Friday, January 22, 2010

When everything turns to shit

Usually when I say “I’m very busy and important” I’m being ridiculous, but lately it’s been completely true. I’ve had meetings constantly about this new database and somehow I’ve become the go-to girl. I’m not under any illusion that this is because I’m smart. It’s likely because no one else wants to deal with it and they know they can push it off on me and it will get done. That and they like sitting in my office and staring at my cleavage.

A lot of these meetings are sprung on me at the last minute and I hate that. I’m a bit sporadic with my appearance so if I don’t know about a meeting ahead of time I could come to work in yesterday’s touched up makeup and jogging pants. This, evidently, is not acceptable anymore now that I’m the go-to girl. No more waking up at six and running out the door 30 minutes later. Now I’m back to my 4:30am alarm setting and it sucks like a hooker with a quota.

I had several days notice on yesterday’s meeting so I was able to dress appropriately. I chose my outfit carefully on the off chance that, this time, the cute consultant would get some balls and wave a green flag. I was also hoping he would find the two Tweety Bird bandaids on my ankle and knee endearing rather than juvenile. I’m a very accident prone shaver. Very.

I teetered into work in heels that were half a size too big. I was convinced that with a little adjustment they could be the next “mama’s getting laid tonight” shoes. I looked good. It’s just a shame I had to walk like a candidate for hip replacement.

The meeting ended up lasting three hours and was very informative, though not in the conventional sense. It turns out the cute consultant is married with two small children. It’s the other eh *shoulder shrug* looking guy that’s single. Someone mixed up their statistics. However, this someone didn’t mix up signals and is pretty sure that the married one has been flirting. Or this someone could have a complex and think that every man she meets is flirting with her. Guilty until proven innocent. I know its backasswards.

Anyway, there went that idea. If they aren’t married, they’re gay. If they aren’t gay, they’re creepy stalkers with small penises. Moving on…

That put a bit of a damper on my day, but I’m pretty resilient. By the time I left work I was in good spirits. I picked up the kid and we sang along with the radio all the way home.

Getting out of the car every evening is a bit of a struggle. I’ve got my purse, the kid’s school bag, jackets, cups, the kid’s artwork, and any number of other odds and ends depending on the day’s events.

I was juggling everything in my arms and trying to put the key in the lock while the kid held open the screen door, standing back a bit. As soon as I pushed it open our 130lb yellow lab flew past my legs, making me stagger on my heels.

I looked after him, a confused expression on my face. Why on earth had he been locked up in the house all day? Then I took two wobbly steps through the door and figured it out.

The smell was like a right hook to the jaw. I almost went down. My knees buckled and I might have said “motherfucker”. The kid followed me in and as I threw everything down on the table she took a few steps past me into the dark house, fingers pinching her nose. “It smells weally weally bad Mama.”

“Stay back”, I said, pulling her toward the door. “You stand right here while I figure out where it is.”

I flipped on the light in the dining room and stared at a large, spread out puddle of what looked to be vomit. There were pieces of leaves, rocks, and chunks of something hard and black…like vomit trail mix. I glared at it, crouching down and taking a reluctant sniff. Nope. Not the source, but of course I hadn’t really thought it was.

That’s when I noticed that my bedroom door was open. My bedroom door is never open unless I’m home. I shut it every morning because the cats will park their hairy asses all over my clean laundry that I should put up, but don’t.

As I approached my bedroom the smell got stronger. I held my breath, flipped the light switch and sure enough, there was the fucking source. Shit. Shit. Shit. All over the floor. But not normal piles of stinky dog shit. Hell no. This was diarrhea dog shit. Thick, brown puddles of diarrhea covering entirely too much of my carpet.

I immediately gagged and backed away from the door. The kid was asking questions and yapping at me, but I just waved my hands at her in a shooing manner. Then I lost it.

“OH MY EFFING GAWD! (gag) THERE IS SHIT IN MY FLOOR! (gag) OH I’M GOING TO HURL! (gag) FUCKING (gag) DOG!”

I danced around the kitchen while I screeched, my heels tapping on the floor. I grabbed my cell phone and called my mom, who didn’t answer. Then I tried my sister who also didn’t answer. I needed to avoid the mess and I needed to blame it on someone other than the dog.

I sent the kid to the living room to watch TV while I scouted around for more. I found another crime scene in the playroom. Not diarrhea, but massive piles. I mean massive. They looked like deflated footballs. More gagging and screaming followed.

While I was pacing and hyperventilating in the hallway, thinking vile thoughts about the dog, my sister called back. “THERE IS SHIT IN MY FLOOR!”

“Well I didn’t do it”, she replied indignantly.

“I KNOW you didn’t DO it. Someone left my door open and…”

“I didn’t do that either”, she said.

“Do you understand what’s happening here? I’m practically breaking out in hives! I’m having trouble breathing! I even threw up a little in my mouth! I need you to co…”

CLICK.

Realizing I was going to have to deal with the shit all by myself, whether I wanted to or not, I headed to the laundry room. I dug through the cabinets and armed myself with a new roll of paper towels, carpet cleaner, old cloths, and air freshener. I layered five plastic grocery bags together and started hunting for a pair of rubber gloves.

I had to settle for a pair of bright orange gardening gloves with white grippy dots all over the palms and fingers. I put my hair in a clip, pulled on the gloves, and walked slowly toward my room.

I held my breath and walked in, tearing off a huge wad of paper towels. I had to hike up my skirt to squat down. I was afraid I would go toppling over because of my thin heels, but I refused to take them off just in case my bare feet somehow made contact with the muck. Gagging and cursing the entire time, I threw the first wad in the bags and took off out the door.

And that’s how it went for an ENTIRE hour. Pick up, gag, run out, gag gag gag, cuss, scream, dance in place…and repeat. I looked like Rocky, psyching myself up, pounding the air with my fists. When it came time to scrub the carpet my feet were killing me and my head was pounding. I dumped cleaner all over the floor and tried to figure out how I was going to scrub it without falling over.

The only way was to get on my knees.

And that’s how my sister found me: On all fours with my skirt rutched up, ass sticking out, heels in the air, intermittently spraying air freshener while I scrubbed and cussed at the floor like a deranged person.

After the first few minutes of her taunting I wished I’d taken a gigantic deflated football turd and transferred it to her room. I told her just that while she was lightning candles all over the house. She was not amused.

I had to take a 15 minute break to recuperate before cleaning the second room. Then I went through the same process all over again. On one of my mad dashes out the door to breathe my sister was standing in the kitchen.

“I’m hungry”, she said.

I stared at her in disgust.

“What?”

Later that night I was lying on the couch watching TV with mom. They’d let the dog back in, much to my irritation, and he was crashed within reaching distance. There was a commercial on so I let my eyes drift closed for just a minute.

“What’s…oh…oh!”

That same sickening smell filled the air. The fucking dog let loose a series of farts, each one polluting the air far too close to my head. I promptly jumped up and ran for the bathroom, gagging, while my mom fell off the other couch laughing.

After I finished throwing up I returned to the living room, ashen faced and with tissues shoved up each nostril. “Iz nwat punny. I’m squeamish.”

“PFFFFTRRRRFFFFT”, said the dog’s ass.

“Classic”, Mom wheezed, trying to pinch her nose and laugh at the same time.

The kid stuck her head out of her playroom.

“Mom”, she said.

“What honey?”

“It still smells like shit in here.”


*The criminal, Skeebo, seems to show some remorse. Refused to pose for his picture and elected to hide under the table in shame instead.*


25 comments:

P.T said...

And that's why I'm not going to adopt a cat! Cats stink too!

Ugghhh

a.rogue said...

omg I was laughing out loud about your day till you got home to the dog mess... Yellow labs will eat ANYTHING!! edible or not... I had one eat a pound of butter once so I know your misery first-hand. I think I could even smell it...

simplywonderful said...

thank you. i just remembered why i didn't want to get a dog. you're my hero.

The Vegetable Assassin said...

There are days I really, really miss having a pet. Then there's days like right now when I've just read about mountains and rivers of poop when I think, "Maybe I can put that off for a bit longer..." :) Sorry man. That's a shitty way to end the day. (Sorry)

Ally said...

I so don't want a dog. Between this and my uncle telling us how his dog barfed up an entire bunny the other day. Gross!

Tales Of A Fourth Grade Nothing

Gorilla Bananas said...

Very brave of you do it all yourself rather than calling the fire brigade. I suggest you buy that mutt a kennel and keep him there.

Secretia said...

That is the way our beloved pets get in trouble. I have a dog and a cat who like to surprise me.

Mr London Street said...

This is a joy. I thought my favourite bit was going to be the image of the dog's turds looking like deflated footballs, all the way through the post. And then at the end, the finest line of dialogue I've read in a very long time:

“PFFFFTRRRRFFFFT”, said the dog’s ass.

I loved this to pieces.

That Kind of Girl said...

YIKES! I wasn't expecting the title of this post to be so literal! Man, pets. They must be really adorable, or why would we put up with them?!

Ellie said...

Oh wow. You poor thing. I'm amazed you could write about it in such detail! And this makes me grateful for hardwood floors.

sAm said...

Timely. After babysitting my parent's dogs for the past week I have come to two very important realizations. 1) I am not nearly mature nor unselfish enough to EVER own a dog. Fuckers. 2) I can clean up dog shit. Repeatedly. Wait - there's a 3) The stupid fuckers walk in the door after being out for an hour and shit all over the fucking floor! Stupid shits. But ask me how I really feel.
hehehe your word verification is digspo..hehe

Melissa Leah said...

As much pain as you had to go through that experience, I was laughing the whole time at the way that you described the whole scenario. And I understand completely how you feel for I was a victim of the doggie poops bombs too.

Hannah Miet said...

You keep getting better.

Sweet and defeating and hilarious, wrapped into a deflated football made of shit.

Blissed-Out Grandma said...

Omigod, you had me laughing through this entire thing. Your description is hilarious and revolting...and hilarious. I love that you kept the shoes on.

obviouslyapseudonym said...

Hahaha. I love dogs, don't you?

Phat Mama said...

I cried and retched so hard that I farted.

Judearoo said...

Ally, that was one of the most revolting things I've read in ages. Well done that woman!

I had a cat who had a fondness for sweetcorn which I didnt encourage once I realised he couldn't digest the stuff at all and would barf the whole lot up on the sitting room carpet and then have the nerve to sit there and look PROUD.

Girl Interrupted said...

Hahaha ... aw! Im sorry you had a shitty day, but it did make for such an awesomely good read!! :P

Maryx said...

Oh My Gawd?!?!?!?!
You're brave. Not that I didn't already know that. But you are. I would have packed up and left it for someone else. I swear.

Another reason why I don't do the dog thing. Cat's clean up after themselves. Most of the time. I can live with hair. I CANNOT live with that.

Thanx for the ... laughs ... and bit of vomit in my throat I can't seem to swallow completely. Nice.

Lola Lakely said...

Oh god. I had an incident when I was baby-sitting my mom's cat just like that. Except it was vomit. And I was hung over. And the damn thing had also knocked over my vodka bottles.

Ugh. And nice line "it sucks like a hooker with a quots"

The mad woman behind the blog said...

You had me at "candidate for a hip replacement."
This and the visual of of you w/ your ass in the air.

Good Monday morning stuff!

Nina Patricia @ The Adventures of Nina Patricia said...

Yeah, and cleaning their vomit is not a peach either. Kuddos to you for being able to clean while wearing a skirt and heels!

mo.stoneskin said...

I'm just glad you didn't stumble as the dog charged and break your hip.

Phew.

*wipes brow*

erin said...

No fucking animals ever in my house ever. Ever. EVER.

I'm almost at the end of my cleaning up kids shit faze...I can't even imagine dealing with DOG SHIT.

otherworldlyone said...

P.T.: Cats aren't nearly as bad. They mind their own business and shit in a box. None of that "pet me pet me love me love" bullshit.

a.rogue: A pound of butter? Oh gawd, how disgusting.

simplywonderful: Hopefully cleaning up dog shit is not on my list of normal hero duties!

Veg Ass: Way to stab them in there!

Ally: Wow. Bunnies are messy too, so...good on the dog.

Gorilla B: He's usually outside and he's never done anything like that before. Poor fucker.

Secretia: Animals are all about surprises...that you step in.

MLS: Thanks so much! That description was almost entirely accurate, I assure you. I almost took a picture to go with the post, but in the end I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

That kind of girl: I generally dislike animals.

Ellie: I gagged a few times during the retelling.

sAm: Sigh. The kid wants a dog when we move out. I'm afraid after this incident, the only dog she'll be getting will fit on my car dash and have a large, bobbing head.

Melissa: Thank you for your understanding...and your comment!

Hannah: Thank you!

Blissed out: If I would have accidentally stepped in it, I'm afraid the rest of my life would be devoted to stuttering and drooling. Brain damage, you see.

obviously: Actually...no.

Phat: THAT'S why I missed you so much.

Judearoo: Cats are strange creatures. Mine does the same thing with hairballs. Sits in front of it and looks at me like, "Look what I did mom! Isn't it glorious!"

GI: Thanks, haha.

Maryx: Yes, from now on they can call me "Bravefart".

Lola: Knocking over the liquor means death.

Mad woman: Well, I'd say it's a nice ass, whatever the circumstances.

Nina: I learned it in finishing school for southern women. Right after the lesson on how to bail your man out of jail with just a button up shirt and a spray bottle full of water.

Mo: Why thank you Mo. That's very sweet of you.

Erin: Exactly, dear.