PEOPLE!
Have you clicked through to check out Amy’s Psychophant link?
Amy is awesome. Swoon!
Her time here on Pretty All True is just about up, though.
It is almost time to announce a new Psychophant! Remember that a Pretty All True Psychophant works to add 50 new fans to Pretty All True’s Facebook Fan Page, and in exchange I put up a link here at the top of Pretty All True.
And then that link stays up on Pretty All True for the remainder of the month.
Check out more details in this post here.
The Psychophants so far have put up links to charities, but a charity is not required. I will put up a link to anything that is not blog-related. Do you have an Etsy shop? A business you would like to see get some attention? A personal Facebook page? A Youtube link to a video of your kid’s 4th birthday party? Or Ke$ha’s latest trashy music video?
Don’t care. Your link to do with as you please.
Interested? Let me know!
Quickly.
Got up this morning.
Woke the girls. Walked downstairs to greet the dogs and let them out.
Stupid smaller dog shit in his crate. Again.
Dogs are supposed to have some sort of sense of . . . I really have to take a shit but man it would be fucking stupid to shit right here in this very small space from which I cannot escape at the moment . . . so I will just wait until 7:30 am . . . which is when that lady always arrives to let me out of this crate.
Dogs are supposed to have that sense.
Aren’t they? What the fuck is wrong with my smaller dog?
No fucking sense, that’s what.
So I toss both dogs in the back yard and grab some tissue to clean up the shit.
It’s still warm, which just pisses me all the fuck off.
He shit in his crate as he listened to me walk down the fucking stairs.
What the fuck is wrong with my dog?
So I move quickly to the adjacent bathroom to drop this warm handful of shit into the toilet.
I stand over the toilet as I drop the shit, leaning forward to flush.
And a single drop of warm-dog-shitty water splashes up out of the toilet and into my eye.
So now I am all Robert Schimmel up in here, except I am at home and not in an airport and the shit is the dog’s and not my own and the shit-water is in my eye and not up my asshole.
But still, for a moment, I am Robert Schimmel. All puckered in fear.
I squeeze my eyes shut, because maybe I can keep the shit out except I know I can’t because the reason my eyes are shut is because the left one felt shit smack against its surface and that is not good and so I should open my eyes so that the shit can escape except shit doesn’t work that way shit sticks and shit spreads and shit lingers.
ACK!
And I think to myself that if Robert Schimmel were here (which would be weird because he does not know me and also he is dead), he would call this a fucking day and just go back to bed.
I stand there for a moment with dog-shit in my eye and contemplate bringing this day to a close at just shortly after 7:30 am.
Plus also? Robert Schimmel was one funny motherfucker.
Doomed.
But so fucking funny.
“Mother!”
Sigh.
“Mother!”
“Yes, Maj?”
“Come here!”
“OK, first? You sound bossy and rude. And second? I am having a little moment of contemplation here. Give me a minute.”
“Mother, I need you.”
I stare into the mirror.
Into my eyes.
The windows to the soul.
Through which dog shit has now passed.
Great.
“MOTHER, I NEED YOU.”
I splash some water onto my face, into my eyes.
I am annoyed with my soul for having left the windows open like that.
Seriously. The day just feels done.
Also? I hate the smaller dog.
“MOTHER!”
I am not that inclined to answer. I decide Robert Schimmel does indeed want me to go back to bed. But there is no easy way to get from this bathroom back into bed without Maj spotting me. Hmmmm. It’s a very small bathroom, but if I laid some towels on the floor? I could potentially take a nap right here.
“MOTHER!”
Fuck.
I step out of the bathroom, “What, Maj? What is so important that you must interrupt my thoughts of doomed funny puckered-up dead men and portals to the soul that are left open to contamination?”
“Mother, if it wasn’t important, I would not have called you.”
I walk to where she is sitting, staring into her bowl of Lucky Charms.
“WHAT? WHAT IS SO IMPORTANT? WHAT DO YOU NEED?”
“Look.”
“Look at what?”
She shoves her bowl of cereal at me, “Look at this piece of cereal right here,” and she points with her spoon to a single X-shaped piece of cereal, “I fear contamination.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you see the faint green tint on this piece of cereal?”
“Where?”
“There.”
“Seriously, Maj?”
“I’m thinking that slight green tint is either mold or poison. Either way, I am doomed.”
“Or? Perhaps that bit of cereal has rubbed against the small green marshmallow right next to it and a tiny bit of green marshmallow dust has been transferred.”
“You think?”
“Geez, Maj. So annoying. I was busy. I was doing important things. So annoying to be dragged out of the moment to reassure you about green sugar dust.”
She takes a bite of cereal, “What were you doing in the bathroom that was so important?”
“What?”
“What were you doing?”
“Ummm . . . trying to remember a stand-up routine I saw one time. Thinking about taking a nap on the bathroom floor. Plus trying to clean dog poo out of the windows to my soul and possibly worrying a little bit about worms and whether Singapore slugs named Richard lay eggs.”
She searches my face, “Ummm, Mother? You are a crazy person.”
“That’s not what Robert Schimmel thinks.”
“What?”
“Nothing, Maj.”
But the rest of you?
I am so cringing right now.
But…why didn’t you tell Maj what happened? She might have keeled over right at the table. Or never eaten again. Or taken clorox and a scrub brush to your eyeball.
If I had told Maj what had happened?
No way she would have maintained her calm and gone off to school.
No shitstorm was needed.
So I left out the shit.
Your smaller dog is much like a fusion of both of my mothers small dogs. One used to shit in the crate. The other? Shits anywhere it damn well pleases if you dare to tell it off or refuse to allow it outside to bark at the neighbours.
Jack is house-trained but not crate-trained.
The dumbest thing I have ever seen.
Sigh.
This may be a dumb question, but why can’t he sleep freely in the house? Then maybe he wouldn’t shit. But maybe other worse things…
Because he barks when he is locked out of a room.
Any room.
Endlessly.
We all sleep with our doors closed, and if he is confronted with a closed door . . . whether he is inside or outside of the room?
He barks until it is opened.
He is nuts.
My sisters dumbass cat does that. Well not barks but meows. He’s also about 25 lbs. He is a GIANT cat. So his meow? Especially loud and obnoxious.
I have never heard of a cat who cared about closed doors!
Of course, before Jack?
All of my dogs were always unconcerned with closed doors as well.
Stupid Jack.
LOL!! And ew. Only you dear lady, only you.
Amy -
I am so sure this has happened to other people.
Robert will back me up.
Right, Robert?
What?
LOL! My first thought was “no pretty sure this never happened to my husband since his parents don’t believe animals should be allowed inside….” LOL.
All of our animals are always inside.
Always.
Although Mark suggests otherwise every once in a while.
Ahem.
So you had shit eyes? I hate that… it’s amazing how a small dogs turd can be so gigantic that the water splashes up into your eyes.
Never commented before, but I read your blog all the time and you almost always have me falling out of my chair laughing. Thank you for sharing your life with us!
Jennifer -
I would say that the handful of poo was about the size of a lemon.
Drop a lemon into your toilet from waist level as you lean to flush the toilet and see what happens.
That shit will splash.
It so will.
That was hilarious!
The “listen”, not the shit in the eye.
At least it was not airplane toilet water.
Ok, so not much better.
And I wrote as my stupid dog today.
I keep trying to like this dog. He does not make it easy.
Tell Maj crazy is being freaked out by marshmallow dust.
Renee -
I thought about telling Maj that she was the crazy one, and that MY fears of contamination were at lats grounded in real shit.
But then I figured no good would come of that conversation.
At all.
Send me the link to the dog post!
Yay!
I was once told, in 7th grade, that I was so full of shit my eyes were brown.
I was stuck doing a group project with a bunch of slackers and when it came time to evaluate our peers, I was honest and the teacher, for whatever reason, told the other kids what I had said.
They were not pleased.
Obviously.
This post reminded me of that.
Rebecca -
Did you see my tag about my eyes still being blue?
Snort!
Also . . . your teacher?
What an asshole.
I did see your tag about your blue eyes.
I call dog shit on that one.
That teacher?
TOTAL asshole.
Are you saying my eyes are now brown???
Sassy you.
If the shit splatters….
Hmmph.
i’m with angie! tell maj what happened, please!! just so we can hear her reaction! LOL!!! she probably would have blinded you with chlorox bleach spray directly to your cornea! there goes the thoughts of her green-marshmallow-tinted cereal! hahah!!
and that is one serious shitty way to start your day. i’d be building the dog a doghouse and leaving him outside!
Sarah -
The dog stays in the house. He is seriously cute and I love him. I am insane that way.
He is a good boy!
Hush.
And telling Maj what happened as she prepared to head off to school would have just made all of our mornings shitty.
Better to keep that shit to myself.
Also?
Bleach in the eye?
That shit hurts.
Warm, dog-shitty water in the eye …
I thought I was having a lousy day.
But this? Tops it.
I’ll stop complaining now.
“MOTHER!”
Sorry.
Had to do it just this once.
Sue -
Just to be clear?
The water was cold.
It was the dog shit that was warm.
Sigh.
Apparently your post induced a poop storm in my house!
As I’m trying to read this my 1 yr old tottles up to me and begins to poop at my feet! My husband feels it is necessary to inform me how he needs to poo! THEN I’m reading and realize my enchilada looks a lot like poo!
Coincidence? Or just really odd timing?
Your dog, is my dogs brother from another mother.
My stupid Welsh Corgi that I just had to have, paid about 500 dollars too much for, and wasted precious energy trying to crate train poops in his bed!
Want to know what’s really irritating? He would never do that at my mothers house… I really wish she’d adopt him!
SIGH
On the other hand, sorry about the poo in your eye! You handled much better than I ever could! I’m pretty sure I’d meltdown and cry!
OK, your poop storm sounds way worse than mine!
ACK!
And wait . . . your dog would behave better for your mother?
Oh, that would piss me off.
At least Jack is all-stupid all the time.
Oh how I love shit humour… well, I don’t mean shit as in terrible, but literal shit. Can’t go past a good poo joke. It’s cleansing for the soul.
If you can’t laugh at misadventures with shit, then what can you laugh at?
Hope your eye is all good now.
I am new to Robert Schimmel, by the way, so thanks for the link!
Madeleine -
You know who loves a good poo joke, right?
Kallan.
She is going to die when I tell her this story.
Minus the Singapore Dick Slugs, of course.
Ahem.
And Robert did a comedy special called “Unprotected” that is just awesome.
Such a bummer that he is gone.
He was awesome.
Ohh, there are few things in life I hate more than picking up warm dog shit. Cold and hard I can handle fine, but soft and steamy?
I totally would have vomited right there in the crate. And probably again in the toilet.
And by the way, this reminds me of a scene from the movie “Death at a Funeral.” The original British version, not the crappy American one I refuse to see.
Have I mentioned this movie to you already? I feel like I have. I am a little bit obsessed with it.
In case I haven’t? I highly recommend it. I can’t remember ever laughing so hard at a movie. Ever.
Plus? Alan Tudyk naked and pink and high as a kite, standing on the roof?
All kinds of yum.
And the shit scene in this movie? Way worse than yours. Way.
You don’t have children, do you?
Motherhood renders you impervious to warm squishy poo. It so does.
And I have never seen either version of that movie. I will add the British version to my Netflix queue if it is available. The word “queue” is quite British, so I have high hopes.
I am a big fan of shit scenes.
Yay!
The British have the best words, don’t they?
Rubbish. Bollocks. Wanker.
Plus, they can tell you, “your rubbish idea is complete bollocks, you wanker” right to your face, and it still sounds charming.
But no, I don’t have children. Aunties apparently are not gifted with motherly poo-imperviousness. Although I have changed many diapers. When my niece was a baby, she used to shit massively — right out the diaper, all the way up her back and into her hair.
Anyway, let me know what you think of the movie. And Alan Tudyk’s ass.
Kallan did that shit up the back thing . . . right up into her hair . . . as she sat in her high chair and happily ate what I hope was a bowl of strained peas.
The horror.
Also? I am fond of the word “whinging.”
Love that.
OMG this post totally brought up a memory in my head that I wanted to be rid of forever! I once had a tenant that lived in our basement and he was a nasty ass mother fucker that brought roaches (ROOOACHEESSS!!!!) into my house. After freaking out and going postal on three different exterminators one finally got rid of them. But before that I was laying in bed one night and I saw some weird brown thing on the windowsill next to my bed so I squeezed it thinking it was one of the millions of pieces that goes to one of the millions of toys my children have. Guess what? IT WAS A FUCKING ROACH EGG!!! The damn thing exploded into my eyeball! I think I screamed and shuddered for the rest of the might and was convinced I would catch the plague. I didn’t die…but I wanted to for a minute! BLEHHHHHHHHHH!
I am speechless.
That rarely happens to me.
Totally speechless.
haha I win!
Ummm . . . yay?
Refreshing to have the swearing back. Missed that some over the last few days, (no expectations though), just missed. Does this mean you’ve dipped into your inner sailor to face life with today? Yay you!…or not, as the case may be.
I was Robert Schimmel inspired today.
Also? I am in a “Fuck-it” kind of mood.
So fuck it.
Didn’t ‘They Might Be Giants” sing a song about a little dogshit on the windows of your soul?
Wait…I think that was a birdhouse.
ahh…if you only had birdshit in your eye it would make this comment funnier.
Robert Schimmel, that guy was a genius…doomed but a fucking genius.
Rene -
When I read that he had been killed in a car accident?
I so thought it was a fucking joke. I so did.
Sigh.
Not a joke.
I have been meaning to tell you this.
I finally tried meringue cookies.
They taste exactly like the marshmallow stuff in lucky charms.
Also…
Sorry about the crap in your eye.
Did you make them?
Or just buy them?
So much yummier if you make them.