Dog Drama and (Lack of) Apologies

Hello again friends!

I realize it's been awhile since I put fingers to keyboard and blurted out thoughts from my corner of the world.  For those of you who find this blog interesting, I'm sorry for being tardy to the party.  For those of you who were hoping I gave up, I'm sorry to disappoint you.  Feel free to do a Google search and go read elsewhere.

We've had some hoopla going on lately.  First and foremost, my (former) dog Daisy was attacked by two very pissed off dogs.  Some of you may remember Daisy, the shorkie that I had for about 5 years.  At the beginning of this year, the stars aligned and she went to live with my parents across the street.  She was getting growlie with Allie and my parents suddenly felt the need to have something small and furry running around the house.   Perfect timing.

I have to pause here to clarify something.  I'm a firm believer that when you get any pet, you need to take full responsibility to give them the best possible care for the rest of their lives.  Pets are NOT disposable.  It's a serious commitment.

However, when your pet starts to threaten the well being of one of the people in your home, the responsibility changes.  First, you need to find a reliable, caring new home for him or her.  Choose carefully.  Second,  I personally feel that if you have a pet that threatens your child and you do nothing but just hope it will stop, then you are an irresponsible parent.  Your invitation to shitty parenting is in the mail.  IT WILL NOT "JUST STOP".  You need to DO something.

Okay....so, Daisy trotted across the street and lives with the parental units.  Justin has declared that they better not try to give her back because they "totally ruined the dog".  She eats better than I do.  They dote on her and cater to her needs.  I miss her at times but she's sooooooo much happier over there.  In actuality, I too am so much happier when she's over there.  I love her from a distance.

A few days ago, my father was walking Daisy when their neighbor's dog came running out of nowhere and attacked her.  The dog got out of his collar and came running, so it was an accident on the part of the owner.  She came running (with the other dog....super smart!) and things got ugly.  Fortunately my neighbor/friend/Wondermom heard the screeching and came running.  Somehow they managed to break it up.  My mom still gets teary when she thinks about the noises Daisy made while trying to get away from the dogs.

How bad was it?  See for yourself.

Daisy Dukes right after surgery

What she normally looks like....at my house....she has an attitude

Here's the kicker!  The neighbor doesn't feel she should have to pay for the vet bills since she's not sure it's her fault.  I know....it doesn't make sense, but some people just can't accept responsibility (that word again) for their errors.  Said neighbor is a renter and moving out this weekend.  Apparently she wants to see if she can move and skip out on the bill.

This is someone actively involved in a local church.  Now that there is Christian-like behavior, isn't it?  I have  term for these people who claim to be all about God, but act like they are all about THEMSELVES; I call them Faux Christians.  They can pretend to be spiritual, but the Big Cheese In the Sky knows what's really going on.

My parents are worn out and exhausted.  This has been traumatizing and exhausting.  They are so tired of "fighting" that they have considered giving up.  However, Justin and I  are deep into PI/lawyer/righteous-freeedom-fighter mode, so we aren't going to stop.  I think our tenacity to win this thing is part of why they are exhausted, but they're too nice to admit it.  I.E. "Vicki, I'm just tired of this.  It's not worth all of my time.  I just want it to be over." "What?  I'm working really hard to help you get what you deserve! We can't stop now!"

I just now realized as I typed that how narcissistic that sounds!  Wow!   Mom, I promise you that I'm doing this solely for you and Ben.  We are a strong people!  We will not lay down and die when we've been wronged!  (raises fist in air and shakes it!!)  And now I've realized where my daughter gets her dramatic side from.  Great. (that was sarcasm)

Anyway....

Here's my question:  Why is admitting your wrong so damn hard for people??? The lady clearly didn't let her dog go on purpose.  She felt bad about it.  The fact is that her dog got off of the leash and put his chompers into Daisy's flesh, like, a lot.  So, it's the neighbor's error.  Shit happens people!  It was an accident.

She felt remorse.  BUT, she did not feel responsible (there's that effing word again!) enough to pay to put Daisy back together again.  She feels that since she didn't see their initial encounter that maybe Daisy snapped at her dog first, thus starting the whole commotion.  "My dogs are great with other dogs at the doggie park."

Really?  Seriously?  That's your defense?  Did you not see EVERYTHING that followed?

Jackass.

What would you do?  I would be annoyingly apologetic.  And if the "victims" wanted me to pay the vet expenses, I would do everything I could to accommodate them.  I'd be checking in to see if they were okay.  I would send "Im really f**king sorry" gifts flying in their direction.  And I would definitely be on red alert with my dogs, their collars, their attitudes, etc from that moment on.

I want Allie to embrace putting her ego aside and admitting she made a mistake and  take (I wont say the R word again) for her actions.  Within reason.

Sounds good in theory, doesn't it?

Well, I'll have you know, she is the WORST apologizer ever.  EV-ERRRRRRR.  Take two extremely stubborn people  and have them create another human being and you end up with the most super-snotty-cant-say-I'm sorry-extra-shitty-apologizer EVER.  She's been known to yell "I'm sorry" with a nasty little attitude, when all we want is for her to admit she feels bad when :

• She takes my Fitbit Force off my wrist and hides it in a place she can't recall just 3 minutes later so now I have to buy another one. 

• Or when I'm towel drying my hair and she reaches up and pinches my nipple because it looks like a funny thing to do, but it actually feels like she tried to rip it off so I scream so hard that she starts to cry.  Very very unfunny.
• Or when she comes into the room and flops down on the couch like a Kardashian and says to Justin, as if he's her servant, "I want food and put my tv on NOW!" (If it wasn't so awful to feed into, I'd have her do it and add "and make me a sandwich, bitch!" at the end, but Im sure that'll eventually work against me.)
• Or when she touches everything three more times after you told her not to touch it and then you lose your shit because it's already happened 19 other times the same day and it's not even noon yet.

I could go on, but I'll spare you the details.

I'm not going to give up though.  Eventually, I'll find the right thing to say that will drive the point home in her 3 year old mind.  I will not have a "non-apologizer" for a child.

To wrap this up, I'll just let you know that Daisy will survive and is being fussed over to such a degree that I think she might try to "work the situation" and drag it out a bit.  Justin is correct.  She has been ruined.  Yet we love her.

Dog bless,
Vicki

p.s. I thought I'd add these photos because....well.....there are dogs in them.  And Allie too.  And I think they're kinda cute.  That's why.  Enjoy!

Allie and Sadie snuggling up in bed together.  My two favorite girls!

Waiting at the top of the stairs.  Sadie sits like this, with her paws hanging over the edge, waiting for me to come back upstairs.  Allie has this "other personality" that she calls Tutu.  Tutu is a dog.  It's not as fun as it sounds like it would be.  Like when Sadie poops outside and Tutu wants to drop trou and take a dumper on the front lawn next to her.

Lulu.   I just love Lulu.  She's a big brown Newfie who I walk every day and stays with us on occassion.  She is the ultimate baby sitter and I think she'd even let Allie put a saddle on her and ride her around the complex if she wanted.  (She does want to, but it's not going to happen.)

Our complex has its own herd of deer.  (okay...it's not a dog photo, but my kid is in it!) They are so friendly and walk around the lawns and streets like people.  It's not unusual to see a doe with a few fawns walking down the middle of the street and taking a left to go to the park.  It's outrageous.

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Why We Need To Leave Racists Alone

Oh, this is going to be a fun one.  I can tell.  You probably saw that title and thought,  'What is this crazy bitch ranting about now??"  Clickity-click and here you are!

Lets play a game.

Pretend that there is a disease that is brought on by living a life of negativity.  We will call it Creepycrawlyitis.  It's something that you're predisposed to from a young age, your lifestyle aggravates it, and at a certain point in life it begins to affect the people who associate with the person in a very negative way.  It can destroy the sick person and may take others with it to some degree.

You have a friend, Al,  who you often spend time with and you've known him for years .  You like Al a lot, but you aren't super close to him.  One night, in a drunken stupor, Al thinks you are bonding and tells you that he has Creepycrawlyitis, not suspecting that you will tell anyone.

Right away, you begin to panic.  You know that if word gets out that you are close to someone infected with Creepycrawlyitis people will think you have it too!  You liked Al, but essentially he has put you at risk.  It's appalling!  People will think you have Creepycrawlyitis too!  How many other people has he done this to?  Al is very popular!  You must tell someone so people know what's really going on.

You expose Al and people are shocked that he didn't admit to this sooner!  He was selfishly putting others at risk through the power of association.  Al gets fired from his job, his wife leaves him, his whole world seems to be crumbling around him.

Ned from the next street over has Creepycrawlyitis.  He just saw what happened with Al.  Do you think he's going to tell anyone?

DO YOU THINK HE'S GOING TO TELL ANYONE?

Ummmm.... nope.  Chances are Ned will keep it on the down low, find some secret friends who also suffer from Creepycrawlyitis and he will have a blast living a normal life.  No one will know the truth about Ned.

Did the Ah-Ha Moment getcha yet?  No?  I'll give it to you.  Go back and substitute Creepycrawlyitis with Racism.

I don't want racists to be scared to speak their minds.  I don't want them to pretend they are someone they aren't.   I don't want their fake apologies.  Fining them and taking their money and assets away from them isn't going to change what they believe at all.  Not one bit.  It's only going to keep them quiet.

I want this to be a world where we know exactly who we are dealing with.  Let the racists reveal who they truly are.  Make them feel comfortable enough to think they can speak their minds and feel that there wont be any repercussions.  I JUST WANT TO KNOW WHO TO AVOID.

I would like to think that enough time has passed that the non-racist people outnumber the racist people by an enormous margin.   The best way to keep people honest and show them that we don't approve and just ostracize them without argument.  Maybe they will seek help to overcome this stupid fucking mindset.   If not, at least they will receive what they've been doing to others...... segregation.

If Donald Sterling was just left alone without all of this pressure to ACT  remorseful what do you think would happen?  He'd have no team because the players  would protest or quit.  He'd go to business and NBA functions and people would ignore and avoid him like the plague.  (People HATE to be ignored!  Worst punishment EVER!) No one would purchase anything that he was associated with.   He'd have no friends other than the other racist pigs he associated with.  He'd indirectly be punishing himself.  And that is way more influential than the stupid fine and the media giving him all of this publicity. Thank God he was such an idiot that he screwed up his "opportunity" to "apologize" and be accepted back into society after a short waiting time.

I was brought up to not see color.   I went to a trade school where I was a minority and found it to be a life experience that everyone should have.  I often find myself in situations where I'm the odd one out, but people accept me and let me in.  I have been fortunate beyond believe in regards to potentially discriminatory experience.  I have no clue what it's like to SUFFER because of racists and I don't pretend to understand what those who have been victims suffered through.

My daughter will be raised the same way I was.  View people by what you see on the inside.  The outside means nothing.  Some of the best books are hidden by covers that don't do them justice.  Some of the most visually attractive people have had the  most repulsive personalities.  The outside cannot be trusted when "judging" people for their true character.

By the way, we really ARE all the same.  That's not just a statement that "liberal extremists try to force down our throats in order to create unity."  (I thought I was going to vomit when I heard that come out of the mouth of someone I know.)   I saw a presentation in college by someone famous who often spoke on diversity.  Eons ago, when all of the continents were one, before they divided, humans all looked the same.  We all had the same physical characteristics.  The continents drifted and our appearances changed as we acclimated to our new environments and climates.   Nature caused us to change.   That's it.  The freakin' weather is what makes you look different from someone from another country!

"There is only one race on the planet; the human race."
Edward James Olmos

Love to you ALL!

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Reliving Childhood Memories From the Other Side

Hello everyone!

Just cuz my conscience wont let me get away with not plugging this, if you would like to join the Six Weeks to Summer Meltdown Challege (the winner's pool is over $15,000 and people are still signing up and adding to it!) please go to http://goo.gl/I8ZaEt.  If you want more information, please go to www.DiscoverHealthyHabits.com/6wks or my wacky video explaining things HERE

Now that THAT is done, I'll move on to other goings-on!

My mom had been planning a reveal of my childhood dollhouse for awhile.  It had been wrapped up for 28 years and moved to 3 different residences.  We had no idea what it would look like when we unraveled it.  It could be a new habitat for creepy crawlies, nope nopes or critters.  I envisioned little chipmunks sitting at a table having nut soup and looking surprised as their cover is blown.

Some things are just meant to last.  Pretty much everything my mom owns seems to last.  She takes very good care of things, especially if they are sentimental.  And I was very happy to see that the dollhouse fell in that category.  It was perfect.

I kind of remember getting the dollhouse.  I was pretty young and it was a strange situation.  I knew that my parents were building something, and I was pretty sure it was for me, but no one was talking.  They were just....building.  No explanation.  And apparently one of my flaws is that you can do shit in front of me and I don't notice much.

Allie was really excited about the dollhouse. We started telling her about it days ahead of time and every day that passed she got more and more excited.  On April 26th, she practically burst out of the front door to "get to Nana's"for the moment.  It meant a lot to me that she was so excited and I was pretty psyched about what I was going to see too.

There were paper bundles stuffed in the rooms of the dollhouse and as we pulled them out, Mom informed me that the movers who took us from Pittsburgh to NY had done that.  They even packed the dollhouse furniture.  Hmmph!  I was pretty impressed.  We took all of the bundles into the livingroom and unwrapped them.

There were lots of little pieces of furniture.  Some of them were purchased but quite a few were made by my parents.  See the green picnic table on the right?  I remember my father gluing that together and being a little frustrated.  I watched him glue it and then set it down carefully.  Typical kid, of course I had to touch it and KABLOOEY.... It fell apart.

It would be an understatement to say that he was pissed.  My father almost never got angry and yelled at me.  I remember thinking "I better get outta here." That was the only "not so happy" memory I have of the dollhouse.  Now, I'm thinking about all of the things Justin "uses adhesive" on that Allie is dying to touch.  So often we have asked, "Why do you have to touch that?!  Don't touch it!"  Now I get it, Dad.

My father glued every shingle onto the roof.  That's what he was probably doing right before I jacked up his mini picnic table.  He was probably borderline insane at that point from the glue smell and making every shingle perfect.

So, how appropriate was this photo?  Justin was gluing the little tidbits that had come apart along the way.  He, however, looks quite calm.  (It's probably cuz he's slightly boogered up from all of the pain meds)  I looked over and saw Allie's father gluing dollhouse furniture together in front of a fireplace, just like my own father did 35+ years ago.  It was a coincidence that got me a little choked up.

Allie made up all of the doll beds and I watched, thinking about how my mom made every bedspread and throw pillow.  She made the couch too.  She also carpeted and wallpapered each room.  (Mom doesn't do anything half-assed.)  I asked her, "How in the hell did you do all of this small stuff and not go crazy?"

Her answer was, "We just picked a scale and built everything from there."  She even remembered how many feet an inch represented in the construction design.  It was really interesting to hear about the making of everything because NOW I can appreciate all of the details.  To a child, it's just "let me make this doll bed".  To an adult, it's more like "I had to measure and cut the fabric and then make sure that it fit and looked realistic...."  

Never one to settle for the average, my father also put electric in the house.  Oh yes.  Electricity.  Every room had a lightbulb in it and there was one in the mini fireplace too.  Under the dollhouse was a box with a toggle switch on it.  There was battery inside that turned the lights on and off.  This is the one thing that wasn't working, so now Justin will be working on the dollhouse as well.  He's like the dollhouse maintenance guy.  As always, Allie loves to be involved in all projects.... especially ones that involve troubleshooting.  

This was a really fun and emotional experience.  I love that my mom had us do this all together and that I got to pick her brain about when she and my dad created it.  I love that Justin will have a hand in the furniture and certain house parts being functional in certain ways too.  I love that Allie is crazy about it.  Her first words out of her mouth the following morning were, "Can we go to Nana and PopPop's to play with the dollhouse?  Now?"

What makes me a little sad is that my father isn't around to see this....

He didn't get to have this awesome experience that Mom and I had.  It would've been fun to get some of his stories about it too.   It would've been fun for him to actually know Allie, but I guess that just wasn't part of the plan.

So, I'm using this blog to share the experience with you and to thank my mother for:

• Not losing her shit (Justin's term for "going insane") while measuring and gluing and sewing all of this little teeny tiny stuff when they made the dollhouse for me
• Taking time many decades ago to create something that brought me (and my playmates) so much fun and happiness for many years.  
• Keeping it so carefully preserved and clean (and critter free!), all while carting that house around for over three decades and through three moves
• Realizing that opening it for Allie would be a special moment for us all
• For playing with the dollhouse and Allie every time she's there.  I'm sure it will be expected to continue for a very long time!
• and last, but certainly not least, for being a thoughtful, loving mother who always found a way to make my life better and make me feel special (even when I was being "naughtily special" and probably deserved a kick in the ass).  The dollhouse is a good representation of that.  Hopefully one day Allie and I will have the chance to experience this with her daughter.  I'm so grateful.  I love you, Mom.

Wishing you all a dollhouse-kinda moment,

Vicki

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One more reason why I shouldn't be a mechanic

There was an "incident" the other day and when it was over, the first thing I thought of was "I've got to call my Mom and tell her about this."  When that thought pops in my head, I realize that I have to ask myself the question, "Is this blogworthy?"  If so, I stifle the story and share it with you and her (HI MOM!) right here.

It's difficult to get "tone" across in writing, so I should mention that there were some specific changes in tone as this story progresses.  With my side of the story, there was: calm and relaxed; panicked; scared screechy (two pitches higher than normal); and then howler monkey freak out (five pitches higher and barely audible).  Justin only had mellow, annoyed and pissed.  He's much less dramatic in situations like the one you're about to read.  I'll let you know as the tone changes in the story.

Let me set the scene.....

I'm driving from one job to the next in one of the cars that Justin is selling (a lovely Oldsmobile Aurora), and talking to him on the phone.

Justin: So, what else is going on?

Me (calm): Just driving to the next job.  By the way, did you know that this car needs oil?

Justin (mellow): Not this again......  (you can read why he says this here)

Me:  Don't start with me.  I'm quite sure that it's THE OIL this time!  Why?  Because this car actually tells me..... in words... in English (it does.....see.....)

Justin: How long has that been on?

Me: Three days

Justin (annoyed):  What???  Are you kidding me?  Seriously, Vic..... three days?!

Me (panicked): Yes.  But it's only been three days.  The last time my other car needed oil you weren't in any big rush to do anything!

Justin (annnnnnnnd we go right to pissed): Don't even get me started on the last time..... You can't be driving around like you do for three days with the oil light on!  It's telling you to check the LEVEL.  That means it's running out.   It's not saying that you need to CHANGE it.

Me: I understand what it says.  I just didn't think it was that big of a deal.....

Justin (extra pissed): Vic!  If the car has no oil do you know what is going to happen?!  I'm trying to SELL that car.....

Me (scared and screechy): I know!  I know!  I'm heading for the Quick Check right now!

Justin (trying to calm down): Okay.  You're going straight there?  Is Quick Check the closest place?

Me (full fledged howler monkey): YES!  OF COURSE IT IS!  DO YOU THINK I'M LOOKING FOR THE FURTHEST ONE?  I'M NOT A COMPLETE MORON!"

Justin: I never said you were a moron.  I just wanted to be sure.....

Me: OH MY GAWD, I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE I'M GOING!  I ALMOST HIT A CAT! 

Justin: Well, don't hit anything....

Me: WHAT IN THE HELL.... DO YOU THINK I'M AIMING FOR SHIT WHILE LOOKING FOR THE FURTHEST GAS STATION?!  

Silence.

He's a smart man and knows when to shush up.

Me (scared): My driving skills are seriously impaired due to all of this pressure.

More silence.

I hear muffled chuckling on the other end.

Justin (calmly): Do you know what kind of oil to get?

This is when my father rolled over in his urn.  I was driving like a 90 year old lady in rush hour traffic, about 3 inches from the windshield and white-knuckling the wheel at ten and two.  Clearly, I was stressed, so I just blurted out what first came to mind.

Me: WD40

I know full well what WD-40 is and I know it's not an oil grade, but I was so busy wondering if I was going to make the engine go kablooey that I didn't put much thought into my response.

Justin: Oh my God.....

Me (panicked again):  I have to go!  My driving skills are...

Justin: ....seriously impaired due to this pressure.  I know.  Call me when you get there.

For those of you who know me well, you know full well that I didn't call him when I got there.  I wanted to figure this out myself so I could redeem myself for ANOTHER oil faux pas in ANOTHER vehicle.  I popped the hood and imagine my surprise when I saw this:

There is a chance that you won't be able to see it, but everything is labeled!  Even the oil dipstick....

(between you and me, there was one tiny drop of oil at the very end of this thing.... very bad!)

I'm really surprised that Oldsmobile isn't booming because they've got it goin' on under the hood.  Any moron can find the stuff that they are looking for.  And if the moron can't find it, that means that it's too important to let an idiot know where it is for fear that they might screw it up!  They hide their significant shit.

I was all too pleased to find this little gem....

Lookee there!  They tell me what type of oil I need to purchase!  A bit o' 5W-30!  They couldn't make it any clearer.  And if I was still confused, they told me to check my owner's manual.  (If you need to refer to the manual to add oil, you shouldn't be driving.)

So, I bought my oil, popped the hood right there in the parking lot and began pouring.  The irony of this entire situation is that I was taking the above photo to send to Justin to show him that I was SOMEWHAT capable of SOMETHING automotive, when I heard, "See honey!  A real woman knows how to check oil and put some in if it's needed."

Oh boy.

I turned around and saw an older gentleman sharing this gem of wisdom with his little granddaughter.  If he had any clue about what had happened in the 15 minutes prior to his comment, he would've shut his trap and kept walking.   If maintaining the oil in your vehicle is an indication of whether you are a real woman or not, I'd have to say I was pretty much on the same level as his granddaughter.

p.s. Just a reminder..... this is NOT an oil light of any sort:

I wish you happy and safe travels, my peeps!

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Dis Blog Don't Die!

Well, howdy ho, my beloved peeps!

Guess what?  

I'm baaaaaaack!

It's been a gnarly (bad gnarly, not good gnarly) few weeks after having my website hijacked.  There was some anger, followed by a bit of anxiety, wrapped up in a good amount of grieving.  I couldn't believe that after 70 blog posts, some jackass was going to snatch my website right out from under me!

I was virtually violated, dammit!

I give Google credit though.  I gave up way before they did.  As of yesterday, Amanda and Carolina from Google Support were still calling to work on the issue.  Those Google Girls are die hard.

Alas, my broken heart and I had moved on already.

After picking a new name, I gave GoDaddy the boot and went to my original web geeks from back in the "xlinxs" days..... 1and1.com.

Just to let you know how THAT went, it took 5 minutes to order a new domain....and three days to get it to connect to my damn blog!  Words like Subdomain and CNAME were flying around and I was totally winging it.  I created and deleted more Subdomains and CNAMES than you can imagine and I still don't understand why they are so important.  Why do they let the clueless do this type of crap?  I needed help!

But my blog is back.  So, who gives a rat's ass!

I hope that Anton from Belarus enjoys the hell out of flipsidemom.com.  He was very diligent about whisking that sucker right out from under me without me knowing.  I totally didn't see THAT coming.  And he was a total douche bag (sorry!) about trying to sell it back to me.  

Buy it back??!  Hell no!  It's a freakin' blog, jackass.

I'm sure he didn't expect me to say, "Kick rocks, mutha flucka!" in response to his shyster tactics.  I hope he falls down and hurts his perineum really bad.  And he should have something partially exposed and permanently lodged under his hyponychium as well.  Something that would get caught on almost everything and recreate horrible pain!

Yeah.  That's the ticket!

So, with that, I bring you www.TotallyTrueStory.com.

When we first met, I used to tell Justin stories about my crazy shenanigans that happened before I became his betrothed.  He would look at me like I was making it up and I would respond with, "True story" in a very matter-of-fact fashion.

Why, yes, I do have some doozies in my history that might be met with disbelief.  But I have fellow participants, witnesses, bystanders and spectators to back them all up.  And if it all seems too far fetched to be true, let me introduce you to my friend Audrey who has shook her head and said, "Only Vicki" more times than I can count.

True story.

;-)

Love and perseverance,

Vicki

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