Monday, December 17, 2007

The Prophet

Sitting in a Tea Lounge reading our books and jotting notes in our journals:

G: This is probably never ever going to happen again, but I just wanted to tell you that it's pretty awesome.

Me: Why is this never ever going to happen again?

G: I don't know.

Me: I see. That is pretty sad now that I think about it.

Friday, December 14, 2007

How Do I Get Myself Into These Situations?

Okay, I need to disclaim something before I start: I do not intentionally go looking for sticky, awkward, or difficult situations to get myself into on a regular basis.

That being said, let's start work in chronological order of my Sticky Situation Timeline. About a month ago, I got a random email from a friend I hadn't seen or heard from in about a year and a half. She was inquiring whether or not my husband and I had a spare bedroom in our apartment and if so, could her husband stay in it for a week while he was competing in an opera contest in the city. (Insert questioning facial expression here.) Um, okay, let me think about this for one sec. I immediately call my lawfully wedded husband and ask him his insight. I did not always do this before making a rash decision, but have learned that I should, should I ever want to vacation/dine out/or heaven's to betsy, shop ever again in my life. He says it's going to be weird having someone traipsing through our bedroom to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night, but okay. I email my friend and we're off! Uncomfortable moments, here we come!

First night, he arrives late. G is already in bed asleep with Mr. Hunter snuggling beside him. Awkward Guest arrives and proceeds to try to talk both of my ears off while I'm falling asleep standing up in my living room. After an appropriate amount of time, I beg to be allowed to sleep and attempt to show him to his "room", through and adjacent to our room. Only Hunter freaks the crap out and barks at him for a healthy 10 minutes, while jumping on G, before going back to sleep. Awkward Guest goes into his room and shuts the door. I get back into bed and try to fall asleep, but Awkward Awkwardy gets back up and uses the restroom - again through our bedroom and back again.

Three days pass of his slightly incessantly maniacal talking, interspersed with random humming in an operaesque way, and coming in a tad too late to wake up myself, G, and the dog. On the final night of his stay, he competed in the finals of the opera competition and was out again later than we stay up at our dull, sleep-obsessed house. He lost. I didn't realize it until after he'd already left early on Friday morning, so I felt bad for not saying goodbye, and I felt a tad guilty for not listening to his incessantness more while he was here. Before he left he gave us these items: a box of kleenex, a 16oz bottle of spring water, a half gallon of orange juice, a bottle of Italian wine, a box of chocolates, and a $5 bill.
[The $5 bill was from Tuesday night's dinner that G and Awkwardian spent together, at which G didn't have enough money to pay the delivery guy so Awkwardo paid his $10. I returned home from work that night to G asking me to give Awkwardio $10, only I didn't have $10, I only had $5. So I gave him the 5 spot, with a tiny little voice in my head thinking, "Can't he buy G a $10 dinner for inviting him into our home for a week?" But then my better inner voice said, "Shut up you greedy bastard, he probably only has $10 left to spend on meals for his whole trip." And I didn't think anything of it.]
Cut to present time and me feeling like crap because he gave me my $5 back, although I'm still not sure why he took it in the first place. (?) So the entire week passed and left me feeling completely ungracious. Good job, Self!

Second Weird Situation in Timeline: this morning while walking Hunter on our daily Constitutional, I encountered a beautiful Golden Retriever with a red collar walking down the sidewalk by himself. I watched him walk for a while, cross in the middle of the street and continue down my block. I knew something was not right, so I returned Hunter to his kennel and went looking for Goldie. I found him just down my street and brought him home. Now what was I going to do?

I've talked at times about Hunter's "situation" lately with big dogs and conflict situations. It's not pretty, people. So now I have this gigantic beast of a dog in my home while Hunter is locked away in his tiny little kennel. Not an ideal situation. I come up with a plan to let Hunter out in the bedroom and shut the bedroom door with Goldie on the other side so they can smell each other through the 4 foot crack that runs underneath my bedroom door. This works splendidly though they were both a little wary of each other. Eventually, I let Hunter out of the room, while keeping Goldilocks on the leash so I can somewhat control him. Then I decide to call that guy I'm married to again. He's laughing before I even tell him the whole story. After that little boost of anti-confidence, I call the local dog day care, no luck. They tell me to take him to a vet to see if he's microchipped. Good idea! It should be mentioned that I should technically have been at work about an hour ago. While taking him to the vet, I call the Humane Society and they check but do not find and missing dog reports for this kind of dog in my area. My area being South, Coastal Brooklyn.

At the vet, Gold Member and I have to wait for 30 minutes for the vet to show up. Goldie is just chillin and wanting everyone to scratch his belly. He's so adorable. Finally, Vet Lady gets her handy-doody scanner and Mother of all Gods, he's microchipped! They make some calls and get the owner on the phone to tell her we'd found "Stoney" (a name which makes me ponder the capabilities and pasttimes of these so-called "owners"). She's hysterically crying and describing how they live in STATEN ISLAND, and that Stoney's been missing for two days. Now, I'm looking at Stoney like, You Little Shitter, you had a little romp in Bklyn at your poor family's expense. Smart dog. Way to live on the wild side.

So anywho, I leave the dog with the vet and go to work. Several hours later, my cell phone rings and this guy is all, "Hey, you found my dog" and I'm all, "What? Who is this? Where did you get my cell phone number?" And dude's like, "I'm a US Marshall" and I poo my pants before saying, "No shit? That's some crazy shit right there." Something like that anyway. So now Mrs. US Marshall wants to bring us some food and stuff for finding the dog. I tried several times to tell Mr. US Marshall Captain, that that was not necessary but he insisted. And when the Attorney General US Marshall of the US of A insists, you desist.

Will keep you updated on Mrs. Marshall's cooking.