 Sometimes Cheese Fries Are Just Necessary |
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Last night I dreamt that I was best friends with a hybrid of Jennifer Garner and Gwyneth Paltrow. They kept changing into each other. Sometimes I'd be talking with Gwyneth about Chris and Apple, but then suddenly she'd be Jennifer and we'd be talking about Ben Affleck and her breakup with Michael Vartan. Gwynnifer and I went on a walk with Shelley and Maryelizabeth, and we got mugged by a gang of teen boys, kind of like the biker gang on Veronica Mars but not quite. Somehow one of the gangsters pulled a bottle opener out of my pocket and held it up threateningly to my crotch, so I sprayed him with pepper spray, but the canister malfunctioned and it flew everywhere. We were then safe and sound in Gwynnifer's mansion, and Shelley was irate because her jeans had been hit with some errant pepper spray, and she was screaming, "These are three hundred dollar jeans!" I was screaming back, "What was I supposed to do? He was holding a bottle opener to my vagina!" And she said, "Why do you even have pepper spray? That is so redneck!" And I said, "Everyone here got pepper spray because of the serial killer! The governor even told us all to get guns! Look, Maryelizabeth has pepper spray, too!" And Maryelizabeth said indignantly, "No, I don't." And I was panicking because I didn't have three hundred dollars to pay her back with. But Gwynnifer hooked me up so I gave Shelley the money to buy herself a new damn pair of designer jeans. I am in dog hate mode today. Inspired by a thread at MATH+1 and Daisy's recent trip to get her anals done, I decided, after reading a lot about it online and talking to a friend who does her dog's, to try to see if I might be able to take charge of the situation instead of just bringing her to the vet. (Daisy has gone ballistic when anyone gets near her hind end since the day I brought her home, and due to her regular scooting and butt-licking, I am convinced that she has a chronic impaction issue.) The problem is that Daisy rolls over when I approach her, partly because she wants a belly rub and partly because she's just that submissive. And instead of letting me anywhere near her rear end, she peed on my hand. So during all of this inspection, I saw something on her belly and said, "What the fuck? Is that a flea?" I haven't seen a flea on Daisy since the day I brought her home. None of my animals ever have fleas. I know Marley had at least one on her that she ingested that led to the tapeworm incident, but other than that, not a one. So I picked it off of her in disgust and after unsuccessfully trying to just pick it off and wash it down the drain, at which point it crawled back out of the drain into the sink and leapt out in defiance, was reacquainted with the horror of the only way of killing a flea, experienced with my kitten in 1994 in the days before topical flea ointments and in my apartment in Florida when I woke up with bites all over my ankles my first morning there and called my mother in hysterics -- splitting it in half with one's fingernail. I hadn't even washed that bisected flea down the drain when I saw another. And another. And I reeled in nausea and just kept picking them off. I checked the calendar and noted that the dogs were due for their next dose of Revolution in three days, so I went ahead and applied it. A few hours later, I saw another flea. Pick. This morning, I saw one dead one on her shoulder (pick) and two live ones on her belly. (Pick, pick.) I accidentally pulled a little to hard on some little hairs on that last one and she yelped and jumped up and scratched me on the chin, at which point Zuko, who'd been hovering to keep a close eye on the examination, simultaneously leapt up and spastically knocked over a giant bowl of water. My tantrum will remain undescribed, but needless to say, hello? What? Since when does my dog have fleas? I left her at the vet from 8:00-noon the other day to get her anals done, so I can only assume she picked them up there, but since when, also, does Revolution not work over the course of twelve hours? Why does she still have live fleas on her belly? What does this mean, Corky? Does this mean that I should stop ordering Revolution from Australia? Possibly. Whatever. I am just so disgusted by the whole situation that I just want to ship them off to a butt-squeezing pesticide camp where the counselors can also teach them not to chase cats and not to scratch the paint off the edge of the countertop with their stupid paws and not to jump on the sliding glass door and not to bark at perfectly friendly passersby, such as babies in strollers. So the pet hate. That's what I feel today. I called the vet this morning and gave them a piece of my mind. They tried to tell me that sometimes when the dog stays in a kennel one or two fleas will jump on and lay eggs and new ones will hatch and I was like, "These are fat, juicy, adult fleas. They are not newly hatched. I'm just sayin'." I brought her in this morning to get a pill that's supposed to kill them. All I have to say is that it'd better work. It was a pretty decent week, I guess. The weather is kind of amazing after raining for forty days and forty nights. Athena informed me that it rained more here last weekend than it does in an entire year in San Diego. Thanks for rubbing it in, Athena! It's sunny and wonderful. I went to an athletic function with my dad, which was cool. I met a lot of cute guys, which is I suspect now why he invited me. "Behold my daughter, single men. Behold." I've been eating myself out of house and home, but I blame my menses and faced the scale this morning and was done with it. It was a rude awakening of a 2.8 pound gain after a night of beer and cheese fries last night, but Maryeliz. is in town and if anyone thinks we wouldn't be celebrating with beer and cheese fries, he or she is mistaken. Her baby is ten months old now and has the bluest eyes, it's amazing. Her parents are pretty swarthy individuals, especially her dad, and it's startling to see those eyes under that dark brown hair, from two such dark-eyed parents. I could not stop staring at her cheeks and wanting to slurp on them. I think I have a baby cheek fetish. Shelley's helping me to pick out a few guys from the online personals whom I might email soon. I think I'm realizing that I really am ready to get out there. Last night at a bar where a friend's boyfriend's band was playing, I was waiting for the bathroom at the same time as a guy in a blazer who looked so much like Richie Tenenbaum that I had to restrain myself from hurling myself at him in order to make out with him. I woke up early this morning and went to drop off a bunch of the stuff I've been pulling out of closets and cabinets to a local charity, got a caramel light frappuccino, went grocery shopping, and came home to edge, mow, and blow my front and back yards. I think I got a little sunburn so now I'm kind of delirious, but I have vowed to at least dust and vacuum before heading to the movies with my little brother. Right now I'm washing the dogs' bedding in hot water and bleach just in case. Sometimes I wish I had a yard man. And a maid. And thanks to TiVo, at some point this weekend, I will be watching one of my favorite childhood movies, Escape to Witch Mountain. And I can't wait. And now that I've straightened my kitchen cabinets, I have to say that I enjoy opening them to stare at my dishes. I like my dishes.  About this time in ...
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