heat wave

Well, let's hope they didn't manage to kill another one in the heat. I assume they still have one cat banished to a cage in the yard. Let's hope they remembered to provide water this time.

jerks

First, she rolled her fat ass onto one kitten and killed it

They shopped for and adopted the replacement for their ancient dog before rigor mortis had even set it

They banished the elderly cat and the sick cat - both with elimination problems - to the patio. And then neglected the animals during a heat wave. One cat died because they had no water for who knows how long.

The Big Fat Load takes her cats to the clinic just loose in her arms, like an irresponsible dipshit, and then gets offended when someone criticizes this.

And then? They just brought home another fucking kitten.

Oh, don't worry - I'm sure one of the others will be dead soon enough - maybe neglect, maybe she'll eat it for lunch or something - to make room for the newest baby.

Or maybe they will just feed it to the snake.

God I hate those people.

OMG Why am I still reading this shit?

Confidential to the former friend:

(1) the rescuers were probably pissed at you because you have "I BUY DOGS FROM BACKYARD BREEDERS" in a big neon sign over your head, you troll.

Oh, yes - THE RESCUERS are the ignorant ones. I'm pretty sure none of THEM has ever rolled their enormous girth over onto a cat and smashed it to a slow, painful death. I'm pretty sure none of THEM go out and buy dogs from breeders on Craigslist. I'm sure none of THEM are breeding animals to feed to other animals.

Hey - why even bother getting the kittens fixed? You can always just breed the cats for the purpose of supplying the snake with a steady diet of kittens.

They were advising you to keep your cats outside of the clinic because most cats are scared when they are in there, because everybody's dogs are pretty wound up. I leave my ferals in the car until it's time for us to check in for just this reason. And yet, THEY are the ignorant ones. Sure, buddy. And do you know why they don't seem to care? Because they are exhausted. They are exhausted because there are too many animals for us to take care of - because fucking idiots like you BUY ANIMALS FROM BREEDERS.

And I just KNOW that one of these days you're going to decide to buy a breeding pair of purebred SOMETHING, so your children can "experience the miracle of birth", We all know it's an eventuality with you.

(2) don't worry, your father in law will be dead soon and then you won't have to even pretend like you're thinking about paying the mortgage any more!

You are a horrible, odious troll.

I really need to stop reading her blog

What is it that compels us to behave in such a fashion?

I mean, she and I were not "friends" in any real sense; it's not like there's something missing in my life with this friendship ended.

It's almost spite-reading. Ok, it's outright spite-reading, and it's not nice, and I have to stop.

But I just have to get this one bitchy comment in first:

LOL - Binge watching 13 hours of a television show should be a piece of cake for you - perhaps even literally? - with your new pot habit.

Your bogus medical marijuana card is probably not helping with your diabetes, though, I would imagine.

Anyway, good luck with your binge-watching - if anyone can sit on their ass and watch TV for 13 hours, it's you! You got this! Go you!

Ugh.

On the other hand, though - at least by reading her riveting, fascinating blog, I know when she will be taking her puppy mill dogs to the vet, so I can reschedule my own appointments.

We're never going to make it

AS9100 is just never going to happen here. This place lacks the discipline.

bitchy

I broke up with my longtime friend after she and her husband bought their SECOND backyard breeder dog.

She wasn't much of a friend, so I didn't lose much; she was never there when I needed her, never available to hang out with someone who hasn't shat out a kid. All I was to her was a blog audience, blog fodder, and a petsitter. Which, you know - fine, I get it. I'm not in the mom's club. But for fuck's sake, I had more of a reciprocal relationship with Alex.

But somehow, for some stupid reason, I'm spite-reading her blog. I know, right? WTF is that all about??

I need to stop.

hah

I was having a conversation with a very nice lady with whom I worked a lot last year with kitty rescues; she needed my help again, and kept apologizing that she keeps coming to me, but explained that nobody else helps her.

She then asked me what was wrong with these ladies. "Why are they so mean? Why are they so angry?" she asked.

Now, keep in mind: this woman is the very model of a Nice Suburban Christian Soccer Mom. Super sweet, as in walks the walk and not just talks the talk. Mid-fifties, perhaps. Drives a minivan, has two teenaged kids, a husband, and a full time job. So nice, when I commented that Simon keeps eating my shoes - they very next time she brought me kittens for rescue, she brought me shoes. Such a truly, genuinely nice lady.

Which is why she was so taken aback when I said, "No, Honey. You have to look at the common thread that binds all cat rescuers."

"A love for animals?" she ventured. "A willingness to try to make the world a better place?"

I laughed. "No, nothing like that. Think of the worst, most odious people you've spoken to. And remember; the reason we do rescue? A basic, fundamental inability to form and sustain meaningful human relationships."

Her shock was so gratifying.

And yet: it's totally true. 

I shared this anecdote on Facebook (edited, naturally) and somehow it's lead to (1) people assuring me that I am charming and wonderful and not odious at all, and (2) people telling me that I just need to close my eyes and imagine Mr Perfect, just make myself a visualization of everything I would want in a man, and the Universe will hear me, and deliver precisely what I've asked for.

There are two problems with this theory: the first, is that every time I close my eyes, what I visualize is you; secondly, the universe seems to hear this as a plea for emotionally unavailable narcissists who are heavily burdened with both baggage and a vaguely described marital status.

Oh well.

Happy Earth Day

Be kind to your planet; it's the only home we've got.

Good riddance

I need to stop spite reading her blog; now she's developing a pot habit to go with her functional alcoholism.

What a terrific influence on the children.

If I could go back in time and just never know this loser in the first place, I would. 

if it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck...

"I worry that I am a bad friend..." she says in her blog.

News flash: you are.

So tired

Rescues don't help. Rescues don't EVER help; that's why people call *me*.

You know how many times a rescue group has taken or placed animals for me?

Exactly NEVER. EVER. In 20 years. NOT EVEN ONCE. NOT WITH ONE SINGLE KITTEN. NOT EVER. NOT ONE TIME. NOT ONE CAT.

What help I have received: LBSNF sent a friend over to loan me a dog trap which resulted in my being stuck with Simon, and the Peter Zippi vouchers allowed me to TNR almost 75 cats last year. Note: allowed *ME*  to TNR those cats last year, with help from a friend or two.

NOT ONE TIME, EVER, has a rescue taken an animal from me or from any of the dozens of people who call me every year.

I love our rescues, and they work hard. But telling people to call rescues is not good advice, because you know they won't take found animals. And what's more likely, at the end of the day, is that these people will end up calling ME. Because I help. And I don't want to anymore.

Just as the rescues are "tired of doing the job of ACS", I am tired of doing the job for the rescues.

Critter Central

Bronwyn isn't eating - still - and she is getting impatient with the fluids again. We had a couple of really great days where it only took one poke to make it happen - last night, I had to stick her 4 times. Ugh.

We've been doing this for WEEKS. I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. She seems fine - she has been sleeping on the bed pretty regularly now and has not been spending as much time hiding - but I still hate this very much.

Simon is turning out to be a sweetheart of a dog, but he possesses way more joie de vie than my household can handle. I really wish his foster home had worked out, but he's totally adopted me now and I can't change that. :p

04022014

Today is my grandpa D's birthday.

Normally, with any of the other Lost Relatives, this would be a day of reflection and fond memories. But somehow, sometime shortly after my grandmother died and when his biological family made their appearance into his life, I lost him. He was no longer my Grandpa; he was just my Grandma's second husband.

It sucks. Yes, I got something his biological daughter's kids didn't get: I had him as my childhood Grandpa. But as an adult, my previous status as the First Grandkid was irrelevant, and somehow, possession became the objective with his blood kin. Possession of his stuff, of his real estate, of his vehicles, of his (and my Grandmother's) cars, of the antiques carefully selected by my grandmother over their 30+ years together, and of course of the man himself, who estate would leave them sitting pretty when he passed.

"Spend it, Gramps!" I urged him, "Live! Do fun stuff! Don't worry about leaving a penny behind, worry instead about enjoying what you have!"

He didn't. Not once. That family banished him to a convalescent home once, while they used his money to go on a big family cruise. Ultimately, I was the one who sprung him out of there when he tearfully told me he wanted to go home. He had his own place, and besides - I was the one stopping by there to take him to dinner or cook and take out the trash and clean Fifi's litterbox.

The day he died, I was lost. He married my Grandma before I was born, he was always Grandpa.

Sobbing, I stumbled from Grandpa's bedroom toward the garage door; I wanted to sit in my Grandma's 1969 Cougar and weep behind the wheel of her car.

The car was gone.

He gave it away. Over and over, I had offered to buy it from him, and he gave it instead to one of his daughter's kids. And didn't tell me.

In the end, they ended up with everything: the cars, the antiques, the real estate, the money. In the end they got it all, successfully scheming and manipulating and having the will changed over and over.

Whatever. Even though he was no longer my Grandpa, in the end, I still won. I won something they could never ever have: I had him as my childhood Grandpa, and no amount of money would ever take that away.

Well, I guess it could always be worse

you could be this guy.

limits

The good news is, I have found my boundaries.

The bad news is, that I am asserting myself and telling people No when it's little old ladies trying to give me cats.

D'oh!

Heh

I just got my review.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I Don't Like Mondays

It starts with the precursor to the tension headache on Sunday night. The tightening of the muscles in the neck and shoulders, with the eventual pain that crawls up the neck and settles in at the base of the skull, plunging its long barbed tail into the cerebral cortex while its tentacles reach out and settle upon your frontal lobes like an octopus enveloping its dinner. That's when you know that this visitor has decided to make itself comfortable and settle in for a long stay.

Every Sunday night is this way for me now, one whole year in to this job that started out with so much promise.

I'm just not cut out for this anymore. Mindless work that, at the end of the day, makes no difference.

Even though I am a Subject Matter Expert at Quality Management Systems and have an intuitive ability to interpret and implement requirements, my voice is often unheeded. Though this is what they hired me for, they aren't listening; they want to second guess my interpretation and my working understanding of the Requirements. The VP even told me that he thinks maybe we need to benchmark other companies and see how they are doing this stuff. I looked at him, agog, jaw agape, as an entire career flashed before my eyes in an instant: 20 years in this industry, 20 years of experience that led to my understanding and execution of the requirements - and I'm going to get second guessed by this ... well, this kid, who is an amazingly intelligent wunderkind with precisely 3 years of experience.

Ugh. None of this matters, anyway. This is not who I am. This is not how I identify. This is just the job that pays the bills. Now if only I could scale it back in my subconscious and mitigate the stress.

"Blah blah blah requirement requirement AS9100 details ISO9001 blah blah blah". Drawing pyramids on whiteboards; "blah blah requirements blah blah Command Media Hierarchy blah blah QMS Structure"... nobody's listening; why do I keep doing this?

I don't get to be a good Quality Engineer, because they want me to function as an (uncompensated) Quality Manager so the extant Quality Manager can play "Shameless Self Promotion: Climbing the Corporate Ladder" (incidentally, not included in my job description). Then they have me working on the AS9100 implementation and I am getting told by my boss every day that I am a shitty Project Manager. 

"I'm not a project manager; I never told you that I was, and my resume does not even imply it. I am a Quality Engineer."

He cocks a brow at me and says "well, I haven't seen much evidence of that, either."

Well, fuck you, buddy. I am an EXCELLENT Quality Engineer. I am an EXCELLENT Quality Management Systems manager. Just because I'm not good at doing YOUR job doesn't make me an idiot (although, to be honest, I do a better job at being Quality Manager than he does; I pay attention to the processes, the metrics, the process health. I have people who enjoy working for me. This man is just an ass).

I come to work on Monday morning, exhausted, headachy and cranky. Early on in this job, before I realized that I was working for a chronic liar, I used to tell him about my weekend exploits. I come in on Monday morning, often late (though as a salaried employee that's not a huge deal), and he assumes that I am exhausted from the weekend. I dare not tell him that the Sunday Night Insomnia hit just as the headache invaded my person.

At the end of the day, it's just a job, and as long as I can get through the day without getting fired, it's all good.

I have to work on meditations; I have to work on getting my nonprofit status; I need to work on getting out of this meaningless industry and do something that MEANS something.

Because this? This isn't it.

I still don't know what's wrong with Bronwyn.

I need a hug and company and a bottle of wine.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Now her husband has a medical marijuana card.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Good grief.

Ugh. Just UGH.

Stealing e-books in PDF format. The bullshit with the bogus therapy dog plan. And now? A medical marijuana prescription. Evidently, we have no problem with the concept of Fraud.

Gods, it's like a train wreck; I can't look away.

Bronwyn

Kidneys are failing.

Dammit. Over two weeks of subcutaneous fluids, force feeding, meds - and her kidneys are failing.

I hate this.

Tripping a Blind Man

huh.

Saw this today:

Service Dogs article

Made me think of G, who once boasted on her blog that she was going to get "service dog" status for her Puppy Mill Golden Retriever, claiming that the dog served some kind of purpose in alleviating anxiety or depression or some such bullshit.

At the time, I was horrified at the thought of doing something so dishonest - evidently, however, this isn't really such a novel concept. I mean, it shouldn't surprise me; people have been both dishonest and assholes for as long as they have been upright.

However, I'd not realized how much of a pervasive problem it has become. People with legitimate need to have their service dogs accompany them are now finding themselves facing some opposition, as people like G bring their pets into places under the guise of having service animals.

Turns out, she was ahead of her time. Still an asshole - but wow, what vision.

Arf.

Some things are just dealbreakers

As I get more and more into animal rescue as a part of my day to day life, I find that the gap that exists between myself and some of my most longtime friends just widens and deepens, until at some point there is just no way to bridge it.

So the decision gets made to simply stop trying.

I broke up with someone who had been my good friend for a number of years. Though the reasons were actually numerous, the final dealbreaker was her family's continued support of Craigslist backyard breeders.

When we were younger, we were best friends. At some point, however, she became my bully, my tormentor. Stupid home videos with her and her friends making fun of me, mugging for the camera and doing public service announcements and smugly delivering faux news broadcasts warning of my evil nature.

Dude. I was 16.

At some point I moved past that, when I lived with the man who was the best friend of the man she married. Those two had been lifelong friends, and in order to maintain harmony, I had to just swallow down the years of pain and resentment and pretend like I was happy to have her back in my life.

We did truly grow close again, but the friendship was lopsided; she took and took and gave very little in return. Her pursuit of motherhood is what she will blame for our eventual, inevitable drift - but the motherhood was not the issue. It was her abandonment that was the issue; I've never spawned a child, so I was no longer welcome in her world. Her new friends were the ones with motherhood in common; the Mom's Club would go for their dinners or binge drinking while dutiful husbands watched the children - the childfree ones were forgotten and left behind like so much detritus in the alley after trash day.

But even all of that, I could overlook - or at least, I tried - until the second purchase of a Craigslist dog. Look, I know not everyone is interested in rescue - but she was one of my closest friends. She knew what I struggled with daily. And yet, they bought another Craigslist dog.

Forget this, just forget it. I know I'm better off for it.