WTF Wednesdays; Welcome

Hi!

Welcome to What The Fuck Wednesdays, which I shall call 'WTF Wednesdays' because I'm lazy and WEDNESDAY is still a word I have to sound out every time I type it "Wed-Nes-Day" which is exhausting.

Frequently things happen to me and I'm all like, "What.  The.  Fuck."

Not to be confused with "What the fuck?"...as in, "What just happened here?...I'm confused?"

No.

Which is not to say that I'm NOT sometimes confused.  Quite the contrary, in fact-as I think is clearly evidenced on this blog-I am frequently confused.

Often, I don't know what the hell is happening even when it's happening right in front of me.

True story.

But occasionally, I know exactly what just happened.

OH YES I DO.

And on those occasions, is when I find myself thinking, "What.  The.  Fuck." because I just ran directly into a WTF wall.

No question mark, you see, because I have just run head-first into the WTF.  So there is no question as to what I just encountered.  I may be dumfounded and or suffering from a WTF concussion to the head...but there is no doubt as to the ridiculousness of what just happened.  Or, what I like to refer to as the "what-the-fuck-ness" of the situation.

Therefore, WTF Wednesdays describes situations/occasions wherein something happened and I was dumbfounded, but NOT questioning "why?".

I ALREADY know why.

Because people are stupid.

And people's stupidity causes me to be all, like, "WTF".

And, also, I live in California so "like" in this case is used as an adjective describing a state of being (because that's how we roll out here), as in I was thinking to myself..."What. The. Fuck".

Okay that's not true, I was actually thinking to myself, "dude...What. The. Fuck." but I didn't want to admit the "dude" part 'cause I'm already reinforcing stereotypes here and felt like that would compound the problem......

I'm sorry, I just forgot my point.....

Nevermind.

WTF.

Confession...

This post has been sitting in my "drafts" folder since October 2012, but I kept putting it off. 

My birthday's coming up and I'm feeling pretty depressed about it.  Feeling like I have to tell people to celebrate it with me and wishing I didn't have to.  It's always more fun when people come to you and are all, like, 'Hey!  I like you and it's your birthday so I'm DYING to do something totally selfless and FUN...just for you!!!" 

So since I'm all Debbie-Downer anyways, I figured it's time for a really depressing blog post.

I have a confession....

No, no, no, don’t worry.  It’s nothing that will impact YOU like, “Surprise!  I won the lottery and now have MONEY so I wont need to fill the giant GAP in my soul heretofore filled by writing uselessness and nonsense on this blog you (don’t) read...you know, because I have MONEY and can fill the vacant wasteland that is my soul with material goods instead!”

I mean, I wont lie…that would be nice, but alas...no, that is not my big announcement 

(Although, FYI, I am totally open to receiving FREE money that I haven’t earned so as to embark upon a life of total uselessness and privilege wherein I can spend my time nurturing abandoned animals as opposed to actually "working" for a living.  So if you know of anyone giving away money or free luxurious lifestyles, please feel free to comment below with said individuals phone #)

But in all seriousness, my confession is that I have lost this angel...

 

My beloved Penelope aka “Penny” aka blog namesake. 

This month would have been her third anniversary in my home.  Her third "birthday"-even though she was probably already 9 or 10 years old when I got her.

Penny was only with me for two short years.  She was found wandering the streets of the worst neighborhood in our county as a stray and put on the euthanasia list at that city’s local shelter because she was deemed “anti-social” and thus “unadoptable”. 

This is Penny on the floor of the shelter meeting me for the first time. 

 

Anti-social?

They had to shave all but her face because she was so badly matted...so, naked?  Yes. 

Terrified?  Yes. 

But, anti-social?   NO.

Nonetheless, there she was, on the euthanasia list and stuffed into a cage at the very farthest corner of the shelter possible (where there was no way ANYONE could view her if they didn't already know she was there).  I KNEW she was there, and I still had to search for her!

At the time, I was a foster parent for a local rescue that served this particular area of the county.  During my high school & undergrad years, I volunteered for an organization that trained service dogs for people in wheelchairs.  In that capacity I'd received quite a bit of "training" experience, and so I often wound up as the designated go-to foster mom for the  "problem" dogs.  These were dogs that had been returned to the rescue for "behaviors" and couldn't be re-adopted out until they had some rehabilitation/training or, alternatively, dogs that the rescue had adopted out of "kill" shelters . 

Dogs on euthanasia lists at "kill shelters" were typically those that exhibited "problem behaviors"-meaning that they weren't properly socialized or potty trained and no one had the patience to deal with them so they decided to just kill them instead.  Nice, huh?

To be honest, it's not like I was some sort-of dog training GENIUS.  I mean, I didn't take in dogs that had "problem behaviors" like, "oh-that-dog-chewed-someone's-WHOLE-FACE-OFF-and-that's-a-'problem'-for-us"...no, we're talking, "that dog was beaten/starved/grossly neglected/never given any attention/or otherwise mistreated by its previous irresponsible owners who didn't bother to potty train or socialize it and therefore it's not 'perfect' and consequently wont be adopted out easily because most a**holes only want 'perfect' dogs."  None of the dogs I took in as fosters ever needed much more than some attention, love and simple obedience training (which, unfortunately is still true in the rescue community-people only want "perfect" dogs...even the slightest behavioral aberrancy and some poor creature could be deemed "unadoptable")  but WHATEVS. 

Anyhoo...I also developed a (well earned) reputation for having a real soft spot for Shih Tzu's (only the BEST DOG BREED EVER!!!!) and for being willing to take in ANY Shih Tzu no matter what (because, DUH, they are the BEST DOG BREED EVER!!!).

Apparently word traveled in the rescue community because one of the volunteers at the shelter where Penny was sitting on death row saw her and had heard of me.  That person called someone else who knew of someone else who had heard of me who knew my friend, Donna, who had my phone number. Donna called me and together we immediately drove out to the shelter.

Donna and I basically sweet-talked the naive teenager at the front desk to let us adopt Penny even though she was on "death row".  

Or, you could also say that we took Penny for a walk and then asked permission to adopt her after she was already safely ensconced in Donna's car whilst simultaneously claiming that she'd "gotten loose" and may or may not be "lost"...in Donna's car. 

But who's nitpicking? 

Here is Penny meeting Mabel for the first time.  Look at how chill my sweet Mabel is-she's such a doll. 
 

 

I named that little ragamuffin of a skeletal creature I picked up at that shelter ‘Penelope’ because the name means ‘dream weaver’ after the Greek God of dreams. 

 

Look at what a DREAM she turned out to be... 

 

The week before Penny was found on the streets, my 16 year old Shih Tzu, Remmy died.  I’d had Remmy since I was 15 years old.  She was my FIRST dog and I had begged for her (technically) since I was 10 months old (my first word was 'dog'-TRUE STORY). 

 

When I turned 15 my parents offered me a choice;  I could either have a car or a dog.

I chose Remmy, and never looked back.  She was adorable-a bit of a b*tch, but adorable, none the less.

I loved her more than I had ever loved anything in my life.   

A few days after Remmy died in 2010,  I had a dream.  In my dream, my friend Donna called me to tell me she had a new dog for me.  In my dream, Donna brought me a Shih Tzu who looked almost EXACTLY like Remmy.  TWO DAYS LATER is when I received a call from Donna that there was a Shih Tzu on the euthanasia list at the shelter.  Shih Tzu's were a pretty uncommon dog to find at our local shelters.  But there she was. 

My Penny. 

The dog who first came to me in a dream.  

And so I named her Penelope or "Penny" for short...my dream weaver.

Here is Penny celebrating her first "birthday" (aka anniversary of her adoption) for which she received a "present" of a McDonalds hamburger (plain) which she MUCH enjoyed.

 

 

Happy Birthday Penny!

 

This little Penny turned out to be anything but “anti-social”.  She may have been abused-that much was clear-and she may have developed some distrust as a result, but that “unadoptable” dog shortly became a CERTIFIED THERAPY dog with little to no training whatsoever.  She was so loving and so eager to please that she did EVERYthing I asked her to and passed her therapy certification with flying colors.  We spent a year together, me and Penny, visiting elderly dementia patients every weekend in San Francisco.  My little Penelope would sit on a lap forever if I let her.  So long as someone was petting her, Penny would settle in, curl up in a ball and let those little old ladies pet her for hours at a time while they regaled us with tales from their younger years.   Sometimes we’d be there well after our “time” had come to an end because Penny was willing and I didn’t have the heart to pull her away from the gnarled old hands that loved to stroke her fur.  I'd be DYING to go home, to get to whatever silly household task I felt was SO important at the time-vacuuming, laundry, whatever-and I'd often feel impatient or resentful while I sat there listening to those little old ladies tell story after story.

But not Penny.  She was always in tune with the gnarled hands petting her head.  If they hesitated, Penny was there with a tail wag or a soft nudge with her wet nose that would start the affection all over again.  Or that way she would tilt her head just so, lean slightly in to your body and stare at you with those big brown eyes while wagging her tail-as if to say, "more?  please?"

Penny was always game for anything.  Even if that meant dressing in costume and sitting in a wheelbarrow...

 

Or being dragged through a pumpkin patch by a three year old wearing pink cowboy boots...

 



 

 

We had to give up the therapy visits when I became employed.  I just didn’t have the time or energy to travel all the way to San Francisco every weekend.  And then shortly after I moved out of my sister’s backyard Penny got sick.  Her legs stopped working so great and she began to have regular seizures.  A brain tumor was suspected, but I couldn’t afford the cost of a CAT scan to tell for sure.  We tried medications, and they worked for a time, but she wasn’t herself.  Then, finally, in October of 2012 there came a day when I just didn't know what else to do.

Penny was not herself.  She could only walk a few feet at a time, seemed to have lost interest in food-not even the tastiest of hot dogs could tempt her. 

We spent one last full day together.  We did everything I could think of that she loved. I carried her outside and she walked at an agonizingly slow pace on her last walk.  When she couldn't go any longer we sat outside on the sun-warmed concrete sidewalk, just passing the time and people watching.  After an hour or so we came back inside and I fed her some Valium-laced lunch meat until she fell asleep and became limp. 

I drove to the vets office and we let Penny go as peacefully as we could.  I held her the whole time. 

And for a long time afterwards.

Euthanasia is the worst. 

I have to admit, it feels like the cowards way out.  If i were a millionaire, i would have put every last dime I had into finding out what was wrong and treating it aggressively.  But, sadly, I am not.  I am barely keeping my head above water.

Truthfully, I don't know that I would have had the stomach to let my Penny go on her own.  I don't know that I could've watched-could've waited. 

I suspect that I couldn’t stand it. 

I like to tell myself that what I did (euthanasia) what was “best” for Penny, but the truth is, I don’t know.

I did what I needed to do to ensure that Penny would go as peacefully as was within my control to allow.

If I had more money, I would have stalled.

I would have asked for more tests, more diagnostics.

I would have spent every last penny I had...

The bottom line of this post is my confession that the title of this blog is totally inaccurate now.

I no longer have a Penny. 

And I don't know what else to say.  

The Job

So, as I may have announced (I don't know, actually, because I don't read my own blog-what kind of egomaniac do you think I am?)....I now have a Job. 

I think we may have covered this previously but alcohol has destroyed my brain cells so...whatevs.

I shall from henceforth refer to this occupation as...The Job.

I know, so original.  Whatever.  Stop judging me.

To keep from being sued and/or fired I shall reveal precious little in detail except, of course, for the things that are hilarious and/or ridiculous (names may be changed to protect the totally lame people I encounter whilst working).

So far I can reveal the following:

1. I work for an agency that provides services to others who live in public I work in public service.

2. My clientele is very diverse and if you sneeze in the general direction of the intake department they will admit you my employer does not discriminate in terms of who can qualify for services.

3. Eligibility criteria is the responsibility of an entirely OTHER department with whom I am not allowed to communicate my displeasure/disatisfaction over their "eligibility" criteria.  I have no control over who is accepted for services 

4.  I have to serve all who come to me regardless of the ridiculously lax qualification criteria or my own super-astute perception of their need because I care.

I know you're all worried about how this will affect YOU.

Never fear dear readers (I can use the plural now because three people total have read this blog at least once-BOOM, that's called readership bitches!) I will continue to exercise no self restraint whatsoever whilst I blather on about useless shit you don't care about.

You're Welcome.

Relaxation Bitches.

Had a rough week at work, so I decided to take Friday off and have a long weekend to get drunk and forget about my problems relax.

Someone suggested I begin my weekend by engaging in relaxing activities. 

So I came home, poured a glass of wine, lit some candles, and drew a bath with lavender essential oils....

which would have been relaxing if not for these bitches who wouldn't leave me alone.

 

New Years Resolutions

I have decided to make a New Years resolution...

Wait, what?  It's May?

Oh dammit.

NEVERMIND.

Dadisms: More (unwelcomed) STD advice

Remember last week when I ended up on the receiving end of an unwelcomed conversation on STD's? 

Apparently you and I are the ONLY ones who remember because today my dad attempted to give me the SAME lecture about how I am not to have any visitors whilst they are out of town and do I know about the danger of CRABS etc. etc. 

I cut him off, reminding him that he already told me this.

Dad:  I did?

Me: Yes.  You don't remember?

Dad: No.

Me: it happened last week.....

Dad: (no response)

Me: I am CONFIDENT we have already covered this...we had a whole conversation about it.  It started ok, but quickly morphed into a questionably appropriate conversation about STD's.

Dad: STD's?  Really?

Me: Yes, I'm surprised you don't remember.  I, on the other hand, was traumatized and it is forever burned into my memory.

Dad: (no response)

Me: I'm not going to refresh your memory because I don't want to relive it.

Dad: Gimme a hint.

Me: No.

Dad: *scratching his head*

Me: Dad, please.  Let's just move on.  Consider me sufficiently warned as to the dangers of unprotected sex.

Dad:  Was it about crabs?  Because I have a LOT of stories about crabs.

Me: Yes.

Dad: *giggling*  Did I tell you about how to get rid of them?

Me: Um...I'm pretty sure we covered everything I need to know.

Dad: *giggling harder* Did I tell you that if you go to the movies and buy some popcorn, then spread the popcorn out over your lap, they'll crawl out to eat the popcorn and then you leave while the crabs stay behind...

Me: (no response)

Dad: *now CRYING he's giggling so hard* Or you can sit on a mirror.

Me: (no response)

Dad: Don't you want to know why?

Me: Sure don't.

Dad: They-

Me: Stop.  Just stop.

Dad: Aren't you curious.

Me: No.  I am not.  Please go away.