I'm just a sucker

I’m usually pretty good at running a tight ship around here. That’s what I tell myself. I’m thinking if I hear it enough times, eventually it will come true.

Rewind to April. One of my brother-in-laws wanted me to take a dog off of his household’s hands. I agreed without knowing anything about Monty (the dog). I visited the family in June and learned my sister had a change of heart and they were keeping him. That was good since the vehicle I had to borrow for the 1,000 mile trip didn’t have room to accommodate him. So I got out of the “adopting Monty” situation unscathed. I didn’t come home with an unruly dog even though I really wanted to (my optimistic outlook has got me into trouble many times over). After I’d originally agreed, I began to hear negative things about the dog from people who were “in the know” so I’m thinking I would’ve regretted it in the end.

Well, now I have an entirely new slightly relative situation on my hands.

The friend who loaned me her SUV (I’ll call her Marci) has a daughter the same age as my youngest and they play together. That’s great, and I truly mean that. In fact, they took my daughter camping recently and she had a blast. Well, a few months ago Marci told me her Golden Retriever was pregnant. I was happy for her as she was pretty excited about it. The male dog I think is a Blue Australian Shepherd and has blue eyes. Both dogs are gorgeous. So the pups were bound to be good looking. Well, my daughter has spent a lot of time at their place in the past month since it’s summer and Marci’s daughter doesn’t have any siblings close to her own age. So the two girls have been just like sisters. And throughout all of this my daughter has been watching a very pregnant dog, and having this crazy recurring dream about bringing home a puppy.

Well, I also had childhood dreams…




Tekno the Robotic Puppy doesn’t chew up shoes or pee on them. And if he dies unexpectedly you know a tear-filled backyard burial won’t be in order. This kind of awesomeness wasn’t even in the price range of “maybe” when I was a kid, so what am I waiting for??

And another thing… my childhood dreams always got squashed. What’s with kids nowadays? How do they manipulate some of us into thinking their dreams are more important than ours were?

Anywho, the drama over the puppies “coming soon” had been building for quite some time. Then one morning not too long ago, we got the call. Goldie was in labor. Oh my god, my daughter was so excited. Her friend was so excited. Marci was so excited. I was feeling like I was pretty happy with the dog we already have. She is a Red Heeler/German Shepherd mix and a great family pet. But of course I was happy for everyone and their “feelings” so I joined in on the excitement.

That evening I got another call. Goldie was in labor too long and needed a C-section. Marci’s daughter spent the night at our house and Marci took the dog to the Vet. The next day I called and found out Goldie and her lover were much more than fertile. She had been carrying a whopping 13 pups; they all made it and were healthy. Thirteen puppies! Holy crap! She was baffled. How did that happen? No one knows for sure, but since half of them are black I don’t think one can rule out the possibility that Goldie was sneaking around, and maybe had a little jungle love on the side. I don’t think a dog can be called a whore for sleeping around, but, what an animal.

Somehow I was talked into seeing the puppies. More like “ganged up on” in a way. I don’t like it when a group of females get together. I wouldn’t recommend it. I was basically mobbed - emotionally - which is the worst kind of attack. Totally unfair. Then my one son who really loves dogs found out about the puppies. That was the straw that kicked the camel in the crotch (and he’s going down in our family history for that one, like it or not). He pulled me over to Marci’s and begged me. He picked out his favorite. I kind of melted when I met the little thing. His eyes weren’t open yet and he just laid in Marci’s hand like a… well, almost like a very realistic robotic toy.

So I guess you know what happens next. I still have a little time before the pup is off his mom’s teats, nips, or whatever you call them. But he doesn’t have a name yet. I’m open to suggestions. “Trucker” rhymes with sucker, so I might just go with that…

Yes, I am kidding (about the name Trucker).

Down in three seconds

A lot of time has passed since this went down. Actually, it’s been months…

I still like to roughhouse with my sons on occasion, even though they’re teenagers now and could really take me out if they wanted to... I like to take advantage of the fact that they respect me enough to back off when I‘m obviously losing the battle, whether it‘s a pillow fight or a wrestling match. And I guess old habits die hard and I think I‘m better and stronger than I actually am. You see, roughhousing with the boys has always made me feel younger - even back when I was 21 (and wished I was 16). Well, now I’m 34 and even though I’m in good form I knew it was only a matter of time before one of them accidentally kicked my ass…

I had been listening to Metallica and was in a playful mood. I was feeling unusually energetic and indestructible, like I usually do when I’m PMSing. Add heavy metal to that and maybe you can see where this is going. The boys were in the kitchen raiding the fridge, and I was all wound up and in the mood to rumble with someone. I decided to go after the kid who is always roughhousing with his sisters or starting it with me, and he also happens to be the only son still shorter than me so, a fair fight is a fair fight. I figured it was his turn to be caught off guard.
It turned out that I had picked the wrong time to stir things up. Just a warning - if a teenager says he’s hungry and tells you to leave him alone so he can eat in peace, step away and save the fight for another time. Trust me on this one.

I ignored him and we started to tussle. I was attempting to get him into a headlock and he tried to knee me in the stomach to get away…

Well, I had originally thought that was what he was doing and didn‘t give it enough lift, but the truth is he was wildly trying to fight me off in any way possible without paying attention…

His knee went directly into my crotch, and I was down in 3 seconds.

1. “Ooooo, ohhhh.” That’s all I could say as I bent over.

2. I grabbed the counter, but couldn’t hold on.

3. I was on my knees with both hands on the floor, repeating the phrase “god, god”… and couldn’t move for a few seconds.

I was nauseated and getting sweaty. I tried to stand up, grabbing the counter again, and it was slow going. Meanwhile, my sons are standing around me in shock and complete horror and now that I think about it, the look on their faces - just priceless. In fact, the offending son will have to live with the fact that he brutally hurt his mom’s vajay not once, but twice in his lifetime.

As soon as I stood up I felt dizzy. Somehow I made it to the bathroom and my ears were ringing. I thought I was going to die! I’m not going to tell you what happened in there. After a few minutes I got my hearing back and made my way to the couch, where I stayed the rest of the night. I kid you not, I’ve never felt this kind of pain before, and I’ve been in plenty of fights in my day. Not even childbirth prepared me for this. I’m not one who likes to sympathize with males, but if this is anything close to what you men go through after a hit to the genitals, I certainly have a new level of respect for you. And I’ll never say that again, just to be clear.

Now that the lump is gone I can look back on this and laugh, because the one who took me down in three seconds was the last one I would have ever suspected. Needless to say, I don’t call him a pussy anymore…

There was that one time when he was a tot and got his dad in the family jewels during a roughhousing session. I laughed, privately, but karma must have overheard me. Payback’s a bitch.

And when this same son was in 5th grade he got hit in the nards by a baseball. Now I know why it happened.

Why I prefer mountains to beaches

I’ve never been to a real beach, that is, an ocean. So I obviously haven’t had the true beach experience. However, I grew up in a state with many lakes, and back home a “beach” is what we call a sandy lake shore. So now I‘ll compare mountains to beaches based on my vast wealth of (cough) knowledge.

Mountains: If you’ve never taken a drive through the mountains, put it on your to-do list. They are majestic, beautiful, and clean. What’s even better is visiting a mountain lake, spring, river, or falls. Now let me be clear - I’m just talking about a day trip here. If you’ve never been camping before, this is not the best place to pop that cherry. Bears love mountains even more than humans, and can smell food from miles away. You don’t want to have a cook-out unless you’ve brought your guns. The actual odds of seeing a bear are very slim, but you’ll probably see deer, eagles, mountain goats and other wildlife. So as long as you aren’t camping or wandering off the trail, the worst thing you’ll ever see are log cabins as this might make you think of the Unabomber (definitely will if you‘re in Montana) but I have yet to run into any creepy people. Hermits like to hide and will only hurt you if you climb the barbed wire. And when you do see people they are usually sight-seeing and share the same look of dumbfounded awe on their faces. Sure, you could look up relevant pictures on the internet or watch the Travel Channel, but it doesn‘t come close to being there. Maybe if I compare mountains to sex it will help drive the point home. You wouldn’t choose porn over flesh, would you? Well, maybe that isn’t the best question to be asking on the internet.

Beaches: There really isn’t any scenery unless you can ignore the beachgoers, rolls of naked flesh, bright orange towels, bright orange swimsuits, umbrellas, sandals, and litter. Don’t tell me you can enjoy the sound of the waves and seagulls when every few minutes some one is yelling (as if the kids can hear Mom while they’re up to their necks in water). And there is always that one screaming child who gives you an instant headache, and the couple who can't keep their domestic dispute in the bar where it belongs. You could go to a more secluded beach but you’ll still get sand in your swimsuit. Uh oh, I’m having a flashback to my childhood. Maybe this is just a girl problem, but when I was a kid I was a sand magnet. And it wasn’t just me. I had sisters, and friends. No matter how hard we tried to avoid it, we always ended up just like toy dump trucks. We had to ride home with sandpaper on our crotches. When we’d change out of our suits we’d have to pour them out over a waste basket. Also, at the beach there is no such thing as average. There are only two kinds of people - the kind that shouldn’t be in a swimsuit, and the kind that make you want to see what’s under it. The latter of the two, the sexy people with the rock-hard abs, make everyone else feel insecure and insignificant. And that is usually 90% on any given day. And you always see a few of the unattractive beachgoers giving the smoking hot ones those looks that could kill, like, How dare they look so good? You can just feel the animosity. If it weren’t so hot, because heat tends to make it difficult for people to move, they’d probably just beat the ever living crap out of them for looking so damn good. If that went down, I’d have to reevaluate my whole outlook on beaches. But for now, this is where I stand. Mountains are better.