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.
Tag: dogs
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.
Diary of a Dog Hoarding Spinster 