I adopted Tripp, my black lab, when I was 18. It's now 9 years later and I look back at the day I adopted him and wonder what in the hell I was thinking.
When NOT to get a dog:
(and ironically, this is when I got a Tripp) 1) 1 month after you move in with your boyfriend
2) 1 month after you move out of your parent's house and officially become responsible for yourself and all your bills
3) When your new landlord tells you NO PETS
4) When you can't keep a tiny bamboo plant alive
Luck is not my thing.
5) When you have already left two dogs-one that bites people and one that is half retarded-with your mom so you could move out and live on your own.
6) When you are 18 and all you want to do is party, drink, do drugs, and have sex
This should never happen.
7) When you barely know how to wash dishes, much less clean up after a dog.
8) When your new boyfriend, who happens to be an only child, has never had a dog.
9) When you promise everyone that you are going to get a small dog but come home with a Lab mix puppy (Which incidentally grows up to weigh the same amount as you)
Not a small dog. Might be a cute dog. But not a small one.
10) When you do no research and have no clue that not only is it bad training habits, but bad to give your dog a bone every night to shut him up. Tripp almost had to have surgery because they got stuck in his tummy.
Looking back at the situation, I was out of my mind crazy to think I should get a dog. No wonder the local shelter refused to let us adopt a dog. I am sure there are a high percentage of couples, under the age of 21, who just moved in together and end up giving the dog BACK to the shelter after they break up or realize the dog is more than they can handle.
Tripp was definitely more than most adults could handle. Much less young teenage "almost" adults...
Hell, had it not been for my stubbornness then we might have given Tripp up. After Tripp chewed up Bill's favorite pillow (Remember: Only child), I thought Bill was going to make me chose between him and the dog. Bill never did though because he knew I would have easily chosen Tripp. Then I would have moved back in with my mom and she could take care of me and three dogs!
So in summary, Bill and I should have never in a thousand years got Tripp. In the end though, it worked out and Tripp has been with us for 9 years and will be with us for the remainder of his life. Bill and I have made life changing decisions based on Tripp. We have even broken up AND got back together because of him (pre-marriage of course). I don't regret it but, man, we were fucking STUPID.
This is me and Tripp taking a nap. No, I don't regret adopting my best friend but this decision should not be made lightly.
A few times a month I experience something that I like to call "waking dreams". My neurologist calls them "Hypnagogic Hallucinations". Indeed, they are hallucinations that I usually have after the first 10 minutes of waking up. Basically, my dreams will continue on and I will continue acting them out even though I am fully awake.
It's sort of like sleep walking except that people who sleep walk don't remember doing it. I always remember although I can't always tell you WHY I did or said something. They did a sleep study on me a few months back and I actually had a few of these "waking dreams" while hooked up to the machines. The doctor says my brain is fully awake and so whatever I am seeing is considered a hallucination.
It's a bit scary sometimes because I can't always tell what's real and what's not. Did I actually talk to that person? Is there actually a puppy strapped to a bomb or am I just hallucinating this? There was even one time I cleaned my whole house thinking the Queen of England was coming over.
Why Tripp? Why?
These hallucinations always happen right after I wake up so I have learned that if something doesn't quite make sense (Such as the Queen of England coming to see me or puppies with bombs strapped to their backs), I am probably hallucinating and I need to go back to bed.
My new favorite thing to do when I realize I am having a waking dream is to write down my thoughts and what I am dreaming about. Just like most dreams, these thoughts make absolutely no sense but are quite hilarious to read or talk about the next day.
I thought I would share some of these writings with you so you could get a full understanding of the strange things that go on inside my brain. These are actual things I wrote down while having a waking dream.
- Anyone who needs a follow-up appointment needs to first speak with their primary care physician. First you must buy ice cream. Second you must buy me a puppy that rides a unicycle.
WEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!
- Monkeys playing drums in the puffy gas clouds of my backyard have come to haunt my husbands heart.
Poor Bill.
- Please use fungus at your discretion but beware the hormonal effects of nasal intake.
?????
- Please eat spinach only if tainted with bacon and a hint of lime.
Imagine if popeye had added bacon and lime to his spinach. He would be unstoppable!
- In this time of uncertainty, I find myself thinking more & more of the baboon. Not the buffoon, but a baboon. Why? I really have no clue. You tell me.
This baboon is awfully happy in a time of uncertainty. Perhaps that is why I thought of them.
- Do you think a circle has an end? Do you think a down has an up? Do you think Charlie Sheen is really sober?
Charlie Sheen also invented circles.
- The Lord needeth what he tooketh on his broomtockith. And his broomtockith exploded into two thousand little pieces. Pieces that were used to create soft furry things. And the lord was angry but the butterfly hence fell before him and begged.
What the hell is a broomtockith?
I do remember writing these things but, just like with dreams, I have a hard time remembering why I wrote them down. Even stranger is that my handwriting is about 100 times neater. My spelling is also damn near perfect (except for the word broomtockith).
I am indeed a bad ass in my sleep. If only I were this creative and awesome when I was awake. Oh wait, I am awake...or am I?
First off, I highly recommend listening to the following video either before or during the reading of this post:
I just turned 27. As my brother likes to say: I might as well be 30. The worst part about this whole aging process is complete strangers somehow know I am 27. I use to look 5 - 8 years younger than my actual age. Now I look 27 which means (According to my brother) I might as well be 30 and -OH CRAP- I'm getting old.
Remember when you were young and all you wanted to do was grow up and turn that special age? My 9 year old niece recently told me she can't wait until she is 12. I asked her why 12 and she said it was because she would be cooler. ERRRRR--Wrong answer kid but we have a lovely tube of acne cream to give you as a condolence prize. In reality, you get very uncool and very lame between the ages of 12 - 14. Those are the awkward years but I guess my niece won't understand this until she is old like me.
And little does she know that when she finally turns 12, she will want to be 16. Why 16? Because 16 means you can drive. Then she will turn 16 and all she will want to be 18. Why 18? Because she will be a legal adult and can do whatever she wants when she wants. Then she will turn 18 and all she will want to do is be 21. 21 is the drinking age for all you dumbasses out there.
The award for dumbasses. I have 3.
But what the happens after 21? Everyone under the age of 21 forgets to ask themselves this. Everyone under 21 has their head so far up their pre-pubescent ass that they forget what all their teachers have been trying to teach them for all these years. And that lesson is: Get your shit together and plan ahead for your future which involves wrinkly balls, saggy boobs, old fart, apocalyptic catastrophe!
Where did my balls go?
I'm going to share the "what happens after 21" secret with all you beautiful, non-wrinkly, I-just-got-my-first-pubic-hair kids. After the age of 21-- you get fucking old. Newsflash: Every single birthday from there on out just means you are closer to wrinkly balls and saggy boobies. One more year means a year closer to actually having to be an adult and grow up and do grown up things. If you don't grow up, you risk being that middle aged women who still wears tight pants, shows way too much skin and hangs out with people in their 20s in the hopes that someone will actually think she is 20 as well.
Please don't be this person.
Once people start actually guessing your real age, you kind of feel ripping the skin off your face like the guys did in Poltergeist. When I stopped getting carded at bars and at the liquor store, all I wanted to do was cry and start banging my head on the bar-- But then the wood from the bar will probably give me wrinkles. It's sad that, for so many years, you dream about going forwards and then, out of nowhere, all you want to do is go backwards.
This is me peeling my face off after the bar tender neglects to card me. This dude would totally get carded.
My parents had warned me about this growing up thing. They warned me that one day all I would want is to be young again. I just had no idea it would start so soon. I thought I would at least be 35 before the plague of decrepitation began. And the funny thing is there was no middle ground really. There was never a point where I was "ok" with my age. I either wanted to be older or younger. I guess in the game of adding mileage there is a drive and there is a reverse but no park. And as we all found out from Ferris Bueller, using reverse does not actually reverse the meter.
See? He tried the whole reverse thing and he still looks old!
So in all my anxiety over my age I have started trying to do something about it. I drink water now instead of coke (It helps your skin not look so pastey and reduces wrinkles), I eat lots of fish and veggies (wrinkles and skin also), I floss so my teeth so they don't fall out, I buy expensive makeup that is not so harsh on my skin, I wash my face at night, and I use moisturizer and lotion as if my life depended on it.
But my god it's a lot of fucking work.
Oh and I stopped smoking, taking explicit amounts of opiates (doctor prescribed for my health problems of course), and drinking. Although, I really feel like I should be drinking more to deal with my age anxiety but, when I drink, I get anxiety and it becomes a vicious circle that will probably one day end with my jumping off a cliff.
The bear is a metaphor for a glass of wine and the sadness in my heart.
But no matter how much I change and try to stop aging, there is no way to reverse the aging I have already done. I will always look 27 unless I inject poison into my face. Is 27 too young for Botox? I really would like to look 19 again.
I imagine Botox injections being something like is if your doctor happens to be an Octopus. His other 4 arms are probably holding me down.
One idea I have to fix this problem is to make a fake ID. Yes, that's right--I want a fake. Not one that says I am older then I am but one that says I am 19 years old. That way when bar tenders don't card me I will whip out my fake and tell them I am an undercover cop and they just served to a minor. Then again--I might get my feelings hurt when they say "No way!" or "She looks like she is 30 something!".
These pictures never get boring.
Another idea I have is to start voluntarily giving out my age. Not my actual age of course but a much higher age. So the next time I am checking out at the grocery store and making casual conversation with the cashier I will say something like "Well if I wasn't 37 years old then I would most definitely let Justin Bieber do dirty things to me". Then I will wait to see the cashier's response. You might first expect the response of "Exactly what dirty things do you think Justin Bieber might like to do to a woman when his balls have yet to descend?" but the second response should be something like "Your 37?". I will happily tell her yes and wait for her to say "GIRL! I thought you were like 23!" But then what happens if the cashier says "Girl! I thought you were 30?" Guess this is a bad idea as well.
Yes, I actually typed "Justin Bieber Balls" into Google images to find this picture. I believe Justin might be trying to force his balls to descend.
The last idea I have is to just give up and go ahead and apply for my AARP membership. AARP is supposed to be for retired people over the age of 50 but I recently tried to apply and it never asked for my actual age. They just wanted $16 and within a few weeks, I have my official old fart card. Plus AARP members get great coupons and discounts.
And I shall finish this post with the world's smallest violin because someone, somewhere is playing it for me tonight. I imagine they are playing "Loser" by Beck--which would be really awesome on a violin.Or perhaps they will play "American Pie" by Don McLean. I'm sure good old Don has wrinkled balls these days and Beck is well on his way.
.JPG "Dead Bamboo is not lucky")
