And A Cow Says Moo...

I was reading Alyssa Day's blog, who incidentally enough has four pugs, and was struck with the idea of making this post. So, I wanted a happy one. I haven't had one of those for a while, and hey, we all need a little happy in our lives. And lord, that sounds like a soap opera come on, doesn't it? Oops.

Birds of a Feather
First up is a picture of my mom and Wrinkles. I love love this pic because they look so much alike. Which is pretty normal for them, actually. I see this look a good bit when I walk into the living room and they're sitting on the chaise. Like owner, like dog.



Who Lived In A Shoe
I love her little grey mask. It used to be completely black, but around eight it started to grey up. Now it's more grey than black, and it's just so cute on her. For some unknown reason, I love the little shit. She takes her shots without noticing, eats like a pigpug now that she gets chicken mixed in, and as ornery as she is, I wouldn't trade her for the wide world.


I'll put up some of Noelle's Christmas as soon as I finish transferring the last of the pics onto the computer. You should see her little cubes and how much she loves to go through them, confused as hell as to why it's a nifty pass through and lookout point yet has absolutely no height to them. She's not the brightest bulb, but she's my little nimrod.

Fly Away

Well, this won't come as a shock to anyone who has spoken more than two words to me before, but I'm a cynical romantic at heart. Ah, I know. They're kinda opposites. Actually, there's no kinda about it. But I am very much someone that wants others to be happy (unless you're stupid enough to land on my 'choke on shit and die' list). I don't mean happy in general. I mean bone-deep, beyond content, looking at the world and feeling like they can do anything...with someone by their side to help when the tumbles and scrapped knees appear. What can I say? Mush McMushy on the inside. But that's not to say everyone needs someone. Just that it's nice to have the chance to share and not bottle stuff up because no one else is around to hear it. After all, friends do have lives that don't revolve around you.

But there's the cynic part. Where I don't think personally I'll find it. I know I've probably discussed this before, but hell if I'll look through the posts to find it. But the thing is that I still cry when I see certain movies, like that Leprechaun one. I also cry at the episode where Will on Fresh Prince meets his father, who ends up tossing him aside for other reasons. I've subtitled the episode "To Hell With Him" after that ending scene. I'm a complete and utter sap. Seriously. Though, I laughed my ass off at Beaches, Terms of Endearment and Titantic (Dear Rose & Jack, you're both dumbasses).

So I get this great big gooey crying fest going on every time I happen to run across certain movies and scenes. I've stayed up the past two nights to see the Leprechaun movie. Which is odd, because I really need to be asleep before 6am, but I can't seem to stop myself. Sometimes you just need that crying fest. And the chance to just enjoy the sappy. And I could quote the scenes to you. It's one of the reasons I can't hate Sci Fi entirely. They give me good mini series to watch (seriously, did anyone else watch Tin Man?).

It's no wonder that I enjoy fandoms, because I can read and enjoy the stories (while ocassionaly scoff at the really bad fic). Kinda like planting myself. Hey, at least I don't write Sue inserts anymore. I consider this progress. But the really good writers can make you feel that you're in the scenes, watching them unfold. The same thing with movies. A really good mushy scene is more than really bad dialogue. It's the emotions. Which is probably why I cheer on Frank Sinatra's character in Young At Heart, even though he's an ass.

Hey I'm not totally shallow girl here. I mean, hot boys (and a few girls) are nice. Really nice. But it's not everything. It doesn't make me connect with the characters, and want them to have a happily ever after. Does make bad movies more enjoyable, I have to admit. If only Jessica Alba didn't look like a bad peroxide job half the time, I might finally put her in that category. Well, her acting isn't what's keeping me interested. Ahem, sorry. Tangent rant.

And now that I'm done babbling, I'll be going to bed. Vacation and Christmas posts coming up in the next couple days. We're finally catching up with everything after Wrinkles. All I'll have left is one load of clothes to dry. We had like six.

Classified under D for Dumbass

Gee, it amazes me that people are upset when a zoo animal gets out. I kinda wanna choke a bitch, a lot of them, when that happens. Why? Because, dude, we're caging them like they're a fucking stuffed animal. Hey, dumbasses, any time you go near a wild exhibit, you're taking a chance. Just because they're nice one minute, doesn't mean that we can't upset them more the next. God, the stupid in the world is mind boggling. Especially since they shoot the animal. Hey, here's an idea. Let's shoot the stupid motherfuckers that taunt the wild animals behind the glass.

There are parts of Atlanta Zoo I don't feel comfortable in. Namely the gorilla exhibit. There's too much free roam space that the gorillas can hop from one place to another. Sorry, but I like having a sense of security and some self-awareness. I know that the gorillas could throw a fit and throw me eight ways to Sunday. It's a fascinating concept, self-awareness. I wish more people used it.

If a dog or cat can attack their human, and they're supposedly domesticated, then so will the creatures we plucked from the wild in order to "conserve" and mostly gawk at. Not complicated, folks. I'm sure something that would be pretty much isolated if people didn't have the urge to sprawl and claim land, fucking up the planet, isn't going to be too keen on humans. We killed the animals to damn near extinction. That doesn't mean we get to play gawk at the freaked out animals. Nothing likes to be put on display, poked and prodded at, dealing with strange people all the time, to be annoyed by sticky fingered people that insist on tapping on glass or screaming bloody murder when they spot the animal all the way at the other end of the enclosure because they've had enough.

Sorry, the dead and mauled get no sympathy from me. If you aren't aware that a wild animal, caged or not, is just that then you deserve to be bitch slapped by them. Locking them up does not domesticate any animal. It only stresses them out more.

I weep for humanity.

From The Bottom Of My Heart

Don't you dare make this place domestic.

So the vacation post will be coming when the world calms the fuck down for a minute. Until then, I have more Wrinkles news.

You see, because God has such a fabulous sense of humor, He's given Mama and the dog the same ailments. Until now. Oh, yes. There is a bigger joke out there now. You see, the senior pug is now a diabetic. That's right, for all you reading comprehension skilled people: she has the same disease I do. That also means we get to give her shots twice a day. She's on Vetsulin now.

Because, of course, the vacation from hell has outreaching tentacles of WTFery. Fantastic!

It's a snow time...

I have so much bullshit to write about my vacation from Hell, live and in stereo. Kinda, sorta. Okay, maybe not. But the point is that in the next couple days it'll be posted. I'm trying to catch my breath, since we've gone from WTFland to GTFOville back to WTFland so often that I'm seeing internet terms in my sleep.

But! There was one awesomely bright spot. Ninja Kitty loves and adores me right now. Actually, more than that, really. After being gone a week, she's keeping a close eye on me. Making sure I'm not leaving her again. Which, of course, I won't. Not until Spring Break (more will be explained on that in the long post of doom). Speaking of which, Misty Dawn, could you post the cut tags for Blogger? I know Livejournal's (who are now owned by a Russian company...haha! We ran SixApart's dumbasses out), but this isn't the same one. Though, I think Brad works over on this company now.

I missed Noelle so much. And she actually gave kisses. You have to understand that she rarely honors humans with that. Because we clearly have cooties. And I got to snuggle with her. And that's the first time....ever, I think. This is only the third time I've been away from her, and the longest. Most of the time it's Labor Day weekend.

I love my little dork. So very much. It's been two years since I got her. Well, was on Dec. 8th. It doesn't seem that long, but then, I can't remember all the parts of my life before her, either. Sometimes it's just nice to have something that you can love unconditionally, and they return the favor. And that's why I will kill and bury a bitch for hurting an animal. I do mean that too. I have plans, people. Devious really should have been my middle name.

Road Trip To Hell...

A picture of Marineland, Florida taken on 12/15/07.











Okay, so we left for Florida on Wednesday. All happy and ready to enjoy our vacation. We had about six hours sleep each the night before, so after I got us through the Atlanta traffic, I went to sleep in the backseat. I was just that tired. And my mom drove from about Jonesboro to Tifton. And then we had to stop. Why? Because our dog was having a heat stroke. Two hours in. I broke about 8 different traffic laws finding the local vet, on I-75 no less. I was aching for a ticket, but I didn't get one. Thank god.

I found the vet, and a good thing, too. Wrinkles's head was lolling to the side, and her tongue was turning purple. Let's put it this way. It resembled a chow's. The techs, who have never seen us before, rush in to save her. We're scared to death since she's 12, and that's old for a pug. She couldn't hold her stool, or walk. Literally, she could only crawl around. So, we're waiting for the vet to get there (it was lunch break), and in the meantime we're freaking out more. Thinking what kind of crackpot clinic did we land in. Mama's thinking the dog will die, and I'm holding out hope she'll live.

So they have to put her under anesthesia because she can't breathe, even with oxygen. We hope and pray, and leave when they suggest it since the dog had shitted a bit on the seat. And my jeans. Oh, right forgot to mention that. I look down and there's a big spot of shit on my jeans. And I didn't even care. I washed them off a bit, and then worried about the dog. When we had to get gas, I stopped and changed. Tossed the shit on jeans because if we ended up taking the rest of the vacation, who wants to put that in their car for seven days. Good thing they were my Wallyworld ones.

We find the recommended car wash and they wash off the seat and vacuum it for fifteen bucks which was good since the seat couldn't be used until it was cleaned. So we kill time with that (pre tossing of jeans), and then go get the gas, where the jeans came off. And after that, we were like "you hungry?"so I asked the attendant a good place to eat at. See, we hadn't eaten since about 10 and it was close to 4 by then. Yeah, I was brilliant for a diabetic, wasn't I? But we had been dealing with Wrinkles and the ER trip since 1:30. We park into Ruby Tuesday's three exits up and I notice that we missed the phone call from the vet. She's stable for now! And we can come see her if we want. We leave the restaurant (hadn't even made it in), and rush over. Puppy is awake, but groggy. They're in love with her, no surprise, and she's handling it okay. Which is awesome since she's never been in a kennel before. Oh, and they need to take some blood.

They're going to keep her overnight, so we need to find a place to stay. We go back to the restaurant and get some really good food. My dad calls and I'm filling him in on the events leading up to it. After awhile, the manager, who helped with mama's dairy issue choices, recommends the Holiday Inn next door.

Okay, it seems awesome. Except not so much. The curtains are like see through, and there is no heavier fabric to keep it dark. But okay, we can handle it. It wasn't that bad. Not really. Just, weird since we're on the bottom floor and everyone can see in. We had unpacked enough clothes and stuff to last the night and didn't cart everything in. We had said if the pup didn't make it, that we were turning around. No need to go on vacation while in mourning.

The doctor calls around 6. The bloodwork came back fine, very well in fact. They were surprised since the age of the dog. Go team us. And no, the pup doesn't have her vaccinations, because of severe allergic reactions. I mean, she shits and vomits for two weeks afterwards. And at that age, it's just not worth it. We're told to call in the morning and we'll see if she can go.

The next morning we're out the door by 10:30, ready to pick up the dog. There's a Starbucks in the parking lot (like literally it was about 20 feet from the motel), so we go get some pastries and coffee to go. Then we go pick up Wrinkles and while still groggy, she's okay. We're told to not use her harness unless absolutely necessary and to chuck the travel harness out since it was cutting off her air supply. Mama rides in the back with her, like she always does when it's her turn. And the total vet bill for oxygen, fluids, anathesia, eye drops, antibiotics, and general stuff? 236. Yes, that's like a fraction we were expecting. For all that, including Pill Pockets, and those are about 10 bucks. We wanted to take these people home with us.

If you're ever in Tifton and have an emergency, I fully endorse Quailwood Animal Clinic. The people are awesome. They even handfed Wrinkles chicken. We usually just feed her Purina Beneful (something the doc actually endorsed, too), but they spoiled the hell out of her. But Quailwood is like top notch.

We make it to St. Augustine, finally. In about three hours or less. I'm a speed demon and I can change lanes like no one's business. I mean, hey, I learned to drive in Atlanta. I can handle any traffic combat.

I'll continue the motel adventure tomorrow. This is already a book. But the moral of the story is that Wrinkles is fine.

Gub,gub, gub!

I'm falling into the pit of addiction. Someone throw me a rope, would ya? My head's nearly sunk, and frankly the pit smells funky, since all those other people are in it, too. And I think someone stole my shoe and gave me a potato sack instead.

Oh, shit. I think someone just farted. Good lord. Halp! Halp!

Just Another Second Childhood, Thanks

Okay, I know I've been MIA. Sorry, I've just been playing with my new crack. Well, it's an old one that I used for like two minutes before abandoning because I kinda wanted to hop in someone's pants, but anyway. Ahem. I have a confession to make:

I play Neopets.

That's right. The game made for ten-year-olds is now my obsession. I'm not quite all there, am I? Ah, well. At least I can play with my little stupid pet that has a petpet. *grins* So if I've missed, oh, say about four days reading the blogs? That's why. I'm catching up now.

In other news, I have a 91 in my math class, so I can pretty much bomb the final and still pass with the required C. Woohoo. And I got my Regents Test result, which is a Georgia educational requirement, and it was really, really good. You need a 61 in order to pass, and I got an 83. That's the reading comprehension anyway. Not bad, really. Almost 20 points higher. And I think the points go up to 99. It equals out to an 83% rounded up. Considering I wasn't even reading half of what was asked, I think I can comprehend what's going on.

On the writing test, the scale was 1-3. A 1 is failing, meaning you couldn't write if your life depended on it. A 2 is passing, the minimum, and is pretty average. A 3 is publishable. You have an hour to write about a topic that is given to you (there's a choice of four). There is three pages you have to fill, and you can skip lines (and is actively encouraged). I skipped lines until I got about to page three and realized I was going to run out of room so I stopped skipping lines, which is also allowed and encouraged. I received a 2, which means I passed both sections. That means I kinda kicked ass.

Now, to go to bed. I'm so tired. Or not. I meant to add that Pug Mom, your tat looks really pretty.

Rome on the range

I decided to buy Rome, instead of the mini series I wanted, because it was only 31.99 a season. (Never mind the woman behind the curtain waving away the fact she hasn't actually seen the show before, ever.) Now, that's way over my usual budget of 20 bucks, but it's normally a 100 a season and I like being thrifty. Anyway, I buy it, all excited because, hey, I could have like 30 new episodes or so to watch. Only, not so much. You see, season 1 has a whopping 12 and season 2 has 10. Why? Because HBO and the BBC's dumbasses don't know how to cut corners on budget and a 100 million a season is a bit much on budget.

And the networks explains so much, since both of the companies have really expensive priced DVDs. I mean, look at the Dr. Who. One season is around 80 bucks. Dude, if I had 240 dollars, I'd be buying a lot more inexpensive ones. Of course, I wouldn't buy anything without Rose, so what the hell do I care, but still. It's a major rip off. It makes a huge profit margin for the networks. Because it does not cost that much to make a DVD, or they would not be on sale regularly for like 15 bucks a season. Just saying.

That said...Amazon is having ONE HELL of a DVD sale. In the past week, I've bought 2 seasons of Charmed, two of Rome, and the movie Labyrinth for 97.95. That sounds like loads, right? But it's really not. Because normally, they would be 294.86. That's a massive difference. I'm telling you, I bargain shop so well. I will have loads to watch on vacation, if it all gets here in time. If not, I can take my Charmed ones, which I've seen but it's about a year, on vacation. Go me, go me.