Let It Bleed And Bleed (Pt. II)

How much red can a red dog red if a red dog keeps peeing red?

Zoe is showing signs of improvement, but not as much as I would like. Fortunately, she doesn't seem to be in much pain. It's getting a bit tiresome cleaning up bloody urine and washing dog towels all the time. Even when we're home, she doesn't always let us know she needs to go outside. I think she just can't control herself. And meanwhile Gina looks scared every time we come home and there is pee on the floor. The cats seem to have picked up on her illness because they stand very close to her, sniffing and looking concerned. It's a bit stressful at our home. B has the day off, so I'm taking comfort in the knowledge that everyone is getting a lot of love and attention today.

Let It Bleed. And Bleed. And Bleed.

Yesterday was filled with stress. The kind where it feels like an elephant is sitting on you. Even when you're able to hold the moment at arms length, examine it, reason with it, and you know it's going to be ok regardless. But the shit just keeps coming, like you slipped on the one turd holding it all in place. Aside from the time I spent with my lady friends after hours, I'd have just canceled yesterday all together. ("Everyone go home. Today's been canceled. It's much to shitty.")

My dog has a urinary tract infection. In case you haven't experienced this before, let me give you a little head's up: pints of coagulated blood-laced urine are perfectly normal.

I came home from rehearsal Monday to discover what looked like the scene of a crime, and by the look on my German shepherd's face, you'd have thought she committed one. I suspected it may have been a UTI, which is the only reason I didn't completely freak. I assumed it was my shepherd, because she's been on steroids for arthritis in her hip. Prednisone makes dogs (and humans) very thirsty, they drink a lot, and they have to pee more frequently. I thought maybe the medicine was causing her organs to failure. We thought, this is it. I examined her and thought I saw remnants of dark pee. Regrettably, I did not examine my red dog. Long story short and $200 later, we discover the wrong dog has been taken to the vet and subsequently had to endure a stressful experience, while the sick dog was at home, trying to push pee out so hard that we later discovered may have caused what looks like a broken blood vessel in her eye.

Yuck. Ow. Sweet Jesus.

So we've been cleaning up bloody pee and running load after load of laundry, waking up at all hours of the night, cleaning up more bloody pee and letting the dog out and in and out and in for the last three days.

The good news is, Zoe has only taken 2 rounds of antibiotics and she's already showing major improvement. She even did the crazy mad dash in the house when I called her in this morning, tail wagging. And there was a lot less pee to clean up tonight too. I am truly relieved.

*******

My review has been rescheduled. Will any potential raise be retroactive to the year anniversary of my start date, nearly two months ago? Outcome unlikely.

*******

Spring is just around the corner, Friends. Winter hasn't bled all my hopes dry. Good things are on the horizon, even if it feels a bit tight at the moment.

Now You're Messing With

An angry bitch! Remember the review I prepared for a week early? It was rescheduled. For today. At 2pm. At 1:59, I was informed that one of the FOUR people who is supposed to participate called in sick and we will now reschedule for a third time. Evidently this information couldn't have been relayed to me in a timely fashion, say at the beginning of the day when they first found out. Normally I would take this in stride and not be boiling over with the fury of 1000 Hells Angels, as I am right now, if it weren't for the fact that I completely abandoned my husband today to deal with an emergency pet situation. One that involved blood and a healthy dose of fear and transporting our beloved creature back and forth to the vet's office, a good 25 minutes from our home. Causing him to be out a half day's work, when his hours have already cut. The pet situation is under control, however my temper could use a little work.

What's Going On

I shouldn't be allowed to watch or read the news before I'm fully awake. I'm much too sensitive for this kind of thing even at my best moments. I should give myself plenty of time to slip on that thick layer of skin before I face the world and it's saturated news market capitalizing on the misfortune of others and sensationalizing the minutest of details.

There was another random shooting at a college yesterday. All I have to say about that is: What the f#ck people?! Get a hold of yourselves! And then a twenty second blurb about how a satellite we put in space may come crashing to the earth. But rest assured, NASA's got everything under control. They're just going to fire a couple missiles at it to break it up into smaller pieces first.

So if you're out for a stroll and you happen to see a piece of metal fall from the sky, chances are the pieces weren't small enough to disintegrate upon entering our atmosphere, and you might want to get out of the way.

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After all this good news, I caught a few minutes of the Curious George cartoon. I'd like to end with an actual quote from this episode:

"George and Jumpy played nut hockey till the sun went down."

Um...

The Mess Around

I took my sweet time getting up this morning, lounging around, drinking coffee, slowing waking to the world. I knew we'd be late, but the roads were slick and there were flannel sheets on my bed. Finally I dressed and was just about to walk out the door, when I realized I have my first annual review at work today. It was too late to turn back on that shower I swore off for the second day in a row, but I scrounged up some better looking clothes (translation: jeans without holes, a decent shirt tossed in the dryer for a few minutes to get out most of the wrinkles) and tied my hair in a knot. I put in my contacts and applied make-up in the car while B. drove us into the city.

Now I'm at work and I've just realized:
a) I forgot to brush my teeth
b) there are stains (coffee?) on my jeans


***************

I ran errands on my lunch break that took a bit more time than I expected, turning my hour long lunch into an hour-and-a-half long lunch. I race-walked the 4 blocks back to the office, threw down my coat and bag and headed to the bathroom to tidy up before my review. Then I came back to my desk to double check the time for our meeting.

It's for next Wednesday.

Do Right Woman

This morning, as I was staring disapprovingly at the flesh bulging out from my jeans, lamenting the exercise I desperately need, if for no other reason than to simply keep my bones from melding together, I had the nerve to wonder how this happened.

Later when I got to work, there was a giant cookie cake sitting in front of the coffee maker. Before I could register what I was doing, I squealed, "Sweet! Cookie cake!" and gobbled down a piece.

Oh. That's how that happened.

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They brought in Kentucky Hot Brown for lunch, along with broccoli soup so thick it could double as cheese dip. God help me.

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Ok, I had some of the soup, but I passed on the hot brown. Get off my back already.

A Fine Romance

Indeed. B & I rented a little cabin in the County o' Brown this past weekend, otherwise known as the "We Don't Have A Baby...Hooray!" weekend extravaganza. But in fact, we have 5 fuzzy ones, two of whom we brought on our trip. Next time, we'll think better of that. Aside from the fact that this is the first trip we've taken in three and a half years, since our honeymoon, for no other reason than to just "spend time together," we've spent the last couple months looking forward to this trip for mainly two reasons: fireplace and hot tub.

We arrived at the cabin to find the driveway, which was curvy and steep, completely iced over. Unable to drive the car to the top, we were forced to unload two elderly, arthritic dogs and all of our weekend belongings at the base of the hill. Six periling trips up and down the driveway of Mount Everest later, as I'm balancing delicately on the ice to extract the last few items from my vehicle, a big truck with a plow pulls in and a young man jumps out. "They told me to come down here and bust up your ice a bit so you could get up the drive." Don't bother, I tell him. We're finished.

Once inside, we unpack and settle in for our weekend of frivolity. We made a delicious dinner of filet mignon, broiled to perfection, spinach salad and baked potato. Nearly comatose from food, we decide this would be an excellent time for a dip in the hot tub. This is, after all, one of the main reasons we're here. Excitedly, we rip off our clothes, dig up our robes and race outside, tearing the lid off the hot tub.

The water was tepid. After searching frantically for a temperature dial, hopping from one foot to the other in hopes we don't freeze to the deck, we gave up for the night and decided to call the realty office in the morning. We weren't fit for public consumption at that point in the evening anyway.

The next morning, a maintenance man was sent to reset our hot tub and drop off a space heater, since the wall heater in the bathroom didn't work, and given that it's separated from the rest of the cabin by a closed door and another room, it was a balmy 20 degrees in there.

Fine, minor interruptions, but we carry on in good spirits.

Then, at approximately 4:30 in the afternoon, B looks out the window just in time to see a young couple walk up to the front door of our cabin and knock. If they would have been just 3 minutes earlier, this would have been quite a bit more embarrassing than it already was. Apparently, they stayed there recently and left behind their little hand-held gaming device. (Who the hell brings video games to a CABIN in the WOODS?!) They said the realty office told them there were "just cleaning people" here and they could come by to look for it. B, a bit flustered, let's them in and they're all apologies and smiles as they root through our piles of blankets and pillows strewn about. They chatter on nervously about their trip to the cabin, ("Yeah, we were just chilling on the couches when we lost it," the guy offers. "We got engaged here," the girl bubbles.) as I stand there looking, I'm sure, a bit stunned and wondering if they're going to pull out a pair of my panties from the crevices of the couch. What I wanted to say to her was, "Yeah? Well we are married. And let me tell you what happens when married people finally get what's supposed to be a private weekend to themselves..."

Instead, feeling self-conscious in B's over-sized fleece vest I'd thrown on over the skimpy sheer white tank I was wearing–braless, because that's how we married folks do it–I retreated to the second floor. Once they were gone, we just sort of stared at each other in astonished silence for a few seconds. I chose that time to call the property manager and inform her that our hot tub was still not hot and oh, by the way, total strangers just showed up at our secluded doorstep on her office's suggestion that they just drop by to look for their belongings. For this, we received merely the reassurance that our hot tub would be heated appropriately in time for use this evening and surely these people showed up on their own accord, because "no one from our office would say that." At least she seemed almost as irritated as I was about the unexpected intrusion, though a little compensation off our bill would have really sent home her tone of concern.

All this aside, we had a lovely time. Instead of sticking around the area for a little site-seeing or dilly-dallying, we drove straight home, in record time. We were surprisingly, absurdly happy to be back in our cozy, cluttered home.