humor

Parasites SUCK.

~ thedailydish ~ 15 Comments

Soooo…Yesterday morning started like every other. I get up, go to the bathroom – but I notice as I lift my shirt that I have this little black speck on my belly. It looks like a tiny seed bead. My daughters and I had spent the better part of the previous afternoon making jewelry on my bed, so you KNOW there were beads scattered everywhere. I pick the little sucker off my stomach and P-TOING! flick it away. I’m still kinda half asleep, and when I look again, I notice there’s a purplish mark where it’d been. DAMN cheap beads. So I lick my finger to wipe away the stain. Lick, wipe, lick, wipe. But it doesn’t go away.

Hmm. I look more closely – and am jolted awake by the realization that THAT tain’t no cheap bead, that mustabeen…. a BUG. Oh MY GOODNESSS. I peer around me on the floor, looking for the tiny black speck, and there, lo and behold, it is. I press it to my fingertip, raise it to my eyes. It looks like a teesy tiny seed, but when I look reeeeeaaaaaaaaallllly close, I can indeed see. it’s got LEGS.

AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

My husband comes running. He isolates the thing in a small lidded jar. I then place the jar into a ziplock bag. B/c YOU CANNOT BE TOO CAREFUL. I call the doctor, they are about to put me on hold, when I announce “I have just been bitten by a deer tick.” They patch me right through. And so the ladies & spent the better part of yesterday rectifying my “little problem.”

You can see from the above photo how a sleep-ridden mind could indeed mistake this tiny bullseye mark for say… a freckle. or Cheap bead stain. Fortunately (or unfortunately) I found the tick on me, so there was no mistaking it. After a few minutes, anyway.

Here he is in the babyfood jar. I was feeling brave – this was taken w/out the additional plastic sheathing.

Now, here he is this morning. I am thinking he is dead. GOOD. He was waaaay bigger when I plucked him off my stomach. [Yes, I did have to tell you that.] That is a pencil point next to him. YES he is UNBELIEVABLY TINY. So WATCH OUT.

I did some online research and have concluded it was a nymph (juvenile) which bit me. The adults are quite a bit larger and more leggy. The nurse practitioner shone a light on him yesterday to establish his identity and color. Although he looks black to me, in the light he was indeed a reddish-brown. Perhaps from the blood he had stolen. Bastard. The nurse asked us what we were going to name him, so I chose Evil. which seems to fit him nicely. She gave me a prescription for a one-time mega-dose of Doxycycline (which I took last night) and said that I should be fine.

So, yesterday – b/c we have instituted this NO DRIVING DURING THE WEEK rule at our house – the ladies & I had to walk into town & back to get to the doctor’s office. Over 10 miles. As a treat, we meandered back via the Reading Terminal Market, and then South Street, of course treating ourselves to some TREATS. When you get bit by a damn deer tick, you milk it for All it’s Worth. Needless to say, everywhere we went, my younger daughter would reach her hand right into my purse, pull out that crazy ass bagged jar and announce to all & sundry MY MOMMY WAS BITTEN BY A TICK and HERE HE ISSSSSSSSSS. After the first couple times, I knew the routine & would head her off @ the pass. Somehow, I didn’t really want to share the whole story (along w/ specimen) w/ the girl at the cheap earrings shoppe. I am sure she was grateful.

JUST SAY NO! to treating your pets like children.

~ thedailydish ~ 21 Comments

Today’s JUST SAY NO! is going to make some people ANGRY. Well then, GOOD. If what I have to say in the following paragraphs strikes a painful chord, then this is long overdue.

It has come to my attention that some of you are suffering from a delusional sickness called doggiemommyitis. Sufferers of this burgeoning disease find themselves incapable of grasping the important distinction between PET and HUMAN CHILD. For the sake of these pitiful souls, let me clarify. Human children look like miniature versions of us. They have (usually) one small person’s head, one trunk, two arms, two legs, ten each of fingers & toes, and they walk (once they learn to do so) upright. PETS on the other hand, do not look like us. They have fur, or feathers, or scales. They typically walk on four legs, or fly on two wings, or swim w/ fins. Some may slither, as in the case of snakes. Indeed, some may even talk – like my crazy ass bird who says “wuuuuuzzzzzzzuppppppp,” but that’s pretty much the extent of it. They DO NOT wear clothing and would NEVER EVER EVERRRRRRRRR want to. EVER.

Animals – as much as we all love them (except for those weirdos who don’t) – are animals. Not humans. AND MOST DEFINITELY NOT human children. On a recent trip to Petsmart, I was shocked and horrified to see this:

For those of you who have never seen one of these, it is a stroller. Yes, of course! Except this one isn’t for a child. No. It is called the Pet Gear™ Blue Happy Trails Pet Stroller. It costs $100 and is one of the “lower-end” pet stroller models. The Jeep Rubicon Jogging Stroller (for Pets) is a whopping $219.99. In the olden days, people used to take walks or run with their dogs. Now they push them like human infants. In a country where childhood obesity is reaching epic proportions, people are now PUSHING THEIR PETS AROUND LIKE KIDS.

A while back I had the misfortune of seeing something like this at a public park:

Only it was a grown MAN wearing his dog, and he looked even slightly more ridiculous. if that is possible. No offense to anyone who totes their dog around on their chest like a small human, but… well. actually I guess I do mean offense. B/c you need HELP. Pets were never intended to be carried around in Baby Bjorns, oversized pocketbooks & arm luggage covered in rhinestones. That’s why they have LEGS. You know, the four appendages dangling off their body that you’ve squeezed into a leotard and tutu? Yep. right there.

Behold this poor creature:

This dog is wearing a wig for pete’s sake. A WIG. If you are subjecting your pet to this, then you need to call your doctor IMMEDIATELY b/c your dosage is WAAAAAAAYYYY TOO HIGH. I know it is cute to see what Lil Poopsie looks like in a doll’s dress, once – maybe twice, but there are things that should never be done to a dog. EVER. Do you think they are doing this over in Africa where people are dying of starvation? Dressing up their pets? NO WAY. They would be eating them if they were lucky enough to have them. This is AMERICA PEOPLE. Where we have enough money to condone this sort of thing as acceptable behavior. Sort of like Botox injections. or Twitter.

Last year when we went on vacation, we boarded our dog. He stayed at a reaaaallllly nice place. At least it must be for what we paid. I was hoping he was getting above-average quality kibble, extra fun play time, that kind of thing. But when we went to pick him up, I was surprised by something they handed over to me, along w/ his leash and the bill. It was a stack of papers. Each one had a sweet doggie graphic and a space for writing. And each sheet was filled out – as if by MAX (our dog) – describing what he’d enjoyed most each day. Playing w/ the ball. Taking his nature walk. Playing tug. Cute, right? Well. Sort of, I suppose. Except that Max can’t write. And never will. And so, understandably, this got my attention. I thought about it a lot. You know I did.

When we pulled away from the boarding kennel I noticed their “Doggie Day Care Center.” And then I really truly understood. The windows of the Doggie Day Care were papered w/ fingerpaintings. Done by dogs. Little paw prints in all the colors of the rainbow. Outside the place stood a tot-sized easel listing the schedule of daily activities. And beside the building was a fenced-in play yard complete w/ Little Tykes playhouse and children’s playground equipment – stuff my daughters would go wild for – but it was FILLED TO THE BRIM WITH DOGS. And I thought to myself WOW. Doggie Day Care. PURE GENIUS. Can this population be exploited more thoroughly?? I THINK NOT.

And so, I beg you all – but especially YOU,

to JUST SAY NO! to treating your pets like children.

PUDDING BUTT LIVES!

~ thedailydish ~ 11 Comments

Given that I just wrote a “fictional” tale of a nearly 45 lb. cat named Pudding Butt, you KNOW this got my attention. This article graces the front page of this morning’s Philadelphia Inquirer. In short, it’s the story of a 44 lb. stray cat just found in Voorhees, New Jersey. This cat is so big it has to ride in a DOG CARRIER. Sound familiar??? Animal shelter staff nicknamed the cat Princess Chunky, BUT I KNOW HER TRUE IDENTITY. This, my friends, is none other than Pudding Butt.

Pudding Butt the Cat

~ thedailydish ~ 5 Comments

Once upon a time, in the town right next to yours, there lived the fattest cat in the history of the world, and his name was Pudding Butt. Now when I say Pudding Butt was big, I don’t just mean big – I mean BIG. He was so fat that had to sleep in a Rubbermaid plastic tub instead of a cat bed. He weighed nearly 45 lbs.

Pudding Butt was a glutton. But he was a glutton for one thing only. Pudding. Tapioca, to be exact. Pudding Butt just couldn’t get enough of it. Morning, noon & night the cat craved Tapioca. His momma kept it in little plastic pudding cups tucked in every cabinet of the kitchen. But it still wasn’t enough.

One morning, Pudding Butt woke up hungry. He always woke up hungry. And so he yawned and stretched and smacked his little (big) Pudding Butt lips, and waddled into the kitchen for breakfast.

MEOW, he called to his momma. Which meant, “Hey Lady, get me some Pudding. Right NOW.”

His momma looked at Pudding Butt with worried eyes. “Oh, sweetums, I spoke with your doctor this morning. Remember last week when I took you to the vet? Well, your test results came back and [GULP] you have a little bit of a… weight issue.”

MEOW, said Pudding Butt. Which meant, “Really. That’s great, now get me my PUDDING.”

“So, ummmm, anyway poopsie, you’re going to have to go on a diet. Starting today. No more tapioca for you, my furry little man.” And his momma took a carrot out of the crisper bin and dropped into Pudding Butt’s dish.

MEEEEEOOOW ???

Pudding Butt just looked at the carrot, and looked at his momma. Back and forth, back and forth. Until, sensing no forthcoming pudding, he turned tail, disgusted, and squeeeeeeeezed himself through his dog-sized cat door.

And so Pudding Butt began to walk, albeit very slowly, dragging his massive blimp-like middle along the ground. Fortunately for Pudding Butt, he’d only gone a block before he picked up the scent. The scent of… PUDDING!

HOLY MOLEY! thought Pudding Butt, and he began to trot a little faster. Sniff-sniff-sniffing the air with eager interest. The trail led him to the rear of a nondescript house, and up to the window ledge of what appeared to be the kitchen. With quite a bit of doing, Pudding Butt heeeeeeaved himself up to the ledge and peered through the dusty window. The room was spacious and filled – and I mean FILLED – with pudding. Big cups, little cups, huge institutional-sized cans of it, stocked floor to ceiling with no room in between. And sandwiched inside this pudding cocoon, there sat a man. The biggest man he’d ever seen. He wore a stained and yellowed t-shirt emblazoned with “PUDDING EATING CHAMPION OF THE WORLD” and was hunched over an open tub of tapioca.

This vast ocean of pudding belonged to none other than Pudding Baxter Jones, the pudding-eating champion of the world. But Pudding Jones had grown disillusioned with the world of competitive eating, which he felt had become too much of a commercial enterprise, and so he had retired to live the quiet life of a once world champion.

Pudding Jones sat eating eagerly, hungrily, totally transfixed, like he’d been trapped on a deserted island for months and just found his way home. He stopped occasionally to breathe and look around the room at all of his unopened pudding. Pudding Butt, being an animal, had the ability to read human emotions with just a glance. And what Pudding Butt sensed was an intense loneliness. Almost palpable, like the big gaping hole of hunger gnawing inside his belly at that very moment. And so Pudding Butt did what came naturally.

MEEEEEEOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWW. Which meant, “COME HERE RIGHT NOW, YOU BIG HANDSOME BEAST. INVITE ME IN TO YOUR PUDDING FEAST!!!”

Pudding Jones, upon hearing this loud call, looked up and locked eyes with the cat. And never, in all the history of the world, was there ever a truer or more sincere case of love at first sight. Pudding Jones had never beheld such a beautiful creature in his life! He rushed over to the window and threw it open wide, exclaiming, “MY FRIEND!!!” To which Pudding Butt replied, MEOW. Which meant, “Home Sweet Home.”

JUST SAY NO! to riding your bike on the sidewalk

~ thedailydish ~ 68 Comments

Today’s JUST SAY NO! is a little different. Rather than address a topic strictly geared towards mothers & daughters, I will instead – for the benefit of mankind – address a topic which affects us all. All of us using sidewalks, that is. Today we will JUST SAY NO! to riding your bike on the sidewalk.

That’s right, I am talking to YOU. You, the 45-year old man, wearing the helmet, timidly riding your cruiser ON THE SIDEWALK of Walnut Street, Philadelphia. The wrong direction. Oh. Yes, we saw you. And do you know why? B/c you nearly ran us over. You poor pathetic creature.

You, my good man, need to GROW A PAIR OF TESTICLES. Take that bike off the sidewalk where people are WALKING and place it in the BIKE LANE. It is right there next to the curb on the yonder side of the street. Now, you take that bike and ride it the right way. In the STREET.

There is no excuse for your behavior. None. You are a grown man. At least in physical body, if not mind. You have a bike, you have a helmet, you obviously are not blind. Do you not see those special lanes on the streets of Philadelphia? Those lanes marked w/ this:

That is not a man rolling donuts. He is RIDING HIS BIKE. IN THE STREET. He has a helmet. He has BALLS.

Several days ago, I saw a young child and her momma riding their bikes on the sidewalk of Baltimore Ave. It was a little annoying, since I had to negotiate around them w/ my two kids and a filled-to-the-brim super freaking heavy push-shopping cart. But at least they have an excuse. A 5 year old learning to ride her bike needs some guidance, and a busy street w/ trolleys is not the best place. Maybe her momma should take her to a parking lot or something, rather than a busy sidewalk. But I am not one to judge. No.

But these MEN. And grown WOMEN. Riding their bikes on the sidewalk when there are clearly defined bike lanes in the street. Well. You people are either cowards or self-absorbed morons. Or both.

If you are too afraid to ride your bike the legal way, then you should sell it and walk. Or take public transportation. Or just stay home. I don’t really care, but I do take issue w/ your callous disregard of other people. Like me, and my 2 kids. Trying to walk. On the sidewalk. Trying to get across town w/out being run over. On the sidewalk.

You should be pulled from your bikes and slapped. Hard. Especially since you nearly ran my 4 year old over. And my husband. All over Philly there are bike lanes. Bike lanes. USE THEM.

JUST SAY NO! to riding your bike on the sidewalk.