Ga$p! House Drama, Dog Drama

7:00 a.m.: FLY out the door.

Dear friend takes me to breakfast and delivers lovely gifts for Birthday. {love love love}

From there, it’s off to the Vet with a container of edifying dawg pee, and from there a bounce-fest from vendor to vendor to freaking vendor.

Take Harvey to Leslie’s, where he’s usually repaired for free.

Cute (cute, cute, BORN THIRTY YEARS TOO LATE CUTE) tech: “Uhmmmm…  Well, the easiest fix is to buy a new one.”

$450 later, Harvey’s reincarnation is in the back of the car. To be fair (sort of): there’s a $30 in-store rebate and an $100 rip-off mail-in rebate. Meaning the gouge is a mere $320. Plus 10% tax. On the $450.

FLY in the house. Call the insurance broker; explain annoying predicament to his voicemail; point out that as of 4:30 this ayem the house stank so much the schmell woke me out of a semi-sound sleep.

Feed Pup expensive urinary dog food. Dump remains of yesterday’s attempt to cook new Real Food for Cassie into garbage whilst Pup is distracted with inhaling third-rate canned dog food. Decide to try to rescue expensive goddamn pan, even though hope looks forlorn; put same (pan, not hope) to soak in heavily enriched detergent water.

Prepare human food on grill: piece of lamb, asparagus sprinkled with balsamic, lovely little salad, more bourbon and water than is good for anyone.

Sit fanny down in chair.

Instantly get up to answer effing phone: Insurance broker.

Abhorred, is he.

[Graphic Designer has already been abhorred, by e-mail. Sister-in-Sin has already been abhorred, by e-mail. Son has been rendered, as usual, stylishly blasé, by e-mail.)

Insurance broker to look into costs of a) replacing microwave; b) hiring out smoke damage repair; c) replacing $10,000 worth of cabinetry and God only KNOWS how much in counter surfacing. Insurance broker to call back.

Sit back down to try to eat congealing mid-day meal. Add a little more bourbon to depleted bourbon & water.

Instantly get up to answer effing phone: Veterinarian.

Pup’s urine still has blood, although she’s much improved. He wishes to keep Pup on expensive special dog food for at least four more weeks. He suspects the ailment is a function of her runtiness, although there could be a physiological issue, expressed in old-guy language as “vestigial hymen.” Liberated human interprets this as old-guy lingo for “hooded vulva,” but whatEVER. Feel amazingly grateful and worshipful that he took time out of a very busy day to telephone me. He wants to delay another round of antibiotics because he thinks she may outgrow the issue.

Sit back down to magnificent mid-day meal.

Think of STAGGERINGLY GREAT exchange between two future Fire-Rider characters. Drop fork, run for computer, write down notes.

Come back to magnificent mid-day meal.

Think of COOL DIALOGUE after STAGGERINGLY GREAT exchange in novel. Back to computer: write down more notes.

Finish dinner. Realize chicken put to simmer is now cooked. Remove from heat, remove meat from bones. Place in container; refrigerate.

Put surviving pans and dishes into ’shwasher. Turn to “sanitize” (giant spoon for collecting you-no-what from Peeing Pup is in there, after soaking in Intense Detergent for several hours).

Collect Pup. Collect Cassie. Place on Bed.

And it is now time for a siesta. Thank heaven for the Mediterranean Lifestyle, to which I intend to adhere until I fall over dead while blogging at this site at the age of 110.

Hunker down. Instantly get up to answer effing phone: Insurance broker.

He’s sending an estimator over: determine what can be done, whether the fix is simple or whether (gawd forbid) all the cabinetry needs to be ripped out and replace. (Holy Sh!t) He believes this will be covered by homeowner’s.

Hunker down.

Please, God: NO MORE PHONE CALLS!!!!!