Hot Dog

This week I had the brilliant idea that Wonderlick and I should take advantage of this beautiful weather and go for a walk. What I didn't realize is that 92 degrees is a lot hotter when you're walking in it rather than just sitting on you couch thinking about walking in it. But I discovered this too late. We both hopped into the car, cranked down the windows (literally cranked them they aren't automatic), and were off with excitement. The excitement withered within about three minutes. Even with the windows down it was freakin' hot! We made it to the park albeit a little grumpy but determined none the less. Within the first 30 seconds of being there Wonderlick felt that he needed to defaecate just to let other dogs know that he was there. Awesome. Carrying a little bag of poo in the middle of a hot summer day is one of the grossest things on earth. I'm pretty sure that as it festered it got even hotter than when it came out of his body. Seeing a trash can was like finding gold. We moved on. When we were in the shade things weren't terrible. But when we were in the open spaces and the burning eye of Ra was beating down on us I thought we would die. If something ever happened to cause us to be stranded in the dessert I don't think we would even try to get out. We would just give up and try to die quickly. Wonderlick pulled at the leash with urgency until we once again found shade. I'm pretty sure his feet were burning on the pavement but he wouldn't admit it because I had told him to wear shoes. His stubbornness would cost him sore feet. In a two mile stretch we had to stop and take three water breaks. Nobody is claiming to be an athlete here. When we finally got back to the parkinglot we were quickly reminded that, oh yeah it's even hotter in the car. We felt utterly defeated but we had no choice. In the car we went. I tried to drive as fast as I could, with in reason, to keep the air flowing and take right turns so I didn't really have to stop. Stop lights were the worst. I started taking it personally when they would turn red. “What the?! Can't you stay green for two more !@#$% seconds???” An eternity would past. We almost blacked out and then suddenly from heaven – GREEN. I threw that baby into gear and peeled outta there. Then I would see it. The next stop like. “Come on, come on, come on, Yes!!!” Made it. This lively dance lasted the whole drive home. By the time we had reached our destination I looked like I had been swimming and Wonderlick wasn't speaking to me. I didn't blame him, I just handed him his water bowl.

Zit Faced

I just celebrated my birthday this past weekend.  In my opinion getting older is sort of nice.  I don't miss my younger days at all so I say bring it on life!  However, I did have an unwelcome guest at my birthday this year.  A zit.  A giant, bulbous pimple located on my eyelid.  Yes it is as painful and obnoxious as it sounds.  My teenage years are well behind me so I'm guessing that this is my body playing a sick joke on me.  In my head I have began referring to this face bolder as Grendel because no mater what I do to it the thing doesn't go away.  In fact the more I try the more I seem to anger it and then it gets bigger.  Yesterday Grendel began seeping.  Now I have experienced a lot of nasty things in my life but having an overfull pustule seeping into one's eye is pretty darn gross.  The only comforting thought that I had was that this letting of fluid might cause the swelling to go down and it would finally start healing.  Much to my distress it has seemed only to anger the beast and now the thing is bright red.  It looks as if Mars has found a new home.


*sigh*

So much for the perks of getting older. 

Vroom, vroom

In case any of my readers doubt that I am actually 82 year-old trapped in a 28 year-old's body this post will convince you that it is true.

My view of cars is quite different than most peoples.  To the general public a car is a way to transport your body from one location to another with relative efficiency and comfort.  To me a car is a speeding fuselage of death, screaming down a glorified footpath dodging any number of unmovable obstacles in the effort to be the first person in line at the next stop light.  Everyday that I am on the road I am shocked and thankful to make it to my destination alive.  How can anyone survive with so many mechanical beast roaming the streets?

What scares me even more than these killing machines are the grim-reapers behind the wheel.  Why do people feel like driving is a competition? I MUST GET TO TARGET BEFORE ALL OF YOU!!!!!!
 Really?  Congratulations, you got to the store a whole 45 seconds before anyone else in our line of traffic.  You must be so proud.  If you try really hard maybe you can beat the old lady with the walker to the express checkout lane.  Get over yourself. The only time it is acceptable to speed like a maniac is if you are on your way to the ER or you are a pregnant lady who has to pee.  If you don't fit into one of those categories then I'm sorry you are just going to have to respect other people.  Trust me you aren't that important. Which also means that no, you don't have to answer that text message this very instance.  If you were that important you would have a driver and be sitting in the back seat of a fancy car with both hands free to text/take pics/update status.  But you're not.  You are just some regular joe who has to drive yourself around because you can't afford to pay anyone to do it.  So to compensate for your unimportance you pretend that everyone in your social media circle needs to know exactly what you're doing  right now.  Sadly what you are doing is endangering the lives of countless other idiots who also are trying to pretend that they too are important.  Also you're not foolin' anyone with those hubcaps.

And don't even get me started with teenagers being allowed to drive.........

Clap on, Clap off

Anyone who knows me knows how I love lists.  Lists are everywhere in my house and at my cubical.  They are on sticky notes, white boards, old napkins, receipts, my hand, my phone........ I make lists of anything and everything that pops into my ridiculous and cluttered brain.  Today I am going to share with you a list of things that make me feel old.

1. Kids that I babysat are now getting married.  Nothin' like reality smacking me in the face.

2. Songs I listened to growing up are now on the classic rock station.

3. Boy Bands are considered "old school".

4. Technology frustrates me.  Seriously I don't get apps, what is the point?  Though I will say I do like texting, but I think it's causing arthritis in my thumbs.

5. Everything in my body hurts.

6. I have a set bedtime and it's before midnight.

7. Cellulite.

8. I worry about the light bill going up.

9. Not only am I on several different medications but it's hard for me to remember which ones I have already taken for the day.

10. Now days I opt for staying in rather than going out.

11. Everything gives me indigestion.

12. I complain about how kids dress these days and have no respect or sense of responsibility. 

13. I don't "get" hipsters.

14. Consuming caffeine after 4pm will keep me up all night. 

15. I read Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, Narnia, and Ender's Game before they were movies.

Oh Sh**!

I'm back.  Well at least for one post.  What, you ask, could be so inspiring as to cause me to break my 14 months of silence? Poop. That's right fices.  It's gross and socially unacceptable to talk about but I must.  For all of you who have had close-calls, embarrassing moments, and/or have been stuck on a bus for 8 hours in the middle of the Costa Rican jungle this one's for you.

My story begins with the typical but unpleasant task of taking a drug test.  Now I'm sure most of us have taken drug tests before for various reasons but this one, for me, was because I was starting a new job.  After wasting a considerable amount of time driving around I finally found the actual location of where I was supposed to take the test. By the time I made my way into the building I was definitely ready to relieve myself.  I was also pretty sure that whatever type of cup they gave me was not going to be big enough.  I found a seat in the waiting room and....well...waited. And waited. And waited. My only form of distraction was trying to guess who in the room did or did not have angle bracelets on.  Finally my name was called and I stood up and made my way to the bathroom.  It was only after standing that I realize by this point not only did I have to pee like a race horse but I also had to go #2.  I didn't think much of it, after all I was already on my way to the potty.  Before getting comfortable I liberally applied several layers of toilet tissue to the seat.  My bottom had no sooner touch the crown of the toilet when my body, to it's extensive relief, let go of everything.  And I really do mean everything.  It was almost unnatural the amount of wast that exited my being. While I was still reeling from the shock of what my body had just done I heard a knock at the door.

"Ma'am", the nurse called to me.
"Yes?" I answered ashamed of what I had just transpired.
"Ma'am I forgot to tell you don't flush the toilet when you are done.  By law we have to check it before you leave."

Dear God in heaven what have I done?  A rush of panic raced through my recently emptied body.  Check? CHECK? She is going to SEE MY POO???  I don't know how long I stayed in there, but I'm pretty sure it was too long.  Between the panic and the fumes my head was swimming.  My only option was to run for it.  I frantically washed my hands and went over my escape plan in my head.  I was pretty sure I just needed to hook a right, bust through the double doors, turn left and then race to the parking lot.  I would be gone before the poor nurse even knew what hit her.  There was only one glitch - my purse.  I had to leave it at the nurses station.  For a moment I contemplated leaving it behind but it had my car keys. Crap! "Ok." I though, "I'll just snatch it really fast and then proceed with the plan.  If anything goes awry I'll blame someone with an ankle bracelet." I took a deep breath...oh, oh bad mistake the fumes. With ape like reflexes I swung the door open, snatched my purse, and flew down the hallway.  As I was running I heard the poor nurse gag.

When life gives you lemons...well at least you won't get scurvy

I have recently found myself in the world of Internet Dating.  Due to my busy schedule and somewhat lackadaisical view on dating I thought I give it a try.  Plus its much easier and less time consuming to reject men from my pc than in real life.  The bonus is being able do said rejecting while in sweat pants, eating popcorn, and listening to Pink and still feel good about myself.  So far I have tried two different sites.  One I paid money for (lame!) and the other is free. Something I underestimated was the amount of creepers who were also perusing strangers profiles whilst in their sweat pants (or no pants), eating junk food, and listening to Cher. Also, I was unaware of the many different kinds of creepers.  Here is a list of some that I have encountered:

1. The Old Man:  This man probably has children (or grandchildren) my age and a whole string of ex-wives.  No he is not as caring and intelligent as he claims to be, because if he was he would not be trying to chat it up with someone who does not remember life before cell phones and the Internet.

2. The Poet:  Just because he rhymes his words and uses a lot of adjectives does not make him an artist. If he would have taken the time that he spent creating a profile that was composed of couplets and quatrains on actual human interaction then he might be more interesting.  But instead he is weird.

3.  The Possessor: He seems nice enough at first, but after an email or two he considers you his precious.  Then he starts to track when you are online and offline.  If you don't email him back with in 24 hours he wants to know whats wrong.  When he is further ignored the emails will become more frequent and more desperate until he works himself into a frenzy and "breaks things off".  Things? What things?  Clearly this fellow does not understand the concept of Internet Dating sites and should pick up his women at carnivals and flee markets.

4. The Slob:  Now I'm a little on the lazy side, but this dude won't even brush his hair or get off the couch for his profile picture.  His interests include video games, beer, and chips.  After spending hours combing through pictures of pretty girls he might get up the gumption to compose an email - yo ur hot. wanna hang out?
What kind of response does he expect? One look at you in your stained hoodie and now must have you! Ick.

5.The Ol' Fashion:  Now here is your good, old fashioned creeper.  He is the guy that smells of mothballs and lives in his mom's basement. Which he plans to move out of - once she dies and he buries her body down there. There is no need to even communicate with this individual to know he's a creeper.  The Olan Mills picture of him in his Christmas sweater says it all.  The "Block" button is for people like him.

Of course is not an exhausted list, but the one's that I have personally come in contact with. Now I'm not throwing the proverbial baby out with the bath water.  There are plenty of "normal" folks out there who are just trying to meet someone.  This is more of an observation/cautionary post.  If you have had your own dating site experience I would love to hear about it!  Now I must go.  I need to look for my night vision goggles.  I must have dropped them when I was.......never mind the details aren't important.

Up, Up and Away

A few days ago one of my dear friends invited me over for dinner.  She graciously extended the invitation to Wonderlick (my neurotic dog). Having two dogs herself she thought it might be nice for them to play together.  When we arrived there was, of course, a lot of barking, sniffing, and licking..........on the dogs' part, not my friend and I. Dinner was lovely and we enjoyed catching up.  We were however interrupted several times by panting and...well...humping.  Apparently, in spite of the fact that all three dogs were male, they really enjoyed each other company.  Both my friend and I equipped ourselves with spray bottles.  Things between the dogs got weirder and grosser as the night went on.  When I finally had had enough of dealing with their *ahem* interactions we said good night.  By the time we got home Wonderlick was exhausted and went straight to bed.  The next morning he was still sleeping when I left for work.  My roommate and I crossed paths in the parking lot when I got home that evening.  She was on her way to the grocery store and asked her to pick up a few things for me.  As I turned to leave she said, in her sweet southern accent,"There is something I should mention. Well Wonderlick, bless his heart, his little 'thing' has been out all day."
"All day!?", I said shock and trying not to giggle.
"Yea, he seemed odd and a little embarrassed.  You might want to check on him."
I walk in the house and sure enough there he was with all his glory hanging out.  I began to laugh hysterically and then did the only logical thing I could do:  Google search - My dog has an erection that won't go away.
There is a surprising amount of information on this subject.  I began to read about the home remedies.
"Place your dog in a lukewarm bath.  Get him wet and then gently begin to..."  And we're going to the vet!  I love my dog but not that much.  We head to our local walk-in clinic.  A chipper receptionist greets us, "What seems to be the problem today."
"Well", I reply awkwardly, "The good times just don't end for my dog." She snicker but recovers before it becomes rude.  We are escorted to a exam room.  More awkwardness follows as I have to describe in detail the activities of the evening before and the nature of said erection. Wonderlick is a little proud of himself as I recount the passed 24 hours.  The vet explain to me the treatment and I agree.  He is taken to the back room.  I sit in the waiting room ashamed and praying that no one asks me why I am there.  About twenty minutes later dog and vet emerge.  Wonderlick is smoking a cigarette and has a smirk on his face. The most painful part of the evening for me was a check out - forty-five dollars!!! I just paid $45 for my dumb dog to get a hand job, Ugh!!!  We avoided eye contact on the drive home.