Sad Mother's Day

It didn't start out that way. We had a lovely time - we took MIL out to breakfast, where she made a giantic fuss over Kristen's new pigtails. We went out with my parents and my grandmother to lunch, and had another great time. We went to the nursing home to drop my grandmother off, and saw ILs walking up. We assumed they were going to visit Jason's grandmother, so we said hello. They told us Gram had died an hour ago.
We promptly handed Kristen over to my parents and went up with ILs to Grams floor. The family was there, sobbing and hugging each other. We did know it was coming - she had not been getting on well at all, and had been given one to two weeks to live. That doesn't make it any less heartbreaking, she was a great woman.

I'll have pictures tomorrow - both of happy Mother's Day moments, and a few of Gram.

For the person who found me by searching 'sekzy man woman'

I apologize for the disappointment I'm sure you felt when you realized I was talking about a pittie puppy with hot purple nails and a pink hoodie.

Sick freak.

I have never been so traumatized in all my days

We were slow at work today, so I was doing some extra cleaning. I was vaccumming down the hallway and decided to get behind the vet's freezer (where they put the dead animals...but technically that has nothing to do with this story).

I got a giant clump of hair stuck in the shop vac hose. I pulled the hose out and started tugging on the hair. There was this plastic string stuck in it - I figured it was a zip tie. I pulled and pulled...and then an ugly memory hit me. I opened my hand all the way to find a rock-hard dead mouse in it.

I screamed, flung the mouse at the wall, and began dancing and shaking my hand and freaking out. Vet techs poured in from the operating rooms. In the office, my boss began frantically changing camera views to see what dog was bleeding. They realized what happened and laughed and walked away. My boss threw the mouse away ( she did it with one hand over her eyes, a bunch of paper towels in the other, and screaming, "I don't think I can do it!") while I was panicking and washing my hands over...and over...and over. Then I burst into tears. Then I puked. Then I washed my hands over...and over...and over. Then I cried some more. Then I asked to go home (my boss called me a pansy). Then I washed my hands. Then I walked around shaking my hand because I could still feel it on my fingers. Then I washed my hands.

I was a sniveling, shaking mess in the office for half an hour before she told me to go home.


Ugly Memory: When I was around five, I was washing dishes with my mother. I looked down to see a mouse tail peeking out of the cabinet. I have never, not once, been able to do dishes with my feet more than two feet away from the sink. Ever. I have issues.


Thursday I go back to the doctor...I don't care for the Cymbalta. I can't remember to take it every day, so I am not coming well. I would like some Xanax (for situations of 'sension'). I think something more situation-based would be better.

My foster puppy

A few weekends ago, I was at work, and there was a tiny pittie puppy there, giving me the EYES. I asked the managers and found out her story. She was seventeen weeks old. She had been taken from her mother at four weeks and lived outside attached to a very short chain in the kennel owner's neighborhood. She was stolen, and found chained to a telephone pole a few blocks away with a broken leg. She was then surrendered to our kennel. I took her in as a foster, and we've been helping her learn to be a puppy. She's amazingly good - no accidents, she loves Caden and Barkley (although you could tell she didn't quite know how to play), the cats, Kristen...you name it. She let Shana paint her toenails bright purple and she wears a pink hoodie (sekxy). I had her to obedience class last Tuesday and she did perfectly - she was one of the first to start automatic sitting, which we don't even start expecting them to learn until the second half of the next class. She lives to please me - she craves my approval and love, she begs for it every second of the day. Is there anyone out there who knows of a forever home? I have a prospect, but the husband isn't sure if he wants to add another pittie or not. We're calling her Pippi (although she comes to anything as long as it's said in the party voice) and she is UTD on all her shots.



There are probably people reading this who are shocked that I would allow a pit bull puppy, with socialization and probably abuse issues, into my home, with cats and a thirteen-month-old. Pit bulls, after all, are killing machines who have brains hardwired for blood. I ask you - go back and reread this post - look me (and come look at her) in the eyes, and tell me that SHE is the monster.

EDIT: PS - yes, that is Ghost's ass. Mooning you. The cats do not like Pippi near as much as Pippi likes the cats.

No, seriously now. Where in Pennsylvania IS DC?

Shana and I were talking the other day. I forget the topic. She asked me where in Pennsylvania the Washington Monument is.
I looked at her and said, "I do believe that's in Washington, DC."
"Yes," she said, "But where in PA is that?"
I looked at her. "What? I said it's in DC."
"Yeah...and where in PA is that?"
"It's...not."
"Delaware?"
"No."
"Maryland?"
"No, Shana, it's not IN a sta-"
"VIRGINIA??"
"Oh my god! How are you graduating from high school in a month??"
"NO! WHAT STATE IS IT IN??"
"HOW MANY STATES ARE THERE IN THE UNITED STATES??"
"SHUT UP! THAT WAS JUST A MISTAKE!"

Yes, folks...my eighteen year old sister thought that Washington, DC, was a city in PA. I think. I'm still not sure of the thought process behind that one.