. I had no idea who to call about a doggy boner…but I knew the Emergency Vet in Shreveport could usually answer questions…so I dialed the number. I kinda saw it coming while it was ringing…and then it happened as the nice woman answered the phone…I realized I had absolutely no idea how to ask what I needed to ask.
I prefaced with “I have a 9 month old dog who was just fixed a few weeks ago and he’s been playing with a big stuffed frog all night.” She accepted this information with a uh-huh (and I’m pretty sure she was nodding her head) so I continued. “Okay, so like you know the Viagra commercials right?” (viiiiva Viagra…). Thankfully she knew the one. “Okay, so the commercial says if one who has taken this medication was to have an erection lasting more than 4 hours should see his doctor right?” Again I got the uh-huh but I can actually hear her face twisting into a knot. “I mean I don’t get it because I wouldn’t think a doctor would be high on the list…maybe a hooker…but I can’t see a guy sitting around for hours in the emergency room, explaining this to a million nurses, waiting on an actual doctor…all while wasting a boner.” She started to chuckle…I just figured I may as well help her along…after all…if we take it too seriously…it would be embarrassing.
“So my husband is impressed with his stamina…but I’m a little concerned…is a four-hour boner an issue for a dog?” That did it…I could hear her stuffing it back…but I knew that upon hanging up the phone…she was going to need dry pants.
She very nicely explained the dangers of the predicament (in that very elevated tone of voice you use when you are fighting back the gut busting shrieks of laughter). Apparently, if it says “out” too long, it can dry out and he could “lose it.” I was like “lose it like it will fall off?” No…she explained if it dried out it could do damage and need to be removed. She suggested I put something on it and put him in a dark, quiet place to “calm down” and check him in an hour or so.
So I hang up the phone and report my findings to Tim. His mouth drops open in horror as he shrieks “LOSE IT????” as if we were talking about his tool. “What do you mean lose it? I don’t want my big boy to lose it! Oh my God what do we do?”
I, being the calm mother, started pilfering through my bathroom cabinet in search of some lube for my dog. I had some Vaseline…but it was Chamomile and Lavender scented (works great on tired feet). He immediately said it would probably work…but I had the sense to read the label… “if ingested…seek emergency care and contact poison control” I read aloud. Ok, so if we put this on his wanker…it is very possible we will be headed to the vet with a poisoned, horny, yet lovely smelling dog.
I opted for some wanker medicine I had gotten a few weeks ago for a mild “wanker infection.” It had similar properties to lube and it had to be safe to ingest or it wouldn’t be for doggy wankers. Tim rolled him over and rubbed his belly so I could administer the treatment. It did NOT help any when he kept saying (in his Jovi voice…as we frequently speak for our dogs) “yeah…lube me up mommy.” I quickly spread the cream around with a Q-tip and plopped him on the bed for an hour of dark, quiet, and Desperate Housewives.
After the hour was up, I rolled my sleeping boy over for observation. To my dismay…there it was…staring back at me as if to say “hi there!” Tim had the idea to give him a warm bath…I opted to call the woman back. It didn’t take much to remind her who I was (I was sure she had gotten several calls since our last). I just said, “okay, so I called a bit ago about my porn star…” She was concerned the problem had not yet alleviated itself and somehow got on the subject of a pot-belly pig she once had that would hump random stuffed animals. Now as funny as this was…and it was funny…I was worried about the whole “lose it” thing. She was just about to help me come up with a plan (which I’m sure would have involved me staying up all night to lube my dog’s tool) when Tim came out the backdoor…holding a wet pup…and almost screaming… “It’s in!!”
I relayed this to the nice woman, who was relieved, and thanked her for her help. It wasn’t all the way fixed, but it was indeed a huge improvement.
So what does this teach all of us?
1. 4 hour boners are bad news for human and canine
2. Vaseline is not for eating
3. Tim can indeed fix anything
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Is Trash Really this Complicated?
I was so excited on Monday morning. Why? Because it was my designated “heavy trash” day which means all of these boxes…which (as you will remember) I have carried to the street and then back into the garage…should have disappeared for good. I thought I heard a truck a few times but, to my dismay, every time I looked out the window…the boxes looked back. So by the time Tim got home, it had rained a good bit and a big wet pile of boxes greeted him. My thought was…maybe they don’t come when it rains. Maybe they will just come on Wednesday when it is trash (and grass clippings) day. After all, the very informative website said my moving trash is considered heavy (I don’t know why because the boxes are empty) and it will be picked up on the 2nd and 4th Monday (use full weeks). I feel like I need a damn degree just to calculate my trash pick-up days…Anyway, the boxes did not move on Monday.
Nor did they move on Tuesday. In fact, when I left to walk the dogs…I think they laughed at me.
Wednesday arrives and I figure certainly the boxes will be leaving. I took out a few more to add to the family and wished them all well. Again the trash truck came and went at the speed of sound and I rushed to the front window to remind myself what the empty driveway looked like. HA…HA…HA…It doesn’t look empty at all!! It looks like a mountain of used boxes doused with rain and dried to irregular box-like shaped lumps of wet cardboard!!! YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME…right? I’ve had it with this…they took my little green can and emptied it and then put it back by the pile of boxes AND my bag of grass clippings (which is clear). I decided it was time to call someone.
So I again read the very informative site and found the phone number. I explained we were new and could not seem to get our schedules in order with the trash pick-up. She interrupted me to ask my zip code and matter-of-factly stated our “heavy” trash day would be next Monday (again with the heavy…the boxes are flying down the street with a slight breeze).
ME: “Oh, I thought it was this Monday.”
YOLANDA: “Well, it’s not.”
ME: “Ok, so what about our yard clippings?”
YOLANDA: “That is on regular trash day.”
ME: “So that would be today?”
YOLANDA: “If today is your trash day.” (isn’t she the one with the damn schedule?)
ME: “Well, it is, but they are still out there.”
YOLANDA: “Is the bag beside the trash can?”
ME: “Well, no matter where you place them, they will be beside the trash can…it really depends on what direction you are looking from.” (now I'm having some fun)
YOLANDA: “But is the bag behind the can or beside the can”
I can stop here right? Is this insane to anyone else? Apparently, like the diagram (yes, diagram) on the very informative website states…the items must be separated and 2 feet apart…side BY FREAKING side.
I called and informed Tim of his error and scolded him for not doing it right. He instantly made his excuse but, unlike his usual excuses, this one made perfect sense. If he were to pile things 2 feet apart in a side-by-side fashion…how would he get OUT of the driveway?
At any rate, Yolanda was not much help and the boxes will sit there until
a. they are picked up
b. they fly away or
c. they disintegrate.
Of course there are more than just these 3 outcomes…they could spontaneously combust, be carried away by aliens, or I may rectally deliver them to Yolanda.
Nor did they move on Tuesday. In fact, when I left to walk the dogs…I think they laughed at me.
Wednesday arrives and I figure certainly the boxes will be leaving. I took out a few more to add to the family and wished them all well. Again the trash truck came and went at the speed of sound and I rushed to the front window to remind myself what the empty driveway looked like. HA…HA…HA…It doesn’t look empty at all!! It looks like a mountain of used boxes doused with rain and dried to irregular box-like shaped lumps of wet cardboard!!! YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME…right? I’ve had it with this…they took my little green can and emptied it and then put it back by the pile of boxes AND my bag of grass clippings (which is clear). I decided it was time to call someone.
So I again read the very informative site and found the phone number. I explained we were new and could not seem to get our schedules in order with the trash pick-up. She interrupted me to ask my zip code and matter-of-factly stated our “heavy” trash day would be next Monday (again with the heavy…the boxes are flying down the street with a slight breeze).
ME: “Oh, I thought it was this Monday.”
YOLANDA: “Well, it’s not.”
ME: “Ok, so what about our yard clippings?”
YOLANDA: “That is on regular trash day.”
ME: “So that would be today?”
YOLANDA: “If today is your trash day.” (isn’t she the one with the damn schedule?)
ME: “Well, it is, but they are still out there.”
YOLANDA: “Is the bag beside the trash can?”
ME: “Well, no matter where you place them, they will be beside the trash can…it really depends on what direction you are looking from.” (now I'm having some fun)
YOLANDA: “But is the bag behind the can or beside the can”
I can stop here right? Is this insane to anyone else? Apparently, like the diagram (yes, diagram) on the very informative website states…the items must be separated and 2 feet apart…side BY FREAKING side.
I called and informed Tim of his error and scolded him for not doing it right. He instantly made his excuse but, unlike his usual excuses, this one made perfect sense. If he were to pile things 2 feet apart in a side-by-side fashion…how would he get OUT of the driveway?
At any rate, Yolanda was not much help and the boxes will sit there until
a. they are picked up
b. they fly away or
c. they disintegrate.
Of course there are more than just these 3 outcomes…they could spontaneously combust, be carried away by aliens, or I may rectally deliver them to Yolanda.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Finding Comfort in the Familiar
We have been amazed at how drastically different the service is here in Beaumont. Wait staff and clerks are all happy, smiling, friendly…it’s downright frightening! But today I found comfort in something familiar. Today…I went to Walmart.
There is no need to detail the goings on throughout the store…suffice it to say, it is like any other Walmart…everyone has gone down the IQ slide upon entering the doors… grabbed their weapons of choice (a buggy, a basket, or a small screaming child)…and they are wandering about in an varying states of unconsciousness. I quickly grabbed what I needed while simultaneously running from the screams and dodging the other armed patrons.
The real treat…the comforting reminder of home…was when I went to check out. I approached a lane that had a light on but no one in line (bonus!). I noticed the clerk looked really short and at first thought maybe she was “little” which almost made me detour (those of you don’t know, I have quite the phobia of midgets…it’s something about the big head that gets me). Anyway, I realized she was just sitting on a cardboard box. As I put my things up on the belt I was surprised that as she started to scan my purchases, she had not yet removed her ass from the box…as if they had a symbiotic relationship. I figured there was no way she could possibly ring up this entire purchase without standing up and I watched out of the corner of my eye as she stretched to reach the 24-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper. Now why she was sitting on the box is still a mystery to me…but if she was doing so because of back pain…that stretch did far more damage than standing for a mere 2 minutes. It was actually more work to do her job from her low lying box than if she were standing…but I wouldn’t dare suggest…Lakeshia clearly knew what she was doing.
After I had compiled all my items on the belt I moved forward to watch the finale of this show and pay for this excellent service. Did I mention she hadn’t even spoken to me yet? Well, her first words blew my mind. I’m sure you’re expecting something like “hey, how you doing today?” or maybe “did you find everything you were looking for?” HA! Her first words were “your lettuce rode over dare” (rode and dare not being typos but to translate she was saying ‘rolled’ and ‘there’). I followed the direction of her finger as she pointed and saw my lettuce…all alone…in a bag…on the floor…about 10 feet away. Did she expect me to go fetch it? Did she throw it? How the hell did my lettuce make it from her hands to this unusual location?
I looked at her puzzled…but she was not making eye contact…I looked at the guy patiently waiting behind me…he raised his eyebrows. I knew at that point I could not go and collect my little head of lettuce…I refused to be defeated…I really wanted salad with dinner…but I had gotten 2 heads of lettuce so I had one to spare! I announced I no longer wanted the abused head of lettuce. I figured she would have to go collect it to perform the void…but I was wrong…she dug through all of my other bags to find the spare. I turned to the guy behind me and explained that we had just moved here from Shreveport and I feel like I never left! To my surprise…she found this to be very funny…probably because it was far too many words for her little brain to process and thus she laughed out of confusion.
I paid my bill (minus the head of lettuce which was still lying there on the dirty floor), passed the greeter (who said nothing), and dodged several vehicles (with big rims and booming trunks) before throwing my bags in the car and making my way out of the parking lot…vowing the entire time…I will not return to Wal-Mart in Beaumont…(until my homesickness kicks in and I feel the need to be mentally and verbally mistreated while handing out my money for substandard quality goods and services).
There is no need to detail the goings on throughout the store…suffice it to say, it is like any other Walmart…everyone has gone down the IQ slide upon entering the doors… grabbed their weapons of choice (a buggy, a basket, or a small screaming child)…and they are wandering about in an varying states of unconsciousness. I quickly grabbed what I needed while simultaneously running from the screams and dodging the other armed patrons.
The real treat…the comforting reminder of home…was when I went to check out. I approached a lane that had a light on but no one in line (bonus!). I noticed the clerk looked really short and at first thought maybe she was “little” which almost made me detour (those of you don’t know, I have quite the phobia of midgets…it’s something about the big head that gets me). Anyway, I realized she was just sitting on a cardboard box. As I put my things up on the belt I was surprised that as she started to scan my purchases, she had not yet removed her ass from the box…as if they had a symbiotic relationship. I figured there was no way she could possibly ring up this entire purchase without standing up and I watched out of the corner of my eye as she stretched to reach the 24-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper. Now why she was sitting on the box is still a mystery to me…but if she was doing so because of back pain…that stretch did far more damage than standing for a mere 2 minutes. It was actually more work to do her job from her low lying box than if she were standing…but I wouldn’t dare suggest…Lakeshia clearly knew what she was doing.
After I had compiled all my items on the belt I moved forward to watch the finale of this show and pay for this excellent service. Did I mention she hadn’t even spoken to me yet? Well, her first words blew my mind. I’m sure you’re expecting something like “hey, how you doing today?” or maybe “did you find everything you were looking for?” HA! Her first words were “your lettuce rode over dare” (rode and dare not being typos but to translate she was saying ‘rolled’ and ‘there’). I followed the direction of her finger as she pointed and saw my lettuce…all alone…in a bag…on the floor…about 10 feet away. Did she expect me to go fetch it? Did she throw it? How the hell did my lettuce make it from her hands to this unusual location?
I looked at her puzzled…but she was not making eye contact…I looked at the guy patiently waiting behind me…he raised his eyebrows. I knew at that point I could not go and collect my little head of lettuce…I refused to be defeated…I really wanted salad with dinner…but I had gotten 2 heads of lettuce so I had one to spare! I announced I no longer wanted the abused head of lettuce. I figured she would have to go collect it to perform the void…but I was wrong…she dug through all of my other bags to find the spare. I turned to the guy behind me and explained that we had just moved here from Shreveport and I feel like I never left! To my surprise…she found this to be very funny…probably because it was far too many words for her little brain to process and thus she laughed out of confusion.
I paid my bill (minus the head of lettuce which was still lying there on the dirty floor), passed the greeter (who said nothing), and dodged several vehicles (with big rims and booming trunks) before throwing my bags in the car and making my way out of the parking lot…vowing the entire time…I will not return to Wal-Mart in Beaumont…(until my homesickness kicks in and I feel the need to be mentally and verbally mistreated while handing out my money for substandard quality goods and services).
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