Shit. I was just starting to feel a wee bit better since my whole Shaina loss, and then whammo! I got smacked! The bitches over at I Talk To Much actually looked at little ol' me's blog! Yep, only one wet noodle across the face, but whatever, I've only been blogging for a short time. I'm kinda flattered.

No time for long-winded stories about how I'm coping, and getting over my loss. I'm off to Boise for a few days. I'm sure I'll have a story or two to tell when I get the back. Folks, I'm going to the races tonight. Yep, you heard it here first. Fucking red neck drag races. I'll explain more on Wednesday- I'm sure there will be a lot of fucking hilarious stories about that one~

Oh, and if you don't like my frickin retard little weather pixies, or my clock, don't frickin look at them, okay? They make me all excited and shit...

Ciao for now.....

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.

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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.

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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...

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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????

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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?