Rising to the Occasion

I'm not sure I can do it.  It's a fucking funeral.  Inevitable.  My uncle.  The Daddler's brother.  He drank himself out of a pancreas.  Years ago.  But managed to outlive three wives.  All of whom were at least 15 years older.  Mother always said he was looking for a mama.  Maybe I should call him Uncle Oedipus.  Or the Black Widower.  Because he managed to go through several sweet ladies' life's savings.  God.  Please.  If I get that desperate, I hope someone will put me out of my misery.  I have a feeling Kiddo, the ultimate pragmatist, will handle that.  I have a call in to the Vandy Department of Anatomy.  If I give my body to science, they'll cremate me - at no cost to my family.  In fact, I think my family will get a little cash out of the deal.  If that doesn't pan out, I'm going to ask Kiddo to throw me in the Mighty Mississipp.  Or my back yard.  Actually, now that I think of it, Lucy has dug several holes more than big enough to hold my corpulent corpse.  How convenient... 

Wow.  This is morbid.  I'll blame it on Uncle Oedipus.

And the fact that I'll wind up in the same room as the Emotional Vampire.  Have I mentioned that I detest her?  Abhor?  Hate?  Don't give a shit?  Wish I didn't.

It'll be ok.  It always is.

As if that weren't enough...

When I got back home late this afternoon, The D was standing in the front yard.  LuLu had made another great escape.  I grabbed the spare leash and jumped in the car.  Circled the block like a buzzard.  No sign of her.

I decided to set off on foot.  Told The Daddler to man the station.  I'm zig-zagging through the neighborhood, hollering, at the top of my lungs, "Lucy!  Luuuu Luuuu!!  Where are youuuuu???"  Trying to avoid images of Wiley E. Coyote being flattened onto the pavement.

Long story short.  I found her.  With bells on.  Literally.  She was wearing her red velvet Christmas collar with one remaining jingle bell.  We don't know what happened to the other seven.  We suppose she ate them.

She was also wearing her leopard print fleece coat.

Damn.  Being cute goes a long way.  I wouldn't know.  I was the middle child.  Difficult.  Not cute.

Better run.  I'm in the market for a fun leopard print coat.  Because it's cold out there...

Reduced to Tears

This morning, The Daddler made me cry.  He was champing at the bits to leave for his pacemaker check.  He loves going to the doctor in any way, shape or form.  He starts getting ready two hours before time to leave.  Asks me the appointment time at least a dozen times.  As if he didn't know.  A couple times, I haven't even told him about it until five minutes before time to walk out the door.  Of course, there's a price to pay for that.  Which is that he acts like he's being abducted.

It was in the low 20s this morning.  We got in the minivan and after two minutes on the road, he started bitching about being cold.  He cranked up the fan, which was blowing arctic air, and kept bitching and flipping dials and rubbing his frostbitten fingers together.  That lasted 10 minutes, until it was like a freakin' sauna.

On top of all that, his hearing suddenly failed today.  Mother used to say that it was selective.  Whatever it is, by the time I said something the third time, I was screaming and he was making a horrible face at me.  And when he bellowed up the stairs to ask me if I'd fallen asleep in the space of 20 minutes before time to leave, I thought the house was on fire.

Damn, it wears me out just thinking about it.  Thankfully, no more appointments for another month.  Maybe by then, I will have recovered...

Opposable Thumbs

Damn.  I'm worried about losing mine.  At least the one on my right hand.  Which could present a problem when I buy my assault weapon with a thumb hole, before they're outlawed by the liberal loonies.  Fortunately, I can substitute my big toe for my thumb.  Glad it happened now since my COBRA runs out in May.  And I don't think O-Care would cover transplants. 

Back to my problem.  Yesterday, out of the blue, my thumb turned blue.  Swelled to the size of a cucumber.  I was afraid I'd thrown a clot.  Thought about making a tourniquet, but decided to take my chances.  I worried about MRSA, since I'd grated my knuckle the other day.  I think I'm ok, though.  It's still puffy and blue, but it doesn't hurt.

Okie dokie.  Better get busy.  Miles to go before I sleep...

Shit Happens, Part MIIVICLVII

Wow.  I woke up to a big pile of it this morning.  The Daddler started sputtering when I walked into the kitchen.  He marched me into the dining room to see Lucy's, ummm, deposit.  See, it was raining yesterday and she's phobic of water.  Apparently, she shat yesterday and The D cleaned it up.

Since the smell thrust me to the verge of vomiting, I asked the Man of the House if he would take care of the problem.  He told me, in no uncertain terms, that he'd handled it yesterday, and it was up to me today.  Since he's somewhat olfactorily challenged, I decided to suck it up.  Hold my breath.  Deal with it.  I did.  But not without noticing several other spots.  Involving urine. 

I swear, I'm going to rip up that hideous carpet and walk around on plywood.  That probably wouldn't be a great idea, though, because it would absorb the odors.  She's done so well since we got the carpet cleaned this summer.

Yesterday, I mentioned to the vet that she chews everything in sight.  I wondered when she'd outgrow it.  He said, and I quote, "If dogs had opposible thumbs, they'd be chain smokers."  That confused me until he clarified.  "Some dogs have oral fixations."  I just have to shake my head and shrug my shoulders at that.

It's a good thing she's so damn cute. 

Resolutions

Why do I bother?  Maybe I should resolve to refrain from making resolutions.  I think that's one I could keep.  Instead, I'd be successful with these:  Play more Words With Friends.  Eat more fried foods and pizza.  Learn to like chicken wings and barbequed ribs.  Eat/drink/sleep/gossip more.  Is that possible?

I've started watching Breaking Bad.  Talk about carpe diem.  Which is disturbing to me.  But I think it's a good counterbalance to my predilection for Downton Abbey and Four Weddings and a Funeral.  James Taylor and John Denver.  The Flinstones and I Love Lucy.

Speaking of Lucy, I do love her.  So much.  My dog.  I took her to the vet today.  Her heartworm test was negative.  Such a relief.  She had blood drawn for that test, and then she got five shots.

She's been a little listless.  Have I mentioned that I love that sweet little canine creature? 

Better go.  I might have company tonight.  And there's a huge pile of xmas decorations on the floor in my den.  I'm so tired of playing twister.

Over and out...

Shit Happens

Literally.  Thankfully, it's cold.  Because my front flower beds are full of poop.  Not dog poop.  Human feces.  For the second time in as many years, my sewer line is clogged.  I called the Department of Public Works of our City of Good Abode two weeks ago.  No show.  Just called again.  They're supposed to be here today.  I'm not going to count my chickens...

In spite of dealing with that crap, I'm encouraged.  Because this very morning, I found my missing car keys.  I'm ashamed to admit that I rented a car for two weeks because I couldn't find them.  They were in my coat pocket all along.  I realized that it's cheaper to rent a car than a carpet cleaner.  That makes me feel better about throwing my money down the drain.  Pun intended.  At least it costs nada to get my sewer cleaned out.

About the carpet cleaning.  My beloved LuLu has regressed.  She's started pooping and peeing on the carpet again.  She did so well after I got it cleaned a few months ago.  If I didn't love her so much, I'd stick her ass outside in a styrofoam igloo.  Instead, I'm seriously thinking of biting the bullet and installing hardwood floors.  I don't care if I have to draw down my line of credit.  Because she's worth it...