Archive for the 'The Fur Kids' Category

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

DADDY IS TRYING TO TAKE A MOTHERFUCKINGPICTURE AND IF YOU DON’T CUT THE SHIT THERE’S GOING TO BE NO CHRISTMAS THIS YEAR I MEAN IT!

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.

Sigh.

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.

Well.

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:

Yes.

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.

What kind of an asshole does something like this?

▶

Who does that???

There’s ashy footprints all over my house.

Somebody should complain.

This place is a shithole.

PS: Vodka with Lavender Kombucha isn’t half bad, AND you get to poop.  But not in the fireplace.

As you guys probably know, your Crissy is obsessed with naming things.  I love, love, love it.  But making a final decision is where I fall flat on my face.  If it were up to me, Homeslice would be named LucyCarolineFionaLydia.

Alas, Mister put his foot down.

I have a plant named “Ladypants” and a sweater I call “Sunday Girl.”  So, naturally when Ehpa adopted a doggie, I had to get involved because that’s what I do.  I get involved.

You guys remember when Crissy got  Vivian and I couldn’t decide what to name her and soI had to ask the Queefies about it?

Well, you guys get to help Crissy name Ehpa’s new baby boy.  Ehpa gets to have final say, of course  (I suppose) since its her dog or whatever.

Isn’t he marvelous??

He’s HUGE–kind of like a horse or The Imperial Walker.

He’s very sweet and calm and gentle and of course everyone is madly in love with him.

So, name this poor dude because his track name, Cal, isn’t totally working for Crissy.

Ehpa has narrowed it down to these names for you to vote on.

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PS: Other suggestions are also welcome in the space provided below.

PSS:  I’m dead against naming him Milo, but that’s up the Ehpa and the Queefies to decide.  *SIGH*

Have a splendid day, Queefies!!

There’s another post coming soon!

VIVIAN!

We call her “Vivi” for short just like in Ya Ya Sisterhood.

Now, I know you all voted for Fiona, and we started calling her that, but it shortened to “Fifi” and she’s totally not a “Fifi.”  We decided to go with Vivian instead because it means “alive” or “lively” and that is what she is becoming–a very lively and mischievous girl!

She has mastered the stairs and is very interested in the cat box crunchies in the basement. I’ve caught her nosing around in there a few times.  When I scold her, she slinks away like, “I wasn’t doing anything.  My nose accidentally fell into the kitty box. I swear!”

I’ve had to rescue Girlfriend’s Care Bears from her several times.  She’s particularly fond of trying to relieve Grumpy Bear of his stuffing and I can’t say I blame her.  Grumpy bear is kind of a dick.

My mother-in-law bought her a gift of a Costco sized box of dog cookies. She steals from the box whenever I open the pantry door, but I pretend not to notice because she needs to fatten up. Sadly, Alice is a little too, ahem, fluffy and does not need to fatten up, but she’s right behind the tall girl, stealing cookies. And they run over to the rug in the play room with their treats–thinking they got away with something, and then they make a crumbly cookie mess.

This makes me incredibly happy to see them doing a caper together, and I don’t mind cleaning it up. After all, I have a really nice vacuum cleaner.

But oh my God, you guys, she pees on the orange porn carpet!

I KNOW!!!!

Very, very, naughty Vivian.  The only one allowed to pee on the porn carpet is me and that’s only on Very Special Evenings with Mister. (Not really.  Nobody is allowed to pee on the porn carpet because it’s too nice.)

She has started trying to play with Alice, but due to the size disparity, there have been bumps in the road.

They kind of remind me of Uma Thurman and Jennine Garofalo in The Truth About Cats and Dogs.

Unlike the movie characters though, they’re only sort of friends.  Alice can be a little snotty toward poor Vivian. The way Vivian plays scares the bejeezus out of Alice, and she gets really low and still and looks around like “whoa. What the hell was that?” and when Vivian does her Super! Excited! Greyhound! laps around the yard, Alice takes that opportunity to hide under the deck. I keep telling Alice that doing a few laps with her sister won’t kill her and it might even take some of that extra, ahem, fluff out of her fur, but she’s not much of runner, you guys. She’s more of a sleeper or a stand around-er.  Hence the fluff problem.

But we’re not judging, Queefies.

Hopefully, they’ll figure out how to be playmates. It’s only been a little under two weeks.

Oh, and she walks pretty well on a leash and stays so close to me that she bumps into me sometimes.

And she plays with toys now!

And I caught her sitting in a chair looking out the window with Alice!

She’s…becoming a dog!

But she hasn’t barked yet.

It’s so much fun to watch her grow into her new life. Family and friends have been bringing her gifts and coming to visit her like a new baby.  In fact, I don’t even think Homeslice got this much attention.  My mom got her a crate, and  Bat Cave Twidget even sent her a very fancy collar you’ll be seeing in pictures very soon.

I highly recommend this experience to anyone considering adopting a retired racer. They are totally lovely and sweet and I’m so glad we did this.

Big Pussy continues to not give a shit one way or the other.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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So we’re going to start with the thing that’s bothering me the most and work our way down to the mildly irritating and/or totally stupid.

First up we have Homeslice’s lymph nodes in her little groin area.  The one that was swollen over a month ago is still swollen and now there’s another one right next to it that keeps getting bigger although it’s still smaller than the other one.  And then sometimes they seem to be almost gone, and then sometimes they swell back up again.  I’m hysterical. I think I’m going to bring her back to the doctor because my anxiety disorder is pretty much demanding a blood test at this point even though she’s acting perfectly fine and healthy and has no fever and the swellings don’t hurt her at all and the original one hasn’t gotten any bigger than it was since it first appeared.  But then I think maybe I won’t have her tested because  I’m really scared of the blood test BECAUSE WHAT IF SHE’S REALLY SICK?

I need to know but I’m really afraid to find out.

And I’m giving up on the dog adoption situation.    I had an appointment with a guy last night and he was supposed to bring 2 dogs for us to meet, but then it was just one dog and then he changed the time and THEN HE DIDN’T SHOW UP OR BOTHER TO CALL TO TELL ME HE WASN’T COMING OR ANSWER HIS PHONE.

This is a totally different organization than the other one that blew me off like this FIVE TIMES.  They still haven’t returned my call after blowing me off the fifth time.  It’s been two weeks.

I guess doing this to people and not respecting their time and the fact that adopting a pet is an EMOTIONAL thing and telling someone they will get to meet a potential new family member and then not even having enough respect for them to tell them you need to re-schedule and instead just letting them clear an entire day or a whole weekend and then completely blowing them off like they don’t matter is the way to run a dog rescue.

They’re always whining about how hard it is to be volunteers and that they have lives, you know, and that people need to be patient and blah, blah, blah, WHAT ABOUT ME?  AM I NOT A PERSON TOO?  I also have a life and I’m trying to do the right thing by adopting a homeless animal, but I’m getting treated like shit by these people.

I don’t understand.

I’ve learned a lot about people through this experience and it’s not good news, you guys.  It’s not good news at all.

So, I’m giving up because I can’t deal with the disappointment and heartbreak anymore.

And moving back to Saturday night having gone to bed late after our Zombie Prom, I woke up at 3 in the morning feeling sticky and wet to discover that Alice had thrown up in our bed, under the blankets, and that I had been sleeping in it.  At first I only noticed that I had slid my foot into something, so I checked it out and it was a HUGE pile of super-chunky something.  I didn’t know what the hell it was, so I got out of bed to take a look and determined that it was  some sort of really putrid contents from something (ass? stomach?) and so I limped into the bathroom to wash my foot off and re-group a little bit.

Mister got up to scrape what he determined to be vomit off the bed when I noticed that my back felt cold and wet, too.  I had barf chunks stuck all over my shirt and I had left a trail of them behind me on the way to the bathroom.  I had to take a complete shower and rinse the chunks out of my pajamas while Mister stripped the bed.

It took two trips to get all our bedding down to the basement washing machine, Alice following me the whole way and throwing up more little piles of goodness as we went.

It was…very special.

I never got back to sleep after that, so  I basically got about 3 hours in before all the specialness was discovered.

That was the second night of sleep deprivation because on Friday night, we went to my friend Gina’s annual Halloween party and when we got home, Homeslice was wide awake and hanging out with the babysitter.  She never went back to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time.

That was also a Very Special Evening.

We won best couple’s costume at Gina’s party though, so that was something good riding on the shitwagon that was our weekend.

(huge version here)

Hey Queefies!

Happy Tuesday!

If you ask me, Tuesday is just Monday’s older, whore sister.  Nothing is better on Tuesday.  Nothing at all.  It’s really not that much closer to Friday and so it still blows monkeys.

I do not like.

Wednesday is kind of a douchewagon and Thursday is like, moderately annoying. Friday is okay. We order take-out on Friday. I can deal with Friday.

But despite it being Tuesday, I am actually in a pretty decent mood today.  I am as surprised by this as you are.  I was driving to work and “Beast of Burden” came on the radio and I was suddenly aware that I didn’t want to kill anyone. I think I might really like that song.

It would have been ultra luxurious to have listened to it on non-blown speakers, but we can’t have everything, can we?

So. What else?

I spent a little time working on my Zombie Prom Halloween costume on Sunday. It’s an orange prom dress with a red and orange floofy tulle skirt. I splashed blood all over it and some mud and some chalk-y gray water. It looks like hell. And Mister fixed the garage door wearing a tuxedo he found at Savers. Everyone must think we’re nuts. I had blood spattered clothing hanging on the line to dry, and Mister was walking around like Lurch.

We’re the balls, pretty much.

We’re having a party on Saturday and everyone is coming. We even hired babysitters to run the kid’s party in the porn basement. You can come too, if you want. I’ll be the one across the street hiding under Michele’s bed. You’ll see my bloody orange tulle skirt sticking out because lots of people give me The Anxiety. Even when I know them all.

What are you going to be for Halloween? What are you bringing to my party?

And…

The Wanda dog people blew me off for the fifth time, so I think I’m all done there after 8 weeks of trying to get this one dog. I found a Giant Schnauzer that we might want and we might meet her this weekend if the guy I’m supposed to call for an appointment ever answers his damned phone.

Does anyone have any experience with Giant Schnauzers? My research tells me they’re kind of assholey. I don’t want/need an 80 lb assholey dog. Maybe this is the non-assholey variety of Giant Schnauzer?

We’re thinking of getting a new car! FOR ME!!!!!!! Because I’ve only been asking for one for 8 billionty years. I think we should wait until after Christmas though because a car payment plus Christmas means I’d have to sell an awful lot of panties.

And finally, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet. Some of you might know her as Bat Cave Twidget. She’s been around a little bit here and there and she’s a funny lady. She’s a friend of a friend who I now like more than the original friend (just kidding, Valerie!)

You need to go read her blog because she’s a crazy dog lady, and she’s been helping me figure out my way through the rescue dog thing and also, I kind of made her start a blog and so now I need to bring her some Queefs.

God. Could I BE any more boring today? Seriously. What the hell?

Go read Bat Cave Twidget. The story about her birthdays will make you want to hug her.

but we didn’t know about the bondage until just recently.

I don’t know what it is with me and the gays lately. I think I’m still waiting for my gay bff to come walking into my life. Maybe I’m trying to attract attention.

Or maybe I just want a new best friend.

Like, maybe this one:

Her name is Wanda and our application to adopt her has been approved! Sadly, the rescue group is horribly, horribly, slow in answering questions and responding to emails, so I still don’t know anything about her. It takes them a week to reply to an email. 7 days! I thought they wanted to find homes for these dogs. I had to email them to find out she was actually pending adoption for US! I’m confused. This thing has been in the works for almost three weeks and I still have no clue what’s up with this dog and I’m frustrated because I hate not knowing and just hanging like this. I don’t know whether to shit or go collar shopping.

And then I found this one who is the sweetest thing, but a little smaller than I wanted:

I might apply to adopt her, but if Wanda works out, I don’t want to put something in the works with Minnie and then back out of it. That seems mean.

And just so people know, I am NOT replacing Alice. Why would I ever do that? I adore her. She’s the only one in this house who doesn’t give me any shit. She’s a friend who never disappoints me and she is always glad to see me. Overjoyed, actually. I want more of that. More joy. More love. More best friends. More dog bodies splayed out on my kitchen floor when I’m cooking.

My mother will shit her pants and then die three times when she finds this out and so I haven’t told her, and if any one of you spills the beans, so help me Jeebus I will totally ban you from this blog.

I don’t know how to do that, but I will figure it out and then you’re screwed, buddy.

Of course, she can just come right over here and read about it on her own, which is actually pretty likely and so mom, if you’re reading this please, please, please, don’t shit on this. It’s the happiest and most excited I’ve been in a long, long, time. And it’s your fault for raising a crazy dog lady.

The end.

PS: Toy with Me today! I forgot what it’s about…oh wait…I remember now: Girl on Girl Action Isn’t For Me. WHAT IS WITH ME WITH THE GAY???