A week in the life

Among the emails I get from my blog, most are questions about how to write this or that or some other thing that will make its way into a mailbox. (Eventually I will answer those.)

But all of them end pretty much the same way- is your life always this ridiculous?

The short answer is… well yes my entire existence is a continuous cycle of unfortunate and comical events that could only happen in a low budget MTV movie. But usually not in the grand way that I write about- like contemplating life under a bench in a bridal store or threatening my dog with a chicken costume.

Usually, in any given day, everything goes pretty much as planned. I go to work, I go to school, I go home. But somewhere in there during the day, something stupid happens. And I mean seriously insanely stupid.

Anyone that sees me on a daily basis knows that I plan EVERYTHING. I use an old school planner and a pen and I write down every little thing that needs to happen in whatever given day, in hopes of keeping at least the illusion of control over my life.

For the most part, it’s a complete failure. So here I give you seven random days out of my planner- and the events that happened with them. Enjoy.  

Friday, August 12: Mail out all the wedding crap to the resort

I take two giant boxes full of favors and napkins and really just an amazing array of worthless crap to the post office to mail out for my wedding. I decide that even though Friday is “jeans day” I will wear 5 inch heels with my jeans. As I stumble with my boxes into the post office by my office (also known as the middle of effing no where) and announce my intentions to mail giant boxes to another country, every postal worker in the office comes to see just what the hell is going on. Seeing as there are cows across the street… there were a total of three employees.

One takes the boxes. One opens up a very large instruction manual on international mailings. The third turns on what may be the very first computer ever created.

Two hours later, I leave with seriously screaming feet and a sneaking suspicion that my crap may end up in the Amazon.

Sunday August 14: Dinner with Jose

Jose and I decide to go out to dinner. I give myself strict instructions to be home and in bed by 11pm because I have many many things to do on Monday morning.

Jose and I decide to call friends to join us. Friends come and have drinks. We have more drinks. We laugh and talk and drink drink drink drink drink. So fun! So exciting! Yay! This night with never end!

And then I ask that most dangerous question that leads to regrettable decisions, public urination, and a general loss of inhabitions, morals, and any rational thought process.

Shots?

Monday August 15: 9am- pick up legal docs at the courthouse. Go early before it gets stupid busy.

At 9am I slam my alarm clock into the nearest wall and scream in languages that may or may not actually exist.

Two hours later, I wake up. I am convinced that I am dying, have already died, or will be dying very soon. I hug the toilet and curse at yesterday Jessica for not remembering that the day after drinks is not as easy as it used to be.

On the way to the courthouse I get pulled over for expired tags.

On the way home from the courthouse I wait in traffic for 45 minutes while watching a dog run down 695. Apparently he was in someones car and decided that today was the day, and he was getting the hell out.

Go dog go….

Tuesday, August 23: Just effing survive

My entire car starts bouncing around like a Mexican jumping bean while I’m sitting in it at lunch. I am immediately angry as I really don’t have time for engine problems. I get out of the car to look at- well I really don’t know what I thought I was going to do. I’m not a damn mechanic. So anyways I get out of the car and… cheese and crackers it’s the freaking ground. I’m now standing/falling in a parking lot holding onto a Yaris while wearing a pencil skirt and stilettos in the middle of an earthquake.

Freaking brilliant.

Wednesday, August 24: Write thank you notes

I write all the thank you notes for all the nice things that people have sent. I go to the printer to print envelopes. The printer wants ink. Needy bitch.

I go to the store to buy ink. The printer does not like it. I download software to fix my ailing printer. No dice. I have an epiphany… and see myself 20 minutes later screaming obscenities at the printer while throwing it off my third floor balcony. I decide to give up while I’m ahead.

Thursday, August 25: Check USPS tracking for crap mailed to the resort.

I check the tracking numbers for my boxes and see that they are sitting in Florida because of the hurricane wrecking havoc on the Atlantic ocean. I call the postal service, who as a whole seem shockingly unconcerned with my boxes of useless crap and can offer no timeline for delivery other than "not today".

Stupid weather. Stupid boxes. 

Grr.

Saturday, August 27: First day of class

It’s the first day of a new semester, and the first day of school never loses its charm. I have my new pens and pencils and calculator and backpack and all my books. Lots and lots of books in my backpack that threaten to topple me over in a strong gust of wind.

I get to my math class, and I pull out my books.

My anatomy and physiology books- also known as the books for the class that is NOT happening today.

So there you have it- lots of days, lots of stupid things. 

It’s a miracle that I survived childhood. 

Why I'll be a horrible parent

When you start talking about getting married, you start talking about having babies. And oh baby, do I love babies! 

They’re cute! They’re soft! They’re cuddly! And BONUS- I can send them back to their mommies when those diapers start to smell suspiciously stinky. Oh those little drops of heaven, who wouldn’t want one?

 

But now that the baby talk has a glimmer of seriousness behind it, I’m beginning to question my slightly (completely) outlandish parenting skills. While I’d like to say I’m in some hilarious state of panic over this completely nonexistent situation, I have to say that I frankly just don’t care. I’m like 97% sure that there are people out there who are way more dysfunctional than me popping out future criminals at a rate that puts bunnies to shame.

That being said, my future gremlins have a least a slight chance of becoming semi-functional members of society. It’s Jose. Let me explain by using our dogs as an example.

MEET THE DOGS

Scout

Big, fluffy, stupid. Ever loyal, scared of everything, extremely emotional. Inside that massive noggin of his are two brain cells viciously fighting to the death in a WWE-style cage match. He’s pretty much like the worst girlfriend you’ve ever had.

Sadie

Tiny, angry, evil. Cute as she is bad. Always aloof, hates everything. She’ll cuddle with you just long enough to make you think she likes you, and then she’ll fart on your bed. She’s exactly like that total douche bag you dated in college. 

CRIME

No matter what the circumstances for whatever it is that Scout may be doing, he gets in trouble.  Doesn’t matter if Satan, Hitler, and Sarah Palin are all at the front door- you better not bark. And so what if Jose left half a pizza in a semi-open box on the living room floor? No excuse- don’t even think about eating it. All crimes are equal in the book of Jose.

When Sadie does something wrong, my response is based solely on my anticipated need to actually do something about it. For example, I couldn’t possibly care less if Sadie bites Scout. He looks like a deranged Muppet character, he’s kind of a pain in the ass, and he probably deserved some chompers to the backside anyways.  Bite away little lady.

But if she were to bite the creepy neighborhood guy that always knows EXACTLY when I’m coming home and eerily knows my name without me ever actually giving it to him…. Well then we have a problem. As happy as I’d be to witness my little monster take a hunk out of his cankels, (yes I said cankels) I would probably have to apologize profusely and deal with insurance claims and hospitals and…. Well that just sounds like a lot of unnecessary work. I hate work.

So I tend to discourage the biting of people, no matter how much I may enjoy it.

There are also seemingly bad behaviors that I not only condone, but I downright encourage.

Sometimes, just sometimes, that little hellion is just too much for even me to deal with. She screams like a banshee, she farts like an old man, and she likes to stare at me for hours on end. It’s disturbing. So when I’m ready to kick her fluffy tail I throw her in the car and take her to moms house. I hear that actual parents do this quite often, so that gives me a sliver of hope.

Sadie loves to go to moms house. She gets lots of snacks and attention, for a little while. But once all the excitement calms down, Sadie prepares her special gift for mom and dad. She sneaks away, up the stairs, into mom and dads room and, well...

she runs upstairs and she shits on the carpet.

Just drops a load right there inside the bedroom door. 

It's painfully obvious when she’s done it because afterwards she comes barreling down the stairs with her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth like a cracked-out spider monkey and runs a few victory laps around the house. At this point in the production dad is shockingly still surprised that Sadie would ever crap in his bedroom. Mom ever so gently reminds dad that Sadie does this all the time and he should really. Really. Seriously. Close the $#@!*&% bedroom door. 

Obviously this situation is just too delicious to let go of, the entertainment value is extraordinary. So I highly encourage Sadie’s carpet-crapping hobby at mom and dads house.

PUNISHMENT

All of Scouts punishments are exactly the same- go to your kennel. As much as Scout loves his little home, he hates being sent there involuntarily. While excruciatingly mundane, I have to say it is quite effective. Now when Scout barks at the door, he puts himself in his kennel for about 5 minutes as his own repentance. 

Bark, run, sulk. Weird dog.

When Sadie does something that requires reprimanding, I’m left with very few options to get the job done. Smack her on the nose and she’ll pee on the carpet. Banish her to her kennel and she’ll scream like a banshee.

Never heard the Shiba Scream? Here’s a lovely example for you. I dare you to watch more than 10 seconds at full volume:

Screaming Shiba

Painful, right? And totally not worth it. 

So depending on how motivated I am to catch Sadie after she climbs on the coffee table to drink my iced tea, I may not do anything at all. Or…. I’ll embarrass the crap out of her.

Prideful little dogs require special treatment, so as punishment I force Sadie into ill-fitting dog clothes for my own amusement. And then I take pictures.

She's too embarrassed to scream and draw attention to herself, and if she pees then she's stuck in a wet chicken costume. 

I win.

 So there you have it- dysfunctional dog owner equals horrendous parent. 

Think that’ll stop me?

Not a chance!