My house smells like pee.

We live in Urine Central:all of the time.

No matter how fastidious I am about cleaning and washing things on the regs, It still smells really similar to a nursing home kind of thing where they try to cover up the odor of decay and incontinence with Lysol or Pine-Sol or some shit like that.  In my opinion, I prefer the smell of feces to the smell of Pine-Sol.

I use fancy and expensive all natural products that smell like butterfly wings and kittens because I like to be smug .The only fish and wildlife and environment threatening product I use is Lysol scrubbing bubbles for the shower. I refuse to give that shit up. Fuck my dish scrubber full of white vinegar and all natural dish liquid. FUCK. That. I have clear glass shower doors, so you understand. Sorry Pinterest. I tried, I really did.

So, my house smells of dog urine and fancy overpriced organic products (highly recommend the Method clover scented room de-stench-or-izer. It’s expensive as all hell and the bottle lasts for like, 13 seconds, but it’s a small price to pay because your house will smell like freshly cut grass for DAYS).

Even with all my efforts, it still smells like pee with a hint of Method clover scented urine. Upside: clover scented urine is marginally better than just plain urine.


The problem is that even though everyone is housebroken, including newbie Stannis, there’s one problem we cannot solve.

Poor Alice is ancient (going on 12 in January) and she is totally incontinent.  She leaks pee all of the time.  Every waking moment of her life, she leaks pee. Her bummy is always wet and her white fur is stained with yellow pee stains despite the weekly baths (if you wash her more often, even with the most gentle all-natural oatmeal dog shampoo, it aggravates her old lady skin problems).

Bless her little heart, she knows it’s naughty to pee in the house, so she spends her days licking up her accidents as they are happening.  Her back must hurt so much from assuming a constant pee-licking position, but this is her life now because she is old.

We tried meds, but they make her fee like shit.  I can see it in her expressions that the meds, while effective, make her feel uncomfortable in other ways, so I choose not to give them to her.

Our next step was to try doggie diapers with a maxi pad liner to soak up the pee. She seemed more comfortable that way and stopped the incessant licking, but the diapers don’t stay on very well because she doesn’t have a damned tail.

Not only is Poor old Alice incontinent, she is also now almost completely deaf.  She misses meals because she can’t hear the food hitting the bowl, so we have to go find her and wake her up and direct her to her dish via sign language before the Greyhounds get a chance to gank her food.

She gets left outside all alone because she didn’t hear us call for dogs to come in.

She  wakes up alone because she was sleeping and didn’t know everyone left the room.  We have to look for her and direct her to where we have moved.

Just until recently, Alice was my constant shadow, and now she’s out of the loop.  She’s not allowed on our bed anymore because of the leaking pee.  Despite my attempts to put a towel down for her to lay on, she prefers to lay next to it instead of ON it, so she’s off mommy’s bed now too.

Her heart is broken and she does not understand why she is now an outcast.

I don’t want this for her, but this is what is happening.  This is the same bullshit that lands people in an “assisted living facility.”

Poor Alice is in her twilight years for sure but she is still happy despite her challenges:  when you pet her, she makes the most glorious sounds of relief and appreciation because I’m sure that along with the incontinence and deafness, she is also achy all over.

This is old age.

She still serves as Group Sergeant and makes it her job to announce when Stannis and Vivi are enjoying themselves too much by barking her fucking ass off.

She also still barks her ass at company if they move, just so we know “hey! hey! that guy just moved!”

The only blessing here is that she’s not Incontinentia Buttocks.

But that’s way easier to clean up, so I don’t know.

What would you prefer?

Incontinentia buttocks or Incontinentia urine?

I am undecided.



This is Stannis Mattise Voltaire.

Pretentious name, I know but wtf, it took us two weeks and we couldn’t decide on only one pretentious name, so we picked them all. We call him “Stannie” and he seems to like it.

That’s Talus’ butt there next to the pool. We got Stannis just before putting Talus on transport to be reunited with Ehpa, Eric, Xanax and HulkSmash!.

Any reasonable person might ask: “why would some already overwhelmed people decide to bring home 70 lbs of more work?”

Well, we were desperate and lonely and sad about losing our friends and so the only way we could get any sort of piece of them back into our daily lives was to get a dog just like theirs.

We specifically asked GPA Mass for a dog just like Talus, and they had one, so we went and picked him up.

Turns out, he’s not exactly like Talus.

Temperament wise, yes. Exact same dog, but Stannis has a particular list of talents that far exceeds those of our beloved Talus.

Here, let me list the talents for you (in no particular order of importance):

  • He plays fetch. Greyhounds do not play fetch. They are racing dogs. How this sonofabitch learned how to play fetch is beyond me. Maybe he had a fun trainer or whatever,  but he played fetch for hours for the first two weeks we had him. And then, he quit. We throw his favorite ball and he just looks at us like, “wtf? Like, you expect me to like, bring it back or some shit?  Fuck that noise. Immma go lay down now.” He thinks he’s been cute and fun for long enough. The end.
  • He likes to hang out in the little green kiddie pool we bought just for him because we brought him to the beach and he loved wading in the water. We ran right out that very day and got the last pool they had at Toys ‘R Us. Strapped it to the roof of the car and everything. He used it twice and then he quit that too for same reason as above. Unless! We’re at the dog park and there’s a muddy puddle. He’ll lay down in there no problem because: fuck your new car.
  • He sheds worse than a cat. Greyhounds are non-shedding dogs.  Nobody told him.
  • So far he has eaten: a beanie baby that he ripped open and then dragged all over the house (the vacuum cleaner just pushes the beans around, so you have to and suck them up individually with the hose for approximately three hours solid), multiple Calico Critters which are Homeslice’s fave and mega expensive, a pair of flip flops, a Lalaloopsie and a stuffed squirrel as well as multiple sandwiches and other stuff the kids leave around.
  • He can turn two cups of dog food into ten cups of dog shit.
  • He pissed on Mister’s camera bag and forced mommy to play the “hurry up and steam mop/unpack/wash camera bag/replace everything before daddy gets home so we don’t have an animal abuse case on our hands” game.  I LOVE that game!

Vivi and Alice like just fine, Big Pussy is dead now so he doesn’t give two fucks about Stannis Matisse Voltaire.  He’s way too busy rotting in the ground to be concerned with such things.

Stannie is a pretty ok guy and super sweet and calm, so despite all of his foibles, we love him anyway.

Dogs: they wreck shit and piss on stuff.  If you don’t like broken shit and urine everywhere, don’t get a dog.

This is why (among soooo many other reasons) we can’t have nice things.


What are your dog’s special talents?

You better watch out, I’m tellin’ you why…


It’s Christmas portrait time, Queefies.

It’s one of the most stressful days of the year for Crissy and Mister because omg kids.  If you’ve ever tried to take a portrait of your kids with their shiny happy little faces you know it’s a total fucking shitshow.

We decorate the tree, light the fireplace, set up the camera and the lights, get them into their matching Christmas dresses (purchased weeks in advance in preparation), comb their hair and get them in front of the camera to pretend that we are a functional family.

There’s bribery of the M&M persuasion and when that doesn’t work there’s threats of taking away television and when that doesn’t work Christmas gets cancelled like fifteen times.

Then comes the begging: “Please just smile.  This is not for US, this is for your family!  Auntie Cya and Marcy and Dips and Pop-Pop and Popa and Grammie and Uncle Billy and the people who love you want to have nice pictures of you!  DON’T YOU LOVE AUNTIE CYA? Smile for Auntie Cya! Come on, come on, sit here and smile…good!  good!  YAY!  Happy Kids! AW FUCK! THE DOG’S ASS IS IN THE FUCKING FRAME! GET THE FUCKING DOG OUT OF HERE!”

And then we try again and again and it goes similarly and it’s exactly like herding 147 profoundly retarded cats.

I start sounding like Bill Cosby:  “Come here. Come here. Come Here. Here! Here! Here! Here! Heeeeeerrrreeeeeeeee!!!!”

“Sit down. Sit down. Sit down. Sitsitsitsitsitsitsit.”


Brain. Damage.

And I look like Jeffrey’s mother:


This is because Girlfriend knows she’s in a position of power over both of us, so she fucks with us.  She splays her legs out, she crosses her eyes, she sticks out her tongue, she does whatever she can think of to ruin the shot.

She finds it tremendously rewarding to see Mister and me go to Crazytown.

Now, one might question why we do this year after year if it’s such a disaster.

Because if we didn’t, we wouldn’t get pictures like this:


Have yourself a crappy little Christmas.


My dreams of having a maidlaundressnanny have been crushed, guys.  HippieMom SuperNanny has left us.  The halcyon days are over.

Her husband got a fancy new job and they had to move away.  Far, far away and so I no longer have her at the house, doing battle against the filth and the dishes and the laundry.

Our new childcare arrangements are so complicated we had to make a spreadsheet, but we’re making a go of it and not replacing her because there is no replacement for HippieMom SuperNanny.

We cannot bear the thought of even trying.

It’s only been one day and the house is already falling to crap.

Queefies, how is it possible that I can vacuum and wash the floors on Monday night and by Tuesday evening, even though nobody has been in the house all day, the place is a total fucking shitshow?

I have one theory, and one theory only.

It’s THIS:

Alice and Vivian have all the dogs in the neighborhood over for a dog party and the recalcitrant shitbirds ham it up in my kitchen!

I leave in the morning, and the two of them start barking out the windows, exactly like how it takes place on 101 Dalmations when the puppies go missing, and the next thing you know, they all come over here.  Tequila brings beer (ironically, she doesn’t like hard liquor), Henry‘s got da Chronic, and Talus brings the hos.

The end.


Remember my last post about Big Pussy crapping in the fireplace?  How could you forget?  It was very memorable.  Especially for me because it’s still happening.

I thought he was sick because when a cat starts doing Things That Are Inappropriate, they’re usually sick.  Big Pussy is about 14 years old now, so you know.  I figured he’s going senile or whatever.  I check his box frequently and have found either nothing at all  in there or a large amount of wet.  And I thought to myself:  “Jesus this is a lot! Maybe the kids peed in here!  NAH!”

And then I got this text from Ehpa:


It seems as though her lovely daughter, Xanax, and her son, HulkSmash! have confessed that along with Homeslice and Girlfriend they have created for themselves an Alternate Facility in which to do their business because children today are lazy jackwagons and would rather piss in a cat box than climb a flight of stairs to relieve themselves!

I KNOW!!!! What the fuckingfuck?

I don’t know for sure, but I suspect that this was Girlfriend’s brainchild.

Here’s how I imagine  it went down:

While the grown ups were drinking wine and making penis jokes having adult conversation , the children were in the Porn Basement (which we totally gentrified, btw) watching Netflix and playing the Whee (emphasis on the WH), when Girlfriend decided she had to go potties.

Not wanting to  give up her spot on the couch for too long, she decided to pee in the cat box–just for funzies.  Xanax, HulkSmash!, and Homeslice immediately saw the genius in this idea and decided that this was pretty much the Best! Idea! Ever! and did it too.

Now, some of you may be surprised that I would be so certain that my own child would do such a thing, but you know me.  I’m a realist.  I am perfectly aware that Girlfriend has some, ahem, eccentricities that do not preclude her from doing a thing like this.

The next suspected little genius is HulkSmash!.  This is also the sort of thing he would dream up.  I believe that Xanax and Homeslice are mere followers.

Of course, Girlfriend and HulkSmash! would each throw the other under the bus in a heartbeat, so questioning them will be a lesson in futility.

Here’s my plan:

Say nothing, set up a camera and watch.  Eventually they’ll do it again and when they do, I don’t know what.

Except this is not what I did at all.

I questioned Homeslice and Girlfriend instead.

Girlfriend denies any and all involvement and totally blamed HulkSmash!, just as I suspected.  Homeslice had no idea what I was talking about, and when I said “who pee-peed in the kitty box?” she replied “Benny did!”

So, I believe she is innocent.  Xanax confessed to doing it only half way but continuing upstairs in the proper potty.

Girlfriend is NOT a fan of me blogging about this and says, and I quote:  “you will NOT write about this on your blog, mom!  I WILL NOT BE A LAUGHING STOCK!” Leading me to believe that she is indeed involved in the shenanigans.

The point is, Benny is perhaps not the asshole cat we thought he was.  Instead I have asshole children.

The End.