Thursday, October 27, 2011

A Day Full of Chihuahuas

"there are good days
and they come and go and never seem to last
and the bad days
when they come around always kick the
good days ass into the ground"
Bob Schneider

Yesterday was a bad day. It was a day full of Chihuahuas.

My family has a saying- when a bunch of little things happen that aren't much to deal with by themselves, but in succession can be overwhelming- those are called Chihuahuas. And if you give the option of having a Great Dane take a hunk out of you or a few Chihuahuas nip at you- most would opt for the Chihuahuas. But I would go ahead, grit my teeth, close my eyes real tight and go with the Great Dane. And get it over with.

Yesterday's Chihuahuas came to a head for me when, after a long day at work, I tried to parallel park in front of my house, and a douchebag in a Mercedes stopped in the perfect position to prevent me from moving. While I usually avoid any sort of confrontation with strangers (but love it with people that I know well), I had lost my sense of humor and made the best "are you f-ing joking face" and glared at the dbag. His girlfriend in the passenger seat (with huge sunglasses on... of course) just laughed. I so badly wanted to slam the door of my Honda open and scuff up his nice paint job. But I didn't.

While yesterday was a bad Chihuahua day, it doesn't top the one I had a few years ago. That day started immediately with small things that continuously built to the point that they were like a snow ball chasing me down a mountain to hell.

Angry phone calls.
Relentless emails.
Gross weather.
Non stop chihuahuas.

I stayed late at work to finish some stuff up and when I left, decided that I would treat myself to a mixed drink when I got home. I was out of vodka, so I walked to the Rite Aid by work to get some (yes- I come from the land of plenty... where they sell booze at convenience stores) and, lucky me, saw that they had SKYY on sale. Maybe my day was making a turn for the better. I purchased a handle of SKYY (it was on sale, so why not go bigger?) and a big thing of gummy worms (because very few things go better with vodka) and made my way to my car. It had started to rain when I left work, so by this point I was pretty soaked, but the treat of a drink and gummy worms was worth it.

I parked off of a fancy street and about half a block away from my car was a fancy driveway with fancy cobblestones. As I crossed the fancy (wet) cobblestones, I slipped and busted my ass. The bag o'wonderfulness was in my left hand and the driveway sloped downward from my left to right. The vodka shattered and begin pouring out of the bag and down the driveway, only slowing to soak into my pants. I sat in the rich people driveway for about a minute and tried to keep calm. I peeled myself off of the ground and made it to my car, got in, and started crying.

When I got home, I walked in- dripping rain water and vodka, carrying a bag of gummy worms and blue glass shards to find my mom, boyfriend, and his sister all enjoying drinks on the couch. Daiquiris. Finally- a silver lining to my day. After all of that, I did have a mixed drink waiting for me- in the freezer. Or I would have if they bought one for me. But they didn't.  At this point I went into my room- ripped my pants off- then put my head into my pillow and screamed. Fucking Chihuahuas.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Sophie, cont.

For those of you who have not read my post introducing you to the angry cat beast that I own, let me introduce you to Sophie. She is my cat. She vomits a lot. She does not cuddle. And she sleeps at the foot of the bed and will claw the shit out of my foot if is in her space. I think this picture pretty much sums her up.

You talkin to me?
Sophie is somewhat similar to the honey badger, she doesn't give a shit.

I travel a lot for work and have to find cat sitters for Sophie. My words of wisdom for them while watching her:
  • She's mean. She will rub against you because you are feeding her, but she is still mean. She will still probably swat at you or bite you at some point. 
  • She pukes. A lot. Sorry. It's gross, but I ask that you pick it up. If not, she will just eat it again later. OK- so she's mean and nasty. 
  • She really likes canned cat food. The best way to that girl's shriveled little black heart is through the distinct pop and peel sound that only a can of cat food can make. But don't let her response trick you, she is still mean.
After a coworker of mine watched Sophie for a few days, he came to work with a scratched up arm. He showed our boss his arm and said she did that after he fed her. My boss, who also owns cats, told me that there was something wrong with her. I responded "Yeah, she's mean." He said he had never heard of a cat that will rub against you, love you when you feed it, and then scratch you immediately after. (Which is a little peculiar since she loves her food a lot... she had to take time out of eating to scratch my coworker. Maybe he was distracting her from her food and she was annoyed. Maybe she was just having a bad day.)

My parents have also had the pleasure of watching her for me. They have multiple cats, which is not OK with Sophie. When she goes home with me, she usually follows me to whatever room I am in. You can always hear her coming by the screaming and spitting act she performs each time she comes across another feline. When I am not there, though, she doesn't have anyone to follow and therefore perches herself on their stairs so she can survey the activity without a blind spot in which another cat could mosey into. My Dad let me know that she spit at him multiple times when he climbed the stairs. "I've never had a cat spit at me in my life." "Dad, I told you: She is mean."

My parents will be watching her for an extended period of time soon. When I broke the news to them (as softly as possible), my mom responded "Just remember this favor when you have to change our diapers." At first I didn't think it was an even trade and then I thought about picking up regurgitated canned cat food and cut my rebuttal short.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

The Walk of Shame

My first car was a Mazda 626. It was pretty amazing. Until, of course, its transmission died at one of the busiest intersections in town and when I could finally get it into drive- I could only get it as far as the donut store right next to the intersection. And then, it would only go in reverse. But before all of that, it was pretty awesome. It was so awesome, it had oscillating air vents. Boo yah.

My car first started showing signs of a dying transmission through minor tantrums. For example, one time it wouldn't accelerate on the interstate. Another time, it took a few tries to get it started. One other time, it just wouldn't start at all. This time just happened to be in the grocery store parking lot.

My parents sent me on an errand to our neighborhood grocery store to get a few items. I can only remember one item on the list so I will go ahead and make up the rest:
  • Mustard
  • One onion
  • 12 pack of toilet paper

I went to the store, purchased said items, and then walked out to my car. I got in, and tried to start it with no luck. I sat there for a while, and tried again. Nothing. One last time. "SERIOUSLY!? UGHHHH!!!" (I am trying to recap what an anxiety ridden teenage Leila would sound like- but it kind of sounds like an anxiety ridden late 20s Leila. Shit.)

I called my parents and let them know. They were busy cooking dinner. Could I please walk back to the house?

"With the groceries. We are completely out of toilet paper."


I gave up the negotiation (which lasted all of two loud sighs and three drawn out 'moms') and pulled my sorry ass out of the car... with the bag of toilet paper and two other small unnoticeable things and started to walk home. It wasn't the walk itself that was bad, it was the route that I had to take.

The walk took me over the "Overpass" which is just a bridge that goes over a few shops and a train track. The problem with it is that the sidewalk is narrow and when you drive over it, you notice every single pedestrian (which are few and far between).

I made my way out of the grocery store parking lot and got to the bottom of the Overpass. With my head held incredibly low and my hair pushed across my face, I made my way across the bridge knowing that every single student in my high school class was currently making their way over the overpass and figuring out my family's secret as they drove.... we wipe our butts. How humiliating. At that point in my life, it was the equivalent of having going to Walgreens to pick up Monistat, Preparation H, and cheetos (because you're hungry but didn't realize how embarrassing your purchase combo is until you are in the incredibly slow moving checkout line).

I couldn't believe my parents put me through that. I swore I would never run to the grocery store for them again. I didn't care if we were out of toilet paper, and down to our last shred of kleenex... I was not EVER going to the grocery store again. NO WAY.

Needless to say, I was 17. Again, my negotiating powers failed me a few days later when we were out of milk. Except this time, my mom let me take her car, which trumped my car with the whole ability to start thing. That way, none of those classmates of mine would have any chance of spotting me walking home only to discover that we tried to maintain our Calcium as much as our hygiene.

Monday, October 10, 2011


Recently, I had to visit a city I had never been to before for work. I was trying to figure out how much time it would take me to get there and exactly where I needed to go once I arrived. My mom had been there before and started giving me instructions. Very specific instructions- that included gas stations and a Burger King as landmarks. I interrupted her to tell her I was just going to use my Iphone and she didn't need to keep explaining.

She kept explaining. I just let her finish. Once she was done, she proudly said "See- you don't need your Iphone at all. You have your mother."

One small step for Momma, one large step for all the omniscient mothers out there that have always been able to guide their kids, decades before those godforsaken Iphones came out. If only we could use them to make calls.

That would just be awkward....

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Wise Behind His Years

When I was young, a dinosaur craze swept the nation. Jurassic Park came out, TV shows recreated the dinosaur eras, and sit coms featured lively dinosaur family's with their own curmudgeon grandmothers (if you never saw an episode of Dinosaurs, you need to go watch one now).

Part of this craze also include whole animatronic set ups where you could walk amongst the beasts. They would roar and slowly move their heads side to side with little mechanical jerks here and there as their eye lids opened and closed. It was incredibly life like, except they never walked and they never ripped anyone's arms off or anything. But other than that, it was pretty life like. Or at least it seemed life like to me when my parents took me to see a dinosaur show that was traveling across the country. When I was four.

I don't remember the emotions building up to going to see the show, but I am pretty sure I was down with going to see the monsters. I was a pretty cool kid. Or maybe my parents just didn't tell me what we were about to do. That could have also been the reason I agreed to do it.

Regardless, I went to see the dinosaurs and immediately flipped out. There was nothing neat about these huge man eaters standing on a platform with nothing tethering them down. They scared the shit out of me. They roared and looked straight at me and they were huge. What was wrong with  my parents!? They were putting my life in danger. Through tears, I told them I wanted to leave. They wanted to see the exhibit they just paid to get into, so they had to figure out a way to get me to stay. Bribes were not part of their parenting. Neither were negotiations (especially not when I was younger than 13 18 27). They had to figure out a way for me to overcome my fear. Immediately, my dad thought of something.

He told me he wanted to show me something and took me by the hand. He walked me up to a dinosaur and continued walking to the back of the display. Then he showed me its butt. "What do you think comes out of there," he asked. Confused and tired from crying, I tried to figure out what he was saying. Then I got it. That's where the dinosaurs pooped. Given my obsession with "stinky things" at this point in my life and my continuous love of bathroom humor, I cracked up. Silly dinosaurs. You think you're all bad ass. But you poop and fart just like the rest of us. The fact that their excrement was made up of flesh and bones completely escaped me. I just found it hilarious that these huge creatures made huge poops (and this was years before Jurassic Park came out).  That's all it took. My dad just had to insert a little bathroom humor into the Jurassic Era to get me to enjoy it.

Not afraid anymore...