It doesn't matter who they think you are. It matters who you think you are.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Trippin'
Well, I'm on the verge of a panic attack.
Will and I are actually leaving this evening for a 3 week vacation. We are taking the dogs and DRIVING to Ohio.
What...was...I THINKING???
Clearly, I wasn't.
So, here's the skinny; our dear friend who usually dog-sits/house-sits for us will be gone over the holiday season. And we don't have the heart to put our dogs into a kennel.
They'd freak.
And we'd freak.
And we don't need more freaks.
And, I have a heart, so we can't fucking put them in CARGO on an airplane. I'd rather give them my seat and put myself in cargo. Or put the assholes-who-get-up-before-we-arrive-at-the-gate in cargo and give them their seats.
And, they're too big to take on the plane and put under the seat.
Will and I have been frantic all week (hence my absence...you probably didn't even notice) trying to get everything accomplished that we needed to; work-related things, Christmas shopping, banking, getting our nails done, getting fresh perms, and finding places to stay that take dogs and in areas where we won't be hung up on a fence and shot, or dragged down the road by Billy Bob's El Camino, or eaten.
We're leaving tonight and driving straight through to Santa Fe. Do you remember what the dogs did last year on our way to Taos? Yeah? So do we. And I'm sure that the locksmith remembers as well...I'm sure that she (and other people at the gas station) at least remembers us screaming.
We'll be in Santa Fe for a few days, then onto Nashville. If we don't roll the car and land in a snow-drift first. Then, onto Warren, Ohio, where I grew up.
We haven't been back in 2 years and I miss it like crazy.
So, I just really wish that I had time to tell you about
Tim's 40th Birthday party that we were happy to attend in the Hollywood Hills last Saturday night.
I wish I had time to tell you how we rubbed elbows with the likes of Dave from Rattling the Kettle, or how we rubbed fur-covered butts with Whit from The Honea Express, or how we bumped boobs with his beautiful and charming wife Tricia. (We now have a crush on Whit and Tricia and have informed them that the next time we see them we'll be sticking our tongues in their mouths. I haven't heard anything back yet.)
Whit and I were mysteriously wearing almost the same chocolate brown velvet sport coat. What was more amazing is that we were wearing the SAME THING
underneath it all. Everyone said that I looked better in mine. Sorry, Whit. Maybe next time.
Obviously, this is where Whit showed me his penis.
I wish that I had time to tell you how bright and engaging Liz Rizzo is from Everyday Goddess. And how much I thoroughly enjoyed talking with her. Although, her boyfriend (who sadly wasn't able to attend) has fantastic hair and the next time I see him, I might have to slap him around a little and pull his hair.
Here's Liz looking beautiful and glam. Tim had begun cutting some serious stinkers at this point and apparently Liz hadn't smelled them yet. Ohhhh, but I did.
And I wish that I had time to have visited with Lisa and Kim more. I'm terrible. I can pick them out, but I didn't get their cards, so I can't remember their blog sites. FOR SHAME!!! Lisa and Kim...please forgive me. And at this point, I just hope that those are your names. And if you read this, please comment or email me and I'll linky-linky-tonguey-spanky.
Karen, Tim's hottie of a wife was there with their latest creation; Abigail. She's beeaaauuutiful.
And how flattering is it that they named her after me? "Abigail" means "Kevin" in Swahili. You didn't know that, did you? The fortunate part is that "Kevin" in Swahili means "beautiful shimmering lake with gorgeous ducks and geese and Weeping Willows and a really hot rockin' ass".
See? You learn something everyday.
Sooo...I guess I don't really have time to tell you how Jane and I made out for at least 30 minutes, which just seemed like a teaser.
And speaking of teasers, Neil from Citizen of the Month walked up and said; "OH! I REALLY hoped you were coming! Bye."
Thanks, Neil.
So, I guess I don't have time to tell you how we sat around a table all night drinking and laughing and literally rubbing elbows. Between the wit and banter that was flying around from Liz, Dave, Whit, Tricia, Tim and Karen, my brain was back-firing and sputtering to keep up. They're ALL very funny, bright, kind and engaging people to be around.
What was truly nice is that we felt like we've known them for at least 2 weeks.
Whit kept cracking on my age, which caught me off-guard and was hysterical EVERY time. And Tim was just as ruthless with me. They seemed like brothers. At one point, Tim basically asked; "So, with you guys being gay and being dudes, are you like, having sex ALL the time 'cause there's no one there to say "NO"?"
Whit kept calling Will "Boo-Boo Kitty", which was just so fucking funny. And Will just kept drinking. So, by the time we were departing and we were walking out the door with Whit and Tricia, Will had turned into this guy,
Stuart from MAD TV.
I said; "Will? Did you say 'Goodbye' to Tim?"
And he began kind of running around the back patio while I was holding the door open shaking his head back and forth and replied in a sing-songy voice; "NOOO!"
And I said; "Will? Are you going to come in to say 'Goodbye' to Tim?"
And he proceeded to run and skip a little bit and shaking his head he replied again in that "Stuart" voice; "NOOOO..."
And it fully dawned on me how drunk he was when I looked in shock at Whit and Tricia and said; "Holy shit. He's ripped."
So, I said again; "Will...You should REALLY come in and say 'Goodbye' to Tim."
And...HE KEPT RUNNING AROUND and replied; "NNOOOOoooooooo...I don't WANNA!"
My eyes began to pop out of my head as I looked at Whit and tried to stifle a laugh and said; "WILL!!! GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW!!!"
He proceeded to run around even MORE, profusely shaking his head and replied once again in that sing-songy voice; "NNNoooooo! YOU!"
My nostrils flared and I began to snarl and said; "WILL!!! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!! YOU PROBABLY HAVE TO GO PEE-PEE BEFORE WE GET ON THE ROAD ANYWAY!!"
Tim had brought shots of scotch to the table earlier in the evening, of which Whit and I strategically declined. Will did not. So, thanks for that, Tim. The ride home was loads of fun.
And if you don't know "Stuart",
Here he is in all his glory. So, picture Will acting like Stuart for an hour and 10 minute car ride back home at 2 in the morning. Yeah, fun.
And after we had our full on make-out sessions with one another, we just about broke our necks on the rain-soaked ladder that led us back down to ground.
So, I sincerely wish that I had time to tell you about all of that. But, what I DO have time for is to wish you, no matter where you are, or who you are, no matter what you celebrate, or IF you celebrate, I wish you,
What if I told you that EVERYTHING; every sensitive being, everything that you know is alive and even the things that you don't, were ALL inter-connected?
That the immense, intricate web of life leaves nothing excluded.
Not rocks, not sand, not dirt.
What would you think?
How would you act? Or re-act?
Would you change your behavior once contemplating these notions for awhile, if you knew that your well-being depended on the well-being of others? Of ALL others?
Not even the "evil" excluded?
That there is no such thing as "us" and "them"?
What would you do?
How would you think about how every thought you have and every word you speak and every action you perform has imminent consequence on EVERYone and EVERYthing else and inevitably you?
How would you live?
How would you love?
How would you BE?
I'm pondering and I'm wondering and I guess that I'm just asking...
I was talking with one of my best buds the other day and he was filling me in on something that happened to him AT WORK recently. So, I thought that I should share it with you...like I tend to do.
We'll call him...umm...let's see...How about "Bam-Bam"? Because he didn't call me back this weekend, so he sucks right now and seeing how this is MY blog, I'm going to call his stank ass (you'll see how appropriate that term is) "Bam-Bam".
He's just lucky that I'm not using his real name.
I should establish that "Bam-Bam" is VERY particular with his appearance, and his whole "hair/moisturizer/fluff/pluck/sand-blast-his-ass-clean" kind of thing.
He is extremely well-groomed.
Well, "Bam-Bam" was at work the other day. He was in a meeting with his boss. We'll call her...umm...let's see...How about "Pebbles"? Bam-Bam was in a meeting with his boss Pebbles. And everytime Bam-Bam crossed his legs, or altered his position in his chair, Pebbles would crinkle her nose and brow slightly unpleasantly.
This went on during their meeting with one another, Bam-Bam would cross and uncross his legs and Pebbles would grimace.
When finally, Pebbles had had enough and spoke up; "Bam-Bam, what is going on? Everytime you move, I smell shit. Did you step in it?"
Bam-Bam was outraged; "I DO NOT have shit on my shoes!" Checking as he said this.
And Pebbles continued; "Well then, I don't think you wiped your ass, because everytime you move and cross your legs, I smell shit."
Even more mortified, Bam-Bam explained his disciplined regimen; "PEBBLES! I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I BRING WET-WIPES WITH ME TO WORK TO WIPE MY ASS CLEAN!! THERE IS NO WAY, THAT I HAVE SHIT IN MY CRACK!!"
Bam-Bam couldn't smell it himself, but to his misfortuned co-workers he continued to smell like shit for the remainder of the day.
When Bam-Bam arrived home after work, he took a look at his stank crack in the mirror and sure enough,
he had unfortunately done a bit more than peel-out...
His usual morning shit had been a little more tumultuous in its path and had actually sprayed up his lower back.
This website would like to send a "Shout Out" to one of its loyal readers;
CONGRATULATIONS AND HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, MARC!!!
Will and I are sending you and your partner our VERY BEST REGARDS.
Marc and his partner/husband are celebrating 19 YEARS together. And get this, they EVEN work together, which means, they're together A LOT. And they're still together.
Marc writes: "Us two guys have been together for 19 years. We don't impose anything on anyone.
My mother will say to me "Did you send an anniversary card to your older brother?" and I just say to her "Did they send us an anniversary card yet??" As I told her yesterday, we're together 19 years and enjoying every second!"
It's inspiring to any relationship, Marc. Thank you for being a fine example of love and commitment under quiet duress (and often, not-so-quiet) in an unsupporting society.
I don't think that people who don't really contemplate and empathize with others can understand the depth in which others are marginalized in society.
It's easy to not think too much about them precisely because they're "others". They're not you.
When there's a lack of support, of true acknowledgment from our peers, there's a self-degradation that occurs that is rather difficult for me to describe. But, I'm going to try.
It's insidious and venom-like in its silence. It whispers in one's subconscious of insecurity, of less-than, of lower standing, of un-level ground.
I received an email from an old acquaintance back in October in regards to that Halloween party we threw. She wrote, "Kevin! Thank you so much for inviting us. We regret that we won't be able to attend. But, I'm SO happy to see that you and Will are still together!"
Will and I have been together for slightly over 5 years. I say that it's the equivalent to 35 years in "Gay" years.
I know that her sentiments were sincere and that she didn't mean anything reckless about her statement. But, nonetheless, it DID strike me as a reminder that our relationship is marginalized.
We're not expected to survive or persevere. We're not taken seriously.
Would you ever say to a married couple, "I'm SO happy to see that you two are still together!"??
Maybe with the high divorce rate, some would. But, I wouldn't. I wouldn't dream of it. When I see friends or family get married, I'm not bitter enough to think that it's going to end someday. I think the contrary and I act as such. I have faith that they'll be together always.
Am I naive? No. Just hopeful.
When I was talking with a niece the other day on the phone about our pending visit over the holidays, she asked "Is Will coming?" Not "Uncle" Will, just "Will". And again, she asked with affection and sincerity. But, it's a marginalization in my own family.
If I were "married" to a woman and recognized as such by society, my nephews and nieces would no doubt refer to my partner as "Aunt". And more importantly, my siblings would instruct them to do so.
A couple of months ago, Will and I were in San Francisco. We spent the day in Golden Gate Park and then headed to an old restaurant that Will used to frequent when he lived there, that was over by Haight and Ashbury.
The restaurant is no longer there, so we headed a few streets over to The Castro to find another place to eat.
At first I didn't care about going to the Castro. I felt like I could take it or leave it. But, the funny thing was that once we were there, I seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
I felt an invisible weight and restraint lift from my spirit and I felt free.
Did I run down the street rubbing my balls on all the buildings?
No. But damn it, I thought about it.
I did something a little more low-key;
Will and I actually held hands. And it was okay to do so. I'm not a huge fan of public displays of affection. But, we NEVER hold hands in public. And even though I don't feel like it's a big deficit, it IS a deficit.
Like the "Separate but Equal" doctrine from the 1896 case of Plessy v Ferguson, our standing under the law remains separate and unequal.
And even with friends and family, our same-sex relationships remain marginalized. And I am unknowingly reminded of it often.
I say, "unknowingly" because it would crush me if my exclusion in my own family were meant with purpose.
Our dear friends Dor and Jim have their children call us; "Uncle Kev" and "Uncle Will". And our hearts soar when they do so. It's an acknowledgment, a simple one. But, I can never fully describe to you how profound it is to me.
All I can say is that the simple things that they do, like acknowledge our anniversary with a card of support and love, and acknowledgement of Will's Birthday and calling him "Uncle", well...my gratitude goes beyond words...into the realm of tears.
Mavis Staples; "Eyes on the Prize". Sing it, Mavis. Sing it like it's never been sung.
The actors in the group will no doubt appreciate the above clip. "Elaine Stritch" is the unsinkable Broadway star. And Nicol Paone is brilliant playing her.
Will and I have been cracking up watching many of the sketches from The Big Gay Sketch Show on Logo. The website has plenty of clips from the shows if you don't get Logo. And if you're so inclined, they're certainly worth watching.
Some of our favorites?
"The Honeymooners", Fitzwilliam and his endless searching for a "Faa-gina", Tranny 911, oh hell, they're all funny.
And yes, I know, I know, Mr. and Mrs. NRA, I know...guns all by themselves don't kill people, but they certainly make it easier. And you know what? Bombs all by themselves don't kill people either, so why don't we expand the market, huh? HUH?
WHERE'S THE FUCKING NBA??? And I don't mean the one shooting hoops. WHERE'S THE FUCKING NATIONAL BOMB ASSOCIATION??? Huh?
If you gun freaks want to bring it, why don't you BRING IT?? Stop pussy-footing around and BRING IT, CHUMPS! Why don't you put your measly little guns down and just BLOW everything up?
And Charleton Heston can suck my cold, dead balls.
In the military, I was trained as an expert in the 9mm pistol, the M-16 machine gun, the 12-gauge shotgun, the M-60 machine gun and the 50-caliber machine gun.
It didn't make me stronger. It didn't make me cool. It made me able to fire a weapon with extreme accuracy.
It also gave me immense respect for the weapons and their capabilities. And safety was DRILLED into our heads. I don't believe that many other gun owners share that discipline.
There's a vile mentality that guns and owning one, or many, make people tough, strong and capable.
It doesn't. It just means that you own a gun.
And until we begin making it EXTREMELY DIFFICULT for anyone to acquire a gun, we're just going to keep dragging our knuckles through dirt like the thugs we are.
Now granted, violence is celebrated in our society in all forms of art; literature, television, movies, music and video games. And the reasons for the outbreak of such massacres as the ones listed above are many.
And even though I'm getting used to gun-violence in our society, it makes me no less disgusted and heart broken and tired.
So, why make it easy? Just about anyone can practically walk up to a buffet of them,
I remember when Will and I first laid eyes on the Smart Car when we were in Paris last Spring.
They scared the shit out of me. As I am demonstrating in the above photo.
My penis is bigger than they are. But, I really think that goes without saying. I know where I'd sit in the car, but I'd have to tow a trailer for my peep.
As it is, I have to put my peep in the backseat, strapped in a car seat so it doesn't fly out and hurt someone.
I'm used to seeing so many people drive monster SUV's out here, most of them larger than my last apartment, that I can only imagine that the last thing to go through my mind if I were hit while driving a Smart Car would be...my penis in the trailer behind me.
Or my hole.
I suppose it would really be my hole seeing how the peep would fly up first.
I dunno. Now, I'm kind of confused.
But anyway, flying peeps and holes aside, for city driving, I bet they're fantastic. Although, I'd still be a little freaked. Now, if EVERYONE had them, then that'd be cool. I'm just worried about some fucker with tiny balls, and a big ole jacked-up truck having me and my car for lunch.
Personally, I think that if we all rode corn-rockets; i.e. The "Smart Cob",
that would make much more sense.
Let's consider the benefits, shall we?
Yes, we shall.
***THE BENEFITS OF "THE SMART COB":
#1. It appears that you can carry more passengers than the Smart Car. It looks as though you could at least fit 3 more people on that cob.
#2. If you get stranded in the middle of no-where, you can eat it. #2.a. And...if you...if you...um...pinch one...and need to wipe and are all out of paper, like during the Great Depression, one could use the cob to conduct a clean sweep. See? So versatile that "Smart Cob" is.
#3. I suppose it runs on Ethanol, which I'm told isn't too good for the environment either. I dunno...Maybe farts? Maybe we could get it to run on farts? But, then again, methane is bad for the environment too. I know, I know that sometimes it smells "green", but it's not. Okay? Damn it. Not a good selling point.
#4. You don't need to worry about crowded freeways...just airplanes, helicopters, hot air balloons, birds, satellites, Frisbee's and other rockets...and remnants of big hair...like from the 80's.
Trust me, you do NOT want to get your "Smart Cob" stuck in one of these, mm-kay?
#5. With enough fertilizer and TLC, you can grow one in your backyard...if you have a backyard big enough.
#6. You could probably park it standing up-right. I mean, it IS a rocket after all. The last time I checked, they park them standing up. It saves on space.
#7. I think it would make people happy. I mean really, look how happy she appears riding that Smart Cob. Now granted, I'm not stupid, she very well might be rubbing her burger all over that saddle. In fact, I hope that she is. If you've been put in a holding pattern and are waiting to land, why NOT rub one out?
So, there we have it. The coolness of "The Smart Cob". Coming soon to a corn-hole near you...checkered top not included.
This hilarious contribution comes to us compliments of Pendullum. Thanks, Dagghhllink! Even though it's a little late for Mother's Day...or maybe it's early...?? It's all perspective, no? In any case, it's still timeless and I loved it!
This contribution comes to us from that stupid bish; Billy Goat-Ruff in Zanesville, Ohio. Thanks, Billy!! You is so stupid, bish! But, this is definitely my kind of couple. Dang...
So, many of you know that Will and I call one another "Bubba".
He's my "Bubba". And I'm his "Bubba". And we are "Bubbas".
Sick, I know.
Well, over the years, like many nicknames do (and all words for that matter), "Bubba" has evolved and taken on many forms.
It went from "Bubba" to "Bubbs".
Then, from "Bubbs" to "Bubbles" (He wasn't very fond of that one.).
Then, from "Bubbs" (He forced me to go back to "Bubbs".) to "Boobs".
(He wasn't very fond of that one either.)
Then, from "Boobs" to "Boobies".
(He was even less-thrilled with that one.)
Then, from "Boobies" to "Boo".
(This one was better.)
Then, naturally...(are you still with me?) from "Boo" to "Boo-Boo".
Then, even MORE naturally from "Boo-Boo" to "Boo-Boo Kitty".
So, the other night we were at our favorite sushi haunt and we were sitting at the bar and I unknowingly kept calling Will; "Boo-Boo Kitty".
"Boo-Boo Kitty? Do you want the Alaskan roll? Tell me, Boo-Boo Kitty."
"Boo-Boo Kitty? Would you like a large Saki? Or a Sapporo? Tell me, Boo-Boo Kitty."
"Boo-Boo Kitty, what about a Spicy Tuna roll? Tell me, Boo-Boo Kitty."
Can you see where this is going?
I was clueless that the waitress was ready to barf upon us and that the sushi chef kept rolling his eyes and blankly staring at us with a "Jezzuz Christ" look on his face. He was probably like, "WOULD YOU TWO FUCKING 'BOO-BOO KITTY' QUEENS JUST ORDER ALREADY!! CHRIST ALMIGHTY!!"
But, he would probably mumble all this in Japanese. And I kind of doubt he'd say, "Jesus Christ", but maybe...
So, poor Will kindly asked me on the way home, "Bubba? Could you please not call me "Boo-Boo Kitty" in public?"
I shall mary-j-blige. But, not without saying that when I DO call him "Will", he'll reply, "'WILL'?? SO FORMAL...What's up with that?"
I can't win.
So, will the REAL "Boo-Boo Kitty" please stand up?
This is not "Boo-Boo Kitty",
but more like "Poof-Poof Kitty". (How PISSED would this cat be if this were a real picture??)
And this is NOT "Boo-Boo Kitty",
but more like, "Angry-Achmed Kitty".
And THIS is CERTAINLY not "Boo-Boo Kitty",
although, it appears as though there's a "boo-boo" coming out of his "kitty". Yuk.
Now,
we're getting close.
And Shirley Feeney
with her "Boo-Boo Kitty".
You just KNOW that "Boo-Boo Kitty" saw some action with Laverne and Shirl.
Poor Boo-Boo Kitty...
And here he is, in person...well...on your computer screen,
Compliments of our ravishing beauty; Claudette. Thanks, Claudette! You're the bomb-diggity, my sweets.
So, if you're not so inclined to give a scratch lottery ticket as a gift over the holidays, what about a gift that truly makes a difference from Heifer International?
After all, how much shit do we need?
I heard a friend say yesterday that she NEEDED a black leather jacket. I think that she may have confused need with want. Because when I really think about it, I haven't "needed" anything for a very long time...if ever.
Well...except for that thong and those gogo boots. But, that was different...those were work-related.
Well, well, well...I suppose that I should REALLY tell you about our Thanksgiving weekend. The problem is, I kind of just don't know where to begin...
I'm not sure whether I should start with how our dear friends' sweet Jack Russell; Sofie, had some intestinal issues on Thanksgiving Day leading to Will stepping in shit in their living room and tracking it around the house before dinner.
Yeah...that was real nice. Besides the scent of turkey, stuffing, and pumpkin pie, there was an aroma much more humbling dusting our air.
It was quite a mixture.
Or shall I start with how the turkey wasn't quite done yet, and the bartender kept pouring wine to distract us...leading to myself becoming drunk, standing up with wine goblet in-hand and announcing to a Thanksgiving dinner table of 12 (one of the members meeting us all for the first time) that whoever didn't finish their carrots were going to be the lucky recipients of a suppository the very next morning...??
We actually had a wonderful Thanksgiving (no suppositories necessary). We both felt very grateful for our lives and being able to spend it with family and fantastic friends. And there was LOTS of comedy to accompany our meal, obviously.
Well, the weekend began to follow suit. Will and I took the dogs and headed down to Los Angeles to spend Saturday night with our friend...Mary Jane. Yes, let's call her, "Mary Jane".
We figured that this would be the only weekend we could head down to see her before the holidays kick into high gear. So, we gathered the dogs, some gifts and our things, got into a huge fight walking out the door, then didn't talk for the first 20 minutes of the drive.
We arrived safe and sound...almost sound, at Mary Jane's apartment about 30 minutes before our dinner reservation. We visited a little bit, then began dog-proofing her place.
The "dog-proofing" didn't go so well...in hindsight.
So, we headed across the street to dinner and to see this asshole perform. I have no idea if she's an asshole or not, all I know is that ho cancelled.
Dinner was okay. And Mary Jane filled us in on how she was kind of sweet on one of the waiters, whom I really thought was so gay he was...a little more than spicy.
She said that she saw him making out with another WAITRESS at the restaurant. Making out with someone doesn't mean anything, but I found it a little disturbing that as a customer at a restaurant, she saw two of the staff making out.
I know, I'm so uptight.
Well, this waiter ended up being our waiter. And he was nice enough, but at one point during our meal, he sat down in the booth WITH ME. I wasn't offended, but it was just a bit inappropriate. He did tell us however, that a patron that had just left had said that she was still so full of turkey from Thanksgiving, that she could still feel it in her VAGINA. (I hate it when that happens.)
And he said, "Honey...I think that you meant 'stomach'. You meant, 'stomach', didn't you?"
And she replied, "Oh...yes...not vagina."
It was worth him sitting down and telling us that, although I think he gave me crabs.
And by the way, any man who uses the term, "honey" on a regular basis is NOT straight. If he says he is, he's lying.
After dinner, we were headed back across the street to Mary Jane's place when we caught sight of a party at a building next door. It had spilled out of the apartment onto the front patio. Mary Jane and Will were more than excited to go crash it.
So, literally within 5 minutes, I was standing right next to the Birthday girl,
whom the party was for, singing "Happy Birthday" to her (we've never met her before in our lives) she was smiling at me (as though she was on Ecstasy...and probably was) and then she blew out her candles. (Just look at the above photo and tell me that I couldn't take out people's eyeballs with my Adam's apple and chin! They look deadly, non? Oui!)
I looked up to see Will and Mary Jane hysterical at the fact that we had just landed in the middle of a Birthday party where we didn't know a soul. And there were about 30 people staring at us like, "Who the fuck are you guys? And why are you my Dad's age?"
I practically ran out of there.
I got back to Mary Jane's crib and found that Gomez and Wednesday had attacked the place. And more importantly, there were empty wrappers lying about.
I started to panic. And when Mary Jane came in the door, I inquired as to what might have been in the wrappers?
She looked dumb-stuck and replied, "Oh my god...I forgot. There was a little bit of chocolate with pot in it."
And I just about shit my pants and said, "WITH MARIJUANA IN IT???"
I looked over at Wednesday and she was clearly stoned...dude.
Our friend "Mary Jane" has a prescription for pot for medicinal reasons and had forgotten all about the chocolate bar.
Wednesday was cooked. And now, I was the one who was spiced.
I called the nearest 24-Hour animal emergency hospital and explained what happened. There wasn't a lot of chocolate, so they weren't too concerned about that. But, they were concerned about the weed.
So, we gave her hydrogen peroxide. We forced it down her poor throat. And if you ever need to make a dog barf, this will do it. But, you should be careful how much you give and when to give it: When good dogs eat bad things.
Well, she didn't barf at first. And we didn't really know what to do. So, we drove to some HORRIBLE place in Bellflower, by this time it was about 1:30 in the morning and I'm sure that we looked amazing (because on the way, she DID begin to barf...all over us) and that we probably looked quite guilty as though we had given our dog pot.
The vet was a huge fucker.
Not as in stature, but rather his shit-eating attitude. I wanted to perform my old stand-by (please feel free to try it, if you'd like); douse him good with pepper spray, kick him in his crotch, then maybe punch him in his throat for just a little something extra.
I'm not sure that he was very bright. He even asked with some irritation, "HOW do you pronounce your dog's name?"
And I just looked at him and said, "Wednesday." (Exactly how it's spelled, Dr. Fuckhead.)
Einstein advised us that we should leave her for observation.
Will wanted nothing of the sort, but I was worried. I wanted to do 'the right thing', but I felt helpless. And his truly mean demeanor was not helpful in the least.
So, then he said, "I'll give you 5 minutes to decide, then I'll be back for your answer."
5 minutes...for US to decide. The last time I checked, fucker, we were paying you. Not the other way around. Peoples' arrogance is astounding to me sometimes.
When fuckface returned, I asked for a compromise. There was no way that I felt safe leaving our little girl with this piece of ogre-shit, and strategically leaving that part out of the conversation, I asked if he could administer the charcoal (to detoxify her), and then we would take her and observe her ourselves.
So, he did. But, he wasn't happy about it...as though he needed to be.
Wednesday got fed her charcoal and we took her back to Mary Jane's place...where she proceeded to barf ALL THE WAY HOME and ALL OVER MARY JANE'S APARTMENT. And it was charcoal-puke, which is something special.
By 5:30 in the morning, I was sitting on the floor in my underwear, holding on to a VERY stoned dog, covered in black puke, there was black puke on her rug under the coffee table, on my side of the pull-out bed (Will was sleeping peacefully...as was Mary Jane...Yeah...Nice, huh?), on my clothes, on the sheets, on the blankets, on my legs, arms and hands.
I sat there in my black pukeness in a dark, cold apartment trying to cry. I thought that it would make me feel better. I crinkled up my forehead, flared my nostrils and grimaced the rest of my face in preparation of the tears, but I couldn't do it. The tears didn't come. Which pissed me off even more. How pathetic.
Then, Will rolled over, completely clueless and said, "What's going on?"
Where I then replied, "What...the...fuck...do you THINK is going on?"
He rolled back over onto the side that had been mine, rolling into black puke and went back to sleep.
I said, "You just rolled in puke."
There was no response.
And as the sun started to rise, I grabbed some pillows that had puke on them, grabbed my barf-stained clothes and put them on for some warmth, gathered Wednesday in my arms and fell asleep on the floor for 2 hours.
The morning light brought new promise. And Wednesday stopped puking. She even drank some water. I walked across the street to get her some plain bread and cottage cheese and she nibbled on that as well. And yes, she was still stoned.
She remained stoned all day long.
She was probably all like, "Dude? What a kill-joy you were last night! Everything was cool, then YOU had to come home. Nothing like completely ruining my high."
We were all wiped out the next day. And I still wanted to cry, but couldn't. But, fittingly for the weekend holiday, we felt extremely grateful that our family was intact and that we were all okay. And that was the most important thing of all. It always is...
Another legitimate organization to accompany the post below is The Hunger Site. Every morning they send me a reminder to "click for free food for the hungry" and I click on the link and then click on the button and they donate food to those that need it.
It hardly takes anytime at all and I do it EVERY morning. Unless, I'm passed out naked in a ditch somewhere (which is often the case), then I do it when I get home.
They also have a large selection of gifts that you may purchase, which have come from International artists as well. And for every product that you purchase, they donate a certain amount of food.
They also have where you can "click" to contribute to free mammograms, free child heathcare, free books, and to protect endangered habitat. (And if you're so inclined, you may sign up for daily reminders from them as well.)
Just think how easily you can waste 2 minutes of your time. And this isn't wasting it, but you're actually helping, straight from your keyboard.
For those of you in the Santa Barbara area: Come and buy gifts to help Afghan Women & Children!
RAWA HOLIDAY HANDICRAFTS BAZAAR Saturday December 1st, 9 AM to 4 PM - One Day Only! (Rain Date: Dec. 8th) 435 E.Pedregosa Street, Santa Barbara
Lots of great things from Afghanistan Plus local Artisans & Craftspeople Live Music and Free Food!
Sponsored by RAWA Santa Barbara, Supporting The Revolutionary Association of the Women of Afghanistan, working for a true Democracy and women's rights, running schools, literacy programs, orphanages, medical clinics, work programs, civil reconstruction projects, and aid to refugees in Afghanistan and Pakistan.
Be rest assured, you DO make a difference. The kind of difference is completely up to you.
Many of you have probably seen this incredible videoclip of a lion hugging his rescuer. The woman found the lion malnourished and nursed him back to health. And he obviously remembers her. It's truly beautiful...
If you're so inclined to spread the love and do a bit of rescuing yourself, you can go to The Animal Rescue Site and "Click for Free" and they'll donate food to rescue centers everytime you click (daily).
It's a legitimate organization. And they have an easy sign-up for reminders that are emailed to you daily that you may click on and they'll donate the food. I do it every morning. It takes me two seconds...maybe three. Okay! Okay! Maybe four! Damn...
Stumble It!
