You know what? I’m tired of crying. My eyes have been leaky since last Friday night and then this week I get a new round of fresh, bad, worse news.

Got a call on Tuesday from the lady that I still call Granny. Even though I got divorced 10 years ago, I kept the inlaws. Telling me that my former mother-in-law was in the hospital with cancer and it didn’t look good. I guess she’d felt pretty bad for awhile and thought she’d get better so she didn’t go to the doctor. She went into the hospital Sunday night and they found out that she was literally ate up with cancer.

This morning I’m at work and see there’s a message on my cell phone from a Texas number. It’s my exhusband, telling me that she just passed away. I called him back and talked to him for a few minutes. She was always good to me and every year when I’d go to Texas, I’d go see her. Except for this year. This year, my trip was wonky and I didn’t find time to slide by her house. I told myself I’d go next year.

So I’ve spent all day at work crying. Awesome. I’m trying to not freak out too much around Sweety because I know he must find it odd that I still think so much of the family I married into before him.

The funeral is on Saturday but it would be damn near impossible to get up there for it. I feel especially bad for her grandkids (my niece and nephew). They lost their Mama a few years ago and now this.

speak up!

We had to put Stinky Dog to sleep last night.

I came home from work and she had a good brushing and snuggled on the couch with me. We went to bed around 1 a.m. and Tiny Dog started growling from the bathroom (the room the girls stay in) and that was weird because she never growls at Stinky. I went in there and saw that Stinky was puking up foam. Felt her tummy and it was hard. In the minute and a half that it took me to google “bloated dog” she’d swelled up more and I was on the phone with the emergency vet clinic, getting directions to bring her in.

Sweety drove and I sat in the back with her. As soon as we walked in they swooped her up and took her in the back to xray her.

She was bloated and her stomach had done a complete flip so there was no blood supply going to her stomach or spleen. They had her medicated and sedated so she wasn’t hurting.

The options were surgery or putting her to sleep. It felt like the vet was trying to steer us towards not getting the surgery because of all of the complications that she said would probably be expected in a dog Tasha’s age (13 or 14). She said if we weren’t going to do the surgery that we should put her down quickly so she didn’t suffer any more.

So we did.

She was in a clear plastic bed type thing with oxygen being blown in her face and an i.v. in her paw with the pain meds. I petted her and sang to her what a pretty dog she was and that her mama loved her. Sweety tried to stay out of her line of vision because she was skittish around him and he didn’t want her to be freaking out her last few minutes because she saw him. It took less than 30 seconds from me telling the vet to put the medicine in until she was gone.

I was relieved that she went quickly. I’ve heard horror stories from people about how their pet suffered when it was put to sleep and I was afraid that she was going to look at me all terrified. She was trying to wag her tail up til the end and then her eyes closed.

The people at the emergency vet clinic were very nice. One of the women apologized to me for grabbing Tasha up so fast when we walked in but explained that she knew that she needed to be tended to right away. I was totally okay with that. I was afraid that they were going to make us fill out a bunch of paperwork and pay for the visit before they’d even see her.

They gave her back to us in a heavy white cardboard coffin and they’d taped a flower on the top of it. When we came home (while Sweety was digging the grave. btw, Sweety is a grave digging pro. perfectly rectangular hole about 3 feet deep. I guess he learned something from when his grandpa was in the funeral home business.), I opened the box to pet her and let Oliver and Oy see and sniff her so they’d know she wasn’t coming back. The vet’s office had put a flower behind her ear and put a pretty bandage on her paw where the i.v. had been and wrapped her bottom half in a little blanket.

It’s good that we went to the vet as soon as we realized that something was wrong. I’d hate to think that she hurt any longer than could be helped. I told Sweety that her memory ran about 7 minutes so hopefully, by the time the vet had her drugged up, she’d forgotten the ride to the hospital.

On Wednesday night we woke up and she’d peed in the bathroom and I saw a couple of blood clots in the pee. On Thursday she was eating and drinking just fine and peeing a lot but no blood clots. I thought she had a urinary tract infection and she had an appointment at the vet’s office this morning.

When I came home from work last night (Friday), I told her to not “pull a Chi Chi” and die from something freaky before we could take her to the vet the next day. I spent all evening watching her when she went outside to make sure she didn’t fall in the pool.

Sweety and I had talked that day about how we’d diaper her if need be and I was going to get diapers tonight after her vet visit. A small package if she had a UTI and the peeing all over was going to be temporary or a big one if the vet said she was just getting old and incontinent.

Sweety said that I seemed to be taking it better than he thought I would. This sounds weird, but I’ve been getting ready for it in my head all week. Awhile back, I decided that we were going to spoil her with love and not be mad when she was all barky or had an accident in the house. I figured that there was no telling how much longer she’d be around and I could shampoo my carpets after she was gone. When she’s had accidents in the house, we’ve just been petting her and telling her “it’s a bitch to get old, huh?” while we clean it up.

It kills me because (other than the bad pee incident) she seemed healthier than she had in a long time. More spry. Getting around without limping and eating her food at breakfast and dinner without me having to practically force feed her.

I’m glad that these last few days I spent extra time just snuggling with her and taking photos of her. That first photo where she’s alone? Last one taken of her. Thursday night. She’d just had a bath and was doing her clean “happy dance”. It’s morbid, but I told her to show pretty in case she didn’t have any more photos made. (Yes, people. I talk to my animals maybe more than average. Certainly more than Sweety realizes.)

She’s such a good girl.

speak up!

The party went well. Better than I expected.

The day before the party, I had my hair colored. I’d made the appointment on my way home from Texas and had planned on really putting blue streaks in it but decided to go with purple instead. I had my hair french braided right after getting it done so you couldn’t really see the color. Sweety noticed it as we were walking across a parking lot later that day. “Holy shit, it’s like I’m walking with Princess Narnia or something. That shit’s purple!”

Sweety wore his mask. When we walked up he didn’t have it on but it wasn’t hard to talk him into putting it on when he saw he would be the only person without one. And wouldn’t that be odd? Heh. I told him he could take it off after his first drink. He did. He also told me if I showed you the photo of him with the mask on that I might not have internet for much longer. So here! Sweety with his mask on his forehead!

I introduced everyone to tequila with a pickle chaser. Most of the people were skeptical that it would be good and had to be peer pressured into having the pickle. After, everyone agreed that it was the best way to drink tequila. The whole bottle was emptied and all the pickles were eaten. Great success!

Sweety found someone to talk to and I was the one who told him that it was time to go around midnight. Sweety is very animated while talking sometimes.

Here I am with the girl from work who invited me.

All in all, it was a nice evening but I will never do that again. I felt extremely uncomfortable being around a bunch of people that A) I didn’t know and B) Who were so much younger than us. I’m glad we went though because I got those kickass silver shoes out of it.

That dress?

Not the dress from the last post. (But I did wear the silver shoes. My feet hurt for two days afterwards. They looked great though!)

Have you ever bought something and said to yourself, “That’s going to fit in two weeks!”? Yeah. No. Bad.

I thought that I could lose 10 pounds and buy some sort of industrial strength titsling to bind my boobs in and I’d be able to tie that dress in the back and I’d be nice and perky above the ribbon. It just wouldn’t happen. I took the dress with me when I went to buy undergarments on Saturday (The day before the party. The best time to realize you are a walking wardrobe malfunction!). Sweety, bless his heart. I can always count on Sweety to tell me the truth. He confirmed that yes, my tits did look weird and then said he’d help me find a new dress.

I will give him credit for going into the dressing rooms with me to help zip the dresses up and not freaking out on me when I freaked out on him in the dressing room. I’m sure there’s nothing sexier than watching your wife ugly cry in her underwear because she can’t shimmy into any of the half dozen dresses that are there. (at that point, I told Sweety that I was getting ready to meltdown and we needed to go eat and then resume shopping)

When I told him my original plan of buying some sort of super-duper bra he said, “What the hell? Did you think you were going to wear your tits at earmuffs?”

speak up!

We are going to a masquerade party this weekend. Sweety is less than excited about it but I told him if I can go to Reno and spend a week with a stinky acquaintance of his that he can suck it up one evening and go to a party with me. The girl that invited me just started working there and seems pretty cool. The idea of dressing up and hanging around a bunch of other people where I only know one (well, two if you count Sweety) kind of makes me want to puke but I think I’ll live. He is thinking that I will not behave myself. I swear, I will.

The other time I gathered with work peeps was kind of crazy. Something I didn’t mention in that post – My tequila-drinking friend and I decided it would be a good idea to play chase in the house. He tackled me. And pretend tea-bagged me. So I bit his inner thigh like a pit bull and Sweety had to wrench me away. It was a night for the record books.

Sweety decided that we will have a safe word at the party and if I hear him say it that I am to immediately stop whatever I’m doing and leave. The word? Appaloosa. WTF? I asked him how the hell he was going to work that into a conversation. He said he wasn’t. If he feels like it needs to be said – I will hear him screaming it as he runs to the door. He also said he might not even feel the need to say it.

He is also very unenthused with having to wear a mask.

Today I got him a new shirt and tie. And mask. I guess I did okay because he didn’t say anything about the shirt or tie when he saw them.

See that dress? $20 at an outlet store! I am all for that. Those silver shoes may be the death of me. They are way high and when I look down at them on my feet, I instantly think “goat hooves! shiny goat hooves!”. Sweety said they look like they hurt. Eh, not too much. I’m keeping the tags on everything in case I find something I like as much that’s cheaper between now and the party on Sunday night.

speak up!

I’m innocently playing on the computer when I realize the niece is curled up into the fetal position on the floor beside me while whisper screaming “don’t hurt me!” as she rolls around with her hand over her ears.

What are you doing?

It’s called The Armadillo. I’m practicing.

Practicing for what?

If someone starts to attack you, you drop to the ground and do this.

*insert niece repeating The Armadillo*

Oh, no. If someone really attacks you – you need to punch them in the head or something. Don’t roll around while they kick you.

Aunt Anna, I can’t do that. It hurts my heart when I hurt someone else. Even if they’re being mean.

Tell you what, kid. If you’re ever attacked…fight back…escape…let your heart hurt and I’ll pay for your therapy to fix it later.

*insert niece flopping back on the floor to practice The Armadillo*

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I’ll read/reply to previous post comments later when I’m at a computer that’s not in the boonies. My Mom’s internet connections won’t open the comments page to even read them.

speak up!

My Mom has taken all the kids to the movie (Yes, movie. Only one screen. Karate Kid is playing. I’m boycotting it.) and Sweety is being super nice and mowing her lawn. I am supervising my hair brother (aka Mom’s spoiled chihuahua) from the safety of the house while my mind spins in circles.

This happens every year – about midway through our vacation I start to worry about work. That maybe I did something wrong and when I get back to work I’ll discover that I’ve been fired. WHY DO I DO THIS?

Is it because this is the only time of year that I don’t eat Xanax four times a week? Am I detoxing from that shit and extreme paranoia is a side effect? Gah. You know what? I don’t even have caffeine at work anymore because I don’t want to be alert when I’m there. I eat my little pill on the way to work and sleep with my eyes open all day long. And if something freaks me out during the day? Well, maybe I’ll take a bathroom break and chew one of those little blue bitches up on my way off the floor.

I’m already planning on going into work on my own time the day before I’m scheduled back to clear out email and anything that’s been left on my desk. This will also give me the chance to make sure all my passwords work so I’ll know I’m still employed.

speak up!