Its not as easy as it sounds to get me to write on this thing. The funny part is I sit here and complain about how I want to be a writer as I sit and watch tv and drink beer all day and do nothing to actually become this writer. I mean I play on facebook but who gives a shit.
Ive decided its probably pretty important that I write in here like everyday or at least everyweek. It keeps people interested and then they care says q. I know this but at the same time I also don’t know if I have that much to say. According to quint not only do I have enough to say, but can I please write it to all of you instead of talking to him nonstop all day everyday. He says he has a job ya know. I say yeah I know but fuck, I mean, if you have two different phones you must expect to talk on them every once in a while. He says yes he does expect it but didn’t know it would be about how I found cat puke in the hallway or if he knows where the whiskey is. (he says it was 10 am and I drank it all the night before and I blamed him for drinking it all. Whatever how was I supposed to remember. I was drunk…duh.)
Recently I have been home a lot and thinking I should be on this thing typing away. That I should, instead of watching the same real housewives shows over and over again and memorizing the lines, (and calling quint to tell him all about what camile grammer said) sit down and write about the ultra fun day I had sitting still in my house watching the plants grow. But I think who the fuck cares about what I do. quint says I may as well make all of you as bored as I am. That and let him get his fucking work done.
Sigh. For the love of god I need a life. seriously the only place I go besides work is safeway.
But anyway, I have especially been home a lot these days because my dog Alabama had her acl repaired. Turns out she basically almost tore it in half. You know what? The healing time for this surgery is 12 weeks. Mother fucker. It is so annoying. I mean I get that this is probably worse for her than me but I mean come on….im the one who has to pay for it (1600$) and then take the time off to stare at her and stop this spunky 2 year old pitbull from wanting to play with her equally spunky 3 year old pitbull brother which basically puts me on house arrest. She gets to be babied and high all day. Poor her. How bad can it be? You know what? I will brake my knees right now if that’s the way this shit goes. Quint, go get the whiskey and a baseball bat.
Today was the first day since the surgery 5 days ago that I saw a bit of happiness in this dogs face. She has been depressed and sad. She hasn’t eaten and she is sick of being told not to play and being carried to and from the yard to pee and poo. I mean what the fuck? Does it look like im having fun with this? Give me a break. We got in the worst fight out in the yard last night around 3am.
“fucking shit already Alabama its pouring and im fucking tired.”
Dog looks the other direction and pretends Im not there.
“I will fucking leave you out here and you can sleep in the rain.”
Knowing this is a lie, dog continues to stare into the darkness and sighs loudly.
“come on! Wtf! You haven’t shit in like 3 days. It smells like a fucking sewer in the house your farting so much. Just fucking go already!”
Dog sees cat who came out to see what all the screaming was about and wags her tail. She looks up at me as if to say look mommy kitty is here, remembers what a bitch I am, stops wagging her tail, gives me the stink eye and goes back to staring into the fucking darkness.
So I changed my gears “please baby. Please just go poo honey. Mommy loves you.”
Dog decides this is a waste of her time and limps back into the house leaving my sorry ass in the yard screaming her name and swearing nonstop because my fucking shoe got stuck in the mud and came off when I went to go after her and I stepped in an old mushy pile of dog shit with my bare foot.
But of course.
Anyhow like I was saying she was a little better today. She even ate something. And I figured out the best way to get the 8,000 pills she has to take everyday down her throat is to coat them in butter and put them in her actual throat and hold her mouth closed until the mother fucking things go down. Oddly enough she wasn’t as upset about this as I would of thought because I think she was stoked that this time the huge antibiotic didn’t explode in her mouth and make her vomit as mommy swears about how she hates puke cause it makes her puke. Its a lot of fun here people, you should come over someday.
Anyhow I was allowed to actually get up and move without sneaking around afraid to wake her. I got the kitchen cleaned and even blasted some bon jovi and danced around the house. Bad part is this is when Alabama decided to take herself out the doggy door and play lets run laps around the slippery muddy yard and play tackle football with Joe.
God damn it.
Halfway through livin on a prayer I turned to sing to Alabama “take my hand and well make it I swear” when I realized she wasn’t there. I started running through the house calling her name. I couldn’t find her anywhere in the house and so I looked to see if I left the door open to the dogs room where the doggy door was. And yes of course I did. Why not. I mean why make my life easier. Holy shit the dog was outside by herself. I started to panic and ran outside and instantly slipped in an old gross pile of rotten pumpkin (yes from Halloween) and bent my wrist back.
I started swearing like a douche bag clutching my wrist and freaking out. the dogs froze in midplay and realizing mom was spazing out and decided to do the same. They started running towards me to get back into the house to hide when I realized the goddamn dog was RUNNING. Who runs 5 days after repairing their acl? What the fuck is wrong with this dog?
I reached out and grabbed her to stop her from my position on the ground when she suddenly JUMPED UP INTO THE AIR AND OVER ME AND LANDED ON THE GROUND LOSING HER FOOTING AND SMASHING HER FACE INTO THE CONCRETE AND SCREAMING LIKE AN INSAIN APE BECAUSE, AS IT TURNS OUT, WHEN I GRABBED AT HER, I GRABBED HER BAD LEG AND IT WAS STILL IN MY FUCKING HAND.
Ladies and gentleman, Molly Andrae. Dog owner of the year.
Im a dick. The dog was screaming and trying to get away from me as I scrambled and slipped on the pumpkin guts to get up and get her to calm down. Oh fuck oh fuck was all I could think. Did I tear her leg off? I mean did I ruin her fucking knee? How am I supposed to know? What the fuck do I do?
I picked up the dog and hurried inside. Somehow, thank god, I didn’t trip or have a heart attack or anything and got the dog inside and laid her down. She was panting like a dog in heat and I knew she was in pain. I ruined it, I had to of.
I called the vet and explained what happened. She was silent for what seemed like 5 minutes. Im not kidding. I had to say hello? And look at my phone because I though I lost connection.
“um, well,” the vet finally said “lets just give her a couple minutes. Give her another tramadol and we will see where shes at in a bit. Call me in a half hour and let me know how she is. And please, molly, relax. Im sure its not as bad as it seems.”
Easy for her to say I thought and drugged up the dog. But she was right after about 10 minutes the dog seemed fine. I mean except for the fact that if I came near her she trembled and shyed away like I was going to beat her.
Its now been a good couple hours since the “incident” and im assuming we are all good since she just tried to run on it again. Who knows, guess we shall see. As for now I think im gonna drink a 12 pack, cry and let q take the fuck over.
Maddog out.