7.31.2012

"Could there be a God that would let this happen?!"


I love Steve Martin's "The Jerk".

If you've never seen it, then Netflix that shit immediately.

I'll wait.
Comic gold. Amiright?






Three days too long a wait? Fair enough. Anyway, in the movie, one of the scenes featured Steve Martin's character, Navin Johnson, watching an undercover film about illegal Mexican cat juggling.




Horrific stuff. Okay, that movie was made in 1979. Thirty-three years later, this happens:




Fortunately the kitties are fine, and I think we can all agree that this guy is a douche.
Now, no one here is pro-kitten juggling, but holy shit, is that not incredible?!

*mew mew*

Ugh. God. I'm sorry. I'm an asshole.

7.23.2012

Disgusting experiment

If you're eating, have a soft spot for animals, or get queasy easily, DON'T read this post! 
Fo' serious.


Hey, Troy.

Yeah?

There's a vulture in our front yard.

Really? Are you sure?
Sup?
Um, pretty sure...
You know, I've never seen one just hanging out like this before. What do you think it's doing?

Well, there's a dead raccoon in the front yard so...

What?!

Yeah, I noticed it yesterday when I was in the side yard cutting down a tree. (Yup. He's a total lumberjack.) The smell was intense!

Oh my god, I think I see it. Is it that flat looking thing near the walkway?

Troy leans over in chair to peer out window.
Huh. Looks like it moved a little since yesterday. Animals are probably doing a number on it.

That's disgusting.
I turn back to window to survey the scene.
Um, babe, there's like chunks of fur and entrails scattered around out there. This is too frickin gross. What should we do? Do you think we could call the city to come pick it up?

Well, we live in the county, so I doubt it.

What are we supposed to do then? Bag it?

Eh, there's like a million flies out there. Just leave it.

Leave it?

Yeah.

I can't just leave it. Are you crazy?!

It'll decompose in a few days.

So we're just going to have a festering raccoon shaped flesh sack decomposing in our front yard for the next week?!

Well, the sun should dry it out.

Ugh. Whatever. I'm going out there... and I'm wearing your shoes!

Fine.

.....    .....     .....     .....     .....

And go out there I did, wearing poor Troy's work boots out of spite, because...
 1. I'm not getting carcass on my shoes.
and
2. I'm a terrible girlfriend.

I like to fancy myself capable of dealing with some pretty gross stuff.
I mean, I've cleaned up vomit at bars, blood and feces in prison, and have seen a number of other pretty disturbing things just working where I do.
But to be honest, it wasn't so much the raccoon carcass putrefying in the hot Georgia sun that caused me to make a hasty retreat as it was the flies.

Image a host of buzzing, crawling, fat black flies. They've stuffed themselves to the point of bursting, yet are still cramming raccoon goo into their greedy little maws. There were so many that they gave the illusion that the body was moving, as their black mass scrabbled all over exposed raccoon guts...

.....    .....     .....      .....


Door slams.

Back so soon?

I left it. Thing was beyond repulsive. The flies would probably have tried to eat me anyway.

Thought so.

Shut up.

.....     .....     .....     .....     .....     .....

So now we are conducting an experiment to see just how much more dead a dead thing can get.

But, because I don't want to perma-gross anyone out. Here's a picture of an adorable raccoon for your viewing pleasure.
Sup? I'm cute and fuzzy!




Disgusting Update!








Now, because I have no filter and refuse to be the only one to have viewed such horror, here's a picture of the thing that's in our yard:

Yeah it's gross.
Quit whining, at least it's low resolution and you're not smelling it.

Week and a half later:

Never thought I'd be so excited to say: "Yay! Flies are gone."


And so with the help of my friends Baking Sunlight, Rigamortis, Shovel, and Piggly Wiggly Dumpster, The Great Decomposing of 2012 has finally come to an end.

Successful disposal!


Conclusion: Provided the creature is exposed to direct sunlight and temperatures in excess of 90 degrees, it takes 10 days for an animal weighting approximately 20lbs to reach a skeletal state of decomposition.
Yeah, I'm terrible.

Bathroom Break

Meet Elsie Lou the Puggle.
Favorite activities include: Eating, being comfortable, playing, puggle snuggling, and eating.
She's a little over three years old now.

This is her as a puppy:
If you aren't overwhelmed by a desire to cuddle, you may not have been granted a soul.
Thank God she was an adorable pup because potty training was a nightmare.
Almost every day some fresh new hell would be visited upon the floor... or the couch, shoes, cushions, whatever.
Our apartment was fully equipped with hazmat suits and a scrubbing station.
It took a full year before we could leave her at home with any real confidence. But today, she's fully grown and fully trained to know that outside is the place to do her business.

Unfortunately, just because she knows to go outside doesn't mean she knows how to be efficient. Which is generally why I'm late for everything...

It begins with sitting by the door and whining.

- "Mmhhmmmeeeee!"
(I gotta pee, dammit!)


(OMG! Finally!)


(I know I made it seem like I have to go right this second, and I do, I swear! But I need to find the perfect spot first...)


(Maybe over there would be better?)



(Might as well roll around since I'm out here...)

(Okay, okay. Time to get serious.)

(Wait! What's that over there?)

(Omigawd! Is that grass?!
I FRICKIN LOVE GRASS!)


(Must...roll...on...grass...)

(Ah! It's so good!)
*roll roll wiggle*




(Huh, you look kinda mad...)


(Pffft! Fine, I'll go.... *sigh* always gotta ruin my fun)

(Whatever. Leave me alone. I'm just gonna lay here and pout.)
And fifteen minutes later I've got a huffy puggle and am seriously late for work...

7.13.2012

Maybe this will help you fall asleep.

Parole Officer.


6:30AM: The alarm on my phone starts playing. Tone is "April Sunshine." I turn it off, making a bargain with myself to allow "just ten more minutes", which often turns into fifteen. Sometimes thirty.

7:00AM: Grudgingly leave the comfort of my bed. Toes stretch and curl on the wood floor. Throw on old bathrobe, bright pink, and shuffle into the kitchen to let the dog out.
Invariably, Elsie will run and jump on me. Tail wagging maniacally. Licking at my hands as I stoop to pet her.  After about five seconds of morning greeting, she trots off to make a flying leap onto my bed. I know I shouldn't allow her up there, but it keeps her out of my hair while I do my makeup.

7:10AM: Turn on radio to "Lex and Terry". Start coffee pot. Pee.

7:12AM: Stare at self in mirror while washing hands. Contemplate fine lines on forehead and zits on chin. Is hair thinning? Sigh. Wash face, apply Proactive, then Kroger's knockoff Aveeno moisturizer.
Brush out hair.
Instant frizz.
Run brush through water to dampen hair.
Separate, twist, and pin up hair.
Hairspray.

7:15AM: Retrieve magic bag from second drawer. (Makeup bag) Apply foundation. Powder. Notice that face looks a little pale. Rouge it up. Lip balm. Mascara.

7:25AM: Walk to bedroom to change. Glance at clock on the way. Cuss.
Make promise to self to get up on time tomorrow.
Put on the 511 pants and black polo that make up work uniform. Thread belt through pant loops and crime fighting accessories. Stuff more things into pockets.
Call dog to go outside. Elsie sleepily crawls out from under comforter. Appears reproachful that I am disturbing her.

7:30AM: It's raining. Grab umbrella and take Elsie out. Silently begging her to hurry up and pee. And then not so silently. Finally she pees.

7:40AM: Back inside. Feed dog. Close door to keep her in back room. Pour coffee into giant 34ozmug. Add creamer. Briefly consider the time implications of making toast. Accept that I'm going to be late anyway. Make toast. One slice. Peanut butter.

7:43AM: Purse on shoulder, keys in hand, toast balanced on mug in other hand. Umbrella under arm. Lock house door. Put keys in pocket. Flick umbrella open. Attempt to avoid puddles on way to car. Fail. Put mug with toast on roof of car. Open car door. Almost forget about mug/toast. Get settled in car. Ignition.

7:45AM: Turn on radio. Still playing "Lex and Terry". Hear an off-color joke. Smile. Pull out of driveway. Drive across town to work.

7:47AM: Consume toast. Commute scenery goes from middle class to rich to ghetto to commercial.

8:05AM: Arrive at work. Congratulate self for only being five minutes late. Say "Morning" to everyone I see. Except that one guy I don't like. Take a swig of coffee as I walk past his office to avoid acknowledging.

8:06AM: Check e-mail.
Two of my people have been arrested, both for felonies. Read police report. Print.

8:10AM: Begin teaching what they call a "Moral Recognizance Therapy" class. Silently laugh at the fact that a young white chick is trying to teach older, street hardened men how to live a productive, crime free life.


9:00AM: Class ends. Time for field supervision. Grab state car keys, coffee mug, clipboard, and GPS.
Glance out window. Still raining. Take umbrella.



9:05AM: Ignition. Gas light dings.
Instantly irritated.
Drive to gas station. Fill up tank.

9:15AM: Drive, drive, drive. See five, maybe six people at their residences/places of employment/street corners. Try to see more, but are not home/at work/phone is turned off.

11:50AM: Start contemplating lunch.

12:01PM: Receive phone call from local shelter advising that one of my parolees has just tested positive for cocaine, and can I come deal with it? Assure them that I will be on my way shortly. Look at clock, realize lunch won't be happening today, call to request warrant.


12:45PM: Warrant finally drops. Ride over to shelter with co-worker. Arrest parolee. He talks the entire way to the jail. Mostly bullshit.

1:15PM: Back at office. Enter arrest information into computer. Remember that I have two more people at the jail. Sigh.

2:00PM: Back to the jail. Interview both parolees. One is charged with trying to cash a bogus $4,000 check. 1st Degree Forgery. Claims ignorance. Second parolee is charged with Distribution of Cocaine. "Allegedly" sold six rocks to criminal informant. Also claims ignorance.
Mental note: both these guys are going back to prison.

3:30PM: Leave the jail. Receive phone call from a parolee I had missed earlier. He's home. Drive over to house to confirm residence.

3:55PM: Back at office. Record the day's interactions into computer.

4:30PM: Work day is over. Collect coffee mug, purse, and umbrella. Rain has finally stopped. Humid. Sunglasses immediately fog up once outside. Car. Ignition.

4:32PM: Drive home in reverse. Commercial, ghetto, rich, middle class. School buses are still dropping kids off. Children are everywhere.

5:00PM: Home. Note that Troy's car is also home. Trudge up back steps. Door is locked. Wonder for the millionth time why he must lock the door when he knows I'll be home shortly. Fish for keys. Unlock. Dog jumps all over me. Yell, "Hey, honey."
Hang up purse, umbrella. Set coffee mug in kitchen. Begin to pull off boots.
Troy comes out from being on the computer in the living room. Picks up Elsie. Gives me a kiss.
"Hey babe."

5:10PM: Ask Troy about his day. Invariably it's "fine". Change out of sticky work clothes and into cotton dress. Ask if dog needs a walk. She always needs a walk.

5:15PM: Grab doggie bags. "Sit!" Elsie sits, but still wiggles. Attach leash. Dog immediately bites leash and begins a game of tug o' war. Walk out back door, back down steps.

5:30PM: Walk dog around neighborhood. Comment on tide. Today it's high and the marsh looks awesome.
It's embarrassing, but while we walk we both talk as though we're Elsie. In baby voices. And then answer her silly doggie questions as though she's actually said something. Dumb? Yes. But we always laugh.
Talk about how our days went. Troy's a mechanic and will generally expound on mechanical issues he's had at work. I try to follow, but generally wind up staring off into space.

6:00PM: Back home. Proceed to mess around on computer/read.


6:30PM: Go to fridge. Contemplate dinner options. Chicken is still frozen so it looks like it'll be fish. There's also half a Hot 'n' Ready pizza on the second shelf and a case of Miller Light has miraculously appeared. Apparently Troy fixed something for someone and they paid him in beer.


6:35PM: Warn Troy about the ghetto meal I'm about to serve up. Baked fish and cold pizza. He laughs and grabs a beer.

6:45PM: Oven set to 425F. Fish gets dredged in a parmesan cheese/italian breadcrumbs mixture and placed on tinfoil covered pan. I silently congratulate myself for remembering to grease it this time. For a touch of class I throw some canned mushrooms on top of fish and put in oven for ten minutes.

6:55PM: Feed dog. Grab beer and head out to couch to read gardening books. Troy is looking up truck parts on CraigsList. Look out window from my spot on couch at the patches of dirt and crabgrass that make up our front yard, then back to pictures in gardening book, then back to front yard. Make a mental note to really tackle the yard... next year. After this unbearable heat subsides.

7:00PM: Elsie trots into the living room. Springs up onto couch and tries to lay on my stomach, book and beer be damned. Beer almost spills. Oven beeps. Book is set aside. Dog is pushed off couch.




7:01PM: Pull fish out of oven and cold pizza out of fridge.
Announce to Troy, "Dinner, such as it is, is served."

7:05PM: We pile plates with hot cod and cold pepperoni, grab two new beers and navigate our way to the couch. Netflix has recently delivered "21 Jump Street". It provides a nice escape. We laugh. Elsie vies for a piece of fish.

8:30PM: Movie is over. Troy takes the dog out, I take a shower. Computer it up for a few hours. Troy logs some time playing video games, then showers.


10:00PM: Drag myself to bed. Tired but can't sleep. Fire up kindle and begin playing word games. Brain finally tires of working, admits defeat and shuts down for the day.



10:30PM: Sleep.

Rinse. Repeat.