*Warning: If you do not have a dog for a pet, or are not a dog "person" then you may find this post somewhat repulsive and/or concerning. However, if you do have a pet dog, then you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.
I recently adopted a dog from a local shelter during one of their "adoption days" at a local Pet Superstore. The dog I chose is a Chipin, or a Chihuahua-Miniature Pinscher mix. He's adorable, only weighs ten pounds on a good day, and seemed like he wouldn't mind living in my apartment too much.
Within the first hour of "owning" him, he bit me and pooped on my shirt. He hated the treats that the shelter recommended to me, and getting a leash around his neck was like trying to lasso a bull. I must say, we've come a long way since that first day. We're so close, in fact, that he hates to leave my side and wants to be a part of EVERYTHING I do. And when I say everything, I mean everything. If I'm taking a shower, he has to be right outside the tub. If I need to use the restroom, he has to come in the bathroom with me. You get the point.
So then, it should have been no surprise to me when I learned that he had a special affection for trash. Not just trash in general, but my trash. And not all trash, but preferably trash that contained some type of my bodily fluid. He has a particular preference for blood.
The first time I caught him with trash, he was lying beneath my dining room table with two shredded tissues that had been used to blow my nose, and I hate to say this, but a used feminine item. I know, it's gross. I freaked out, texted my best friend, and found out that her dogs too had a thing for, ahem, trash. He'll still sneak out a used tissue from time to time, but I've mostly learned my lesson by keeping the trash out of his reach.
However, as you'll recall from my last post, I recently had facial surgery. On my nose. So of course, there was a plethora of bloody tissues in the trash can. He didn't get much time alone with that trash, but he was able to shred, eat, destroy, and only God knows what else with those tissues in that short period of time.
And then there was the time that I sliced through my thumbnail with a vegetable peeler. He was right there trying to lick the blood away. Any scratch, any cut...he wants to lick it clean and then lick it some more. The only conclusion that I can come to is that my dog, my sweet, sweet dog, was a Vampire in another life. How else could such a tiny animal have such a thirst for blood? I am truly baffled.
Currently Blood-Free,
Freeway Fairington
Monday, June 27, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
I've Been Hibiclensed!
It's 4:30 in the morning on a Friday. My alarm is going off incessantly in my ear. My dog is licking my face. I am grouchy. The fact that it's 4:30 am on a Friday is reason enough for me to already be in a bad mood, but what's worse is that I can't eat or even drink water as my plans for the day revolve around going to the hospital for surgery.
The previous afternoon, the nurse that called to do my pre-op instructions by phone told me that I would need to purchase a product called Hibiclens and wash with it from the neck down that evening, and then again the morning of surgery. She stated it was to, "help prevent infection". I was a little skeptical of this since the surgery I was scheduled for was facial surgery...but hey, I didn't go to nursing school, and I don't work in a hospital. I did as instructed and purchased the Hibiclens (located in the First Aid aisle, and ridiculously overpriced) at my local pharmacy and then came home to shower.
Before showering, I read the label on the box. "Do not get in eyes-will cause blindness. Do not get in or near ears-will cause deafness"...ummm, my heartbeat quickens a little bit. I'm a very clumsy person. I'm about to get in the shower, where water has the tendency to make liquid products go places where they probably shouldn't go. This could be bad. Very bad.
As I'm showering, I'm allowed to do all the normal stuff first-I just have to save the Hibiclens for last. It's in a pastel teal container (if that's possible) that looks eerily similar to a bottle of Calamine Lotion. The "soap" (?) is extremely watered-down and is almost burgundy in color, it pours out much faster than I was anticipating. I hesitantly begin to rub the soap into my skin, extra careful to avoid those parts that definitely don't want to have anything to do with this potentially blinding and deafening soap. And then I rinse for an approximate extra ten minutes. No, I'm not joking, I really do and am quite certain that my next water bill will reflect this. As soon as I step out of the shower, I begin to itch all over my body. Of course. I would be allergic to the stuff. I checked the box the "soap" came in one more time. No lie, the website listed for more information was www.hibigeebies.com. WTF?
I apply lotion before going to bed, although I'm fairly certain that I'm NOT supposed to do this, since I'm supposed to shower again the following morning using the same toxic "soap"...but, the nurse didn't say I couldn't, so...
I still don't know if my "soap" prevented me from contracting any kind of weird mutant hospital bugs while in surgery, but I appear to be alive, well, and normal (for myself anyway). And even if I had been infected, it wouldn't matter because I only used the soap on my body and not my face where I was actually being operated on...
Now, if anyone ever tells me that they're scared or feel something along the line of the "hibigeebies", I can tell them not to worry because there's a soap for that and to trust me because, "I've been Hibiclensed!".
Hibigeebie Free,
Freeway Fairington
The previous afternoon, the nurse that called to do my pre-op instructions by phone told me that I would need to purchase a product called Hibiclens and wash with it from the neck down that evening, and then again the morning of surgery. She stated it was to, "help prevent infection". I was a little skeptical of this since the surgery I was scheduled for was facial surgery...but hey, I didn't go to nursing school, and I don't work in a hospital. I did as instructed and purchased the Hibiclens (located in the First Aid aisle, and ridiculously overpriced) at my local pharmacy and then came home to shower.
Before showering, I read the label on the box. "Do not get in eyes-will cause blindness. Do not get in or near ears-will cause deafness"...ummm, my heartbeat quickens a little bit. I'm a very clumsy person. I'm about to get in the shower, where water has the tendency to make liquid products go places where they probably shouldn't go. This could be bad. Very bad.
As I'm showering, I'm allowed to do all the normal stuff first-I just have to save the Hibiclens for last. It's in a pastel teal container (if that's possible) that looks eerily similar to a bottle of Calamine Lotion. The "soap" (?) is extremely watered-down and is almost burgundy in color, it pours out much faster than I was anticipating. I hesitantly begin to rub the soap into my skin, extra careful to avoid those parts that definitely don't want to have anything to do with this potentially blinding and deafening soap. And then I rinse for an approximate extra ten minutes. No, I'm not joking, I really do and am quite certain that my next water bill will reflect this. As soon as I step out of the shower, I begin to itch all over my body. Of course. I would be allergic to the stuff. I checked the box the "soap" came in one more time. No lie, the website listed for more information was www.hibigeebies.com. WTF?
I apply lotion before going to bed, although I'm fairly certain that I'm NOT supposed to do this, since I'm supposed to shower again the following morning using the same toxic "soap"...but, the nurse didn't say I couldn't, so...
I still don't know if my "soap" prevented me from contracting any kind of weird mutant hospital bugs while in surgery, but I appear to be alive, well, and normal (for myself anyway). And even if I had been infected, it wouldn't matter because I only used the soap on my body and not my face where I was actually being operated on...
Now, if anyone ever tells me that they're scared or feel something along the line of the "hibigeebies", I can tell them not to worry because there's a soap for that and to trust me because, "I've been Hibiclensed!".
Hibigeebie Free,
Freeway Fairington
Saturday, June 11, 2011
You Can Thank Me for Your Boyfriend
I don't recall if I saw it in a movie or read it in a book, but I am the girlfriend that a guy dates before he gets married, so to speak. (Only one that I know of is now actually married, but you get my gist).
It's almost ironic now, but my seventeen year old self once made a collage of words and images, and on this particular collage (which still hangs prominently in my old bedroom at my parent's house) there is a comic strip. Orange in background, it presents an awkward party scene: girl standing and looking desperate to get away; geeky guy standing in front of her, drink in hand and pocket protector on his short-sleeved 1950s-style dress shirt saying, "Are you interested in a fixer-upper?". I kid you not, this is the epitomy of my love life. Sigh.
Here are some examples:
Boyfriend #1: The Immature Bastard
This boyfriend wasn't really actually ever my "official" boyfriend, but we dated off and on for a few years. He was a habitual liar, charming, but a liar nonetheless, who was semi-obsessed with his ex-girlfriend. Bad things that he did to me included stealing my car from my place of employment and rear-ending his ex's car, used me for countless rides to I don't even know where, and repeatedly lied about any and everything. I suspect he probably stole from me a couple of times, and then there was that time I caught him reading my journal. (Ha! The prick got what he deserved). Worse things that I did to him to teach him a lesson: left him on the side of a major interstate when he wouldn't stop speaking to me disrespectfully, created a list with my best friend of reasons why I couldn't have sex with him (this made the "I have to wash my hair excuse" pale in comparison to any excuses we made up), had some of my "boys" teach him a lesson about lying and stealing, and called the cops to report that he had driven through an apartment community gate along with a full-description of his soon to be disabled non-registered and non-licensed car. Needless to say, we eventually parted ways and fell out of touch...amicably, I'll add. He went on to finish Real Estate school (before the market got too bad), moved to another state, and now has a beautiful daughter. He was the boyfriend who just needed some maturing under his belt.
Boyfriend #2: The Inexperienced Drug-Addict
My inexperienced drug-addict boyfriend had a good heart and was a free spirit looking for a fun time. He also apparently did way too much Acid in high-school. I never was quite certain if he was just that dumb and goofy, or if he was the way he was because of all of the drugs he had ingested over the years. I was only the second girl to date him (Boyfriend #1 made sure to tell me this and that everyone thought he was gay because of this-they were "friends") so he was very inexperienced in the, ahem, love department...almost comically so. We didn't date long because he was always looking for a party and a place to get high. Somehow he managed to stay out of jail and keep a job while we were together. He was the one who called me randomly every few months to ask to see me or to just keep in touch, and, of course, look for a party. He too now has a child, and just recently got married.
Boyfriend #3: The Drama-King/Alcoholic
This boyfriend went to a small college within commuting distance of one of the top party schools in the United States. He was older than me, cocky as hell, and as far as I could see, someone who posed a challenge that needed to be put in his place. I should have known that when he showed up for our first date with a soda in his hand that something was up. See, he was 21 and I was only 19. I think we went bowling and he ended up going home. I never saw him sober again after that. Once, I found him lying in between the couch and the coffee table in my living room babbling some nonsense about how I needed to go to the party school because where I was attending college didn't matter. My roommate came out of her bedroom to see what the problem was and immediately started laughing. He talked constantly during his drunken rambles of wanting to be a Firefighter, but alcohol was far more important it seemed, because all he did was just that-talk. And drink.
On what was to be our one-year anniversary, I foolishly booked a room at a nice hotel in the downtown area near where we lived. I had my mom go with me to the nearest liquor store to purchase Moet (big in all the rap songs of that time) and a bottle of Martini and Rossi Asti (still my favorite drink). I got dressed up nice, fixed my hair (that's BIG for me!) and drove downtown. The jerk never showed or returned my calls. According to my phone bill when I checked out of the room (yes, it was $1 for each local call) I called him 11 times, and I'm not going to lie, probably left some pretty psycho messages on his voicemail. I never heard back from him. Nevertheless, I called Boyfriend #1, who in turn sent some friends of his downtown and we partied in the hotel room...couldn't let a $200+ suite go to waste all because some guy was a pussy, right?
By the way, this boyfriend emailed me THREE YEARS LATER to apologize for standing me up that night. He also mentioned that he was a recovering alcoholic, and that he had finally made it as a Firefighter. These days, he's a Sergeant in a nice neighborhood not far from where we both grew up and has a girlfriend. See, sometimes drama kings make it just fine.
Boyfriend #4: The Lazy One with the Nonchalant Attitude
This boyfriend also turned out to be a drug addict (see description of Boyfriend #2); however, he was in denial and told both me and everyone he met that he was a "recovering addict". He worked, but never hard, and always at mediocre jobs. Oddly enough, he was fired from at least three of these jobs (that I know of) during the five years that we were together. Did I mention that two of these times was allegedly for stealing, which he, of course, denied.
He was a nice guy, a push-over, and gave me all of the space in the world. He had no ambitions, no goals, and was completely content to go through life just, well, going through life. Obsessed with computers and online games, I'm pretty sure any stress he ever felt was taken out on obscure, secret missions or frolicking in the woods shooting at God knows what with strangers in Zimbabwe (is that still a Country?), Canada, and a few cities over.
After losing his last job, I pretty much forced him into applying at a major Drugstore chain where I had previously worked as a Shift Manager. The old Assistant Manager of the store I had worked at hired him, and the lazy guy I had known for more than four years became obsessed with his new "leadership" role and began to look at his job as a career.
During our relationship, he had also gone from athletically fit (not slim by any means) to more than just a teddy bear. I won't lie, I gained some weight too. When it became too much, I purchased a treadmill and gym memberships for us both. He became exercise-crazed and lost, I'd say, probably at least 40 pounds. Eventually our relationship fizzled, yet he stayed with me because he was too lazy to break up with me. I swear, I heard the biggest sigh of relief come out of his mouth when I told him I couldn't be with him anymore. He is now the Store Manager of a location for that major Drugstore chain in the same city where Boyfriend #3 is a firefighter. He also has a new girlfriend of 7 or 8 months and remains mum on the question I often ask to mess with him-is she the one?
Boyfriend #5: The Current Boyfriend
Oh wait, he might be reading this. Ha, you didn't really think I'd write about him yet, did you? This blog, after all, is about my exes. I'll update you though once I've nurtured this "fixer-upper" into doing his thing and sent him off to the next girl to marry and live his happily-after-ever and blah, blah, blah.
Me? I'm S4L...Single for Life. But hey, at least I'm doing my good deeds for mankind, and making some girls out there very happy and content with what used to be just an "eh" kind of guy. After all, this is obviously God's calling to me in life, and I would never let Him down.
Happy, not lonely,
Freeway Fairington
It's almost ironic now, but my seventeen year old self once made a collage of words and images, and on this particular collage (which still hangs prominently in my old bedroom at my parent's house) there is a comic strip. Orange in background, it presents an awkward party scene: girl standing and looking desperate to get away; geeky guy standing in front of her, drink in hand and pocket protector on his short-sleeved 1950s-style dress shirt saying, "Are you interested in a fixer-upper?". I kid you not, this is the epitomy of my love life. Sigh.
Here are some examples:
Boyfriend #1: The Immature Bastard
This boyfriend wasn't really actually ever my "official" boyfriend, but we dated off and on for a few years. He was a habitual liar, charming, but a liar nonetheless, who was semi-obsessed with his ex-girlfriend. Bad things that he did to me included stealing my car from my place of employment and rear-ending his ex's car, used me for countless rides to I don't even know where, and repeatedly lied about any and everything. I suspect he probably stole from me a couple of times, and then there was that time I caught him reading my journal. (Ha! The prick got what he deserved). Worse things that I did to him to teach him a lesson: left him on the side of a major interstate when he wouldn't stop speaking to me disrespectfully, created a list with my best friend of reasons why I couldn't have sex with him (this made the "I have to wash my hair excuse" pale in comparison to any excuses we made up), had some of my "boys" teach him a lesson about lying and stealing, and called the cops to report that he had driven through an apartment community gate along with a full-description of his soon to be disabled non-registered and non-licensed car. Needless to say, we eventually parted ways and fell out of touch...amicably, I'll add. He went on to finish Real Estate school (before the market got too bad), moved to another state, and now has a beautiful daughter. He was the boyfriend who just needed some maturing under his belt.
Boyfriend #2: The Inexperienced Drug-Addict
My inexperienced drug-addict boyfriend had a good heart and was a free spirit looking for a fun time. He also apparently did way too much Acid in high-school. I never was quite certain if he was just that dumb and goofy, or if he was the way he was because of all of the drugs he had ingested over the years. I was only the second girl to date him (Boyfriend #1 made sure to tell me this and that everyone thought he was gay because of this-they were "friends") so he was very inexperienced in the, ahem, love department...almost comically so. We didn't date long because he was always looking for a party and a place to get high. Somehow he managed to stay out of jail and keep a job while we were together. He was the one who called me randomly every few months to ask to see me or to just keep in touch, and, of course, look for a party. He too now has a child, and just recently got married.
Boyfriend #3: The Drama-King/Alcoholic
This boyfriend went to a small college within commuting distance of one of the top party schools in the United States. He was older than me, cocky as hell, and as far as I could see, someone who posed a challenge that needed to be put in his place. I should have known that when he showed up for our first date with a soda in his hand that something was up. See, he was 21 and I was only 19. I think we went bowling and he ended up going home. I never saw him sober again after that. Once, I found him lying in between the couch and the coffee table in my living room babbling some nonsense about how I needed to go to the party school because where I was attending college didn't matter. My roommate came out of her bedroom to see what the problem was and immediately started laughing. He talked constantly during his drunken rambles of wanting to be a Firefighter, but alcohol was far more important it seemed, because all he did was just that-talk. And drink.
On what was to be our one-year anniversary, I foolishly booked a room at a nice hotel in the downtown area near where we lived. I had my mom go with me to the nearest liquor store to purchase Moet (big in all the rap songs of that time) and a bottle of Martini and Rossi Asti (still my favorite drink). I got dressed up nice, fixed my hair (that's BIG for me!) and drove downtown. The jerk never showed or returned my calls. According to my phone bill when I checked out of the room (yes, it was $1 for each local call) I called him 11 times, and I'm not going to lie, probably left some pretty psycho messages on his voicemail. I never heard back from him. Nevertheless, I called Boyfriend #1, who in turn sent some friends of his downtown and we partied in the hotel room...couldn't let a $200+ suite go to waste all because some guy was a pussy, right?
By the way, this boyfriend emailed me THREE YEARS LATER to apologize for standing me up that night. He also mentioned that he was a recovering alcoholic, and that he had finally made it as a Firefighter. These days, he's a Sergeant in a nice neighborhood not far from where we both grew up and has a girlfriend. See, sometimes drama kings make it just fine.
Boyfriend #4: The Lazy One with the Nonchalant Attitude
This boyfriend also turned out to be a drug addict (see description of Boyfriend #2); however, he was in denial and told both me and everyone he met that he was a "recovering addict". He worked, but never hard, and always at mediocre jobs. Oddly enough, he was fired from at least three of these jobs (that I know of) during the five years that we were together. Did I mention that two of these times was allegedly for stealing, which he, of course, denied.
He was a nice guy, a push-over, and gave me all of the space in the world. He had no ambitions, no goals, and was completely content to go through life just, well, going through life. Obsessed with computers and online games, I'm pretty sure any stress he ever felt was taken out on obscure, secret missions or frolicking in the woods shooting at God knows what with strangers in Zimbabwe (is that still a Country?), Canada, and a few cities over.
After losing his last job, I pretty much forced him into applying at a major Drugstore chain where I had previously worked as a Shift Manager. The old Assistant Manager of the store I had worked at hired him, and the lazy guy I had known for more than four years became obsessed with his new "leadership" role and began to look at his job as a career.
During our relationship, he had also gone from athletically fit (not slim by any means) to more than just a teddy bear. I won't lie, I gained some weight too. When it became too much, I purchased a treadmill and gym memberships for us both. He became exercise-crazed and lost, I'd say, probably at least 40 pounds. Eventually our relationship fizzled, yet he stayed with me because he was too lazy to break up with me. I swear, I heard the biggest sigh of relief come out of his mouth when I told him I couldn't be with him anymore. He is now the Store Manager of a location for that major Drugstore chain in the same city where Boyfriend #3 is a firefighter. He also has a new girlfriend of 7 or 8 months and remains mum on the question I often ask to mess with him-is she the one?
Boyfriend #5: The Current Boyfriend
Oh wait, he might be reading this. Ha, you didn't really think I'd write about him yet, did you? This blog, after all, is about my exes. I'll update you though once I've nurtured this "fixer-upper" into doing his thing and sent him off to the next girl to marry and live his happily-after-ever and blah, blah, blah.
Me? I'm S4L...Single for Life. But hey, at least I'm doing my good deeds for mankind, and making some girls out there very happy and content with what used to be just an "eh" kind of guy. After all, this is obviously God's calling to me in life, and I would never let Him down.
Happy, not lonely,
Freeway Fairington
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Public Restrooms
The following thought is not new to me...in fact, it is something that I often wonder about (in my head, not necessarily out loud), but lately it has really been bothering me.
My new obsession with public restrooms began with a recent shopping trip to a mall Department Store. We all know how this scenario goes: you have to pee really, really bad, and of course, no matter where you choose to go, it's going to be nasty. (Sidenote: never choose the Food Court bathroom). So anyway, I'm shopping for bathing suits in said Department Store and enter the restroom. I'm repulsed as soon as I open the door. I fight back the urge to gag while trying to hold my breath to protect my nasal passage from inhaling the dreaded smell of human excrement and overwhelming cheap "air freshener". The toilet behind door #1 is a no go...stopped up (of course) and almost out of toilet paper. Doors 2-4 are closed and locked. This leaves me with door #5. Oh yes, the handicapped stall.
I open the door and enter the stall. I check to make sure that there is enough toilet paper (definitely have learned my lesson to always do this as I'm not a fan of drip-drying). I check the toilet seat-clean enough. But then, something catches my eye. At the far back end of the toilet seat, and all along the handle and section of wall behind the toilet there is the unmistakable remnant of someones inability to control their bowels in a humanly fashion. Yes, the toilet seat and wall "art" are dark brown and in the fashion of an abstract painting-splatters everywhere. As I carefully squat over the front part of the toilet seat to pee, I can't help but say out loud to the person shopping with me, "Seriously, who bends forward and poops? I mean, really, there is crap all over the wall in here. Do they do this at home?" I hear laughter. It's not from the person I'm with, but from another lady in the restroom washing her hands. See, I know that I'm not the only person that wonders this. And then I say out loud again, "I'd really like to just spend one day in a restroom like this and keep track of who comes in and check the stalls after they leave to get a better idea of what kind of woman does this." Let me tell you all right now, if I didn't think that someone would report me to store security for being a Creeper, I really would spend a Sunday afternoon keeping a journal of this for scientific purposes...but alas, that just wouldn't be considered normal.
So, I guess that makes me weird. I'm serious though...you'd have to be bent straight over at a ninety degree angle with some serious bowel force to make wall art like what I saw that day. Just something (gross) to think about.
On the flip side, some places you can always count on to have clean restrooms: QuikTrip, RaceTrac, most Publix grocery stores, and your mom's house.
Until next time,
Freeway Fairington
My new obsession with public restrooms began with a recent shopping trip to a mall Department Store. We all know how this scenario goes: you have to pee really, really bad, and of course, no matter where you choose to go, it's going to be nasty. (Sidenote: never choose the Food Court bathroom). So anyway, I'm shopping for bathing suits in said Department Store and enter the restroom. I'm repulsed as soon as I open the door. I fight back the urge to gag while trying to hold my breath to protect my nasal passage from inhaling the dreaded smell of human excrement and overwhelming cheap "air freshener". The toilet behind door #1 is a no go...stopped up (of course) and almost out of toilet paper. Doors 2-4 are closed and locked. This leaves me with door #5. Oh yes, the handicapped stall.
I open the door and enter the stall. I check to make sure that there is enough toilet paper (definitely have learned my lesson to always do this as I'm not a fan of drip-drying). I check the toilet seat-clean enough. But then, something catches my eye. At the far back end of the toilet seat, and all along the handle and section of wall behind the toilet there is the unmistakable remnant of someones inability to control their bowels in a humanly fashion. Yes, the toilet seat and wall "art" are dark brown and in the fashion of an abstract painting-splatters everywhere. As I carefully squat over the front part of the toilet seat to pee, I can't help but say out loud to the person shopping with me, "Seriously, who bends forward and poops? I mean, really, there is crap all over the wall in here. Do they do this at home?" I hear laughter. It's not from the person I'm with, but from another lady in the restroom washing her hands. See, I know that I'm not the only person that wonders this. And then I say out loud again, "I'd really like to just spend one day in a restroom like this and keep track of who comes in and check the stalls after they leave to get a better idea of what kind of woman does this." Let me tell you all right now, if I didn't think that someone would report me to store security for being a Creeper, I really would spend a Sunday afternoon keeping a journal of this for scientific purposes...but alas, that just wouldn't be considered normal.
So, I guess that makes me weird. I'm serious though...you'd have to be bent straight over at a ninety degree angle with some serious bowel force to make wall art like what I saw that day. Just something (gross) to think about.
On the flip side, some places you can always count on to have clean restrooms: QuikTrip, RaceTrac, most Publix grocery stores, and your mom's house.
Until next time,
Freeway Fairington
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