this isn't where my surly ass sits, but isn't that the friendly face you'd love to see telling you your dog has inoperable bone cancer and that you owe me $1900? man, i'm cute as shit. sweet, too. and it's a good thing i'm so fucking charming. because i really should be fired. i cannot get my stupid ass out of my bed and out of my house in the morning to save my stupid life. i usually wake up before the alarm because my stupid catlarm doesn't know how to shut the fuck up and stop walking all over my stupid face, but then i just lie there. staring at whatever is right there. sometimes i'll put my ipod on and listen to something that rocks, but even then i just can't seem to MOVE. and when i finally
i have to stop here and note for one second how much i hate my stupid hair and how looking at this picture laura took in december makes my fingers itch with yearning to call yosef and schedule a time to have this long-ass shit shaved off. it also makes me want to tickle laura to death or whatever other shit she would hate, because she just walked her mean ass up here and looked at me gazing wistfully at my easily-managed shorn head and said, "if you cut your hair i win the bet. and you KNOW how much i love to win." and i do know how much she loves winning. especially when it's at my expense. and she never wants me to fucking get anything. FOR INSTANCE, right fucking now there is some frontline or interceptor or heartgard promotion for which we can earn prizes either individually or as a group, and a couple weeks ago i walked around the corner as laura was discussing said promotion with ken behind my back, trying to arrange it so that we'd win things as a group. sneaky. because you don't want to know more about this bullshit than you really have to, let's just say that I wanted to do it INDIVIDUALLY. because i would totally win. duh. i mean, i win things. and i'm really fucking good at my job. plus bossy and manipulative. needless to say, laura's lovely group sharing idea won out over my scheming, selfish greed, so now we're doing this shit as a group and that sucks because have you ever tried to divide anything between more than two people? especially when those people are childish and immature and named samantha? this is going to be a nightmare. which is why she should have just let me win.
SO, since she defeated me (and fucking gloated) about that merial shit (you kids are heartworm testing your dogs, yes? and giving them preventative? don't make me get my belt out), i CANNOT lose this bet about the hair. even if it is killing me and requires that i set my alarm that i don't get up for ten minutes earlier. le womp. my hair really is glorious in a way that you'd have to see me in person to fully appreciate, but i am lazy. fuck, man. i just spent (i am not kidding) seventy fucking dollars on bottles of paul mitchell the conditioner (that leave-in business is the jam and makes my hair look so nice that bitches are constantly walking up to me and PUTTING THEIR FUCKING HANDS IN IT), so it would be really fiscally irresponsible for me to PAY for one of my hot dudes to CUT the hair that i just spent over a hundred and fifty dollars on MAINTAINING. because i had to go to bravco to buy two bottles of terax and a kerastase weekly treatment masque and this goddamned aveda clarifier and some lush soak and float and i obviously have to stop saying that i am such a dude because it is TOTALLY UNTRUE as no heterosexual man on the planet would ever spend that much time and expendable income on shit for his stupid fucking hair.
i was really late for work this morning because i was really drunk last night. forty-five minutes late, to be precise. and i really don't know how my man is going to react when i come in. jimbo's cool and he understands because he likes to get drunk, too (he also has busted-up guts, we're like soulmates over here). but i set a bad example, which he has told me maybe 800 times over the last eight years. he's usually a huge whore and says something along the lines of, "glad you could join us, samantha" and yells in my ear and flashes the lights off and on and bangs dog bowls on the counter to fuck up my chances of riding my hangover in peace. he's cool, though. buys us booze and beer from the liquor store next door and drinks it with us while bitches are all, "can i get tuffy's anal glands expressed?" pffft. call your groomer. bitch, we DRUNK.
but sometimes he's awesome in a weird way, like the time i was barfing some jaeger shots into the dental sink at seven-twenty in the morning and he stood next to me bitching about my not having reconciled the credit card totals the night before. while i was throwing up. in my coat. standing next to him. into the sink where dogs get their teeth cleaned. and it splashed on him. and i had totally balanced those fucking totals but he doesn't understand how his own accounting works which is why although i am quite possibly the surliest, meanest, bossiest, loudest, back-talkiest, facebooking while i should be teaching people about the life cycle of a whipworm and the resurgence of leptospirosis amongst the canine population of the chicagoland area-est snatch on earth, i'm never going to walk in late to a pink slip. i cost this dude more than you want to fucking know, and am often his worst employee. but he fucking loves me. even when i was late as hell he came over to me and asked how my golf game was going.
here's something, white people, stop joking around with black people about golf. that tiger woods shit hurt our collective feelings.
when i started here i didn't know shit about animals. scratch that. i didn't know that white people in the suburbs spend more on their animals in three months than i paid com ed last year. and it's funny that a lot of people who don't give a fuck about pets (kill yourselves) think that what i do all day is bullshit. i got a text from #2 yesterday that said, in part, "i don't understand why you'd ever work with animals. i don't believe in pets." then i said, "do you believe in god?" and he responded, lightning fast, "OF COURSE." and i said, "well I don't believe in THAT."
just a note, all caps while texting equals FIGHTING WORDS in the samantha irby textiquette handbook. too many emoticons are a no-no for anyone over sixteen years of age. and as the debate rages around me, i maintain that proper grammar and spelling are a REQUIREMENT. except if you are drunk, because if you've ever gotten a text from my tipsy ass i'm sure you couldn't even fucking read that shit with all the misspellings and wayward LOLs. i was gchatting two-tone yesterday and kept fucking it up (i hadn't even been drinking!) because some bitch kept asking me about her kennel's bordetella policy (the nerve of her) and refused to comprehend that the kennel can demand you do that shit as often as they like. if you don't like it, go somewhere else.
can i just say something that i don't understand and wears me out every single fucking day? i know you bitches don't have DVM licenses, and i only have a tangential one from working in this bastard industry for almost the entirety of my adult life, but if you have had your pet for more than a year, why don't you remember any of the shit you have to DO for it? can you tell me that? why?
why don't you know that it is illegal for you to not have your animal vaccinated against rabies? (and if you don't believe that shit is real, there is an INDOOR CAT showing signs of being rabid in our hospital RIGHT THIS FUCKING MINUTE) or that the duration of heartworm season in your climate? why are you surprised that your unneutered cat pisses on everyfuckingthing? why don't you know shit about fleas? pay some fucking attention when you are paying a dude sixty bucks for twenty minutes of his time. i had cats before i worked here, and i knew when those bitches were due for shit and what to feed them and all that. why don't YOU know?
if helen keller were diagnosed with kidney failure or diabetes, i would remember that when i had to go to the vet to get her fucking food. (really, i would euthanize her ass because that feral cunt would NEVER hold still long enough for me to do LRS or glucose checks at home. she would rip my fucking face off.) we see dozens of people all day who can't remember if their cat needs weight loss food? or maybe food for stones? no, maybe it's that low residue food? oh, you know. the one i always get.
yes. this is the best and busiest multi-million dollar practice on the north shore/north side of the city, and i remember, despite the hundreds of bitches i talk to every single day, what kind of food you need to get for the dog that you live with whom you buy food for that you scoop into his bowl twice or maybe even three times a day. let me get right on that. and yes, i remember what medication you switched to six months ago but decided to get an alternative online...
HERE IS THE THING ABOUT ONLINE PHARMACIES: they are unregulated. and i know, they have commercials and shit. amazing. REVOLUTIONARY. so that shit is totally legit. for reals. YOU ARE WRONG. because even though i've got "a headache" and laura is scowling at you and betty is giggling nonstop, we get our products from the companies that manufacture them. and so does YOUR vet. which means they are GUARANTEED. to WORK. because that chinese topspot you just slathered all over your dog IS NOT. which is why he got lyme disease. i know it's cheap, but IF YOU CAN'T AFFORD TO HAVE A PET YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE ONE.
people always think they're doing some animal a goddamned favor by bringing him to live in their broke-ass houses. sorry to be the one to break it to you, but if you need a discount, you shouldn't have a pet. if you have to buy cheap food, you shouldn't have a pet. if your "money is tight," you shouldn't have a pet. if you can't feed yourself, you shouldn't have a pet. if you can't take it somewhere in the middle of the night because it fell, or ate a plastic bag, or cut its leg open, or started screaming in pain, you shouldn't have a pet. and it sucks, but we witness EVERY SINGLE DAY people who take shit care of a life they couldn't afford to be responsible for in the first place. and i don't work in a goddamned pediatrician's office.
don't let these activists fool you. animals cost money. you have to feed them. and walk them. and buy them toys. and pick up their shit. and pay doctors and technicians and assistants and the CLIENT SERVICE DIRECTOR (ahem, my fancy title). and it's almost guaranteed that the more unprepared (i.e. DESTITUTE) you are, the more likely it is that you're going to end up adopting a dog with a heart murmur and untreated thyroid issue that looks normal on the outside but really is a ticking financial time bomb. laura and i were talking the other day about how fucking awful it is when people are screaming at us (literally, mind you) about how much shit costs. and i'm not an asshole (yes, i am), but i wouldn't have a pet if when she got sick i couldn't text her doctor to come to my apartment. all of the shit i steal is exxxpensive for you regular people, and more often than not we listen to people justify opting out of some pricey necessity.
and i'm not talking extravagant luxuries. i mean bloodwork and shit. physicals. VACCINES. if you've never watched a dog die slowly and painfully from parvo (which is preventable) consider yourself lucky. we hear people all the time piss and moan about paying for some shit that costs seventeen fucking dollars that is the difference between normal life and agonizing death. it really makes me want to kill someone. really. i can't even tell you some of the horrors i've witnessed that people have inflicted on their unsuspecting, undeserving, sweet and gentle animal friends.
that's part of the reason i was so fucking pissed when that idiot bitch popped off at the mouth about my supposed mistreatment of animals. motherfucker, i've seen a thirty pound german shepherd before. starved to death by some old dude who wanted to "teach him a lesson." do you know how many dead animals we see every day? how many who are starving? or have untreated diseases? broken legs, missing eyes, filled with maggots, you name it. and we're in a wealthy suburb! my first year i saw a cat that had fallen out of a window without a screen and impaled himself on an iron fence. because his owner thought he wanted some fresh air. on the fifth floor of an apartment building. fuck.
and put your dog on a goddamned leash. i am not kidding when i tell you that this woman let her dog run from the car to our door except, wait for it, he didn't really know where he was going! and saw something shiny in the middle of the busy ass street we're on! and he ran out into traffic after it! and got run over by a car! I GOT THAT DOG'S BRAINS ON MY SHIRT. because his mommy was an idiot who couldn't be bothered to affix a LEASH to a COLLAR. it is infuriating.
speaking of caring, get a trainer. thinking it's cute doesn't mean you love it. you need to teach it things. and care for it properly. and clean up after it. ugh, and enough already with the raw diets. this time of year drives me apeshit, because we get slammed and are crazy busy and dumb pieces of garbage run out and get animals then drop them in our laps and get huffy when we can't immeditely fix them. for free. last week i celebrated my eight year anniversary by stepping in a pile of shit with ascarids sticking out of it and getting into a screaming match with my boss who sometimes is not as cool as i made him seem earlier. fucking bonehead. every year around this time i start reevaluating what the fuck i do and why i do it and even though i want to tie you morons up with lupine collars and glue soft paws on you and cover you with puppy pads and set you on fire, i really do like my fucking job. we do good work here. and we're not really drunk all the time. well. not them.
sorry. some bitch asked me "what do you do for a living?" yesterday.
this is my bitch. helen keller.
luxuriating because her life is so fucking hard.
my vaccinated, sublimely cared for non-human companion. isn't she lovely?
and THAT is my bed. i know you want in.