Where To Begin...It Was A LONG Day...

Toni, this one is for you.

I am really not sure where to begin. If you don't have an hour or the inclination, just stop reading now, because there is just no short way to put this. Believe me, I tried.

I guess I will just start with the moment I opened my eyes this morning. Well actually, the dream that lead me to open my eyes. I was alone in an unfamiliar, European style city, that in retrospect, I believe must have been New Orleans. It was a jumbled mess of a dream that centered around people in costumes, sewage, a pink fringe, flapper style, skirt that was missing most of the fringe and was 3 sizes too big, an attack by mutant squirrels that left me wondering if I was up to date on my rabies shots and if it was a bad thing that I was not feeling the pain as the creatures teeth sunk deep into the flesh of my left arm. Thinking the squirrel was just misunderstood, I attempted to pet him, as I continued to walk with him dangling from my arm. This spurred his accomplice into action and left me fighting off two jumbo sized rodents. Just then, as another sewage line burst, like a fire hydrant full of doodie, my eyes opened, and so began the day.

The events that followed were far less violent and disgusting, but eventful all the same. Liila had an appointment for her yearly shots and check up at the vet, which went well. A few shots and a display of her strong will and strong muscles later, we were out the door and headed toward the interstate for home. This is when Ma decided that she would, indeed, call the hair salon, where we had been on Monday, to try to get the girl who had cut her hair to correct some of the damage she had done. She didn't want to call. But, the cut wasn't right. The salon had set her up with this new stylist when her old new one, (who took the place of her old, old, new one who was on maternity leave, who took the place of her old, old, old, one who ripped her off every time, but was "sweet" so she would not change, left to go to a new place where she thought she could charge the same amount and keep more of the money) was "no longer employed" there, and though the newest stylist talked a good game she did not have the talent to back it up, and Ma was left with, what she felt, was a terrible hair cut, that made her feel like she had a mullet. So after much turmoil, as we passed by the salon, she decided to call. They said, yes, for her to come right over and they would fix it. So, we both sighed a sigh of relief and she headed for the door, as Liila and I settled in for our wait. Our wait was surprisingly short. A few minutes later, I looked up to see Ma coming down the stairs of the salon, cheeks red, hair...well, looking the same, headed for the car. I was completely confused, and asked if she had gotten it fixed. Well apparently, the stylist, who was so sweet and friendly on Monday, turned into a bitchy little monster when Ma asked her to take more off the back. (She didn't even mention that the entire cut was all wrong and she hated ever little bit of it.) Needless to say, the girl did not listen to what she was asking. The stylist furiously snipped at a few hairs and then pretty much refused to do anything else. I have been going to this salon for...oh gosh...over 5 years, but I will not be going back and neither will Ma. It was always over priced, but it seemed like a price worth paying to get a better cut, from an experienced stylist. My past several visits to the salon have left me feeling worse about myself walking out, than I did walking in and dreading my next appointment far in advance. Each time, things got a little worse, and Ma's experience today sealed the deal. So, if you know of any really good salons, where the people are pleasant, that aren't over priced or loaded down with bad vibes, and where the stylists are truly experienced and hang around for longer than a day, I would love to hear about them! Meanwhile, I'm thinking of letting my hair grow longer... Just a thought.

So, since it was early afternoon, we dropped Liila off at home, ran by the post office to mail some things and headed to the court house to get my car tags. Ma dropped me off at the door, I ran up the stairs, flung my bag down for the security guards to scan, and walked through the metal detector, that then spring to life with beeps a plenty. Pointing out my jewelry, one guard asked me to walk though again with my arms raised above my head to see if this would solve the problem. Nope. Beeping. The guards look at one another, one settles on an expression and the other seems to understand. He pulls out a big wand thingie and tells me to lift my arms. A woman passes without incident as I stand there, being scanned, like a potential suburban threat in Joe's Jeans. After the guard concluded that it was officially my jewelry causing the beeping and not some nifty homemade shiv, they apologized for the delay and I moved on to the tag office, where I was met with a mishap in billing and a temperamental printer, but eventually got my tags, waved bye to the security guards, ran down the stairs, and hopped in the car. On to the nail salon. We have been getting our pedicures at this salon for several years. Owners have changed, hot stones (which I loved) have been replaced by warm neck pillows and a nice orange tropical punch with frozen punch ice cubes, served in lovely crystal glasses. Since it is a slow time of the year for nails, we are often the only customers and the owner is often the only one working, so we have come to know details of her life and personality. We have bonded over stories of gardens, celebrities, food and family. We have talked about modesty and laughed about thongs. She is a sweet lady. She works really hard. She loves her daughter. Her business is slow. We bonded. So today, as we sat sharing stories, the only customers, her the only one working, we were in no hurry and she was in no rush. That is until two other customers walked through the door asking for pedicures. This was a surprise, and visibly made her nervous, but she needs the business, so after making sure they were in no rush, she asked if they could wait about 30 minutes. They said yes, that they would shop a bit and be back. Content, she went back to work. A few minutes later another girl came through the door wanting a pedicure and acrylic nails, but unlike the others she had a time limit, she had to get to class. In a bit of a panic now, but not wanting to turn away a customer, she began calling everyone she knew to try to get someone to come help her. It seemed hopeless for a while, call after call and then finally she found someone. Her phone rang several times after that. Time passed and help was nowhere to be seen. Another lady came through the door wanting her chipped nail fixed. At this point, she looked around at the salon, now full of people and asked if the lady could come back tomorrow. She said she could. As she finished painting my toes, she hopped up and ran off to do one thing or another and never came back. She had moved on to the girl who had to get to class, which was fine, but what about my top coat? I thought she would come back after the paint had dried a bit and finish them up but she never did. I looked at Ma, who can not read my lips to save either of our lives, and tried to get across the point that I had no top coat. When she finally understood what I was getting at she looked at me like, "well, I'm sorry, you see what all she is dealing with here". Yes, I know but a quick sweep of the brush on each toe and I'm good. Two seconds. Two seconds is all I ask. The top coat is one of the most important parts! Ma just kept mouthing the words "I'm sorry but you aren't getting a top coat. You will just have to do one at home". Please note that if I could paint my own toe nails and not have them turn into a gloppy mess I would be more than happy to do that, but alas I can not. Which is why I have to have them done at a salon. I need that top coat! Well, her help arrived and as the salon buzzed with energy, I resigned myself to the fact that I was not getting a top coat. As the boy who can not work the credit card machine, attempted to work the credit card machine, and the pretty girl with the mask and gloves took it away from him, we paid and left, in summers flip flops, with paper towels rolled and twisted, woven in between our toes, lacking the very important top coat. We had to stop on our way home at the gas station and after standing in the cold, pumping gas, the receipt did not print. The screen flashed, "clerk has receipt". Great. I make my way across the parking lot, flip flops and paper towels fully intact, and ask the clerk for the receipt. Handing me the receipt, she tells me that for the inconvenience, I am welcome to a free soft drink or coffee of any size. I perked up, said thanks and made my way over to the drinks. I decided on a large coffee. I figured Ma and I could pour it into our own cups at home and have plenty to share. As I stood there trying to decided between the medium roast, the dark, the bold, I felt eyes upon me and heard laughter. I know I tend to be paranoid, but this was real! I looked to my left and see four sets of eyes staring right at me and one man behind the counter laughing so hard he was red in the face and could not breathe. I look at them, eyebrow raised in question while the man attempts to explain and act out the scene that he seems to have witnessed. Apparently, while I was contemplating the coffee, I was making a less than attractive and utterly amusing facial expression that left this man breathless with laughter. He tried to explain, but couldn't contain himself long enough to get out the words. All I understood is "I love it!" I have no idea what kind of coffee I ended up getting but, it was hot. Very hot. In the chaos I forgot to get a sleeve for the cup and the one that Ma gave me when I got back into the car did very little to keep it from burning my hand. But after pouring it into our cups at home, it was a nice and unexpected treat. I tried to tell Ma what had happened inside the store, but even I'm not sure. It was a heck of a day. And to think, this was our "day off".

It wasn't until I looked in a mirror that I saw the rash, or burn, or...well who really knows what, on my neck, that I'm guessing was from the warm neck pillow at the nail salon... Whatever.

Liila "cops a tude"

Liila is spoiled. We know it. She knows it. Anyone who comes into contact with her knows it, but it was her veterinarian who was bold enough to point out the fact. When he mentioned that she was spoiled, Ma and I looked at each other with confusion and amusement. Yes, she is spoiled and we are well aware of this fact, but is it that obvious? What had she done to make him say such? Was it when she over dramatized her mani-pedi? Was it when she refused to look at him, hid her head and cried? Or was it something we did? I guess we will never really know, but this morning Liila took spoiled to a whole new level. In recent months Liila has turned a new leaf. Maybe it is her third birthday that is swiftly approaching or maybe she has decided enough is enough, but Liila has an attitude. More so than normal. She refuses to eat her treats when she is mad and a couple of times has spit them into the floor. She is rebelling against her bedtime and seems to think she is too old to have to sleep in her room. She has become more demanding and expects a fresh rawhide bone every morning, even though she has a zillion little pieces hidden all over the house that the cats use as hockey pucks. This morning was no exception. As Ma and I sat drinking our coffee, Liila walked into the kitchen and sat beside the cabinet that holds the bones and like many other mornings, she began to whine. Incessantly. I looked down and saw part of a bone at my feet, picked it up and flung it into the kitchen. We could hear her fumbling with the little piece of bone and, thinking that would appease her, continued on with our conversation. In less than a minute here came Liila prancing into the room, bone in her mouth, tail wagging. She walked up to me, stood by my feet and with all the force her little body could muster, she spit that bone right back at me! When the shock of what happened wore off Ma and I both looked up and then collapsed in laughter. After making her point, Liila made her way to Ma's lap, where she sat with a smile on her face.
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An hour later: She holds a grudge.
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Poor Liila...She Had A Rough Day...

It all started this morning. Liila had an appointment for her yearly checkup at the vet. Last year, her doctor said she was a little on the heavy side, and that she should never gain more than another pound. Well... she did. Two pounds to be exact. Liila loves to eat! Peanut butter is her favorite, but she isn't picky. As Ma, Liila and I, walked into the office we were greeted by our favorite lady behind the front desk. She knows us well, seeing as Liila also goes to "camp" (boarding) there whenever we travel, and we call constantly during her stay (got it on speed dial), which I know has to get old if you are the one answering the phone and giving a report. Liila last saw her "camp" friends in July, so quiet a bit of time had passed since her last visit. The lady asked how "Miss Liila" was doing, and when I lifted Liila up for her to say hey, the lady exclaimed, "girl you have put on some weight"! And so it began. As we chatted, Liila made friends with a very cute little dachshund with long hair, and one blue eye and one brown eye. She made unpleasant faces as her new little friend licked her hello, and never offered to returned the greeting, choosing rather to turn her head away with a pained expression, just waiting for it to be over. When the doctor's assistant came to show us to the exam room, she said Liila, I know you, you board here. I couldn't help wondering what Liila had done to be instantly recognizable...but she has had some extended stays at "camp" and she is awfully cute! But anyway, I digress. As we settle into the exam room I asked the assistant if she wouldn't mind trimming Liila's nails, since last time I did it she threw a fit and yelled like something crazy, making me think she was close to death! I thought maybe it was me. That maybe I was doing something wrong and hurting her as I trimmed. The assistant said, not a problem, and carried Liila back into the "lab" for her tests and mani/pedi. It wasn't long before we heard it. It was the unmistakable shrill cries of one overly dramatic spoiled dog! She yelled, she whimpered, she whined, she cried, she hit repeat. We were starting to worry, and then in a few minutes the door to the exam room opened, and in walked the doctor, the assistant, and the drama queen. They explained that Liila had started her yelling when they touched her feet and it only got worse as they trimmed her nails. She had put on such a show that they felt the need to assure us that they had not hurt her in any way, and then in the nicest way they knew how, they called her spoiled. hehe... The exam progressed. The doctor was very nice and did a through exam before addressing the weight issue. Ah...there it was again. Liila had gained two pounds and he wanted to know why. Well...yes she does get treats but not too many. Yes, she gets a little food from the table, but really its just enough for her to feel like she has gotten something. Does she go with us as we jog? heheheheh..hehehe..hehehe.. Um...no. No, she does not. But she is gonna start! I need to jog, why not make her jog too? It would do us both some good! She really only HAS to lose a pound. That shouldn't be too hard. And how cute would we look!!! Sooo... We left the vet and set fourth on our mission to buy a harness so that Liila could start her exercise! As we approach the pet store Ma says, "I hope it doesn't stink". It did, but we were on a mission. We stopped to pet a grey kitten, Ma got sidetracked looking at dogs, and I asked where we could find a harness. Having measured Liila ahead of time, I knew just what to ask for and was only given the option of color, as the particular harness we were looking at was "awesome" and no others should even be considered. It was the type of harness that my Aunt had been telling us about, with one closure, that you only have to adjust once and then can just slip it on and off with ease. Yep, sounds good. We got the pink one. The adjustment time was less than a treat. Liila was not happy, or patient, or even half way nice about having that thing strapped to her as I attempted to tighten and loosen and tighten again. She started biting me before Ma stepped in and started babying her enough that I could finish doing what I was doing. We got it adjusted and I asked Ma if she was sure that I should take the tags off. Liila walked oddly around the kitchen very displeased with this pink contraption that was now attached to her. Ma said she was sure, and though I hesitated, I removed the tags. Liila seemed to be walking better without the tags attached and so we headed to the foyer to get ready for our walk. I hooked her short leash to the harness, put on my shoes, my jacket, my ray-bans, stuck my phone in my pocket and we headed out. Ma said "have fun" as we made our way down the sidewalk toward the street. Everything was going very well until we got to the mailbox. At the mailbox, Liila started freaking out completely! She stood on her back legs, flung herself around like something crazy and the next thing I knew I was holding a leash, attached to a pink harness that was no longer attached to a dog. "Liila! Liila get back here!!!" I herded her into the house. Ma asked "what happened"? I said, "she took it off". "What do you mean she took it off?" "I donno, she took it off." So, I plopped myself down in the floor, examined the harness to see if I had done something wrong, and started the whole process over again, tightening it just to be sure. And then, with stupid optimism, we set out down the sidewalk, Ma says"have fun". Everything was going very well until we got to the mailbox. I am sooo not kidding! That dog started freaking out, stood on her back legs, flung herself around like something crazy, and then there I was again, holding a leash, attached to a pink harness that was no longer attached to a dog. But this time I saw how she did it! As she is standing on her back legs and flinging herself around she pulls back from me slipping her front legs and head out of the harness. She is like a reptile!!!! She can contort herself in ways that a normal dog would never dream possible. I herded her into the house but there was no point in trying again. Liila was not staying in that harness any further than the mailbox. I called the pet store, explained the problem and the fact that I had removed the tags and asked if I could return the harness. They said I could, so we did. The sales guy asked why I was returning it, and I told him that she kept slipping out of it. He said, "slipping out of a harness??? What is her name Houdini"? "No", I said, "it is Liila".