Wednesday, February 17, 2010

My Momma Raised Me To Be A Sweet Christian Gal

As I was walking back to my office from a meeting just a little while ago, I passed a resident and noticed she had what looked like a bruise on her forehead. I work with seniors, they fall, get bruised, break hips, it’s what happens. I thought “Yikes, Mrs. W face is jacked up yet again”, she had a fall at one point and got a pretty bad black eye, it looked like she got jumped. A few minutes later I passed a resident and her son and noticed both had the same bruise, and then Jesus came to me and said “Alyssa, you mam are a fucking moron, it’s Ash Mother Fucking Wednesday”.

If I recall, this same thing happened to me last year.

The only religious background I have is attending Sunday School when I was eight years old because my step brothers did and they got free stickers and coloring books and I felt that wasn't fair. So I attended for a short time, had no idea what the hell was going on, and later dropped out.

I also got drunk at two of my extended family's Bat Mitzvahs, but I don't think that counts with regards to Ash Wednesday, but what do I know, I had to Wikipedia the holiday to see what the fuck the shit was on everyone's faces.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Biggins is Bulimic... And it's time for an intervention

My 102 lb Yellow Lab can only be compared to the best vacuum money can buy. For analogy purposes I'll say a Dyson, which is the vacuum I would LOVE to have to clean up those chunks of dog hair that dance across our hardwoods on a daily basis. But that's a different story, I need to stay on track here.

Biggins has ingested all sorts of items, a whole chicken wing that was too hot and slippery in wing sauce for me to hold on to, he swallowed in the second it touched the floor. I take that back, I don't think it hit anything as it fell, but his mouth. Beer caps, horse shit (which he eats as fast as he can because he thinks all of the other dogs at the park are going to find out how delicious it is and want to dig in too), a Barbie doll arm, pens, earrings, the list goes on.

Seven times out of ten he is able to digest whatever he eats, I'm pretty sure he has a bullet proof belly. There was even one instance when he ate the pillow case off the decorative pillow I put in his crate. That did go through his digestive system and I found him pushing as if he was in labor to get it out, I had to aide in his relief and pull the pillow casing out, which seemed never ending, like the scarf trick every magician under the sun does. Well try and top this one David Copperfield! But there are also times when he just can't seem to get whatever it is he ate that day, or two days before down, and it conveniently comes up while we are dead asleep. It starts with the mouth sweats, he licks his chops for about 5 minutes. Then the gagging begins, which takes over his whole body in an exorcist-like fashion. The trick is to catch him as he throws up, because if you don't, chances are you'll never see the mess or know that it happened, Biggins is very tidy with his vomiting, in a disturbing kind of way, I won't go into details.

So last Saturday, Biggins had a routine visit to the vet. He very well behaved at the vet, I think it's his nerves. The doctor checks his joints, Biggins points his toes like a ballerina. The doctor looks at Biggins teeth and gums, Biggins burps in his face. The doctor says "smells like someone had breakfast" and I have to tell him "no he didn't, he just has frequent indigestion". The doctor says "We'll your dog has personality, that's for sure", I told him "I call it drama", he said "we'll he is a bit dramatic". I have no idea where he gets that from (wink wink). So we prance off to the car, overall a successful visit to the vet. On the ten minute ride home, Biggins decides to hop in the backseat of Caleb's new car and begin to gag. I immediately start screaming for him to hold on, like he's about to give birth and he should just cross his legs to buy us time. I'm on a busy route, nowhere to pull over but I manage to make it happen anyways and turn on my hazard lights. Biggins jumps out and instantly starts vomiting on the side of the road. And when he is puking, it's not wham bam thank you mamm, it's a process. He slithers like a snake and rolls around, attempting to work up and out whatever he can. This time he was puking simply because he was excited at the vet's office and had nothing in his stomach. The same thing happens if he has just had breakfast. Your damned if you do, you're damned if you don't! While on the side of the road waiting for my dog to stop with the bulimic episode (picture him shoving his paw down his throat), I can't help but thing this shouldn't happen with my dog, it should be my girlfriend puking on the side of the road after a long crazy night of shots and bubblegum vodka and I should be laughing my ass off at her. But instead I feel awful for my poor dramatic little Biggins (Oxymoron, I know). I flee the scene of the crime, I'm not digging through 3 feet of piss, vomit and shit, it's biodegradable.

Fast forward to Saturday night, we order garbage plates and Josh is buttering his bread. In one clean swoop, Biggins has the plastic single serve butter packet in his mouth, and as we reach to take it from him he take a big gulp, bye bye butter.

Now fast forward to 30 hours later, 3:30 a.m. Monday morning. Biggins starts licking his chops, mouth sweats in full force. He jumps off the bed, and instantaneously gags twice, opens his mouth and out comes the butter packet. If Biggins could speak at that very moment I think he would say "I'm gonna butta your bread".

Thursday, December 31, 2009

Holy Clusterfuck Batman!

I decided to do a little last minute running around to get ready for my first low key New Year's Eve since I began my drinking career (I won't share with you when that period in my life began, I wouldn't want my parents to be looked down upon by others that prefer to keep their kids in the "no fun zone".

Traffic pulling into Pittsford Wegmans was ridiculous, I'm talking it looked as if there were a train wreck ahead. People were beeping as if they were cab drivers in NYC. There was lots of middle fingers waving in the air and an elderly couple even stopped their Buick in the middle of the intersection, I'm assuming the driver was either confused with all the commotion or having a TIA.

I'd just like to stop the story to mention how much I hate those carts that have the attachment on the front that look like a car, so that kids can be entertained while Mommy and Daddy grocery shop. LEAVE YOUR KID AT HOME! And I don't care if you don't have a sitter, I would much rather prefer you leave your kid in the car than push them around in one of those obnoxious carts, I promise I won't call Child Protective Services, it can be our little secret, my attempt to make the world a much happier place, or at least the act of grocery shopping.

The store was filled with people racing to pick up last minute items for the evening, I shit you not, people were running, in a Supermarket Sweep type fashion. I witnessed multiple cart attacks, where the person behind you hits you in the Achilles tendon area of your leg. Only those with cankles can survive one of those!

But my all time favorite moments at Wegmans today are as follows:
1. The little red headed boy that was dipping his pointer finger in the scalloped potatoes on the fresh food bar, licking it, and then doing it all over again. He may have only been six years old or so, but he was evil and kind of resembled Chuckie.

2. At the checkout, there was an Asian family ahead of me and the cashier was trying to ring up her items but got stumped on one. After many attempts to figure out what it was he was holding without having to ask and look like a complete asshole, he finally said "what's this". The woman replied "Gingah". He pretended like he knew what that meant, and a few seconds later said "Wait, What's this"? "Gingah". I had to throw in the towel and say "It's ginger from the produce section." I wasn't trying to be a bitch, I just wanted to get the show on the road. Trying to make small talk with grocery bagger Josh I say "You must hate your life right now" (I meant to say "you must hate your JOB right now"). But that didn't matter to prepubescent Josh, he replied "Yeah".

3. After checkout, I ran into the bathroom to blow my nose and boy was that a mistake, I would have been better off wiping it on my sleeve. The stench was awful, almost gag worthy. People were TEARING UP the Ladies Room. I wish I had left my groceries outside and risked them being stolen or mistaken for re-shops, because now I feel like my focaccia bread is contaminated.

4. As I re-entered the world of beeping car horns and potential car accidents I loaded up my groceries and realized that the chili I got for my lunch had dumped inside the plastic grocery bag it was in. At that point I was so fed up and starving I decided to say fuck it and ate the soup straight out of the plastic bag with a spoon.

And then I pulled out of my parking spot and heard a thud...

Saturday, July 25, 2009

You Know You're At The Hilton Carnival When...

Once a year, at the end of July, comes the event that I dread, the event that townies anticipate will be the best time of their life, better than the day they got married or the birth of their first child... The Hilton Carnival.

The carnival officially starts on Wednesday and ends on Saturday, but the hype for the event starts long before. Lawn chairs line the streets five days prior to the kick off of the Fireman's Parade, which usually consists of an array of fire trucks from all of the neighboring towns. If you're lucky, you'll get to see the color guard march down Main Street in their spandex leotard, the majority of them being smack dab in the middle of the gawky stage in life when most girls should be wearing a bra but are embarrassed to ask mom to buy them one, they haven't quite shed that baby fat and family fails to mention to them that eyebrow waxing is mandatory and thick, unruly eyebrows that resemble that of Eugene Levy from the American Pie movies are never attractive... EVER. I think of them as dance class/cheerleading rejects.

The bar in town is deserted, because all the alcoholic regulars have relocated to the beer tent for the week, I'm pretty sure some of them sleep there. The beer tent, known as the Hilton Zoo, is essentially our high school reunion. It's the one time each year when girls and their baby daddies come out of the woodwork to put on the happy family face. I swear the Village of Hilton is secretly a baby factory. When you run into someone you haven't seen since the previous year's carnival, most likely they'll share that they have had yet another child, and one in the oven. For those that have not seen me in the two years since I've been married will ask "what have you been up to"? When I share that I'm married and living in the city they interrupt with "Who'd ya marry". Rule of thumb is that those from Hilton MUST marry one another, I think it's written in the Village Code Book at the Town Hall. I obviously am not a rule follower; you could call me a rebel. I live in the "big bad city" 20 minutes away, married a man from another zip code and did not have a child out of wedlock. I should be shunned.