Once upon a time, I had a beautiful Greyhound named Tashi.

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She was the love of my life, and I still get all teary when I think about her. I was so devastated after she died that I vowed that I could never own another Greyhound again. And then last week I was thinking about her and how she would have been great with Alice and Big Pussy and Homeslice and Girlfriend and so I made a phone call to Greyhound Pets of America and got an appointment to look at some Greyhounds.

It was EASY. They answered the phone on the first ring and said we could come any time to look at the dogs. Nobody ignored me. Nobody treated me like I was inconveniencing them, and nobody was going to stand me up. No more messing around with these Rescue groups. This is a national organization and they don’t mess around.

On Friday, we picked Girlfriend up from school instead of waiting for the bus to arrive, and made the hour long trip on a cold and raw day. The adoption coordinator kept the kennel at her house, and was very sick that day. She kept having to go inside to throw up due to some heavy medication she was on. She could have canceled, and had good reason to, but she was there with a volunteer, dedicated to finding a home for one of her dogs. They stood out in the cold and the damp with us, discussing and choosing the best 5 candidates out of 28 dogs to show us.

We spent time with each and every one of them, and they were all wonderful, but one in particular hit us all in the chest. This one showered Homeslice with kisses and walked nicely with Girlfriend on the leash.

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And when I bent down to pet her, she kissed my face and put her head on my shoulder and leaned into me.

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It was all over at that point. AFC’s Allison, fresh off a track in Pensacola Florida was destined to be ours. We went home and started making preparations to bring her home with us the next day. Girlfriend picked out a brush and a fluffy bed.

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We even got her a seat belt for the car ride, which, by the way, was pure comedy.

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It was exactly like trying to stuff a giraffe into briefcase.

Greyhounds aren’t great at sitting down, and so it took massive effort to get her to sit in our front seat. The adoption lady had walked us to the car and was standing there the whole time watching us trying to stuff this mass of gangly legs and claws into our clown car. She had concerns, I could tell, but she still let us take her.

Allison didn’t stay seated for long and preferred to spend her first ever car ride standing up, panting in Mister’s face and stepping on the center console window controls. When she wasn’t doing the windows up and down, she was farting. When she wasn’t doing that, she was trying to wiggle out of her seat belt to come and sit in the backseat with me and Homeslice and Girlfriend. She was all legs and claws and drool and farts for the entire ride and we had to pull over to re-situate her. And of course there was traffic. And of course, Homeslice thought it might add to the occasion by screaming her head off for 40 out of the 60 minutes. And Girlfriend kept asking the kind of ludicrous questions only a five-year-old can come up with.

We finally got her home and introduced her to Alice, which went well, but as soon as we got into the house and she encountered the hard wood floor, she was exactly like Bambi on ice. Her legs splayed out all over because she’s never been inside a people house before. Shiny, slippery wood is not a surface she’s ever walked on.

She’s still struggling with that three days later, but she’s getting better. She kind of skates from carpet to carpet. We still have to carry her up and down the stairs because she’s never seen those before either. She’s desperately thin with chunks of fur missing and lots of scabs and scrapes just starting to heal from track life. There’s fur missing from around her eyes and behind her ears from where the muzzle rubbed it away, and she’s kind of depressed. This is like a re-birth for her and she needs time to adjust. She hasn’t had one accident in the house and is really good at holding her pees and poops.

We feel privileged to have the opportunity to help her learn how to be a spoiled and beloved pet instead of a money making slave. She is a sweet and gentle soul and we are already madly in love. She’s standing next to me right now with her head in my lap. How cool is that?

Alice likes her, too.

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And Big Pussy doesn’t give a crap one way or the other.

The only problem we have is that her name is Allison and every time we call her, Alice comes running, but we’re still calling Allison and poor Alice is like “I’m here! Why are you screwing with me!?! WHAT IS HAPPENING???”

So, we need a new name and you, marvelous Queefies, get to help us. You can vote for up to two names or leave us a suggestion if you think we suck with our old lady names.

Allison's new name should be...

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So I was just sitting on my bed with Homeslice looking at some books and magazines when she picked up the Victoria’s Secret Holiday catalog and pointed to the chick on the cover and said “mommy!”

I did not argue with her even though I’m so much hotter than that chick.

And then she picked up Better Homes and Gardens and pointed to the turkey on the cover and said “daddy!”

Mister, apparently our daughter thinks I’m an underpants model and you are a turkey.

Only I make it with garbanzo beans because sausage is yucky. And, I’ve had a loaf of rye bread rising since yesterday so tonight’s dinner, while comprised mostly of cabbage and bread, will be pretty kick ass and Polish-y.  Not to mention that we don’t even have $30 in our bank account right now so even if we wanted to eat something other than cabbage and bread, we couldn’t.  I’m also just now wondering if I have Sauerkraut in the pantry because I’m fucked if we don’t.  I could prolly scrape up enough change from around the house to run out for a can of that, I guess.  Just don’t tell Mister I bought anything, okay?

Being po’ sucks ass, you guys.  We tried to re-finance our house, and as it turns out, we can’t do it because we are upside down because the fuckers who bought the gigantic, gorgeous old house behind us got it for a song and it really hurt our property value. We now owe more than the house is worth.  Last year, we were up $100,000.  Sucks.  But the good news is that we can still pay for our house and if we have to have cabbage soup sometimes at the end of the week on mortgage check week, so be it.  There are worse things.  Like we could be out there pooper scooping and making a lively Shadoobie Stew out of Alice’s ultra processed dog food.  Now THAT’S how to reduce, reuse, recycle, amiright?  And if we get another dog, that’s more food for us!  It’s like money in our pockets!

You’re not hardcore, unless you live hardcore.  I’ve been telling you guys that for years.

Actually, I’m totally informing the next dirty hippie I see that we do that, and also that we fertilize the garden with the contents of my Diva Cup.

I love watching people slowly step away with their hands out in that “I don’t want any trouble, I’m just going to back away quietly” stance.

It’s cute, and it makes them go away.

Did you Queefs know that Mister is 1/2 Polish and I’m 1/4 Polish and so that makes Homeslice and Girlfriend….what?

Polish + some other crap.

Is my math right on that?

I’m not so good with The Math.

What I do know is that at this very moment Homeslice has a handful of Girlfriend’s hair and she (Homeslice) is shrieking like a Howler Monkey because she wants to sit next to me and Girlfriend is in her way. Ironically, Girlfriend, in an attempt at self-defense, is beating Homeslice in the face with the book The Philosophical Baby.

The Polish are a jealous, violent, and shrill people.

On second thought, I’m not sure feeding them the food of their ancestors is such a great idea after all.

So yesterday I was out in front of the house admiring the orange pumpkin lantern Halloween decorations Mister was busy putting up when some Ass Monkey came flying down our street in his Maxima.

And I had Homeslice by the hand and she was struggling to get away and Girlfriend was skipping down the sidewalk and Ass Monkey totally saw us but didn’t slow down in the least, so I yelled “SLOW DOWN” at him and do you know what he said to me?

He said “FUCK YOU!!”

HE DID!!!

The nerve, right?  I mean, here I am, Queen of Fucking Everything walking down the street with the two Princesses of Fucking Everything, and this reject from Planet Douchewagon in his used Maxima (why is it that 20-something year old boys in Maximas think they’re the fucking shit? What is up with that? I means seriously, it’s a fucking Maxima.  Get yourself a Lamborghini and we’ll talk about who’s the shit, okay sweet pea?  Until then, put your fucking baseball cap on straight and get over yourself.) has the balls to yell “FUCK YOU” to me.

Well.

Mon! Dieu!

I’ve got a plan for the next Maxima Ass Monkey who dares try to break the sound barrier on my street.  I’m going to get a big bucket of baby dolls from the dollar store and every time a Maxima Ass Monkey comes by, I’m going to throw the baby doll at him.  Did I mention the baby doll will first be filled with dog crap? It’ll be Tequila’s dog crap too because there’s plenty of that around my house.

I just get really fired up when these young guys (and sometimes girls) speed around with no regard for what could happen.  What if Homeslice managed to wriggle out of my grasp?  What if Girlfriend tripped and fell into the street? He would have creamed her, and I would have had to make it my personal mission to make sure his life was a living hell forever. I’d make sure he wound up in a tiny jail cell with a big huge guy with a large penis and a thing for little Ass Monkeys.

So yes, I am officially the kind of woman who shouts “SLOW DOWN” at young dudes driving by my house.  Any further suggestions for how I can help them make good choices would be welcome in the space provided below.  The police around here don’t care about our speeding problem, so it’s basically Martial Law at this point.

Today, perhaps even as you are reading this, I will be putting Girlfriend on the bus headed for kindergarten, trying desperately not to cry until it rolls away. I don’t know where I’m going to pull the strength from, but I have to find it so I don’t freak her out.

I have issues with the bus, Queefies.

I’m quite certain that somehow there is a black hole that exists between the bus and the classroom that sucks unsuspecting kindergartners in, never to be seen again and unlike some people, I actually want to see my kindergartner again.

There’s also a black hole in the ventilation system at the mall, you know. I never look up when I’m in a big mall because it reminds me to be scared that I’m going to be sucked into the vents and then POOF! Bye, bye, Crissy.

Shut up.

It could totally happen.

Maybe all those people you hear about on the news who go missing at the mall are alive somewhere in the ductwork over Banana Republic.

I don’t really think Girlfriend is going to get sucked into a black hole. Don’t worry. It just seems totally weird and really bad mommyish to just put my baby on a bus and not see her again until much later in the afternoon and just assume she’s fine.

Like, isn’t somebody going to call me to let me know how she’s doing?

Like, can’t I call the school to check on her?

Like, can’t I stand outside the classroom window and tap on the glass and wave “hi” to her?

No. I cannot. I don’t want to be that asshole even though I really, really want to be that asshole.

And so Homeslice, whom Girlfriend calls “The Little Bother,” and I, who she calls “Fuss About,” will walk her to her bus stop and put her on the bus. Hopefully, she will get on it without one of her diva style incidents she’s so famous for, and then we will go home and figure out what we’re going to do without her stealing toys and making messes all over the house. Perhaps we’ll even have time to write our blog and wouldn’t that be something?

Maybe I will find my sense of humor again now that I’m not spending my days refereeing fights, denying eleventy million requests for a “treat” and re-capping markers?

I’m trying to look at all the positives here.

I bought her a Good Luck bear necklace to wear today.  She’s wicked into Care Bears. When I give it to her I’m going to tell her that when she feels nervous or scared, just touch her necklace and Good Luck bear will surround her with luck.  She has a good imagination.  It might work.

And my sweet, wonderful friend Ms.Darkstar made her some special First Day of School perfume!  It’s in solid form, like lip balm, and she sent three scents–Blueberry, which is Girlfriend’s favorite, Honey Rose, which is my favorite, and an amazing Berry Peach.  You guys need to get some of this stuff because it’s not loaded with chemical crap and you’re not gonna get body rot from it. There’s seriously only like 5 ingredients and they’re all stuff I recognize, so I have no problem putting it on my kid.  She feels so grown up to have her very own perfume!  It’s really cute.

So yes.  If it’s about 9:00 when you’re reading this, say a little prayer for your Crissy that she can manage to hold the water works until Girlfriend gets on the bus.

And it’s a Toy with Me day today!  I’ll get you that link in a sec.

HERE IT IS:

Dating For Ugly People