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  • Puppy Problems

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    A few months ago we adopted a puppy. A really big, really goofy puppy. Brutus is just over 100 lbs. and a little more than a year and a half old. As far as we can tell he has never had any real training on how not to be an idiot. We are working on this.

    The first time I saw Brutus he was cowering in the corner of his kennel at the city shelter that I happened to be visiting for work. I specifically told my boss NOT to take me to the shelter because I prefer dogs to humans and I have self control issues. So a week later, while at a food truck festival I lured the Bear into a bacon induced coma and asked if we could visit the shelter. He grunted in a way that I chose to interpret as a consent. We were informed that the particular dog, who’s paperwork I just so happened to have taken a picture of last time, was across town at a pet store adoption center. It was ONLY 15 min away… and we REALLY didn’t have anything else to do that day, so if we wanted.. we could just stop over and meet him.

    They put us in a small back room where the Bear now is roused to full consciousness is grumbling about me, life, dogs, and the narcotic effects of bacon.  The volunteer strolls in with a very large, timid and skeletal puppy. She explained that he is part Great Dane and other stuff. At this point I have already melted to the floor and am trying to let him get use to me. The Bear has stopped grumbling but does seem to be repeating something about this being a huge freaking dog. He joins us on the floor. As if on cue Brutus puts his head in his lap and earned himself a family. It turns out, that it is incredibly difficult to say no to providing a home to a dog who has laid their giant head in your lap.

    Now, according to the volunteer, this dog doesn’t bark, doesn’t pull on his leash, is completely apathetic of other animals and just wants some humans to love. We came to find out that only one of these things were correct.

    When he arrived home he quickly learned some important lessons of our household.

    1. You are not the boss. Mommy is the boss.
    2. Leave the little fluffy one alone. He is old, senile and will cut you.(R.I.P. Mango we miss you)
    3. The fat short one thinks all the toys belong to her.
    4. The Vacuum is scary.
    5. There is a household budget line for dog toys.
    6. You are only allowed on the furniture if the humans aren’t home.

    We also learned a few things from Brutus

    1. The Vacuum can only be defeated by peeing on it first.
    2. The deliciousness level of a shoe is directly proportional to it’s value
    3. The best time to play “lets wrestle with my teeth” is between 1 and 3 am
    4. When mommy leaves for work, the world is fucking ending.
    5. Anything can be accomplished with the liberal application of hot dogs.
    6. Tall dogs can open doors when they want.
    7. Other dogs are the scariest thing on the planet and must be killed.

    It was that last one that resulted in us paying a professional to train us on how not to be idiot dog owners. Fortunately we have been successful in teaching him some better habits and in training ourselves that when he does something stupid is 100% our fault.

    He has been a fantastic addition to our little furry family. Coco seems to enjoy his boundless energy up until the point she no longer wants to deal with his shit. They with each other and have established some good boundaries without conflict. This is a real change from when Mango was still alive and we had to break up bloody dog fights almost weekly. Mango was a broken soul and we loved his angry little ass.

     

     


  • Who are you calling a princess?

    Lately it seems that if you want something to go viral make it a Disney princess mashup.

    Like most american girls, I was brought up watching Disney movies. I had every princess movie, I played dress up and make-believe.  I went to Disney World several times a year for most of my childhood. Sleeping Beauty is still my favorite Disney movie.

    I was fortunate to be taught to take care of myself. I can change the oil in my car, change a tire, replace the breaks, fix drywall holes, mend busted sprinkler pipes, and a whole slew of other life skills. I was never told I couldn’t do something because I was a girl.  My family supported me (and pushed me when I was ready to quit) to complete my bachelors degree. They have encouraged me to pursue a master’s degree or higher when I am ready to take on that challenge.  When I knew it was time to change jobs I knew I had a solid foundation to make that change.

    I was never told that I was a princess who deserves to have Prince Charming come take care of me.

    The video below explains it rather well but there are still things even I disagree with.

    My parents taught me to have the life skills necessary to support myself and my family.

    They explained that life can change quickly so you better be able to step up to the challenge.

    I was not raised to depend on another person for financial support.

    You want a nice pair of stupid expensive heels? Great! Get a job earn some money and buy those hot ass shoes.

    You want a big beautiful house with a white picket fence? Awesome! Get a job, manage your money, get a savings account, take out a mortgage and buy that big beautiful house.

    Too many girls seem to think that all they need in life is a rich man who will take care of them. Why? What makes you so special that you’re entitled to spend someone else’s money without contributing?

    To clarify, I am not referring to Stay at Home Mom’s and Dad’s. That is an unpaid full-time job;  you are taking care of the house, managing the budget and raising kids. I am also not referring to people are physically or mentally unable to work. That would be a ridiculous standard to hold someone to. We can only do what is within our abilities.

    What I am referring to are the girls who are waiting around for some guy to come rescue them from their mundane life. This is not a life goal sweetheart.

    If your life sucks, that’s your fault. Go make it interesting. If you want money and nice things, go get a job, learn some skills and earn that money. If you want to be more cultured, go travel or read something other than a magazine.

    Why are you waiting for someone else to handle it? If you aren’t happy with your life, that’s on you not on the person you will end up with.

    Put your big girl panties on and take charge of your own damn life.

    I don’t think its fair to the guys. Why should a man be expected to pay for your shit? We pressure men to make enough money to support a wife and kids. Ladies, we fought to vote, we are still fighting to stand on equal footing in the business world. why are we working this hard to turn around and expect or partners to pay for everything? You are not entitled to sit there and let some poor sap shower you with gifts and money. Reality TV shows are not something you should aspire to. Relationships are about working together as a team to meet your goals. If you and your partner decide that it is practical for you to stay home, that is great and you are very fortunate. I am sure you support them in a multitude of other ways. But to live with the expectation that you deserve and are owed the privilege to sit at home and do nothing but shop and drink while someone else takes care of you, that is complete bullshit. You are not a princess this is not a fairy tale. Grow. Up.

    We all wish we had enough money to live in a mansion and do whatever we wanted all day everyday. That’s a great dream, that no one will hand you. You need to bust your ass to get it.

    I read an awesome response to a girl who referred to herself as The Pretty Girl asking about finding a millionaire boyfriend. A response was given by someone claiming they are a millionaire. Basically they laid out why dating her is a poor business choice. Their money appreciates over time, her attractiveness will substantially depreciated as she gets older. She is not an asset. She has no skills to add to the bargain. Therefore it is a waste of time for them to do anything more than date attractive women. Millionaires are better off marrying women who are successful in their own right as they have something to offer to the partnership.

    The only person responsible for your happiness and success is you.

    If you want something, go get it.

    If you don’t know how, learn.

    If learning is hard, TOUGH! Life is hard. If need to ask for help it doesn’t mean you can’t do it. You might fall. Get up.

    You have to work. If it wasn’t challenging it would be called play.

    End motivational speech.

    Random Disney side comment:

    Ariel : No one told her she had to give up her fins for legs. She did that her damn self. She’s lucky he wasn’t a damn psycho.

    Jasmine: Your dad keeps you locked in a castle against your will, be pissed at him. You turned down everyone and had to be tricked into liking someone…

    Aurora: You were raised by three old ladies in the forest because your parents abandoned you, how the hell do you even know what a man looks like? Stockholm’s syndrome much??  Maybe don’t marry the guy who raped you in your sleep

    Bell: Beast is nuts and violent. understandable as he was turned into that thing and can’t function. He locked your dad and you in a freaking dungeon cell. You think the dishes can talk, you need therapy not a wedding dress.

    Cinderella: Move out, get a job as an animal trainer with Aurora. You can make clothes and shit.

    Pocahontas: should have let your dad kill him. It ended badly for your people.

    Snow White: Bitch all you have to do is cook and clean for a bunch of little guys who mine jewels and they feed you rent free?? what are you complaining about? And don’t take food from strangers because it leads to random dudes raping your in your glass coffin. #justsayin

    Rapunzel: Seriously? again with the kidnapping, stockholm syndrome and therapy. Get a group rate going.

    Mulan: Bitch gets shit done.

     


  • Roaming in Wyoming

    I was in Wyoming for work last week.

    Before I get started with my review of this experience, I feel that I need to air out my misconceptions concerning this state. This will give you a better understanding of my response to the experience.

    What I expected:

    Sheriff Longmire in a hat, on a horse, in about 10 feet of snow, or 100 degree desert weather.

    A waffle house, general store, and someplace famous for their chili that is run by a lady named Miss Patty.

    Native Americans EVERYWHERE.

    At least one buffalo.

    What welcomed me the first day:

    Not a single thing on the list above because Longmire lied to me.

    6 “Asian” restaurants and 1o Mexican places

    The Walmart where every single People Of Walmart photo was taken.

    While we were driving to Rock Springs, Wyoming from the Salt Lake city Utah airport (a.k.a The land of numerous wives), I observed that the landscape looked similar to West Texas. Dry, covered in dirt, with sad little scrubby plants, and a few out of place flowers. It looks like a desert. At any moment you expect a band of cowboys to come riding down the ridge to attack a wagon train or some crap.

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    On our first full day we started to notice some storms off in the distance. A phenomena I haven’t witnessed since I left the flat lands of Florida. And then it started raining and raining some more. In fact, it did not stop raining for two days. Yet for some unknown magical, mystical, middle of nowhere, bullshit reason my lips chapped and the inside of my nose crusted over with a blood infused cement booger hybrid. Every morning I woke up and praised Jesus that I didn’t asphyxiate in my sleep.

    We had asian food, steak, sushi (because it was different than the Asian food place) and the free dinner the hotel provides. Much to our surprise we didn’t actually die from eating sushi and it was the place everyone recommended when we asked where to eat. The steak house was a steak house, there was booze, meat, 70’s wood paneling and the necessary taxidermy that provides just the right amount of testosterone overload to season your steak. This was the nicest place around. Everyone that worked there wore bow ties and looked appropriately miserable.

    We stopped at Walmart for snacks and at some point we were transported to middle earth.  It was like a strange middle america petting zoo filled with normal creatures dressed exotically. It’s like the Fashion train stopped at the Little House on the Prairie and everyone got the hell off. I learned at lot about the possibilities of layering. For example, I was unaware that one could layer various pieces of leopard print lycra with intermittent layers of bright red lycra that had been sold by the acre. They didn’t really have a “No Shirt, No Shoes, no service” policy so much as a “Cover your naughty bits ’cause Jesus is watchin'” policy. It seemed to work for them. I’m pretty sure that everyone has a plaid couch and a deer painting somewhere in their house.

    What they lack in current fashion options that aren’t plaid or camo, they make up for by being just about the nicest people on the planet. I don’t think I’ve heard anyone one say anything stronger than “well they’re somethin’ else, I guess…” as a negative remark. Though that could be the midwestern version of “Bless their heart”. After three days I started to recognize people, by day four we all started to say “Hi” to each other. I think it’s the water. The urge to start teasing my hair grows with each passing moment and I considered buying aqua net on more than one occasion. If I pickup a three wolf moon picture I give you permission to cut my hand off and ship me back to California.

    Other than the Walmart, there was a strip club somewhere that I was never able to locate called the “The Bareback Saloon” and oddly enough, considering the name, was suppose to be mostly naked ladies not dudes. There wasn’t much in the way of entertainment other than a few bars and a  drive thru liquor store. I don’t drink anymore so bars turn into a weird exercise in freaking out social drinkers by ordering a coke and watching them try and figure out if I am a recovering alcoholic or pregnant. The answer is neither by the way. I just can’t drink alcohol in any amount without getting migraines.

    As if the rain wasn’t enough of a pain in the ass, at some point during the week the temperature decided to dip into the 20’s at night and maybe squeaked into the 50’s and 60’s during the day. I had exactly one jacket. Im pretty sure it saved my life. I didn’t realize until I walked to the car one morning that I had on brown steel toe boots, brown man-pants, and my brown jacket. I looked like a giant walking turd. My options were continue to look like a poop or freeze my tits off. I chose warmth. On the topic of freezing to death, we were informed that it can snow  12 months out of the year in Wyoming and the question still remains, why do people live there? We finally had to ask what all the weird fences were next to the road. It turns out they require fences to stop the snow drift from closing down roads. These are not temporary structure brought out in the winter. These are permeant fixtures because the frost giants like to visit year round.

    The day we drove to the airport to fly home, we stopped at Little America (combination truck stop, diner, motel and final resting place of your last scrap of dignity if you sleep there) for breakfast. It was the only place with trees for about 300 miles. They have road signs starting from 100 miles away and they are posted just about every 50 feet in case you missed the last one because you were distracted by the splendid vistas.

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    Road sign 600 of 900000. 

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    look at this picture, now imagine this but for hundreds of miles with the occasional Butte thrown in for variety. 

    Little America was built whenever classic diners were just diners. All the buildings are brick with colonial white columns. The whole place looks like a slasher movie set in the 1950’s. Except there is a dinosaur in front of the restaurant and the random nightmare penguins on all of the roofs.

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    We enjoyed a decent meal and completed out 3 hour drive to the nearest international airport that happens to be in another state.

    We arrived home safely and my body is happy to be at sea level. My skin is eternally grateful for the humidity. My brain trembles at the possibility I will be returning to Wyoming in the near future. Next time  I will know to bring a parka, a teasing comb, my hair spray and a bottle of angel tears to moisturize my skin.

     

     


  • ZFG

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    I remember getting embarrassed about EVERYTHING as an adolescent. I couldn’t even walk past the bra section in a store with out turning 10 kinds of red. (Fortunately I was flat as a sheet of paper until college.) I was obsessed with what people thought of me, how I looked and if people liked me. Typical teenage girl neurotic bullshit. Which was made worse by the fact that I was growing at all times and my arms and legs were unpredictable in their movements. This caused me to trip, fall, knock shit over and break things constantly.

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    I have noticed that as I grow older, I care considerably less or not at all in some cases. Most people assume that I am awash with self confidence. Which is not entirely true  (I do trust in my abilities and judgement when it comes to things I’m knowledgeable of). Most of the time what people see isn’t self confidence but a total lack of Fucks to Give in any situation I may be encountering.

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    I have spent much of my adult life standing in front of groups of people ranging from children to grown ass adults and instructing them on a wide variety of bullshit. This is not an example of my confidence, this is an example of how good I am at pretending I am super excited to be there. Whenever I start to get nervous and start to think “oh sweet fucking christ Im going to fuck this up and they are going to laugh at me and I am going to die.”

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    I stop myself and remember that I really don’t give a shit what these ass-hats think of me, I just need them to soak in the epic knowledge I am about to blast all over their faces brains. So far it’s the most effective teaching tool on my box. (yeah I just wrote that.)

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    I have come a long way from the child who would rather die than talk about human body functions. I hope that this is just one of the graces of growing older and more experienced in life. There are many life examples that I have lead me to believe that the fucks given only go down from here.

    Think about the elderly people you see around you. They don’t give a shit about anything that doesn’t make them happy.

    You are driving down the road and they need to be in your lane, well you better hit the brakes motherfucka because Aunt Bea is commin over.

    You go to a restaurant and notice a group of elderly ladies sitting at a table, and they run out of butter or something, they don’t wait for the server to come back, hell no that hand is up in the air and they are waving the empty butter thing around.

    You are in the farthest stall in 4 stall restroom trying to covertly poop in a hellhole public restroom, Grandma is too old and too tired to worry about stall spacing etiquette, hell no, she’s taking the stall right the fuck next to you and she’s gonna blast ass like she’s at home. Why? because when a good bowel movement hits she’s gonna take advantage of whatever bathroom she can find. If she wants privacy, she can turn her hearing aid down. You get to sit there in abject horror debating if you should wait for her to leave for follow her example.

    Think about any public locker room ever. All the naked people who don’t even bother with a towel are older than dirt. You don’t see the young fit people rolling out in the buff, nope they change in the stalls or in the corner of the locker room at lightning speed. Old people Air Dry. Because. They. Don’t. Give. A. Single. Fuck.

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    I say we get this party started early and stop giving a shit about what other people think. Boom instant happiness!

     

     


  • “Show respect to all people, but grovel to none.” ~ Tecumseh

    The term Psychopath is overused as a descriptor of people we dislike. Allow me to outline a few of the tendencies of a true psychopath are (according to  This site). I have added some hypothetical examples of what it might look like in your work place.

    a few traits of a Psychopath:

    1. Glib superficial charm. Someone who only charms those who they hope to get something from. Provides fake smiles and compliments to attempt a level of warmth that is blatantly insincere. 

    2. Grandiose self perceptions. Convinced they are the most important person and nothing will function without them. Telling others that the coworkers who are below them are not as important in the company because they could do it all on their own. Only supporting those who are willing to grovel at their feet and pet their substantial egos. 

    3. Constant need for stimulation. Always sticking their nose into other areas even if it has nothing to do with them. Even if there are other head managers who are responsible for that area. Assigning tasks that are not even in someones job description or area because they don’t even know that.

    4. Pathological lying. Will outright lie to others about things going on around them, to the point they forget the truth.  Talking in circles so they can flip flop their statement at will to avoid ever appearing incorrect even if everyone sees right thought it. 

    5. Cunning use of manipulation. Attempting to set people against each other by telling lies or half truths. Attempting to bait people to turn them against their managers and act as informants because no one talks to them. 

    6. Lack of guilt or remorse. Screwing over someone below them unnecessarily in the name of “Business needs and consistency”  without batting an eyelash. 

    7. Shallow emotional response. Questioning someone who is actively responding to an injury because they don’t actually know what is suppose to be done, so they assume it’s wrong even when it’s textbook perfect. Even questioning if that head injury REALLY needs to go to the ER. 

    8. Lack of empathy. The inability to realize people with kids, who have worked here for years, shouldn’t be forced out of the job because they no longer like that persons availability. Not promoting someone who has a decade of experience in the department because it’s easier to manipulate them if you tell them that even after ten years they aren’t ready yet.

    9. Unrealistic goals. Expecting a team of 3 agents and 2 managers to complete the same job with 100% success in a department that has enough hours for 5 agents 2 managers. And being upset when there isn’t coverage. 

    10. Can’t take responsibility for their actions. Not being able to admit when they don’t know what they are talking about and blaming it on someone else. Trying to blame others for their low coworker opinion scores even though it names them specifically. 

    Can you imagine working for someone like that? It would really suck. It might make you consider leaving a a company; even after a cross country move and 4 years of hard work and dedication.  Working for someone that horrible could cause you to change your life goals because you aren’t willing to sacrifice your dignity on the alter of their ego.

    But don’t worry. It might just force you to look for new opportunities that you never knew existed. You might just step out of your comfort zone and into a position that will support your growth and advancement. So I guess psychopaths aren’t all that bad if you know how to handle the situation.


  • people skills.. I should work on that.

    I have been told a time or two, that I need to work on my people skills. I accept that my ability to respond appropriately to displays of emotional distress is somewhat under developed.

    I am basically incapable of making small talk without sounding like a serial killer.

    I prefer to get the point of conversations quickly, due to the fact that I have a nasty habit of forgetting the reason I have approached someone. It usually results in me walking into their conversational bubble, looking them directly in the eye, panicking because I forgot why I am there, exclaiming loudly “NEVER MIND!” and making a hasty retreat by speed walking about 20 feet. At this point I usually remember what I wanted to ask them. I then turn in two full circles debating if its worth it to shame walk back to the person.  Who, by the way, is currently witnessing this ritualistic dance of awkward fuckary. By the second turn around, I realize I look like an idiot and toddle back to my desk swearing to myself “next time just send them a goddamn email…”

    Professionally,  there are occasions that I am required to engage in discourse with individuals that are feeling somewhat impassioned for any number of reasons. Rarely do these reasons penetrate my exoskeleton of callus indifference. While I was living on the East Coast this was an acceptable and expected method of interacting with humans in a heightened emotional state. Usually, they were able to soothe themselves with a blanket of self righteous ignorance and condescension.

    California is a whole new beast of delicate emotional sensitivity.

    It may help to explain that I was raised by a police officer and pediatric nurse. If you weren’t bleeding to death or missing a limb you better suck it up and go walk it off. Try to convince your mother to keep you home from school with tummy ache when she just cared for kid who nearly died in a car crash. She will give you “the look” and tell you to get your ass in the car. If your stomach aches you can do dishes. We learned at young age not to let dad tie your cleats if you wanted to keep all of your toes. Unless of course your foot already hurt, in which case it was better, because a foot can’t swell if there isn’t any blood going to it. In 4th grade I walked a 1/2 a mile home with a broken arm, more scared they were going to be pissed at me not listening to my brother, then from actual pain.

    You can now understand my confusion in how to handle extended emotional displays (by adults) that do not appear to have a physical  manifestation or cause. I just stand there and ask if they need me to call EMS. When the answer is no… and they continue to cry actual tears, I begin frantically searching for an exit. When the words “CAN’T YOU SEE ?!? I AM IN EMOTIONAL DISTRESS!!!” are getting tossed in my general direction, I can only muster enough compassion to offer them an ice-pack.

    Knowing I display the emotional capacity of a hermit crab and I tend to communicate as unambiguously and concisely as possible. Picture me, in the land that sets the standard for political correctness and personal awareness. Yoga schools on every corner next to medical marijuana shops and the Church of Existential Omni-deities that Prefer to be Called Bob. The general expectation is that there will be no less then 5 minutes of inane conversation and personal inquiries before you can start circling the conversational wagons and get to the point. I maintain that if I spent the expected amount of time in fatuous exchanges I would get exactly dick accomplished. The consequence is that now everyone just assumes I’m a bitch and no one will sit at my lunch table. 

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