Pay no attention to the messy house behind me

I cut my hair! Those of you who know me know that I have a habit of cutting all my hair once every year or so, and then not even getting a trim in between, just grow it out, cut it off, grow it out, cut it off.

Well,this is shorter than I've gone before, and you know what? I look like my mother.

Which isn't so bad.

Honestly, I can't make this stuff up

It's the middle of a busy shift. I am standing in front of two people seated at a table towards the back of the restaurant. I have four other tables I am taking care of, three with two people each and one with five VIP's.

JR: What would ya'll* like to drink this evening?

Man: I just want water.

Woman: You don't want tea?

Man: No. Just water.

Woman: You don't want a soda?

Man: Nope. I'm happy with water.

Woman: You can get hot tea...

Man: Just the water.

JR (totally interrupting): Ok! Water it is! And how about for you, ma'am?

(I glance around and note to self: table 22 is waiting to order dessert, table 24 needs to hear specials, table 27 needs clearing...)

Woman: I don't know.

JR: Well, why don't I give you another minute...

Woman: No, no, don't go, hold on.

JR: ....ok....

Woman: Hm. Well, I don't want wine.

Man: Nope.

Woman: I don't know... What did I have last time we were here?

Man: I don't know.

Woman: It was good... I remember that... Did I have tea?

Man: Maybe.

JR: So should I...

Woman: Just wait a second!

JR: Right.

Woman: I might have had coffee. Honey, did I have coffee?

Man: Yes. I remember. You had coffee.

Woman: Do you think I should have coffee again?

(Note: I had steam coming out my ears.)

Man: I don't know, was it good?

Woman: Yes. It was good. So should I have coffee then?

Man: I guess so. If you want coffee.

Woman: Hm...

JR: Socoffeethen?GreatI'llgetthatrightoutoyou! (I then take off at a rapid rate.)

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Just on an aside, she then had to have a brand new cup of coffee with every course (4 total). Not a fresh pour, A WHOLE NEW CUP AND SAUCER.

And, she stole sugar packets. The raw sugar ones, which are totally the most expensive.

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It's now the end of the evening. All of my other tables have left. I am standing at their table, trying to figure out their convoluted dessert order.

Woman: What's in the berry empanadas?

JR: Berries. (Ok, I didn't say that one - I said what the types of berries were.)

Woman: Hm. Now, are those berries whole or liquid?

JR: Well, it's a fruit filling... So... Neither. In between whole and liquid.

Woman: Oh, ok, I get it. (Really? Because I had no idea what I just said.)

JR: So you want to try the empanadas then?

Woman: Oh, no, I was just curious.

JR: Right. Of course. What would you like then?

Woman: I don't know. What are your ice creams today?

JR: Blah, blah, blah, white chocolate raspberry, blah, blah, blueberry, blah and I think also blah.

Woman: Wow. Okay, what was the third to last one?

JR: (desperately trying to remember the order I said them in, because it changes every time) Um.... Cherry?

Woman: No.

JR: Oh. Um, blueberry?

Woman: Yes! (get ready kids, here's the best part...) Blueberry ice cream. Ok... Can you describe that to me?

JR: (blank stare)

Woman: (inquisitive stare)

JR: Um... Um... It's blueberries... in ice cream... So... Blueberry ice cream.

Woman: Okay. I will have that.

Man: I will have the chocolate raspberry one.

Woman: Wait! I thought you were getting key lime pie!

Man: (looks at me) I WILL HAVE THE ICE CREAM.

JR: Ok then. I'll go get that right now.
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Seriously. As frustrating as that was for you to read, imagine my pain.


*Yes, I say ya'll to my tables. Bite me.

Turns out the internet in Indiana isn't that bad

Jack's Sammie update in the comments of my last entry make Sammie sound pretty horrific... Which puppies can be sometimes, of course! But, to stop the sting a little, I thought I would post some recent pictures of her where everyone can see that her cuteness more than makes up for her issues!

My name's Doug, and I'm outta heeerrreeee.....*

Well folks, Mark and I are off to Indiana to visit his family! Unless I brave the trials and tribulations of rural Indiana dial-up internet, this will be the last you hear from me for about 10 days.

Wish me luck with the in-laws - this will, after all, be only the 5th time I've ever met them! I must be on my best behavior!

*If anybody knows that reference, I will send you candy. Seriously.

Tonight At Work

I live in Medium City. Nearby there is Big City. I have lived in Medium City for darn near 10 years. OBVIOUSLY, I know how to get from my city to the Big City.

Tonight I waited on a grumpy, mean old man. He was there with a young, hot, very booby-full young lady*. I felt pretty confident through the meal that she was actually his daughter, and insisted to the other servers that she was not, in fact, a prostitute. Although now that I HATE him, I'm more inclined to think that she was his hooker, because I can't possibly fathom why anyone would spend time with him if they weren't being paid to do so.

He was rude to me throughout their entire meal, but the worst thing happened just as they were preparing to leave.

Lady: "Excuse me, JR, can I ask you a question?"

JR: "Of course."

Grumpy: "Don't ask her."

Lady: (To Grumpy) "I want a second opinion!" (To me) "What's the best way to get to Big City from here?"

JR: (opens mouth to answer) "W-..."

Grumpy: "I already told you! Don't ask her, she doesn't know anything!"

I just turned and walked away. Dude had already paid (and tipped FOR SHIT), clearly he needed nothing else from me.

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Most nights, as much as I bitch about it, I actually love my job. Dealing with different people everyday keeps things interesting. And let's face it, I make more working 25 hours a week then I ever did working 40+ hours at a "real" job. Plus, I get to work with people I adore, and did I mention I only work 25 hours a week? Seriously,I got a really good thing going here. But man, it's nights like tonight that I HATE EVERYBODY AND WANT TO POUR COFFEE ON THEIR LAPS.

I "don't know anything"... I'll tell you what I DO know, I know that guy was lucky I do like my job, or I would have told him a thing or two. Actually, on that note, I would like to point out how awesome the owner of the restaurant (and my friend) is - when I told him what had happened he actually got up and said, "Where? What guy? Are they still here?" They weren't, but he really would have gone over there and said something. He's done it for me before. And you know why? Cause he's awesome. Like ten million hot dogs**.

Right after the restaurant first opened (I've been there since day one; I'm resistant to change) I had a table of "ladies who lunch" that were upset by how much their mimosa's cost. Even after the manager went over and talked to them about it, they still seemed to blame me. When they left without leaving any tip AT ALL, I bitched and moaned, like I do, 'cause I'm JR, that's how I roll. The owner overheard me, and pointed out that the ladies hadn't left yet, they were in the bathroom. He then went and stood by the front door waiting for them. When they came out and went to leave he did this:

"Ladies, how was everything today?"

"Oh, it was great, everything was excellent!" (People love talking to the owner.)

"And how was your service today?"

"It was excellent as well!"

"Oh really? Because you didn't tip your server at all. So I was just wondering what that was all about."

They were so flustered, it was hysterical. And in the almost five years I've been there, I've never once seen any of them return. And I've never doubted my boss' devotion to his staff. Even if he does drive me crazy telling me where my own food goes***.

*I realize I am playing it kinda fast and loose with the term "lady."

**If you don't know what that is from (JACK SHUT UP) then I can't be your friend anymore.

***Boss' wife, if you happen to read this, show that to him. He will crack up, as the "telling me about my own tables" has been a recent joke between us. And I am sorry that I just called you "boss' wife," but I am trying to keep the establishment anon, since I just bitched about a guest.

My Darling Donkey

Down the street from our house there lies a field. In this field there lives many cows. And... Batman & Robin.

Batman is a donkey, and might I add a very pretty little black and brown donkey. Robin is either a miniature horse or a mule, nobody seems to really be sure. But Batman and Robin are best friends and very rarely seen apart. The exception to this is when the cows are around - Batman fears the cows* like Superman fears kryptonite, and he always moves to another field, while Robin doesn't mind the cows and will happily share their hay.

Batman got his name because one day we were driving by his field as he was peeing. I exclaimed, apropos of nothing, "That donkey is hung like Batman!" Much like the breed of Robin, nobody seems to be sure why I would think that Batman would be at all hung like a donkey. However, from that day on the donkey and mule/horse have been known to me, Mark, and all who roam in our circle as Batman & Robin**.

Since Mark moved into Bert*** several years ago, we have seen Batman and Robin do some fairly strange things. For example, there is a small mound of dirt in the field that Batman has a bit of a fondness towards. He likes to get up on top of it and "BRRRAAAAAAEEE" at the top of his lungs, showing his teeth, and his innate Batman-ness to all the world driving past. And lest you be thinking that this is out in the country, Batman's field is actually on the corner of a very busy street and one of Texas' main interstates. Because that's just how we roll here in the Lone Star State.

Anyway, the whole point of this story is to tell you about Mark cracking me the hell up describing another strange activity Batman & Robin were spotted engaging in. We were just driving down the road this weekend, when he casually busts out with:

"The other day Batman was really giving it to Robin."

"WHAT?!?!?!"

"Batman was giving it to Robin."

"You mean like... wait... what? SEXUALLY?!?!?!"

"Well, I didn't see actual intercourse, but there was mounting."

"WHAT? But... that's never... I mean... WOW. So wait, Robin is a girl? OH MY GOD, what if they have babies?!"

"{laughing} I guess we could name them Ratmans. Or Bobbins."

As you may have guessed, I'm pretty attached to Batman & Robin****. And, I truly do hope for little Bat babies. Although, I have not yet confirmed Robin's gender, so there may be very little chance of baby production. And, I guess, if Robin is actually a mule, Batman was just practicing safe sex.

*A while back, Mark and I were playing Taboo with a couple of friends. That's the game where you have to get your partner to say a word, without using any of the words listed on the card, which are usually the most common descriptive words for the word you have to get your partner to say. Like, if you needed your partner to say "pen," you probably couldn't say ink, paper, writing, etc. I had to get Mark to say "cow," and in a tactical move that I wowed myself with, the first words out of my mouth were, "Batman runs from these everyday!" Mark immediately guessed "COW!" We totally won that game.

**Across the highway there is another field. In that one there are also lots of cows, and a very rarely spotted white and tan donkey. I call him The Joker. Please note that I am not a particular fan of the Batman comics and/or movies, rather I am pretty indifferent to Superheros in general. The exception to that is, of course, The Incredible Hulk, or, as he is known in my family, the Ho Tie Duck. When I was a wee child I loved The Incredible Hulk series, but I couldn't pronounce it, and it always came out Ho Tie Duck. It seems odd to me that I would name the donkey, mule/horse, and other donkey after Batman characters instead of Ho Tie Duck characters. I mean, why didn't I say,"That donkey is hung like the Ho Tie Duck!"? But my brain works in ways even I fail to understand.

***In case anyone missed it in a previous post, Bert is the name of our house. Don't ask questions, just accept.

****SO SAD that in a few years they plan to build a town center right on Batman's field! And by the by, how lame and old school is it to call something a "Town Center?" This city, I tell you what...

Some of Bubbas' most recent work. Dragged my pants out of the bedroom, around the coffee table and actually up onto the fireplace. This is the first time he's moved clothing upward. He seems to be taking pride in his accomplishment, which is also a little odd for him.

The Great JayAre, Destroyer And Rebuilder Of All Things Laundry

Dirty Laundry, Part C

You know those Before Photos? I feel the need to explain that the blue stuff dripping down the walls isn't just because I am a disgusting slob. That was one of the side effects of Bert throwing the detergent off the shelf. It splashed all over the whole room.

Now, these first two photos are of the laundry room after the first time I scraped the walls, on Tuesday.

This is me painting the trim, last Tuesday night. Gee, doesn't it look like everything is just fine? No idea that the paint will continue to chip, or that my stomach is plotting a violent rebellion.

So, after all the hoopla with my stomach, we finally got started on the laundry room yesterday. I say we because I did manage to convince Mark to help me. Hooray for spouses! We went to Lowe's and spent a small fortune on things like: an electric sander, the cabinet we wanted, new base boards, a new fancy light fixture*, and various accessories needed for the job (sandpaper, masks, primer, tape, etc.).

We spent all day in that darn little room. Scraping, sanding, scraping, sanding... I swear, when this is over, I am not saying either of those words again for at least a month. Maybe a year.

It got to be that everytime we thought we were close to done, we would find more chipping. Finally I did the one thing I should have done in the very beginning. I called our contractor friend for advice.

And you know what he said? He said stop scraping and put the primer on already! Primer will hide chipping and make it restick or some such business. PRIMER WILL HEAL MY WALLS!

Tyrone will be getting a very special case of beer from me.

So we did just that. We primed. And guess what? It worked. The walls are primed and ready to be painted.

Of course, we actually still have a lot of work ahead of us. We went ahead and tried to cut the baseboards, and we messed up only a little bit. We only have to go back to Lowe's (AGAIN) to buy enough baseboard for one wall. The other three turned out fine.

So we still have to:

-Cut the remaining baseboard.

-Nail up the baseboards.

-Paint the walls. (We opted for the easy option of texturing: a sand-like texture that you mix right into your paint. Saves time and money and F--- IT IT'S JUST THE LAUNDRY ROOM.)

-Hang the new light.

-Hang the cabinets. Actually, we need to go to Lowe's (AGAINAGAINWHENWILLITEND) and buy one more cabinet, we want two and they only had one in stock.

-Paint the baseboards.

But all of this will have to wait a few days, because the dirty laundry became overwhelming. I had to give in today and move the washer and dryer back into the room and hook them up. So far I've done 4 loads of laundry, but there are many more to go. However, with my work week beginning tomorrow, and our impending vacation to visit the in-laws starting Saturday and lasting 10 days, and then when we get back I have to go for more testing on my stomach... this laundry room may remain unfinished for three more weeks.

But I will finish it. I refuse to be one of those people with half finished projects all over the house. From now on, I will be known as The Great JayAre, Destroyer And Rebuilder Of All Things Laundry.

*I have previously stated that the light fixture was the one nice item in our laundry room. I stand by that statement. Our light fixture is very pretty and matches all the other light fixtures. However, Mark pointed out that having an exhaust fan in the room might stop paint from peeling in the future. So we had to buy a light fixture that was both fancy and a fan. Which means Mark has to re-wire the room, too. THE LIST KEEPS GROWING.

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Does it bother anyone else that Rachel Ray talks to us (the TV public) like we are four? I am old enough for proper english, please stop calling sandwiches "sammies" and mashed potatoes "smashed potatoes." Seriously Rachel, I love your food, stop pissing me off.

I know this seems random, but she is on in the background while I type.

Dirty Laundry Part Deux

Back to last Monday.

So, I get all the crap out of the laundry room.

And I discover, behind the washer and dryer, that the paint, the paint that is only a few years old, is chipping. Upon closer inspection of the room, I find that there are spots all over the place where the paint is chipping. Just little, tiny spots, that I never would have noticed if I wasn't going to paint in there. So I think, well, I guess I can just sand the walls down a little bit in those areas.

I locate some sanding paper and a piece of wood to wrap it around, and start sanding.

And the paint begins to peel right off the walls.

Hmmmm.

So I do what anyone in this situation would do. I call my daddy.

He tells me that what I need to actually do is scrap the paint off the walls. Not all of it, mind you, but wherever it is peeling, start scraping. He recommended going to Lowe's and buying a paint scraper. But, I didn't want to have to get dressed (not that I was naked, but I don't go out in shorts) so I called Mark and asked him to pick one up for me on his way home from work. In the meantime I started scrapping using a spackel putter-on-er. You know what I mean, those little knife things you use to, well, put spackel on a wall. A putty knife, that's it.

I am amazed at the amount of paint coming off these walls. Before long the floor is covered in paint chips. And I discover that when they painted this room, they just did two big coats covering the baseboards and the walls, together, so when I am scraping and get to the baseboards, the paint is peeling off there, too.

What's the most logical thing to do in that situation?

Pull off the baseboards.

I discover wet drywall behind two areas of the baseboards, which caused big dents/holes to form in the drywall when I pried the baseboards off. I dent the walls elsewhere with my handy day crowbar trying to pry off the brackety things for the shelf that was in there, because hey, if you're gonna make a mess, make a MESS.

I also discover that scraping the paint means I'm looking at bare drywall. That means that when I re-paint the walls, there will be spots with no texturing, which will look stupid.

So, I call my dad again. He tells me what to buy to re-texture the areas I am scraping clean. I call Mark and ask him to pick that up, too. He sighs heavily. His life with me is very hard.

Seriously. That's not a joke.

Anyway, I continue scraping the walls. Eventually I wear out and decide I want to go to Lowe's, too, so I call Mark and catch him on the way, and convince him to come home and take me with him to the store.

He arrives at home and sighs heavily, again, at the mess I have made. Then he examines the shelves I bought and tells me that if we're gonna do something, we might as well DO IT, so let's save these to put in the garage and buy a fancy cupboard for the laundry room.

We go to Lowe's, get the paint scraper, among other things I can't even remember now, I've been to Lowe's so much this week. And we picked out the obscenely expensive cabinet that we will purchase once the painting is done.

So, now, that was on Monday. On Tuesday, I scrap the walls, sand the walls, texture the walls, and seem to think I have got it all under control. I started painting, and about halfway through my first coat, the paint started chipping and peeling off right under my roller.

Now it is I that am sighing heavily.

Clearly I have to go back, scrap down the walls almost entirely, retexture AGAIN, and then paint. I decide to start over on Wednesday afternoon.

Wednesday morning I have to get up and take the puppy to get spayed, and then go to work. Except that Wednesday was the day from hell, the day I woke up with searing, mind-numbing, doubled-over-can't-walk PAIN in my stomach. I did manage to get the dog to the vet, and get to work, but shortly after arriving at work I couldn't take it anymore and broke down in tears like a little wussy girl. So, long story short on that one, I ended up spending the day in the hospital getting poked and jabbed and x-rayed and made to drink things that make me in loopy moods, and then the next three days laying around my house, waiting for the WONDERFUL drug to kick in. Which it finally has, god bless the one a day purple pill called Nexium.

Needless to say, the laundry room didn't get touched again until Sunday. Almost a week after the "one hour painting project" originally began. And, might I just casually mention, THE DIRTY LAUNDRY HAS TAKEN OVER THE HOUSE PLEASE COME SAVE ME IT IS COMING FOR MY SOUL.

I must sleep now

I'm totally working on finishing my laundry room post. But yesterday I got knocked out with a rather painful bout of Gastritis (my stomach is producing too much acid), so I'm gonna be pretty out of it for a couple days, until my medication kicks in and the pain stops.

So the laundry room and the post about it will remain unfinished for a little while.

Before Pictures

Dirty Laundry

Yesterday I decided to paint the laundry room. I've been planning to do it for some time now - the laundry room is right off the front entry way, and we usually just keep the door closed. Not that is was hideous looking at all, it's just a small white room with one shelf, the dryer and the washer*.

Last year I painted the entry way a lovely color called Desert Something-Or-Other, which was the middle choice on a color palate of three. I decided I would paint the laundry the dark choice on that palate, Mesa Tumbleweed. (It's dark tan, people.) I intend to paint the living room Desert Something-Or-Other once it gets too hot for me to keep working in the yard and I am trapped inside all day. Which should be Saturday. (Did you guys hear it's supposed to be 100 degrees all weekend? Freaking Texas.)

So, yesterday afternoon I went to a movie, 'cause I'm thinking, "Hey, it's a small room, two coats of paint, easy-peasy, I totally have time to watch Jennifer and Vince break up." After the movie I went down the street to Lowe's and spent some time looking around, walking off my popcorn AND nachos. I love that store. It makes me want to tear up all kinds of stuff in our house.

I was so confident that it would be an easy painting job that I even bought some fancy decorative shelves to hang in there after the paint dries. We already have a fancy-schmancy light fixture, so I was good there**. I bought my shelves, paint, rollers, and even remember to buy hollow wall screw thingies for the shelves. Feeling rather proud of myself, I went home.

I cleared out all the crap out of the room, moved the washer and dryer into the hallway, and then all hell broke loose.

I would like to show you some before pictures of my laundry room. However, the only shots I have are of the time that Bert rejected the detergent. The big thing of laundry detergent somehow slid off the shelf, bounced off the washer, and landed upright (thank goodness) on the floor. Made quite a mess***. So, I will show you these pictures, just so you can see the basic-ness of the room, and how painting it should be SUCH AN EASY JOB.

Okay, for some reason I it's not adding the pictures to this post. I will try to get them in a new post.


*WAsher not WRAsher.

**There was a plastic white round cover fixture up there when Mark moved in, but Bert hated it. (Bert is the name of our house. Try to keep up.) Bert would literally throw it on the ground every time Mark screwed it in. Bert is not haunted, he was just rejecting the ugly light fixture. Much in the same way your body might reject a greasy burger or a bucket of beans. So we put a fancy fixture in when we replaced the fixtures in the hallway.

***I promise, Bert's not haunted. Or if he is, the spirits are somehow confined to the laundry room. And if they are in there, I wish they would learn to fold towels.

A Conversation With My Boss

Boss: "...So anyway, she was a tea seller, and she made us bring virgin pots to brew the tea in."

Staff: "Virgin pots?"

Boss: "Yeah, virgin pots, you know, pots that haven't been used before."

Staff: "Why can't you brew tea in a pot that has a little experience under it's belt?"

Boss: "You can. But she seemed to think that unless it was a virgin pot, it would taint the tea."

Staff: "A non-virgin pot would taint the tea."

Boss: "And nobody wants tainted tea. That's not the kind of teabag you want."


This is why I love my job, people.

Stoned Puppy

This post is insanely long and boring. Peruse at your own risk.

This week has been all about the dog.

On Monday, she was supposed to get spayed. So, we took her to Banfield at 7am and dropped her off. She was supposed to get her vaccinations, as well. We went back home and I went back to sleep. Mark occupied himself elsewhere. Who knows what men do when left to their own devices? Anyway.

About 9am the pet hospital calls to tell me they probably won't do the vaccinations today because they don't want to put her through that much stress after surgery. Fine, whatever.

About 10am the pet hospital calls to tell me that they don't have a doctor coming in. Sammie will not be getting spayed or vaccinated today. Sorry for the inconvenience, we'll keep her here till 5pm if you have plans already. {sigh}

We go pick her up around 2pm. I felt too guilty to leave her there for no reason. We make arrangements for her to come back on Wednesday, assuming there will be a doctor. They say they will call and confirm with me.

They never call.

Wednesday morning I wake up at 7am. I decided not to drive the dog in unless I knew she would be having the surgery today, so I start trying to call the office, which supposedly opens at 7am. They don't answer the phone till close to 7:30, but tell me that they do have a doctor coming in.

So, I drag my happy ass out of bed, throw on my clothes from the day before, forget to brush my hair, and drop off the dog. I make it home before 8am, so Mark can take the truck to work.

See, we have two cars (that are working... SO WHITE TRASH), a Tundra and a TransAm. We bought a cover for the backseat of the Tundra, so that is the dog car. She barely fits in the TransAm anyway (40 lbs already). The plan is for Mark to take off work early and pick her up around 5pm, since I have to go to work at 4:30. Nothing is ever simple here.

I get back home, Mark goes to work, and I have a nice lazy morning reading. At noon, my phone rings, but I don't get to it in time to answer. So I get a message, "Mrs. JayAre, this is Dr. So&So. I need to speak with you about Sammie. Please call me right back."

Panic sets in. I KNEW we shouldn't have gotten her fixed! She's dead, she's bleeding, oh my poor dog...

So I call her back. The nurse answers, I tell her who I am, and she says, "Oh, hi. Let me get the doctor for you." MORE PANIC SOMEBODY JUST TELL ME SHE'S ALIVE...

"Mrs. JayAre? Yes, I need to talk to you about your little Sammie. We did her blood work before surgery,and it turns out we can't operate today."

(BECAUSE SHE'S DEAD!?!?!?!?!?!)

"Sammie is a little bit anemic, and I don't feel comfortable operating on her until we get that fixed and figure out why."

She then proceeds to tell me they have no idea why the dog is anemic. It might be that there are still roundworms in her, they will do a fecal exam. But it might not be that, it might be another kind of worm.... Long story short, Sammie has to be on another round of de-wormer (even though it turns out they couldn't find any parasites) and she has to take vitamins, and we will take her in again next week for another blood test. {heavy sigh}

She also tells me that this is why Sammie sleeps so often. I have noticed her sleeping a lot, right? "Um, nope. She's very active. In fact, on that little check-in sheet you had me fill out, I checked the 'more active than normal' box." The doctor laughs. "Well, wait till we get this fixed."

Maybe we should let her stay anemic until she's out of the puppy phase.

So, the doctor tells me I can come pick her up anytime. I say I'll be there in an hour. I hang up and then realize that I have the wrong car to pick the dog up. But, I don't want to leave her there all day. I call Mark and we decide that if I lay her bed across the backseat she'll probably be okay.

I end up not getting there to pick her up until close to 2pm, because I'm JR, that's how I roll. The doctor is gone on lunch, so I don't even get to talk to her. I do get to wait THIRTY MINUTES to talk to the Nurse Practitioner person. She tells me all the anemia stuff again, and says if her bloodwork is okay next week they will operate then. I ask if they at least gave her the vaccinations, 'cause she's due for her rabies and we really want to take her to the dog park. Nurse says, "Oh, we can do that right now." I ask her to also look at the bruises on top of Sammie head and on her leg, they seem to be taking a long time to heal.

TWENTY MINUTES later, Nurse comes back out with the Amazing Sammie from Poopville. Shots are done, but hey, let's talk about these bruises.

Not so much bruises. It's actually hair loss, probably from a hereditary form of mange called "Demodectic Mange." {heavy heavy dramatic sigh dear god this is why she was free}

Next week they will do a skin scraping to make sure that's what it is, no worries, it's fixable. And it explains why she has been shedding so much lately. Fine, I can deal with mange.

Now comes the fun, bodily function portion of this post.

Halfway home, uncomfortably laying in the back of the TransAm, Sammie vomits (bright yellow!) all over her bed. And my sweater. Which actually is the same shade of yellow, so it blended. Don't worry, I washed it anyway. I may leave the house without brushing my hair, but I don't wear dog puke.

We get home, I clean out the car, and we go out back. Sammie doesn't like to "go potty" unless it's on her own turf. She will hold it FOREVER - kind of worrisome on road trips. But anyway.

She poops. It is the biggest poop I have ever seen. Then she keeps pooping. Walking around the yard, shooting little poops out, like tiny brownish-yellowish water-y missiles. As she's walking, and pooping (did I mention the pooping?), she begins throwing up again. It was horrible. She was shaking, she could barely hold herself up, stuff just shooting out of every orifice. I couldn't even get her to come to me. Panic begins to build.

So, I run inside and start digging through my purse for my cell, which has the vets number programmed in, because I'm crazy like that. Can't find my cell. Panic is growing. Run outside to check, Sammie still puking and pooping, start to run back inside for the house phone, and realize my cell is in my pocket. Duh. Even through my panic I realize I am a total idiot.

I call the vet, and the very nice young man from the front desk answers. I tell him what's going on, and he says, "Hold on, let me ask the vet what you should do." He comes back on two seconds later and tells me to bring her back in immediately, it's probably just a reaction to the vaccines, but still, get her in here.

So, I chase down the dog, throw her in the car, and take off. She has miraculously stopped vomiting, and she stopped trying to poo when I grabbed her. At this point it's 3pm, and I have to leave for work in an hour and a half. I decide to call and say I might be late, because I really have no idea what's going on. Turns out they had too many waitstaff on for the night anyway, and my manager gives me the whole night off. I should buy him a candy bar.*

I get her in to the pet hospital, and the nurse comes out, grabs the leash and says, "We'll watch her, if it keeps up we'll give her a steroid to help, we'll call you if anything happens, come back around 5 or 5:30." And off she goes, running.

Um, okay.

I stand there for a minute, calming down and getting my bearings. Then I get back to the car, call my mommy, and start bawling.

Yes, I know, I am dumb. But I cry easily, and I couldn't get in touch with Mark, and seriously, if you had seen the dog SHAKING so bad she could hardly stand and all the vomit and poo... Dude, it was really scary. And yes, I know (Brittany!) that I am crazy when it comes to my dog. But that's just how I roll. You should see me when anything happens to my cats. INSANITY.

So, they never call. I go and pick her up at 5:30, and they tell me that she has to take Benadryl for a couple days, because it helps with the allergic reaction she apparently had to one of the vaccines. They gave me the Benadryl free of charge, which I think was pretty darn nice of them.

Benadryl makes a dog act pretty funny. First there's a lot of running and frantic-ness for about 30 minutes, then there's PLOP and out cold. For hours.

She hasn't moved from one spot in two hours, except for when I literally DRAGGED her outside to pee. Then she came right back to the same spot. I took a picture but it won't let me post that right now. Maybe later.

Why we wasted our money on THREE dog beds... Good lord.

*The man LOVES him some chocolate. LOVES LOVES LOVES in a woman-PMSing-just-got-dumped sort of way.