Wednesday's Weekend

Well, well, well...I suppose that I should REALLY tell you about our Thanksgiving weekend. The problem is, I kind of just don't know where to begin...

I'm not sure whether I should start with how our dear friends' sweet Jack Russell; Sofie, had some intestinal issues on Thanksgiving Day leading to Will stepping in shit in their living room and tracking it around the house before dinner.

Yeah...that was real nice. Besides the scent of turkey, stuffing, and pumpkin pie, there was an aroma much more humbling dusting our air.

It was quite a mixture.

Or shall I start with how the turkey wasn't quite done yet, and the bartender kept pouring wine to distract us...leading to myself becoming drunk, standing up with wine goblet in-hand and announcing to a Thanksgiving dinner table of 12 (one of the members meeting us all for the first time) that whoever didn't finish their carrots were going to be the lucky recipients of a suppository the very next morning...??

We actually had a wonderful Thanksgiving (no suppositories necessary). We both felt very grateful for our lives and being able to spend it with family and fantastic friends. And there was LOTS of comedy to accompany our meal, obviously.

Well, the weekend began to follow suit. Will and I took the dogs and headed down to Los Angeles to spend Saturday night with our friend...Mary Jane. Yes, let's call her, "Mary Jane".

We figured that this would be the only weekend we could head down to see her before the holidays kick into high gear. So, we gathered the dogs, some gifts and our things, got into a huge fight walking out the door, then didn't talk for the first 20 minutes of the drive.

We arrived safe and sound...almost sound, at Mary Jane's apartment about 30 minutes before our dinner reservation. We visited a little bit, then began dog-proofing her place.

The "dog-proofing" didn't go so well...in hindsight.

So, we headed across the street to dinner and to see this asshole perform. I have no idea if she's an asshole or not, all I know is that ho cancelled.

Dinner was okay. And Mary Jane filled us in on how she was kind of sweet on one of the waiters, whom I really thought was so gay he was...a little more than spicy.

She said that she saw him making out with another WAITRESS at the restaurant. Making out with someone doesn't mean anything, but I found it a little disturbing that as a customer at a restaurant, she saw two of the staff making out.

I know, I'm so uptight.

Well, this waiter ended up being our waiter. And he was nice enough, but at one point during our meal, he sat down in the booth WITH ME. I wasn't offended, but it was just a bit inappropriate. He did tell us however, that a patron that had just left had said that she was still so full of turkey from Thanksgiving, that she could still feel it in her VAGINA. (I hate it when that happens.)

And he said, "Honey...I think that you meant 'stomach'. You meant, 'stomach', didn't you?"

And she replied, "Oh...yes...not vagina."

It was worth him sitting down and telling us that, although I think he gave me crabs.

And by the way, any man who uses the term, "honey" on a regular basis is NOT straight. If he says he is, he's lying.

Well, while we were busy hearing about turkey in vaginas and tonguing in restaurants, Wednesday was busy back at "Mary Jane's". (Do you remember when that jackass ate an entire chicken? 'Cause we sure do...)

After dinner, we were headed back across the street to Mary Jane's place when we caught sight of a party at a building next door. It had spilled out of the apartment onto the front patio. Mary Jane and Will were more than excited to go crash it.

So, literally within 5 minutes, I was standing right next to the Birthday girl,

whom the party was for, singing "Happy Birthday" to her (we've never met her before in our lives) she was smiling at me (as though she was on Ecstasy...and probably was) and then she blew out her candles. (Just look at the above photo and tell me that I couldn't take out people's eyeballs with my Adam's apple and chin! They look deadly, non? Oui!)

I looked up to see Will and Mary Jane hysterical at the fact that we had just landed in the middle of a Birthday party where we didn't know a soul. And there were about 30 people staring at us like, "Who the fuck are you guys? And why are you my Dad's age?"

I practically ran out of there.

I got back to Mary Jane's crib and found that Gomez and Wednesday had attacked the place. And more importantly, there were empty wrappers lying about.

I started to panic. And when Mary Jane came in the door, I inquired as to what might have been in the wrappers?

She looked dumb-stuck and replied, "Oh my god...I forgot. There was a little bit of chocolate with pot in it."

And I just about shit my pants and said, "WITH MARIJUANA IN IT???"

I looked over at Wednesday and she was clearly stoned...dude.

Our friend "Mary Jane" has a prescription for pot for medicinal reasons and had forgotten all about the chocolate bar.

Wednesday was cooked. And now, I was the one who was spiced.

I called the nearest 24-Hour animal emergency hospital and explained what happened. There wasn't a lot of chocolate, so they weren't too concerned about that. But, they were concerned about the weed.

So, we gave her hydrogen peroxide. We forced it down her poor throat. And if you ever need to make a dog barf, this will do it. But, you should be careful how much you give and when to give it: When good dogs eat bad things.

Well, she didn't barf at first. And we didn't really know what to do. So, we drove to some HORRIBLE place in Bellflower, by this time it was about 1:30 in the morning and I'm sure that we looked amazing (because on the way, she DID begin to barf...all over us) and that we probably looked quite guilty as though we had given our dog pot.

The vet was a huge fucker.

Not as in stature, but rather his shit-eating attitude. I wanted to perform my old stand-by (please feel free to try it, if you'd like); douse him good with pepper spray, kick him in his crotch, then maybe punch him in his throat for just a little something extra.

I'm not sure that he was very bright. He even asked with some irritation, "HOW do you pronounce your dog's name?"

And I just looked at him and said, "Wednesday." (Exactly how it's spelled, Dr. Fuckhead.)

Einstein advised us that we should leave her for observation.

Will wanted nothing of the sort, but I was worried. I wanted to do 'the right thing', but I felt helpless. And his truly mean demeanor was not helpful in the least.

So, then he said, "I'll give you 5 minutes to decide, then I'll be back for your answer."

5 minutes...for US to decide. The last time I checked, fucker, we were paying you. Not the other way around. Peoples' arrogance is astounding to me sometimes.

When fuckface returned, I asked for a compromise. There was no way that I felt safe leaving our little girl with this piece of ogre-shit, and strategically leaving that part out of the conversation, I asked if he could administer the charcoal (to detoxify her), and then we would take her and observe her ourselves.

So, he did. But, he wasn't happy about it...as though he needed to be.

Wednesday got fed her charcoal and we took her back to Mary Jane's place...where she proceeded to barf ALL THE WAY HOME and ALL OVER MARY JANE'S APARTMENT. And it was charcoal-puke, which is something special.

By 5:30 in the morning, I was sitting on the floor in my underwear, holding on to a VERY stoned dog, covered in black puke, there was black puke on her rug under the coffee table, on my side of the pull-out bed (Will was sleeping peacefully...as was Mary Jane...Yeah...Nice, huh?), on my clothes, on the sheets, on the blankets, on my legs, arms and hands.

I sat there in my black pukeness in a dark, cold apartment trying to cry. I thought that it would make me feel better. I crinkled up my forehead, flared my nostrils and grimaced the rest of my face in preparation of the tears, but I couldn't do it. The tears didn't come. Which pissed me off even more. How pathetic.

Then, Will rolled over, completely clueless and said, "What's going on?"

Where I then replied, "What...the...fuck...do you THINK is going on?"

He rolled back over onto the side that had been mine, rolling into black puke and went back to sleep.

I said, "You just rolled in puke."

There was no response.

And as the sun started to rise, I grabbed some pillows that had puke on them, grabbed my barf-stained clothes and put them on for some warmth, gathered Wednesday in my arms and fell asleep on the floor for 2 hours.

The morning light brought new promise. And Wednesday stopped puking. She even drank some water. I walked across the street to get her some plain bread and cottage cheese and she nibbled on that as well. And yes, she was still stoned.

She remained stoned all day long.

She was probably all like, "Dude? What a kill-joy you were last night! Everything was cool, then YOU had to come home. Nothing like completely ruining my high."

We were all wiped out the next day. And I still wanted to cry, but couldn't. But, fittingly for the weekend holiday, we felt extremely grateful that our family was intact and that we were all okay. And that was the most important thing of all. It always is...