rescue

Band of Misfits

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I recently had a client come in who hadn’t been waxed for six months due to birthing a human out of her lady parts.

Very legit excuse for not having me rip hair off of said parts.

She brought her baby in with her, which was a super cute situation except for the part where I was thinking about how I was going to have a six month old baby girl watch me drizzle hot wax all over her birth place.

And also that I’m 103% more comfortable being around an alien life form than with a small, helpless human.

(Aren’t they kind of the same thing though? Let’s be honest.)

I really do like babies, don’t get me wrong.

But honestly. I am just literally the worst at it.

(You grow out of that, right?)

I’ve watched plenty of my friends get the baby fever/virus/plague and turn into a sappy puddle of goop whenever one is within five miles radius, but whenever one is put into my arms I more or less develop rigormortis and paranoia.

And whoever said babies don’t smell fear is a dirty liar because they most definitely start crying as soon as I touch them, and in the rare case that they don’t, it’s because they were slipped some Benadryl.

Or whiskey.

Either way.

Anyway, the baby who I was about to give a wax show to started screaming bloody murder right before I went in to do the service.

Of course she did.

Fortunately, (and miraculously), the screaming wasn’t my fault, as the mom had accidentally punched her baby.

IN THE FACE.

That’s normal, right?

Because I will totally do that.

At least once a week every day.

Sorry in advance, little one.

So speaking of me being a super great mother someday:

We had a baby!!

…”bought” a baby.

Well, a dog, technically.

A baby dog.

Also called a puppy.

Okay we rescued a puppy.

WE RESCUED A PUPPY!!!

The most adorable pup in the entire universe.

Not that I’m biased.

TELL me this is not the cutest little bundle of snuggles you’ve ever seen.

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Tell me.

Don’t actually tell me. I will cut you.

World, meet Sawyer.

Can we just talk about his eyelashes for a second?

Please notice how they butterfly literally 2 inches out from his eyelids.

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Ladies, is this not the cat-eye we all dream of having???

Is puppy eyelash envy a thing because I kind of hate him for it.

…okay but I’m also the mom that goes, “YASS BITCH my (fur)baby is a model” every time someone dies over how adorable he is.

He’s super well behaved except for the part where he’s constantly nibbling whatever human body part is closest to him at the time, jumping over our fence to chase birds, cats, the UPS guy, etc., and chewing up all of my undies.

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It’s always the lacy ones.

He’s got good taste, what can I say.

In our defense, we did get a shock collar recently to stop all the madness except that we soon realized our pup is a superhero when he jumped the fence this morning and was shocked repeatedly on full force for about five minutes with absolutely zero affect, while my saint of a boyfriend ran around the neighborhood trying to catch him.

But I guess it also could have been that, (helpful hint here, guys), the shock collar works a little better when you TURN IT ON.

You’re welcome.

….Okay but other than that he’s super well behaved.

(Extreme cuteness counts for something too, right?)

Sawyer’s favorite things include tummy scratches, decapitating (stuffed) animals, licking off my makeup (super convenient, actually), and eating cat poop.

….and the Wisconsin Badgers.

Obviously.

(Go Bucky)

His least favorite things include birds, bicyclists, leashes, and his brother, Marble.

….and Duke.

Obviously.

Now, I don’t want to be the mom who keeps posting a zillion pictures of her baby, because THEY ALL LOOK THE SAME (but omg he’s totally winking at me in this one!!!), so instead I’ll just leave a video of him getting slapped by Marble.

That’s entertainment.

And speaking of Marble, here’s a video of him slapping ME.

Also entertaining.

FYI the slap sound IS real and my neck 100% looked like I was attacked by a rake.

I deserved it though, clearly.

It’s hard to imagine life now without our little band of misfits.

…except that sleeping would be a lot more peaceful, considering Marble demands to be spooned by one of us every night (ALL NIGHT) and will walk all over your face until you comply.

…and less vacuuming.

…way less poop.

…no 5:00am potty breaks in the dark.

Okay so I guess I can imagine life without them.

But we can’t imagine going back.

I KNOWWWW….the sappiness leaks out sometimes, I can’t help it!

UGH. Puke.

Okay one more.

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HE KILLS ME.

Happy Thursday angel faces.

Love,

M.

(Not) A Crazy Cat Lady.

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It’s okay dude, I’m not trying to blog right now or anything. Take your time. 

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World, meet my one-eyed fluffy snuggle monster (also known as my Maine Coon rescue kitty). You really only need one eye anyways, is what I always say. I mean, unless you want to have any depth perception.

Glaucoma took one of his eyes and will hopefully not take the other but don’t worry, I’d obviously get him a service dog. Feel free to assume that he’s just permanently winking at you, though, if it boosts your ego. I do that sometimes.

His name is yet to be determined, so for now I just say whatever ridiculous babble comes out of my mouth…like Mr. Magoo, or Pickles, or Stitch McGiggles, or Puffywittlebabylionsnugglebunnyboobear.

Because that’s normal.

One of my girlfriend’s thinks I should name him a slang term for penis, since they also only have one eye (you’re welcome for the anatomy lesson). This is an incredibly inappropriate and offensive suggestion.

So clearly I said, YES obviously I will do that. Oh and also, our wine glasses are empty. 

He’s not quite sure about me yet, but I don’t really blame him. I’m kinda weird, but only if you consider weird to be things like having full-on conversations with yourself about which yogurt you’re going to eat for lunch, or vowing to only get around your apartment that day via sliding across the floors in your socks.

He spends most of his time being terrified and hiding behind the toilet, but if he really wants something from me he’ll sprawl out on my bed. Men. They’re all the same.

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…and if I stay on his right side, he can’t see my wrinkles or judge me when I’m elbow-deep in a bag of jalepeño chips, so it’s a really good match I think.

I know I’m not a crazy cat lady because I got to spend three hours with the foster-mom I adopted him from, and I am telling you what, folks. This woman needs her own reality show. I’m guessing she’s  the sole reason that the term crazy cat lady was coined, and since I do not currently have five cat trees, seven scratching posts, ten litter boxes, twenty-two food bowls, five million cat toys, or “MEOW” stickers on my car like she does, I am considering myself in the clear.

Except that I currently do own two scratching posts because I forgot that I already had one and so for the moment we’ll say I’m at 26% CCL.

The only thing that really changes when you have a feline is that now you wake up with a cat on your face.

And sometimes you unknowingly walk into a coffee shop with a giant gob of their hair on your bum….which is super cute, and helpful in attracting other slightly weird, pet-owning guys…?

No.

 

Happy Weekend, lovers!

Don’t end up in the hospital with an IV in your arm and being forced to eat an orange popsicle. Not that I’d know anything about that.

 

I promise to have my second Costa Rica blog post up really soon, if this fluff ball ever gets off of my keyboard.

 

Love,

M.

 

Post-Vacation Stress Disorder

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Alternatively titled, “How Much for all of Your Meds? And a Cupcake?”

I survived the jungle! Barely, at times, but I’m still tickin’.

Post-Vacation Stress Disorder is a real thing, of this I am convinced.

I’m working on a full post about my trip, but it’s taking a little longer than expected. I know this is surprising because you’d think I’d be amazing at getting back to normal life after a long vacation, considering I’m obviously so good at getting ready for one.

Among things like, “I can’t fall asleep now without 5 billion bugs providing a cacophony of noise around me and dive bombing my windows” and, “Excuse me while I shed my burnt skin all over your cooch today,” my computer doesn’t want to back up my phone, hold any pictures, or do much of anything helpful in making a blog post, really. Obviously I don’t know how to figure that situation out because my brain shuts off as soon as there’s a technology issue and instead I just cry.

Oh and also because THIS happened yesterday, less than 24 hours after my arrival back into the states.

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Happy Homecoming.

(If you’re reading this and you happen to be the one that did this to my car, you missed a spot. In the corner, on the right.)

Obviously this is a sign that I should’ve never left Costa Rica and I instead should have eloped with my horseback riding guide, Risto, and lived on a ranch by the ocean forever.

Lesson learned.

On a brighter note, here is a little sneak peak from my trip, while I attempt to get my shit together.

I recorded this video when we saved a sea turtle on the way back from a hike around Corcovado National Park. And by “we,” I mean the captains of the boat because I “technically” did nothing to save it except for making lots of cooing noises and exclamations like, “Poor baby ohmygoodness you little peanut oh I just want to snuggle you forever does he need a hug oh please can I kiss him??”

If you’re one of those people (I am one of those people) that have to leave the room every time that damn Sarah McLachlan dog-rescue commercial comes on because you “got something in your eye,” this video may tug a tad bit on the ‘ole heart strings. Maybe at least wait until you get off of work and have a box of Kleenex and bottle of Jack (or maybe you keep both in your desk drawer already in which case, I love you).

Context:
This little guy was bobbing on top of the water when the guides noticed that (he?) had a fishing hook stuck through both his mouth and one of his flippers, leaving him unable to swim and easy prey for one of the bull sharks that infest those waters (“That one time I almost unwillingly swam with bull sharks” story coming soon).

Now if I wasn’t such a dumbass, you’d be able to watch the ending of this story as opposed to me telling it to you, but my camera stopped recording right before the grand finale. Of course it did. I wish I could say it wasn’t my fault but it was totally my fault because I took way too many pictures of monkeys and used up all my storage.

Of course I did.

Anyways.

What I’m trying to get at is, though the video ends on a cliffhanger, the sea turtle was fully freed from the hook and released. He swam away and I totally shed a tear cheered him on like a normal person would. You should still watch the video, even though I just gave away the ending because he’s just so damn cute!

(I apologize for you having to go through a link and not being able to watch it on my page. If anyone wants to help me be not such a terrible blogger, I’ll buy you a beer. And a cupcake).

Sea Turtle Rescue

I also learned some very valuable lessons from this sea turtle rescue:

1) I should not quit my job and become a videographer for National Geographic.

2) I should quit my job and become a professional injured-animal snuggler.

And just in case that’s not satisfying, here’s a really flattering photo of me right after I found the courage to climb off the bed I’d just ninja-leapt onto because a SCORPION had just fallen out of my SHIRT…AFTER I’d been wearing it for at least ten seconds.

People.

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Why would you take a picture of yourself in that moment, you ask? It was for evidence, in case I died. Obviously.

You can see that my weapon of choice was a really good one, and also that I couldn’t look into the mirror long enough to snap a photo because I had to keep my eye on the monster rearing it’s venomous tail at me in the corner.

And also take note of my very attractive fanny pack…which may or may not have contributed to the number of passionate hookups I may or may not have had.

Stay tuned for more Costa Rica craziness.

Love,

M.