Things I learned this weekend:
1)It is possible for smells to make me gag. This is not an issue I've encountered before, I really thought with the dog that I had seen it all previously.
2) Candles can not cover or eliminate every smell up
3)While Star absolutely loves Amish roasted cow bones, the love stops at her intestines. Her intestines protest the cow bones (or perhaps the brine I didn't notice it was soaked in) violently, prolonged-ly, and at really inconvenient times. And alot.
She had her bone (and the remaining ripe tomatoes on my vines, sigh) Saturday night. I got her the bone as a distraction because i was having company and wanted her outside for most of the time. This part of the plan was a raging success.
However.
Saturday morning, she must have noticed I had a mild hangover. It was looking to be pretty fierce at one point, I won't lie; I overdid it Saturday night but after the first bottle of champagne everything else seems like such a good idea. Anyhow, I woke up at about 5am Sat, noticed the state of affairs in my head and pounded 2 glasses of water, a B/C vitamin complex and some advil, then headed back to bed to sleep through the rest of the potential trouble. Or so I thought.
I woke up at 7am with dog lurking over me suspiciously, most so because I had made her sleep on the floor due to something filthy she had rolled in that I didn't have time to wash off. My first thought was "fuck, get off my bed you dirty bitch, I just washed these sheets"
My second thought was "Ow, my head still hurts a little but at least I don't feel nauseous. Go Vitamin B!"
My third thought was a combination of things, but it went a little like this:"Why is the dog staring at me and not trying to get under the covers, what's that noise, OH SHIT" as I figured it out all at once, which was precisely the same time she began puking. On me and my bed. Hot, recycled beef bone, mixed with a lovely fresh tomato compote. I tried shoving her off the bed, but she was remarkably sure footed considering the state she was in so all I could really do was try to get out of the way, which was a half successful measure but I was able to eventually at least get out of the bed just in time for my gag reflex to kick in. I really cannot describe the smell, but suffice it to say that the dog and I communed on a whole new level and became as one for a few minutes during which we were both retching, wretched souls. Then she went off to downstairs, ostensibly to get some water to take care of her nasty puke breath, leaving me to deal with the stinking, steaming pile of vomit she left me. Sick dude.
So that being done, I went downstairs only to be simultaneously horrified by the state of my house- 3 wasted girls with power tools and pumpkins can make a serious mess- and the fact that my puke ass bastard dog was now PISSING BY THE BACK DOOR. Apparently all that gagging really worked up her water. So I opened the door, sent her out and took to dealing with that mess, as well as the pumpkin guts everywhere. I also made the mistake of saying "what next" DON'T EVER TEMPT FATE LIKE THIS! this is the part of my life that should be serving as a cautionary tale for friends. Just take your licks when they come. if you ask if there can be more, you will certainly be shown that there is. I know better than this, but I slip sometimes. After all, I'm only human.
Anyhow. I get the piss cleaned up, the floor gets a cursory mop (as much as I can stand the smell of the swiffer wet anyway) and the dog gets allowed back in. By this time, I've worked up a little sympathy for her, so I jump up on the couch and invite her up to cuddle- frankly we can both use a hug at this point. So she comes up and I'm enjoying the smell of dog close by, when I notice another little funk. I'm looking around, wondering if my mind had temporarily blocked out the worst of the puke smell and was now serving it up since I had developed coping skills (how sweet mind, thank you! this is really what I thought/hoped) when I realize it's not puke. What I smell is poo. I begin to absolutely panic, because if the dog is shitting on me I will totally lose it, when I notice that she isn't shitting on me. However, in her unsupervised, post nausea outdoor misery she had STEPPED IN SHIT AND TRACKED IT BACK IN AND ALL OVER MY HOUSE. and my couch. and me.
le sigh.
So outside we go, for a thorough foot washing and a deposit of my shitty clothes. Another cursory mop of her path through the house, and thankfully, finally, an excuse to get rid of the stupid couch cover I had been hating but hadn't gotten around to taking off. Then to the showers with me, because at this point I feel like a damn WWII nurse, I have so much fluid and "stuff" on me.
I come down, again the damn house smells funky. FUCK. now what? <-- see how I did it again? I tempted fate? I'm running all over sniffing, and I know something is up because the dog looks ashamed and I smell something. She's clever though, I'll give her that. I eventually figured out she had puked more, but hidden it well on the brown parts of my ghetto fabulous IKEA oriental rug. I discovered this through the tried and true method of walking around barefoot and stepping in it. Exactly at the moment it begins to register what just happened, I think "ok, more puke. Ick, but this must be it", I notice the dog -by this point now encased firmly atop a pile of my clothes on my friendly local armchair - is rearing up to puke again. And puke she did, all over my chair, all over my clothes, and all over herself. I can't even hate her at this point because she's clearly miserable but FUCK!!!!
So I get this latest installment of mess sorted and leave the house, because I just can't deal and I need to go have breakfast with people. The rest of the day consisted of me stopping at home and cleaning up more puke, then leaving again. Last night consisted of me waking up roughly every hour to the dog retching, tackling her and making her puke in a bowl- you would be surprised how bowl averse a puking dog is, but I could not, NOT, stand the idea of more bodily fluids on my house. I felt like Florence fucking Nightingale, without all the noble purpose. She finally seemed to stop around 5am, which is when I'm supposed to get up. Supposed to. After the last round, she was laying half out of her bed in the most pathetic looking position so I thought I would join her and pat her head a little and we both crashed out until 6.
And so now here I sit, running late, hugging my coffee cup and totally unprepared for the week to come. Is it Friday yet??
Hates the paparazzi
It's like 6ftx6ft. There's also a smaller one I am contemplating as a possible room divider for my dining room. I could wall off the little area where I work and make a fake office type nook. And have local places to store my work crap.
