Shaina came home on Saturday afternoon. The vet said her blood counts were great, and she was doing better than expected.

Although she seemed a little uncomfortable, she ate a big dinner, and gave lots of wags and kisses. I decided to sleep in the family room with her, so she wouldn't try and jump on the bed and hurt her belly. Didn't get much sleep, because I kept looking over to make sure she was alright.

Sunday morning her breathing seemed a bit laboured, and when the vet called to check on her, she said it was probably due to pain- I should bring her in and she would give me hydrocodone.

The vet took her blood counts and they were even better than the day previous, a very good sign, and we headed back home.

Once home, her breathing kept getting deeper, and Shaina headed outside and laid in the bushes. I knew something was wrong, because my little girl is always at my side. I tried coaxing her back into the house, but she wouldn't budge. I begged her, but finally had to lift her and take her in.

The rest of the day got even more difficult, as Shaina started vomiting, and would only lie on the tile. I called the vet, and they assumed she had a bit of an upset stomach due to the pain meds.

Mom and I just sat and consoled her, letting her know she was going to be okay.

When G came home, it was obvious something was definitely wrong, so we got her into the car and headed to the vets office. Her breathing was very difficult and she had a large-eyed glazed look. She was definitely in much pain and going into shock.

Shaina went into cardiac arrest on the journey to the hospital, and although the Emergency Vet was able to revive her, we decided to not allow her to suffer anymore. We let our beloved Shaina go.

---

It's been a very difficult few days, and I feel so much fucking pain. The guilt is overwhelming, as I feel I chose to let my baby suffer in hopes that she could be with us for a little while longer.

Her blind mommy, Cheyenne, has been walking around trying to 'sniff' her out, and whimpers. It makes my heart hurt so deeply. In a year and a half, Cheyenne went from having 3 other playmates to being all alone.

---

Thanks everyone for all your kind words, and for keeping us in your thoughts. Shaina is in a better place now, and is pain-free.

Even though we are suffering greatly from her loss, we are happy she will not ever suffer again.

We love you Shaina!

It's been a really shitty 2 days. Shaina hasn't been herself lately, so G took her to the vet yesterday. Emergency surgery, and they find out she has Hemangiosarcoma.

Anyone that knows me, knows that my pups are my babies, and this really bites!!!!

She made it through surgery very well, considering the diagnosis, and when the vet called today, she said that she ate this morning. She'll be ready to come home this afternoon (as long as her counts are good), and after her recovery from the surgery, will probably start chemotherapy.

When the vet talked to G about the chemo, she said that this would probably give her some good months. MONTHS! What the fuck!!! But I can't let my baby go without a fight....

Sorry for the downer folks. I just feel like crap and want everything to be okay. Please keep Shaina in your thoughts...

Oh, and Jill, if your reading this, sorry I didn't say anything. Didn't want to ruin your Wonderful 2 baby day news! I love ya!!!

Can someone please tell me what the fuck <333 means????

I friggin see it everywhere. I think it's some girly love sign crap, but am completely clueless to this shit.

I can only correspond this to my 4th grade math class, remember, the alligator eats the number, it's less than because he gobbled it up and now it's gone...

But what the hell is less than 333??? Does it mean 332? Is it the 666 of the Millennium, or what?

Am I the only dweeb on the planet who doesn't know? Is this some sick, twisted sign to screw with my head?

Whaaaa! I wanna know!!!!!

It's 12:30 a.m. and my first question is WHY the fuck did I decide to drink a Grande Latte this late at night? Brilliant as always...

---

Second question:
Why do people opt to go on Make-You-Look-Like-a-Complete-Dickweed shows???

• 10 Years Younger- happened to catch this one this afternoon, and I was embarrassed for these dumb asses. Synopsis- Fat Chick, 22 yrs old and looks like hell steps into a clear, soundproof box in the middle of LA; faggy host asks 100 people how old they think this haggard piece of slop looks. Amazingly enough, they always tack on 8-15 years. Fast-forward make over. A little skin zapping, tooth whitening, and a trip to Teeny Boppers Are Us, and WAHLAH! Back in the box, and the crowd always guesses close or low. DON'T THESE "PARTICIPANTS" FEEL LIKE FUCKING FOOLS??? Yeah, I want to go on national television and tell the world that I am a homely, pathetic grossgoob. Sure.
  
  
• What Not to Wear- It's always the throw-back hippies with waaaayyy too many tie dye tee's or the ucking fugly dude with a mullet that makes it on here. Why People, WHY??? Do you want the world to know how utterly ridiculous you are???

And then there's always those heart-wrenching reveals. Do these shows specifically search out people who are sure to host their "Coming Out" in what always appears to be a trailer park rec room????

---

I always wondered what the crack balls I only see in DMV do when not standing in line. Now I know...

Everyone give a big WOOP-WOOP to my new roommate, Tiny Voices In My Head.

I got a bit creeped out when I read her blog- no, not because she hears all those lil' voices- but because I felt like I was reading shit that I wrote. It's like we have some sick ass connection that she doesn't even know about.


For instance:

• she wonders what they are going to refer to the 00's as when they do specials (ie- Love the 70's, 80's, 90's)- I think about that ALL THE FRICKIN TIME! What are they gonna call it? "I love the OOOh's???"

• she cannot sit at her desk with her feet on the floor like a normal human being. NEITHER CAN I. My goddamn legs are always falling asleep because I've got at least one of them crammed under my big ass. I mean, I'm frickin sitting here at work Indian-style in my chair (very professional, I know...).

• she doesn't drink alcohol and eat at the same time. I can do this, but only with wine. Don't offer me a vodka and a sandwich. I'll have to pass on the sandwich... I'll drink the vodka, not because I adore the smooth quality and taste, nope. I DRINK FOR EFFECT! Take me out for drinks, and I can GAURANTEE you I will be fucking shitfaced! I will make you laugh till you piss your pants because I am such a bumbling drunk.
  

I could go on, I found a lot more things that made me crack the hell up, but I might really weird her out. I'm not obsessed or anything, I swear.


So, Welcome, Dawn! I hope your not one of those roommates who wants to borrow all my shit. I've had my share of those, and 'borrow' usually means, take, destroy and/or lose. Get your own shit and we'll be just dandy!

Now, everyone go visit Dawn and tell her I said what up.

Today I will bore you with yet another Boise moment.

Oh, kiss my ass! I bore you?

It's just a quick funny that made me laugh when I thought about it again this am.

Pops was told by his doctor that he needed to wear a hat to protect his little keppie from the dangerous sun. He forgot to bring his goofy Gilligan hat with, so he wanted to make a quick stop at Marshall's to pick another up.

Mom and I left Pop on his quest for hat, and perused the isles until our feetsies got tired. It was time to find Pop so we could leave. After several minutes of searching, I see this cute little guy (da da) browsing with a black baseball cap on his head. I called out to him and he looked over with a very proud, "lookie what I found" smile on his face.

It wasn't bad enough that this hat still had the little plastic hanger on the top, nor the price tag hanging ala Minnie Pearl. Nooooo. "Pop, take that frickin hat off!"

He looked confused. Even a tad disappointed. "You don't like it?" he asked. "Take the goddamn AC/DC Back in Black fucking hat off your head!"

He just didn't get it. I don't even think he friggin knew who AC/DC was. Now, I'm a fan of AC/DC, and I think Back in Black was my favorite album, but in no way was my 60+ father wearing that hat! I walked over to the hat area, picked out a simple Nike swoosh cap and off we went.

We got out at our next stop, and Pops was sporting his prized new possession. We walked around for a bit and Mom looked over at him and started laughing. Dear-ol-Dad was walking around in public, for god only knows how long, with the plastic hanger on top of his head like a whirly gig.

Parents. What are we going to do with them?

*Prelude- If you don't like the word fuck, amongst others, I caution you now not to read any further.*

As previously mentioned, I was in Boise with Mom and Pops last week. If you haven't already noticed, I have a bit of a, um, potty mouth. I know I really should try and tame it, but it is what it is...

I spend a lot of time with Mommy, and am quite at ease speaking my mind around her and Pops. Shit, I figure it this way- I'm 35 and I'm gona say what I'm gona say.

So here we are in Boise, and I've probably exceeded my fuck and shit limit. Mom looks over and asks "When did you start speaking like a trucker?". Now this is coming from my not-so-demure mother. You know, she flings a few 'bastards' and 'shits' around. I've even heard her say fuck on a few occasions. But, um, gosh, I guess it really is bad, huh? When did I start talking like a trucker?

I told her it was because I worked around a bunch of construction guys. Truth is, I even shock them sometime. I've had moments where I've even made these big, Hurley, masculine hammer-swinging sveltes blush. So where in the hell did it come from?



First Thoughts-
I remember the seven, (is it seven?), yep seven dirty words as far back as I can think. Dear 'ol Dad would give em a whirl every once in a while. But unlike most stories I hear about children mimicking their parents, I don't ever remember (or remember hearing) any time where I used one of these seven no-no's as a little tyke.

Consensus- Didn't get it from Dad.

Thought #2-
Walter V. Long Elementary School. 4th grade. 1980. Cursing is Cool.

There were two boys in my class, Mike and Frankie, whom, instead of being hooked on Phonics, were hooked on the words shit and shithead. Now 1980 was a long time ago, but I remember these two dickweeds 'shitheading' it up. I can't recall exactly how many times they called me a shithead that year, but let me tell you, it was a whole lot! So in return, my favorite word on record became asshole. But I limited my assholeisms to these two freaks, so....

Consensus- Although 'asshole' was added to my vocabulary bank, it wasn't Frankie nor Mike who did it to me.

3rd Idea-
High school. Cursing is Cool, revisited.

Ah, glory days. There I was, a teen with no cares. Life was good, and the seven words were better. Wasn't it cool to say fuck? Not even as an expletive. Just to say it. Fuck this. Fuckin' aye. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was also the time asshole crept back into my R'epertoire. Boyfriends were always being assholes!

Consensus- Although high school surely played a role in my diverse vocabulary, I don't really think these were the years when it really happened.


Ah-ha #4-
Young Adulthood. 18 years old and free...

So I thought I knew it all. This was a great time in life. Old enough to be on my own, but still young enough to not really give a rats ass about much. This was also about the time that I had my revelation.

No word in the English (or other, for that matter) dictionary should be deemed "BAD".

I mean, what the fuck is up with "bad" words? If they were so fucking bad, why were they created? Fucking stupid if you ask me.

Consensus- Even with such a genius moment in my life, I still had to limit the curse factor. There were still boys to woo, and this wasn't the time to be flinging my new-found freedom around.


Pondering a bit on the 5th-
Fast forward a bit. Adulthood Careers and why this may be a big clue.

1990-1997: I worked in the Las Vegas casino industry. In a restaurant.

It's really amazing what a diverse group of jackasses you come in contact with in this environment. And the mouths.

Now hearing "Fuck you, you motherfucking prick" seemed obvious from the dirty fry cook. But these words spew out of even the most unpredictable mouths in this joint. From the cute little Front Desk Clerk, the 60 yr. old grandma food server to just about every VP in the entire company. It still amazes me that I heard that bitchy little grandma food server freely use the word cunt like it was goin' outta style.

1997-present: Here I am selling New Homes on site. The only female. Working in close quarters with a bunch of sweet, yet slightly immature, construction guys.

Sure they're a bit raunchy at times, but like I mentioned way back at the top, it's me who gets 'em going... Please don't get me wrong, these guys, Super T and his sidekick Marvydoodle, are no virgins to the almighty cuss word. Maybe they're even holding back a tad because I'm girl. It's pretty much all me.

Consensus- Nope, can't blame any of these fucktards for the mouth that should be rinsed clean of impurity with a bar o' borax.


Closing Thoughts-
Shit! I can't pinpoint any one time that created my sometime obscene dialect. I suppose it's just evolved with me. Maybe I have some sick sense of power with it. Perhaps it gives me the needed boost when trying to convey a point or something...

I still really believe it reverts back to my "No Bad Word" theory. The spoken word is beautiful and meant to be said right? What asshole gives a fucking shit if I say this or that? And for the record, I've never even met a trucker. Do they really have bad mouths?


-Oh, and by the way, don't freak out when I meet your mom. I can keep my trashy mouth under control. My mom is privy to the lingo because she knows me. So don't worry. I won't call your dad a motherfuckingassholebastard (unless of course, the need arises...)

Wow, has it really been that long since I've posted??? Guess I could tell you I've really been busy. But not really. So I went to Boise last week. That's a good excuse. No computer access there. And the trip was great, thanks for asking...

So today was The Day. Yep, I had my face injected with Clostridium botulinum bacterium. Sounds pretty, eh? Botulism. In my face. And I'm really happy I did it!

Everyone asked if I was nervous before I went in this morning. I wasn't. The though of someone I've never met shooting needles all over my face never bothered me. Strange, but true. I did, however, get a little twinge of fear when I saw the woman, Denise, who was going to do the procedure. Man, this chick has given herself one to frickin many injections of Restylane in her lips. But after the initial shock, I found her to be really good. She was like an artist when injecting 30+ shots into the area around my eyes and brow.

All-in-all a good experience. It's my vain way of getting over this 35 year old hump. So there.

I see that I've got to explain my Crap-o-Matic Machine a bit further to you people....


Here's why my panties were so bunched up:

8am: I get a call from Super T telling me that the trailer (yea, I work in a Single-Wide White Trash Trailer- AKA "Temporary Sales/Information Center"- What's it to ya???) was broken into last night.

Super T: Heidi, the trailer was broken into last night

Me: Shut up!

Super T: Really, it was. Someone threw a rock through the window and came inside.

Me. Shut the fuck up loser!

Super T: I'm serious as a heart attack. They stole the fire extinguisher, and it looks like they took some change out of your drawer.

Me: Are you lying to me?

Super T: NO! LISTEN TO ME! They broke in. They had a couple of beers too.

Me: Oh, okay. See you when I get there....

So, Super T and his sidekick Marvydoodle are notorious for fucking with me. These are the same ass-wipes who smeared a Baby Ruth bar all over our toilet, complete with the nuts (lovely little creature's they are...). Since this little incident, I've been very hesitant to believe a damn word either one says. Now this. Did we really get broken into? Guess I'd have to wait and see, but I was pretty sure he was screwing around.

I pull up and sure enough the window is broken. Now I'm getting a little bit worried. Our computer with all our files (that I am really bad about backing up) are in there. All of the office equipment. Shit like that.

I walk into the office. Gallery looks okay. Back to my office. There are 3 cans of Bud Lite sitting on my desk. Hmm... I sit down and look around. Doesn't look too bad. Probably just fucktard kids. And only one of the beers was opened. Not even completely empty. The dumb asses left us 2 full beers-what's up with that?

I had 20 bucks in the drawer, which our little burglars stole. Eh, pissed me off a tad, but whatever.

Then I notice my computer (fortunately still here in one piece) is turned on. Hmm. Little dickweeds tried to get into my computer. Ha Ha on them. Password Protected. They obviously weren't hackers trying to destroy my career...
I decide to check my files out and then- MOTHER FUCKING FUCK!

Those smelly little assholes stole my god damn mouse! THEY STOLE MY MOUSE!!!

WHO THE HELL STEALS MOUSES (would you call them mice?)????? Have you ever tried using your PC with out a friggin mouse??? Pretty damn impossible, let me tell you.

So now I'm officially pissed. Super T walks in at about this time. I tell him about the frickin mouse and ask him where the hell his mighty Security Guard was last night. Apparently Bozo Rent-a-cop is in his car sleeping while the bad guys showed up and snatched my beloved mouse!

Because I am now officially 'mouseless', I've got to go to the store and get a new one. Because I work in BUM FUCK EGYPT, the only things remotely close are Albertsons and Walgreens. I figure Walgreens is my best bet.

Now I'm obviously really pissed off about this time, and the stupid ass Las Vegas Dust-Infested-Wind blows my hair into a Medusa 'style',so needless to say, I look like a crazed bitch walking into my neighborhood pharmacy. I walk over to the 'mouse area' and proceed to try and take the first mouse I see off the rack. It's not budging. Seems to me like the little hook it hangs on is stuck on the bar above it.

This goes on for about, oh, 4 or 5 minutes, when I here somebody say something. I look behind me and there are 3 people "lined up" waiting for me. The guys says, again, those are locked. You need to get the clerk. FUCK! I sat there for god-knows-how-long and my pissed off dumb ass never realized they were locked.

I let all the waiting peons go ahead and get whatever shit they're getting and grab my friendly little Walgreens Associate. After he gets me my damn mouse he wants to chit chat. No, no, no, my lovey. NOT TODAY! Give me my mouse dammit!

So back to the office I go, happy as a little clam. Get in and spend far to much time trying to rip the damn thing out of it's package (no, scissors would have been far to easy at this point- I didn't feel I deserved the easy way out today...). Mousy is free of the plastic crap packaging and I plug him on in. WHAT?

I BOUGHT A RETRACTABLE LAPTOP MOUSE! The fucking cord is only 2'. This stupid ass, wanna-be mouse won't even reach my desk!!!

$14.95 spent on a Crap-o-Matic Mouse that I have to try and stabilize on my frickin knee so I can work- okay, fuck around on the computer.

I want my cute little wireless mousy-poo back!!! Those Moronic Mouse Crooks better hope I don't ever find them...

I think I must sleepwalk. I must have gotten out of my frickin bed last night and sleepwalked my ass over to Walmart or some other nasty 24 hour store and bought a Crap-O-Matic machine.

Yes, folks, I'M HAVING A SHITTY DAY.

Ever had one? A day that from the moment your day starts, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING goes right???

Welp, today's my day. And I blame it on the Crap-O-Matic Machine I bought last night when I was sleeping....

How can years flash before my eyes, but this stupid ass day just drag on... Time is a silly little thing, isn't it?

Okay, rant over.