"No Thank You" Notes

If you don't have kids, I'm certain that you have heard about them.

Unless you are like my sister-in-law who claims she has never seen a realty show. Not once. Not ever. She only begrudgingly admits that she knows of their existence at all.

But you are not her and you will admit that you have listened countless times as your Friends Up-bringing Kids With Inexplicable Tenacity (or FUK-WITS, as I prefer to call us), tell you over and over, "nobody ever told me about.......", before becoming a parent.

For example, the most famous one, of course, is that the expectant mother will poop in the delivery room when she is in labor. "They" say that you just don't care about pooping on the floor at that point because either, "You're just too happy because you are now a mother!"  (barf) or more realistically,  you really don't care because you just want that thing OUT by that point. 

At any rate, yes, I'm a parent and there are things that nobody told us before we had kids because they wanted to have a good laugh at our expense, once we became FUK-WITS, they wanted their kids to have at least a few friends of a similar age with cool parents or more likely, they just forgot because they are tired.

Really.
Fuckin.
Tired*.

All of the time.

So after doing this parent thing for five years now, a few weeks ago I discovered something new and nearly as awful as pooping in front of a room full of strangers.

Kid's birthday parties.

I won't go into great detail because (see * above) but I will summarize by sharing with you the Thank You notes I will NOT be sending out this year, a few weeks after The Not-So-Little One's fifth birthday party.

"Dear XXX,
Thank you sooo much for asking if it was "OK" to bring the rest of your kids and husband to my five-year old's birthday party! 
Although I put your daughter's name only on the invitation, you were unable to take the not-so-subtle hint that this was a party for FIVE YEAR OLDS. 

Far be it from me to exclude your two teenagers, your one year old baby and your husband who has never spoken a word to me! Please let us pay for all of them to eat pizza, cake and have game tokens in exchange for a $9 gift that my kid will likely break or forget about by the end of the weekend.
We're so glad you could ALL make it- oh wait- that's right, you did not make the party after all. 

At least you were kind enough to RSVP via text message telling me (three days before the party) that all SIX of you may or may not make it to the party.

Hope you can (or cannot) make it (or not) again next year!
Love, Sue"


"Dear Grandma,
Thank you for showing up a half hour late and half drunk. We are all very grateful that you live close enough to see your grandkids  often and that you are still in reasonably good health- I mean, successfully navigating a Chuckee Cheese parking lot while half-tanked just proves how good your fine motor skills still are!

Again, we are lucky to have you here and even luckier that your grandchild still thinks that gifts purchased from Walgreens are the shit! 
Funny, me and the Tall Guy think they are shit! Ha, ha!
Love, Your Daughter Sue"


"Dear Old Friend from High School that Has No Kids But Thinks She Knows Everything About Them Anyway,
Thank you for getting my kid that whore-y looking doll that is totally inappropriate for a girl her age.
No, wait, inappropriate for any girl of any age.
Her little arched back, her pouty lips, her sky-high legs and micro-mini skirt all scream, "Five Year Old Girl Toy", I know, but do you really think a teeny, pink, plastic flask is appropriate for a little girl that is genetically predispositioned to have substance abuse and thrill-seeking issues in her future? 
Looking forward to the Hello Kitty Thong you'll undoubtedly bring next year!
Love, Sue"


"Dear Old Friend That I Used To Work With That Is No Longer a Part of 'The Gang' Because
Your Husband Was Fired By One of My Kid's Friend's Mom, Who Is Also At The Party,

You did not receive an invitation to attend my kid's fifth birthday party.
You're welcome.

Love, Sue"

Sex, Zoos and Churros

It has come to my attention that since having kids, the sex the Tall Guy and I have is not like the sex I had when I was younger. 

I realized this when neither of us could remember when the last time we had sex was. In our lame-ass defense, the weeks without were due in large part to Tall Guy's business/travel schedule and my a-hem, biological schedule, if you know what I mean, ladies.

And to make matters worse a close friend needed some dating advice which reminded me how much has changed in the past four years. My friend was planning a date that included a picnic and a little hanky-panky in the great outdoors. Naturally, she immediately thought to call me for my expert opinion on the best way to plan sex in a place that is public, illegal and/or morally objectionable.

So I mentally tallied up the weirdest places I had sex before having children and provided it below for your perusal.

(*This may or may not be a totally complete list)
(**If you know me and know about another place I had sex, please feel free to mention it in the comments section below)
(***If I had sex with you, thank you, I'm sure I had a good time, please refer to above guidelines)

Weirdest Places I Had Sex Before Having Kids

Floor of a hairdresser's work station 
It was July, it was the only place my boyfriend and I could find that had a lock and no parents (it was his mom's business) and it had no air conditioner. It was so humid it was like having sex in a rain forest. A rain forest covered in hair. A hairy rain forest. 
When we were done we looked like Churros but covered in the hair of strangers, not delicious cinnamon sugar.

A Churro Threesome would be delicious
A hairy two-some, not so much

A Graveyard 
On Halloween night. Don't make me tell the underage-sex-in-a-graveyard story again. 

Oooooooooohhhh.....scaaaaarrry!
Or just plain creepy, anyway

I mean, who hasn't done this, right?

On top of a toolbox
My boyfriend was a mechanic and it was one of those big, Craftsman/Tim the Tool Man type red things on wheels. 

It looks much bigger in person...
 Yep, heard that one before, pal

Can't say why this happened or if it was fun. I can tell you that I got my TruCoat for no additional cost.

Thanks, Mr. Lundegaard!

On top of my 89 Jeep Wrangler while working for Fish and Wildlife
Right after college, the Tall Guy and I each worked as field biologists chasing big or slimey animals up mountains or through streams. We lived in the field, me in a cabin, he in a tent, hundreds of miles apart for weeks at a time. 
One weekend Tall Guy volunteered at my job and helped us capture bears in order to put satellite collars on them. The day he was leaving to go back to his job we realized (after having not seen each other for several weeks already) that our paths would not cross again for another six weeks. 
We made a hasty decision and worked quickly with belts and hiking boots and our Leathermans to get things done before my co-workers showed up at the trail head in their own vehicle. 

If only this multi-purpose tool could talk...

We made ample use of the roll bar.
Use your imagination.

Tuzigoot National Monument
Once again between field jobs, the Tall Guy and I made good use of a rendezvous in the middle of the desert.

I'd like to say that we did it in one of the hundred or so rooms in these amazing ruins but the museum was closed and so we were stuck utilizing the Jeep once again. The hood of it was delightfully frigid as the temperature dropped into the 40s. 

This multi-room pueblo was built by the Sinagua people. It is Spanish for, "without water"
 It was not built  for white people "without sex" but Jeeps most certainly were

Who knew the desert could get so cold at dusk? My ass, that's who knew. It may have been the quickest sex of my life.

In Front of an Exotic Bird Exhibit at a Zoo
Don't ask what zoo because I won't tell you.
I will tell you this, however, since I used to work at a zoo...I know things....
Lots of people have sex at the zoo.

"No" means "No", Smokey! No means No!

And I mean not just the drunk and horny zookeepers.

Upstairs from a Veterinary Office Somewhere in London
A disturbing trend has been discovered. 
Apparently I seek out sex in closed places of business where I am likely to become covered in hair or grease.
Luckily for me (and you, the nauseated reader) it all ended here. Or shall we say, it began?
Fast forward exactly 280 days from this day in London....

On the Eve of My First Born's Due Date
We threw a, "We're Having a Kid Tomorrow So Please Trash Our House for the Last Time for a Long Time Party". I'd like to say that I had been drinking something besides water that night but of course, I hadn't been. I don't remember if the Tall Guy had been but I imagine he needed to be wasted to have sex with me by that point in the pregnancy.

The next morning after I showered I woke the Guy up and we drove to the hospital.
And nothing's been the same since :)


Weirdest Places I Had Sex Since Having Kids

On Top
This was my go-to gig before I was busting-at-the-seams pregnant. I'd kinda forgotten about the fabled, On Top oft spoken about by ladies with fewer years and labial folds until recently. 

So I've been busting this one out a bit lately and the reviews are good. 
It's not just Two Thumb's up I'm getting, if you know what I mean...

Still not in the mood after having kids but hubby's nagging you?
Show him this image immediately
You're welcome.

Now go on- go have sex in a weird place or better yet...

Where is the weirdest place you've had sex (and don't say, the City of Mesa)???

                                                                         *****

Don't forget about Theme Thursday!
Check out the link below to see what other blogger's have to say about Sex since Kids....
 http://cloudywithachanceofwine.com/1397-2/)

Sex and Two Vaginas and the City

Sometimes on special nights the Tall Guy and I let our daughters have what we call, with much enthusiasm  "Picnic Dinner!". 

For the kids, Picnic Dinner! means a complete dinner made up of food that are both palatable and easy to eat for little hands (think fish sticks, chicken strips, green beans, knuckle bones, etc). They get to have their Picnic Dinner! while sitting on a blanket in front of the tv watching a movie of their choice.

For the adults, Picnic Dinner! means dinner with few interruptions. In other words, we get to relax in silence (this is where people who do not have children would normally converse).

Tonight I was particularly grumpy due to a hunger-induced migraine and painful knees and was bitching and moaning about how much I hate Winnie the Pooh. 

Born in the 1920s, Pooh may have been the first
to wear a Baby Doll Tee  

I hate his voice, his stupidity, his friends and especially his stupid, too-small shirt. 

It should come as no surprise that Scotty J.,
 both the intellectual and physical equal of Pooh,
was a fan of  ill-fitting  shirts

I usually ignore what little tv my kid's watch because I find it unbelievably annoying 

(see previous post about that nitwit, Franklin) but as we sat and ate dinner I could not ignore the 250 inch television in the living room. And then it suddenly hit me- 

Winnie the Pooh is a children's version of Sex and the City!

Not nearly as glamorous or artfully filmed, Hundred Acre Wood is like a co-star to Winnie the Pooh just as NYC is to Sarah Jessica Parker. And instead of being obsessed with boozing it up, Pooh and his friends are typically gathered at the end of each show around a gigantic vat of honey instead of Appletini's or Cosmo's or gay male friends.

Still not convinced that Darren Star and Alan Milne were kindred spirits?
Read on...

Pooh vs. Carrie
Ok, both are obviously the protagonist and in need of help of some kind. Neither are complete without the rest of their weird gang of friends. Both are obsessed with their midriffs. 

Apparently even outside of the Hundred Acre Wood it
is difficult to find shirts that will cover the 'rumbly in your tumbly'

Eeyore vs. Miranda
Both tend to be the stick in the mud (or honey) and neither knows how to accessorize  That bow on Eeyore's ass does not count.

Don't like empowered women like Miranda Hobbes??
Well, FORK YOU!

And neither do those earrings.

Piglet vs. Charlotte
Always cheerful and upbeat, both these feminine and perky people prefer pink.

"I just want to be a wife and a Mother", said  Charlotte

"I just want to be a husband and somebody's 'other' Dad", said Piglet 

The Kangaroo (Kanga) vs. Samantha
Kangaroo's have a bicornuate uterus which is practically like having two vaginas. 
Enough said.

What do you mean, she gets TWO vaginas?? 

.*Spoiler alert*
We won't be forced to get to see another Sex and the City movie sequel until Kim Cattrall finagles a second vagina written into her contract.

Rats!

Getting Freaky in a Graveyard

This is going to sound really bad. 

I had sex in a graveyard.

Once.

When I was 17.

It sounds a lot worse than it really was. The idea of it, that is, not the sex itself. The sex was not bad, I'd say mediocre, at best.

To begin with, the act was performed with a boy that I was in love with and who had been my boyfriend for over a year. We had a mutually respectful relationship and we were looking for another way to connect. 
And also, new places to screw and not get caught by our parents.

And in my defense, it was a pet cemetery.

Even as a child, I had always loved the scare you could get watching a good horror movie. I was only five  when my parents took me to see a double feature that included Jaws and The Omen. I was wearing my pajamas and clutching a stuffed animal as I watched a giant, fake shark terrorize a New England beach from the back seat of our fake-wood paneled station wagon. 

To this day I cannot imagine why my parents thought it was a good idea to take me to see two of the scariest movies ever made. Strangely, it didn't freak me out, rather, it just made me really like horror movies. And surprisingly, there is no long-term psychological or emotional damage to me in spite of this early trauma (that we know of). That said, it was probably not the best parenting decision my folks made prior to their divorce a few years later.

By the time I'd reached high school, as far as I was concerned, there were no more good scary movies being made. They were too unrealistic, lacked imagination and the plots and dialog were always too stupid to believe. I was in need of a good scare and decided that my friends and I should visit a graveyard not too far from where we lived. Reluctantly, they agreed.

Maybe to insure that at least one person wouldn't back out at the last minute, I told my boyfriend that I wanted to 'do it' while we were there. Because that would be reeeally fucking weird scary.

He enthusiastically agreed. Not so much because he wanted to get laid in a cemetery- he just wanted to get laid. Anywhere.

It was around ten o'clock when the six of us arrived and parked behind the middle school across the street. We killed a couple of hours drinking, smoking and telling ghost stories before we all had the courage to leave the bleachers and head in the direction of the pet cemetery. We crossed the street and climbed over a short, chain-link fence that surrounded the cemetery. Out of fear all six of us walked in a tight cluster holding hands. We covered our mouths between muffled giggles and whispering, "BOO!"to each other, in hopes that the living neighbors whose houses surrounded the yard, wouldn't hear us.

It was nearly midnight and the slight breeze made it chillier than usual. The graveyard was small- maybe two acres and it was not maintained at all. The ground was hard-packed, desert dirt with occasional ground squirrel holes and dried up weeds littering the property. Most of the pet plots had nothing but crooked wooden crosses, the sun having baked off much of their white paint. There were no names that we could see on the first few grave markers we came across.

Real picture of our Spooky Neighborhood Graveyard in the daylight
(add your own creepy soundtrack here- I suggest wind whistling
or the sound of your kids opening up the squeaky cabinet
where you keep your home-made porn collection)

Under the guise of playing hide-and-go-seek, I grabbed my boyfriend's hand and we shuffled off giggling, knowing what we were about to do would be both silly and scary. We found a small area of concrete where there stood a tall flagpole at the back of the cemetery. We argued briefly about who would be on the bottom and thus, be forced to lay bare-bottomed on the cold concrete. Although it was dark and we knew our friends couldn't see us from across the cemetery, we also knew we would be unable to see any one of them approaching if they happened to come looking for us. 

We fumbled with belts and buttons and zippers and were in the middle of (fill in the blank with an illegal, underage activity of your preference ) _________ when we heard one of our friends call out. 

We were dressed and on our feet quickly, running in the direction of the cry. We found everyone  motionless and staring at one of the few, non-wooden headstones.

And it was not a dog.
Or cat.
Or bird.

It was a person. And though I cannot remember the name or the dates, I remember it was a young person, a kid. A kid that had died and was buried there nearly 100 years earlier. And we looked at the headstone next to it, and the one next to that one and the one next to that one. It was an entire family.

We were literally stunned into silence and I was mortified by my earlier actions. How disrespectful we had been. And how embarrassed I was for my behavior. And for having sex in front of ghosts. We thought we were screwing in front of labradoodles.

What a Zombie Labradoodle would look if he watched me have sex and
he also happened to be dressed up as a  Siberian Husky
( Zombie dogs always dress up on Halloween )

Ghosts saw me naked.

Someone wisely suggested we "get the hell out of here" and so we did.

Artist rendering of what our exit may have looked like the night we got freaky in a graveyard 

We spent the rest of the night hanging out behind the middle school and reliving the evening we spent among ghosts. 

I have not thought about that night in many years, I guess because it wasn't as scary or significant as I had hoped it was going to be. 

But just to be safe, my daughters will never be taken to a horror movie double-feature before the age of six and instead will be brought up on a steady diet of Disney, Pixar and Dreamworks. 

************************************************************************************************************
Didja know it's Theme Thursday?
Check out what other bloggers have to say about Halloween by clicking on the links below....

Something Clever 2.0  

Cloudy With a Chance of Wine 

The Next Step 

a calibama state of mind 

Your Life Tour Guide 

Each week you'll have the opportunity to see what the same five whackos have to say about the same subject. Believe me, it will explain a lot.

Enjoy!

Livin' the Dream- My First Day as a Zookeeper

I always wanted to work with animals and in the dark days before the advent of Animal Planet as a kid I actually wanted to be Jim Fowler. Jim was the compliant assistant to Marlin Perkins of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom.

Marlin Perkins on Wild Kingdom in a time before digital maps.
And good lighting. 

Being Marlin Perkin's 'assistant' meant doing all of the work wearing kick-ass, khaki pants and a sweet leather belt. It also meant being forced out of a Jeep or boat by Mr. Perkins in order to subdue a 40 foot long crocodile or something similar. Mr. Perkin's calming voice-over would offer up a narrative that made it sound like wrestling a croc was a perfectly normal thing to do and there was no danger whatsoever involved.

Marlin pointing out a crocodile to Jim so he could wrestle it by hand, into submission

After landing the ultimate, animal lover's dream job- working at a zoo- I quickly learned that Mr. Perkin's calm demeanor in the studio may have been a tad misleading.

"Just kiddin'! There's no croc- It's really a bear!" exclaims Marlin, much to Jim's delight

On my first day as a zookeeper, I was told that I would not be working with animals that day. The time would be spent filling out W2's, getting my zoo issue cargo pants and HR bullshit. And I would be doing all of this while spending the entire eight hours with my new boss, Tawny, a zoo keeping veteran of 20 years.

Yes, that is my ass and yes, I worried about splitting those pants every single day

Tawny was of indeterminate age but you would recognize her as the older lady with the over-processed hair that was rockin' out at The Scorpions concert you attended in 9th grade. Although it was nearly 15 years ago I can still recall Tawny's hair, voice and hands. She spoke like Jeff Spicoli and had speckled, leathery hands that showed every minute of the 20 years she spent working in the desert sun. 

Imagine the hair a little bigger and replace the checkerboard Vans with a rake and the bagel
with a walkie-talkie and  you've pretty much got Tawny.  And add a Scorpions concert T shirt.

With the exception of one very brief moment, most of that day remains a blur to me.

Ah, but that one moment.

I toured the zoo with Tawny in a golf cart that looked to have been built during the Johnson administration. It had been converted to have a mini truck bed on the back in order to transfer big buckets of poop around zoo grounds. While we drove past- no joke- a 15 foot wall of shit Tawny referred to as the "compost" pile, she received a call on her walkie-talkie. The conversation went something like this:

Disembodied static-y voice on walkie-talkie: "The tiger just arrived."

Tawny: (to walkie-talkie voice) "We can be there in five minutes"

Me: (in my own head, "I'MGOINGTOSEEATIGER, I'MGOINGTOSEEATIGER, I'MGOINGTOSEEATIGER, I'MGOINGTOSEEATIGER, I'MGOINGTOSEEATIGER!!!")

And then Tawny turned to me and asked, "You want to go see a tiger?"

 "Um, yeah. Ok", I said, super casual and all, AS IF PEOPLE ASKED ME TO SEE VISITING TIGERS EVERY FUCKING DAY.

So this part is a little fuzzy. All I know is that a new male tiger named, Dutch, had just arrived by truck after being hauled across the country for nearly a week. I had no role to play in the transfer of Dutch's 12 foot long shipping crate from the back of a truck and into the tiger night-house*.  I tried my best to stay out of the way during the hour long procedure.

(*A 'night-house' is zoo-speak for the small, decrepit building that zoo animals are locked into at night, usually located at the back of the exhibit. They are usually infested with rats, scorpions and cockroaches as well as the odd tiger or lion.)

By the time we arrived, all of the zookeepers involved in the tiger transfer process were already inside the night-house. Tawny led me through the night-house- it reminded me of old-timey, underground jail cells. Lots of concrete, little ventilation and a long, narrow hallway. The smell was not totally unpleasant, like how you imagine your house would smell if your cat weighed 200 pounds instead of 9 and he peed on your couch every time you got home late from work. And you have a swamp cooler. That needs servicing.

As we began to walk down the hall, Tawny stopped in her tracks and looked me straight in the eye. She told me to "stay close to this", and gestured to the decades-old concrete wall with chipping paint on my left side. Um, ok, whatever. I practically rolled my eyes but instead I followed her quickly down the hallway without another word between us. 

On the right side of the hallway was just a chain link fence that I could have touched if I had stretched my arm a bit. Behind the chain link was a cell about 10 x 15 feet. Much to my disappointment the room was completely void of tigers and I felt gypped. Because I was hired to be a  zoo keeper for the animals that were used for educational presentations to church groups, nursing homes and rich, three-year old birthday parties, I would be limited to working with small parrots, snakes and hedgehogs. Odds were pretty good (unless I was lucky enough to see one escape!) that if it didn't happen today, I would not be seeing a tiger at the zoo anytime soon.

At the end of the hallway I was safe from harm as well as any chance of watching the probably very pissed off tiger enter his exhibit for the very first time. And although I couldn't see the tiger, I could see the head zookeeper, watching the silent crate at the end of the hallway. He was armed with a shotgun (no, not a dart gun, a SHOTGUN) just in case the shit hit the fan. Oh, and all the doors were locked. We were locked in. With a tiger. A probably very pissed tiger.

Why were we locked in? says you. I'm glad you asked.
On the off chance that the tiger would escape, the doors would remain locked until the tiger could be "contained". Or until he ate everybody.

(*Spoiler alert No. 1: I did not get eaten by a tiger on this particular day, however, later in my career I was locked inside one of those small rooms with a 500 pound African lion that was unexpectedly waking up under anesthetic. This was done in order to contain him until the tranquilizer began to take full affect and so that he wouldn't eat the zookeeper manager. The manager had locked herself safely in the lion-free hallway while leaving us in the cage to die deal with the situation. Another time the same manager also locked me and some zookeepers in with a waking-up orangutan.  *Spoiler alert No. 2 : I did not get eaten by the African lion *Spoiler alert No. 3: I did not get eaten by the waking up orangutan) 

I gathered that Dutch had safely exited his crate and entered his new bedroom because I could hear the keepers at the end of the hallway speaking in hushed tones. I could hear some of them using their 'kitty' voices saying comforting things like, "Hi, Dutchy!", "Easy now, Dutch", "You're ok, buddy" and "If you're going to eat someone, please eat that stupid looking new girl down the hall", or something like that, I think. Maybe. Pretty sure.

Although I couldn't see him, I knew by the eyes of the motionless keepers standing at the end of the hallway, that Dutch was pacing around his new bedroom. And I was right- the low growl/rumble/low frequency demonic verses coming down the hallway were not sounds indicative of a happy kitty. I was pretty sure they were the sounds tigers made before eating people. 

Everyone seemed to exhale a sigh of relief as Dutch was finally secure in his night-house and everyone could leave.Tawny stood at the far end of the hallway from me and motioned for me to come down to where she stood. At that moment I realized why she seemed so Bruce Willis-y earlier when she told me to "stay close" to the wall side of the hallway.

I was going to have to walk past that furious fucking tiger.

And now the hallway seemed extra long.
And extra narrow.
And control over my bowels seemed iffy at best.

Now, in the very small world of people that work with wild animals, there's a fine line between brave and stupid and I knew I needed to straddle it carefully. Both my reputation and my safety were at risk. And maybe my undies. Walking too close would probably make Dutch even more uneasy in his new place and his reaction would be unpredictable (cower in a corner vs. eating through chain link in millisecond and then eating my head). Walking too close the wall on my right would imply that I was scared to walk past a tiger that was safely locked up, even if I wasn't (but I actually really was). 

WWJD?
What Would Jim (Fowler) Do?, I thought to myself. 
He would look cool, that's what he would do. Whatever he did, he would look cool. 

So, I did my best to walk coolly, calmly, quickly down the almost middle of the hallway, a touch or two closer to the wall on my right. I stared straight down the hall as I began to walk the 15 or so feet past Dutch's bedroom. 

And that's when that unforgettable moment happened.

I didn't see him spring from where he was pacing at the back of the bedroom or even jump up on his hind legs. What I did see was the face of Dutch, a full grown Sumatran tiger, roaring less than three feet from my face as I walked past. I don't remember how loud it was (though on later trips to the lion/tiger night-house I was impressed with the how loud the roars of the cats were), I just remember actually feeling the roar. In my chest. My chest actually vibrated. Or I had stress-induced heart palpitations. Either way, I remember it in my chest.

The rest of that day was a blur, the only other thing I remember was thinking throughout the entire day, I got a job at a zoo!  I got a job at a zoo! I got a job at a zoo!


Whether my underwear life changing experience was because I was concentrating too hard on not looking scared (but I actually was) or because Dutch was ninja-fast, I'll never know. All I do know is that it was the first of a handful of times my body reacted in a very visceral way in response to a perceived animal threat.

Years later going  down the narrow hall past the tiger 'bedroom' for a veterinary procedure.
The oxygen is just in case a new zookeeper passes out when an angry kitty roars at him/her

And so the second day on the job led to the next and the next. My job changed more than once while at the zoo and I even left the zoo a couple of times so I could goof around overseas for several years. More than ten years went by and I kept returning to that dream job.

What I do remember is that Dutch was the first animal I met on both his and my first day at the zoo. Many years later, by then working as a veterinary technician at the animal hospital on zoo grounds, I was beside Dutch during his final moments. And despite some dark days, like the day we said goodbye to Dutch, working at the zoo really was a once in a lifetime job. It was there I had the pleasure and honor of working with some of the most amazing zookeepers and incredible animals I've ever known.

And although I had a few more adrenalin rushes working with sick, injured or not-quite-anesthetized animals I never did poop in my pants. 

Poop on my pants. Yes, just about every day but it was never my poop.
Poop in my pants. Nope, not once.

I doubt even Jim Fowler can say that.

*********************************************************************************

Click on any one of the links below to see what other blogger's 'dream job' experiences have been- It will probably give you insight at why so many bloggers are emotionally damaged/fragile people

Something Clever 2.0 http://www.somethingclever2point0.com/

Aspiring to the Middle http://mf-aspiring.blogspot.com/

Cloudy With a Chance of Wine http://cloudywithachanceofwine.com/

I like beer and babies. http://www.ilikebeerandbabies.com/

Mod Mom Beyond IndieDom http://modmombeyondindiedom.blogspot.com/

Mommy Rotten  http://blog.mommyrotten.com/

The Next Step http://lorihokie.blogspot.com/

a calibama state of mind http://calibamamom.wordpress.com/

Mom With Her Running Shoes On http://momwithherrunningshoeson.blogspot.com/

Who Woulda Thought? http://whowouldathought-kevin.blogspot.com

The Insomniac's Dream http://hypnoticbard.blogspot.com/

Each Thursday you'll have a chance to check out what a bunch of different crazed bloggers (redundant, I know) have to say about a particular topic.

Don't Shit Where You Sleep

It was supposed to be our Big Night Out minus the little people.

It was an adults-only wedding. No, not that kind of 'adults-only' ( I wish!). Doug,  a friend of over twenty years, met someone really nice and so they decided to get hitched in a very nice wedding in his resort-like backyard last night. And not have all of our kids there to ruin it. 

Good planning on their part.

Here's a timeline of the events that occurred last night:

6:15 pm
Suited-up Tall Guy and I arrive 15 minutes late and sneak into the back of the ceremony already in progress 

6:30 
Notice an old friend from high school that I was a little apprehensive to see standing twenty feet away at the rear of the ceremony as well (she and her husband apparently as flakey as me and Tall Guy since they obviously arrived late to the ceremony as well). She begins waving happily, frantically in my direction. I slowly wave back, surprised at the enthusiasm she has at seeing me. I am relieved- things won't be as awkward as I anticipated.

Then I notice the guy that she was actually waving at pass by me and go over and hug the frantically waving high school friend. Feel like an ass.

6:35
Ceremony over with, bump into ex husband of a friend for the first time since he walked out. Weird. He may or may not have grabbed my ass. Nice. 
I still got it.

6:37
Bump into Frantically Waiving Friend, we hug, we catch up. Not awkward. Nice.

6:44 
Find out there's no real booze at the wedding. Only wine and beer. Fuck.

6:45
Realized I neglected to bring flask. FUUUUUUUUCK!

6:46
Frantically waving friend (who has two kids under the age of 6), knowing the serious nature of my situation immediately offers to help me find booze in the house. I make a mental note to add her to the I.C.E. contact list on my phone because clearly, this girl knows exactly what needs to be done in an emergency.

6:56
Find Kirkland brand vodka and diet tonic. I feel like I have won the lottery.

7:16
My friends' drunk dad jokingly grinds against me while I hug him hello. Happy that I seem to be getting a lot of action tonight but am still slightly disturbed by the humping dad.

7:20
Another friend finds me and tells me how she found herself sitting behind Todd Smith during the ceremony. "Can you believe the irony??" she asks, I am unable to see the irony and ask, "What, did you date him or something?". She looked at me for a second, probably to see if I was drunk, joking or just stupid and says, incredulously, "I was MARRIED to him!". 
Sadly, I was not drunk and I was not joking.

8:40
Tall guy reads text from grandma, the big kid is having troubles with her asthma. Tall guy calls his mom, she is stressed, but kids seem ok as they can be heard in the background being obnoxious (an hour after bedtime). Probably high on gummy bears and trashing the place Keith Moon style.

8:50
Finally find Todd Smith (ex husband #2 if you're keeping score) and give him a hug, catch up. He looks exactly the same. And he still has a really, really long.....set of eyelashes. 
No, seriously, he does. 
And his cock is HUGE.

9:00
Communication error between stressed Tall Guy and irresponsible, buzzed wife finds me ride-less, sober and very far from home. Tall guy on his way to pick up sick kid and awake sister to take them home.

9:01 
Not in the mood to drink now, feeling bad Tall Guy has to deal with sick/cranky kids solo. Make plans to spend night with dear friend Kathy that lives a couple blocks away and is also at the reception. Tall Guy will pick me up in the morning.

11:01
Mood changes, I decide to go ahead and get drunk (Mistake #1)

1:00 am
At Kathy's house, no diet tonic, only cranberry juice. I pour my first vodka and cranberry even though cranberry juice always upsets my stomach the next day (Mistake #2)

1:15 am
Polish off some delicious chicken curry Kathy warmed up (Mistake #3). 

1:45 am
Kathy throws some pork ribs in the oven, tells me they "only take 45 minutes". For some reason, I think this is a reasonable thing to do at almost 2 o'clock in the morning (Mistake #4)

1:47 am
Frozen chocolate chip cookie dough discovered in freezer and it just seems logical that we bake and eat these along with the short ribs (Mistake #5)

2:15 am
We lay, propped up on pillows in in her king bed covered in plates full of empty ribs and cookie crumbs. It looks like a crime scene. I finish my second vodka and cranberry. We watch an old episode of Breaking Bad (Not a mistake. That show is fucking awesome.)

2:30 am
We realize we are fucked as our synchronized hang overs begin to kick in. We raid the children's ibuprofen and take about 16 chewable tablets each (First Smart Thing I've Done All Night )

6:30 am
I wake up feeling like shit. I alternate between sitting on the toilet and walking around the house with a Tupperware bowl, just in case shit starts to get real in a hurry. I spend most of my time on the toilet.

6:45 am
Am annoyed with Allure magazine because it is fucking stupid. Prefer finer literature for extended toilet visits. Mental note to leave a good magazine behind next time I'm here in case my husband forgets me at another party and I wind up eating short ribs and pooping like crazy over here again. 
I know that a recurrence of this situation is not as unlikely as it seems like it should be.

7:00 am
I break guest bathroom toilet. I don't know how it happened. The water is just not refilling the bowl. It's as if it were turned off. I consider checking to see if the water thingy located on the wall beneath the bowl magically turned itself off since the last time I pooped (about 7 minutes earlier) but decide I am physically incapable of bending down at that moment.

7:11 am
Decide to move matters to the kids bathroom. As I flush, I hear the chain inside the tank break. 
MOTHER FUCKER!

9:00 -10 am
Kathy wakes up and very kindly drives me 30+ miles home so the tall guy doesn't have to schlep sick kids across town.

11:30 am
Make lunch for kids. Take a handful of various poop and headache meds.

12:00 pm
Feeling much better. Trying to decide on what we should make for dinner. Cannot get ribs off my mind (Probably Future Mistake #6)