An Unusual Love Story

Demon Seed asks if his friend can spend the night last night. Usually I don't care but he has two friends that will usually always get a no from me and one that definitely gets a no. It's one of the great mysteries of the world as to why he even continues to ask, but he does. The first of these boys can't stay because my Chihuahua hates the kid with the fire of a thousand suns and will not shut up the whole time he is in our house. Poor kid has never done anything to the dog and we have tried everything to smooth over whatever hurt feelings my Chi has, all to no avail so in the interest of my sanity and the kid's safety they have to be friends outside of my house. This is understood and considering his fear of my 4 lb Chihuahua the kid is more than willing to oblige. The second of these boys can't stay because it is very obvious to anyone who comes into contact with him that he has been raised by wolves that don't have regular access to food and drink and have had very little human socialization. The definate No-No of the bunch is like Eddie Haskell (Leave it to Beaver) who grew up and joined the mob. This kid smiles in your face and let's the compliments flow smoothly off his lips, however, it is important to keep his hands and feet in view at all times because he will steal you blind the first chance he gets. This one has now been banished by all parents and is quickly becoming a distant, if unpleasant, memory.

In a Klonopin induced haze I agreed to let Wolfie stay the night here last night. Wolfie is about 150 lbs overweight, not hard to understand if you ever saw him around food. Maybe I caved because I get such amusement out of seeing him, at 5'3" and 300 pounds standing next to my 6'3" skinny son. Whatever my reason, I soon regretted it, as I always do. But he did bring his own snacks, a lot of snacks. This kid actually came in the house with a large bag of McDonald's fries, burgers and pies, a bag of  12 Wendy's hamburger's, 2 bags from the grocery store full of chips, cookies and candy, a 12 pack of Coke, a 12 pack of Dr. Pepper and a 6 pack of Chocolate YooHoo's to get him through his estimated 12 hour stay here. The first words out of his mouth, before hello, was "You made homemade chicken pot pie!" (it was on the kitchen island cooling off, he probably smelled it when he got out of the car in the parking lot). He puts his stash down, get's a plate and scooped out out half of the 9 x 12 Pyrex baking dish with the pot pie in it. Get's a coke out of the fridge (guess the ones he brought weren't cold enough for him yet) and sits down to eat. About half way through his meal, which in Wolfie time would be about 30 seconds, he finally looks up and says "Where is The Boy?" It was a little hard to answer with my mouth hanging open like it was. My son told me later he knew Wolfie was here when he heard the silverware rattling in the drawer and he was trying to get to him before he got to the food. I told him I understood and not to feel bad because there is no one in the world fast enough to catch Wolfie before he can start on food. It just isn't physically possible. My son escorts Wolfie and his snacks back to his room and it was fairly quite for the next couple of hours. At one point I literally caught myself sneaking around trying to be as quiet as possible in my own kitchen because I knew if that kid heard the sound of a dish clinking he would immediately come running. This was proven a few minutes later when I was putting food in the dogs dishes and he heard the bag rattling and came to investigate. Denied food I don't think Wolfie would hesitate to eat one of my dogs. I slid a plate of cupcakes in Wolfie's direction to confuse him long enough to pick up the Chihuahua and get him to safety out of the kitchen area. The next time I see him he is passing through my den, two cupcakes in one hand, one cupcake in the other hand and visible icing tracks of the one he had stuffed in his mouth mumbling "These are some good cupcakes". His sideways glance at the Chihuahua told me I needed to up the security on the dogs until he left.

I have a rule here, no one sleeps on my sofa but me. I have insomnia and sometimes get up in the middle of the night and wander into the den to watch TV or read. Finding someone on my sofa is like an assault on my personal space to me. I get crabby, it's well known and no one crosses that line. My son has all the conveniences in his room, a bed, a sofa, a big flat panel TV, xBox, Playstation, the wimpy Wii, 2 laptop computers,a desktop computer and a mini fridge. There is no reason any of his friends need to invade my den to sleep, watch TV, scratch their ass or anything else. I didn't sleep well last night, possibly because of the need to guard the dogs, go into the den and what do I find? Yep, Wolfie. But he was smart enough NOT to get on my sofa. Instead he had pulled my comforter (I always keep one on the back of the sofa), the sofa pillows and one of the dogs blankets off into the floor to make himself a "bed", I am assuming he felt comforted by the fact that the den is so close to the kitchen. Now that was bad enough but he actually had his head laying in one of the dog beds! Did he crawl in there in pursuit of one of the dogs, they weren't there so he was laying in wait? I decided to not throw my usual fit and just leave him there, after all when Wolfie is asleep he isn't eating and everyone wins. He is snoring like crazy so I feel it safe to get myself a snack from the kitchen. I put my brownie in the microwave, heat it up and return to the den. When I sat down I looked over at Wolfie to make sure he wasn't awake and going to attack me for the brownie and there he was, still sound asleep. Except his nose was twitching, rhythmically, and then I realized what was happening. This kid apparently can even smell and respond to food odors in a deep sleep state! Amazing, his nose twitched until the last bite of brownie was gone and then suddenly stopped and the snoring resumed. I finally decided to return to the safety of my room in case the genes of his wolf ancestors took over and he decided to come after me. It was no longer just the dogs safety I feared.  This kid could eat us all and no one would find us for hours, we would end up on one of those true crime television shows. Worse yet we could be the main focus for a "When Animals Attack" episode. I had visions of this in my head. There I would be in my bloodied living room, all flesh sucked off of my bones and clutching the bones of my Chihuahua tightly to my chest while investigators had a snarling, growling Wolfie trapped in the corner just waiting for Animal Control to get here, my son standing in the hallway screaming "Tranquilize him!!! He will go for us next, he has't fed in two hours!"

I wake up this morning to Wolfie singing happily in the kitchen, he is in his element and it brings him joy. I go in to find my kitchen a disaster area, Wolfie proudly in the middle of it all with a big grin on his face making breakfast burritos. I quickly look around to find my pug, considering her fat rolls, and the unavailability of the Chihuahua, I thought she might have become a target, but she is safe. A deep friendship has formed. Two beings who both have an uncontrollable, all consuming love affair with food have found each other. Kindred spirits. They are one. He shares his burrito with her and baby talks to her. Her fat butt is wiggling in joy and so is his. All is good in their world and everything important to them is present.

For them, at that moment, they need nothing nor anyone else.  Just one little fat pug, one little fat boy and that breakfast burrito. A match made in heaven.

For God's Sake, Get My Socks!

Why can I not remember there is a baby gate in the door between the den and the kitchen? How many times do I have to fly face first over this baby gate before it finally registers that it's not only there now but has been there for a year? Why can I not master the art of reading my Kindle while walking in the house? Just why will that same baby gate not crash down upon contact from both knees of a fully grown human yet my much smaller pug can knock it down with one head butt and go on about her business? Why do I even insist on the damn gate still being there since it obviously doesn't stop the pug for whom it was intended? Is this baby gate filling some deep seated (and for my lovely teacher fan who feels the need to correct me, look this one up, I assure you the correct terminology is not "deep seeded") need I have to be punished? That would explain my reluctance to remove it.

Why do I bother to put coffee in my creamer and sugar? It's not like there is enough coffee to taste or even give a caffeine rush. My friend says I only use the coffee to dissolve the creamer and sugar, you see I don't really like coffee but I love the creamer. People look at you funny if you just drink creamer. So I front and pretend I am a coffee drinker. Is there a special place in this coffee driven world for those of us that openly admit to not liking coffee? Will we someday be forced to wear a scarlet C on our clothing?

Why do I never have a bout with Irritable Bowel Syndrome until I hear the word "go"? Is this word nature's very own laxative? I can be here all day just lounging in my latest cartoon couture pajama's and my ever present snowflake robe and never once feel that twinge. But let someone say "Hey, let's go _________" and upon finishing getting dressed and picking up my car keys will immediately be hit with a severe bout of IBS. Could this be a psychological problem and I have an unconscious desire to make people wait on me? I always admired my ex (and you can be the judge as to what kind of person he turned out to be if this is the only thing I can think of to admire him for) for his ability to "shit on command". It really was amazing to watch. Me: "Kathy and John want us to go out to dinner with them at 5:00" Ex-Louse: "It will have to be at 5:30 because I plan on shitting at 4:45 and we can't possibly make it to the restaurant in 15 minutes " or  Me: "You have an appointment tomorrow morning at 8:00" Ex-Louse: "Your going to have to call and reschedule the meeting for a later time, my morning shit is already planned for 7:20, if you had told me sooner I could have planned it around the meeting". But you have to remember this is the same guy who thought that if he didn't do three scheduled shits a day he would either explode or the shit would back up causing him severe brain damage. I have always wondered just which day it was he was off schedule because he obviously has some form of brain damage. Was it my fault? Could it have been the morning I was in that bad car accident and he was called to the hospital or the morning I went into labor and he missed his 7:20? I live with the guilt.

Why do I think I always have to wear socks with jeans/pants and they MUST be put on before I put my jeans/pants on? If I forget and put my pants on first it can cause a total meltdown, I can't then just put my socks on. No, I have to take my pants back off and do it the "proper" way. Could this be signs of early OCD? I have visions of my house catching fire in the middle of the night and all I have time to do is throw my pants on before racing outside to safety. As soon as I am outside I realize what I have done and then have to be held back by four strong fireman (you realize this story could go a whole different direction at this point, don't you?) while fighting to get back inside and screaming "Where are my socks! OMG I have to get back in there and get my socks!" or upon seeing them bringing my son out to safety I scream at them "Oh please, please tell me you got my socks too! For God's sake man lay him down under that tree and get your ass back in there and find my socks!" I need a window sticker, but instead of saying "Pets Inside" or "Children Inside" mine will say "Socks Inside".

Why do I feel an almost uncontrollable desire to commit murder on any man beside me gently snoring yet at the same time find it so endearing when my pug snores and rattles the windows? This one is a no brainer. I simply like pugs better.

Why do I think that everything my Chihuahua or Pug do is so wonderfully cute and make excuses for their bad behavior? I mean if I took one of my children to someone's house and they started circling and sniffing butts I just know in my heart I would not stand there with a silly grin on my face and say "He's just getting to know you", or if one of them dropped a log or peed on someone's floor I would not say "he gets nervous in a new environment". I would never grab one of my children after they just destroyed the TV remote and say in a high pitched demented voice  "How could I get mad at that itty bitty squishy wishy wrinkly poo face!". I would draw and quarter that child!

Why do I obsessively record things on my DVR knowing I will never watch them? What satisfaction do I get out of having 27 episodes of Reba reruns recorded and why do I cuss each time I sit down to delete those same 27 episodes that have been on my DVR for months? Then when they are deleted immediately think "Hey, now I have room to record all the Two and a Half men reruns from the last five years!" Knowing I have never seen one single episode of that show and don't intend to start now. I justify this by telling myself that if I am ever in a major industrial accident and lose both arms, both legs and the ability to talk then I will have something to occupy myself with. Never once stopping to rationalize that being "trapped" with Charlie Sheen would make me suicidal which would only compound my problem necessitating the need for heavy medication. Then again, heavy medication would probably make me understand Charlie Sheen, kind of like we would be kindred spirits and share a bond. Winning!!!

Why does a police cruiser pulling up behind me at a stop sign or on the open road turn me into a quivering bowl of jello with thoughts of jail time flying through my addled brain? I have never had a speeding ticket, not even a parking ticket in my entire life. Never been arrested or done anything that could even remotely be considered illegal. Half of my immediate family are lawyers, police officers, FBI agents so it isn't like I fear the badge. It isn't even like I don't know that if I did somehow slip up and go 2 miles over the speed limit that I couldn't get out of that ticket with my connections. I did feel better when my________, the FBI agent, told me he had the same reaction. Seriously dude, they scare the bejeezus out of you too? Do you also have IBS, I mean these could be inherited traits.

Why am I even wondering about these things? I am pretty sure there are some old Friends episodes I could be recording instead.