Bumper Sticker of the Day

I saw this the other day, and am posting it because 1) I have been sadly remiss in posting Bumper Sticker of the Day shots, and 2) it's a reminder to vote Democrat! Or, for you borderline Socialists out there, vote anti-Republican!

In case you can't make it out, it reads:
God, Guns & Guts -- Let's Keep All 3.

I think they forgot Glory.

So yeah, vote smart, people. Go here, check out your candidates, check out the issues. Why yes, as a matter of fact, I will find a way to tie just about anything to the issue of keeping rightwing Mormongelical nutbags out of the White House. Thanks for noticing.

So the last few days have been sort of a Cowbell Unplugged deal, except without an album, screaming fans begging for my underwear, bright lights, or a guitar. To all of you who inquired, no, I am not literally hiding under my blankets until 2009. I admit, it felt pretty good, but then I had to emerge from my lair to watch the playoff games - which I do not want to talk about - and I do have to work for a living, so that's that. I don't think they would've approved paid vacation until 2009. I looked at our union contract, and "being sick and tired of all the bullshit" does not qualify for any type of mental health vacation. Figures.

In other news, I received all manner of wonderful emails and phone calls this week, which made shedding the blankets much better, playoff game notwithstanding. It seems that some of you heathens out there had some pretty choice words to offer regarding Asshat Driver and Officer Donuts. My goodness! And I thought I had a potty mouth. Impressive. Also, Batman appreciates the sympathy offered for his tooth as well. Sorry he doesn't do so well on the phone, but he did pant a bit, and wagged his tail, so there you go. I even got to speak with the always intriguing Al, of bluealto fame, which spilled over to the wee hours of the morning and involved laughing, ranting, and Joni Mitchell, so you can't get much better than that. Of course, it did bring me back to that eternal question, "Why do all the good ones have to be gay?" but whatever. Par for the course. (Come on ladies, you know what I'm talking about.) Anyway, you guys rock, I can't tell you how much this bevy of bloggers has come to mean to me. Also, Santa apparently has an elf over at Amazon. If you know of what I speak, email me. I love you.

In closing, I'll leave you with a quote from my mother, when she was the tender age of 8, in a note to my grandfather, which she still has to this day, and which has become a running family joke: "Vote or scat!"

Thanks for Nothing, Officer Donuts

I'm very discouraged today after more conversations with the State Trooper handling my case. Basically, they're closing the case. Yes, already. Apparently there are so many accidents on WA highways every day, especially in the Seattle area, they just do not have the manpower to follow up on them all CSI style. I mean, it's not like I was expecting Grissom himself to come find Hit & Run Guy, but ... that's it?

The vehicle is registered to a female, that's one complication, because we know right there that the owner is not the driver. Trooper Full Caseload called the phone number associated with the registration, no answer. No shit, Columbo! I mean, if you hit-and-ran someone, would you be answering phone calls from unfamiliar numbers? Please! He went by the address a couple of times yesterday, the vehicle was not there, and no one was home. Hello, let's just assume Hit & Run Guy is not going to be rushing for the doorbell to receive callers anytime in the immediate future.

He will go by a couple of more times today, but he only works the day shift. I asked if perhaps someone who works the swing shift could check, as there is a good chance the owner/driver works during the day, but all those guys have their own burgeoning caseloads.



So basically that's it.

I said I couldn't believe this is how our system works ... or doesn't. My dad was a cop, and I'm the world's biggest cynic (OK, except for Tony, maybe), you wouldn't think I'd be surprised. I really thought if you had the goddamn plate number, though, you catch the friggin' perp. Yes, I understand that given his behavior, it's nearly certain the guy is uninsured anyway. But really ... even with a plate number, the procedure is to call a few times, go by a time or two ... and that's it? Free pass?

Well goddamn, if it's that easy, I should just go out and get my rage on by ramming all the W in '04 stickered cars. Just park my car at work for a few days, don't answer the door or pick up the phone, and I'm home free.

What's the point in even making the damned report? It just took more time and energy, accomplished jack shit, and the added rage factor probably aged my heart at least a couple of months. Apparently, the report is mainly for the purpose of insurance. The companies need a report, "proving" that I did not back into a pole and try to commit fraud for the privilege of paying my $500 deductible, and getting a new bumper that looks the same as the old one. Since Trooper Full Caseload was not actually at the scene, and no witnesses came forward (bastards), I don't see how his report proves anything, but whatever.

I know I'm just another file in his caseload, probably with hundreds of other people, but come on. Trooper Full Caseload will move on to other folders, Hit & Run Guy will hide out for a few days and go back to life as usual. They don't care how long it takes me to replace that $500 any more than my clueless dog does. In fact, my dog probably cares more, on account of me buying his food.

This has turned into a full on Charlie-Fox, people. First Hit & Run Guy gives it to me hard, right in the bumper, then Trooper Full Caseload comes in for round 2, and has the nerve to have a lackadaisical attitude when he does it. At least say my name, bitch.



I'm just really discouraged. It seems that the past year or so, things keep chipping away at me financially, I just can't get ahead. Between the plumber, the oven, the dog's tooth, and this freeway ass-reaming, damn, I should at least have something to show for dropping that much bank. It'd be different, $1300 gone, but a new washer and oven, or a refrigerator, or a titanium fang for the dog to show for it. Or a fucking dishwasher, damn. I'd like one of those. I mean, I'd still be pissed about having to replace my crappy washer or any of those other things, but as it is, that money's gone, and my washer is still acting funky, I'll still have to replace the fridge before selling TOMFH, there's no titanium in the dog's mouth, and I'm still washing dishes by hand. 2008 is starting to suck as much as as 2007 did, and it's barely started.


Fuck. I know I'm whining like a little girl here people, I'm fully aware I'm bitching way more than normal, which is considerable on any given day to begin with, but I'm just tired of it. If it's cheer you're looking for, best be moving on, because I just don't have it in me. I just want to crawl under my blankets and not come out until 2009.

Hit & Run Guy, I Hate You

Someone slammed my car on the freeway hell known as I-5 this morning, and took off like a bat out of jail.

Motherfucker!

Broke my entire bumper all the way across and dented the hatchback door. I still have no idea why this accident even happened. I was taking the Bohemian to the airport. We were in the express lanes, separate from the main highway, the commuters hadn't taken over yet, so traffic was very light. The cars in front of me were the length of a football field away. No one beside me on either side, I was in the middle lane. All of a sudden

BAM!

with no warning at all. Out of the friggin' blue.

Someone rear ended me - HARD - in the middle of the goddamn freeway, with no traffic to speak of! I hadn't braked, there are no turn offs. Did he fall asleep? Was he drunk? Maybe he came flying over the hill of the bridge and didn't see us? But the hill isn't that steep - he would've had time to see us. And even if not, traffic was so light, he could've easily moved to one of the other lanes. We were on the lower level of the bridge, so even weather was not a concern.

WTF, people?

He moved to the right of us, we looked at each other through the windows. He had no front license plate ... uh-oh Sheriff Taylor, something's fishy in Mayberry. He looked like he was saying something to us, we both slowed down (me cursing like a banshee, of course), he got back behind me on the shoulder. Fine. I continued, slowly, toward the end of the bridge, because only an idiot stops on a bridge in the dark with the commuters coming. He kept falling farther and farther behind, still on the shoulder. I thought, damn, he must've fucked up his car, but Red Flag #2 started flapping inside my skull as he fell farther back, so I stopped, just before the end of the bridge.

All of a sudden, the Bohemian says, "Hey, that's him! He's leaving!" The asshat ripped over to the far left, and took the hell off. Bastard! Betcha a dollar he's uninsured. Because who takes the risk of pulling a freaking hit and run, hello, unless you're uninsured?

Holy fuckmonsters, people, I really would like to know what the hell I've done to knock my karma so far out of whack. Why does this random shit keep happening? I mean, a freeway pileup, I could see. An on-ramp accident, ok. Crowded freeways, a merging incident, something. Who the hell rear-ends someone on an open freeway straight-away? What is that? It was so odd, I thought maybe he was a serial killer, but if he were a serial killer, he wouldn't have left. No, he'd have already finished me off with a nice Chianti and fava beans by now.

The Bohemian got the license plate - we're 98% sure it was him. It was dark, so I guess there is the possibility that he doused his lights at the exact instant someone else flew from the right lane over to left at a high rate of speed. With my current run of luck, that may well be exactly what happened.

No witnesses stopped. Of course they didn't. Probably the folks behind didn't realize what happened anyway, to be fair. Again, who the hell even does some shit like that?


Given that the Bohemian still needed to catch her flight, and we were sitting on the side of the freeway in the dark with the commuters coming, no perp and no witnesses, there was nothing to do but head to the airport. Talked to a police officer there who advised me to call the State Troopers, which I've done. I'm waiting for their callback, which they say may not happen for a day or two. WTF?

So basically, I'm still on the hook for my deductible. $500. Fuck. Add that to the upcoming cost of Batman's dental work, and I'm looking at $1000 bucks. This month. 'Tis the season to shake my fist and curse the Fates or the Furies or whoever keeps hitting this flashing neon target on my back.


So,

Dear Uninsured Hit & Run Spawn of Satan's Asshole Guy,

I fucking hate you. You're a selfish, irresponsible, dangerous asshole. I hope your engine falls out. I hope I get to pick you out in a line up and throw tomatoes and hungry leeches at you. I hope you catch crabs that climb into your ass and breed. I hope you and your mean aggressive horrible dog that I don't feel sorry for both break your teeth this month. I hope your toilet backs up and floods your house. While you're sitting on it. I hope your oven explodes. Because that $500 you just yanked out of my wallet, simply because you are a selfish parasite on the asshole of humanity, needs to come out of your own ass tenfold, to teach you to be a decent human being. You just don't do that shit to people. Golden Fucking Rule, assmeister. I hope your mother finds out and bitch slaps you for being a sorryass loser. I fucking hate you.

Cracked Bumper Chick

Glassbooth

We interrupt these Birthday Bohemian celebrations to bring you the following special announcement:

Get thee to the Internets and check out this site: glassbooth.org

It's a candidates/issues site. OK, here's the deal. You take a short quiz telling where you stand on the issues. The site then tells you which 3 candidates are closest to your views, and why, using a percentage. You can choose any other candidate in the 4th slot to see how they match up with you.

Here's the cool part: before you take the quiz (which only takes a few minutes), you allocate points to the issues, giving the ones you are most interested in more weight. You have 20 points to allocate among 14 issues. If an issue is not important to you (like say, gun control), you don't have to give it any points. The questions in your quiz are then based on the issues YOU think are important, meaning your results are calculated around what you personally feel strongly about.

You can look at an issue summary for how each candidate matches up with your views, ranging from very similar to very different. Clicking on an issue shows details on where the candidate stands, citing examples from speeches, voting records and events.

They also have a page called Explore Candidates, where they have all the candidates on one side, all the issues on the other, and you can mix and match. They also have links for basic info about the issues.

Anyway, check it out!

The Circle Game

The Bohemian is 20 years old today.

She came into the world after a long bumpy ride to the Army hospital in Landstuhl, Germany on January 6th, 1988 - exactly on her due date, in true Capricorn style.

very cool artwork courtesy of The Bohemian

Twenty years! How the hell did that happen? One day she's banging on her Little Tykes toy piano, I turn around, and she's a college student on the other side of the country. I am very proud of her, not just as my daughter, but as the young woman she is becoming. She's already leaving her mark on this world.

I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the lapels. Life's a bitch. You've got to go out and kick ass.
~Maya Angelou

Yeah. That's my daughter. Grabbing the world by the lapels, kicking ass. If it's good enough for Maya, she's doing something right.

Boldog szülinapot, édesem.

Yes, of course I'm freaked the hell out by the fact that my daughter is 20 years old. La la la la la ... I can't hear you ........

Assdad's Testosterone Surge

Where to begin? Today's thoughts range from assholes to playoffs to presidential candidates. Yes, actually I am thinking of separate situations.

I only caught the last portion of the 2-party presidential debates this evening. More about the debates in a minute. The son's wrestling tourney, for some insane reason, fell on the same day that Seahawks played - and WON - Game 1 in the Playoffs (hell yeah) Who schedules these things?! The Bohemian and I, along with some of the other dads (ha) stayed on the run between the gym and the hospitality room, where they had a TV set to the game. Male Offspring had 4 matches. We'd run to the gym to cheer him on, then run back to watch the Seahawks take another step toward the Superbowl. (No, RG, I don't have any illusions. But I sure would like to stomp the Packers next week.)

Something happened at the tourney today that really bothered me. Actually it pissed me the hell off. One of the son's teammates was wrestling. The guy is a good wrestler, but lost this particular match. His father was sitting behind me in the stands acting like a complete ass. I don't know the dad all that well, but from what I'd seen previously, I didn't like him. He's the type of guy who talks big shit about how his kid can kick the ass of any scared little pansy on the mat. Dude, seriously, no "I" in TEAM. I once heard him say this shit to Male Offspring:

Yeah, so [his son] was standing there, right, this was back in 7th grade man, and the other kids were looking scared. They thought he was in high school, man, I mean, he already had a beard coming in! 7th grade! So he's standing there, his arm's in a sling, he couldn't even wrestle, so the JV guy had to step up and wrestle in his place. The JV guy sucked, [his son] could've beaten that kid with only 1 arm! We were really pissed that the JV guy lost the damn match for him.

Meanwhile, his son (who is really a good kid, who isn't big or brawny, and who doesn't have the Beard of Sasquatch) was kind of digging his toes into the floor and looking down at the ground. The next time Assdad cornered Male Offspring for more testosterone tales, my son actually sent me a text message (without the guy even noticing) that read, "Help!" so I'd come rescue him.


Anyway, back to today. Assdad's kid is wrestling. Hard. He's a good wrestler. Assdad is cheering his kid on. But this guy is getting angry. I don't mean worked up in the excitement of the match, I mean actually angry. Not at the refs, not at the opponent -- he's getting angry at his son. Now, I was sitting directly behind the team area, so most of our wrestlers, including a large number of freshmen, were right in front of me. Assdad was directly behind me, and yelling loudly. His diatribe went something like this,

Hook that ankle! Aaaww, no! NO! Goddamn it, get your points! There ... get it ... get the ankl----he didn't get it! What're you doing? You're giving away your points!!!! What the hell are you doing out there?!

OK ... now stretch it out ... stretch!!!! Aaaw! How can you be so stupid? He's not ... I told him to ... goddamn it! OK ... now get it ... you little di-------- damn it!!!

This went on, for a very long 6 minutes. At one point I blatantly turned and gave him a very nasty look. He wasn't expecting it, and met my eyes, full on. There was no question he understood. He looked away, quickly, and toned down for about 30 seconds before he couldn't take it any more.

His son lost the match, only by a couple of points. At this point, a female family friend cuts in, laughing, trying to lighten the mood, "He tried! Come on, it was a tough match, you'd better be nice to him!" Assdad really went off then:

It's his own stupid fault!! How could he lose that? He didn't even try for his points, he just gave it away! Goddamn it. The dipshit!

What? Are you kidding me? I'm sorry, but when you call your own son a dipshit within earshot of his team members, you are truly an asshole. In fact, you're such an asshole, you could have your own bumper sticker. "Have You Called Your Kid a Dipshit Today?"

The Bohemian leaned over and said she hoped the kid wouldn't come over. But, of course, he did. Assdad couldn't even talk to him for a couple of minutes. Then he launches into an encouraging pep talk, with supporting thoughts like,

If you don't care about the points, why are you even going out there?

Don't ever, ever go out there if you don't really want to win.

Didn't I tell you to get that ankle? But you stepped wrong, you didn't listen.

Wasn't I the one who told you stretch it out when you're in that position? But you didn't do it. You didn't do it, and look what happened.

You handed your points over yourself. Why in the world would you do that?

There was a lot more, but that was the gist. At least he didn't call the kid a dipshit to his face. I can't imagine how his son felt. If I could hear all this, I know his teammates, at least the row in front of me, could hear it. And writing it here doesn't begin to convey the disgust and anger in this guy's voice.


Hey, Freakshow, newsflash for you: your son is going to feel the sting of your inexcusable behavior much longer than he'd feel the agony of defeat from one lousy match. And if this is the way you act every match, your son is probably going to feel queasy every time he remembers high school wrestling in the years to come. I'm pretty sure he felt bad enough about losing a match without any help from you.

You're there to support your son, not to relive your own failed glory days, assclown.

Your son took 3rd place out of 8 schools in his weight class -- his coach and his team was proud of him. You should be too. You should be proud of him whether he placed or not. Our school won the damned tournament, and your son had a part in that. How about giving him some credit for that?



I hate asshole sports parents. I was ashamed of how our school's fan group looked today. And we were the hosting school. Nice. I found Teen Demon afterward, and filled her in. She made sure the Yell Leaders found the kid and told him what a good job he did (It was a tough match, seriously). Even if your dad is a total assfreak, it's got to help at least a little when 5 hot Yell Leaders hunt you down to say you did a great job, right? Especially when they come bearing snacks.

Anyway. I know I do tend to wax bitchy about these things, far longer than may be interesting, but it upset me.

Anyway.

So, Male Offspring got 6th place out of 8 in his weight class. He did fantastic. A freshman, wrestling his first varsity high school tournament? Hell yeah. He pinned his first opponent in the first round, lost the other matches, but they were close, and he wrestled hard, and learned some things. Got a purple ribbon to hang in his room.


I'm done. Thoughts on the debates (the part I saw, anyway) tomorrow. Goodnight all.

I Won the Lottery!

$3.00, baby. That's right, say my name, state of Washington! Pay up, bitches - one, two, three, right here, that's right. Give it all up, give me those winnings. It's about me tonight, Washington Lotto.

What's that? You all want to know what I did with my winnings?

Yeah, I'll take 2 for Lotto, and 1 for Mega Millions. Thanks.

Someday ...

Starting Off With a Bang ...

... followed by a crash.

As previously mentioned, I spent New Year's Eve at home, with my dogs. The Offspring were off at various friends' houses or parties. My Seattle friend (aka My Bitch, the Cynical Sicilian, from past posts) came by, and we went out to rent movies. Wheee! Yeah, well, like I said, my suburb isn't exactly Funky Town. Anyway, we ran into one of the women from my parent advocacy group, doing the same thing. She came over as well - we didn't exactly have to twist her arm. I mean, come on, who could say no to partying babes and bitches in the suburbs?

Plus, we had liquor.

Boy did we.

I, it turns out, am sadly out of practice when it comes to anything beyond the powers of beer and wine. We had Absolut (currant and vanilla), Jose Cuervo (he is a friend of mine), rum (which we didn't drink), grenadine, sweet vermouth, and all kinds of mixers. Plus, we had a shitload of food. I invented a new drink, which sounds much better with my real life name, but which will be referred to here as the Cowbell Tingle. Doesn't have quite the same ring, but whatever. Some of you will be able to read between the lines. (I actually wanted to name it the Pom-Nilla, but my friends didn't think it was as witty and amusing as I did. The next day, I could see why. )

"Cowbell" Tingle

Absolute Vanilla (probably about 1/3 of the drink?)
Pomegranate 7-Up
Pomegranate/Cranberry juice
Ginger Ale

I can't give you exact amounts, because drink mixing has to come from the heart and soul. Plus, I can't really remember.

Anyway, with that, the aforementioned shitload of food, Monsta Jams in the CD player (can I get a woot-woot!), we were getting our party on. Whoo-eee, our little slice of suburb did turn into Funky Town for a few hours. At least in our minds. Mason kind of had a minor freakout at the stroke of midnight, what with the fireworks and all, and startled my friends, who were not expecting a crazed round of barking and banging around my tiny living room, but he calmed down. He's not a fireworks kind of dog. Now, My Bitch isn't much one for drinking. She's beyond lightweight. Like featherweight. Bantam weight. You get the idea. My other friend and I, however, were drinking our juicy tasting drinks, and of course, they didn't taste that strong, so we sort of forgot to take the usual precautions like checking one's bodily reactions for a while between drinks.

I think it was the shot of tequila that kicked things over the edge. Yeah. Jose is a dangerous lover, y'all.

Suffice it to say no one drove home. We all crashed, probably around 3 or 4am. So out of practice am I, that I forgot to drink a bucket of water with 2 Excedrin before crashing. The next morning, I woke up to find My Bitch gone, and my other friend feeling much the same as I did. Which is to say, basically like shit. When you wake up wondering what the hell crawled into your mouth and died, that means you screwed up.

It's never worth it the next day, people. Gawd.

But damn was that a good mini-party while it lasted. I think we've got plans for the next Federal Holiday, even though I'm pretty sure it's honoring the requisite Dead White Men. Presidents Day, isn't that the next day the working stiffs are off work? Given the current administration, it really puts a bad taste in my mouth to honor the presidents. But, no worse than the taste I woke up with on the first morning of 2008, so party on, Garth.

Next time, I'm pacing myself with those Tingles.

Happy Friggin' New Year, Take 2

OK, so I just read my New Year's post from last year, when I was a new baby blogger. You can tell I was a new baby blogger because my only 2 comments were from my Offspring. I didn't even know most of you yet. I was mortified yet not surprised to see that nothing's really changed since I wrote that post. Which is pathetic.


Same shit, different year, people. I don't even need to write a New Year's post -- just click the link. Substitute 2008 for 2007, you're good to go.


The only thing that has changed from the time that post was written is that the Offspring will not be ringing in the New Year here at home with their significant others. Teen Demon is attending a party, elsewhere, with her significant other. Male Offspring's SO is out of town, he will be spending the night at a friend's house. The Bohemian is going to a friend's house as well.

My Seattle friend (I've really got to come up with a permanent moniker for her) and I were going to head down to Capitol Hill for fun and hijinx, but now with Batman acting weird toward Mason, I really don't want to leave them alone together. So I'm going to be partying with my dogs. At home. Wheee. My friend may come over, if she's feeling motivated enough. My suburb isn't exactly funkytown, if you know what I mean.


I'll be glad to see 2008. I know a date on the calendar doesn't magically change a damn thing, but it's a psychological marker for us humans, who will hang on to anything we can, to get through. Maybe this year things will be better.

Famous last words.

One thing has changed since last year's post. All y'all, to be precise. I have, in the midst of all the 2007 fuckery, immensely enjoyed getting to know you, this deliciously eclectic bevy of bloggers. Seriously, I am so glad to have "met" you all.

In the words of a famous beer commercial, I love you, man.

Oh, and Happy Friggin' New Year.

Lassie Channels Cujo

---UPDATE BELOW---

Does the Tooth Fairy do repairs? Because that would be convenient as hell right about now.

Batman broke his tooth. Not just any old little tooth, either. He went for the one of the canines. He's acting fine, but dogs are good at masking pain. Don't want to lose their status in the pack, you know.

Last night something weird happened. Batman went after Mason. Teen Demon had given them each their Christmas treat to chew for a little while. (Big candy cane shaped rawhide chews. This is a special occasion only treat, supervised for short periods only; after Batman's 2005 surgery, I don't want anything else getting hung up in his poop chutes) Anyway, we had them on opposite sides of the room, not even within sight of each other. Batman got up and went after Mason, apparently for Mason's candy cane, which is weird because that meant he had to totally abandon his - a sure thing - to walk over there and attempt to get Mason's - not a sure thing. Not like Batman. He never walks away from treats.

So anyway, that was really weird and not normal, and kind of scary. Mason immediately submitted, and was terrified afterward, but we had to physically pull Batman off. And I don't know what, if anything, this tooth deal has to do with that insanity. I mean, was Batman already in pain from a cracked tooth, and feeling he needed to assert his authority? Did he somehow break the tooth during the frenzy with Mason? The tooth just kind of fell out of his mouth this morning while the Bohemian was petting him.

It's a mystery.


So apparently, you can't just let a dog simply go through life with a broken tooth, oh no, because all kinds of nasty bacteria get up in there, where they can form an abscess, get into the bloodstream, travel to the liver and kidneys, and generally wreak all sorts of havoc. So we will be visiting the vet, who I'm sure will take great pleasure in reaming me, right in the wallet.

I found a lady online who just paid $800 to have her dog's broken tooth repaired, along with a general teeth-cleaning while he was knocked out. What the fuck, people? If I had $800 to spend on teeth, don't you think I'd have my own ass in the dentists chair?

And then, you try to compare prices, and all the vets and online pet advice places are like,

It is impossible to quote what the procedure will cost, as we do not know the status of your pet's teeth and gums. Fee range is based on severity plus costs for preoperative testing, anesthesia, necessary therapy, and medication. The doctor or staff will be happy to give you an estimate once you bring your dog or cat in for an examination.

Fuckers. Come on, you've been doing this for how many years, Mr. Dog Doctor? You seriously can not give me a ball park estimate? You want me to believe you have no earthly idea of what it might cost to fix my dog's broken canine tooth? Because I'm thinking you could give me a price range if you really wanted to. I'm not asking for an exact quote here, just a general idea. Oh, wait ... that would mean spending 30 seconds on the phone that you couldn't charge me for. I guess it's easier for you to give me that ballpark estimate once I've paid that $50 just to walk in the door of your office, isn't it? And it's not like you'd do the surgery right then and there, so that office visit charge can be part of the bill, no, you'll reschedule me to come back, at a later time for the actual work.

Here, hold on, let me just bend over this exam table here, and spread 'em.

And anyway, what the hell is up with my dog and the holiday season? I've recently posted about his 3rd Christmas Adventure in a row, and how we somehow got insanely lucky that this year's ingested ... objects (ahem) and the Ibuprofen poisening didn't do some serious damage. I mean, what is this? It's like, damn, eating that trash and scarfing up those little orange pills didn't bring about the annual Christmas pet drama, hmmm, what to do ... let's see if I can't break a tooth and get those credit cards going! Oh, and while I'm at it, let me pull a Cujo, and attack my friend here, just to add to the excitement!

It's like my dog is possessed by the Spirit of Christmas Freakout. His name should be Linda Blair for the month of December.

Does my dog hate Santa? Is he trying to get on the naughty list? Maybe he has a coal fetish.

-----------------------------

UPDATE:

Last night Batman's stump of a tooth turned up with a crack in it, going up into the gums. I don't know if the tooth already was fractured there, but not actually separated, or if he maybe chewed on a toy while I was gone to pick up the Offspring, "teething style", to try to relieve the pain. Regardless, his tooth stump was cracked, with the front part loose.

Male Offspring's girlfriend's mom took a look (she's a vet) and said it will have to come out, because of the crack. She confirmed what I'd found out yesterday -- the canine tooth's root is hella huge, and will basically be a bitch to get out. It will likely cost around $500. Their family is going out of town tomorrow, unfortunately. (She'd have been able to give me a bit of a break if she did it herself) She also told me that a doggie root canal - preferred for the canine tooth - would need to be done by a vet who specializes in dental surgery, and would likely run $1500 or more. Because of the crack, that's not an option for Batman anymore anyway.

So last night, I'm woken up by the sound of licking and clicking. He'd worked the front section loose. I pulled it out. He seems to feel a lot better now, but the inside of that tooth stump is still exposed, up into the gum. Of course, it's a holiday weekend, so we can't have him seen until Wednesday. His usual MO.

Male Offspring and Teen Demon both said they noticed him eating kind of slowly on Thursday, but didn't think much of it at the time. So now I'm thinking that it was probably fractured before he went all Cujo on Mason, which makes me feel better about that part. He's still acting kind of weird around Mason. I think he feels vulnerable to him. In a pack, a dominant dog will hide an illness or injury from subordinates, to prevent a lower ranking dog from taking advantage of the opportunity to move up the chain. Mason certainly has no designs on trying to dominate anyone, but of course, I can't explain that to Batman. We're feeding Mason outside, and Batman in the kitchen so he feels safe and not rushed. Mason, not the sharpest stick in the pile, keeps trying to hang around Batman.

Batman, although putting on a brave front, has turned into a Velcro Dog, and I can tell it hurts him. I've been giving him aspirin, sparingly, and using clove oil and Orajel on the tooth.

Dogs, in some ways, are more challenging than kids. At least kids can converse with you, and you can reason with them. Well, maybe not so much at ages 2 and 12, but you know what I mean.