What would you do for $100?

I’ve always been the kind of girl who simply cannot pay someone to do something I’m capable of doing myself.  This was of particular issue during my last relationship with a man who would rather pay someone than get his hands dirty.  We disagreed a lot about whether to do it ourselves or pay someone, particularly as relates to home repairs.  

Maybe I’m that way because I grew up with parents who were capable of doing just about everything themselves – my dad is a home repair/remodel/build guru and my mom is a wicked seamstress and makes the world’s best sugar cookies.

Couple that with the fact that I’ve been almost poor for most of my life, and you mostly bet that I’m a thrifty girl.

So, I’m not exactly poor anymore, and I can kind of afford to live like a normal person. . . but I don’t think “thrifty” is something that just leaves your blood.  I like to think that I’m a rational human being and can weigh the trouble against the money and come to reasonable conclusions about where to spend a little extra and where to go to the extra trouble.

This weekend, I realized that I might not be as rational as I thought.

For a savings of approximately $100 per dog ($200 total), I spent a total of 5 hours at a vaccination clinic.  This time was broken up into two separate visits.

The first visit was relatively uneventful.  Cleo (my pug) and I signed in and sat in the waiting area for about 2 hours.  She sniffed some of the people, sniffed one of the other dogs, and sat on my lap for the majority of the wait.  When we got in, she got pretty ticked off when they drew her blood, but she was otherwise very well behaved.  No big deal. 

The second visit made me reconsider the entire concept of dogs as pets altogether.  Beans and I signed in, and it was immediately evident that he was not going to do well in the waiting area when he tried to leap from my arms to attack another dog.  Awesome.

We went outside to wait, away from everyone else.  In the 95 degree heat without water.  We stayed outside for 1.5 hours, and then went back in to see where we were in line.  We were 5 away – about 45 minutes.  Since Beans was about to die from heat exhaustion, I decided we’d stay in the reception area (not the waiting area with the other dogs) for a little bit and see if he could handle it.  We spent the next hour and half whining the entire time.  Sometimes barking our heads off.  Sometimes acting like the world was coming to a screeching halt because Mommy won’t let me eat the other dogs!

My favorite part was when the stupid lady came over and said, “Is your dog nice?” and I said, “No.  He doesn’t do well with other people or dogs”.  To which, she responded, “Maybe he just wants some attention”.  Again, I said, “No, he’s not good with people”.  So, what does she do?  She walks over to pet him.  WTF?  I mean, she’s right, he just wants attention, but he’s a very hyper dog and I’m always afraid he’s going to hurt someone, so I’d prefer if strangers just left him alone.  But, nooooo, not this lady.

Naturally, that just got him nice and extra excited. 

From that time on, he needed attention from EVERY! PERSON! WHO! WALKS! BY!  And, if he didn’t get their attention, well, you’d think he was just going to die. 

Worse, anytime someone brought their dog through the door, he would lunge and bark and try to attack them.  It was awesome. 

I eventually caught on and started standing in the corner with him everytime someone walked in so he wouldn’t see the other dogs.  I can’t believe it worked, but it did. 

Nonetheless, we were both exhausted by the time they called our names. 

We headed back to the exam room, and he was really good for the tech.  He didn’t mind the shots or the drawing of blood or the temperature being taken from his ass.  However, he most certainly did not want any liquid shot up his nose, and he turned into a boxing kangaroo just as soon as the (pretty old) vet attempted to give it to him.  Somehow, Beans managed to kick the guy in the face.  Again, AWESOME!

The poor guy gave up and just gave him another shot to do the job, because somehow, Beans doesn’t mind needles.

We were finally on our way, and the vet told me we’re good for 3 years.  We have the magic vaccines that need renewed only every 3 years.  I’m sure they’re just as relieved as I am.

So, here’s the quandry.  I could have taken Beans to a regular vet with a regular appointment and been in and out of there in 30 minutes.  No fighting him to hide the other dogs, no annoying the whole world with our barking and whining, no dog hair all over my person.

That would have cost approximately $100 more.  Probably worth every dime.  Noted.

AARG!

I swear to you, I have the funnest friends alive.  Who else do you know, who is a fully grown adult, who has a pirate party for her birthday? 

What a silly good time.  And, who knew?  I had damned near an entire pirate costume in my closet!  I’m not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed.  

The best part was when several of us left the pirate party to head downtown to the swanky Belmont.  I didn’t realize until after we walked in, and the doorman actually “aarg!”ed at me, that I was the only one dressed like a pirate.  Um.  Nice.

 Believe it or not, it got remarkably better. . . because the girl I was with was wearing a tank top that said, “I *heart* pirates”.  So, we totally looked like a pirate lesbian couple.  Awe.some.

EVEN BETTER, when we arrived in the fantastic ladies’ room at J. Black’s, a woman actually said to me:

“Were you at a theme party . . . or are you really a pirate?” 

She seriously did.  And, I seriously told her I’m really a pirate.  And, she was so fascinated.

The things people will believe when they’re drunk.  Or stupid.  I guess she could just be stupid.  *shrugs*

I told you so.

He really is a model.  Look how sexy it is when he files stuff.  Rrrrrrrrow.

Don’t worry, this is going to get a lot more fun pending some Photoshop genius by my fascinating, amazing business partner. 

But, the point is – I am friends with a male model.

Teamwork

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world. Indeed. It is the only thing that ever has.” –Margaret Mead

This poster sits in my boss’s office. . . I saw it today, and much like everything lately, it brought tears to my eyes. 

Can’t fool them for long.

I’ve been at this job for 7 weeks, 1 day. 

Today, a co-worker sent me an email full of great buttons that I’ll be using to notify you of my feelings from time to time, and then came to my office and suggested I post this one on my door:

Much to my mother’s dismay. . .

I’m going skydiving next weekend! 

I probably should have saved that announcement for after I did it, but in case I don’t return, I thought you should know.

My mother, who might be the biggest overreacter in the world, made a big deal about a will and beneficiaries and giving my phone number to the people I’ll be with.  Because if I die, I’m the ONLY ONE who will die, and then they can just call her to let her know.

It’s not rational.  That’s why we call it overreacting.

A group of us are going, assuming no one chickens out (ahem!  No chickening out!).  Then, we’ll mark that right off The List and move on.

When I said I was going to squeeze every last drop out of this awesome, carefree, no-responsibility life, I wasn’t kidding.  You thought I was kidding, didn’t you?  Hmph.