Typically I like to keep things light and funny here at Lisa’s Rant, but there’s drama happening, and since I have this outlet I figured I’d reach out to people for hope.
I’ve known people who’ve suffered tremendous, unthinkable losses and my heart has broken for them. I’ve lost people who I cared about, but I’ve never lost anything, or anyone, that changed my day-to-day life. Until last Monday when my dog died very suddenly of liver problems. It happened in less than four hours. This is so much harder than I thought it would be. If I’m being honest, I don’t even really like dogs. (Sorry to my dog lovers out there, I’m a total cat person) My Jack was the one exception.
He was always there. Seriously…always. Now that he’s gone I can see what a huge part of this family he was and how much I took him for granted. I was so used to having him around that I never imagined he wouldn’t be here. He was our security, our protector, our non judgmental friend. Our foot warmer, our goofball, our hiking partner…and I miss him so much. I felt like I was being melodramatic at first. It’s just a dog, right? No. He was a part of my family, a big part of my life. He thought I was awesome, even after he’d seen me dance. Every part of my daily routine reminds me that he’s not here.
I believe in reincarnation. I believe we travel in “soul families”. I also acknowledge that I could be wrong as death is something I don’t know much about. Really I haven’t ever thought of it much until this past week. Now I can’t get it off my mind. Does it hurt? Is it scary? Is there anything past this existence, really? Since this death I’m dealing with is a dog’s death I’m over here wondering things like does he miss us? What did he see when he died? Does he still exist? Can he reincarnate and come home? Would he even want to? Would I know if he did?
It’s so easy to get wrapped up in the fear and sadness. I’m always really good at knowing what I need and how to help myself no matter what the situation is. But this time I just feel completely out of control and helpless.
I believed in reincarnation before my dog passed. It makes sense to me. But I never considered the possibility of a dog reincarnating multiple times in a human’s lifetime. I just assumed we’d meet up in the afterlife and plan our next adventure together. But now I’m clinging obsessively to the idea of reincarnation. Coping mechanism? Probably. But it’s hope…and you know what? I’ll take it.
I miss my dog. This house is depressingly empty without him.
5. If she spends an hour in the bathroom getting ready, be sure to roll your eyes when she comes out and let her know how inconvenienced you are. Under no circumstance should you ever tell her she’s beautiful. Ever.
4. Buy a smart phone. Never put it down. If she ever notices that you are more deeply connected with your electronics than you are with her, immediately blame it on PMS and then resume bonding with your iPhone.
3. No physical and/or emotional connections should be made with her at any time. Cease holding hands, hugging, flirting, joking and any kissing of any kind. If you absolutely must kiss, then kiss her like you kiss your grandma. No passion allowed.
2. When she enters a room, don’t look up at all. Let her feel how invisible she is to you and to the rest of the world.
1. When you look at her, never really see her. When you listen to her, don’t ever hear her. And when you touch her, don’t feel it in the depths of your soul.
In any long-term relationship it’s so easy to take things for granted. Married life is still life…with all of its simplicity and boredom. And while nobody likes to think about sad things, the fact is that in the long run, no matter how much you love somebody, you’ll have to let them go. I like to think we’ll all be reunited somewhere in the afterlife. Preferably somewhere warm and sparkly, with lots of chocolate and wine. But before the reunion we’ll have to separate, to say good-bye, to let go and face life alone. Love passionately now. Not tomorrow when you’re less tired or feeling better. Tomorrow isn’t a guarantee.
Before my husband and I got married, we attended a church service at the church we were to be married in. It was a nice church, but it was the only mass we went to. Apparently it’s “inappropriate” to stand up and yell “I object!” while the priest is preaching. Anyway, we met this older man who made his way over to us and shook our hands. He was very welcoming, and in making small talk we told him of our wedding plans. He smiled and told us that he and his wife had been married for sixty years before she passed away. My husband said “Wow, that was a long time to be married”, to which the man replied “No it wasn’t.”
So a blogger friend Julie, over at Ramblings From Jewels, is always posting beautiful pictures of her garden. (I love her blog, you should check it out!) She says gardening is her therapy. I can relate in a way, because of gardening I may need therapy.
When I started my garden I had images of myself smiling and harvesting fresh produce, but what I actually ended up with was me straddling one of the garden boxes dumping an entire bottle of Palmolive dish soap on the garden and then turning the jet hose on to create an enormous amount of bubbles while laughing maniacally. Let me explain…
I’m convinced that aphids are Satan‘s minions. Those tiny little effer’s were eating my plants alive. We read that ladybugs like to eat aphids, so we bought 1,500+ ladybugs and released them into our ladybug friendly garden. The ungrateful bastards left. I got a text from my friend who lives across the street. She sent a picture of a ladybug on her ceiling with a note that said “I believe this belongs to you.” I’m not sure where the rest of them ended up, but we are going to refer to it as the Ladybug incident of 2013.
We think our million man ant army had something to do with chasing away our ladybugs. Turns out that ants protect aphids in exchange for honeydew. Honeydew sounds delicious, but it’s actually just aphid shit. In exchange for protection, the aphids will shit in the ants mouth. That is messed up.
So our line of thinking was, get rid of the majority of the ants and then the aphids will disappear. Mission accepted. I tried organic methods. I read on Pinterest that ants hate peppermint oil. I’m not sure which ants they surveyed to get this information, but the ants in my garden didn’t mind the oil at all. I’m pretty sure it was just aroma therapy for them. I also read on Pinterest that ants don’t like cornmeal. I sprinkled some around hoping that the cornmeal would mess up their scent trails, causing them such inconvenience they would move out of my garden. Turns out I just gave them a free meal. I got rid of Pinterest since it was full of nothing but filthy lies. I tried organic pest control and I swear I could almost hear the ants laughing at me. Laughing at me! At this point nothing in this part of the garden was growing except for the giant resorts the ants were building, so I thought I’d use some hard-core, non organic poison to get rid of a good number of these guys. Every local garden center recommended Seven. So I bought two bottles of this powder to dump on my four by eight garden. The black dirt was nothing but white powder when I was done. I thought I had them. Until the next morning when I woke up and found that they had used the poison powder to rebuild the ant mounds I had destroyed. Now I understand how these tiny freaks of nature have been around since the days of the dinosaur. It was at this point that I grabbed the dish soap in my last desperate attempt to kill them because someone told me dish soap kills ants. Why is everybody messing with my head? Anyway, I basically ended up creating a day spa for these ants. Screw it. I decided to let them live in my garden.
And just when I’ve accepted that bugs will rule my garden, I find out that plants can have and spread diseases. My tomato plants are currently feeling under the weather. Really? Next year I’m going to have a rock garden instead.
So the little guy is going through the “mom…mom…mom…” phase. It never ends. He’s very curious and constantly has something on his mind that he wants to share with me. Normally I have a deep appreciation for his inquisitiveness, but not before I’ve had at least one cup of coffee.
So this morning, as I’m drinking my coffee, he stands in front of me and starts his endless string of questioning. I’ve got one eye glued shut with old mascara, drool still coming out of my mouth and I can’t really focus on anything except getting the cup to my mouth. I looked at him quietly, hoping to communicate with my eye how not up for this conversation I was, but he wasn’t getting it. In a morning haze, I tried desperately to think of a way to silence him for just a few minutes. Only half thinking, I slowly extended my finger towards my toddlers face. He continued talking at sonic speed until I stuck my finger right up his little nostril. He was instantly silent, and still, moving only his eyes from left to right, I’m assuming to see if anyone else was witnessing the unfolding insanity. Because it had worked so well, I just kept my finger up there, enjoying the silence and drinking my coffee with my free hand. It was the most peaceful thirty seconds of my life.
So I was reading about the worst jobs a person can have and was surprised to see News Reporter on the list. I didn’t realize that gossiping and being nosy was so difficult. I do it everyday with a kid on my hip while cooking dinner.
A news reporter is responsible for interviewing people, writing stories for publication, establishing contacts and sources, and fact checking. I have found five jobs that I think are worse than that.
5. A 2010 survey found that for every kilometer of coastline there were 8.9 tampon applicators as well as 22.5 pads. Who’s job was it to walk the coastline and count used feminine products? I wonder what the interview for that position was like.
4. Livestock Masturbator. How do you even explain that one to a potential life partner. “I’m a nurse. What do you do for a living, handsome?” ”I jack off animals. It’s a hard job but someone has to do it. Get it? ’Hard job’.” Check please. Do you sweet talk the animals first, or just jump right in and get the party started?
3. Fistula Feeder. These people stick their hands inside a cow’s naughty hole to check for any digestive issues. I’m thinking if the cow isn’t vomiting or having explosive diarrhea then it’s probably a non-issue. They eat grass for Christ’s sake, how messed up can their system get? Get your hand out of its ass and stop violating that cow.
2. Semen washer. Yes, guys. When you go donate your little cup of love juice, someone has to wade through your little soldiers to make sure they’re up to code before they go marching off to reproduce. Call me crazy, but I think that playing in someone else’s semen all day would be a lot worse than covering the traffic accident up the road.
1. Vagina Doctor. Sure, at first it sounds like a sweet gig, working around vagina’s all day. Google “blue waffle” images and then get back to me. Once you see it, you can never un-see it. You’ve been warned.
Posted in comedy, Humor, opinion
Tagged Animal, Business, Cattle, Christ, cow, Funny, Google, Gross, Jobs, Recreation, Tampon
So I went to the beach to watch the sunset the other day, and it was like stepping into some twisted episode of National Geographic. I don’t think I’d survive in today’s teen world. Back when I was a teen, if a boy liked you there would be the awkward “so, uh, do you want to, you know, go out or whatever?” conversation. But from what I can tell that’s not really how it works anymore. For instance, while I was walking down to the shore I saw a girl rocking a two piece and a guy trying to rock some hot pink swim shorts. He was trying to impress her with his diet and exercise regimen and I actually heard him say “But I don’t eat (unintelligible) because that shit will constipate your ass.” Oh yeah. You’re nailing it, bra. Nothing makes a girl want to blow you like poop talk. So I’m walking along praying to all that is holy that he brings up genital warts next, because I’m pretty sure that was where his conversation was going to end up anyway. It’s not just guys though. For instance…
I saw a girl up on the sand dunes screaming and jumping around like someone had set her on fire. The group of guys she was with looked scared and confused. That’s when I noticed that, in an attempt to impress the boys, she had put like a gallon of sand down her bikini bottom and was jumping around to make it pour out. Now I can’t be sure, but I think…I THINK…most boys do not find sandpaper snatch sexy. There’s always exceptions to the rule, and sure teenage boys will hump just about anything, but I’d say you just scared away the reasonable boys and now all you’re left with is the man whore who has crabs.
And then last but certainly not least we have the local freak who went to a department store and asked the unsuspecting worker to help him with something. As she was turned around, he whips out his ten foot long dong and pokes her in the butt with it. I don’t know that it was actually ten feet long because I didn’t see it, but he was a black kid so based on legend I can only assume. I’m pretty sure if the police hadn’t shown up and taken him away for sexual assault he would’ve totally gotten laid.
5. We get to see our boobies anytime we want.
4. Men hold the door open for us. Then we get to decide if we’re offended or grateful for it. Either way our response is acceptable.
3. We get to use child-birth as a reason why we never have to do anything again. Ever. For instance, when asked something like “Honey, do you plan on cleaning today?” the response can be “Probably you should do it because do you see that daughter of yours? Well I squeezed her out of my vagina ten years ago and I’m exhausted“.
2. Once a month we’re allowed to go to sleep as an angel, and wake up as a demon that Satan himself would fear. We can milk that for a week or so before it becomes “unacceptable” or whatever.
1. Once a year we get to go to the vagina doctor and flash our girl goodies to a rich man. Sure we have to pay him to take a look, but at least it doesn’t end with the police showing up telling you to “put it away.”