And Then . . .
Christmas blew like an enthusiastic whore with razor blade braces. As I was shopping among the holly jolly holiday lights at Victoria’s Secret and deciding between the comfortable cotton jammies and the brittle acrylic slip that looked as if it had been Bedazzled by blind kindergartners, Bob Cratchit Mr. Dingo was in a nondescript office holding a slip of another sort. It was pink. Yes, the Tuesday before Christmas, Mr. Dingo lost his job. We’re fucked. The holidays have been spent deciding whether our bed will fit under one of the city’s main bridges and scouring the internet and classifieds for apartments we can afford with frequent flyer miles and an adjunct teacher’s salary (Hahahahahahaha! *wipes tears from eyes*). We eventually nixed the bridges because there’s no Innernetz. In spite of all the hype, there are no habitable bridges on the Information Superhighway. I can live without cable, and electricity, and running water. But who can live without Innernetz? I love you, Innernetz. I really do. I also love writing comments I never post and sending emails I regret ten seconds after cutting the umbilical cord. Besides, there’s no Starbucks under any bridges in New York City. Not yet, at least. Still, having investigated the bridge option, I now know where all my Starbucks Friends come from.
So, that’s my Christmas post.
And here’s my New Year’s post: Happy Fucking New Year.
Moving on….
About a week ago, as I sat in front of the computer screen transfixed by our bank account — what does it mean when all the numbers are preceded by a hyphen? — Dingo Girl had just about had enough. She wanted to play. She wanted to walk. She wanted to run and be free of my foul mood and my phone calls canceling things. Now, Dingo Girl, she’s my chill pill, my Paxil, my shred of sanity, my mutually co-dependent canine compadre. Dingo + Dingo Girl = BFF4EVA! Walks with Dingo Girl are never run-of-the-mill. It’s more like run-after-squirrel and run-after-child-eating-cookies. Her favorite thing, though, is run-through-puddles. After the previous week’s rain, I knew the park would be the muddy stuff of a redneck Bubba’s wet dream — dirt so soggy it demands that monster trucks pull tractors, that bikini-clad women wrestle, and that you take your boots off to keep them from getting dirty.
Cresting a hill, we found a stream that had overrun its bank and covered the path. Fallen trees icky with moss, fungi, and the rest of nature’s enormous assortment of snot blocked one side. The other was a steep drop off into a used condom- and beer-can-infested pond. There were only two choices: through or around. The wall of logs looked stable, but that was as misleading as an Enzyte commercial. I kicked the center of the gnarly mass and the log jam shifted. Something scurried underneath. I couldn’t really see it, but it looked like it glanced at the ring on my finger and whispered, “my precious.” Oh, hell to the no! Dingo Girl, we’re turning around. Dingo Girl gave me the “Bitch, puh-leeez” look as I backpeddled from the Leaning Tower of Nasty. Mouth open and tongue flying, Dingo Girl cannonballed into the middle of the puddle. And disappeared. She vanished. I looked around me to see if anyone had seen the thirty-pound dog in the fifty-pound body disappear but also half expecting Dingo Girl to be behind me, shaking her paws in my face and telling me I just got freaked. But I was alone. All alone. Dingo Girl had pulled an Osama bin Laden on me without so much as a bark goodbye.
I could hear Gollum sliding around under the Leaning Tower of Nasty, but the puddle was still. I searched the sky. There had been a meteor shower over New York City a month or so before, and strange, flashing lights had been spotted all over the place right around Christmas. That could only mean one thing: alien zombies. “Give me back my dog you big-headed, one-eyed, undead motherfuckers!” I screamed at the UFOs hovering overhead.
And it worked! Suddenly, the surface of the water broke. That little overflowed puddle was much deeper than it looked! Dingo Girl emerged on the other side of the puddle sputtering blach, blaaach! blaaaaghhhh! and snarling at the water.
Ha! Served her right. Puddles are one thing. Total submersion without her wetsuit and fins is another. She was one mad dog.
I started to climb over the Leaning Tower of Nasty to get Dingo Girl when my disorder surfaced like a floater. I was FUCKED. At the pinnacle of the heap, one foot darted to the left. I caught my balance. Then, my other foot went right. Leftrightleftrightleftright. My feet slipped in an increasingly rapid rhythm until I was doing the hillbilly hoedown, knees up to my ears, hands flapping and arms waving like a pew-jumping Pentecostal on So You Think You Can Dance. The more I tried to regain my balance the more I looked like a wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube man. And then the logs shifted. Gollum was coming! I was running in place, trying to keep up with the rotation of the logs to keep Gollum from nibbling on my fingers — highkneeshighkneeshighknees — when suddenly my ass hit the log pile and I slid, branch by anal probing branch, until I landed on my back in The Puddle That Ate My Dog. Dingo Girl whined and pawed at the ground.
And then, something finally began to go my way.
Unfortunately, it was the Leaning Tower of Nasty. It creaked and groaned and swayed toward me like a withered old nun with a ruler in her hands.
Just then, the water moved. The water didn’t ripple. It moved. By itself.
I was on my feet and by Dingo Girl’s side faster than Britney Spears speed-dialed her attorney after she woke up married to Jason Allen Alexander. Dingo Girl and I were both sputtering blach, blaaach! blaaaaghhhh! and snarling at the water until, suddenly, Dingo Girl turned and ran, leaving me at the edge of the underwater portal to another dimension. I turned to chase her. As I turned to go, out the corner of my eye, I saw something slither out of the puddle into the pile of rotted wreckage. I’m not joking. It was not human. Not animal. Not my imagination. Dingo Girl barked again. I followed her in my water-logged boots — squishsplatsquishsplat. You won’t get us, you big-headed, one-eyed, undead freaks, I muttered.
Not today, anyway.
Posted on Wednesday, January 06, 2010 at 12:02 AM.
Tags: City Wildlife, Dingo Girl, La Vida Loca, Oh the Horror!
no trackbacks
Submit your trackback to http://www.asiwassaying.com/index.php/trackback/157/0gUqa5vW/
- Enjoy this post? Share it with others:
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
Comments & Trackbacks
Oh my goodness, Dingo. I am really very, very sorry about the loss of Mr. Dingo’s employment. Unemployment right now sucks hairy donkey balls and I wish it on no one. (Well, maybe the Walrus… but I actually wish a prison shower and an errant bar of soap on him).
I am glad that you and Dingo Girl did not get abducted by the Alien Swamp Thing.
Also, a pox on Mr. Dingo’s former employer for not having the sensitivity to wait until AFTER THE HOLIDAY. I don’t care if it makes the numbers look better in the new year, you don’t freakin’ do that to people.
Much love. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help.
Dude, that sucks with some sucky timing added to the suck. And yes, you do have the internets here for you. Probably you can’t go three pages without finding someone who lost their job in the past few months. Wish I could give advice, but I’m still reeling myself. However, I still have not had to move under a bridge. So there’s that.
oh darling what a nasty one...you’ll have to get Dingo girl into useful employment...sounds like some work as a stunt dog would be within her capabilities.
Maybe if you stopped letting Dingo Girl play in the mud, she could get a job in tv. But as is, all of the film execs will keep their noses up at her...You KNOW how NYC is. Also, find out where the Post Office Lady lives. Maybe you could live by her.....
Mucho Love!!
The whole “no job, no money” thing sucks, yes, and I’ll keep sending good thoughts your way because that’s about all I can afford at the moment.
Sorry about the jobloss.
Post was funny as shit though.
Your mind works in some crazy ass circles.
You are truly talented to be able to have a backwoods Alabama moment in New York CITY. Maybe shop a reality show? The adventures of Dingo and Dingo Girl? I’d totally watch it.
Oh, Dingo, I am so sorry! I can totally relate. My husband lost his job several months ago. He found one after 5 weeks, but it was really stressful, especially since unemployment was denied. (Long story.)
You are still hilarious!
MsDarkstar — I wish his former employer had to suck hairy donkey balls. Since they are all total asses, I’m sure there are several handy.
Noelle — I’m thinking that it was very fortuitous that I re-watched Rent a few weeks ago. I need to figure out the ins and outs of being a squatter.
rosie — She would be a great stunt dog! If it only required a maximum of 15 minutes of strenuous activity a day. Maybe I should just have her apply for disability. You know, for her chronic laziness.
Jules — And what would her resume say? Napping, eating, hiding from strange noises? Oh wait, that’s me.
Mr. POSSLQ — It’s crazy how the “no job, no money” thing works. What idiot came up with that plan?
Ed Adams — Are ass circles like crop circles? I think I’ve seen those in the park as well.
Shania — You know what they say, “You can take a girl out of the country but you can’t make her move her car. It’s still up on blocks.”
Kristina P — Unemployment denied?! Asshats! Big-headed, one-eyed asshats! Glad things turned out well. Keep us in your thoughts.
Ah, crap. I’m so sorry. Clearly I emailed before I read this post or I would have known better to ask. Or to use any exclamation points. I’m so sorry. If there’s anything I can do, please say the word.
Fuck. All the way around.
Oh Dingo, I’m so sorry. About the job, about the bridge, about the muck. If only Dingo Girl was a truffle hunter, rather than a puddle hunter. But perhaps with some retraining…
So sorry about Mr. Dingo and hope something great comes his way very soon, and that it’s not the puddle creature.
I was going to say that sucks big donkey balls, but then I read your response above and saw that we share an affinity for this particular beast of burden’s genitals. It’s like we’re twins seperated at birth.
Hope things get better soon.
I’m so sorry about Mr. Dingo’s job. I hope something better comes along and makes it all worth it!!! I’ll be sending good thoughts your way.
As for the puddle story....i laughed so hard that I choked on my mint and had to run out into the hallway to ask for help. A student asked me if i needed heimlich just as I dislodged it. Thank goodness, I didn’t want him touching me, even in death. Seriously, so funny. You are a great writer.
Sucks about Mr. Dingo. It also sucks we couldn’t get together while I was in NYC!! But I do love the way you tell a story.
I’m so sorry about Mr. Dingo’s job loss. Sigh. Hang IN THERE! And take Dingo Girl for lots of walks. It helps with the sadness and frustration. And then a hot shower and getting grody things out of your ass. That helps, too.
Aw, I’m so sorry to hear about Mr. Dingo :(
Also...um...YIKES!!!!!! Holy creepy puddle Batman!
I’m sorry to hear Mr Dingo became unemployed. I hope something good comes along soon. I’ll send over positive vibes!!
Why is the universe giving you a huge wedgie? Seriously don’t they know who you are?! No one messes with the Dingo, not gravity or unemployment, NO ONE!
Now that I told off the universe I’m sure it’ll obey my commands and make your juju good from now on.
I would ask what kind of business does that to someone just before the holidays, except my office did the same damn thing to someone. Just wrong.
Meanwhile, the Universe has some ‘splainin to do. The Universe’s job is to keep my single so I can meet other people and watch them fall madly in love. That, and make sure my commute sucks. It sure as hell should NOT be messing with my Dingo!
As for the events in the park: is it possible the alligators finally escaped the sewers?
Companies that fire staff right before x-mas need to be shot. I hope Mr. Dingo gets a new and better job real soon. Yet, you still manage to weave a story of amazing clarity and humour. Will you write novels now? Please?
How long did it take to get puddle remnants and smell of DG? How many baths were required?
I stole the first line of your post and shared it with my facebook friends I loved it so much.
Remember what I said; if there’s anything I can do up here in the Great Frozen North, just say the word and it’s yours!
oh, dingo baby, i am so so sorry about mr.dingo’s job. geez, that sucks so bad. let me know if there’s anything i can do. i don’t know what else to say.
your post was hilarious as always. any way you can get paid for this blog, be the dooce of nyc? (but obviously better than dooce - hehe.) or you and dingo girl can take your show on the road. i bet you could win the grand prize on ameroca’s funniest home videos.
I know this won’t be high on your list, but the cost of living in Boise is really low. I just moved into a 3br condo for less than 600. a month. BSU is right here in town, just throwing it out there. Good luck
Balls! In a bad way! I am so sorry to hear about Mr. Dingo but am glad that you and Dingo Girl didn’t, you know, die.
I am so, so sorry to hear about Mr. Dingo’s job. Have you looked into any online adjunct positions? I hear they are increasing. It might help. Does he need networking help? Ugh… again, that just stinks.
Your writing, as always, was hysterical and sparkling.
I think maybe you discovered the swimming hole for the Starbucks people. There was probably one underwater, spear-fishing in the puddle.
I don’t know what Mr. Dingo does, but if there are any connections you think an LA copywriter could tap to help him get employed again, please let me know.
justrun — I was happy to get your email, exclamation points and all.
Kori — Exactly.
saratogajean — If the truffles smelled like her Old Mother Hubbard dog treats, we’d be in business!
Tara R — Thanks, Tara. I know you’ve recently gone through something similar (except for the puddle creature) so any pointers on how to be zen on less than 10 cents a day would be welcome.
Kim I think we are twins separated at birth! And since family always helps family, wanna help me pack? And move? And fill out all the change of address forms? Come on, be a good sis…
jane — I think the “heimlich” suggestion was creepy kid code for, “Can I feel you up?”
April — Next time you come to NYC, I’ll introduce you to all my new puddle creature friends.
k8Dingo Girl and I jumped in the shower as soon as we got home. Well, I jumped in. I had to drag her in with me. I think she preferred the puddle portal.
stealthnerd — Girl! Where have you been?! Are you ever going to update?
Marjolein — Thanks!
Toe — I love good juju! Especially with a garden salad and some steamy rolls.
GeekHiker — There are some very, very large raccoons in the park. I thought it might be a raccoon. But the puddle creature didn’t look like a raccoon or an alligator. It looked like Gollum.
Lyvvie Dingo Girl managed to lose the eau du stank in about three days. But I think she liked it.
Mrs. Chili — You know, I’ve been hearing a lot about your homemade hot chocolate…
blakspring — Dingo Girl and I should do a blog tour, Menace to the Neighborhood.
jojo $600 a month? You’re killing me! You *might* be able to rent a room for that around here. I like Boise. I’m liking it even more now.
flurrious — Dying would really throw a wrench into our plans. And they’d still charge me for a plot!
Jen of a2eatwrite — Well, Mr. Dingo *is* having a hard time connecting to WiFi. Hahahaha! But seriously, thanks for the offer.
MelHeth — Thanks, Mel Heth! I will definitely let you know. As for the Starbucks Friends Swimming Hole, that’s just nasty. Now I need another shower.
So sorry to hear about your husband--that goes down as the worst xmas present ever. My brother-in-law got laid off right before my sister gave birth. It really makes you wonder about some people’s timing.
This post was so funny I literally couldn’t stop laughing, or reading either, somewhat complicated by being at work in my portion of the cube farm. Now everyone in the building knows that I was reading something recreational, I’m sure! 
Jesus Christ, Dingo, talk about sucky timing! I’m so, so sorry, love. Good thoughts to you. And Dingo, the poor waterlogged traumatized dingo-dog that she is. 
Hang tough, lady.
Aww, I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Dingo. They really couldn’t wait until AFTER the holidays to tell their employees?
Oh. Wait. I guess that would be worse, right? Sigh. Either way, Sucksville.
Fucking pink slips. Should only be worn under pink dresses.
LibraryLady — Wanna know the second worst Christmas present? I bought Mr. Dingo a wallet for Christmas.
inkpuddle — We’re hanging tough. Fortunately, the Arctic winds have blown through freezing all the puddles and trapping all the puddle creatures. Ha! Ha! Take that, puddle creatures!
NPW — Hey! I never thought about Sucksville. I’m sure we can find an apartment we can afford there!
Ree — I bet they sell those at Victoria’s Secret. I bet they’re Bedazzled.
Sorry about the pink slip. I hope there’s a puddle somewhere that will absorb those who put the pink slip into his hands.
Aw,dude. That sucks. I have a pretty sweet set-up in my basement if you need a place to live.
But I don’t think you’ll need it. You need to compile all these wonderful stories into a BESTSELLER!
I’m so sorry to hear about Mr. Dingo’s job! That stinks!
If it comes down to living under a bridge, I think you can buy a house in Rochester for cheaper than you can live under a bridge in NYC.
And right now, all our puddles are frozen solid. Enticing, huh?
Hang in there. Maybe someone on this board will pull a Godfather and place some hairy donkey ball pacifiers in a certain pink-slip-gifter’s crib. Wouldn’t that be a lovely present?
So, while the running through the part in the mud and trash sounds horrific, I can’t get over the fact that your hubs boss fired him the Tuesday before Christmas. At least wait until after Christmas. What a dick!! Karma is a bitch, I hear.
Laura — Since his former employers are worse than the trash floating in the puddle, I think the puddle would spit them back out.
Crissy — And then what will you do when both Mr. Crissy and I yell up the stairs, “You’re not my mother!”
Allie — If I can buy a house with my library card and and student i.d., I’m there!
Marian — Hairy donkey ball pacifiers? How disgusting and how very creative!
Windsor — Yep, the Tuesday before Christmas. Fuckers.
Yikes about the pink slip! Merry fucking Xmas, eh? At least you had the company of alien zombies and DG on your walk. Imagine if you were alone when you encountered the portal and the big puddle without witnesses. You could end up on some TV show about alien visitations and imagine how silly you’d look then!
Just found your blog… laughing at the stories (except for the sucky job loss one--sorry about that), and howling at your pics. I think you could easily write a book and end the Dingo family money woes!
YOU are too freakin hilarious! hahahahahahhahahahaha! So many parts of this made me laugh out loud in my office....when ppl walk by I’m all,"This spreadsheet! It’s hysterical!”