No, I am not ok. We did all could. Yesterday time stood still and it was, not counting today the single worst thing we have ever gone through. She was suffering, yet gave me kissies and patted her tail until the very last time we saw her awake.

We got the call we knew was coming and we went to be with her. She was sedated with a tube down her throat and mister went into full throttle meltdown and had to leave. It is not easy to stay while they inject your dog, your very heart, with a chemical to kill her. I stayed. They say hearing is the last thing to go, so I whispered to her softly how good of a girl she was, how pretty she was and that her spots looked extra special today, while in my head was a screaming voice saying YOU ARE KILLING YOUR DOG!

I've cried that for the last 24 hours. I killed my dog. I allowed them to kill her. We are not in the best of places and weep on a keening level. Everywhere in this house are reminders of her. Even looking at Simon, reminds me of Delilah. Some people probably don't understand how very bonded and attached we are to her. You'd think it was our infant child struggling to live with how fiercely we love her. No I will not say loved, we LOVE her. To watch her try to be herself was painful, because she was doing it for us. That fucking kills me. We didn't know what else to do. That's about all for today, I think it's enough.

-DM

Now it HAS been 4 days.

Delilah is back at the vet.

The same evening we brought her home, she continued to cry. This non-stop for 48hours will make anyone insane. Last night she lost all control of her hind end, even so much as she couldn't lift herself to try and go outside to relieve her bladder and bowels. Her back end is paralized, yes that fast and we don't know what is happening. She does have reflexes, but did not respond to being poked in the foot on her right side. Her legs flop like noodles, I can't express how painful it's been for us to get through the night watching that, and watching her soil her bed staring at us with embarrassment. That alone got us crying. "We aren't mad, just be still... be calm, we'll get you there soon."

The Morgan humans are taking turns being the strong one, and I can count on one hand how many times I have ever seen Mister cry and to say he is not ok is the understatement of the century. She gave us kissies until we left her, forever our girl who doesn't give up. Simon has that blank stare in his eyes when you look at him, her gaze is far more intelligent and expressive. She looked at me and said "Mama, what's wrong with me?" and I had to excuse myself from the room.

Mr. Morgan is upset that he is so attached to her, saying "How could I be weak like this." It's not weakness, it's being a decent human.

We tried to nap today, but every few minutes the phone is ringing. We also tried to eat today, but our stomachs' are having none of that. Every time we pass her kibble bowl we go nauseous. I finally just covered it up. We do appreciate every word and every call we've gotten - which has been impressive, thank you, you all know how very much those dogs mean to us.

She is on doggie morphine right now, awaiting a test.... then more tests, and tests for the tests until they know what is wrong. We at present in the last 3 days are in 2 grand, and it will be a 5 grand surgery if it's the best case scenario. 10k if it's worse. We don't know what we are thinking because we are on empty bellies, stress, and sleep deprivation. To hear how she cried all night, even when being held and pet, man.

What do you do? Tell her she is no longer useful because she is damaged goods and put her to sleep? It sounds insane, but we can't do that, even if she is an older girl, that makes it more difficult because that's an investent of sharing your life. You don't just walk away when there is hope. I emptied my 401k this morning and am placing a bucket on the front sidewalk called "Delilah Fund"

Praying for the best.

-DM

It Feels Like it's Been 4 Days

We got new pills, better pills! Unbeknownst, Mr. Morgan had also been on the wire with her normal doctor, after a day of listen to her cry in pain. I by then, had already faxed over the records to him, unbeknownst to Mr. Morgan. Team effort of no communication.

We are both too tired to do much more than grunt towards eachother. She wouldn't take her pills and for the first time in her life she got to enjoy two fingers down her throat. I then had to wipe her ass, as the anethesia made her shit all over. Mr. Morgan was stepping up to neither task. Ass and Mouth is my name for today.

God I'm still in my fucking outdoor coat. We are done.

-DM

(Btw Prada... your brother says Julie is his "go-to-girl!" when he's upset. I can't explain my facial expression),

Leedy is home

She can't walk and is very.... I'm told "drunk".

The anesthesia has given our child a dose of WOOOOOO. They even gave her an anti-psychotic. Because she's fierce. That dog would lick a mouse, give me a break! She is still whining put finally took her pain pill. Mr. Morgan lost his mind and had the phone in his hand, prepared to call doggy 911 when he saw what he thought was yellow barf. It turned out to be the cheese she wouldn't eat with her pill.

If you think I am insane, I have nothing on his level of freaking out over the Deedy-Beat. All we can to is hope she starts to feel better. She is not allowed to:

Run
Jump
Play
Otherwise be a fucking DOG

For 3 weeks. She has broken two vertebrae and we don't know how, but we suspect it's the doggy door being too small and on a downhill slope. Watching your pet suffer really, REALLY sucks. I almost don't want to go home and look at her. That's mean, I know.... I am a coward in that fashion. If I know and love you, I don't want to see you in pain. Listening to her cries last night was enough.

So what are we to do? Duct tape her to the fucking carpet? I called her normal vet for a second opinion, even though Mr. Morgan said uh.... you realize the money portion of all this? He cares, trust me, but almost 700 dollars since 1am is not pocket change.

That's all I know for now. I remain terribly worried and exhausted. Again, more more more thoughts for our Delilah.

-DM

Leedy, chapter 15 hundred

The Morgan's have been up since 1 am with the Delilah. She hit the emergency hospital at 2am. No, we are not killing this dog, she is just actively being a pain in the wallet. I joke a little, when in seriousness I've been in non-stop tears since the above posted time, while clutching a small yorkshire.

I don't want to say much more, as we are waiting to hear what 600 dollars bought us and the preliminary news is not what I wanted to hear. Give a thought to my girl, I love her enough to take a bullet, and she feels the same. That's a pal you spend every last cent for.

That doesn't even include how Mr. Morgan would take anything going wrong. He took the entire day off work to make sure he could be handy to get our baby home. He won't handle anything happening to her with even one ounce of reasoning, they are very close. I hope to update with happy news soon.

-DM

Dirty Thirty - It's my party and I'll whine if I want to

Miss Nev started this shit. She posted:

"I say let's have a PARTAY! We can all meet up at some undisclosed location...even in (where you are)..to celebrate. A few bites to eat, some alcohol...it would be way fun. Pick the place and start telling people. If you tell them, they will come! What about that place that used to be (a really expensive joint)"

If I invite, who will pay? What's the protocal? That's not a cheap joint but yes, a nice in between. I don't think anyone would come, but I'm not shy to sit alone in my birfin-day hat. Shit, it could even get me free pity drinks.

I'm not certain that is the proper place for the roudy bunch who "might" show up, and I'm not renting a private room. I can probably get my parents to lend me their lodge, but it's a long drive after drinking for most of you, although my floor and couches are more than able to welcome you. I'd bring a sleeping bag if you have one. I'll even make any party leftovers breakfast, and yes I'm serious. I cook a great breakfast.

Still thinking. Ideas are welcome or I'm sitting home in my hat dancing naked and mourning what I used to look like.

I also still like gifts - do see my reply to Mr. Shan about his Christmas gift. I get the point, you know better than to be ass hurt. I haven't seen the return item, so I presume you are pissed and cancelled it. That's ok. It wasn't a slight on you to exchange your gift. Fucking thing, while well intended was terrible in person. You know I love ya fucker, a lot, don't be mad, and get the family and come to my par-tay! If I have it.

I'm now at the age when things stop being about yourself. The horror right? I'm told my little Soldier Boy might be going to bootcamp school and my little #6 is now spitting on people. All I want to do is hold my sister so close to me that she can't breathe. I am helpless. I'd take my nephew in an instant, and I think I could straighten him out fast, and that's only because I have always seen it differently. All that matters is that my sister is in a mad struggle with her kids and husband and she has had a hard enough life. My jaw clenches to the point of pain. Give me those kids, one weekend. I don't hit, so don't even presume. Those bitches will be SO glad to go home and my house will be sparkling clean. They will not forget the definition of MOP or soap anytime soon. Never disrespect your mother. You will regret it, or become a felon, both of which I worry with these children. In the meantime I protect my sister with my life, and I'm pretty greedy about that one. I know I talk often of being protective, think of the look on Dexter's face. That is my girl.

-DM

DM's Work in Progress

Can click on any of the below for more detailed and larger pics.

I know doesnt' look like much huh? I promise, it is. This thing is coiling it's way to the ceiling. There is much shading that a camera flash disregards, it's there.

I want my studio walls one-hundred percent littered. You'd be surprised how long the below doodle took. Does it mean anything? It means my hands got angry, it means I was in pain and refused to acknowledge it. I don't plan the shit, it's mostly a facet of sharpies working with me. I have normally about 5 of them nestled into my shirt for a fast grab, who knew such tiny boobs could hold such a grapple? Lol they do. I'm not tall and standing on a chair staring UP gives one significant pain later. Worth it, I want my room to look like I squatted in here, because.... I have.


I know it looks like a fucking wall doodle. It's impressive in person. Come over, I'll feed you booze and prop myself stupid. Below is a reminder of a drawing that seems to be gone, but mattered to me. I rarely work in color. Again, the flash on the camera fucks up the shot and looses the details. Right so, that me for now. I posted another entry below, you won't want to miss it.

Earlier doodles. I have always drawn on my walls. Yes my mom is proud. She actually glares at me and says she thought she raised me better. They are MY walls after all no? God mom, be happy I'm not retarded (more than what we know lol), and worry about walls later! I know you like my work and and are pleased that I can draw anything asked without a blink, and if not I could write about it. You did good, your youngest is a nut but functional and happy, I don't blame you for being neurotic -meaning myself, you are the best mom out there and I'd go to battle over it. /solid nod. (goes protective for no reason, she's my mom, and NO one gets to ever talk shit about her, way it is, dare ya try it. You know me, any idea what she went through and still didn't kill me? Right, so no one ever gets to toss a bad word about her without hearing from me, and I mean family for the most part, just don't do it).

Back to my wall doodles. Looks so simple, this thing is slaying me. I have plans for a portrait on the ceiling, just not sure how yet. The doodles surround the portraits I have hanging. I really want this room to look like someone lost their fucking brain in it, because I have and it should be accurate.

-DM

T-shirt = I'm with Scalpy

This is the year of revenge.

I have this weekend to toy with the idea of birthdays. Mr. Morgan’s fathers’ is coming up as is my mothers. Will I make them sing to him? You better fucking believe it. I might even bribe strangers to come in and sing with them, the more obscene, the better!

For my mother, she wanted to eat at the Olive Garden. I grinned immediately to myself and told Mr. Morgan to get the gift certificate since I don’t work up there. He sighed and I grinned MORE, knowing that his choice of terminology was biting him in the ass. He doesn’t GET to do shit? I’m an inconvenience? Guess what love, you GET go GET that card and be inconvenienced doing so. Payback is a bitch and my name comes with it flashing in neon.

When asked how much the certificate was for he said 40 dollars. He heard me frown.

“What? That isn’t enough? I didn’t know we were running a soup kitchen.”

Ok, I laughed at that one.

For my birthday, and I’m taking 3 weeks this year I thought I wanted a par-tay! I’ve never had one. Isn’t that kind-of odd? I want a Lindsay Lohan party, with outfit changes and things like that. I even know which outfits I’d rock my party in. Then stopped both myself and the mental visuals of tearing it up because while dancing in my room it seems like a blast, but when the songs ends – DM you don’t have friends. You either push people away or are such a shitty pal that people give up on begging you to be their friend and realize they have better things to do.

Who wants a Dirty Thirty Party with their mom and a punch bowl?

There is also the problem of having it at my house because I’ll just end up being the hostess instead of the birthday girl. And yes, it is also Mr. Morgan’s birthday, but this year everything is about ME. He can mope in 3 years. This is my year to pretend I don’t mind. Even without an official party, I’ll probably still do the outfit changes and dance my non-existent ass off. Sure do miss my ass, it was very nice I assure you.

Even without a party, don’t think I am not accepting gifts. At a recent gift swap from one of my hypochondriac message boards, I planned to ship a potato and noodles, because…… I think it’s fucking hilarious. Of course I’d have sent the real present after, but nothing like being all excited and getting a potato. Great! Supper kids!

All for now, must get socially reasonable to be in public. Bless my officemates for never saying that I look like shit because I often do, and you have to love my GrandMaster for doing the exact opposite.

“Do I look …. Bad?”
“Not until you get close.”
“What the fuck!” (later confirmed by Moon…. So say hi from a distance, I get scarier by the inch it seems)
“You asked.”
“What’s wrong with me, it’s the hair isn’t it.”
“Well, you are a tad scalpy.”
“I knew it. Turning 30 and doomed to scalpy. That way sucks.”

-DM

Let's Talk Shop

For edification.

I was once pre-med on a hopper level. A co-worker recently said she didn't know this and my mouth dropped open and I made a face I hope to never repeat. Who the fuck doesn't know that with cash and the proper channels I wasn't going full throttle MD? My boss almost didn't hire me because of it. Not being pre-med but being all about going and half being that direction. I dropped it when I married Mr. Morgan because of the time, the residency, the lack of being what he needed..... something that would not fit into his idea of marriage.

Oh a la choices.

I picked him. I do not regret it, but there are times my eyes bulge out of my skull and I want nothign more than to be in that lab poking shit. In the last few years I suppose I have made the right choice, with obvious malformations in my hands (never said I planned to be a surgeon) I'm not even steady enough anymore to draw blood. Yes, it's crushing, even when you've resigned yourself to it, but... choices. Like I said. Life dream, or the person that if you pass up.... you made a bigger mistake, who was a life partner.

Don't you hate picking and chosing? I wanted to clarify that, I know I represent myself as a desk jockey, and I am, but above is why. I could have done the shit, and had everything planned on how to piggyback my way into it. Pathology my friends. It comes down some not unlike a dum-waiter (sp) with the item on it to peek at for cancer, this is mid surgery so we know if it's malignant or not. I am/was all about it.

Mr. Morgan never once would have stopped me. I made the choice. I would'nt be home enough for his needs, and it's not that he needs a home wife.... but one gone for days overnight, no, he wouldn't be ok with that. And he doesn't get to know I made that personnal sacrifice. I was fine with it until I met him myself. Working hours on end, give it to me! (long as not at a desk). I do not want him to know I tossed that for him, and it was a reality, he can just smile, hope my hands are ok and be thankful for laundry. He doesn't need to know that I feel I tossed my entire life goal, because ya know.... he's THAT fucking special. Do I get upset? Almost daily. He is fucking worth it, god damn him. But yes co-worker, when I started at this job I did have pre-med plans and I am smarter than you think, medically. Sometimes you take a bullet for the one you love. I took it, pulled it out and ate it.

-DM

Home Alone

I'm left alone tonight. It's not so bad, but fires up anxiety in me for a while, then I'm found streaking the house naked singing Stay up Late! It does however take me a while to sink into that role. Home? By myself???? What if I choke? Then after a few glasses of wine... it turns to, "you can totally act out!" You can do projects! You can oh... my god..... stop the heat Nazi and raise the thermostat!

Thing is, I do this shit when he's here anyway, we take our corners and don't talk much to eachother... it's just having another human in the house that matters. Damn, that sounds cold. You guys understand, I'm mad for him, we just don't need to be on top of eachother 24/7. It likely wouldn't work if we were.

Mr. Morgan is out with friends watching Cloverfield. Fucker! He KNOWS I want to see that and said we would watch it together another time. Gee, that's fun? Re-run. He then said, and no I didn't protest, "I never get to go out with my friends." GET? I baffled because when have I ever told him what to do, or not to? Anyone who reads knows well that first off no one tells him what to do, ever. It solidifies that when he said inconvenient he meant exactly what I said he did. He doesn't "get" to go out. For fuck's sake, give me a god dammed break that shit is seriously laughable and was greeted with such. I never tell that man that shit, other than will you turn your fucking clothing right side out. And he knows it. Controlling bitch, not this girl, too busy being neurotic. Told you I knew what he meant, he somehow thinks he needs to feel guilty to go out and alike, and that is his problem. I don't put anything on him other than a "you've lost your brain" look when he gets worried I'm going to fit over a boys night out. Did I want to go? Yes. But did I want to be the wife showing up at a boy's night movie? God no. I can just see them thinking "Fuuuuuuck! Man she came?" Even though they like me, Ray questionable, it's their night, no wife required, I get it.

It still left me idle. After work comes this:

1. Come home and frown for ten minutes. In place.
2. Ask the dogs questions, and attempt to communicate with the Russian via gestures and facial expressions.
3. Consider jacking off.
4. Turn on the TV and watch a little Ellen, still frowning and talking to the dogs who are interested in dialogue when cheese is involved. Otherwise I need to make an appointment I have been informed.
5. Counted remaining cigarettes. The frown deepens.
6. Looked for batteries to achieve #3.
7. Thought about what to set out to wear tomorrow and how hard I would rock the outfit.
8. Found batteries.
9. Tried #3 to find two sets of eyes staring at me, accusingly no less. Drat.
10. Stared at socked feet for a half-hour, wondering why we have five toes on each foot.
11. Recounted cigarettes.
12. Checked blog, no comments. Sat annoyed for 15 minutes. Stewing.
13. Paced the house.
14. Began blaming the dogs for shit because I went bored and dammit someone HAD to be responsible.
15. Smoked for the sake of “oh my god I’m almost out!” nervousness.
16. Wondered who I could call, and praying for an instant message.
17. Twirled hair at length.
18. Thought about a shower then reconsidered because I’d get all…. ya know…. wet. Towels and soap and shit. Effort.
19. Decided to go to bed and read, or pretend to.
20. Back up, pacing.
21. Hey I know! Baskin Robbins! We even have money! (I said to the dogs with excitement) Wait, no, you’ve been drinking stupid.
22. Feed dogs and give Leedy medicine. Bitch while doing so for her overturning the bowl of kibble like she does every fucking day. “You will eat what’s on the floor!” Then relent but the bitching simply turns to a mumble.
23. Have gone lonesome enough to have a Dr. Phil episode with the dogs. The show topic was “Why must you eat the couch?”
24. Stare at my feet some more.
25. Decide on my completely preppy suit/vest and tie outfit, and realize I need to be hosed down for proper hair.
26. Sulk about it.
27. Blame the Russian. It all sounds the same to him anyhow.
28. Look up my spanish word of the day and select “annoying” = Pesado.
29. Write Mr. Morgan a loving note hoping he enjoyed the movie. a lo hecho pecho (think before you speak.... get to go out... oughta bust your ass for that shit. Strike 2 in the last month. Behave.
30. Streak the house with arms all over the place!
31. Ignore the spotted dog looking at me with that "You really need to cover that shit up" face.

-DM

ps - RIP Heath. Damn, just damn.

pps- don't forget to see the lower two new entries. I suppose I could say writing to Jude for something special over a month long of asking and explaining was inconvenient, but I'm not one to throw a word in the face. At least not to Mr. Morgan. He just should... yeah well, get me a flower.

Lil Jude

Recall, this is one of if not the MOST loved artist of Mr. Morgan's. The same man who I wrote to and got not only a signed CD but a poster, both personlized, for free. This girl did beyond good to get those, I never shy away for writing and asking, I am persuasive and downright fucking beggy when I need to be, but Jude didn't make me beg, the items came in and I damn near shit myself. You guys remember! What wife rocks harder than me to contact her husbands favorite artist asking for something special! Then.... the below entry lol..... reluctant ass! I might take his shit back! I did good, and I love him, won't take things away tonight, but he is on behavior squint.

The lyrics to this song is a fav of my Mister, and they are touching. See below, I am trying to catch up. -DM

Bark for Hillary!

Tardy.

The caucus went fine, except that I was not admitted because of parking.... I was late. I'd even worn a fucking tie.

I was late because of a small battle between Mr. Morgan and myself, being that he wouldn't accompany me in that cold ass long line. Friends, it's not that I can't do things on my own, it's that I ask little of him. Very little. And he declined. That is entirely disappointing. Not to imply he isn't great, he really is, it's.... gosh girls help me out here. I do many things with him that I'd rather pass on for him without so much as a blink, it's just what you do in marriage. I'd never force him to attend something he wasn't interested in, but it's a pissy move to not acknowledge the bullshit events I've attended for his sake. I never even asked his political standing, was simply hoping he wouldn't want me to stand alone for 4 hours. I'm a big girl, it was ok, but kindof not.

So I went alone, late, to be turned away. Hillary still won WOO! My hand was cluched with my "Limited Edition Caucus Card" and my suit littered with the stickers I'd gathered from the Bill speech. I was ready! But alas, fuck it, no dice.

Delilah saw Dr. Pulver today. Again.

Again.

Again.

Mr. Morgan managed to show up for this cause, and he looked away again when they needled her new growths. Prada, not quite Cody level but she has an eye thing that's started. Our girl has mammory lumps, a lump on her ribs and one atop her spine. I asked her when she got all gross and I swear that bitch looked at my hands then into my eyes and returned the question. Chessmate love, touche.

End note (bill, ching!) they are fatty tumors. Is that like doggy cellulite? We also got a refill on super drugs and she is more than happy to get into that bottle. Our girl will feel better very soon. It was the usual scene, Simon bouncing about wondering why needles weren't in him and why he didn't have a thermetor up his ass.

For all who haven't heard this.... check it. Niiiiiiiiice! Ever feel like you are little more than a photogragh? Something easy to forget, a passing piece of paper? Think on it.



Very nice, and good lyrics.

-DM

Race to 08!

Woo day! Bill Clinton was in town today to promote noodles, naturally. Ahem, lol right... we all know what he was up to. He also happened to be making a speech four blocks from my office.

Oh butter!

I thought to myself, what are the odds of me seeing a President (or past) again, who I not only voted for but REALLY liked. It was cold but two of us decided to go and get in line. I stretch to call it a line, when really it's a political buffet. Non-stop fylers, stickers, cards, but no bribes. To gain entrance you had to be wearing a Hillary sticker. Can do! I said and slapped myself up while filling my pockets down the buffet line asking for more because I'm greedy that way.


This girl had freakishly small feet. They might not look it, but seriously, they were no longer than 7 inches in length and she was about 5 foot 8. Where are the feet? But you just don't ask those things.

Here is some secret service, and one our our itty bitty local police men. No, the big guy isn't on a platform to make our deputies look the size of a turd in comparison, he is just THAT big. Secret service doesn't fuck around, duh... I know, nor should they, but seeing it in action was half of why I had wanted to go. Would they be like the Queen's Guards and refuse to smile? Yes.

We got decent seats, the best part being Mr. Clinton would enter about two feet away from us. This was the only shot I could get because my camera is a smart ass and Bill wasn't stopping to entertain it.

No, in the shot below, even though it's a nasty crippled hand - it is not mine. Can click to enlarge, he really is a pleasant person, and if it's disingenuous, it's well hidden.

Went on a little long but I admit to being very excited and still being so. That man could talk his way out of anything! He doesn't even blink he is so smoothe and if he is rehearsed, you'd never know it. It was a blast and a rare opportunity even if we almost died to get back afterwards.



Did he say cock-us-ses? /blush!

When I picked a work errand this afternoon I still had on my stickers and was whispered to "You better get out of here with those." I said "Or what? Lynchings?"

"You don't want to know but..... what was he like?"
"Well, we didn't talk about cigars...."

-DM

We're going pinching in the quad!

He said what? Whoops. What are we pitching and pinching????? The look on his face is a keeper! I can't wait to send this off to my fellow Reverends on Monday, oh we are gonna have a hoot.



Lol as he said... "Sometimes, God has to be full of justice" and as I say, sometimes you just gotta pinch a tit. (just not mine).

-DM

ps - if this bitch doesn't stop glaring at me, she's off the wall fast. We've had talks, and she even knows she was cool enough to be duplicated, so quit with the evil look. I get to dancing and look over to see this gaze of "no, you suck, I'm angry and I intend to stay that way." Can't remember what I was upset about to draw her so mean and ready to come out of the frame Ring style.. HM!

Compliments

"So I had a friend asking my advice about marriage."
"Oh?" says I.
"Yes, I was very complimentary towards you."
"Wonderful."
"I told her, that marriage is the best thing you can do even though it's often inconvenient."

/beat.

"I'm an invconvenience?"
"Well..... sure."

/WTF!

"And you somehow thought this was GOOD advice to this girl? I'm sorry, I missed the compliment."
"Certainly."
"You've lost your mind, and used the wrong word. Why not say marriage is tricky?"
"Because I meant that word."
"Totally uncool. Inconvenient, I am somehow inhibiting you from shit? Like what, name it. Missing out on hookers? Have I kept you from something you direly need?"
"It was a compliment."
"Compliment when? Just say pain in the ass. Inconvenient is like... bitch is calling when I'm hiring a stripper! Inconvenient is saying that I somehow am a thorn that is washed with alcohol now and then to soothe the scream. Great fucking advice for a new couple!"

Prada, come beat the sense into your brother before I do. We are, at least I didn't think, inconveniencing one another. Little harsh for fucks sake! I'll hinder my ass into never touching another kitchen pot, counter and load of laundry and see if he wants to redefine that word. Inconvenience his own ass to his own god damned chores and see if the defination becomes a bit more appropriate. I'm a rocking wife who yes, is a pain in the ass, but anyone wanna name a spouse who isn't? He could do a whole lot worse, and Prada can testify this is man who needed beatings from a young age as he is the sloppiest person I've met. The peanut butter lathen knives on the carpet, and when he finishes a drink he sets it on the counter, because the garbage can isn't "really" there. It's just inconvenient. Magic happens to make his laundry hung (and let me tell you... this man undresses like he's a fucking prince, always inside out, doubling my time to hang it). Inconvenient is not a word I'd have sliced off the barrel. I'm half laughing, but .... with a very raised brow.

-DM

Two faces of Eve

Looks funny right? Scroll on, very intended, it'll make sense in a minute. One just has to .... hm, word... see it from one view or another.

I started this piece a while ago when I couldn't decide if I was pissed, or sad and looking for a hug. It came to me that I am both, that I need both. There are days when I am so fiercely angry at the fate I have been dealt, then days where I am just happy to be alive and grateful for every kindness I am given and the people I'm lucky to know, and things I get to learn. Your Zoo master is not above losing her mind, hidden from Mr. Morgan because he doesn't need that shit. It's fairly laughable to think of me throwing a level 10 fit silently. My co-workers will laugh at that visual, they've seen it. Much hopping, stomping and arms flailing all over but... as if in a silent movie.

Which way to feel on which day. I've strived lately to not complain about things that can't or aren't being medically helped. It doesn't mean I don't come home to cry and ponder the extremities of what I'm blowing off. Ignorance is bliss. So here we are, some days I am furious, and some days... I just need comfort.

Just takes a slice of paper to decide which.....

Mood is there.

The piece is not finished. The thing actually bothers me, but it's like a magnet I can't walk away from. I tilt my head at it a lot. I'm not depressed, things get to any of us sometimes, I'm too thinky and this is what came of it. In fact I marched into Mr. Morgan's room after taking these photos to ask "Do you know how madly talented I am?" Which I meant on every artistic, drawing/camera/stunts for fun/ level. He said "Fo Sho!" Man of few words this one of mine.

Enough for now. I don't mind comments.

-DM

Cut off, but get a rope.

Styled? No. I'll find a way to make it cute. And yeah, I dress in vest and ties every so often. Ought to see me slam a long black overcoat with a matching hankerchief over it. Strut central!

Bosslady's Daughter was calling me Johnny today (as in Cash) for doing the whole black thing. Moon said I was doing a Harry Potter thing. Gong to both of you, I just wanted to look sharp and flash a little flare. No Haterade because you didn't think to step up first. /grins.

Bosslady herself just said she didn't see where my hair ended and my jacket began. She wasn't terribly off base, and I know it'll lighten up. I'm not positive, but I think it was a half compliment from Bosslady, and if nothing else .. she did pause for a good ten seconds upon arrival to stare at me, head cocked in consideration while I whimpered "It wasn't on purpose!" But she's long given me permission to go pink as the tie in the below photo. She is a hardass sometimes, but doesn't seem to care what horrible things we do to ourselves via tattoo, piercings, haircuts and color. I'd be entertained to watch others make mistakes too.


Today was seriously odd. We arrived at work with no internet or email. Those are the makings for employees to melt down and start eating eachother.

After numerous calls and men tromping through our building, the location of the fuck up was solved. The casino behind us, as they plowed the snow (of the century - yawn) didn't see a 40 foot telephone/electric pole. Maybe they thought it was snow. Boom plow, then oh shit!

Bosslady told me to call the casino and ask to whom to send the bill. /curse! I hate those calls. "Hi yeah, some shit shook out and I'm told you have to pay for it?" Casino engineer was on the property in five minites.

The plow drivers had - and how.... I have no fucking clue, propped it back up like nothing happened in the dark of night and went on their way. I was chilling while this crime scene was figured out, when Bosslady came and asked "Do you have your camera?"

I lept into into the air! Go go gadget legs! Do I???? Shit it's all but on a hip holster. I followed her to the back of the building, and uh.... no kidding? These people not only knocked down and re-upped (is that a word) giant ass power/phone pole, they used rope and duct tape like no one would notice. I looked at it and took the instructions of what to shoot and where, what angle, what zoom, all the while trying super hard not to burst into laughter. As I took these, and I just put in a couple, the casino engineer was chewing the ass of someone who admitted to the "oops." Chewing is an understatement, he was marinating the ass in A-1 sauce and dousing the bar-b-q with gasoline. I think much of it was because Bosslady was standing there, being... Bosslady and it makes people fall into line. Very odd, but it's the truth.

I am too impressed to say much more. Lmfao... rope and tape???

For real????
Naw, that looks totally NORMAL. Only a foot of snow and ... wow! dry ground ready to grow a flower garden! Geographical anamoly! (smiles to BLD).

-DM

Hacked.

It'll grow back. I went to task today with scissors trying to re-achieve THIS.

I walked into Mr. Morgan's room holding my shakey pile of choppy leftovers with a frown and he asked if I was going to bury it.

I'm at stage one, which means "Did you seriously fuck up?" Next stage is the dark brown dye, then really piss my scalp off by putting my streaks back in. I seem to enjoy misery. It's rather curious that long hair made me nuts for months and months and months, and now that I put the stop sign up, I feel like I'm missing something intrical.

It had gotten to the point - and really I have fine, thin, nothing to it hair - that I couldn't even comb myself proper after a shower. The stack of it tangled as if in a fight and struggle to the death. It was taking me 30 minutes just to sort out the war each time I bathed, and this was after a detangler spray. 30 minutes to comb a head is not reasonable, and I was losing a lot of hair trying to fight the battle, hair that cannot be spared no less. I've always worn my hair short-ish, but it's been such a long time since a clipping so I'm a bit blinky and ... dare I say shy?

I've told Mr. Morgan "Oh my god don't look at me!" And he really doesn't even when I have hair, so not sure why I have gone self conscious. Not a slight, he just doesn't see "hair" when looking at me, or anyone else. See why I have so many hats? Thinking ahead (no pun) of what I might do. Lol the sound of those scissors snapping and clipping is addictive, then you end up bald pacing the bathroom floor wondering how you were so easilly enticed.

So off to dye this shit, and tomorrow come the highlights, which I've missed, then we style and see how much I have fucked up. Pray I don't have to pull a Britney.

-Later update.... my hair is black. I checked the box, certain it lied, but the new dark brown is I guess fucking BLACK! I wasn't trying to go goth, or make a statement, now with cut off hair that has gone BLACK, I look like I've went and freaked out for a desperate grab at not turning 30. For fucks sake.

-DM