How Puppies Are Born, or, Why my boyfriends friends are banned from my house

“You get over here, now.”

Andy grabbed my wrist and yanked forward. I flew after my wrist.

“You’re such dick.”
“Get over here.”

I cracked up. People around us were going to think I was some poor girl being manhandled by their boyfriend.

“But I don’t wanna.” I whined.

Andy dragged me down the street, one arm full of groceries, the other full of my wrist. I watched as people stared at us. Part of me wanted to call out, no, no, it’s cool, we’re just weird. The other part of me realized I was providing them with material of which they would surely rush home to their families.

Mija, you should have seen what I saw! Thees poor girl. Dragged. Yes, dragged. She had tears!

What kind of person would I be if I didn’t leave a bit up to their imagination? I bit my tongue and teared out my laughter. I’m a sucker for a good story.

It wasn’t that I wanted people to think I was some battered significant other. It was more the people on my street were so DAMN nosey. Why not give them a little flavour.

We got to the front of my building with a quick kiss and clamored up the stairs, shoving each other out of the way. What was the potential for a broken neck for a little rough housing?

Andy got to the door first and yanked me in.

The smell hit me like a ton of bricks. Elvis was hiding in a corner and I ran to the bathroom to see diarrhea everywhere. I guess in dog world a bright green shag bathroom rug is the equivalent of a dump space. Goalie remained on the bed thumping happily, looking oddly smug.

Ah, the joy of owning dogs.

I grabbed Elvis and ran him out the door, promising to help when I got back and hoping it would be done before then.

Elvis ran down with me and took his normal 10 minute piss. I swear I adopted a small horse, not a dog. He looked up at me with a shit eating grin.

Figuring he had already done the other business upstairs on my new only to find Andy contorted halfway up the stairs.

“Get over here! Now!”

No anger, just, shock.

“Whats the big deal,” I questioned skeptically. Was there more dog shit we didn’t notice? And if there was, so what. The dog got sick. No sense in freaking out about it.

I thought back to the first time Andy had to deal with an “accident.”

“OMG It’s everywhere.”
“OK, just wait, I’m parking the car, I’ll be up in a second.”
“Please, gag, just get up here. I can’t gag do this.”
“Go wait in the bathroom then.”
“I’m in the clos-gag-et.”
“You’re really pathetic you know that.”
“Just get up here.”

A small pile awaited me when I did finally get upstairs. True to his word, Andy had been in the closet gagging. I wondered what he would do when he had a kid explode out of their diaper.

He snapped to get me back to reality.

“Seriously, Mel, You need to come see this, you will NOT believe it.”

A week before we brought Goalie over to his moms house to meet our newest addition.

“Why are her nipples so big.” (Because it isn’t awkward when your boyfriends mother asks about nipples, dog or not).
“Well, she had a litter so maybe just stretched out,” I offered.
“No, something going on with the dog.”
“Naw, it’ll look better when we spay her.”

I reached Andy on the stairs and joked, “What, did Goalie have puppies or something,”
I received wide eyes in response. Andy grabbed my wrist and dragged me up the remaining flight to the apartment. The playful banter completely absent.

“You grabbed Elvis and I dropped the bags in the kitchen. I thought it was really weird that Goalie wouldn’t get off the bed! And did you see how she had shoved all of the covers off? Just, go, LOOK.”

And there she was. In a pool of afterbirth, licking away at what looked like a black and white rat.

“EWWW dude, she caught a rat and its all over my new mattress topper!”
“Seriously, Mel? LOOK”

Obviously I was in denial.

“Oh, Fuck, Me.”
“Not right now Hun, there’s a puppy on our bed.”

Elvis returned to his corner. He hadn’t pooped. He was freaking out. The diarrhea was probably Goalies.

I grabbed my phone as Andy ran to the computer. There was only one puppy, which probably meant we were going to be up for a while.

“Penny! I swear to god, I’m not screwing with you. There is a puppy on my bed. In a puddle of blood and after birth.”

“It says if a new one isn’t born within 2 hours then something could be wrong.”

“No, that was Andy, he’s on the computer. I don’t know! We left here an hour and a half ago and came back to puppy. Yea, it’s clean. I thought it was a dead rat. No, dude, you should have seen his face.”

“Should I put the groceries away?”

Seriously?

“Cool, yea, ok we won’t hit the vet until you get here. Just hurry. Please. What do you mean look for more puppies. Fucking-a.”

I hung up and looked at Andy who was standing there telling me to calm down. His dog just exploded all over my bed and I was supposed to be calm. My boyfriend obviously does not know me.

“And, what should I do?!”
“Uhm, it said to watch for new puppies. Feel around if you can.”

He wanted me to do what.

“Yea, stick your hand in there.”
“YOU do it!”
“I’m a guy, I don’t know anything about babies.”

Right, because I’ve given birth how many times?

I took a deep breath and spread her legs. And screamed.

“WHAT is there another one?”
“It’s just so gross!!”
“Fuck, Mel! Just do it.”

I dug around. It was my turn to gag.

There was a knock on our door. There was NO way Penny was already there. She lived an hour away, and even speeding it would take at least 45 minutes.

Greg stood at the door.

“Willie is out with her girlfriends drinking tonight. She told me I have to pick her up when she was done. Figured I’d hang out in the neighborhood for a bit. See what you guys were up to.”

“You gave him the number to get into the building didn’t you,” I called over my shoulder.
“Greg, I swear to god dude, you are you so whipped.”
“Whatever man, I’m not whipped, I just take care of my girl. Mel, you’d expect Andy to do the same thing right?”
“No, I’d find a cab. You’re totally whipped.”

About this time Greg noticed the blood on my hands and the wriggling mass on the bed.

“NO SHIT.”
“Yes, shit. Do something useful.”

I’m really not all that bright in certain settings. If I am stressed, I don’t think, I act. Normally this would benefit a stressful situation. Unfortunately we were dealing with Greg, and Greg’s version of being useful and helpful is to stand over your shoulder and dictate.

“You shouldn’t do that; Have you felt for more pups yet; you’re totally doing it wrong; you should get her spayed; did you know….”
“George, if you would prefer to be elbow deep in dog cooch, then be my guest. Until then, please shut the fuck up.”
“I was just trying to help.”
“Go help your friend unload the groceries, or watch tv or wait for your girlfriend to grab you by the balls and drag you off somewhere.”
“Whatever, no need to be testy.”

Andy rescued me, dragging Greg away by what was left of his manhood to start looking up emergency vets.

Knock

Finally. Some semblance of sanity would commence.

“Where is she! Oh Goalie, what did you do!” Penny rushed past me toward the mess that was once my night time haven.

“Will she let me hold her?”

“Yea, I’m pretty sure,” I shrugged at Penny. “She was letting me handle her pretty well and kept licking me when I would touch her.”

Penny cooed to Goalie and gently lifted the bloody turd, er, I mean puppy.

“So, I thought they were supposed to be cute.”
“Oh, Mel,” Penny laughed. “Any other pups?”
“No, just that one. Did you guys find a vets office.”

I dialed the number dictated and asked directions. After telling me to head south on Colorado (ok), hang a left at Broadway (errrr, ok), Turn right on Verdugo (Where?!) I told the nurse to hold on. Greg, I need you to take the phone and write down directions.

“Why me.”
“PLEASE just DO IT.”
“Well what is the address? I can figure it out.”
“Greg, here is the deal, a very kind but impatient woman is sitting on the phone waiting for SOMEONE here to take directions. Seeing as I’ve lived here all of 3 months I have no idea what she is talking about. Write. Them. Down.”

Again. Completely forgot Greg would be the wrong person to ask. After arguing with the vet tech about the best way to get there (and the time officially reaching the, “Oh shit we need to get the dog out of here” point) Greg hung up with the tech and promptly told me that his way was still better. Upon this I grabbed the paper out of his hands, wrapped the puppy up in a towel and followed Penny and Goalie out of the door.

“Hanging in there, kid?”

Penny could always tell when I was ready to lose it.

“Yea, but I want a ciggerette for the first time in months now.”

I navigated the unfamiliar streets. 9:42 p.m. Ok there was no way the vets office would be packed at this time? Right? Wrong.

We walked into a very crowded room, sick dogs and cats hacking their lives away onto the floor and every Tom, Dick and Harry crowded us instantly.
“Is that a new dog?!” (No, actually, I think it’s a sewer rat)
“Can I touch it?” (No)
“How old is the baby” (How old does it look dipshit).

I was told by the staff that we would have to wait around. I looked at the surrounding area and mumbled something about my new puppy dying and it being her fault. We were immediately shown into a private sitting room.

Andy walked through the 20 minutes later. Penny and I were sprawled on the ground petting Goalie and snuggling the puppy.

“Where is Greg,” I asked. I hoped I didn’t sound relieved. Greg was ok, just, not in an emergency.
“He lost what was left of his manhood and went to drive Willie to another bar.”
“Gotcha.”

Goalie received her x-ray and we awaited the news. How many more? Was she ok? Were there dead puppies in her?

“So is it a boy or a girl.”
“I have no idea, Andy, its just a wiggly ball right now.”
“What should we name it?”
“Tanner,” Penny offered.
“Too trust fund baby,” Andy countered.
“Max?” I suggested.
“Fred?” (Andy)
“What if it’s a girl,” Penny asked.
“Hula?”
“Hula?” Andy laughed.
“I don’t know, I thought a cute Hawaiian name.”
“She’s a border collie, you need a Gaelic name.”
“Yes, because I have so many of those in my memory bank,” I retorted.

A lanky guy with a stethoscope came in and sat on the ground.

“That was the only one,” He said pressing into Goalies belly. I was relieved. We couldn’t afford a whole litter.

It was a girl. It was healthy. The doctor went over the odds and ends. We went back to the front I signed away my first born child and any future mortgage I would open up to the Emergency clinic.

We got into the car. I turned back to face Andy and Penny.
“What do we tell her when she finds out Elvis isn’t her real dad?”

Sonnet 114

SONNET 114
Or whether doth my mind, being crown’d with you,
Drink up the monarch’s plague, this flattery?
Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true,
And that your love taught it this alchemy,
To make of monsters and things indigest
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble,
Creating every bad a perfect best,
As fast as objects to his beams assemble?
O,’tis the first; ’tis flattery in my seeing,
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up:
Mine eye well knows what with his gust is ‘greeing,
And to his palate doth prepare the cup:
If it be poison’d, ’tis the lesser sin
That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.

 

I typed it out by memory in the comment section but opted to post it as it should be written. Just because a lot can add to a poems meaning, not just the actual words.

 

If you want to try and read it the way it shoul dsound remember “-‘d” would be the way we say something past tense like poisoned… and if the “-ed” is in there you would pronunciate that, “Poison-ed.”

 

You’re also supposed to take a “breath’ with every comma. Its not easy lol. I had to prefomr this for a speech class.

 

Anyway, enjoy, I’m interested in what you guys see with this.

woops

Sorry guys. I was going to post this but really just didn’t feel it. It needs more work. Will get back to you when I can.

Testing it out

Hey guys. SOO, my guy came up with a pretty decent book idea. Well, he said it would be a funny movie, but being in the biz (ok, not really, but I can pretend I know what i’m talking about) I thought, no no. You write a BOOK first. Then you auction it off as a screenplay. Writers are lazy. Well, screen play writers. Maybe it’s not lazy. But everyone thinks they can write (including myself), and they can’t. It’s not being mean. It’s just a fact of life. When people try to hard, it doesn’t come out well.

I digress. So he comes out with this idea that circles our lives. A couple we are close with are also hunting for an apartment. So, he goes, “Wouldn’t it be funny to watch a movie about two couples fighting it out and looking for a house together.”

I thought, we coul dhave something here. What person in the USA couldn’t relate to hunting to that perfect place to live, being on a tight budget, and having friends. Whether or not I stay on a literal path with the premise for the idea, or veer off and just write whatever happens, I figured why not. Why not give it a shot.

There is a chance I’ll write this. Write another page or two, and forget about it until I find it four years later and cringe at my attempt. But who knows. Maybe this time it’ll happen. I have, afterall, been able to keep up with a blog for the most part. Something I’ve never been able to do longer than a month or two.

So here we go. This isn’t the start, middle or end. It’s just what I wrote. Please be brutally honest. Don’t spare my feelings. Im really asking for hard critism. Im asking you to pretend you don’t know me at all. Pretend you picked up a leaflet and this is what you found. As consumers. What would your thoughts be.

 

—————————————————————————————-

I sat in the restaurant quietly hoping my boyfriend wouldn’t call. I was cheating on him. With Cheesecake Factory. Never mind I had a (slightly) innocent salad. And it wasn’t the people I was dining with; friends from home were in town for the week. But spending extra money. How could I, he would most certainly ask. We just bought all that food. It’s ok. I admit it. I have a problem. I enjoy eating out too much.

My heart dropped when I felt my phone buzz in my bag. I don’t like lying, and I hate ignoring his calls. I felt the buzz stop and grabbed my phone. Curiosity always gets the best of me. It wasn’t Andy. It was my apartment manager.

My heart found its way back up to my chest and the pulse shook my hands.

“Not now,” I thought. “I know I vacuumed, but it was barely after ten. I had to. If she saw our carpet, she would have agreed!”

I had my excuses ready to go; they were becoming pretty standard now.

“No really, we were asleep. Yes at 10, I had to be up early.”
“The dogs don’t bark unless we tell them to.”
“We were running errands, we weren’t home, and, uhm, we had the dogs with us.”
“Come on, Ned, You know she is crazy!”

The last one was my favorite and probably the only truthful excuse I had in my bank.

For the past two months I had been avoiding the manager. Over all he was a nice guy, albeit pretty forgetful. I generally used this to my advantage. No, no, Andy wasn’t living with me, he just slept over a lot; Goalie was his dog, so technically I did NOT have three dogs, just 1 and ¾ of a dog; promising I would pay the extra dog deposit next paycheck.

We tended to just pretend we had no idea what he was talking about when the fact that we actually had three dogs living in our studio, I mean, my studio apartment. We had adopted Andy’s dog, Goalie, and she had given birth 2 weeks after before. Kayla was the result. But a 9-week-old puppy could hardly account for a full grown actual dog. She was in her pen most of the time anyway.

I pressed the button for my visual voicemail – who doesn’t love the new iphone features. Ah, technology.

“Hey, Mel, it’s Ned, from the apartments. Could you call me back as soon as you get this?”

Crap. My manager calls me for 2 reasons. The rare time I call in for something and he has to call me back, made rarer by his forgetfulness. ; And when the crazy below me called in yet another complaint.

I cringed inwardly and debated on my next course of action. Lunch was over, so stepping outside to make the call wouldn’t be rude. But did I really want to deal with this now? I texted Andy as a way to stall and think. I couldn’t actually call him. I was still, after all, in the restaurant. I’d be busted.

Ned called. Another complaint. I think…

I left it at that and, curiosity getting the best of me, stepped outside to make the call.

“Hey Ne… Hello?”
“Mel? You there”
“Hey Ned, what’s going on.”
“Heyyyy.” Ned liked to draw out his “hey” as if he were hesitant to talk to you, or as if you were an old friend he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. “So listen, I got your rent check and it was only for 950.”

I did my mental calculation here. OK, this was about rent. THAT, I could handle.
“Right, did I make it out to the wrong person.” (I can be airheaded like that).

“No, I just thought your rent was $995.”

PHEW! I wrote my old rent price down. Problem solved. I hurried off the phone, promising to rewrite the check, before Ned could remember that we promised to pay him that extra dog deposit. I also realized admitting my own mistake would mean heckling and jibing later on. I texted Andy back.

I made a mistake on the rent. And he asked us to keep it down at night. You know, crazy neighbor again.

Andy called back immediately. Dammit, did he not realize I did NOT want to get caught?
I let it ring to voicemail and waited till I was outside of the restaurant before calling him again. Sneaky, I am.

“Hey Unn. It’s ok. I just wrote down the wrong amount and he wants us to just be quieter.”
“Mel, we didn’t DO anything last night.”
“Er, yea, but we vacuumed kind of late. So. You know.”
“Doesn’t he know she’s crazy?” Rob pressed.
“Well, yea, but you know, he hates getting the calls as much as we hate hearing the top of her broom on our floor.”
“Oh, Ok. I’ll talk to you later then Unny. Miss you”
“You too.”
Click.

I turned to my friends, who were now standing outside with me. Jules handed me the card I left behind to pay my portion of the bill and my receipt.

“All clear?”
“Yea,” I exhaled. I heard the stress on the “e” that my friends in California loved goading me for. East coast accent. Ugh. “But, I promise you this. I can’t keep running around. We’re done. I’m talking to Rob tonight… We’re moving out by July.”

My threat was toward no one but me. I just couldn’t handle it any longer. I loved Andy, even with his neuroses and inability to be on time for anything that did not directly affect him, and of course, the OCD tendencies when it came to cleaning. I loved our dogs. I wasn’t getting rid of them. And as much as I did love my little studio overlooking the Glendale Foothills, I knew, I couldn’t last in 500 square feet much longer. It was time to get serious about house hunting.

I bid farewell to my friends and told them I would meet up with them later that evening. I got back to the office and signed up for a rental service immediately. Andy and I had half-heartedly looked through craigslist.com for 2 months. We knew when the complaints started coming in we would have to move out. Not to mention for our own sanity. Andy still had his apartment, but it had become more of a storage space than anything. A very expensive storage space I might add. It was time to move on this.

I called Andy and told him what I did.

“Awesome,” he exclaimed. “I’ll give you half of that later.”
“No worries,” I said. I was relieved he was on board. I’ve never thought he didn’t want to move in with me. I just held, in the back of my mind, that he was a guy, and sometimes, these steps were a bit frightening for them. Sometimes it took time. Sometimes you had to go slow, let them think it was their idea. But we were running out of time.
“Don’t tell Nancy.”

His statement took me by shock. What does he mean, don’t tell Nancy. Of course I was going to tell Nancy. Nancy and her husband Rob were also house hunting. Either of us wanted to buy, so we would constantly share house rental stories, laughing about insanely small closets and impossible bathrooms,  in between our giggling about her husband’s and Andy’s shared quirks. We weren’t catty. We were just girls. And if you dealt with what we did? You’d have to laugh to. Just to keep our sanity. All girls do. I think.

“So, why can’t I tell Nancy?” I pushed.
“Because we’re paying for this. So we can get better listings. If you give her our login and password? They may steal a house from under our noses.”
“Touché.”
“Look, we’ll give them the password. We’ll just find out house first.”

And so it began. We loved our friends. Every couple has that one go-to couple or friend that is in the same lot of life as they are. Who understand the grievances you go through on a day-to-day basis? Who understand you when you cry, “My dog redecorated our apartment with her poop again!” or “I swear she PEED in my bag!” These are the couples and friends that can laugh at the daily antics that parade through your life without turning a nose up or a judgmental eye. And now? This very couple, the one girl I bonded with since my move a year prior, were now our elite enemies. He was right.

We needed. A. House.