Groomer Infidelity

Like all women of a certain age who refuse to let their hair go "au naturale", I'm forced to visit the hair salon every three weeks to have touch ups on my roots. If not, I turn into Skunk Woman. The roots are blindingly white against my formerly natural reddish brown hair. My hair guy, Crazy D, (who's really not crazy...I just like to call him that because there are some who think he is) says I could wait longer between visits but when I look in the mirror, all I see is white where ever my hair parts. I wanted to go every two weeks but Crazy D refused to do it. He said there wasn't enough outgrowth (even though I see miles) and he was afraid it would do damage or some such nonsense. To me this speaks volumes about his character and ethics. After all, it would be way more financially beneficial to him if I went every two weeks.

So anyway, D has a new salon. Really nice place in a recently remodeled building with two other stores. One is still empty, and the other is a dog grooming shop.

Since gaining my inheritance....aka/Jasper.....aka/The Money Pit...aka/Little Cyclops...(as noted in a previous blog)  I've been forced to use the services of a dog groomer.  Originally I was taking the little guy to the same groomer he started with. The same groomer who made fun of me (rightly so) when I tried to clip him myself. I thought for convenience sake, I could take him to get his hair groomed right next door to my hair guy. We could both get our hair done at the same time. Great idea, right?? The guilt starts as soon as I make the first appointment. I'm being disloyal.

The new place is really big and nice, and doesn't smell like wet dog. There're really big kennels for the dogs to wait after they're done being prettied up. I try to make myself feel less guilty by telling myself it's better for the dog...I still feel guilty.

Anyway, I drop Jasper off at the new place, and go next door to get my roots colored. Both appointments usually take a couple of hours. I'm sitting there gabbing with Crazy D, and the other lady who rents a booth from him. She's new and I don't really know her but she seems nice enough. I always have a good time at D's. Not this time. After about half the color is applied to my head, in walks the old dog groomer with all three of her kids. The new lady is old groomer's hairstylist and she's here for haircut for the family. The ground didn't open up and swallow me and swallow me whole  so I guess God didn't hear my prayers...or the answer was no...either way, I was so fucked...and totally sure I was being punished for being disloyal..

Sweat pours off of me under the plastic drape and I go instantly from laughing & joking to being weirdly silent. My happy switch has been turned off and I've turned into a paranoid freak on the verge of throwing up. I just know D is going to unknowingly spill the beans about my groomer infidelity. He doesn't know that this new customer is my old groomer & I'm terrified he's gonna let the cat out of the proverbial bag. To his credit, I think he put two & two together when she told the story of my inept clipping job... to which I manage a weak laugh agreeing that I was, indeed, stoopid to do it. Please God, I'm prayin', get me out of here. Again...no response. Maybe it would've helped if I'd gotten down on my knees, but at the time it seemed like that would only draw questions from the other people in the shop. It was the longest hair appointment of my life.

When it's finally over I manage stilted, barely audible good byes and practically run out the door. The three shops share a communal parking lot which all windows face. I find out, while calling from said parking lot...in the safety of my car, that Jasper isn't quite ready. So I drive out and decide to go to the grocery store to waste some time. Food is my comfort...it's also the reason my jeans are too tight...kind of a trade off.

Strolling the grocery isles I have a brief, albeit rare, flash of brilliance. I'll use the old entrance off the back street to get my dog. No one will see me. I feel physical relief when I think of this.. Duh, why didn't I think of this earlier instead of acting like a trapped rat??? After buying chips (Lays), chocolate (Dove), and Diet Pepsi to wash everything down with, I leave the comfort of the grocery store, drive down the side street and park in front of the building...and there I find a giant sign on the door that says "No Entrance"...and it's so far away from the other side of the building that even if I knock, there's no way anyone's going to hear me over all the fans, blow dryers, and barking dogs.

My mouth starts fill with saliva, like it does just before you barf...great, I think.. I'm gonna throw up, I know it. I tried to sneak around the side of the building on foot but there was a fence around the parking lot...and no gate. WTF???? How come there's never a fucking' building code when you need one? If it was me building a fence, I know there'd be some stoopid building code requiring a gate every ten feet. Or some equally idiotic and arbitrary rule requiring the fence be climbable so people wouldn't hurt themselves trying to break in. This was a wrought iron fence...with pointy things on top. Given my age and level of un-physical fitness, it was non-climbable.

So now it's time to put on the big girl panties, suck it up, and drive back into the parking lot. Act like an adult. I manage to disguise myself by resting my elbow on the door and shielding my face from the sun with my hand. I'm sure nobody recognized me. I get out of my car and make my way into the groomers shop boldly walking to the central staircase connecting the three shops looking down nonchalantly the entire way while digging frantically in my purse for absolutely nothing. Aside from the hyperventilating and sweat covering my upper lip, I'm sure I looked perfectly normal.

Really.

The groomer, a young gay kid whose name I don't even know gasps in horror when I tell him my woeful tale of groomer infidelity. I don't even know this poor kid and here I am babbling like an idiot to him. I wonder what he thought? He actually gasped in horror, literally, the way you'd imagine only a gay guy could...complete with his hand over his mouth, eyes bugging out..I nearly laughed out loud...it was almost worth the whole adventure.

The last and most ridiculous thing I did. I kid not. I tried to hide the dog under my shirt when I left and walked down to my car. Now, even for a small dog, he's way too big to fit under my shirt as evidenced by the fact that his feet and tail were sticking out. The only part I was able to cover was his head and neck. Why would I even attempt that?

Why am I such a weenie about this stuff? Why can't I change groomer's if I want to? It's my money, isn't it? So why do I feel guilty and disloyal?

God forbid I ever think I need a new hair stylist. I'd feel so disloyal I'd have to move to another town just to avoid running into him, otherwise I'd be living in a constant state of paranoia. I'm actually starting to feel ill just thinking about it... it's the stoopidist thing.

P.S. I wonder what the dog thought when I shoved him under my shirt?

Stoopid Thing I Did

I did this years ago, proving that not only am I stoopid now, I've always been stoopid.

Once upon a time, I had a little VW Bug. It was a fun car to drive and cheap on gas. Anyway, I stop at the local mini mart to get gas. Park the car at the pump and go in to pay for my gas (this was pre-ATM, pay at the pump days...many moons ago...). So, I go be boppin' in to the store, all fat, dumb and happy, give the clerk my money, walk back out to my car and stand there for a while waiting for the tank to fill up.

Finally done. I put the pump handle back and get into the bug...still all fat, dumb, and happy, look down and see that I forgot to zip my pants up and the tail of my bright turquoise blue, tucked in shirt is sticking out of my fly for all the world to see (I should note here that this was a brief time in my life when I was able to wear a shirt tucked into my pants...pre muffin top days so to speak).

I'm sure everyone was pointing and laughing....hell, I had to laugh. Here I was thinkin' I'm Joe Cool and all the while, I'm just a huge goober.

Looking back, it's painfully obvious that I've never been cool....it's the stoopidist thing.

One Eyed Jasper

A few weeks ago I came home right before dark. All the dogs, Jasper, Roxie, and Briley, who's quickly becoming renamed the Cartoon Dog, run to greet me. They're always overjoyed to see me. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside when I think about it. Then I feel guilty when I get annoyed because they're in my way...

The Cartoon Dog is hopping up and down in front of me, I swear she's got springs in her legs and every jump seems to say "Hi, Hi, I'm so glad you're home!!! I can't control myself I'm so happy to see you! That's why I'm jumping all over trying to get your attention!" I feel guilty for all the times I spoke crossly, scolding her to get down and vow to be more patient in the future. I know I'll fail miserably sometimes...but I'll keep trying.

Roxie is the Princess.,,she's the most polite and well mannered dog anyone could want. Roxie plays with the Cartoon Dog. She's exceedingly patient with her, shaming me for my impatience. Occasionally the Cartoon Dog will overstep her bounds and Roxie'll pin her down & show her, quite literally, who the top dog is.

Then there's Jasper, the former inside boy who's now an outside dog. Jasper hates the Cartoon Dog. She tries to play with him but he wants no part of her. When he tries to nip her she just laughs at him and runs off, racing in circles around him. Jasper loves it when Roxie pins the Cartoon Dog down...he rushes over and acts like he's part of the top dog action.

Anyway, it's almost dark and the dogs are outside the car door, blocking my way into the house, as usual. The Cartoon Dog sniffs Jasper and he snaps at her. It's a strange sounding snap and I notice the difference. The Cartoon Dog notices it too and backs off. But, I'm in a hurry, also as usual,and go into the house to get their dinner ready. After eating, everyone canine comes in and sacks out on their respective beds in the living room. All's right with the world, or so I thought.

Next day I get home and the scene repeats itself, including Jasper snapping at the Cartoon Dog. This time when he snaps at her I see a flash of red underneath the bangs hanging over his eyes. So now I'm thinking, great, he's cut his eye, wondering how much this is going to cost me. So I run in and put my ice cream in the freezer, come back call him over which immediately causes the Cartoon Dog to rush over, because heaven forbid another should get attention without her getting her fair share. I'm holding the Cartoon Dog at bay with my left hand and lift up Jasper's bangs to see how bad the cut is and there under the hair is his eyeball hanging out of the socket...

Talk about gruesome scenes. It was like a horror comedy movie. I couldn't fucking believe it. Here's this poor little dog running all over the property, acting like nothing's wrong...with his eyeball hanging out. I wondered briefly, between shudders, if he could still see out of it.

(I realize that's wrong on so many levels. But if you stop and think about it, if it still worked, he could see what's behind him while he's running, or...  I'll stop now., but the possibilities are endless.)

Of course these things never happen during normal business hours, when my vet is in the office but fortunately there's a 24 hr. vet in a nearby city. So, I call and tell them I'm on the way. After a brief, but inevitable, wait in the lobby, we're escorted to the exam room.

The tech on duty seems nice and asks me when I discovered the eyeball hanging out. I must have made some sort of disbelieving noise and/or looked at her like she was crazy because she hurriedly said "Well, we have to ask".  So I told her that I'd discovered it a couple of weeks ago but decided to wait to see if the eyeball would pop back up and re-insert itself into the socket...kinda like those toys kids play with. You know, the handle with a cup shape on top attached to a ball on a string. Swing the ball up and try to land it in the cup. Fortunately she laughed...then I told the truth, that I had seen it right before I called their office. No way the eye was going to be saved.

Jasper spent the night at the hospital and came home the next day with a cone around his neck to keep him from scratching his empty eyeless socket and ripping the stitches out. The cone lasted over a week before he managed to get it off. The Cartoon Dog immediately chewed it into little bits. Jasper doesn't feel the least bit sorry for himself and doesn't even seem to notice he only has one eye. Life goes on.

Dogs are so much cooler that we are. I would have felt soooo sorry for myself if I'd lost an eye...it's the stoopidist thing.

P.S. I'm thinking of changing his name to Little Cyclops.

Bumper Sticker

I followed a truck that had a bumper sticker which read "Everything is sacred. You make a difference."

Really? Everything sacred??? I don't think so. I think there's plenty of things that aren't sacred. Take cat shit, for instance. What in the world is sacred about cat shit? Nothing that I can think of, that's for sure. I mean, maybe somewhere in a far away country, long, long ago, people may have worshiped cats, thus making everything about them worthy of worship, including their excrement. But now? I'm thinkin' no.

You know, I think a potato peeler is a really handy little gadget, and hat's off to who ever invented it. But sacred??? Mmm, I don't think so.

If everything is sacred what's left to be un-sacred? How can you define a sacred thing if you don't have an un-sacred thing to differentiate it from? Doesn't there have to be a balance? A Yin & Yang???

I'm sure there's probably some philosophical thing I'm missing here...it's the stoopidist thing.

Grocery Store Rage

In addition to my little road rage problem, I seem to be developing a little grocery store rage problem. Maybe I've always had it and now that I'm old I just notice it more. Maybe not. In any case I find myself raging inwardly at all the truly self absorbed, impolite, idiots lining the isles at my local grocery store.

Now, I'm sick, so my annoyance level is pretty much set at high because of that..really, usually I'm only moderately annoyed. There are occasions when all's right with the world and I'm not annoyed at all. Those occasions are, admittedly, few and far between. But it does happen, sometimes. Yesterday wasn't one of those days.

Before I even got in the store, another merry shopper took the parking spot I was aiming for. Is that a politically incorrect term these days??? "Aiming for"?...Sounds kinda violent, doesn't it?. They won, I lost. First strike of the day, losing that spot.

So I walk from my parking spot in BFE (Bum Fuck Egypt for the unknowing) wheezing and hacking all the way (did I mention that I really am sick?) and finally get to the shopping cart section in front of the store. This is a discount food warehouse where the carts are lined up in front of the store...often times filled with debris from previous shoppers who think it's perfectly acceptable to eat products while they shop and leave the sticky wrappers in the cart for the next shopper to deal with. They need a sign at the cart drop off spots "Attention Shoppers: IF YOU CAN'T WAIT TILL YOU GET HOME TO EAT, AT LEAST THROW AWAY YOUR FUCKING TRASH!" I'm sure this will never happen...but I can dream.

The reason they probably won't do this is that it would then require the store to provide a garbage receptacle of some type near the carts...then they'd have shoppers bringing their trash from home and dumping it so they wouldn't have to pay for garbage service...or they'd pull up, clean out all the trash from their car and leave...this is a discount food outlet, after all, and people are there to try and save money...take me for example, I obviously thought of it so why wouldn't everyone else??

Onward..to the store. After finding a debris free cart and making sure said cart didn't have the one wheel that doesn't turn...thus making horrible sounds..which make people stare..which I hate..or the one wheel that rolls crooked and makes a thud thud, thud thud sound...and makes the whole cart pull to one side...which also makes people stare...which I hate, the shopping begins.

I usually love grocery shopping, because I love food. My food tastes are simple. White trash cooking suits me perfectly. If it ain't fried, it ain't food. There is no lettuce but iceberg in my world...and no dressing so wonderful as Ranch. Does it get any better? Really? But I'm sick and I don't want to be there.

For some reason, the store's exceptionally crowded. The isles are nice and wide but people are like, three and four across in some spots. No one was following grocery store isle etiquette. There should be a flow, like traffic, you stay on the right hand side of the isle you're travelling through. Thank God I was able to avoid the near head on collisions with the isle etiquette unobservers.

After several near fatal collisions with the isle etiquette unobservers, I make it to the check out stand unharmed. Barely. Now I'm standing behind a mother and her teenage daughter. The daughter standing slack jawed leaning over the shopping cart seat appears, from her mannerisms, to be completely uninterested in the whole grocery shopping experience. But really, how many teenage girls want to spend their Saturday going grocery shopping with their mom???

There is, I might add, an additional grocery store etiquette that needs to be observed. It's called 'Once your cart is unloaded, move it the fuck up so the shopper behind you can put their items on the conveyor belt. And guess what??? I'm behind the etiquette unobservers. Again. I don't know why God is punishing me.

So anyway, here's mom & daughter spending quality time together and they finally move their cart up...not enough to do any good mind you...they're still blocking the majority of the space between checkout stands. Guess what they're doing? Yes, instead of moving their cart beyond the isle to the end of the conveyor, they've chosen, in clear violation of all grocery store etiquette, to bag & load while blocking the isle thus preventing all other shoppers behind them from completing their shopping experience in a timely manner.

I wanted to scream at them. I wanted to tell mom, in her too tight shirt that showed every single roll of fat from her hips up, that she shouldn't try to wear her daughter's clothes. I wanted to ram my cart right into slack jawed teenie bopper's butt.

Did I? Of course not. Why? Because I feel compelled to be polite...even when I'm inwardly seething with rage. It's the stoopidist thing.