Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Hey 2014, Go Fuck Yourself

Oh man, have I been waiting to say that. From an early age, I was always very, very superstitious, and fourteen has always been my lucky number. I am 27 years old, and it took this long to realize that is completely false now. This year sucked a big bag of donkey dicks. A big ol' bag. I wouldn't say I'm excited for 2015, per say... more just excited to shake off the dirty hobo stink from 2014.

 I've never had such shitty fucking stuff happen. I am trying hard not to equate it to moving to Newport, but I don't know... I think this city blows. Literally more crap fucking shit has happened to me here than ever in my life. Aaaand I'm pretty over it. Newport is full of drunk fisherman and drunk people. Maybe a restaurant or two are worth checking out. And can we talk about the drama? *shudders* 

In a way I'm almost glad I got let go from my job... After three fucking months of bar managing with the promise of a pay raise to all of a sudden being asked to resign... Really makes you think about your life direction. Almost a year of listening to Newport gossip. This town is fucking strange and awful. I'm a 27 year old bartender. Enough! It feels a bit like being a little kid again and trying to catch someone while running through waves. No matter how hard you think you're running, you are really only going about half the speed or less than those on dry land.

I think it is definitely 'get your shit together' o'clock.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

My PSA to Never Adopt a Dog While Intoxicated

I've had him for almost two years now. He is a sweet, beautiful, loving, worthless asshole who likes to fart near my mouth. He is my Bull Terrier Mace, also known as Mace Dog, or my personal favorite, Stinky.

Parents love to tell people with animals that it's nothing like raising kids. Well, short of teaching him to speak, (oh wait, I did do that.) I'd say cleaning up something's shit and puke and getting up at ungodly hours to cater to this thing's needs might be the closest thing to parenthood I'll ever get. Mace doesn't shit in a diaper, he shits on the carpet, pees on it, and then tries to bury it by raking his back paws over it. Then tracks shit over all parts of the house with carpet, stealthily avoiding the areas easy to clean . Does your devil baby do that?

It isn't all bad with him, I shouldn't have started like that. Mace is one of the most loving dogs I have ever met. He is a total mama's boy who follows me around the house and cleans my arms and most of my face in the morning. Whenever I have a moment to sit down, he needs to be on top of my lap, not seeming to understand that he weighs upwards of 75 pounds. It would be adorable if I didn't have tiny claw-mark bruises all over my thighs. He nudges me ever so sweetly with his toy to play tug-of-war, tail wagging and doe eyed, ears cocked to the most darling degree. He's also unbelievably good at sighing.

Another thing- his skull is, I would estimate, four inches of solid bone and stupidity. When I bend to tie my shoes, he likes to come up under my face and ask for cuddles. If it didn't result in black eyes and split lips, I'd be all for it. But no, my dog makes many of my friends and family wonder if I'm one of those silent victims in a domestic relationship.

Mace sleeps better than probably 65% of the world. If he's lucky, he'll enter our full size bed under the covers and fall asleep by our feet. But by mid-morning I'll wake up to a dirty paw pushing my gums and teeth away from him as he stretches to force us off the bed. Head on the pillow, he'll sigh loudly because his life must be more difficult than I could possibly understand. Occasionally, I'll wake up spooning with his large dog ass, which, if his tail is in the right position, there is a high possibility that some part of my face/neck/hands will be touching a dog butt hole.

I wish I looked at anything the way my dog looks at food. His begging knows no limits. When he first graced us with his presence, he'd merely snatch the food out of our hands or off our plates because he'd never been trained in house manners. Now, he'll sit on his bed next to the fire place, sigh, whimper, cock his head and give us these huge doe eyes of a victim that is clinging to life after months of starvation. I could never know the kind of love that Mace feels for hot dogs.

Mace is prone to nerves when going #2. He will only do so comfortably with me, his mother, and also while making direct eye contact. But, if we happen to walk by someone eating, he usually won't mind squatting and trying while making eye contact with them. He's easy like that.

One time I made dog treats for Mace. I was pretty proud of myself, having splurged the extra twenty cents on Organic pumpkin. Then I got real drunk and decided it was training day for Mace, and he probably ate upwards of thirty five cookies. The resulting farts smelled other worldly. They made our house stink for days. Completely silent, we knew they were happening because he would bolt upright and frantically look at his asshole, as if he too couldn't believe what was trapped inside him. Sometimes he'd lick it, other times he would just sigh and lie back down. He woke us up in the middle of the night to unleash havoc on the backyard, and Jeremy proudly proclaimed that he had vomited while Mace took what he described as a "dumpkin".

Have I mentioned he hates cats? I don't mean this in the typical cat vs. dog way... I mean he kills cats. This is not something that I am proud of, but a reason why Mace cannot leave the house without a leash on. He has and will continue to commit murder with wild abandon. I'll just leave that one there.

Part greyhound, Mace is incredibly lazy. Which is perfect, because so am I. Incredibly. Some people say that your dog picks up on cues you are sending. I believe that sentiment wholeheartedly because the minute I see a tweaker, Mace loses his mind and barks something to the effect of, "I will rip your face off and shit on your corpse." I would like to think that if I was a dog I'd do the same thing, but since I am a pathetic white girl usually I just ignore it while tensing up my entire body with fear. Same thing.

He loves the vet. This is because all vets and vet techs find Mace adorable and love to shower him with attention and cookies. Also, I secretly think it's because he doesn't bat an eyelash when they lube up and stick the thermometer up his butt hole. Just speculating.

So now, he's in his seventh year and I feel like I have about seven more left. So for the next few years I get to be acutely aware of bodily functions, sighing sounds coming from different rooms of the house and really, really weirdly inappropriate eye contact.  And it all started because we got day drunk in New Zealand and looked at Craigslist.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

The Death Virus of Africa

The day had already started poorly.  I woke up in a terrible mood, cold, and clammy.  For a whole month, the rest of the student group and I would be on safari. This meant no contact with the outside world until December.  My November would be spent studying animals and the ‘natives’, with no email, no phone calls, and no way of knowing if my boyfriend was cheating on me.  I awoke in the freezing cold tent to the sounds of thunder, a lurking omen of how this trip was starting for me. That day we would drive eight hours into the wilderness, leaving my pleading emails begging for chastity behind.  Cold and wet, we boarded the gigantic, ‘I’m a tourist let me take your picture’ Unimog, open safari vehicles to begin day 1 of 28, not that I was counting. 

I barely noticed the teeny town we were leaving as I wallowed in self-loathing and pity.  Gradually, paved roads turned to dirt ones, and my brain went from a healthy, sponge-like consistency to a soupy, non-human one.  Bumps shook internal organs loose, and I found it much harder to brace myself in the seat than it was to just give up and be rocketed into the air every four seconds, tits attempting to rip themselves from my body with every pot hole. “Whee,” I thought, “Only 4 more weeks of this? Damn, I wish I could stay forever!” Even in my head I was a sarcastic asshole.  My mood complimented the whole situation perfectly.  While the town we were in was nothing special, I quickly had one of those “Holy shit I’m in fucking Africa” moments that rarely occurred in my distracted little mind.  Upon first glimpse of a zebra, I did a double take. “Holy shit! We’re in fucking Africa!” With eyes now peeled on the edges of the dusty forests, we would frantically press mega-zoom on our cameras to try and document the exotic animals peering at us from a distance with bored, smug expressions.  Now kneeling on our seats, we surfed over the bumps, practically screaming when we caught a glimpse of a gazelle, ostrich, or impala.  After all, the closest I had ever been to these kinds of animals was throwing fun-straws at them from over the fence.  “Maybe we’ll see something kill something!” Alex threw at me. “Fuck yeah, dude, like, maybe a fucking lion will come out of nowhere and jump on that zebra!” I aimed my gun-fingers at the bewildered creature, “Pew! Pew!

As the day progressed, we saw more and more of the “fucking African wildlife”.  At a stopping point, I stared complacently into the eyes of a giraffe (well, it was about 100 yards off).  “If this is what the next 4 weeks will be like… fucking… fucking awesome!” I thought to myself as another of the numerous smiles spread across my face.  Lunch was quick, and pee-breaks even quicker as our freaked-out glances behind our bare asses played tricks on us with feigned sights of movement.  Eight hours passed way quicker than anticipated, and I arrived at the campsite extraordinarily happy and excited about the first day’s adventures. 

As we sat around the campfire that late afternoon, I noticed a slight nauseous feeling.  So, I drank a beer. (The junky needs her fix!) Oddly enough, the feeling didn’t improve. I told our safari guide/teacher Thad that I was a bit under the weather, who scolded me immediately for not staying hydrated.  This led to a group announcement of not only reminding us how old we were, but also disappointment that we couldn’t take care of ourselves.  Tails between our legs, me and three others headed to our tents to try and combat the dehydration.  Soon enough, I realized, “Hey, wait a minute…this is surely not a lack of water!” Before running out to the bushes behind the tents to vomit up what was probably my lunch. After the food had evacuated, I looked up and noticed the three others doing the exact same thing. 

Between puking and laughing, we mused as to what had caused the unpredictable heaves.  After about an hour, ten more people had joined the festivities.   And it was no longer an upset stomach. This was the devil’s fist clenching onto innards in fury and revenge. We were no longer laughing our way through “How you doin’s” but frantically checking to make sure no one was either passed out or choking on vomit.  I stumbled my way to my friend Alec, “Hey, you ok?” I asked. “Yea,” he heaved, “You know the best,” (heave), “Part of this?” (heave), “When you shit juice.” (heave). Huh. I haven’t had that… wait… oh…for fuck’s sake. Sprinting to the bathroom, I literally had to clamp my hand over my mouth to create a vacuum suction so I had enough time to shit, turn around and have a nice power-chuck into the filthy toilet.  Now night fall, it was no longer safe to walk around without a headlamp on, for fear of stepping in half digested bodily excrement.  Exiting the bathroom, me and two others found a girl passed out on the ground. “Jesus Christ,” I remarked in passing, and lay down in my tent covered in puke with two other girls.  One was sick, the other wasn’t, and she had just yelled at me for being too loud. “Yea, well… you’ll be a terrible mother,” as I choked back tears. Luckily she got what she was coming to her as an hour later she was outside vomiting up lentils. 

Asleep for ten minutes, I awoke sweating in a panic, “Holy shit, I need outside, NOW!” Climbing over Alex, I hovered, gagging over Naomi frantically searching for the zipper. “Oh hell no,” Naomi moved quickly, thinking she was about to be the victim of a vomit spray, and found the zipper for me.   Three steps towards the bushes to hurl, I realized I was about to crap my pants.  Six frantic steps in the opposite direction, I experienced what would be the lowest moment of my life.  I passed out, and woke up face first on the ground because of the iron fist clench of my stomach and bowels- I simultaneously puked and shit myself in the middle of the campsite. “Fuuuuck….”
The word sort of fell from my lips as if trying to slowly escape the horror.  And that, my friends, was the worst moment of my life. At the end of the night, no one in the camp had escaped the death virus, and we all awoke in a feverish haze the next day, having all been the victims of a literal shit show.