Dear neighbors, I deeply apologize for the fact that the image of me walking around the backyard in a tank top, bright green panties, and Jeremiah's old grey converse searching for granules in piles of dog barf is forever burned in your retinas.

Believe me, everyone. If time had permitted me to put on pants, I would have.

The title for this one practically wrote itself. Alternates I was considering:

• What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger...one dog's true story.
• I feel like a million bucks...or at least $39.99 and the cost of some hydrogen peroxide.
• Do you know the number for the poison control line for pets? No? Because I do.

Here's the story.

Yesterday was a self-proclaimed "Day of Fun". More details on that later. Or never. Who knows. Anyway, to have the day of fun,  Jeremiah got up around 4:30, I think. I slept in until 5:55. This has little to do with the story, other than I am appalled that I consider 5:55 sleeping in late. That just makes me sad.

At one point (the point where I was dressed only half way) I could hear scraping noises outside. I asked Jeremiah to check on the dogs. It was then that he discovered that Spike had gotten into the ant poisoning that we put outside. It was in a container, covered and surrounded by bricks, but he got in.

And then he ate the poison.

I have to say one thing. If there is ever an emergency, I will need to duplicate myself. Jeremiah was little help (sorry Jeremiah, but it's the truth), except when he whipped out his credit card. He made the phone calls, but basic information was relayed from me to him to the person on the phone. Age of the dogs? No clue. Weight? No clue.  EPA number on the side of the poison? Couldn't find it.

So Spike eats the poison. Atticus is flitting around the backyard, and I am actually concerned that he might have gotten some.

The first person (actually the second person. Our vet was closed, so we called the emergency number they listed.) suggested that both dogs be given a tablespoon of hydrogen peroxide, which is safe for the dogs and would make them barf. I pulled out the dropper/measuring thing that I use with the dogs (pet owners - you should ALWAYS have one of these on hands. You never know when you will need it.) and fed Atters a bit less then a tablespoon. Spike willingly drank about half of his and then I had to squirt the rest in with the dropper.

Atticus went outside. Promptly sat down, grinned at me, and horked up a tiny pile of dog food. I used my foot to smoosh through it. No poison. Thank god.

Spike didn't barf. The dog has an iron stomach. He's also ingested transmission fluid, primer, and a bunch of other random things. He walked around gaily, wagging his tail, smelling things.

Jeremiah calls a third person, recommended by the previous caller, which will cost $39.99, but will tell us if the ingredients are toxic. Jeremiah calls, I provide him with his information (time to learn your new phone number, Jeremiah) and the EPA number listed on the side of the container and we discover that it should not be a problem. Spike's stomach will be upset and he shouldn't have any water or food for awhile, but he will be fine.

After Jeremiah got off the phone he sat patiently and reassured me that I would not end up on a list of people who were banned from buying/rescuing shelter animals. I still do not believe him. I probably will not ever be able to adopt any animal again. I probably am not even allowed to volunteer (Actually, Jeremiah and several friends have forbade me from volunteering with animals as they fear that I will bring them all home.)

Then - Spike barfed.

He barfed up a pile of ant poison pellets.

And now he's fine.

"Cross ant poison off my bucket list!"

Orange You Glad You Had One?

No vault. I miss the vault. 

Typically, I barely take a break to breathe at work, but as last night was rough (dog panting, which means his ass is about to explode in a mess of diarrhea; and a rogue smoke detector) and I was up from about one until about two or three.

So when I had a second, I called Jeremiah. His car took a shit and he had to take the day to take it in, as it was undrive-able, which left him with little choice. So he was home. His biggest concern was that he did not have any sweets. His half of everything that my mom and my aunt had sent for Easter was gone. Like, within the first few days.

We had this coversation:
Me: You may have 1/3 cup of my jelly beans. That's it.
J: That's fine, I am so hungry I don't care.
Me: You know, you might consider eating something NUTRITIOUS. We have kiwis. We have cuties.
J: Um, yeah. Have you had one of those cuties lately?
Me: Lying, as the cuties are almost completely brown.* Yeah, I have. Soooo good, right?
J: No. Not "sooooo good." I had one yesterday and I am pretty sure that I was drunk afterward.
Me: What?
J: I'm serious. It was really ripe.
Me: Well, one of us has to eat them, and I am busy with the apples. We can't waste perfectly good fruit.
J: Well, I guess I can try another one. But if you come home and I'm passed out on the floor...
Me: Then it is my fault. Well, mine and the cuties.




* I actually love cuties, but then I started eating apples and strawberries and grapes and I just couldn't stop. I tend to be cyclical with my eating. I eat something until I am sick of it. On the plus side,  I have been quite regular. I am sure that you are relieved for me.

I Freaking Apologized Once - That's a Big Deal for Me. Take What You Can Get, Idiot.

Sunday was the first day of swim season for me. Mostly because it was 103 degrees on Sunday, but also because normally we start swimming the first week of April and I simply could not wait a second longer.

As I was lounging around afterward, with my puppies flying around the yard, I tipped my face up so it could kiss the sun. As my face and the sun were engaged in some serious snogging, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

Oh, yeah. It was my neighbor. Peeking over the fence. The new neighbor, that we love so much we can hardly stand it.

I waited until I caught his eye and then gave him my "What the hell do you want and why are you staring into my backyard?" smile. It's quite the smile. The following conversation truly did happen:

Neighbor: M'am?
Me: Holy shit. This idiot did NOT just call me m'am. I don't think m'ams use noodles and floaties in the pool. Yes, SIR?
N: Yer gettin' water in my yard.
Me: Oh, yeah. The filter needs a small replacement part. I'm sorry about that. We shut it off. It should not be leaking anymore.
N: There's water in my yard.
Me: Again, we turned it off. We'll get it fixed before we turn it back on. It was an accident.
N:It's right where my dog stands.
Me: Oh my gosh! I will be right over with paper towels and a blow dryer! We'll fix this mess! Oh, wait. It's THE GROUND. It is also the freaking DESERT. I think it will dry. As will your dog, unless it melted because it is pure barking evil.

Because seriously? At this point, what do I say? I have said everything possible regarding the situation.

I don't get being all butt hurt about this. I truly don't. Every day our neighbor waters their lawn with sprinklers and our fence/surrounding wall/ground gets wet. Not once in all these years did it occur to me to complain. We also had a neighbor with a pool and every time they back-washed the pool our yard flooded a bit. Never thought about complaining.

Maybe he is butt hurt because I left an anonymous note taped to his house about common courtesy regarding barking dogs all night long. I did it under the cover darkness and the cover of some shorts and a t-shirt, but no underwear. Which is weird, running around outside feeling naked but not actually being naked. It's the self-conscious girl's version of streaking.

Or maybe he is grumpy because in addition to my kind note, someone had called animal control and I saw that note taped to the door. So maybe he isn't feeling the love.

So neighbor? This is for you.

Dear Neighbor,
 I wanted to take a moment to have a heart-to-heart with you. To be completely honest, Jeremiah and I had high hopes that you and your wife would be semi-normal people. Sadly, our hopes were dashed with the F*CK SCOTTSDALE t-shirt that you so proudly wore the day you moved in next door. If possible, Jeremiah's hopes were dashed even more upon sight of the cases of Bud Light. While we gave up on friendship, we thought perhaps we could all be decent neighbors. No such luck. Your barking/baying dog all hours of the day and night ruined that pipe dream. And then? Then you get weird and pissy about your "lawn". And it wasn't even concern for us (Once before the previous renter had asked if everything was okay with our pool after we backwashed. She wasn't sure if it was supposed to have water go everywhere.), SIR, it was about your precious beast of a dog. Who happened to be standing on wet ground. Oh, the horrors. In addition, please know that I am keeping tabs on you. I know that there are multiple people coming and going from your house. Sometimes there are kids, sometimes no. I do know that no one ever seems to leave the house to go to a job, which is interesting because you have a newer model vehicle. I have also noted that you keep your trash in the garage, which is fascinating to me. People don't do that here. The garages are way too small. What are you trying to hide?
Sincerely,
Anonymous Neighbor

P.S. I am watching you.
P.P.S. I realize that this may not intimidate you, as you have already been caught peeking over our fence and spying on ME.
P.P.S. When I came inside on Sunday, I cursed you and the day you were born.

Plantar Snuffleupagus

After I got home from the specialist earlier this week:

J: How was the doctor today?
Me: He's fine.
J: Ugh. How was YOUR visit with the doctor today?
Me:Um, well, the reason I went to the doctor, for my debilitating life- shortening disease, was promising, but then he took off my sandals and diagnosed me with plantar something. Plantar Snuffleupagus, that's it.
J:Really.
Me: Yeah.
J: So you have a problem in your left heel that's named after Big Bird's imaginary friend?
Me: Yes, and what do you mean "imaginary"?
J:No one could see Snuffleupagus, you know that, right?
Me: What the hell. I could see Snuffleupagus. He was NOT imaginary.
J: No one besides Big Bird could see him on Sesame Street.
Me: You are full of shit.
J: What's it really called?
Me: I freaking TOLD you. Plantar Snuffleupagus.
J: I'm done.
Me: That's fine. I'm done, too. I don't associate with big old LIARS.


Okay. So I looked it up. I actually have plantar fasciitis. The pain is outrageous. Sometimes I go to stand up and I tip over because I can't step down on the left foot at all. You can laugh at me, it's okay, that's what Jeremiah does. Or you can bark at me, if you'd like. That's what the dogs do when I start to tip over. I always knew that my left side would give out first. Stupid left side.  I was quite proud of myself for living with Snuffy's Disease for so long, considering people get injections to help with the pain. My doctor asked why I hadn't gone to a doctor to fix it and I told him that I simply did not know what doctor I should go to. Plus, I don't like my podiatrist (who refused to do things my way) or my general physician (who does not listen to me when I tell her I am sick). So he said I could come to him as needed. Mostly I think that I make him laugh.

Regarding Snuffy being invisible? I looked it up. And Jeremiah? When I was a kid, he was real. Big Bird outed him from imaginary to real in 1985. When you were a kid, you know, seven years before me, he was imaginary. So there, you old bastard.  I win.

p.s. Sorry for the vaultlessness today. As you have just read, I am currently suffering and in great pain due to my plantar snuffleupagus. Plus, I wanted to gloat a bit about being a winner. Again.

p.p.s. My chiropractor has also helped. I guess helped is the right word. He basically "massaged" the pain yesterday. Massaged is only the right word if it means "incredible pain that feels like a thousand knives stabbing me repeatedly on the bottom of the foot making me scream in public and wiggle so much that a boob nearly falls out of my bra."

p.p.p.s. You should ask how much sympathy I got from Jeremiah when I got home. I know you won't ask, so I will just tell you. As I pathetically heroically moaned from the couch, I got zero sympathy. When he sat down next to me to ask why I was mad at him, I could not even get away from him, which gave him an unfair advantage in the argument. So I covered him with a blanket.

A Cross Between Pinocchio & Dumbo.

The other night while watching tv, I pointed out to Jeremiah that the kid on the tv was odd-looking. And then there was this:

Me: What if we have kids and they are ugly?
J: Is this a serious concern of yours?
Me:Yes, among other things.
J: Do you think that there is a good chance of an ugly baby?
Me: Glance at him for a minute. Well, honestly, I would say odds for an ugly baby are pretty high.
J: No!
Me: Yes. Jeremiah? Are you kidding me? With your nose and my ears (Which are so big that sometimes I accidentally sleep on them folded like fleshy little crepes.) I'd say we are prime candidates for ugly kids.
J: Mulls this over. We'd have an elephant. A baby elephant.
Me: Exactly. I would give birth to a cartoon character.

The conversation continued, with discussion about eyes (not a concern, we're pretty sure our baby would have two of those), hair (odds are good the kid would be bald either for the first few years of life (me) or the adult portion of life (Jeremiah) or both, but the times in between would be golden. Literally. Sort of of reddish brownish blonde.), and skin as soft as angel wings (I do not mean to be braggy, but some people actually PET me at work. Which *might* be sexual harassment, now that I think about it.), or unhealing alligator pelts (Oops. I guess we know who this is now.).

And this is why together we have not brought forth a child to grace this Earth.

Oh, Albert!

My class and I have a pet.

This is interesting mostly because we did not purchase said pet.

Also it is interesting because it is not a pet that I would ever choose.

We have a lizard.

I found him at about seven p.m. on a Thursday night in early December. Right here:

 I screamed quite loudly and yelled for the teacher next door. Yes, we are too lazy to use the phone or walk outside to the other person's room. We just yell. Anyway, in the end I figured that I have had roaches, mice, and huge amounts of crickets in my room. A lizard seemed kind of minor in comparison. Plus, the number of crickets has gone way down, so bonus, you know?

When I told the students about Albert, they were excited. We named him Albert Einstein. In reality it could easily be Alberta, because I'm not really up on my lizards.

Here we have a close-up shot:

It seems that little Albert has become a bit more social in the past few weeks. I am seeing him out and about more. Walking over to my bag and seeing a lizard crawl out still makes me jump. The kids are careful when they move about the room. Or put on their coats. Last week Al was hanging out on someone's sweater.  Earlier today I rolled my wheelie chair over a cord and gasped as I thought I had shortened poor Al's already short life. So I'm not sure if he's feeling frisky or what, but the dude is everywhere. *

The highlight of my day today (besides, you know, changing the future by inspiring minds) was after I came over to my desk and Albert scuttled out from behind some papers I looked at him and said on a sigh, "Oh, Albert." and shook my head. And then I realized that I had become that person that speaks to lizards. That speaks to lizards as though they are human.

That's worse than a crazy cat lady by about a million.

*Yes, I have realized that Albert could actually be AlbertS, but I am refusing to entertain that possibility because then not only would there be a lot of creepers in my room, but also because then I would be the loony lizard lady.

So you're telling me there's a chance!

Me: So I read the other day that Uma Thurman is having her THIRD child. She's 41.
Jeremiah: So?
Me: Soooooo I have solid ten years to decide if I want a baby.
Jeremiah: Ten? Really?
Me: Okay. Nine years.
Jeremiah: But 41 seems kind of old to have a baby.
Me: What?
Jeremiah: Yeah, I think it increases the chance of birth defects.
Me: What are you doing?
Jeremiah: What do you mean?
Me: Why are you ruining this for me?
Jeremiah: I am just being honest.
Me: Does honest equal asshole?

P.S.  For those interested, Jeremiah is team baby whenever. Emily is team "baby clothes are cute, but I am too selfish to reproduce at this time plus my ass is big enough already."