AmericanAngst.com

For those who don’t know, we had to put our sweet puppy to sleep the other day. She had had ACL and hip issues her whole life, but they’d always been manageable. However, recently she was chasing a squirrel with her sister and just…landed on her leg wrong and really hurt herself. We took her to the vet and we all thought it would just be another episode of meds and rest, but it wasn’t. She quickly went downhill, and suddenly stopped eating for several days, wouldn’t even accept the cheese with peanut butter shmear that she loves (and within which we would hide medications because…don’t even get me STARTED on how far she could spit pills when she didn’t want to ingest them). So we went back to the vet and learned that she was in liver failure and had torn ACLs in both legs. It would cost $15,000 just to have the hope of getting her healthy again, and there was no guarantee that it would work, or even that she would survive the surgery or recovery. So we made the choice to be more humane and less selfish, for us anyway, and to let her go.

We said goodbye to Ms. Bailey Monday @ 2:30 and George, who amazes me even now, ten plus years later, went with her and stayed by her side until she was gone, while I was at work, in tears.

And it’s so freakin’ hard, and I wasn’t even there with her like he was. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him to do that, and I’m respecting his wish to wait to talk about it until later.

I’m not sure what my beliefs are about an afterlife, but I really need right now to believe that she’s in a “better” place, one in which there are fields and rolling hills and thick grass and chewable squirrels and cheese and treats and not an ounce of pain. And that I’ll see her again some day.

And for those in my life who knew ahead of time what was coming and sent such sweet thoughts and good wishes, please accept my thanks and know that, truly, they really helped.

And my utmost thanks goes to the most terrific company who “handled things” for us after the vet process was complete. Specifically, it was Richard Gruhn, who owns the Immediate Animal Service and he was so thoughtful and sweet and less than 24 hours later, he delivered her ashes in a beautiful container w/her name in a brass plate on top of the cedar box, and a pretty brass lock on the front. He also gave us a cement paw print w/her name written on it (that makes me cry every time I look at it), and he personally delivered it directly to our front door. He was incredible, and his prices are shockingly reasonable compared to what other people scam charge.

Ok, ok, I’m being morbid and verbose & I know, it’s “just a dog” but she was one of our kiddos for a long long time and we yuvved her. See? She’s the one who gave me all that baby talk practice for our new Ms. Princess Pumpkin Pants who, shockingly, will be nine months old on Sunday. When The Kiddo (my son…PRINCE Pumpkin Pants??) was a baby, I was too young to talk like that…felt dumb and like he would hate me for it. So I needed the practice, don’tchaknow. Yeah, I know. Whatever.

Anyway, she was a terrific puppy and will be missed very much. And if even one person sees the name of this awesome man from the pet service and it helps him in any way? (especially since he drives an ambulance for a living and makes almost no money on this great service, because he refuses to charge exorbitant fees to people in times of sadness), then it will be worth my goofiness.

Bye Bail.

</end sob story>

Sometimes, even if your hubby gave you a yummy-smelling lotion in your Christmas stocking? It maaaay not be safe. And just because it’s made by the SweetTarts company doesn’t mean there’s no danger in it.

No, no.

I’m just saying that even though it’s blue…and smells like a blue SweetTart? You just might want to test it out—in a very BRIGHT room—before smearing it aaaall over yourself on the way in to work. Because y’know why? Well, I’ll tell ya.

Because it can be just a taaaad embarrassing to have an executive riding the elevator with you and while you want to believe he’s Checkin You Out, you get a sinking feeling that it’s not flirtatious or complimentary. And you try to ignore that mean ole voice and admonish it that he was so NOT lookin’ at you funny. And to confirm your new confident feeling, you wait until he gets off on his floor, and you sidle up to the gold-ish, mirrored elevator doors to admire your bad self and it’s then that you realize that bitch voice was right, and his gazing upon you was not, in fact, because you not only smell positively scrumptious, but your makeup and hair look absotively smashing this morning, oh no. NO. Sometimes? It’s simply because said lotion? The yummy one? HAS GLITTER IN IT.

Sigh.

Welcome to my Monday.

~G.

So the other night we were getting ready for bed and while George was already IN bed, I, as usual, was still flitting around, to and fro, manically trying to get 14 things done at once before settling into bed (and reading for an hour, because the MINUTE MY head hits the pillow? My mind begins to race. George, however? Can fall asleep in mere seconds, sometimes even in the middle of a SENTENCE).

He’s somewhat amused at my rituals and frantic nature, all my lists, and things I feel I must do. I’m sure it confounds and often annoys him, but, great guy that he is, he chooses to accept me as I am, and just finds entertainment value in my idiocy.

So the other night, I’m talking to him and doing all these other things, but I’m so incredibly tired that I become even MORE ditzy than I usually am and I have this, this…episode while trying to find something. And George capitalized on it.

Hugely.

See, I have this medicine I have to take every day, so I carry the bottle in my purse. However, the pill bottle they gave me is GINORMOUS compared to the teeeensy tiny little pills inside of it. What’s worse is that they rattle LOUDLY when I’m walking around and it’s not just annoying, but I can practically hear other people’s thoughts and musings about it. Normally I wouldn’t care, but when you’re riding the elevator with the CEO and you’re rattling like a freakin’ snake in the hot desert sun? Weeelllll, that tends to give ya pause.

So I’m holding the bottle and walking around, searching for some cotton balls or hell, even some tissue that I can stuff in there to keep the damn things quiet. But because I’m tired AND talking AND mentally writing tomorrow’s To-Do List and aaaalll the other things going on, I can’t find what I’m looking for, and—bonus—I find that I’m walking in circles trying to find it (and I have an AUDIENCE for it…grrrrrrreat).

George sighs and stops our conversation and asks me what the HELL I’m doing. I have a typical Gracie moment where I can’t stop the eleventy-seven things going on in my head to precisely answer his question (well, not if I plan to use all the right WORDS anyway), so I reply that I’m trying to find a thingy for the thingy. Oddly this makes no sense to him, so he asks for elaboration. I sigh myself and tell him that I am trying to find a way to stop the damned pill bottle from rattling.

Do you know what he said? That love o’ my life, apple-o-my-eye, man o’ mine? He said “Well…why don’t you just put it DOWN??”

Why. Don’t. I. Just. Put it. DOWN.

…..I know, right???

I couldn’t believe he actually thought that I wanted to stop the CURRENT rattling occurring while I walked around, as opposed to the noise in my purse. And, what’s worse, he felt I wasn’t intelligent enough to figure out that I should JUST PUT IT DOWN if it was making noise.

Wow.

After I was able to stop shaking my head in “Wow. You = Asshole” motions and blinking wildly (though my eyebrows remained in their Shocked & Offended position for most of the evening…and still show remnants of it yet today), I actually stopped, placed my hand on my hip, set my jaw juuuust so, and asked him WHY he married me.

He laughed and asked why I would ask such a thing.

Gracie: “Well Jesus CHRIST…if I’m so gawdam stupid that I can’t figure out how to stop a pill bottle from rattling while it’s IN MY HAND??? I ought to be in a special hospital, drooling and wearing a helmet. So I want to know. Why on EARTH would you marry someone so effing retarded??”

He wouldn’t answer me…he just kept laughing so hard the bed vibrated.

~G.

At the eye doctor recently, teenager and 8-month-old in tow.

brought approximately 57 toys for Princess Pumpkin Pants to play with, hoping to avoid a meltdown.

Finally, we were all done with our exams and had ordered all our frames, lenses, contacts, did the baby-hand-off from one person to the other, etc., etc., and since it would take an hour for my (at least) lenses to be ready, it was time to pack up our mess and go have some dinner while we waited.

The problem is…I couldn’t find one of her favorite toys…a fish. It’s a small little squeezable thing… (for those playing at home, it’s similar to This and That) and girlfriend lurrrrvs this thing. But we looked and looked and it was nowhere to be found and we had to go, so I figured either we’d find it in one of our eight kajillion bags later or…it was gone and we’d have to sign her up for grief counseling. Whatever.

So we go, get her all packed back up into the car, drive around trying to figure out what we could eat for dinner that would be close enough and fast enough (without actually getting fast food) to make sure that we’d get back before the eye place closed.

We eat, we entertain baby with anything BUT the fish, bundle her back into the car…again. Go back and get my glasses, drive home, unpack the gallons o’ baby stuff from the car, and do some home stuffs (feed baby, feed dogs, play with baby, pretend we’re going to watch a movie or even 20 minutes of television before dozing off, etc., etc.) and finally realize around 9:15 that we’re all just wiped out and we need to give up the fight and go to bed.

George is putting Princess Pumpkin Pants to sleep in the other room and I go to the bedroom to get ready for bed (remove baby stuffs from bed area, turn pillows over in fine OCD fashion, set alarm, yada yada) and I am happy to announce that though it scared the HELL out of me, I did find the fish.

Click the link below to see where it turned up…and can I just offer a warning? If you work with me? Do NOT open this link.

You’ve been Warned…Click Here

I have NO idea how the hell it got there or how I managed to spend that many hours not noticing it. But I think we can all agree that it’s something that, in spite of my embarrassment? Just HAD to be shared.

~Gracie

(PS, actually, I DO know, now that I think about it, but that’ll be fodder for a whole ‘nother talk show.)

Dear George,

I must need sleep. I wanted to search for something on google, so I opened a browser window and in the address bar? I typed giggle.com.

giggle.

hi.

wiiiiiiggle.
and lurrrrrrn.

signed,
GET THESE SONGS OUTTA MY HEAD.
also i’m tired.
aka: i can’t speel no mo.

~G.

Just saw a guy in Kroger browsing for ice cream and…bawkin like a chicken. yep. as in “buk-buk-buk-AWWWK!!” sigh. welcome to GA!

~Gracie

Saw the following two people at Borders bookstore today while doing some last minute Christmas shopping:

That’s right. They? Are in their JAMMIES. Complete with slippers and bed-head. Note that it was almost 2:00 P.M. at this point, so it’s not like it was early morning and they just ran out for donuts or something….

Yep, as you’d expect, I was shocked. Appalled. Even went so far as to shake my head in response to the sight at anyone who would look in my direction…not that they even noticed or knew what the hell we were sharing when they DID.

I cannot believe people go out like this. In public. On purpose. Especially during such a busy time of year, shopping-wise. I would have been slapped silly (and tested for drugs, complete with the “sit down! now, look at the light, LOOK UP AT THE LIGHT!” test to see if my eyes dilated, or whatever it was they were looking for) had I dared to leave the house in ANY of the clothing options seen in this photo.

How times have changed. And yes, I’m officially old (thankfully I’m 40 now, so I’m allowed to say things huffily and crotchety-like, such as “hmph, kids these days!” and “when *I* was a kid, we would NEVER [insert atrocious act totally acceptable by today's standards]!”).

Now…where’s my cane ‘n bifocals??

Ho Frickin’ Ho and a Merry friggin’ Christmas, y’all!

~G.

So there are lots of pictures I’ve taken over the years that I’m proud of. Some that are pretty, some that are funny, some that have stories and some that don’t and mean something only to me. But the one below? I think may just be the best one ever. I had no idea I caught it, either, until I was reviewing them for upload to Walgreens for the grandparents. And I laughed ‘n laughed ‘n laughed. Poor Cami, poor Papa. She had her immunizations the day before and hadn’t been feeling well. And it seemed that every time he picked her up that day, she yakked all over him. This was the first one. Cause, y’know, it matters.

You’re welcome.

~Gracie

Wow…I think I have fallen in love.

http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays

And no, sadly, it isn’t about George (yet).

~G.

Recent conversation before bed between George and Gracie.

George: Effin movie.

Gracie: ? *this means Gracie looked at George questioningly, don’tchaknow.*

George: Sniffle

Gracie: Oh…oh my GOD. Are you…? Are you CRYING?

George: no.

Gracie: you are TOO!

George: Okay, but only a little. but it’s the MOVIE’s fault.

Gracie: The movie made you cry, did it?

George: uh-huh

Gracie: Wow. Wasn’t that a Kevin Bacon movie?

George: Yeah.

Gracie: The…guy from Footloose???

George: *either ignores or misses the snark* Yeah, it’s called Taking Chance.

Gracie: Oh, yeah. I heard about that. It’s a true story.

George: Yep. It just…wow. Just KILLED me.

Gracie: Awwww, and the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes!

George: *invites Gracie to perform a sexual act upon herself*

Gracie: It just means you’re a Good Guy, sweetie…

George: *Grunts and makes his way to the bathroom.*

Gracie: …a PUSSY, but…y’know…a GOOD GUY.

George: *Actively waves at me (oddly, though, it was with just one of his fingers) and slams the bathroom door.*

He comes out a little while later and I ask him with great concern if he’s okay.

George: *Stares blankly*

Gracie: …wanna…wanna talk about it?

George: Um…NO.

Gracie: Cuz ya hate me?

George: Pretty much.

Gracie: *happily and accepting of this* Okay! Welp, g’nite then!

George: *mumbles something likely filled with how awesome I am*

–Time passes–

George: *sniff*

Gracie: *knows full well he’s just clearing his sinuses, but come ON…who could resist this??* “Babe? Are…you crying again?”

George: “NO!!!!”

Gracie: …

George: …

Gracie: Seriously…KEVIN BACON!?

George: Siiiiigh. *Burrows deeper under the covers and huffs and kicks his feet around. Clearly counting the ways in which he loves me.*

Gracie: Cause did you SEE the dancing-in-the-abandoned-warehouse scene??!

I don’t remember much after that. But I do recall seeing life insurance paperwork strewn about the living room the next day.

~G.