Being a Doggy Mama - Because he can't complain...

I sing to my dog.  There's nothing he can do or say about my mediocre voice, my awful tone or my inability to carry a tune beyond one verse, so I subject him to regular bouts of my warbling.

When we used to live in an apartment and we had to drive into a car parking garage, I would sing to him as we wound around the floors (we always parked on the top).

"Home again, home again, jiggity jig"

That's it.  There's no verse, no story, just a phrase from a nursery rhyme repeated for six floors.

As we are in summer now and he is doing that thing that dogs do, he often gets the ditty below, to the tune of Love Machine:

"You just a shed machine

Shedding yo' hair all over the place

You just a shed machine

Shaking yo' hair right into ma face."

Then if I feel like torturing him for no reason, I break out the Janet Jackson.

"Nasty!  Nasty dog, don't mean a thing!

Oh you Nasty dawg."

He just looks at me, and sometimes he just walks away and goes and does something else.

Can't blame him, really.

Health is Wealth - Weekly Tally

Good Girl

• 1 gym workout with weights
• 1 yoga class
• 2 mile walk

Bad Girl

• 5 mini brownies
• 1 serving fruit tart
• 1 slice citrus cake
• 16 cigarettes
• Wine (more than two glasses) - 2ce this week
• Appetizers, incl fried food

SHIT!

Being a Doggy Mama - Dinner Party Shenanigans

Last night, we had a few friends over for dinner.  It was an informal thing - Fluffy Bear BBQ'd, but I did set the table in the dining room so we could go inside and eat comfortably when the time came.

Two friends of ours came with their chocolate lab - let's call him Theo.  He's an adorable dog, happy to roam around the yard and house, play with the carcasses of Puppy Dog's decimated toys, chew a tennis ball, and generally just be a very good boy.

But Theo still has his goolie woolies.  

Unlike Puppy Dog - a pound pooch who had his seamen submarines snipped - Theo swings low like a sturdy sex machine.

And Puppy Dog just couldn't deal with it.

It's his den, his yard, his territory.  And Theo better get the message about where he is in the pack.

Theo lives with another dog - let's call her Tara.  She is older than Theo and is in charge at their house, so Theo has no problem with being number two.  He lay down, he submitted, he was being as nice as pie.

But it didn't make any difference.

Puppy Dog rolled out his pink lipstick and jumped on his back, a-humping and a-humping and a-humping.

We had to take him away and lock him in the bedroom three times over the course of the evening.

I can't describe to you the very particular kind of embarrassment that accompanies a break in conversation, a glance over to the left and a realization that your dog is climbing on a another dog's back to do the dirty flirty fandango - AGAIN".

"Really?  Michael Jackson had placed a huge order with Nordstrom for silk socks and now that order is cancelled?  Wow.  I didn't know-  Excuse me, I just have to go deal with my dog..."

"Would you like some more wine?  Red or a little more dessert wine?  Sure, I'll...  NO!  PUPPY DOG!  NO!  GET OFF!"

"I saw that house up the street go on the market.  It looks amazing.  I was waiting to see if there'd be an open house but I guess that's the kind of place where you have to make a private viewing appointment... It sold in one week?  You're kidding!  I'd love to know what it sold f-  Back in the bedroom!  NO!  You are going BACK to your BED!"

And so it went on. 

And on.

And on.

When the dogs were finally tired out and lay down on the floor to sleep, I experienced a rush of relief that felt better than any cigarette, any booze buzz.  

He Said She Said - The Fashion Police

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They were driving through downtown.  

"I have to talk to that girl on the sidewalk," she said as they were stopped at a red traffic light.

"Why?  Do you know her?"  he said.

"No, but she's wearing a yellow mini skirt, fluorescent pink leggings and gold trainers.  Someone has to tell her how wrong that is.  She has to be stopped - immediately."

Pause.

"Why can't I wind down the window?" she asked, pressing the little button frantically.

"I've locked them," he said.

"But I have to tell her!" she screeched.

"No, you don't," he said, pulling away when the light turned green.

The journey continued.  It was a sunny Friday afternoon.  People were leaving work, happy to start their weekends.  Traffic was horrific.

"Pull over and stop the car!" she yelled.

He sighed.  

"Why?" he asked.

"I have to run back a block!"

"Why?" he asked.

"There is a woman with fat thighs wearing shorts and gold gladiator sandals up to her mid calf!"

"I cant pull over in this traffic, Honey," he said, placating.

"Please stop!  I have to smack her!"

"Honey, this is America.  You'll get sued."

"But she came out in public!  She made me see that!  My eyes!  My eyes!"

"Honey, we're nearly there.  You can have a glass of wine with your friends and talk Fashion Police, OK?"

"OK," she said.

 

 

To read more in this series, click here.

 

Being a Doggy Mama - They just don't prepare you for this

Puppy Dog likes to accompany us into the toilet.  

At first we tried to shoo him away but, when you start to see it from his point of view, it makes sense.

He gets to sit in front of us for a few moments when we don't seem to be distracted by anything important, we stroke his head and he gets to smell strange odours that don't seem to disgust him at all.

And so a session on the great white throne can actually be a rather tender moment with our poochie woochie.

Well, most of the time.

I was puttering about folding washing when I heard a very loud "AAAAAAARGH!" from the bathroom.

I ran to see if Fluffy Bear was OK.

"What is it?  What is it?" I screeched.

Puppy Dog was trotted past me out of the bathroom, tail high with a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth innocent expression on his face.

Fluffy Bear looked up at me and wailed.

"He sneezed on my genitals!"

Health is Wealth - Up the Poopershoot

 

Before the healthcare cover goes South, I am taking care of all those nagging health issues I have procrastinated about for the last two years. And one of them is something I have had on my list for a long time. 

Hemorrhoids. 

Yes, why hurry to have someone poke something up your anus and look at it?  But, I finally got around to it, and I am glad I did. 

So off I went to see a specialist. He turned out to be a very nice man, possibly close to retirement, so very experienced. He reminded me a little of Dr Emmett Brown in Back to the Future. Grey hair, a little unkempt, clearly very intelligent and with a wicked sense of humor.

 I guess an Ass Doctor either has a great sense of humor to start with, or develops one by necessity as he or she practices over time.

 So we had the examination, during which he decided to teach his poor hapless assistant.

"Now, Nurse Smith, what does it mean when we see a tag like this at the back of the anus?"

Um... a foozleberrydoodab?"

"Nooooooooooo. It's a bowockasnoofydoodab, Nurse Smith."

The rear entry was painless, quick and not at all embarrassing. No, I took care of embarrassing myself. You may remember my post where I explained that I forget things when I am stressed. Appointment details are forgotten, I have to rely on the satnav to get somewhere I've been before, and words escape into the brain fog of temporary IQ loss.

"Thank you," I said as I sat up, relieved.  "That was.... um... a lot less horrible than I expected it to be."

"Well!" he replied.  "I have been a doctor for many years and that is the best compliment I have ever had!  Doctor, you weren't as horrible as I expected you to be!"

Call me crazy, but he may have been a tad sarcastic at that point.  Lucky for him, I find that kind of thing hilarious.  But trust me, you don't want to laugh too hard when you have gel up your butt.

And so, the diagnosis.  

"You dont have hemarrhoids," he told me.  "You have an anal fissure.  It's very common in doctors, lawyers and people who work at [my previous employer].  Basically, the sphincter muscles are too tight and they cause this cut in the anus.  So yes, it's true what they say about people being anal."

And there you have it.  I am an anal, A-type personality.  Officially.

Hello from Puppy Dog - Silly Billy

Hello Mama's friends!

Maybe you can help me.  Mama calls me silly names and I want her to stop.  What can I do?  

It's ridiculous!  

I am Puppy Dog!  I am not...

• Herr Poopenstein


• El Poochador


• Mon Petit Chou Chou Chien


• Dogalogalog


• Puppy Wuppy Luppy


• Choccie Luv


• Sir Barkalot


• Growly Wowly


• The Incredible Burp


• Sir Wagalot


• Superdawg


• Dog Vader


• Smelly Belly


• Sir Sloppy Schnoz


• Cutie Wootie Poof Poof


• Furry Pants


• El Perro de Poop


• King Pup


• My Little Furry Monster


• El Poochamente

Make her stop!

Lots of licks and woofs,

Puppy Dog

Dog will be dogs - Including Puppy Dog

Although we anthropomorphize them, dogs are dogs, and Puppy Dog doesn't let me forget it.

• I currently have bruises all over my arms from our play - he tries to subdue me.


• I get my neck and ears nibbled - foreplay.


• He'll sit with me on the couch but not with Fluffy Bear - because I am his lowly equal, Beta Bitch, not Alpha Dog.


• He tries to walk through doors in front of me - an attempt to rise above me in pack heirarchy.


• Yesterday, when we were playing chase, he nipped at each of my calves - trying to bring his prey down.


• I can scratch his tummy, but only with him lying on his side - Alpha Dog gets the full frontal treatment.


• Yes, my leg has been humped.  But only twice.  Guess I smelled good that day.

Quote Unquote - The buffet of life

"You know when you're young like you are, Millie, it's easy.  Man.  Woman.  Bottom.  Top.  Sex is just this big buffet and you're just a fat man with a fork.  But as you get older... it's harder to get a fork."

Dolores Herbig, character in Dead Like Me

He Said She Said - Let there be light

 

 

 

 

"Honey," she called from the kitchen, "I HATE these lightbulbs!"

"What's wrong?" he asked, walking towards her from the lounge.

"They're TOO DIM!" she said

"They are?"

"Yes!  I can't see anything in here!"

"They're special energy saving lightbulbs," he said.  "Sometimes they have to warm up."

"They've been on fifteen minutes!"

"Hmmmmm," he said.

"Look at this, it's like being in a cave!"

"But honey, they are green and look after the earth and save us money.  They're LOW ENERGY lightbulbs!"

"I KNOW!" she screeched.  "They're the SLOTH OF LIGHTBULBS!"

To read more in this series, click here.

 

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 46.0

Isn't being unemployed wonderful?  

You can do fun things like deal with the spider in the bathroom and clean out the fridge!

How rewarding to take all the jars and bottles of sauces and dressings and pastes off the top fridge shelf, divide them into Keep, Don't Keep, Omigod-where-did-you-come-from-an-archeological-dig and Welcome-to-the-world-new-life-form.

Then you get to wash out the ones you don't want anymore - what a varied experience!

First there are the ones that immediately sloosh with the water you put into them, loosening up as you put the cap back on and give them a good shake.  As you open the lid and tip the bottle upside down, the contents gladly accept their fate, diving happily to meet the garbage disposal.

Second, there are those that are a little more stubborn.  You shake and shake and turn the jar this way and that, and nothing happens.  Then, just as you are about to give up and try again, the jar decides it's a bit seasick from all that shaking and vomits out it's contents in one big blurp of strange liquid/solid smelliness.

Third, there are those that choose to defy physics.  You sloosh the water, you shake and shake but, when you turn the jar's rim to the sink, nothing.  "Ha-ha Gravity!" they say, "You cannot conquer my amazing powers of gloopiness!"  And so - joy of joys - the spoon or knife comes out and you have to stir and scrape then sloosh again.  You have to give these jars their props.  They don't let go easily.  That coagulation in there - he's been working out!

And last - but certainly not least - there is, in a special category all of its own, the stubborn lid.  The contents are liquid and could be disposed of quickly - if only you could get them out more than a drop at a time.  So you tug the lid, you twist the lid, you bite the lid.  Nothing.  

Next tactic - hack at the lid with a knife.  But the lid and the knife are in cahoots.  The lid just gives the knife a springboard so that, no matter what angle you hold it at, it can bounce off and fly at your nearest artery.

But, undeterred, you persevere.  And now the lid, the knife and the bottle gang up on you.  You hack.  The lid resists, the knife bounces, you flinch, the bottle slips.  

And the bottle's contents spray all over you.

You sigh.  Of course.

Because what you really want, first thing in the morning, is to smell of old fish sauce.

Hello from Puppy Dog - Dogette

Hello Friends!

Dogette is here!  

We were growly playing and then - and then! - the Postman came! 

We were the perfect Ninja team!  We jumped up against the front door and barked and growled and jumped and barked and growled.

Then Killjoy Mama came and made us be quiet and sit.

You should've seen us!  

Dogette said I should call her Bonnie and she'd call me Clyde!

Dogette said she should call me Mickey and I should call her Mallorie!

When I asked why she said it's 'cos we were like those other Dynamic Duos who were lean and mean!

I said Dogette should call me Statler and I should call her Waldorf!

Dogette just rolled her eyes.

I really don't understand women sometimes.

Lots of licks and woofs, 

Puppy Dog

Hello from Puppy Dog - Dogette and me

Hello Friends!

Dogette is my girlfriend and I love her.

She is older than me, so Mama tells me I am Dogette's Toy Boy.  I don't know what a Toy Boy is.  I guess Mama calls me that 'cos Dogette bites me like she does to her toys.

Dogette is coming to stay with us for a few days tomorrow.

I can't wait!

We are going to run and play and bark and play and growl and play and chase and play and bite and play and then Dada is going to tell us to shut up so we'll stay still for three minutes and then we'll bark and play and growl and play and...

Anyway, I told Dogette about the horrible Postman and she wasn't impressed.

"Omigod Puppy Dog!" she said.  "This one time? We had workmen in our house? And I TOTALLY got out of the yard? And I chased the Postman down the street!  I ran and I growled and I barked!  It was, like, SICK.  

My Daddy had to run? And he had to catch me? And the Postman was such a TARD.  He was, like, AH WON'T DELIVER MAIL TO YOUR WHOLE BLOCK! And my Daddy was, like, SORRY.  And I was, like, I'm NOT sorry 'cos you are a TARD.  And my Daddy was, like, dragging me back into the house? And it was so LAME.  

So please don't tell me 'bout just LUNGING at the Postman 'cos that is so RANDOM!  You should have, like, CHASED him!"

 I wasn't going to let her diss me.

"Oh HEEEELL NO!  Talk to the PAW!" I told her.  "Were YOU there? Were you?

I don't THINK so.  

You.  Weren't.  THERE.  

I only lunged 'cos my Mama was, like, RIGHT THERE and she, like, got between me and the Postman so what you 'spect me to do?  

Anyway, I made my Postman SCREAM.  It was, um, SICKER.

I am totally BADASS."

I think I heard her mumble something about smelly ass not badass but I decided to just let her win.

After all, happy bitch = no glitch.

Lots of licks and woofs,

Puppy Dog

He Said She Said - Spicy Ricy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her phone rang.  It was him.

"Hello my darling," she said.

"Honey," he said, "was there anything you wanted to tell me before you left the house?"

She racked her brain.

 

What had she forgotten?

 

Was there a piece of important snail mail she should have given him?

 

Had he somehow found her amusing birthday card stash months before it was time?

 

Did someone come to the house who was invited to dinner and she'd forgotten to tell him?

 

Nope.  Nothing.  She gave up.

"What didn't I tell you, honey?" she simpered.

"Um - that you had left rice on the stove?"

"Ooooooooh shit.  Did you find it?"

"Yes, when I smelt smoke."

"NO! Was it on fire?"

"Almost.  I had to take it out into the yard."

"Why didn't Puppy Dog warn you?" she asked, trying desperately to turn this into something funny.

"That's a good point!" he said, playing the game.  He spoke away from his phone.  "Puppy Dog, why didn't you warn me there was a child stuck in a well and the rice was on fire?"

Incredibly relieved, she laughed.

 

To read more in this series, click here.

  

Health is Wealth - Notes on Nutrition

Seeing as this post may get a little intense, I've decided to put it to music. Feel free to click the links (preferably choose "Open in New Tab" so you don't lose your place on the blog) and add the soundtrack to the story.

Just Eat it

I had another appointment with Softly Concerned, and we discussed my compulsive eating habits.

I told her that the visualization exercise she had showed me had worked - once - but that I needed to do it more.

It's not just about sitting at home on the couch with my eyes closed meditating so that I don't go and buy a cupcake.  There's the issue of eating in public.

Maybe you read about how I overindulged last week.  I was at a BBQ and ate three helpings of orange macaroni cheese.  I believe that, when it's orange, unless it's from Leicester, UK, it isn't cheese.  So it's not like this was tickling my tastebuds to orgasmic transport.  I just kept eating it.  And never mind it being unhealthy - taking a third helping of a shared dish before everyone has eaten is just damned rude.  But I still did it.  

Why?

On Monday I went out with a friend to Happy Hour.  We ordered a plate of fries to share. And then my personality split.  The first part of me was chatting, eating, listening, eating, drinking, eating.  The second part of me was looking down on this and wondering why I ate more fries than anyone else, why I kept eating them when I wasn't hungry, why I still kept eating them when they were cold.

Why?

Such a Shame

Softly Concerned explained that overeating can be linked to a sense of shame.  While shame is a theme in our family history - long story, it has to do with our inter-racial background - I didn't think that was the key issue.

It hit the right note, it just wasn't the high note.

Under Pressure

We discussed the issue of Control around food.  My father was a very controlling man and, as a child, the only times that we let go and had fun were when we got together as a family for an event.  

These gatherings were always catered with great food.  All the women in my family - apart from me - are wonderwomen in the kitchen.  Curries, salads, stir fried prawns, creme caramel, even Chinese cooking.

So I had to be a good girl, I had to do well in school, I had to go to Church but, if we were all together celebrating something, I could eat.

So interesting how far back this stuff can go.

But that felt like an old song.  Perhaps still true, but still not the main anthem here.

Protection

Fat - especially for women - can signify protection.  Protection from sexual attention.  If you don't put yourself in the game, you don't have to take the risk.  

This one resonated for me the most.

"If you think about it," said Softly Concerned, "you tallied up your exercise and overindulgence last week, this macaroni cheese thing happened on the weekend.  Maybe you were punishing yourself."

"No," I told her, "but I think you're close.  I think I have an Internal Saboteur."

That felt right.  My Little Internal Saboteur is protecting me.

BREAKTHROUGH!

"You need to handle this the right way," she went on.  "This isn't about trying to stamp down your Protector or tell it to go away.  

What you have to do is thank it.  Say thank you for protecting me, but I'm not a little girl anymore.  I am grown woman, I am strong and I can look after myself.  Thank you for looking after me, but I don't need you anymore."

It was bizarre.

As she said that, it was heart-rending ballad time.

I felt very, very sad.

Hello from Puppy Dog - Defending the Den

Hello Friends!

I am on my cushion, not allowed to move.  I am being punished for going after the Postman.

But - come on!  I bark a short warning at everyone who comes up onto the porch and then they usually say "Hello!" nicely and my Mama and Dada say hello and then I can sniff them and greet them and we are all friends.

But the Postman guy just isn't like that.

He sneaks up the stairs without making noise and I can smell his fear.

When an animal is approaching you and they are scared it's because they are about to attack you so you had better attack first - all dogs know that!  It was one of the first thing my birth mother told me and my litter.

So I barked and jumped at the screen door and it came open and so I ran onto the porch and the Postman started screaming at me and swung his bag at me and Mama chased me and the Postman yelled so I got scared and I barked at him and then I ran around him and Mama grabbed me and pulled me back from him and he kept shouting and screaming and swinging his bag and Mama dragged me in the house and the Postman yelled "I'M SO SICK OF THAT DAMN DOG!" and walked away and Mama slammed the front door and sent me to my bed and told me I had to stay.  She yelled at me, too!

It's not fair!

I'M so sick of that damn sneaky Postman coming up to my den on his tippy toes.  

Why doesn't he walk normally so we know someone is coming up from the street?  There are 14 steps up to our house - I'd be much more relaxed if I had earlier warning.

Why doesn't he just say hello so I can hear he has a nice, friendly voice?

Why doesn't he put his hand at the screen, palm down and let me sniff him so we can make friends?

But no, he sneaks around, I bark, and I am the bad guy.

It's not fair!

If someone sneaks up to you, do you like it?  

He's lucky we don't live in the South - he'd probably get shot.

Lots of licks and woofs, 

Puppy Dog

Health is Wealth - Weekly Tally

Bad Girl:

• 3 helpings of macaroni cheese at a BBQ
• 7 chocolate biscuits
• 1 pint Chunkey Monkey
• 3 candy bars
• 1 smore (gimme a break!  I'm foreign and they are still a novelty and no-one at the BBQ said they were just for the kids and that kid I took the marshmallow from wasn't going to use it properly anyway)

Good Girl:

• 1 Body Conditioning Class
• 2 Yoga Classes
• 1 hour of Namaste Yoga at home from Fit TV
• 1 Personal Training workout
• 1 Gym workout without the Personal Trainer but following her evil plan
• 2 mile walk

Quote Unquote

"Can this be the last one? Please?  Pretty please?"

Fluffy Bear, while I was watching a Real Housewives of New Jersey marathon.

Quote Unquote - Just reward

"You bought her [a car] for flunking out of school?  What you gonna get her when she gets knocked up?"

Albie, Caroline's son, on Real Housewives of New Jersey, referring to Jaqueline's spoiled brat daughter.

Diary of an Ex-Employee - Day 37.2

I don't always realize when I am stressed, and so I don't ask for help. To be fair, I don't give myself very clear signs that I am stressed, so I guess it isn't a big surprise that I just go off on my own and just try to handle things.

My stress indicators only occur to me when it's too late.

The first is being irritable and intolerant.

You only realize that it might have been a little unreasonable to shout at the guy in the SUV and accelerated to stop him from cutting in front of you, almost causing an accident, after you've driven for at least the next three blocks and simmered down.

The second is losing memory.

You only realize that you should have (a) printed out the appointment and the doctor's name and address, or (b) made sure you synched your phone with your Outlook on the PC, when you are standing in front of the Information Desk at the huge tower of medical offices, unsure where to go and you hear yourself say:

"Um, I don't know what the right word is for it. He's an ass doctor."