She lived in a cage for 5 years pumping out puppies and lapping water from a fucking hamster bottle. 5 years without anything but wire walls and an abscessed mouth full of rotten teeth- half of which we had to have pulled so that she could learn to eat properly- and a growth covering half of her one and only eye, unnecessarily rendering her mostly blind until we also had that removed. She’d never been for a walk or fallen asleep in someone’s lap while feeling safe and she had never seen a toy let alone would have known what the hell to do with one.

She was never a puppy, she was a product.

This is Lucy now.

She still has her problems. She bolts out of the room at unexpected loud noises, shakes for hours after the thunder stops and has to be medicated for fireworks, but she sleeps curled up with Maggi at the foot of our bed -safe- every night.

This is what dinner was meant to be. Meat and cheese and bread. Does it get any better? No, seriously. Does it?

I thought this was a fantastic follow up to the liquid diet post because that’s the kind of jerk I am.

I just finished eating a salad for second breakfast that was so fucking boring it should have killed itself. Or been a guest on The View.

I am about to start this stupid “cleanse” which essentially means a liquid diet. Given how much I LOVE food, would marry food, would have a skanky one night stand with food, this might be difficult. However, beer and wine are liquids and I have always had difficulty following a recipe, or rules for that matter, so we’ll see.

Steve- we’re walking to Dairy Queen for dinner and I’m having a double fucking flamethrower. And fries.

Steve; “Hey, that guy you like got an Emmy nomination.”

Me “Who?”

Steve “Henry Michael Thomas.”

Me “Who?”

Steve “The one from How I met Your Mother.”

Me “You mean Neil Patrick Harris?”

Steve “Yeah.”

It all starts with the innocent statement

“Unidentified white powder.”

Suddenly, the calm quiet school that you run is roped off with yellow tape and there are 2 police cars, a fire truck and the Haz Mat truck and full trailer outside. Needless to say, interest was piqued by the passerby’s. By the end of the day I swear to dog that if I would have heard “What’s going on?” one more fucking time I would have stabbed someone in the eye with a pair of dull scissors.

So, when all was said and done, the “unidentified white powder” turned out to be plant fertilizer, but not before we caused quite a stir in my little desert town.

From one of my students came “Someone dumped laundry soap all over the inside of my car”

“Does your car smell like laundry soap?”

“Hmm. No. It doesn’t. But the whole inside is covered in blue & white powder”

This turned into a phone call from one of my instructors to the police. “What should we do? We’re not sure what it is.”

Enter Haz Mat and all other accompanying vehicles. Fuck.

I spent the day rounding up students for police interviews which entailed “If this is a joke gone bad, tell me now because if I find out that it’s laundry soap done as a stupid prank I’ll be back and I’ll grill you and I’ll polygraph you all.”

No one put up their hand.

By 2 pm they had the car sealed up with crime tape after Haz Mat determined that they’re not going in until testing is done, and they haul it to the environment Canada yard.

Again, turned out to be random act of vandalism with plant fertilizer, but holy shit did it fuck over my day. I would seriously like to kick the shit out of the asshole that’s walking around with a fucking bucket full of miracle grow.

Apparently this is how you cause a stir.

So the weekend is over and both my liver and my boyfriend have survived. We started off with a fantastic bbq at my uncle Darcy’s place with relatives galore. My father couldn’t make it but there were more than enough of the rest of them to incite a little shock and horror in Steve. However, given that my families favorite “aromatic cigarette” was there in abundance, the stories were mellow, there was much laughter, and none of the usual threats of bodily violence should Steve turn out to be a less than stand up kinda guy. I learned a few things that night…… My step sister Shannon should not do whiskey shooters and my uncle Dale’s new fangled wheelchair means that I cannot pull off the wheelies that I once did with such ease- in fact, had Steve not had the forethought to stand behind the chair there would have undoubtedly been some type of head trauma or hospital visit- an occurrence not entirely uncommon when my family gets together.

Saturday was my little Ckenzie’s wedding and I must say that even with all the mention of God it was a beautiful affair and made even more so when Steve and I didn’t immediately burst into flames upon entering the house of God. I had honestly expected at least a rash or deafening clap of thunder. Ckenzie was a truly beautiful bride and I beamed with all of the pride of a pretend mother. Given both of the grooms parents had recently remarried and all four were in attendance, there was the inevitable awkward bathroom conversation about who had the better speech and who had more right to be there. Ah…. It’s amazing the things that people will tell a stranger after a few drinks and one only slightly inappropriate lifting up your dress dances to the theme to Pulp Fiction.

The highlight for Steve and I was definitely the entrance of one of the many guests. We looked in awe as she entered the room and I immediately set about trying to covertly take a shot of her to show you that “Sparkle Barbie” really does exist. In fact “Sparkle Barbie” was seated at our table so I can say with complete accuracy that her accessories include 3 inch purple sparkly heels, a cell phone and a camera. Her time was equally divided between talking on her phone and having her friend take pictures of her posed with a drink, sweeping back her hair, or trying to stand like Paris Hilton. It was fucking fantastic. We didn’t get home until just before 3 am after an amusing ride home with my ex Mark (Ckenzie’s father obviously) and his girlfriend in their vegetable oil burning car. With the sketch navigation and ridiculous laughter I am still extremely surprised that we found Darcy’s house.

I have a long list today but it starts off with the fact that I am hopeful that Steve sees this new post in his reader and goes out and picks me up a bottle of wine. It has to go first on the list because I swear that he only skims my posts. Fucker. Plus I want the wine really bad so it should be first.

Other slightly less important things that I am hopeful for;

*I am hopeful that our plane doesn’t crash when we whip out to Edmonton this weekend for Ckenzie’s wedding. She has been like a daughter to me since she was 8 and though her dad and I dated for less than a year and I lost touch with him about a decade ago, she still calls me mom.

**I am hopeful that Steve still wants to fly home with me on Sunday. As a large contingent of my father’s side of the family happen to live in Edmonton my fantastic Uncle Darcy will be hosting a big bbq in honour of my rather rare visit. There will be loads of us of all ages and ungodly amounts of booze and laughter and someone will fall in the fire at some point, even if there isn’t one. I will do drunken wheelies in my Uncle Dale’s wheelchair for at least a half hour on the back deck or until Dale throws a beer can at me from the grass, or wherever I have unceremoniously dumped him.

Steve will be meeting them all for the first time. They will undoubtedly recount the time I was spending the summer in Alberta with my father and he pulled a rifle on a guy I was holding hands with on the couch while whispering a low and frighting “What are your intentions with my daughter?” When the boy eventually started breathing again my father simply giggled and walked away. They may also bring up the time a date came to pick me up and my father and 7 of his 9 siblings answered the door. They scrutinized him in total silence while he stood awkwardly outside wondering what to do until one of my uncles finally yelled out “Fuck it! Don’t like the look of this one, let’s string him up!”

Again, Steve will be meeting them all for the first time. Fuck.

**I am hopeful that my damn receptionist gets back from her 400 year holiday soon. I hate people and I want to beat the shit outta the fucking photocopier.

***I am hopeful that baby Gray remembers the fun days like last Sunday when he’s older. Sitting with Auntie Kim having lunch and then traipsing around the wildlife park and having to kidnap him with a modified full nelson out of the bouncy room and throwing him down the slide lest we never be able to leave the park.

***I am hopeful that Susin’s husband Stan never again accidentally orders 50 wings instead of 15 on wing day. 50 hot and 50 garlic. Despite the 100 wing fiasco in the afternoon, he still managed to polish off the bulk of his dinner at the Mexican place we went to before the Kelowna Matt Good show. I am also hopeful that the four of us will have many many more of those patio dinners when we laugh so hard margarita comes out of places that it shouldn’t.

****I am hopeful Steve goes to pick me up a bottle of wine that is waiting for me when I get home from work. A big one. Yes, I know I’ve already said that. Shut up.

*****I am hopeful that my crazy lovely mother has many more birthdays ahead of her. When I phoned her yesterday she said “My birthday? Today?” *obvious sounds of flipping pages in the background, maybe a calendar or maybe the phone book- with her you never know* “Oh look! It is! Wow, I’m 83 today!” (Just for the record, she’s 62 but is desperately looking forward to when she “looks” old enough to act batshit crazy in public and get away with it. You laugh because you think I’m kidding. You clearly haven’t met my mother. She will pee her pants in public the first chance she gets. Do not doubt me on this.)

*****Lastly I am hopeful that Steve bought wine. or beer. I could really handle a nice cold beer while walking the dogs later.