I know what common animals look like: cat, dog, horse, rabbit, cow…. but those other animals that live in trees and in the ground…. I have no freakin idea. I once thought a possum was an abnormally large rat. I’m from the South, too, so I should be better with identifying animals. My bladder is actually better than I am. If I’m ever in the woods and suddenly wet my pants, I know that there’s a carnivore in my path and my bladder is warning me…. or……. I’m drunk…..but I haven’t been drunk in the woods in 10 years, so I’m going to stand by my bladder being an attack-animal alarm system.  That could actually be a super power! When the heroine wets herself, it’s a sign of nearby danger…. she would be called The Excreter. There could be chaffing repercussions though……I digress… it’s a huge problem!

LUCKILY, I’m not alone when it comes to animal identification issues. Deb Amlen, fellow blogger and hilarious author of, “It’s Not PMS, It’s YOU!” had an episode with her vet. Read Deb’s words, my kittens:

It occurred to me the other day that perhaps I’m not as prepared for Nature as I thought.

I was born and raised in New York City, where contact with other carbon-based life forms was limited, animalistically-speaking, to leashed dogs and the occasional squirrel or pigeon.   I also went to high school in a particularly dangerous part of the Bronx (school song:  ”Look Out!  A Mugger!”), where squirrels and pigeons were smart enough to maintain a polite distance from the human residents, mainly so as not to disturb the drive-by shootings.

When we moved to New Jersey to raise our kids, I had this city-slicker fantasy that I would finally get to commune with Nature and befriend all of the charming woodland animals that scampered about my property.  My kids and I would frolic with the birds, and the deer, and the antelope, and the carp, and whatever else came our way, and they would sing a charming woodland animal song to me as I scattered woodland animal food for them, just like in a Disney cartoon, which clearly shows you how demented I had become.

Obviously, none of this ever happened.  The birds were more concerned with pooping on my outdoor furniture than singing, and the deer were much more interested in eating my flowers than frolicking.   This disappointed me, but it had no real impact on my life until the day my dog had a showdown with Cujo, the Hostile Yard Rodent.

Jade is a Border Terrier, a quirky, happy-go-lucky breed, and I like to think of her as the Roberto Benigni of dogs (“I luff evry-BAHDY!”)  She’s never met a human or an animal she didn’t like, so when she woke from her afternoon nap in our sunny yard and saw another four-legged being standing over her, she naturally came to the conclusion that it had come to play.  I did not become involved in the game until I heard Jade yelp and walked out to the side of the house to see her, nose to nose with a hissing football with a bushy tail and bared fangs that obviously did not have a game of Tug-of-War in mind.  Border Terriers are known for having their own minds, but when I called her, she turned tail on the football and ran, with only a glance back that said, “You’re lucky she called me, or you would be SO over!”

Because I was already operating at a disadvantage due to having grown up in an ecological wasteland, I called the veterinarian, who told me to bring her in so they could check for bites and give her a rabies booster.

“What kind of animal was it?”, she asked, still looking at her clipboard.

“Well, it might have been a beaver.  Or a very large squirrel.  Possibly a jackalope.”

The vet glanced up from her clipboard.  ”You’re not from around here, are you?”, she asked.

“Well, I don’t really know what kind of animal it was….”, I said, feeling like a total doofus.

“Stay here.  I’ll be right back.”

When the vet came back, she was holding what appeared to be a stack of flash cards, and she spread them neatly on the examination table.  Each card had a different rodent on it.

“Pick one”, she ordered, and I suddenly realized what she was asking me to do.  She wanted me to pick the culprit out of a line up.

“This one”, I muttered, obediently pointing to the third card.

“That’s a groundhog”,  she said matter-of-factly, doing an admirable job of staying professional and not laughing hysterically at me, although I could tell she sort of wanted to.

Fortunately, Jade was fine, and although she avoided the spot in our yard where she had met her match for a while, was none the worse for the wear.  I, however, am still humiliated.  But at least now I know what a groundhog looks like. 

http://debamlen.com/2009/06/30/all-hostile-yard-rodents-turn-to-the-right/

Common American thinking of anything vanilla is something plain, classic, sweet and innocent. All the women in my family add vanilla to ANYTHING to make a food more sweet and comforting. The southern lady in the video below bitched slapped the purity right out of vanilla when she got down and dirty with some vanilla extract.  I had no idea there was such a high alcohol content in the flavor solution! No wonder my mom always said, “Just a drop… that’s all you need,” when I added it to batter. She knew I would’ve made a drunken pancake baby between vanilla extract and Bisquick if I had known… hmmmm…. a thought…

After drinking two bottles, it landed this woman on a street curb and in the slammer. Lindsay Lohan, if you’re reading this, stay away from the extract, you crazy little jail monkey.  Girl, you’re not alone if you’ve received a DUI from a substance your sweet Grandma uses to make cupcakes.

I’ve put many things under my armpits… okay, that sounded really bad. What I meant was.. I have put many odor/perspiration fighting antidotes under my armpits when I was out of deodorant, but the following story is above and beyond the creativity I’ve used in these situations.  After I heard this, I had to give myself mouth to mouth. Don’t ask how I did it… I’m sure someone has it on video, but I laughed that hard.

I’ve been with the same company for seven years and over the years, made close friends with counter-parts in different cities. A friend and coworker, came to Chicago for work last week and stayed with me. Work/Slumber Party is much more fun than a boring hotel room.  Anyhow, the first morning she was here, I went to work super early and she came a little later. She carried-on her bags and didn’t bring any toiletries because of the terrorist-proof regulations at the airport.  She planned on using my toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo…etc.

Side Note: Seriously, terrorists have SO not caught on to the fact that they shouldn’t bring their powder weapons in a shampoo bottle or in form of baby formula. Go airports, go! Out-smart those terrorists! It completely makes sense to take away my $60, 5 oz. moisturizer because it could be saturated with bomb powder!!!  I’m bitter.

Continuing the story, when she got to the office, she yanked me to the side and asked me what she smelled like.  The scent was very fresh smelling… very familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I asked her why – maybe it’s because she’s a smoker and didn’t want to smell like smoke.. I had no idea. Then she went on to tell me she couldn’t find my deodorant.  Hello, it’s in the medicine cabinet. “Where is that? I only saw two mirrors over your bathroom counter,” she asked. When I told her that the mirror on the left IS the medicine cabinet she just looked at me. “Are you kidding?!” I still didn’t understand why this was a big deal. I asked her if she found the deodorant. “No,” she said. Then I asked what she did in place of deodorant? “The only thing I could find was your Febreze Air Freshener so I tested it out and it wasn’t sticky so I thought, it’s good enough to fight bacteria and odors, so it’ll work on sweat.” YOU HAVE GOT TO BE SNORTING THAT AIR FRESHNER!!! YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT THE LAVENDAR FRESH SMELL IS MY LAVENDER FEBREZE WHICH HOUSES AT THE BACK OF MY TOILET TO DIFUSE THE SMELL OF ASS AND YOU USED IT AS DEODORANT???  Yes, that is exactly what she was saying.

She was wearing white and desperate.. so she took a chance with Febreze. After all, it does come in other forms like.. fabric spray and the kind you plug into a socket.. so why not use it to soak up pit-sweats?

Later that day, her armpits were itching because she broke out in a rash. PRICELESS!! Innovation gone wrong. I say “A” for creativity, though. I would’ve stuffed toilet paper in my purse and dabbed throughout the day.

It’s very often that we run into a situation where we’re kicked in the ass instead of serviced as customers should be. For example, last week when I had revisions to my salad, the waitress sighed and acted completely put out. Oh, Daddy made you get a job because he realized you’ll probably live off him for the rest of your life? BOO MF’in HOO!! Buck-up, Blondie and get me a free brownie while you’re at it, BITCH! Or perhaps the woman at the dry cleaners who looked at my white blouse that I had dribbled (poured an entire glass of Pinot Noir while snort-laughing) on and said, “You shouldn’t wear white since you spill so much.” Listen woman, aren’t I the customer here? Don’t I pay you like $20 bucks to rub some bleach on a white shirt? I’m so sorry if you’re back there with a scrub board while I’m living life and indulging in mother nature’s fruits… in liquid form. Cry me a river and scrub my shirt, Bitch!! Chop, chop! And when you’re done with that, I have some WHITE pants that have grease stains on the knee from when I perched my burrito there.

Yes, we’ve all ran into bad service and wished we did something about it, instead, some of us (me) just sit there silently then blog about it. However, my girl, Lindsey, decided to speak up and put a whip on some deli-workers! Way to tame that horse, Lindsey!! Make them cut that meat… uhhh.. what? Nevermind, here’s her story…

On a random weekday, let’s say it was Tuesday at 11 am, the Wal-Mart deli was anything but busy. But, of course there was one woman waiting on everyone while two co-workers did everything possible to look busy at doing nothing (sound familiar to anyone?) After about 5 minutes of me awkwardly peeping around the counter and looking over the scales and trying to quietly give the workers “the look” while remaining, polite…something in me snapped. About this time, another customer walked up next to me, waited for about 30 seconds, and then asks me, “I guess those two are prepping for lunch or something while the other lady waits on everyone?” I don’t know what grabbed a hold of me, but I loudly say, “Or they are just f***ing avoiding eye contact because they are afraid they might have to do their f***ing jobs!” Silence fell over everyone, customers and workers, and everyone looked at me. The lady next to me smiled the greatest “I love that you just did that” smile I have ever seen.
I calmly asked for my pound of cracked pepper turkey breast, waited for it, said thank you, and left.
I felt like I had just won a gold medal. Or at least an honorable mention.

This is me distraught!

They say everything happens in 3′s, I would like to amend that to everything happens in 9′s if your Lauren Carol Taylor. Let’s review my glorious month of May:

• Hospitalized for kidney crap and out of commission for 2 weeks.
• I gained 12 lbs of water weight because of my kidneys and I’ve only lost 5lbs of it! My 3 year-old nephew touched my stomach and said “Baby?” I immediately explained to him that it was water weight and I was on an anti-inflammatory to dissolve my bloated belly. By the way, Gavin, it’s a sensitive subject and Aunt Lauren is dealing with it day by day!  He starred at me blankly with half his cupcake all over his face and up his nose then handed me the remains of it and said, “More.” I think he felt really bad.
• Ripped my pants 3 separate times.
• Wiped out (completely sober) – face to the ground, ass in the air – twice in public and in freakin daylight!
• Car broken-into and passenger-side window SMASHED! I didn’t claim on insurance because of my deductible so it was out-of-pocket. The guy who installed my new window didn’t speak English very well so on first try he put in the wrong size because he kept ending his sentences in “yes?” and I would then respond with “yes” because I had no idea what he was trying to say and didn’t have the patience to figure it out.
• My cable was interrupted. What?? Excuse me, I’m on automatic bill pay, how can this happen? Ma’am, you never returned your cable box when you switched to digital. Sir, please put down your crack pipe because I returned the box back in December and it’s disturbing that you guys can’t keep track of it. I went through a full day of arguing and negotiating down the charges then later, went through a drawer in my media center to find…. THE FREAKIN CABLE BOX I SWORE I RETURNED!!!
• On Friday, May 29, two days ago, I walk to my car to find a BOOT on it. Someone have Naomi Campbell slap me – why do I have a boot!?!  Apparently, a new law has been passed in Chicago that after two tickets, you’re tire is accessorized with a metal “boot.”  My boyfriend and I each got a parking ticket in the last 3 weeks and haven’t gotten around to paying them. Oh….. but with the boot, you pay like 10 times what your tickets are worth!! I wonder if the City of Chicago is hard-up for money? Great job, Major Daley, you absolutely, positively, do not suck. I bet you and Blagojevich are secret lovers.
• Wait.. I forgot one thing… after my car was booted, I went to get cash for a cab, the ATM next to my apartment was not dispensing checks, however, thank the Lord for this one, it was taking deposits. Yeah.. I’m taking deposits too. I had to run up to my apartment and borrow cash from my boyfriend. That sucked.

Needless to say, I am ESTASTIC that today is the last day of May. I refrained from locking myself in a padded room the past two days in fear that a piano would fall on me.

HELLO, Joyous June!!! Please do not wipe the floor with me like your older sister, Miserable May. I would be forever grateful as would my kidneys and new over-sized gut and ass.