Saving My Dead Dog

Recently my life has been turned upside down by one sweet and loving lemon of a dog named Daisy.

Me with my new upside down life style

Let me give you an idea what it has been like taking care of Daisy over the last 6 months:

Imagine you are leisurely jogging down a track. You have decided to run exactly 6 miles today. Your not the most coordinated jogger so you fall a few times but you quickly get up, brush it off, and continue on. When you finally get close to the end of your 6 mile run, you start to sprint for the finish line.

You made it to the finish line!   ....or did you?

<Insert Dramatic Sound Effect Here>

Just as you try to slow down, you realize you can't stop running. You look down at your feet and become aware that you are actually running on a massive treadmill track. The treadmill starts going faster and forces you to keep up the pace. You look behind you and realize a giant cookie monster is eating the track that you just finished running on.

"CRAP! Why did I wear my chocolate chip cookie track suit today?!?"

So now its a matter of life or death by cookie monster. You decide to keep running even though you and your body are exhausted. The track keeps going faster. Every time you start to get farther away from cookie monster, you stumble and your hip gives out-- or you slip in a pile of diarrhea-- or a chipped tooth comes out of nowhere and scratches you across the face. Each time you fall, an invisible entity helps you get back on your feet. This invisible force dusts you off and helps ensure you keep going and going and going....

Note: You have a suspicion that the invisible force is actually the energizer bunny.

And how does this horribly bad symbolic story end? I have no clue. The real-life story hasn't yet ended. Daisy is still running on that treadmill known as life and trying her damned hardest to keep from falling again. Will Daisy live to run another mile or will she eventually be gobbled up by cookie monster who has mistaken her for a chocolate chip cookie?

Only time will tell. One thing I do know though is that all animals, not just cats, have 9 lives...if you are willing to cough up $8,000.

And kudos to Dave for giving me the idea to write about this. I am not really sure what kudos are (it sounds like the name of a fire-breathing dragon) but either way he can have it.

Kudos for Dave!

Yes, I have puked in a cop car.

I never win anything.

With the exception of when I was in the 6th grade and I won a drawing to go to a Charlotte Hornets Basketball game with Officer Griffin, my D.A.R.E officer.

Me and two other girls even got to ride to the basketball game in Officer Griffin's police car.

Weeeeeeeee!!!!!!

We got to the basketball game and the first thing I noticed was:

then

and then

Not to mention

And don't forget:

I am incredibly skinny so everyone assumes I need to eat more junk food. My sweet and patient D.A.R.E officer bought every single one of these items and I happily scarfed it all down. Besides, how could he tell the tiny, feeble girl that she couldn't have more to eat? That might be considered child abuse!

When the game was over, we had almost made it back to the police car when I realized I had left my purse in the stadium! Officer Griffin and I sprinted all the way back into the stadium and found my purse still sitting in my seat. Whew! Then, for some stupid reason, we decided it would be a good idea to sprint back to the police car.

YAY RUNNING!

We made it back to the car and started the 20 minute drive home. I was sitting in the backseat with the other two girls when I started feeling sick.

Me: "Um, Officer Griffin, I don't feel so good"

Officer Griffin: "Uhhhhhh--let me roll down the window for you. What doesn't feel good?"

Me: "My stomach. I think I might pu...."

The girl siting beside me screamed bloody murder which only made me spew more.  I painted the back seat, myself, the window, and the side of the car with my technicolor yawn.

That's when officer Griffin turned the police siren on. Had I not been busy covering his car in regurgitated junk food while simultaneously covering my ears from the high pitched screaming, I might have thought it was really cool.

Officer Griffin pulled the police car over on the side of the highway, got out, opened my door, and ripped me out of the car by my arm. He was MAD.

I, naturally, was in tears. The two girls with me were still in the car shrieking because they couldn't get out of the car without crawling over my vomit.

Officer Griffin: "WHY THE HELL DID YOU EAT SO MUCH?!?"

Me: "WHY THE HELL DID YOU FEED ME SO......"

(Historical Reenactment)

As I started expelling more chunks, Officer Griffin walked away from me clinching his fist. I really thought he might kill me. Murdered by a D.A.R.E. officer while heaving cotton candy all over highway 85. That was my fate.

I can only imagine what this must have looked like to all the cars driving down the highway. The police lights were on so a pretty good traffic jam had started from nosy drivers trying to see what all the fuss was about. I'm sure all the onlookers thought I was a drunk 12 year old. Society had already given up on me and I was doomed to a life of drugs and drinking. It's a good thing that Officer Griffin had taken me under his wing and tried to get me back track.

Good for you Officer Griffin. Good for you.

At some point I remember someone coming over the police radio to ask Office Griffin if he needed back up. You could tell the person on the other end of the radio was desperately trying not to laugh. This was probably the most action that Officer Griffin had seen in years considering all he normally did was drive around the elementary school blaring the theme for "Cops" from loudspeaker.

After finally upchucking the last of the cotton candy, hot dogs, soda, nachos, and popcorn out of my system, Officer Griffin cleaned me up to the best of his ability while I stood there shivering and occasionally dry heaving. We had no paper towels so he used some papers he had in the trunk to wipe me off. I like to imagine that these papers were police reports and he would now have to turn them in covered in chunks of my spew.  

It sure does beat "The police dog ate my report" excuse

Officer Griffin helped the two other girls over my vomit, calmed them down, and stuck both of them in the passenger seat beside him. At least I had been kind enough not to yurp on them, right?

Then he sat me down in a pile of my puke in the backseat. He said I had to sit by the window and the seat on the opposite window was now filled with the pukey police reports. Sure, he could have moved the police reports and let me sit on the side of the car without vomit but I'm sure he got some sort of smug satisfaction in watching me sit in a heap of my own yack.

We drove the rest of the way back to the school with the siren and police lights on. I sat in the back shaking and praying that I wouldn't throw up again. It's really hard not to hurl when you are sitting in a big pile of it.

I pretended to have the stomach flu for the next 3 days so I didn't have to return to school. The stomach flu was also a great excuse as to why I would have puked in the first place. Too bad no one believed me. I think my mom felt embarrassed to have such an idiot for a daughter and so she allowed me to stay home for her own reputation.

I did the exact same thing when a friend invited me to a baseball game a few weeks later. I think her dad spent the same amount on feeding me as he did on the tickets themselves. Then he spent double that getting his car detailed. I was never invited to go to another sports game again.

And that, my friends, is the story of me puking in a cop car.

God kills a cute, furry creature every time you ignore my blog



You heard me right. Something cute and cuddly keeps dying because of you people. The only way you can save these creatures is by making my blog famous. And just why am I holier than thou? The answer is very simple:

I'm Awesome.

The only problem is I need to prove this to people before all the cute furry things in our world are expunged. I have come up with a few ideas on how to convince everyone else that I am awesome and that they need to jump for freaking joy every time I post something new....and I need your help.

You know that Sesame Street book called "There's a Monster at the End of this Book"? This post is sort of like that...but there's no monster at the end of the posting. Instead there are cute furry things....you need to read all of this, follow the instructions carefully, (I love Oxford commas) or else something squishy and soft will become extinct. It's true. God made it so.

So this is how you can save the world of cute, furry, squishy, soft, (I love Oxford commas) and oh so utterly adorable creatures:

1) Follow me.

This is very simple. There should be a link somewhere at the top of this page that says FOLLOW. Push it and follow instructions. Perhaps the link should say "Follow Me Bitches" instead. I think patronizing my readers is the best way to get some attention. There is also a nice little box in the top right of this page that says SUBMIT YOUR MOTHER FUCKING EMAIL SO YOU KNOW WHEN I POST SOMETHING NEW. I suggest you try it before God makes something bad happen.



Follow me or the Twitter bird gets it.


2) After you read my blog, leave a comment.

Boost my ego and tell me how brilliant I am. Tell me how stupid I am. Tell me how your day was. Point out my grammatical errors. The point is: I don't care what you say, just say something! Statistics show that at least 50 people read my blog on any given day but not one of you leaves a comment. Do you know how many furry animals die because of this?

This is what is going through the mind of a new reader:

New Reader: "Hey! This blog called Tripping on Dingo Daisy looks pretty cool. I think I might read it."

**Now is when they read the blog**

New Reader: "Oh look.... no one ever leaves her a comment so she must not be nearly as awesome as I thought."

**Now is when some poor kid's puppy dies**

You can save this kid's puppy if you would just leave a comment. Please stop emailing me and sending me messages on Facebook about how much you like my blog. I like the feedback but please leave your comments here for everyone to see (You can leave them on Facebook as well but just make sure you leave them here first). Help me be the queen of awesome blogs before a cute cuddly critter sadly ends his or her life way too early due to your neglect!

3) Tell your friends that I need your help saving all the cute cuddly creatures in this world.

Tell them to come here: http://meminimoo.blogspot.com/. Spread the word! Post it to your Twitter and Facebook account! Cute and cuddly things everywhere will thank you.

4) Make a mother fucking ribbon for god sakes.

Make a mother fucking tiger striped ribbon and pin it to your god damn chest so everyone knows that you support me and my awesome....as well as all those poor cute furry creatures.

Save the mother fucking cute, furry creatures from God's wrath! Go to http://meminimoo.blogspot.com/!!

Look at what happened on Wednesday you bastards!

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/03/15/148672548/star-rabbit-dies-when-photographer-takes-wrong-step

It's your fault! We must save those pitiful no eared creatures!

Grover will be dead in 24 hours unless you follow the instructions above. You don't want Grover's blue blood on your hands do you?

Jesus is watching you pee.

When Bill and I first moved in together, we badly need artwork for our new apartment. Ikea had not yet come to the east coast so where else would we go but good old Wally World? They had super cheesy $1 framed art.

So we went to Wal-Mart at 2am (It's the only good time to go), grabbed a handful of artwork without really looking at it, (I love oxford commas) and came home to put our masterpieces on the wall.

When we got home and started flipping through our new montage, we realized we had inadvertently grabbed at least 3 religious photos. All three were disturbing prints of Jesus. What the hell are we going to do with these?



The pictures looked a lot like these three...except without the question marks. The question marks represent my aporetic contemplations.



We got these pictures right around the time the conspiracy with Catholic priests and young boys was going public so they were doubly disturbing.

I was afraid it might be sacrilegious to return these awe-inspiring pieces of art so we instead decided to keep them. No sense in me being burned at the cross because I am trying to return pictures of Jesus being hung on a cross.

And the other reason these pictures are so damn disturbing is that Jesus is ALWAYS WHITE. I mean it doesn't take a rocket scientist's daughter to know that Jesus was all but white. Considering they did not have dentists or whitening trays back in those days, I doubt there was even a speck of white on that man. I am pretty sure the white's of his eyes were all red and blood shot from stress and lack of sleeping.

Aren't Christians not supposed to lie? So why do they lie about Jesus's skin color?

And don't give me that bullshit about how these are just representations of Jesus. I understand that we really don't know what Jesus looked like--he could have had a uni-brow, 4 fingers, three nipples, and a huge wart on the end of his nose for all we know. BUT the one thing we do know is he was NOT white.

If it is ok to draw bullshit impersonations of our savior then this is my illustration of the son of God:

Yes, he is brown, has a red trident, hooves, horns, pink highlights, and really big ears. He kind of reminds me of the big bad wolf right after he eats little red riding hood.

And here is my representation of me:

And I would like for you to meet my husband Bill:

And here's a few more artistic depictions:

This is the house we live in....



This is a photo of our wedding



These are our two dogs: Tripp and Daisy

 





This is where I work.



This is how cute bugs are



Do you now understand my frustration about white Jesus? It's a big fat lie!!!

Back to the Jesus pictures we bought. We decided the best place to hang up our Jesus artwork would be in the bathroom. That way we could make everyone feel REALLY uncomfortable when they go to pee and Jesus is watching you whip your junk out. Now we don't have to worry about lingering guests. I also assumed that any overnight guests would abstain from masturbating while Jesus and children were watching them....at least I would hope so.

When people would try to complain or excommunicate me for heresy, I would just remind them that God is everywhere so technically he is always watching you pee and masturbate. No one had a good argument to this so the Jesus pictures remained until we moved out of the apartment.

Side Note: These were the first items we sold when we had a garage sale. The buyers were a very, very old couple. I did not give them the back story as I felt it was inappropriate and I really wanted that $0.25 I made.

What Do Hamsters, Clowns, and Flowers have in Common?

It was starting out to be a good day. In fact, I thought today was going to be a phenomenal day. The first email I read confirmed that I had caught a nasty mistake and we were able to fix it before any harm came. It was indeed a great day until about 3 o'clock this afternoon when I got a nasty email from one of my customers about my performance.

Anyone who knows me knows I LOVE my job. I have had quite a few offers with other companies, making a much higher salary, and I have turned them down because I can't imagine leaving my company. I almost NEVER get complaints about my performance. You can call 95% of my customers and they will tell you how awesome I am and how much the company has changed since I was hired 4 years ago. My customers send me thank you cards and gifts in the mail. I have one customer that actually emailed Sprint and told them they need to fire Dan Hesse and make me the CEO of Sprint. I am good at my job and I know it.

Move over Dan. I'm coming through!

.....But you can't please everyone.

Today- a day that started out so well- was the one day a year where I got my complaint. I never handle these well because, of the four complaints I have had in the four years I have been at this company, all four of them had really nothing to do with me or anything that I actually did wrong.

For instance, my first complaint was from a customer who told the owner of my company that I was "useless". The owner of my company stood up for me and the conversation went something like this:

Customer: "She's useless!"
Owner: "Well...well...you're useless!"
Customer: "NO! YOU'RE USELESS!"
Owner: "How dare you! I'll show you useless! Good day sir!"

(This is the part where the owner slams the phone down. I also imagine all this yelling took place in a British accent although neither one of them are British)

And exactly why was I so "useless" according to this customer? Because I couldn't change the caller ID on his phone to display the correct name. His last name was spelled "Smit" instead of "Smith".  I was not the one who screwed up his name in the first place and I had no access to the caller ID system. I had to rely on the carrier to change the caller ID and -NEWSFLASH- cell phone carriers really suck at doing their job. If they didn;t suck at doing their job, then I wouldnt have a job. I really wish I had just changed his name from "Smit" to "Douchebag"

After I get complaints such as the the one from today, I think about all the things I have done wrong and all the mistakes I have made while working for my company. Yes, I make mistakes from time to time. But no one ever complains or freaks out about the mistakes I actually make. People only complain about my performance when its a situation that I have little to no control over.

DAMMIT I AM TIRED OF BEING BITCHED ABOUT WHEN IT'S NOT MY FAULT.

So today, I would like to write about all the mean and nasty thing that I would like to say to this customer. I need to let my anger out. If you know me, you also know that when I get mad I tend to say some pretty outrageous and explicit things. Here are today’s choice of words for that choice customer of mine. I also included some pretty pictures to help you get an idea of feelings.

1) "I’m going to grow a dick so you can suck it"

A picture of me growing a dick:



Butternut Squashdick


2) I told Bill that I was "going to be putting my customer under the table.” Bill's response was “Do you mean you are going to put him in his place?” and I answered “No—I am going to put him under the table so he can suck dick ”




This is my customer. As you can see, he is ready to be put under the table.



3)" You are a dumb ass. Literally—your ass is dumb. Your ass is so dumb that it had to drop out of ass school  and become an ass clown"

4) "I need you as a customer about as much as I need herpes and a pair of anal beads"

5) "Your mother is a hamster and your father smells of elderberries" (Thanks Monty Python)



Mommy?

6) "If you were a flower, I would piss on you"

 <Insert Picture of me pissing on a flower here>

This concludes todays bitching. Thank you for taking the time to read my useless ramblings.