Thursday, January 30, 2003

More Dogs and Cats... and Amy

A few months ago I applied for a job that I really REALLY wanted. I talked to the people in HR at this particular college. They told me they received over 500 resumes, but the woman recognized my name when I told her the college where I used to work.

I thought I was a shoe-in for an interview, at least.

Today I got one of those "this decision is so hard" American Idol let down letters from this college, and I'm irritated.

I didn't even get INTERVIEWED by them. How is it that I don't even rank an INTERVIEW!? Jebus, what did I have to do, INVENT THE INTERNET for cripesake? This particular job could not have been more my job if the job title was "Christine's Job" on the want ad. I'm stymied. Totally stymied. I just don't get it.

So... I'm going out and buying a couple cats to start my hoarding with...

Speaking of which, Amy responded to my last entry with a tone of dismay (if one can read tone in an email)... See, Amy's been kind of down for a while with some things. One of them is the total dearth of good looking, non-gay, single, non-insane men in her life, nay, on the planet.

My entry the other day about animal hoarding alluded to the fact that sometimes single women as they age and are alone get into that ... hoardy stage.

Amy has two cats.

She was slightly concerned that not only was did single = pariah, but owning more than one cat = pariah. Not in my book, but I did tell her that if she got up to like 10 cats or something I'd schedule and intervention.

Linda, this goes for you too!

Kidding. Totally.

Anyway, after some banter back and forth about Cat Hoarding, Amy donned a Buford hat and photoshopped herself up as a cat hoarder and cloner!

Y'all, I just about dropped my shit. That is SO funny. She's all cute and in the middle of 8 gazillion cats... all of them exactly the same! She must be a Raelian or subcontracting out to Clonaid or something... I think she may have worked on the Grandma Cloning Project recently.

The Buford hat is the best.

I told her that this not only was funny, but the long and the short of it is that she's too good looking in this picture, and that she should dig through the boxes of pictures of herself and find one with too much weight, one eye closed -- the drunken look -- and then put all the cloned cats around her.

Amy is not homely. Amy is talented. Amy is smart. Amy has cats. Amy has a killer sense of humor. And I swear that there is someone out there on this planet who will like Amy and her cats. If you know him, and don't want to have him date my sister (whom I am still trying to hook up as well) Let Me Know.

The Way Out Inn love connection... purrrrrrr.

All y'all know Aaron is in Antfartica. I don't have to mention it again (but he is. I'm saying it. He's in Antfartica). He's married to Michelle. They are our friends (new readers can do a Search on Aaron and Michelle and read all about our adventures with them... they're fun and funny).

Their dog Gonzo has done some rather peculiar things recently.

One day this past autumn A&M were out of the house. He climbed UP ONTO THE COMPUTER DESK and took a massive dump. Not just a dump. A Massive Runny Evil Exploding Dog Kind of Dump (TM).

On the keyboard.

All over the keyboard.

They cleaned it up and no, they didn't keep the keyboard -- they went out and bought a new one. It was pretty gross. But Aaron told me they recovered from it nicely.

He continued to get into naughty situations while they were not at home, so Michelle suggested to Aaron that while he was in Antfartica (you know, he's down there... right?) she was going to kennel him while she was at work. That made Aaron sad, and he felt bad for poor ole little Gonzy Wonzy. So... she didn't.

And she should have.

Michelle was at work the other day, and Gonzo got himself into the bathroom. It is a very very small bathroom. And he closed the door behind himself... locking his little doggy self in.

This is part of what she came home to:

Michelle was, needless to say, shocked.

One little dog. So much damage.

He ripped apart EVERYTHING in the bathroom. Ev-Er-Y-Th-In-GGGGGGG.

He ate all her cosmetics. He ate a container of mineral spirits or oil or something. He ate sanitary napkins. He ate soap.

He must have been just completely off the hook freaking-out panic stricken. Look at the last picture. That's the vent built into the bottom of the bathroom door.

He tried his hardest to Andy Dufresne his way out of the room. But there was no doing it. No Shawshank Redemption escape for this little dog.

So she's standing there in the middle of it all -- and what does she do? She calls us.

Doug laughed and laughed as I told him what happened (she was on the other end) and I laughed and laughed and made jokes. And after a while Michelle also laughed and laughed.

But she still had to clean it up. Great googly moogly.

So she took these pictures and others to show Aaron when he gets back. Or, if he should happen to read this journal, which I doubt he has time to do, whilst on the bottom of the globe.

Still -- it's pretty funny. I like in the middle picture where Tweety Bird is peeking out from the midst of the mess. Fwah!

Michelle's note with the email she sent along with these pictures states that essentially the mess she was confronted with was only part of the mess. She had to clean up and then see the floor. So not only did he try and tunnel out the door, he tried to dig through the floor to escape. Silly beast.

Seeing as he ate a ton of stuff that could probably do him some real damage, Michelle had consulted with a vet to see if there was anything she should do. The vet gave her a number that she could call for puppy poison control, but we all predicted that he'd be crapping his puppy brains out in no time thanks to the mineral spirits that he ate/drank. good thing it wasn't Drano. He did expunge his wicked bowels... and now seems to be fine.

But he's in the kennel for good. Now he's working on chewing his way out of the kennel.

I'm tellin' ya. Rename the dog "Shawshank."

Anyway -- I normally wouldn't use my personal journal to write up the adventures of someone else's life... but when it comes to pets (Chad's exploding cat is a good one too) and their foibles, I sometimes cannot resist. So Gonzo -- this one's for you. Stop shitting on keyboards and eating soap, you crazy mutt! Daddy will be home soon. Stay out of small confined spaces.

Aside from not getting the job I want, this has been a pretty good few days. I'm having boatloads of fun when I'm working over at Geoff's school, the kids all like me. The teachers think I'm a riot. I'm growing very partial to one or two little kids and have decided that the little girl I disliked greatly to start with isn't half bad. She's growing on me. Still, I say "Pardon?" when she "No"s me.

I worked with professor MF on a powerpoint presentation that we'll be doing at a conference in March. We got our outline all done, started the slides, worked up the notes that will go with them (so when we present we look like we know what we're talking about). I'm going to design the slides and make it shine. The way I do. And when I go to this conference, perhaps my dream job connection will be sitting in my audience.

Someday, my employment prince will come...

No comments:

Post a Comment