|Friday Bullets and why I rarely celebrate my birthday on its actual date
||[Jul. 31st, 2009|07:46 am]
I find myself unable to complain about the humidity, or even weather in general. THAT'S how mellow it's been. Even last night, humid as all get out, but because July was so tame...there just isn't even that ambient funk of burnt out, dried out vegetation combined with fetid standing water smell that makes me think "ah, Maryland in summer". Oh, at this rate, it will come...but if we can have early summers like we've had, I'll take a month of "fat man's armpit". |
I enjoy Dogfish Head Alehouse because they cater to my inner hop whore. Plus the food is better than I would expect. And, I feel it's my duty to support a business that distills its own rum and vodka. And so, when my colleagues wanted to take me out for Happy Hour at a location of my choosing, that's what I picked. Even though I knew it would traumatize the Miller Lite "afficianados" in the crowd. But when the waitress looked at my boss, after he asked for a Bud Light and said "There is no way big strong man like you is drinking a Bud Light in here. I'll get you a Budweiser, okay?"...now I have a serious CRUSH.
The best moment of my birthday was when, immediately after leaving said Alehouse, with an inadvisable blood alcohol count for driving, I'm guessing, when I went to zip into the shopping center to get a gas station, and suddenly realized that I was heading the wrong way up a one way entrance...and the reason I knew that was the police car heading straight for me...and the officer just rolled down his window and said to back up while he watched for traffic and then wished me a good night.
Yes, that was the best moment. I almost could say that the outpouring of birthday wishes from friends was the best moment...but frankly, thanks to work and Facebook, it actually crossed some kind of line and triggered my inner hermit. It's all warm and fuzzy, but then suddenly I'm thinking...man, I can't even get my **** together enough to wish Happy Birthday to people I love and look at all of these people...making me feel bad because THEIR birthday came and went and I sure as hell never got around to...do I even KNOW that person? (Ah, the glories of facebook...there needs to be an app where once I friend you back, you send me a fullsize picture of your actual face because, honestly, the name is not always helping me, although sometimes the garb looks vaguely familiar...)
And at work, it was like a freaking onslaught. I think of myself of someone who wants attention -- I mean, I'm all okay with the dressing up and I've learned to turn my innate lack of grace into a comedy routine, and I wouldn't call myself SHY...but I couldn't get three steps in any direction without colleagues wishing me happy birthday, asking me what plans I had, making jokes about how old...I started to break out in hives and had to restrain myself from screaming "Stop LOOKING at me!" and hiding in my cube. I tried hiding, but then flowers arrived from the Captain and half of the office had to troop down my aisle to check them out because the receptionist kept telling everyone how beautiful they were. It was like social waterboarding...
Admittedly, I had been having one of the worst days ever...
See, the drag about coming back from the cruise is that we've come back to all of the squalor, plus the "omigod, we have to pack and get ready to be gone for a week" squalorplus. A massive laundry campaign was begun.
And then Monday night, Wonderdog Percy had a little bit of the runs. Not a huge deal. Although Tuesday, when I came home from work to find that things had escalated, and in addition to making a poo shoe and tracking that everywhere, he'd then, later in the afternoon, had an...explosive butt event
(and here's where I tell you that, honest to god, in the toilet paper industry, it's called an "event", as in "we've determined that shrinking the width of the paper by 1/2 an inch does not increase the number of sheets used per event and that sheet usage is not effected until 3/4 of inch where we see a slight uptick in usage/event." Go ahead, reflect on the golden irony of me spending my time at work helping hotels choose the best toilet paper for their needs while my dog is at home sh***ing all over the house.)
And apparently, he fell down the stairs into it. Because not only was the stairs, hallway, bedroom, our bed, his bed, painted in poo, so was he. With a big raw bleeding spot on his nose from where he desperately tried to cover up the event by trying to nosescrape the carpet up over it. Because Percy IS A GOOD DOG. Somehow, with the strength imbued upon me by a week of sun, snorkeling and rum punch, I managed to not melt down and dealt. Two gallons of Oxyclean, three jumbo rolls of paper towels, several rag/towels, three ciders and a dog bath later, it was 8:30pm, and dinner and bed.
Until midnight, when he woke me up, and had to go out again. Then sadly, I believe I started sleeping like the dead, because he was unable to wake me up the other THREE times he needed to go out. Which meant Wednesday morning, a morning on which I woke up especially early so that I could get a jumpstart on work...meant that instead I had to go in late because there were three intersecting trails of...liquid poo...from the bedroom, down the stairs, across the kitchen, in front of the hallway, circling the living room...and a raw bloody nose from trying to clean up after himself, because he is a GOOD DOG.
And at that point he was cramping up into an arch every two hours, which, with his old spine, meant he was having trouble standing up when the cramps hit, so now I had an exploding butt attached to a dog that kept going spreadeagle, slipping and sliding, while still crapping and really, that's when I lost it. The two of us trying to get out the front door, poo flying everywhere, falling down the front steps out into the yard...let's just say "well, Happy Fucking Birthday to me." Because now I'm also wondering "Is this it? Has his spinal issue gotten to the point where he can't control himself? Really? Am I going to have to put down this dog, who's trying as hard as he can to BE A GOOD DOG, looking at me with misery and terror, because he can't hold his poo? Is this where it ends? On my birthday?
I managed to pull it together, called the vet's office to get an appointment as soon as possible. And held it together until the receptionist told me that they were booked up full and had no openings, but they could see me tomorrow. What happened then, I'm not entirely sure, but it involved hollering and tears and I'm pretty sure I invoked "old dog, dehydrated, might not last until tomorrow". So I got in that afternoon.
Spent the morning home cleaning carpets, taking him out every hour and a half, praying that soon at least he'd be empty, if nothing else. Then headed off to work for a few hours until it was time for the vet appointment. At the vet's we got a shot of cortisone, which mellowed out the cramping and put him on meds for the rest and are crossing our fingers that works. It seems to have improved slightly.
But yeah, so THAT, my friends is why I consider this Saturday my birthday.