Good thing I went ahead and invested in that carpet steamer. Madame Chelsea must have eaten something that didn’t agree with her, as she demonstrated out both ends all over the office carpet. Bless her heart, but that’s challenging.

And of course all I can think is that the GIANT ASS SPIDER in my garden might have bitten her, or that she might have eaten some foliage that was sprayed with the chemicals I used to destroy that fracking thing. This is why I would make shitty mother, because my head doesn’t go to “ate something that disagreed with her” but more to “poison spider bites” and “ingestion of toxic chemicals” and the resultant neurological damage. I was also listening to her chest to see if she might have a collapsed lung or narrowed airway. Whatever. At least I know these things about myself.

In other news, as my very clean bathroom and almost-done laundry can attest, I’ve been very householdy. I also wrote 1300+ words at this silly SLU coffeeshop and hung out with friends while doing so, giving me a total Lifescore of 3/4 today! So yay me.

I am really grooving on this whole “silently hanging out and communally working on our own projects” thing at various local coffeehouses. MyTodd™ was doing homework, another friend was blogging and another was doing something with her photos online. It’s fun. We shoot each other weird and funny weblinks from time to time, but by and large we just work. I get a ton done because that’s what I am there for, and would feel like a slacker if I didn’t do something. Plus I don’t have to worry that maybe I should be doing something different, because I am already doing two things at once, and that’s enough even for me to calm down about it.

I am going to ix-nay that coffeehouse in the future though, because their chairs were uncomfortable, their WiFi served up ads, their food was overpriced and they were crawling with SLU students.

OK that’s all, I am headed for shower and bath time, then joy of all joys… WORK tomorrow.

Yes, yes. I have two chew toys and she has none. Your point being?

Truthfully, I do not like the way you are looking at my chew toys. Please avert your eyes so that I may rest next to them.

…r bone, I don’t want nobody’s bone, bay-beh!

She WILL eat the eyeballs right out of your head.

She will NOT feel badly afterward.

Bruiser and Chelsea’s response to the TLC and multi-step bathing and aromatherapy conditioning process I carried out on their little bodies yesterday?

Rolling around in (what I presume by their new stench to be) cat piss.

Now I have to let you in on a dirty little secret for my adorable Chelsea-anne. She has the most annoying, horrible, squealing bark in the history of dogs that you really, really want to make shut up. I am not sure, but I think someone once called the cops and reported her as a screaming, abused baby. I just know they showed up in the neighborhood asking if I had heard such a thing and I honestly said “No.” not realizing until later that she may have been the culprit.

This video shows them (on the trashy side of the house, it’s tacky over there, I know) having a heart attack over some bebeh birdie which has taken a rest on my air-conditioner (or actually the cage built around my air conditioner so no one steals it.)
I would turn the volume low, and then turn it up by degrees as you can stand it - honest. Chelsea is the littlest one, with the non-curly tail, who sounds as if she’s being tortured by some faceless South American militia.

I have to drop Chelsea off at the vet this morning to have her teeth cleaned and probably a significant amount of them extracted. Her teeth are terrible, even though she eats the same as the other two (aside from the copious amounts of poop, of course) the vet said that some dogs are just genetically inclined to have bad teeth (they’re bred for cuteness and small size, not strong teeth, another reason to hate all puppy mills) ) and there’s nothing you can do if they’re prone to dental decay. Of course the 4-5 years she spent in a cage with no dental care at all can’t have helped. Anyway, she’d just had a dental when I adopted her in 01/07, but she’s now got at least 4 loose teeth that I can see myself. I am afraid that she’d going to be one of those dogs that can’t keep their tongue in their mouths after this, though MyTodd™ says that’s cute. And of course I am also petrified when any of my guys go under anesthesia, because anesthesia in veterinary medicine is scary and they’re so damn small that it’s hard to keep their levels steady. So any time I have to take them in I know there’s a chance they won’t survive it. If her teeth weren’t so desperate I wouldn’t chance it, but the way they are now the bacteria from them could get in her bloodstream and damage her heart, so it’s risky either way.

Now, she’s young and otherwise healthy and this is a great animal hospital, so it shouldn’t be an issue. But the overwhelming sense of responsibility I feel for her combined with the complete loss of control over keeping her safe in this situation make me feel mostly like vomiting. To think that I might be the one to take her in there and drop her off and for her to then accidentally die under anesthesia, when she’s so little and so scared and trusts me to look out for her… gah. Well, you can imagine how I feel about it. And I can’t even reassure her or let her know what’s happening, or that I will be back for her. All I can do is take a blanket with us so that she has something home-smelling to cuddle in all day, and hope for the best.

So send her some good thoughts today, she’s going to be somewhat traumatized, as am I.

Never did post about the Chis stay with my Mom and Dad, did I? I should. But anyway, they’ve been more than usual cute since I got back from Savannah, or else I just really missed them hard and everything they do is cuter as a result.

Chelsea has solidified her new behavior of lurking for me outside the shower. Each night I go into the bathroom, throw my clothes on the floor and get into the shower. Each night I open the shower curtain and see petite la Chelsea curled up in my discarded clothing, looking up at me like “What? It smells like you!” Then when I step out of the shower she flees in a panic, because while she wants to be close to me and my scent, the thought that I might try to, you know, TOUCH her, sends her into a mini-panic. Then she comes back and sits by me while I do my hair, crying for attention. Depending on my mood it’s either adorable or irritating. But every time I see her curled up in my discarded clothes, looking up at me with her ginormous googly eyeballs, I have a serious “awwww!” moment.

Jake has realized that even when I am otherwise engaged I have a tendency to kick out at anything that attacks my feet, so he’s now taken to skulking under my computer desk and pouncing on them unexpectedly, in order to get me to pet his belly with one. He’s much better at training me to exhibit his desired responses than vice-versa.

The dogs have been banished to sleeping on the floor due to the “Reclaiming the Bed as a Territory of Jake in a Really Inappropriate Way at 10 p.m. on a night when Susan has been Driving for Thirteen Hours, Dammit.” incident. But that’s been going surprisingly well. Some niceness (ahhh… stretching out in own bed) and some not-so-niceness (Jake refuses to sleep if he’s not in the bed, so he runs around chasing Chelsea all night and they tend to be frazzled in the morning and then sleep all day. Also PB wakes me up crying every night and after that I have a hard time getting back to sleep. Also no cuddles.) But we’re adjusting. Sometimes I wake up to the sight of two pointy ear-tops and the top of a round-domed head pogoing impatiently next to the bed (that’s Jake) and it makes me laugh.

So last day of my 4-day weekend today. It’s been nice to relax and not worry about “SUSAN - GOT A QUESTION FOR YA!” being hollered at me every 7.35 minutes by my new boss. </comment on that whole situation, as I don’t want to get fired.> Anyway, it’s been relaxing, chilling out and playing with my friends & family while not thinking about work. This weekend are Todd’s parties, which should be a good time, and I get to look forward to a whole week off starting on the 9th. Looks like I will be hanging in town, since the price of gas, the harsh reality of being responsible for a pack of wild dogs and everyone else’s schedules being awkward have conspired to make a trip anywhere too problematic. But there’s plenty to do here and, barring a giant heat wave or some new ghetto neighbors moving in next door, it should be fun to have time to myself (sans broken appendage).

I had to take Chelsea to the vet today for her shots and to schedule a dental for her. The clinic I go to has a rotating cast of vets, so you don’t always see the same one. This one I hadn’t seen in a year and a half, but she got all excited when she saw me. While I know I am memorable I don’t know that I am that memorable, so I was confuddled, but then she said “You’re the xylitol lady!” and I realized why I was hard to forget. Apparently she become quite famous on her veterinary listserv after that whole debacle, and the local expert on xylitol poisoning. I assured her that Bruiser was now fine and that we all gave up artificial sweeteners.

Then I got Chelsea (all 5.4 lbs of her) her shots and brought her home. Of course my ghetto-ass car had to go all wonky and the back passenger side window wouldn’t stay up. I think it fell off the track, and I think they can fix it at work tomorrow so it hopefully won’t be a big deal. For the time being it’s being held in place with - wait for it - loose change I had laying in the car. That’s all wedged in the cracks to keep the window from falling down. I reign white-trash supreme!

But that got me considering (again) that it’s pretty much time for a new car in Susanland. This one will be 8yrs old in October, and slowly but surely it’s starting to give out. Not mechanically, that would make my decision easy; but the windows haven’t worked right for a while now, and the door locks and alarm are wonky too. The stereo I gave up on years ago, and it’s starting to show some rust in places. But the thing is, I don’t WANT a new car. I don’t even want a new used car. I love that my car is totally ghetto-tastic and of no appeal to anyone. I love that I don’t give a crap if someone scrapes up against it. It’s a comfortable, reliable, nondescript car which no one would every want to steal. If I buy a new car I am going to want to buy a nice new car, not a piece of crap. And then someone is going to swipe it, or sideswipe it, and I am going to get all angsty about it. Of course said crappy car IS the reason I don’t think it’s a good idea to drive cross-country by myself right now, but I have to weigh that against having car payments again - ick, car shopping - double-ick, and the inevitable meteoric rise of my insurance rates if I buy something new. Plus I can’t justify buying a new SUV with the price of gas, but I can’t stand the thought of going back to a “car” car. Bleh. I can’t think about that today. I will think about that tomorrow.

Anyway, Jenipants shared some very exciting news with me today, so a big congratulations goes out to her. Seize the happiness, doll.

Oh! and this is my ONE-THOUSANDTH post! So, hooray and stuff.

I bask in the radiant heat of the heater thing.

I lay on the footstool thing to position myself to capture maximum heat from the heater thing.

The lady keeps calling me “Sphinx-y pants.” She is crazy, and later I will pee on her kitchen rug.

(I love how if you look closely here you can see the heat shimmering in the air above the heater.)

And just for the heck of it and because I am in the mood to miss myTodd™, here’s a picture of him and Princess B back in 2002 when we still lived next door to each other (And PB had more black than gray in her face. But don’t mention it to her, she’s sensitive.)

So, finally got my ass out of the house tonight for a few hours, thank the baby Jesus. (And Todd.) Went out to Uncle Bill’s with some friends, where I was finally able to satisfy my week-long craving for crunchy pecan pancakes. Holy crap, those things are so good they should be illegal. Oh! And there was a guy there totally sporting a full-on Bret-Micheals-Lee-Roth headgear look, consisting of long scraggly hair covered by bandanna covered by ball cap.

Couldn’t he just wear a t-shirt that says “I am heartily ashamed of my male-pattern baldness, pity me.” instead?

Going out was moderately OK and accomplished with no falling down whatsoever - always a bonus. I had to table-salt my front steps because I had no rock salt, but that seemed to work just fine, turning all the ice to slush and making it superBadNavigable. In the interests of continuing my eventual transmogrification into Todd’s grandma he also took me to the grocery store afterward to stock up on supplies - he even dropped me off at the door before he parked. I was grateful he took me, if only to have someone help me in the parking lot and stuff, but nothing really looks good anymore, food wise, so I came home with a random collection of barely edible things.

We got home and Todd came in and hung out for a while. As he was getting ready to go I walked to the front door in front of him and he said “What’s that hanging out of the back of your jeans?” and I reached back to discover what it might be. It was a dog diaper. Oh yes, friends and neighbors, the humiliations involved in being me are infinite. See, I got dressed upstairs and I had to sit on the bed to pull my jeans over my giant be-casted leg. I guess Chelsea’s little denim & velcro diaper (thankfully clean) was laying on the bed and I sat on it, sticking the velcro to the back of my sweater. When I fastened my pants it then got stuck in my waistband and stuck out from there, all sophisticated-like.

“Did she wear a dog’s diaper to the restaurant?” you may ask yourself in abject horror and humiliation on my behalf.

Why yes, yes I did.

Oh well, it was under my coat until I took that off, then I sat down where no one could have seen it, then I put my coat back on when we got up, so no harm no foul except to my ego. Todd already knows too much about me not to be aware of the fact that I am a Grade-A dipshit, so it’s not like I am losing street cred with him by walking around with a dog’s diaper sticking out of the back of my jeans.

Here’s the article of doggie clothing in question:

Speaking of the Foul Ones, I took this picture of Chelsea Anne tonight. Look how dainty:

You can almost hear the inner monologue here.

“I am so pretty! I am a princess! A pretty-pretty dainty little ballerina-princess!”

That seems like it would be the case, but it’s not accurate. The actual inner-workings of her tiny brain is more along the lines of:

“Hi. I eat my own poop.”

Anyway, I really wanted to go out to the bar with Todd & Co, but no matter how bored I am I can’t convince myself that it’s a good idea to go to a dark and crowded bar on an icy cold night and have a couple of drinks, leading me to come home at 2 a.m. and (with my luck) fall down the stairs again and break some other necessary part of my body. So I am in for the evening, it seems, and hoping for better weather from here on out.

After a brief cessation of hostilities (due to my closing the vent off and leaving it closed accidentally) we’ve had another flare-up in the 07-08 Register Wars. Curiously, Chelsea is winning at the moment. Jake outweighs her, but she out-growls him.

In other news, I’ve mostly recovered from my parent’s visit to “help me out” yesterday - which exhausted, befuddled and exasperated me. Highlights include my dad turning my water heater down (which I only figured out when I had to take a very NOT hot shower this morning) and then putting some nail-studded pieces of wood through the basement staircase - sticking out precariously where I need to walk. Now, I hate that staircase anyway (I have always been paranoid that I would fall down it and no one would miss me for 6 months and I would be all covered in cobwebs by then) because it’s rickety, open-backed, ends in a hard concrete floor at the bottom and oh yeah, I HAVE A BROKEN FUCKING FOOT. So impediments to my navigating the staircase (such as nail-studded pieces of wood) are a FINE idea. Quote from him: “Your foot will never even come near there”. Yeah, but my face might. What part about my having a propensity for falling down stairs does he not understand? Fuckit. Turn the water heater off while you’re at it - who needs hot water?

Got my errands run with MyTodd™ this afternoon and we met another friend for dinner, which was fun. But it’s so stupid how much I have to plan everything in advance. Like, making sure that our friend didn’t get there ahead of us and get a table in the basement, since my gimp ass couldn’t walk down there. Anyway, I have the day off tomorrow and it’s a good thing, because I have to go and have another cast put on. This one is rubbing my heel raw in the back, I can totally feel it. Plus, it smells funny. I have no idea if it’s my foot that’s smelly (though it doesn’t smell like stinky shoe smell, it’s just… weird smelling) or just the material the thing is made of, but I seriously can’t take it anymore. I have enough going on in my life that I don’t need to worry about smelling funny. I am already feeling like a big old dorky needy awkward klutz-chick, all it takes is thinking I smell funny to tip me totally into “don’t fucking touch me, and also don’t look at me” land.

I really think that impatient asshole cast-applicator guy didn’t let my foot dry enough last time, and that’s what’s making it all effed up now. But I don’t care if I have to go in there once week for a new cast from now until fucking July - I am not walking around with a smelly fucking leg, FFS. I mean, they can’t have invented an anti-microbial cast lining fabric by now? Ugh.

Now, back to my glamorous and exciting life (AKA going to change the laundry over and turn my water heater back up.) If you never hear from me again I am dead on the floor of my basement with a nail-studded board embedded in my forehead. Thanks Dad.

Guess who feeds the dogs from the table? It’s not me, and it’s not my Mom. If you want to see some Mexican-jumping-bean dogs, you should see these chihuahuas when my Dad comes around and eats something. Oh, and check out the ‘tocks on Jake (far right)

And here’s their dog, Cricket, who is the right color but the wrong shape and size to fit into the superBadPack. In fact, he matches the texture of that rug quite well, now that I look at it.

As you can see, Chelsea is what we like to call “highly food-motivated” in that she flees from all humans unless they have food - then she tries to crawl up their leg into their lap to get it away from them.

Yes, yes - I seeet on her. But she like eet! I swear to yooo! Thees little one, in theee back here? She no like. But theees one, she LIKE when I seeet on her! Is truth!

Sometimes? When my paw ees cold? She let me warm on her stomach. She ees good to me, no?

Haven’t had time to do much creative stuff in the past few months, but I did spend the last TWO WHOLE DAYS (well, part of the day on two days in a row, so, sorta) creating this video for you, and ONLY for you. It’s called Life on the Chihuahua Farm, and boy is it grand. (The life and the video.) There are appearances by the three doggies you’ve come to know and love plus a surprise appearance by my reflection! Also my legs at one point, but it’s just a flash on the screen, unless you pause it, you perv.

The file’s about 15MB and in .wmv format - for those of you with no idea what that is, it will take awhile to download but our PC will play it.

Hope you enjoy and Happy Holidays to everyone - thanks for whatever magical thing you’ve done for me this year — I know it was something good or I totally wouldn’t love you like I do!

Oh! There’s adult language in there! But you need the sound on to get the full effect, so if you’re at work wait until no one’s around, K?