Thursday, November 18, 2010

My Rescue Dog (Part 3)

I went back to the pet store and tried to return the dogs. Only two of them: Cocoa and Cappy. I figured the pet store would notice if I tried to sneak Diego in as well. I looked like a mess and pleaded my case to the owner. Diarrhea. Crying. Cleaning. I told him everything. He looked at me with pity. I had Cocoa and Cappy in a bag. It was like Macy’s. Sorta. He wanted me to try to keep them for a few more days. If things didn’t get better, then he’d take them back. A few more days? Was this guy nuts! My mind was searching for a solution to this problem. And then I saw it. Pet Store Boy. Luckily, he was there.

I told Pet Store Boy about my dog troubles. We put them in the back of the store, and they ran around and played. He was petting them and thought they looked fine. I tried to use my feminine wiles, hoping he’d take the dogs, but I looked like hell and smelled like puke. It wasn’t working. I almost started crying. I was having a break down while talking to Pet Store Boy, and he still wouldn’t budge. I guess break down doesn’t equal sexy. I needed somebody to take these dogs. He still wanted to go out. Go out? I’d never be able to go out again. My life was ruined. Someone. Anyone. Take these dogs now!

I put the dogs back in their case and started to close it up. They were panting from playing, and they looked so happy. Cocoa was licking my hand. Cappy was giving me sad eyes because he couldn’t play anymore. Suddenly, I felt bad. How could I return dogs? This was nuts. I looked into their eyes and knew what I needed to do.

Back in my apartment with all three dogs and a bottle of wine, I started drinking. And then drunk dialing. I called one of my Aunts. Every dog she ever had was someone’s mistake. She already had a dog that someone had rescued from the pound right before it was euthanized. I wanted somebody to euthanize me. I needed help. I told her about my problem, and she decided to take Diego.

Love Him But Hate Him would be relieved. Not that he had been any help. Hate him!

Diego left the next day and things became much easier with only two dogs. My BFF came back from her trip, and she took Cappy home. One of my cousins was going to take Cocoa from me in a week. Things were finally looking up.

It was the night before Cocoa was about to leave, and she was curled up on my lap. I was writing material, and Cocoa was falling asleep. I was thinking about how hard it was going to be to give her away, but that it was probably the best thing for her. As though she was reading my mind, she looked up and stared into my eyes. It may have been because I was tired, or because of all I had been through, or because I was getting attached to this dog. But the way her eyes looked into mine, it’s hard to explain. She wasn’t looking at me. She was looking through me. As if she was looking at my soul. I sat there explaining to Cocoa why it’d be better if she lived with my cousin. It’d be a better life. A backyard. Kids. Everything a little dog like her had probably dreamed of. I told her I didn’t think I could handle

the responsibility. The commitment. But she just kept looking at me. Staring. Unflinching. I told her I was sorry, but she was going to move out of the city to the country. I stopped talking, and she rested her chin on my knee and gave a large sigh. It was the loudest dog sigh I had ever heard. It made me laugh. I called my cousin and told her I was keeping Cocoa.

A few weeks later, she started barking. Barking at everything. Every minute. All of the time. People in Manhattan might hate owners who get their dogs at pet stores, but they hate a barking dog even more. But I’ve learned how to navigate the pretentious Manhattan dog world. I tell people she’s a rescue dog, and all is forgiven. It’s not exactly a lie. Rescued from the pet store and from almost being returned. Not exactly a rescue dog, but kinda. Either way, I’m glad I kept her. When Cappy and Diego come over all of the dogs play. They bark up a storm together. Probably reminiscing about old times, when they were almost sold back to the pet store, but their cuteness won out. I’m glad it did.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

My Rescue Dog (Part 2)

Diego, Cocoa, and Cappy were so good their first night. They played well together. Ate their food. All three little dogs snuggled up on the dog bed I bought. It was precious. Absolutely precious, until I heard crying, yelping and screaming at 5 a.m. Cocoa had this cry that was more of a scream. I had gone to bed at 2 a.m. What the hell was wrong? I ran out where the dogs where and found they just wanted attention. Why they wanted it at 5 a.m. was beyond me, but it didn’t really bother me. It was their first day. They just needed to get adjusted.

And then Cocoa puked. I cleaned it up. Cappy had diarrhea and Diego walked in it. I cleaned it up and then cleaned the dogs. Cocoa puked again and Cappy rolled in it. I cleaned it up. Then I cleaned them. Crying. Yelping. Puking. Yelping. Crying. Puking. Diarrhea. I cleaned it up. I cleaned the dogs. I cleaned myself. I fed them. I cleaned them up. I walked them. They puked. They cried. I didn’t have a minute for anything except to take care of these dogs. What the hell was going on?

I brought all three dogs to the vet. While sitting in the waiting room, I had all three dogs on my lap. They were small enough. This woman sitting next to me said, “Where did you get all of those puppies?” She was all smiles. Then she heard the words “pet” and “store,” and her face twisted in disgust. There’s a reversed snobbery in Manhattan regarding where you get your dogs. You’d think the Manhattanites would like if you spent money on your dog, but it’s just the opposite. If it’s a rescue dog, people think you’re a wonderful person. If it’s from a pet store, that same dog makes them disgusted.

The vet wasn’t too thrilled either that Cocoa and Cappy were from a pet store. One of them had some kind of bug, and now they all had it. The vet figured it was one of the “pet store” dogs. I knew nothing about dogs. I didn’t know it was bad to get your dog from a pet store. It was as if I had been living under a rock, not knowing about the hierarchy of acceptable dog purchasing in Manhattan.

Three sick dogs. It had been a only a few days, and I’d been up around the clock caring for the dogs. Trying to bargain with the dogs. Wishing they didn’t have liquid shit coming out of their asses every 5-minutes. Hoping one of them wouldn’t step in it if they did. Praying they’d go to sleep. But they continued to be sick. They continued to step in each others mess. They continued to roll in each others vomit. The only time they slept was when I wasn’t home. Otherwise they were up. Up. Up. Up.

After a week it started to become a nightmare. No sleep. My apartment smelled like a combination of diarrhea and puke. I never wanted to go home. I ran out to do shows, but then worried about the dogs, and would run back to take care of them. I was afraid something would happen.

When I have a problem, one of my favorite things to do is to throw money at it. Since I couldn’t take care of the dogs on my own, I figured I’d pay someone to help me, but once I told dog walkers or day care centers that the dogs were sick, they were unwilling to help. Money wasn’t working.

I looked like hell. My whole job was cleaning up puke and poop all day. Plus don’t forget about all of the crying. I called the pet store, and told them what happened, but they had no remorse. They told me the puppies must’ve gotten sick from Diego. I knew that wasn’t true. Damn pet store. What did I expect?

My BFF called me from her trip and could tell I was about to have a break down, but there was nothing she could do. Love Him But Hate Him also knew I was having a hard time, but he hadn’t found a home yet for Diego. I was in Puppy Hell. Sure they were cute, but I had done this to myself. I love shopping, but who buys a dog as an impulse purchase? They weren’t tic tacs. They were living, breathing things! But now that I had these dogs, I had to do the right thing. The responsible thing.


Sunday, November 14, 2010

My Rescue Dog (Part 1)

My friend, let’s just call him, Love Him But Hate Him, is one of the most hysterical people I’ve ever met, so you love him. But he doesn’t always think things through, so then you hate him. He works 12 to 14 hours a day, but decided to get a dog. Bad move. I was out shopping one day when Love Him But Hate Him called me and asked me to go check on his dog Diego. He was going to be stuck at work late again and was worried about the dog. No problem. Until I got there. No water. The place smelled like urine. His wee-wee pad was full. With no food out Diego had eaten part of a book. Living in these squalid conditions was horrible. I put the dog on a leash and took him back to my apartment. What else could I do?

I left Love Him But Hate Him a message telling him I’d be keeping his dog until one of us found him a new home. I would’ve loved to have kept Diego, but my life was too busy. I worked all the time and was away most weekends doing comedy. I couldn’t keep Diego forever, but I could watch him for awhile. Now I had a dog, but not much else. During the "rescue," I looked through the apartment for dog supplies, and there

was nothing. I dropped Diego off at my place and looked for a pet store.

I walked into this pet store on the Upper East Side, trying to make my way to the back where they keep the dog food, when this little 2-pound-nothing dog caught my eye. This big, fat guy was holding the smallest dog I had ever seen. I started to talk to him about the puppy he was holding. He was going to buy it for his wife. The pup looked scared. He asked me if I wanted to hold her. If anyone ever asks you to hold a puppy your first response has to be no. Never hold a puppy. Do you hear me? Never!

The puppy had been shaking, scared and sad, but now she was licking my face and wagging her tail. The fat guy said, “I can’t buy this dog. This dog is yours. It’s your puppy.” I said, “But I just came in to buy some dog food.” He said, “I don’t care. That’s your dog.” Unsure of what to do I called my BFF (Best Friend Forever). I told her that some fat guy gave me a puppy to hold, and now he’s telling me it’s my dog. She said, “Do not move. You’re not buying a dog. I’ll be right there.” Meanwhile, a pet store guy saw me holding this cute dog and came over to start selling me. Pet Store Boy was cute and flirty, but wasn’t he just trying to get a sale?

My BFF found me in a back room with Pet Store Boy while playing with Cocoa. Naming the dog within five minutes of meeting it is a bad sign. Cocoa was running all over. Playing. Nipping. Feisty as hell. So cute. My BFF said, “Yea, that’s a cute dog, but you’re not getting it. You already have Diego.” I said, “I know, but...” That’s how it went. I-know- but, I-know-but. Pet Store Boy was selling us on the value of having more than one dog. They’ll play together.

They won’t be lonely. You won’t feel guilty. During this back and forth, something caught my BFF’s eye, and she asked Pet Store Boy to get it down. It was a dog. The dog looked like the dog I was about to buy. Small, cute and fluffy. She looked at the dog for five seconds and said, “I’m getting this dog.” I said, “You’re getting that dog, but I’m not getting this dog?” We spent 3-hours in the pet store going back and forth about getting the dogs or not.

Four thousand dollars later, we walked out with food, supplies, dogs and Pet Store Boy’s number. We had charged our dogs. It seemed so wrong. Poor Diego didn’t know what was about to hit him. My BFF was going away for work the next day and asked me to watch Cappy for three weeks. In 24-hours, I had gone from no dogs to three. How hard could it be?


Thursday, November 4, 2010

Recipe For Disaster (Part 3)

I took a break from cleaning and ran to the bathroom. This bridal shower was work. I came out of the bathroom and saw Eye Candy. Alone in the hallway, we started talking. Then we started kissing. Next thing I knew I was pinned up against the wall. I did want to tip him. But then Tea Bagger’s Mom walked out of the bathroom, making as much noise as possible, breaking us up. I got myself together and went back into the room.

Tea Bagger’s Mom was starting to read the cards out loud. Since the mom had seen me making out with the waiter, I thought I should try to atone by continuing to clean up. I was on one side of the room. Time of Our Lives was on the other. Tea Bagger’s Mom read the first card. “This is from Susan. Hi, Susan.” Everyone looked over at Susan. “Susan’s recipe for love is 1 cup of hugs, 3 Tablespoons of affection, 1 teaspoon of kisses and a pinch of adoration.” Everyone at the table nodded their heads. Tea Bagger’s Mom said, “Oh Susan, truer words have never been said.” Were these people on crack?

“Okay, our next recipe for love is from...” This time she was reading Time of Our Lives card. I wondered what bullshit she’d come up with. Tea Bagger’s Mom was loving this. She must’ve waited her entire life to read these dumb cards. Even at some of the worst bridal showers, I never listened to this bullshit. “Her recipe for love is 2 Cups of Understanding, 3 Tablespoons of Forgiveness, 1 teaspoon of Fun, sprinkled with a dash of tenderness. And a heaping tablespoon of Mother’s Advice."

Tea Bagger’s Mom ate it up. The room erupted into applause while everyone beamed at Time of Our Lives. Tea Bagger’s Mom looked at her and said, “You are such a wonderful friend to my darling daughter.” Time of Our Lives was hysterical. She had really laid it on thick to Tea Bagger and her Mom, but how much longer could I listen to these damn recipes? So I continued to clean.

Tea Bagger’s Mom went on. “Our next recipe for love is from...” And I hear my name. All eyes are on me. I look over and Time of Our Lives won't look at me. I knew I hadn’t written a recipe for love. I had been making out with Eye Candy. I had been cleaning up. I hadn’t been near those cards. Time of Our Lives was the devil! Tea Bagger's Mom read

on while everyone’s eyes were on me, “Recipe for disaster...” And even though it said disaster and not love, she kept on reading. “1 cup of tell him he doesn’t appreciate you, 2 ounces of resentment, 1 ounce of disgust, 3 heaping tablespoons of NO SEX AT ALL!”

The entire crowd had been mouse quiet the whole day, but this recipe had them up in arms. I’ll never understand why Tea Bagger's Mom kept reading the card. I was bright red. Time of Our Lives was acting shocked. Tea Bagger’s Mom looked at me and said, “You are a disgrace to bridal showers!” Was that the best she could come up with? It was almost a compliment. I heard one of the old ladies say, “I saw her scowling during Bridal Bingo.” I wanted to kill Time of Our Lives and die at the same time. Tea Bagger’s Mom finally got it together and said, “Okay, let’s all move on. Next we have Nancy’s recipe for love,” and she started reading a new bullshit card.

I escaped from the room and met Time of Our Lives out in the hallway. We laughed hysterically, and I told her about Eye Candy. We were laughing so hard we almost peed. Eye Candy was there and took us away from the bridal shower to a wedding that was going on in another part of the hotel. We boozed and partied for the rest of the night. Time of Our Lives hooked up with someone. I hooked up with Eye Candy again. We knew we probably weren’t going to get invited to Tea Bagger’s wedding, but we didn’t care. We laughed. We partied. We danced. At around three in the morning, when all was said and done, my old friend looked over at me and said, “Time of Our Lives?” and I said, “Definitely.”

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Recipe For Disaster (Part 2)

Who created bridal showers? Some cheap ass who decided they were getting married but didn’t want to buy all the necessary things you need when you live on your own. Once you’re married you have two incomes. Shouldn’t you be able to buy plates and glasses yourself? And why do I want to watch you open all this shit? We know what you’re getting.

Tea Bagger’s Mom came up to the front where the gifts were being opened and said, “Everyone. Everyone. Gather round. We’re all going to honor the bride.” And she made everyone get up and form a circle around Tea Bagger. What the hell was this? Tea Bagger’s Mom went on, “Don’t forget she gets something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue,” and she handed Tea Bagger a box. Tea Bagger’s Mom made everyone get up for this? I wanted to strangle her with those pearls for wasting time. It was so quiet in the room you could hear a pin drop. Were the guests dead, or were they that boring?

Tea Bagger opened the box and pulled out blue panties. I was pretty drunk at that point, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Luckily, that wasn’t borrowed.” No laughter. Nothing. Time of Our Lives started cracking up. Just like old times.

Now that the circle fiasco was over the games were beginning. Bridal shower games. Easily the worst part. The first game was Bridal Bingo. Yes, you heard me right. We were going to play Bingo. Only instead of having to call out "B12," we had to call out

things like “ring pillow” and “wedding march.” I wanted to march. I wanted to march right up to Tea Bagger and say, “Sorry you don’t have friends, but this bridal shower is why. We are out of here.” But the booze kept flowing and Eye Candy was getting hotter by the minute, so I sat there while Time of Our Lives screamed out “pewter” and some old lady jumped up and yelled, “Bridal Bingo!” I guess Bingo was fitting for this crowd.

Next we played Bridal Word Scrabble. Who thought of these games? Were we going to play Bridal pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey next? There was really no imagination going on here. I was in charge of this one. Everyone got a list of scrambled bridal words and had to unscramble words like “knot” and “mother-in-law” in ten minutes. While everyone’s head was down trying to figure out the words Time of Our Lives and I did a few shots. One of the guests was a Scrabble Rainman of sorts because the time wasn’t even close to being up when she screamed out, “Bingo!” She was obviously confused, but she had the entire list done. I’m sure it was fixed.

The remnants of our games were everywhere, and Tea Bagger wanted everything cleaned up. I was cleaning and Time of Our Lives was handing out the last game. Blank index cards. Tea Bagger's Mom wanted everyone to write down the ingredients to a good

marriage. Their “recipe for love.” I knew from my married friends that meant alcohol and porn. I couldn’t wait to see what this crowd came up with.