I need to finish spray painting some rubber boots for L’s impromptu Tom Bombadil costume and finish packing, then I can call it a day.
We’re leaving tomorrow for the migration to see his friends.
We take a photo every year and in an effort to spice it up, we’ve started to theme them.
Usually we’re pretty lame and just choose to wear a silly hat or something. This year, his friends chose Lord of the Rings. I think they were wanting to rewear their outfits from our wedding (roughly Renn themed if it was set on the Holodeck; it was pretty weird) — it’s our 5th anniversary Saturday — I’m not rewearing my wedding dress ON my anniversary for a photo….and L has a food baby now so his doesn’t fit. Sooo we had to improvise a bit more.
I ended up dying a shirt I made him a few years ago blue and we’re spraying some boots yellow. We bought a horribly cheap beard and I’ve felted and fluffed it and sprayed it with about a ton of hair spray until it looks passable. He’ll be a passing Tom Bombadil. Better than his favorite elves, at least. He didn’t want to shave to be an elf.
The decision was made entirely last minute so I didn’t have time to pull off a proper Dwarf outfit I would have went there. I will not be a shorn beard and I will not do a disservice to their craftsmanship…so I decided to go a bit darker and pulled out a black robe and found a mask. Witch King of Angmar, ahoy!
I was taking it seriously until L insisted I had to wear gray gloves and shoes to indicate the fact the wraiths wear plate or chain armor under their robes — he’s a big fanboy and takes Lord of the Rings entirely too seriously, as evidenced by the fact that he wouldn’t be an elf unless he shaved his beard.
That’s when I went to the costume shop and got silver smoking gloves and plan to wear my 5″ gray stilettos with it. When photo time comes, I fully plan to show some leg and strike a pose. Angmar will have never been so fabulous.
I’m 5’10. L is 6’ish. These bad boys don’t come out to play often.
In other fun news, my lap stand arrived!
I went ahead and swapped out my 36″ rods for the 20″ ones that came with the stand. This thing is awesome! Helps that I got it for half price too. Half price always helps. 🙂
Actually, as a really cool side note that I’ve never mentioned before on here:
The table in my sewing room is really chewed up. I’m sure the photo above makes that really obvious. I redo a lot of furniture but have chosen not to redo this table.
I “helped” my dad refinish this table when I was little. I think I was probably more of a distraction than a help.
The second reason I’m not really messing much with this table is that it’s old and pretty fragile…and even more sentimental. It’s one of the few true “family heirlooms” I have. If I understand correctly, my great-great-grandfather made it. My great-grandmother, Granny, his daughter, was born in 1899, so it has seen its fair share of my family. It’s much too short for me to use as an actual table (or maybe I’m just too tall; Granny and her siblings that I remember were all very short), but it makes a fantastic sewing table now that it’s on risers.
I think this was 1997 Christmas, making Granny 98 years old. This photo was among several rolls of film I had taken when I was a kid (~11) and recently had developed. 🙂
So, off of that side rant.
Yesterday ended up being quite “a day”. Meaning I was quite a grumpy, grumpy bear.
Leave now if you’re squeamish!
The little dog had an appointment at the vet for a tooth cleaning.
She had one infected tooth that we feared may need to come out; it wasn’t causing her any obvious pain, but it was swollen and a bit of pus oozed out if you pushed it near the gums. Gross, I know.
Our normal vet just came back from a hip replacement, so is booked solid for a few weeks. The vet said it wouldn’t really matter since the tooth didn’t seem to be hurting her or affecting her piggy appetite.
I trust our vet. We’ve moved a lot and we’ve had a lot of vets. This one is probably my favorite.
He’s very old school and no nonsense; more of the “animals are animals” breed of guy — dogs will be dogs and snarl at weird guys that are stabbing them with needles, cats will bite when you put your finger in their mouths.
I wanted to wait until our vet had an opening. L wanted it done immediately because he was sure it was really hurting her.
I regret it. So, so badly. I don’t regret many things in life, but this one, I regret.
L was supposed to pick up my little dog — she’s MY dog now, he makes no decisions about her any longer — at 4:30. The vet isn’t that far away; he took her to the back up vet hospital we use when ours is out of town or closed.
…two hours later, he’s still not home and not answering his phone.
So I’m already panicking because it’s raining like mad and he’s not always the best driver in bad weather (the roads are crap here and almost impossible to see when it’s raining because of the reflections), much less when a dog is there to distract him…and he had to come a long way from work and there are some other bad drivers out there.
Then the doorbell rings.
…and there is L. On the doorstep. Crying.
Of course I jump to a million conclusions and just about have a heart attack.
Why did he ring the doorbell? Why is he crying? Where the hell is the dog?
Thankfully the little dog decides to run around the corner and into the house.
He rang the doorbell because the little dog was sick from anesthesia and pain meds. She’d had a massive, poopy blowout all over him and the car, so he was covered head-to-toe in dog crap (which was hilarious) and didn’t want to touch his keys or the doorknob to the house.
L is crying because not only is he covered in poop, but he has to deliver some news he knows I’m going to be FURIOUS over…and he’s right.
That’s a vial of teeth.
The crazy butcher (certified dog dentist, mind you) ended up taking out SEVEN of her teeth. The infected one (far left) plus six more that, if you look at them, weren’t bad?
He seriously took out 6 of her front teeth because “she doesn’t need them”. Most of them were her front teeth…which dogs do use to remove stuff from their fur, including fleas, ticks, burrs, etc… If they didn’t use the teeth, I don’t think they’d still have them…
WHAT. THE. FUCK?!
He just removed 16% of her teeth?!
Thankfully L thought to ask for the teeth to take to our vet so he can inspect them to make sure they weren’t actually rotten or something, but to me they look just fine other than covered in her gum tissue. It’s not like he can put them back in though. 😦
I hope he can go old man crazy on the other vet. There has to be some sort of veterinary board or something this guy can be reported to…because it just seems cruel and unreasonable to me.
The little dog kept waking up whining through the night, even though she’s on pain meds.
She’s a resilient little thing and doesn’t complain much — usually only when we leave her. Even when L stepped on her, she only yelped when he actually stepped on her then whined when we had to leave her at the emergency vet.
That was a complete accident; she was only 7 weeks old and we’d only had her for a week so he wasn’t used to having a little thing literally underfoot. He was out in the yard and she was following him around and he stepped backwards and didn’t realize she was there. No permanent damage, thank goodness, but she had to be hospitalized for three days — one of her lungs swelled shut and the other only had 20% function, so she had to stay in an oxygen chamber until her lungs recovered enough that she could get enough air in the normal atmosphere — two days at the emergency vet over the weekend and an additional day at the animal hospital when they opened on Monday.
Picking her up on Moday from the emergency vet to transport her to the animal hospital for another day in oxygen. She was so tiny! ❤
So not only did L have to deliver the news that my poor little dog can now only gum people to death, but then he had to deliver the blow that the vet charged over $700 to mutilate her.
I about died…as in popped blood vessels in my brain from anger.
…and then I almost killed L for insisting on taking her to a different vet then agreeing to let them do whatever they wanted to her.
No wonder he was crying. Ugh.
Seriously though, he was crying ’cause everything was covered in poop and he knew I’d be so upset/worried about the dog that I’d refuse to help clean the car in the pouring rain. He was right…and it was awful.
The night L stepped on her, our neighborhood ghost skunk sprayed him when he took our big dog out for a walk. He’s always considered it her revenge. I consider the poop blowout her revenge for the teeth.
L said he’s not sure which is worse.
(Trust me, it was the skunk.)