Poop

I forgot to explain The Reason for the whole road trip.

Last December, I came across this job on m0nster.com that sounded waaay to good to be true. Most jobs on there are temp services, but this one, oooh. It was this guy advertising for a personal assistant for his wife, VP of some online cosmetics stuff. He talked about how they had a house in Atlanta and South Beach and were moving back to South Beach after 3 years in Atlanta, how they had twin 2 year olds, blah dee blah. How his wife needed an assistant, travel would be 10-12 days per month to Atlanta, Los Angeles, D.C., etc. And how the job paid $75,000 a year.

I kid you not.

So I forward this to my friend M with a "ha, ha, I'll bet this guy is looking for mistress" kind of note. Which she then forwards onto Rachel who GETS THE JOB.

Ok, so I could be upset about this, but I'm not. Here's why: I would make a crap personal assistant. I met this woman briefly and whoa, Type A personality plus some. I cannot stand people that cannot take care of themselves.

Example? Today we are having a class that we have once a month. My boss was mad that I had not reminded him he had to teach it. Ok, you have to teach this class once a month, how is that not on your calendar? I have to remind you? I do not think so.

So personal assisting? Not so much my game. But props to Rachel and her 75K per year.

She would be so mad if she knew I was telling people how much she made per year, but shoot. If I made that much per year? I'd be all, "hi, my name is Toast and I make $75,000 per year".

I would too.

Anyhow.

I came home last night and the dog had diarrhea. Had, past tense. It was all over the house. I am so not getting the security deposit back. So not.

See now the dog is my roommate's and I am taking care of him while she is gone.

I really, really missed my roommate last night.

Really.

The dog has a grooming appointment on Friday and I thought about locking him on the screened porch until then.

Please calm down, I only thought about it. The fact that I thought about it tells me that it's good I do not want to have children.

People always say it is different when you have children, but I will tell you this: shit is shit.

Sorry, but no other way to put it.

So I had to give fat boy a bath because the dried diarrhea was centered around the assticular area. The Dog is quite large. 26 lb shih tzu, that's what I'm talking about.

He did not want the bath.

He got the bath. I had to scrub a dog's ass.

Again, I had to scrub a dog's ass.

Ok?

The whole time he kept shaking and soaking me. Then I am done with the bath and I could not get him to shake at all, not even a shiver. I towel dried him and let him run around the house as apparently bathing gets him all riled up.

Who knew?

The Dog goes to the dog park and lays down and watches other dogs run, but give him a bath? It's so on.

I used five towels to complete the bath, I think that's reasonable.

Then it was time to blow him dry, but his fat furry ass was hiding under the bed.

I had to remove the matress to get to him.

It was going well, but Bob forbid I try to dry his ears or his feet.

Ooof.

Then I had to drive to Publix to rent a rug doctor. The passenger door on my car does not open and the trunk? Doesn't stay open. It opens, but then quickly slams shut. Trying to get a rug doctor in the driver's side door, good times.

I also bought 37 kinds of air freshener and carpet cleaners.

The dog before (as in before the blow drying, not when he was covered in dookie):

The dog after the bath (yes, I did put a pony tail holder in his hair, just to make him look more gay):



Am aware that his eyes look a little dead. The camera flashing made them look satanic so I photoshopped them a bit and now he looks all Day of the Damned. He's actually quite a handsome fluffy little dog - that's saying a lot since I'm not really a fluffy dog type of person - but it's not translating well too pictures. What can you do?

2006-02-14 at 8:31 a.m.