Personal Space and Pooch Privates

I took a chart off of an exam room door today, the reason for the visit was "swollen penis". I showed it to my co-workers who responded in the usual manner. "Ooo, I know why you picked that room." "Massage it and see if that helps." "What have the owners been doing to him?" and so on and so forth.
Nine out of ten "swollen penis" complaints turn out to be the same common ailment. A boner. This room was no different in that respect. "I came home and let him out of his crate, and I noticed these two lumps on either side of his penis, the size of ping pong balls!" she cries, making the thumb and index finger on both hands into a circle. "And his penis looks really raw, like hamburger!"
I explain to her that the "ping pong balls" she's seeing are normal for a dog who's "excited". "But he's neutered!" she exclaims. "They can still get excited, they just can't do too much about it." "But he was just sitting in his crate!" "What were you thinkin' about in there?" I ask the dog. Yes, I really did. This lady's kooky so I see no harm in being a little off center myself.
So she's still concerned he has a chafed wiener (probably from all of the self satisfaction she now thinks he's engaging in ) and I tell her I'm going to take him to the back for the doctor to check it. We do the majority of what I call the "rude stuff" in the back- temperatures, fecal collection with our handy dandy poop loops, anal gland squeezing- basically anything that involves actual brown eye penetration. The owners and the pets seem to be more comfortable that way (plus we use plenty of lube).
So I start pulling the dog in the direction of the door, and he digs in and starts backing up. I try to coax him towards me, but he wants nothing to do with it. He's wise to the ways of the "back room". I ask the owner to walk with me to the door, usually then they think they're leaving and will start down the hallway, then once their owner's out of sight they'll willingly follow. A rotten trick I know, but you do what you gotta do.
So she gets up and says, "Here, I know how to get him to go with you." "Great" I think, "Wow me with your inability to control your own dog." I'm not sure what she's going to do but I have a few ideas, none of which she actually does. She ACTUALLY walks right into me, full body contact, WRAPS her arms around me, LAYS her head on my shoulder, RUBS my back, and says "Nice, nice, she's okay, see it's okay, nice, nice." For a full 30 seconds. It seemed like hours. If she'd been looking at my face instead of at the dog she would've seen the absolute horror plastered all over it. My arms stayed flat and stiff against my sides for the duration, but I think I recovered from the shock enough that I didn't look too aghast when she FINALLY released her grip. "That's how you give someone your seal of approval, eh?" I say. Of course the dog still won't go with me, so she has to walk him to the door anyway.
She's what I'd call "earthy" looking- 50s, really short graying hair, tank top, shorts, flip flops, not fat but she definitely had extra meat on her bones- enough that she had breasts that engulfed mine when she pressed into me. I'm not sure if she's just one of those touchy people or if she was just an old pervert.
I'm NOT a touchy person. Only family or very good friends- but even then my friends aren't touchy people either- so physical contact is rare. WHICH IS FINE BY ME.
Anyways, the dog's stupid peter was fine. They're usually a bright red or pink shade. When a dog has his rolled out while he's being restrained we point it out to the technician that's handling him and say " He has his lipstick out, isn't that your color?" It doesn't rub off and it makes your mouth sparkle.

Joe Dirt

That's who Reese looks like, she sculpted her own hair into a marvelous mullet the other day. When I gasped and pointed, she looked behind her to see what all of the commotion was about.

Her teacher apologized profusely, without me saying anything about it, so I know it was sincere. I guess she's forgiven- this time......

So Tatum comes home from school and tells me that she cried when she found out I was there and left. Apparently the teachers are not only incompetent but sadistic, they told her I came and they sent me on my merry way. First grade Nazis!

Overreacting

Yeah, I am and I don't care. I went to Tatum's school today because they're having their book fair, it's open 8-2 all week and parents are invited to come shop with their kids. I went to the front and the principal is there (she's very nice), I give her my name and tell her why I'm there. "Oooo," she says. "The teachers are asking me to tell parents to come during lunch or recess, it's the end of the 9 weeks and they're testing. Let me call her class for you and see if it's okay." So she does, and the teacher requested I come back later or the next day during during lunch/recess. I do not want to interfere with their classes or my daughter's education. I'm fine with coming at certain times so I don't interrupt anything. Which is why I wrote the teacher a note 2 DAYS AGO asking if I needed to set up a time or if one part of the day is better than the other. She wrote back to come up at any time and they'll call Tatum to the office. @#$%*@**@#@&%*#!!!!! That really pisses me off! Of course I didn't say anything, because if I had the principal would've said something to the teacher, then SHE would've been pissed (for no good reason because she misinformed me), then she might treat my daughter differently because of it. Oh, she might've seen me at some point and apologized for it, while visualizing jabbing ice picks into my voodoo doll. You know what, pay attention and do your job right the first time, or at least take a little constructive criticism when you screw up!!! We're having this issue with someone at my job, so maybe it just hit a little close to home. Also, I'm BLOATED and CRAMPY which may be making me more irritable. But I feel better now.

My Secret

No, I'm not about to share something from the deep, dark recesses of my mind. I'm referring to the deep, dark recesses of my armpit. I was reaching up to get something off of a shelf at work today, and I caught a faint whiff. I buried my nose into the bottom of my sleeve for closer inspection, and sure enough there was a musky aroma normally kept at bay by a daily application of my powder fresh deodorant. Apparently, I forgot to put in on. It always baffles me when things like this happen, shouldn't it be such a habit that I put it on without having to think about it? How do I go through the motions and miss something? Luckily, I'm not one of those people who super stink ( does deodorant really help them anyway?), you'd really have to be trying to smell my pits to find the stench, so it wasn't too big of a tragedy. My co-workers murmured their sympathy after I spread the word, I got one deodorant offer and politely declined. (actually I was like "I don't want to use something you already rubbed around on your armpit, nasty!") Why don't I just borrow your toothbrush and your monistat applicator while I'm at it! BLLEEECHHH....

U-TOE-PIA

I wasn't with him when it happened. He could've tossed it and kept his feet hidden from me in socks and under blankets, and I never would've realized it until it was too late.
I arrived home from work a few nights ago, and he says (looking a little smug), "Go look on the corner of the entertainment center." I squint at him suspiciously and slowly proceed in that direction- I've been on the receiving end of enough of his little pranks to use caution. I lean forward from a few feet away. "EEEWWW! Cool! Let me see your toe! Nasty!" I KNEW that deep down he wanted his toe's metamorphosis to be captured and immortalized on my blog! He still tried to deny it, but the pictures don't lie.

The cocoon cracks open...

......and the butterfly emerges.