Angus the Prancing Puppy vs a Frozen Baby Pool

Over the summer I bought my incredibly not spoiled dogs a pool to splash around in. Sometimes when we go walking they’ll take my arm off trying get in dirty water so I thought maybe I could fix that by getting them something clean to roll around in. But apparently a bright pink baby pool with crystal clear water just doesn’t have the allure of dirty, scum covered, swamp stinking, pond water because they wouldn’t touch it. I even tried picking them up and putting them in there with me but they would struggle like the rabbit in Fatal Attraction and jump right out again. As usual I was quite the entertainment for my neighbors when in all my portly glory, I tried to wrestle a 100 lbs Lab into a tiny pink baby pool looking very much like someone having a seizure while trying to tango with a fat dog only to have him whine like I was trying to drown him and jump out again after we were both good and soaked. I finally gave up and being a meticulously conscientious house keeper I tossed it in the corner of the yard and left it there to slowly rot with the rest of my tiny ghetto shanty. Lately it’s filled up with rain and leaves and slime and with the cold weather the filthy little thing froze over. Or started to. There was still a bit of water beneath the ice which my dear sweet Angus unhappily found out. For some reason he jumped up and was prancing around on it in his fabulous Angus fashion, like the star of canine River Dance when it gave way. It was just enough to wet his feet and legs but I think he must have jumped two feet in the air then ran straight to me in the house like ninja hounds of hell on steroids were chasing him, then stood and barked at it like a badass through the screen door and dribbled fear pee on my hardwoods while I dried him off. What a brave little soul he is. Sniffle, I’m so proud.

Dying Alone is Looking Pretty Good Right Now.

Thought I might start planning to think about contemplating a scheme to start dating again. I figured I’d read some pretentious and unrealistic dating advice articles then peruse some dating sites then maybe by March, when it will have been a year that I’ve been single I might dip my toe back in the dating cesspool. So I read some depressing and ridiculous articles then went to look at dating sites. Started with Match. The options in my age range and area were quite frankly terrifying. I know these rural areas are known for their inbreds but it kind of looked like an entire extended family of the genetically challened got a group rate. Thought I might have better luck on an interest specific site like dog lovers. W.T.F. I fear many of the candidates there may have taken the name of the site a little too literally. (Shudders) Sooo..hell no. Surely a site for vegitarians would have some potential right? Oh for the love of fuck no. There were like 5 men under 70 and they were all rejects from the other sites. Soooo… if anyone needs me I’m going to just be over here researching tips for being the best dog hoarding spinster I can be and trying to decide if being a gluttonous, angry hermit is really that bad of a lifestyle. Yay me! But also, FML.

Why Apology Pie isn’t the Amazing Idea it Sounds Like.

Learned a valuable lesson night before last about altercations with neighbors over barking dogs at 1130 at night. They were of course right to be upset but addressing the situation with profanity aimed at my dogs only sparks my inner asshole and escalates the problem. After a few exchanges (mine were wittier) she finally saw reason and asked me politely to take my dogs in the house which I did because I’m all magnanimous and shit. Of course about 5 minutes later I could hear my momma’s voice reminding me she did NOT raise a foul-mouthed, ill mannered, white trash, hooligan (she did but not for lack of trying ) so by morning I had worried myself into a tummy ache. I decided after work that a pie was a reasonable apology for late night insult exchanges and ran it by their house.
Bad idea. VERY very no good dirty rotten idea. Once I explained why I was there and handed her my peace offering she puckered up and started to cry, hugged me without permission and 30 minutes later I knew all about her baby being sick, her brothers legal problems, got introduced to said ne’er-do-well brother who impressively tried to pretend he had manners and not a meth problem, was forced into another unsolicited hug, talked about issues with another neighbor and the death of her dog. So the moral of the story boys and girls is if you go stupid in the middle of the night and insult your neighbor’s brother’s penis (he brought it up so it was fair game) among other things and then feel the need to get an apology pie do not take it in person. Either send that shit in the mail with a real pretty note or toss it from the road as you drive by and don’t look back.

Reasons Why I Need Adult Supervision

Another awesome couple of days of being me. First I was supposed to pick up some gas cards for a coworker whose husband is in the hospital far from where they live. I figured while I was as Casey’s I’d grab a pizza. Got the pizza and forgot the gift cards. You know, the REASON I was there in the first place. Then this morning I needed black dress socks to go with my black skirt. (socks and skirts, yes I really am that classy) I searched in the pile of clothes in the basket, and the pile on the table, and the one on the bench in my bedroom and the pile on the couch and in the load that’s been in the dryer for three days (I rock housekeeping skills). Finally gave up and grabbed a pair of white tube socks thinking I could stop at the Dollar Store on my way in to work and grab some. Got to the store, grabbed some cheap socks and got the bright idea to change socks standing next to car in the parking lot. In the wind. In a skirt. Dropped my shoe on the ground (light weight, sparkly Toms knockoff) and sure enough the $%^&ing wind blew my shoe under the car. There I am circling the car in a crouch trying to get my shoe, wind whipping my skirt up around my hairy man legs (god made long skirts so you wouldn’t have to bother shaving in the winter) and unflattering tube socks. Thankfully it finally blew on out the other side so I could grab it. Went back to changing my socks and in my irritation yanked off the white sock now covered in Dollar Store parking lot filth and threw it the passenger seat, of course if fell straight into the Panera bag with my breakfast in it. Granted everything was wrapped up but it was just the idea that crack whore goo from the parking lot might be sharing space with my precious Panera. Dammit some days it’s hard being me. Most days actually. Ok everyday. sniffle.

How I Missed a Chance to become a Rural Hooker.

The interesting thing about being me is not just the complete incompetence with which I blithely bumble through life but also the colorful characters that for some freakish twist of fate seem to be drawn to me. For example, I like walking my dog in pretty places but I hate other people so finding quiet but safe but pretty places to roam is sometimes tricky. (<That’s foreshadowing. Remember this in a minute.)  A great place that provides pretty views with no people is the Vichy Community park. There is kind of a creepy “settlement” on one end but I figured as long as we stayed on the other end, in clear view of the highway we’d be fine. Hahahahah. I’m an idiot. Plenty of times it was totally uneventful, as long as it was early in the day but I noticed if we went after work sometimes cars would suddenly slow down on the highway, drive around to the other entrance then slowly creep through the park give us serious side eye. No one ever bothered us so I reckoned it was just nosy towns people making sure we weren’t vandalizing the park or anything. Hahahahaha, I’m seriously an idiot.  Other times I’d notice a couple of cars in the parking lot but no one in them. I was afraid they were poachers or something else illicit so I didn’t stick around. Turns out I was partly right but the only thing getting poached was someone’s virtue. Finally late one afternoon one of the obnoxious oglers stopped and I shit you not, yelled, “You sure got a real pretty dog ma’am!”  From 50 yards away this being yelled from a nice car without tinted windows seemed vaguely witty and not TOO creepy. HAHAHAHAHA god almighty my idiocy knows no bounds. We yelled a few comments back and forth but for some reason I couldn’t quite understand him and Donald was curious about this new person so he drug me over to the car. I mean if Donald isn’t bothered by them they can’t be that bad. Right?  At least the mystery of why I couldn’t understand him was cleared up. In the car sat an older but clean cut man who was completely missing all of his upper teeth. I don’t know if he had misplaced his upper set of dentures, sold them for drugs or was on a tooth by tooth payment plan but whatever, he had a full bottom set but no upper teeth. The amount of surprised amusement I had to choke on was a. overwhelming and b. probably the karmic reason this crazy shit happens to me. I should have known something was up in the overly friendly way he smiled/showed off his naked gums but, well, we all know my lack of common sense is pretty epic so I just figured I’d chat with Gummy McGum face as my good deed for the day and then skedaddle but every time I tried to walk away he’d start talking again. I heard all about his cat that was missing and by the way Donald kept sniffing under the car I suspect I know where the cat is. And all about his dog who had died and how sad it made him and how he’d rescued her and she didn’t like his girlfriend which should have been a hint because the girlfriend eventually ran over the dog and he had to put the dog down and the girlfriend left him and now he was soooo lonely. This is the point when a normal person would have thought OH FUCK! This guy is looking for a hook up. But no, not me. I just stood there feeling bored and trying to subtly inch away. Thankfully the guy abruptly stopped talking and said he should let me finish my walk. It was weird but I was too relieved to care and high tailed to my car. Still blissfully unaware of what had just happened. Later I recounted the weirdness to someone I now only loosely refer to as a friend as he knew that I walked there regularly but also knew that this is a fairly well known “hook up” spot and also a place where truckers meet up with hookers. When I told him what had been happening he just guffawed for about 5 minutes then explained what that place was and that law enforcement tries to keep on the place and that the guy probably busted a nut when a deputy drove by, hence the abrupt end to his morbid, dead dog filled wooing.  He DID say that he thought that kind of thing only happened late at night and since I was there during the day he figured it was fine. So, now, being me I AM relieved nothing worse than that ever happened but there’s this part of me that’s actually pretty offended that out of all the drivebys only the old toothless guy stopped. Really? Are there a lot of better looking whores in this rural area??? Another equally ridiculous part thinks that I can always use extra cash and Christmas IS coming so some old semi toothless guy might as well too. And there could be advantages debauched gymnastics with a toothless person. And…. we’ve come full circle to just how utterly ridiculous am.

Of Opossums and Ordeals

Fun, middle of the night adventures in my yard. Some how a small opossum made it into my yard. Which is bizarre by itself as it’s a 6′ fence and i hadn’t realize they were such good climbers but whatever, one made it into the yard . Now it’s not unusual for the dogs to run out the door like a herd of wildebeests being chased by hyenas. But usually once they get out there they scatter into the yard. This time however they all stayed in a cluster around something so I knew doggy dipshittery was afoot. I get out there and realize it’s some poor opossum and Lindy is just laying on top of it trying to protect her find from the other dogs. I got him away from them and it was all curled up. I know they play dead sometimes so I was really careful but it let me rake it into a trash can without any movement so I figured they had killed it. I was going to walk it through the house and put it out back to bury in the morning but halfway across the yard I felt the trash can start to move in my hand. My poor neighbors. I screeched and started to run for the fence and then lobbed the whole thing, 13 gallon trash can with frantic possum inside over the 6′ fence. I’m really sorry for that poor possum. The whole night had to be a traumatic event between being cornered by my dogs then being shoved in a trash can and then an impromptu flight over a fence with a terrifying screeching noise. But seeing as how this morning I feel like I might have pulled something in my back I’m not all that sorry. However I do think I’ve invented a new sport and I’m looking into trademarking Possum in a Can Shot Putting. The only rule is you have to wear house slippers and sing like the fat lady at the end of an opera to compete.

Drunk and disorderly in the drive through.

Went to Panera at lunch. Got my sweater caught in the console getting out of the car but thought I could just yank it out instead of opening the console. It held for a second then suddenly let go. I already had one leg hanging out, sitting on the edge of the seat so lost my balance and kind of tumbled/butt scooted out of the car. Tried to pretend I was looking for something on the ground but somehow lost my flip flop trying to right myself. Pretty sure the Panera employees think I’m drunk.

My choice of friends is just another example of my epic decision making skills.

Dear whackadoodle ex-friend: thank you very much for the lovely gift you managed to have laid across my desk even though the door was locked and no one was around, it was not at all creepy or disconcerting to find there. However, I’m not really sure where my messages are getting crossed. After I deleted you from Facebook, blocked your phone number and ignored all emails I was pretty sure the signals I was sending were NOT, “I am just depressed and down, please keep contacting me.” but more along the lines of, “you are bat shit crazy and I fear for my life in your presence.” How exactly can I make this clearer without buying a wooden stake, silver bullets and a garlic necklace? I would sit down and explain to you why I no longer enjoy your company but I fear that your temperament would go from Looney Tunes straight to Single White Female with a side of Fatal Attraction and this is unfortunate as I am very fond of my rabbit and my life. If you see me in the hallway backing away from you and holding up my fingers in the sign of the cross in front of me I promise it is not some new girlfriends gang sign that means me + you = woo hoo!! It’s just my silly way of saying you scare the piss out me and I have no idea how to release myself from your clutches without sparking the scorching wrath of scorned psycho ex “bestie” upon myself. You have a great day and don’t mind me over here trying not to make any sudden moves and backing away slowly.

Looking like zombie whore seems to be a theme in my life.

I think I might need to give up on the attitude that, I’m just running into Kroger’s, no one shops there so I don’t need to be presentable. Twice now I’ve gone in looking bad and both times I’ve run into someone I know. Not like “people of Wal-Mart” freakish, more like, just-broke-out-of-prison-and-am-wearing stolen-clothes-that-don’t-fit-right-and-am-super-sweaty-and-look-shady kind of bad. Which is still bad, just not, muffin top-with-a-g-string-and-skinny pants-and-patriotic pasties-and-dragging-a-goat-around-like-a-seeing-eye-dog kind of bad. Anyway the first time wasn’t TOO awful. It had been raining and I looked like a drowned rat stuck in a sewer grate but thankfully everyone I saw was either too busy going through self-check-out or wrangling stray, heathen offspring so they just waved and went on and didn’t really notice my rainy day ho look. (I hope) The second time however I’d been weeding the garden, without gloves of course because that would make sense, and was all hot and sweaty and covered in garden filth and bugs. I tried to clean up with the garden hose but figured I was just going home and it didn’t matter. Then halfway home I developed a powerful hunger for microwave burritos and cottage cheese and was drawn against my will to the grocery store. (Cue REO Speedwagon song here.) I made it almost all the way to frozen semi ethnic food without seeing anyone other than mangy pot heads also looking for cheap snacks. But then, just as I thought I was home free, I saw a very dear old friend whose mother-in-law had just passed away and while I have happily done some tacky-ass crap in my time I draw the line at yelling condolences for lost loved ones down aisle 7 passed the laxatives and feminine hygiene products. So off I went to speak to him in all my dried sweat and caked, stinking garden mud glory. Thankfully he is a lovely, well-mannered person that totally pretended not to notice that I was standing there, nails full of dirt like a serial killer that doesn’t think ahead enough bring a shovel to work, hugging burritos and cottage cheese. I am super grateful for his lovely, old school manners but I still think it’s a good idea to stop going to the store looking like a bridge troll with a bad case of the munchies.

Another day in Beth-ville

Wednesday was my turn to cook night so being the gourmet chef that I am I tossed some crap in the crock pot and headed down to Dave’s house. I’ve had that nasty ear and throat ache for a few days and wasn’t feeling like getting all gussied up just to drive down for dinner and Duck Dynasty (it’s been a year, he knows he’s already seen the best it’s gonna get and it’s all downhill from here) so I threw on my lounge wear (monkey pajama bottoms and a ratty Bass Pro sweat shirt) and dragged myself into the car. Now, smarter people than me know that when you put something filled with hot food in your car you should probably pack things around it to keep it from turning over. Especially if “it” is your mother’s 30 year old crock pot that sits on wobbly legs and is bizarrely top heavy. But we all know my chronic lack of forethought and common sense so of course I just sat it in the floor and blissfully went on my merry way. I hadn’t even made it to the highway before it turned over. So there I was on the shoulder of the off ramp racing around my hooptie in baby blue flannel pajama bottoms that are 3 sizes too big and covered in frolicking monkeys and that I have to hold up if I’m moving very fast because the elastic waistband is all worn out, crusty old flip flops and swinging free in a faded, hunter orange Bass Pro sweat shirt trying to salvage chicken and rice from the dog hair in the floor board of my Honda. After I finished scorching my hands shoveling unsavable dog dander casserole on to the pavement I had to schlep back around the car while being passed by nosey travelers not even pretending not to stare. I could just FEEL the “hey you’re going the wrong direction, WalMart is back that way” jokes being told. Jerks. I’m starting to get the feeling the universe is trying to tell me to stop going out in public looking like a washed up hooker. Pft, like that’s gonna happen.