My Parasitic Twin is never around when I need her.
Like this morning I had more dog drama and I really needed some coffee with scream, but no. She was in Vail being all fancy.
I got a call from my vet yesterday saying that it was time to check Blue’s poop to see if it was free of strange bacteria. I thought heck, while we’re at it why not get Scheissehund’s nails clipped when I do the drop off? They are super long ever since he got banned from Petsmart for biting his groomer.
He’s also been chewing at his fur. I thought he was aspiring to be a hairless mole rat but entertained that it could be a food allergy or some shit so I thought I’d bring that up, too.
I walked in and deposited the little dog and a one-pound bag of dog shit on the counter and the tech took both in the back (insert screams of bloody murder from Scheissehund) and she came back to tell me that Scheissehund tested negative for mange so she will look at his stool sample to see if it’s an endocrine issue.
Me: Uh, that’s Blue’s poop. You know, the Great Dane. I brought it in to have it checked for giardia and clostridium.
Tech: Ohhhh. I was wondering about that.
Me: You actually thought that my four pound dog could take a crap that large?
Tech: I was rather impressed.
Me: Damn, he’d have waaay bigger problems than mange if he’s taking dumps that big don’t you think?
I wouldn’t mind shitting one-quarter of my body mass. That would get me back to pre-pregnancy weight lickety split.
Naturally, I had to share this with MPT so instead of coffee with scream, I blew up her phone.
I had to black out some words because MPT and I say stuff that is kinda wrong but makes sense in the context of yelling at each other in bathrobes. But to be clear, the word doesn’t start with an N.
I was hoping Scheissehund had mange because 1) it is relatively easy to fix and 2) mangy mutt has such a nice ring to it. I reminds me of one of my favorite B-52 songs. It’s a revenge song written to a toy poodle named Quiche that runs off with a Great Dane.
Do you see the key in my hand?I’m gonna throw it in the lake
Yea, you’ve been so rotten to me
You take the cake
I’m just gonna lock the door to your kennel
And just you try and come back to me
Yeah, you’ll see (Quiche, Quiche Lorraine)
You mangy mutt (Quiche, Quiche Lorraine)
Okay, Quiche Lorraine had my favorite lyrics, but my favorite B-52s groove is definitely Mesopotamia.
In other news, it’s super springy outside which makes me want to give a shit about how I look again. I have a friend who is the only person who has ever done my face in a way that makes me feel pretty and not like a cross-dressing clown.
I don’t often wear make-up but I’d like to be good at it for special occasions so I took her up on her offer to teach me the perfect smokey eye. She freelances at MAC and invited me to visit her while she was working. She taught me this …
… I’ve been doing my face every day since in order to get it right and then take a picture and send it to her for critique. Practice makes perfect.
Meanwhile, I’ve been getting lots of compliments. I miss the effortless beauty of youth although I wouldn’t trade it for the beauty of the less-effort existence that is middle age. Nonetheless, I dug up my old portfolio and scanned in some pictures of me in my prime.
They are fun to show to my young friends so I can be all, “This is what I looked like when I was your age.”
The photos were taken by – and I know this is going to sound really bad but I swear it wasn’t like that – my high school photography teacher. To be fair, he wasn’t my teacher, just a teacher, who made me his muse. He never moved on me in all the times we met in his off-campus studio to take pictures.
I’m glad I have these photos. They don’t make me regret being older, rather they make me appreciate my youthful days. That was me once, I had that easy beauty. It’s more fun to look back on those days than it was to actually live because I had such low self-esteem and no idea of what I actually wanted or who I was.
I like myself now, that’s a good thing.
Anyway, I was chatting all made up with Boobzilla and she said, “Oh my god you are such a babe right now!” and I was like, “When your usual beauty regime is limited to brushing your teeth and wearing yesterday’s sweats, putting on jeans and some mascara is a vast improvement.”
Most of the time I am too busy to care, I just throw on whatever is at the foot of my bed from the day before and head to the studio. I usually don’t even comb my hair as it eventually settles into place after a few hours.
I’ve been trying to make a pitcher that I saw on Pinterest and suffice to say it’s not going so well, make-over or no.
I thought I was getting closer with my second try but no.
I don’t have enough storage space to house an ugly pitcher.
I decided to try something else (also found on Pinterest, natch) but it required me to throw a closed form. I haven’t used the wheel in years so fortunately Sally, my intrepid teaching assistant, talked me through it.
I swoon over the studio in my blog all the time but it’s simply the best. It’s especially nice because one of my friends in the class has ginormous boobs and she doesn’t get weirded out when I motorboat them in lieu of a more conventional greeting.
Who knew that potters and pole dancers would have that in common?
I heard a term on Savage the other day that completely sums me up. I’m boobysexual! I’m not into women sexually but I adore boobs.
I love looking at them, I love sticking my face in them, I love resting my little head on them … they just comfort the hell out of me.
Read whatever you want into this about not being breastfed and Freud and all that, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Other things that I love, my stupid dogs. Are you ready for this?
Ugh! So cute!
Whooo, look who’s in a good mood today? Maybe it’s because we saw the Harlem Globetrotters last night.
I took the boys and Scratchy’s friend from school. We drank $5 sodas and ate $8 hotdogs and it was the best.
I could have gone for more actual basketball though. Seems to me that the Trotters do more talking than playing which wouldn’t be so bad if I could understand a word they were saying. The acoustics simply weren’t meant for all that exposition.
Loony is taking Scratchy to Pueblo this weekend for his first ever state Basketball tournament, I better get their stuff together.