2007-06-11
This Cannot Be My Beautiful Life
That was categorically the Worst Weekend Ever.
Ever.
Ever ever ever.
First, the cat poisoned the dog.
No shit.
I have an albino cat.
She is very sensitive to... well... everything.
If I give her a bath, she has a seizure and according to the vet, it's not related to a medical condition unless Freak Show is a suddenly a condition.
In which case, I want treatment.
Her seizures aren't a little case of the shakes, either, they are full-on seizure with gagging and frozen muscles and loss of bladder control.
The new thing is that she's decided driving also rates as traumatic enbough for a seizure so Im not sure what I'll do when her shots come due and it's time to go to the vet. Maybe let her catch rabies. I dunno. She's a mess, no doubt about it.
So I don't bathe her anymore, no sweat.
Unfortunately, she gets disgustingly dirty.
At any given time, she's got motor oil, dirt, hair dye, red concrete dust, some yellowing situation near her tail and some brown gunk that's possibly pigeon blood on her body. I have carpet.
Hygiene must be addressed by a force greater than her.
On the recommendation of a VP at my company, I got some pet wipes and when she came in Friday evening, I washed her up.
She was very angry and twitched off, I sighed, she peed on a plush dog toy, Rosie picked it up and began chewing on it, and a Nightmare was born about 15 minutes later when I realized something wasn't normal about the toy. I smelled the truth of the matter and took it away, fearing the worst. And cursing the dog for being such an indiscriminent loser, willing to put anythign in her mouth, although... kettles and pots and all that. Well... never mind.
Anyway.
I really still had no idea that what was about to happen would be as bad as it was.
Until the dog barfed.
Dark brown, runny, human-looking barf which did not stop until sometime after 3 am, which is when I felt satisfied that she'd gotten most of the poison up and out.
She couldn't even take any water, not the tiniest bit without losing her guts.
I got her out the door for some of the worst of it but I need to rent a Rug Doctor REAL bad.
And if that sexy Friday night wasn't enough of impetus for tears, you know, a super-fun night of waiting for the dog to projectile vomit the piss that the cat fed her, on Saturday I had a photo shoot.
Of course I had sobbed through the greater part of my Saturday morning, scrubbing the carpet and still waiting for the dog to proove that she didn't need an $647 trip to the vet. This is, by the way, after I tossed the cat, not feeling one ounce of guilt. I slathered sunscreen on her evil albino ears and tossed her out the door at 8 am (she's not supposed to be out before 4 pm due to being albino because of the risk of skin cancer), not really caring if she went into seizure mode because of the sunscreen.
Then I spent the afternoon was spent having pictures taken.
And here's why that sucked:
"Wow. You're like, okay... turn this way a little. Slide your.... left foot forward... no backward... okay. Awww. There. Okay. Wow.
All I see is this good-hearted waitress.
You're like, the Good Girl.
You do your shift and then go home to care for your ailing mother, the Good Girl."
"And her cats!!!!!!"
This was from a teammate who had no idea about the night before.
Needless to say, I wanted to run away, further and faster than I ever have in my entire Spinster Life.
It became totally official right there is a downtown backyard on Saturday afternoon.
Cameras don't lie.
And Spinterdom was all the camera could see.
My fishnets and my lacey apron and my heavy eye-makeup didn't make a dent in the fact that I AM what that camera saw, and what the photographer said.
I HAD spent the previous evening trying to protect my rented carpet from dog barf caused by cat pee.
Nobody loves me, nobody who doesn't have an enormous drinking problem anyway.
I'm dependable.
I drive a Honda.
I go to work everyday.
I cut off my hair.
Something has to change because this is not my beautiful life.
I need something amazing and I need it, like, now.
And I have this awful cold; it's so bad that when I cry, I am even more miserable than when I just sit there and try to pretend like I don't loathe myself.
arizonasarah at 10:42 a.m.