Sarcasm with a side of optimism.

Adios Dog!

So as it turns out, it wasn't the right time, place or dog for us so we had to give Marta back. The epiphany came when I was picking shit out of her fur that got matted in there real good after she released one of her trademarked "nuggets" and slept on it. Then, after her morning walk, I gave her a glucosamine pill for her joints which she needs after the accident, and she promptly licked all the peanut butter off and let the pill roll lazily off her tongue and onto the floor. At that point, with the lack of sleep, and the stress of having the dog, I went nuts.

"Oh, that's right...You spit out that pill...YEAH, you go ahead and do that. Well, FUCK YOU DOG! You think I give you this pill for my own health?? I don't care if you don't take your pill. Screw this!"

And I stormed upstairs to go yell at Craig even though he was completely unaware of anything that morning. Nobody should have to deal with this shit at 7:10am. Between the poop in the fur, and her spitting out the pill, it was the final straw. I had been hoping stupidly that maybe she didn't really have a neurological issue that caused her fecal incontinence, and maybe it had to do with the brand of food, or the amount we fed her, or the time of day, or the extra munchies like treats and rawhide that maybe upset her stomach. I tried everything, but it was no use. This dog has a real problem, and I can't do anything to fix it. I have no idea how the people at the rescue organization keep failing to mention this as a real problem. The dog is back up on the adoption site with her blurb even more embellished than the first time.

If it seems too good to be true, IT IS.

After all that early morning yelling, the first thing I did when I got to work was compose a quick email to Marta's foster mom to get her back ASAP. This whole ordeal was extremely emotional from getting the dog, to having the dog, and now, giving up the dog. I was hysterical on Friday when Donna (some other lady from the organization) picked her up. It's not like the dog actually cares or anything. I was annoyed because they told us she was a low maintenance dog. Cleaning up shit in her cage every day, and picking shit out of her fur disqualifies her as low maintenance.

On top of this, I had to leave not too long after this to go back to NY for a funeral. Initially I wasn't intending on going, but Dad said something, so I packed it up in a flash and was ready to go. I guess it was the right thing to do, to be there as a family since the family matriarch passed away.

Thanks to one of my relatives who is a real paranoid, psychotic biatch, we were always excluded from extended family events since she was the dead link in the chain of communication. I never really knew my Great-Aunt Minnie, and I feel like that was a big loss. Of course, I had to give my psycho relative the requisite Italian hug-kiss on the cheek, and lied and said it was good to see her, but sad due to the circumstances. She retorts, "The shower was a happy occasion." Always one to throw the daggers when she can. My tolerance for this is very low mostly due to self inflicted stress and lack of sleep, so instead of telling her to fuck off at the post-burial luncheon, I pointed out crisply that due to the fact that the baby shower was on a Sunday evening, it was not feasible for me to attend since I am from out of town, HOWEVER, if it were a Saturday, I would've been there.

It's unfortunate that the only time I see the entire family is at weddings and funerals. I don't really know a whole lot about any of my relatives.

A good portion of the day was spent on Minnie's send off. Death is worse for the living. Minnie has nothing to worry about now. In some cultures, death is something to be celebrated.

The rest of the day went quickly. My parents have almost completely ousted me out of the house and I had to take some of my bins back with me. I probably have 8 or so that I left at the house full of childhood trinkets, diaries and photos that have been sorted through several times such that there ARE only 8 bins. I had to take my comics and baseball cards which 15 years later aren't worth shit. So much for those big dreams of making money off that stuff. What a bad investment! What's worse, my uncle has 8 boxes of comic books stashed away that he collected. I don't know if he can even recoup what he paid for those comics now. It's tedious to go through everything and price it out.

The weekend was long, starting with giving up the dog. I left DC and headed toward Philly to pick up my sister. I made it from home to NY home in less than 5 hours which isn't shabby at all. Of course, this meant taking her back on Sunday. I'm glad that I drove the Integra instead of my Xterra thinking that the weather was going to be fine. I'm glad that the rain that we were supposed to have came on Sunday instead, blanketing the entire east coast with snow and everything else classified as a "wintry mix". I was stressed about the return trip, especially since I've never driven the Integra in bad weather like that. I didn't have a shovel; just an ice scraper. And, because I really wasn't thinking straight, I even had my Xterra keys on me, so Craig couldn't rescue me if I got stuck somewhere.

The weather in NY was fine. The NJ turnpike was fine. We stopped for gas just before the PA turnpike exit, and you know that NJ doesn't allow you to pump your own gas, so you have to wait in line. I got in the shortest line, and realized that only one (out of the two) pumps was working. Unfortunately, the Infinity FX4 in front of me realizes this too, and decides to back right into me without looking. I was laying on the horn, but he hit me anyway.

If you were with me in the car, you would've heard all the expletives that flew out of my mouth. I'll spare you that now.

Just so you know, I've been rear ended more times than I can count in VA. People tailgate here like there's no tomorrow. The irony is that every time I've ever been hit, I've been stopped at a red light, or in park. What. The. Fuck. The only time I've been hit moving, I was driving Tina's car. I just backed out of a parking spot at McDonalds, and when I went to throw the car into drive, it lurched forward. I thought T's car had transmission problems, but when I looked in the rear-view, there was the rear end of a big-ass minivan. How the hell do you get rear ended by the rear end of a car as you're trying to move forward??? I have no luck.

I don't even want to get into all the details, but the damage to my car was cosmetic, or at least, that's what it looks like now. His car had visible paint scratches on the bumper where he made contact with my license plate screws. We didn't exchange information, but I called my insurance company ASAP to report that this had occurred. At this moment, Melissa informs me that she doesn't *actually* know how to get back to school because she's usually sleeping at this point when mommy and daddy are driving her back to school. Usually I'd go ballistic. This time, I handed her a road atlas and said, "Figure it out." I pulled over to talk to the insurance guy while she came up with revised directions.

Luckily, it wasn't exactly being lost as much as it was a different way to Philly that cost me an extra $2 toll. No big deal. I got her back safely, and quickly despite all the fun we were having. Oh, and did I mention, I hadn't even hit the bad weather yet? That happened as soon as I got into Delaware.

Despite all this, I still made it back to my house in about 5 hours from leaving NY. I have no idea how I managed to do that. And, I wasn't speeding at all either. (Learned my lesson after getting that speeding ticket, oh, 1/2 mile away from my house..but that's another story for another day.)

It's Tuesday. Not having the weekend makes the weeks continuous, and seemingly endless. I'm over the dog. I don't miss her. Work has picked up at an insane rate mostly because I have a deadline, and will not be in town for it, so my work needs to be done by Thursday. Work is a million times better by the way. All that unix crap is coming back to me, thank god. Hopefully they don't think I'm *too* incompetent at work.

I'm going to need things to slow down soon. This kind of stuff always happens to me. My level of activity ebbs and swells. It's swelling now, so I feel the 20-minute rule coming on soon; meaning that I ain't going if it's more than 20 minutes away from the house!

posted by v @ 9:17 PM 0 comments

Blink-Blink

posted by v @ 11:39 AM 0 comments

Changes.

Given how things have been going all of last year, I decided to make some changes. I quit my job at "Amway" for good reason, and started a new one last week. Actually, today marks my first FULL week at work. So far, so good. Usually by now, I could tell if it was going to suck or not, and there's been nothing pointing in that direction. It's much better. A MILLION times better than the old place. My only regret is not quitting sooner.





We adopted a dog from HART (www.hart90.org) simply because we wanted one I guess. Her name is Marta and she's got a long sob story, but despite the bullet shard in her rear which prevents her from wagging her tail properly, and what we presume are knife-wound-scars on her back, and the whole hip-fracture that healed itself thing, and the occasional nugget (don't ask), she's an extremely well behaved dog. You're probably wondering, "What about your other dog, you know, the one at your parent's house?" Good question! I've kept her for long periods of time at my house, but she regresses into her natural state of aggression which is socially unacceptable. I enjoyed having her around, but Craig is not a Judy fan. Not one bit. He likes big dogs. "Real" dogs, as he likes to call them. We've had Marta for exactly two weeks. She's low maintenance. My biggest complaint is that she's noisy, and snores and sighs audibly.
To answer your other question of, "Will your parents eventually get her?", I'd have to say no. HART requires that animals be surrendered back to them in case we can no longer keep her. They have a vested interest in their animals.

I'm having LASIK done this Friday. That's another change. What else?

Oh, I finally gave in and set up a My Space page. I don't like My Space at all. If you do manage to find me, don't expect anything fancy.

Craig may be going on a submarine voyage. Yep, you heard me. Like, 20,000 leagues under the sea type shit. I stupidly thought that there were dangers involving sea life when you're on a sub, but if you look up the biggest thing you can think of in the ocean (giant squid, whale..) you'll see that it's a fraction of the size of a submarine. I guess it's cool to say you've been on a real live submarine, but as I pointed out to Craig last night, it's kind of like a retarded time travel machine. You're trapped in this sensory deprivation chamber for an indeterminable amount of time, and suddenly, surface in some place with a sandy beach and palm trees. Or, frozen over New England.

If I had to go on a submarine voyage, I would freak out. First off, I don't like smells, and second, I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. So, I'm not a fan of hot-bunking it. With my luck, I'd end up with crabs, lice, scabies, and maybe even fifth disease.

Next month, we're going to visit Jimmy in Sweden for a long weekend. Of course, when you're flying to a foreign country, a long weekend isn't as long as you really need it to be. We got a great deal on airfare, so that's a check plus!

Oh Jesus, Marta's snoring. It sounds like Butthead. It really does.

Speaking of Butthead, she's now OFFICER Butthead, so no funny business at the tunnel, OK? Here's a chest-bump-high-five for V's accomplishment!

posted by v @ 4:57 PM 0 comments