911 Animal Complaints

Scenario 1: You see four adorable and cuddly raccoon babes handing out in a tree, apparently motherless. You think - they can't get down and you believe a police-run rescue mission is in order. You call 911 because supposedly this a bloody emergency. Me, the dispatcher, can tell you how this goes:

Me: Which service, police, fire, ambulance?

You: Police

Me: What's your emergency?

You: There are four raccoon babies stuck in a tree.

Me: Okay so you want an officer to shoot them down?

You: NO! I want an officer to rescue them.

Me: Okay well if an officer goes, they're going to be shot out of the tree. Trust me though, they'll make it down.

You: Umm never mind... *click*

Scenario 2: You're bit once by the neighbour's frothing mutt Miss Tickles. You freak out, imagining horrendous scenes from Cujo, even though you're safe and sound in your home. You call 911. If I answer, this is how it's going to go:

Me: Which service, police, fire, ambulance?

You: Police.

Me: What's your emergency?

You: My neighbour's dog bit me 10 minutes ago.

Me: Did you bite it back? No? Well the police aren't paid enough to come bite a dog and teach it a lesson for your wussy ass. Have a nice day.

Scenario 3: This is a regular one, and keep in mind I have to take notes when I answer a call. It goes like this:

Me: Which service, police, fire, ambulance?

You: Police.

Me: What's your emergency?

You: There's a coyote walking down the road.

Me: And it's just walking.

You: Yeah.

Me: Is it getting into garbage, or acting aggressive?

You: No.

Me: So it's just walking down the road?

You: Yes.

Me: Okay I'll send an officer out right away.

You: Thank you! *hangs up*

Officer: What was that about?

Me: Nothing, just more paper to shred.

The Power of No

No.

No, no, no...

I don't normally believe I have 'pet peeves', or at least I do, I just hate calling them pet peeves. Unfortunately people who can't say no are one of them.

Want to go to a Celine Dion concert? No. Hell no.

Can you clean up that random pile of cat barf? Blech, no.

Will you be my Dungeons and Dragons partner? Sure! I mean umm no...

It's really not that hard. Unfortunately for some, it seems to be. I realize that I have a hard time saying no when it comes to work, probably because I envision my paycheck shrinking and the stuff I want to buy going away with it. Guilt has a lot to do with it; it weighs on you forcing a yes out of your mouth. Guilt plays a large role in a lot of our lives: feeling guilty if you don't do what people want, feeling like we're not good enough, feeling like we're failures. I believe in embracing our faults and feeling good about them. I'm self-absorbed. Therefore I don't mind saying no to attending Celine Dion just because you like it. Why not feel proud that you're a failure, or feel good about rebelling against what people want. While you're at it, say no.

Flaws

It's weird to think that someone will find flaws in you and dislike them when you've grown attached to them, happily or not.
For me, it's easy to look at someone and see their flaws. But then I wonder whether I could accept them.
Physical flaws can become familiar and endearing unless they go as far as to turn you off.
Can you grow to love and react to someone with flaws?
What about personality flaws? These I find harder to endure although they are less obvious: egotism, insecurity, vanity, apathy are more difficult to love than a snaggle tooth.
At what point do flaws control our opinion of someone?
Is that what everyone strives for, to be balanced and not over-flawed? Is that bland - we strive to be bland human beings?
Maybe a person's good traits overpower the flaws but we need both to see the difference.

Ugly People Making Out: The Car Crash of PDA

Okay let's set the scene, because I know you've been there:

You're at a bar, you know, that one that has a scene for your younger bro but has a broad enough demographic to make your older friends feel comfortable. You're out on the dance floor and it looks like a European orgy, people are grinding with the wall from lack of space. You can't even get your hand up to fist pump let alone moonwalk. You're either pressed up against a cute stranger and pretending it's an accident or you've just pinched some girl's butt and now trying to escape to make it look like you didn't just pinch her butt. Let's say in your desperate flight you get stuck in the crowd. You're far from the exit and everyone's holding their ground. You try to make the best of. You begin to dance again. Everyone's bumping into the next, but the one on your left is persistent. Peeling your cheek off the big guy on your right, you check out what you think is Asshole Numero Uno on your left - only to find yourself in a three way makeout session with two fuglies.

Yeah, that's a dilemma. Where do you puke right?

But that's not the real problem. Okay, they're practically humping your leg from lack of room, but now you have to try to ignore them. So you go back to busting a move, but the half-shaved Sasquatch and the snaggle-toothed wonder keeping pulling your focus. Let's lay down the truth, you openly slack-jaw stare at them.

It's okay, I know you're not a freak, you're not turned on by it or anything (right?). This is how it is, have you ever seen two armadillos doing the nasty? Probably not, unless you're an armadillo breeder, in which case you're ruining my point.

Imagine it. It's not anatomically possible. It goes against nature. Unfortunately, that is what ugly people making out becomes. Impossible but it defies the impossible. And it's happening on your leg.

Now I've seen numerous fugly face-sucking sessions. Why they save them for the bar and yours truly's lap? Probably because their the spawn of Satan. With my expertise, I've devised some tactics to avoid ogling them like a bad homemade porn.

1) Fist pump - This is my best tactic. Everyone knows you have to look at your fist to make sure you're doing it right and if you're looking at your fist, voila, you can't see them. Now if you're not cool enough to fist pump, resort to my other methods.

2) Look at your shoes - Of course if you have no style and your shoes are ugly, you might as well stare at the car wreck beside you.

3) Shut your eyes - This is a last resort and for the love of life, don't open them, even if you think they're gone. Say you can't hear the sounds of god-awful suction noises. Don't fall for it. It's a trick. The second you open your eyes, they'll be off your leg and pressed up to your belly button. I hope you can smell your way to the bathrooms and have a buddy with good aim to toss a beer to your open hand.

Now I don't include these options because this is what I'd do, but most people wouldn't. Depending on what I ate that day, or what's in my throat, I can pick either/or.

1) Release the worst SBD fart you can muster. You know that one you were saving for a friend's pillow? Use it. This is a life or death situation. You're friends potential pink eye can wait.

I prefer my second method, because I'm pretty good at it and I'm possessive of my SBD's.

2)Cough.

I mean hoark it. They're not going to leave unless phlegm hits their faces. Make it sound like a degenerative disease that they could possibly catch. Pretend you can't help coughing, or you run the risk of getting hairy-knuckled, white trash style. When I'm feeling creative, I keep a bar olive in my pocket. Then I'll fake a sloppy sneeze and slap the olive at their faces. Of course, I am a lady, so I apologize profusely for kersnotting.

While I'm dishing out some well-advised knowledge, I'll give you the cold, hard facts and how to prepare.

Be alert.

These events don't just happen at the bar. These people don't have what we call polite discretion. They'll make out anywhere.

You'll go to take a bite of your smoked salmon bagel, and they'll be there.

Oh, you're just picking out a library book? They're there.

Burying your great grandmother? Yeah, they're there too.

Don't drop your guard and carry a mirror (perfect for looking around corners).

These are the facts of life people.

Drivers That Follow Too Close

Yeah I get it, city driving is tough. I realize it's considered polite for everyone to squeeze together in an intersection so that no one's hanging out. That does not account for every other time my poor truck's bumper is ridden like a carousel horse by a bigger truck with a driver trying to compensate. I cannot stand it when I'm blatantly going over the speed limit and some jack with a brick loafer thinks I'm Grandma Geezer going for a jaunt in the countryside. That same jack also seems to think my bumper is a button that reads "push to go faster".

Many people like to hit the brake to tell them off but I've concluded that such behaviour only lowers you to so-and-so's level. Basically you've caught the hot potato and now you're the asshole.I prefer to practice a similar course of action, while being the "better person".

I drive an uber cool standard truck (just don't ask what kind or year because my 'uber cool' comment will quickly lose value). You need a standard to perform my tactic. It goes like this: Jackola is riding your bum-per. You assess the best moment- being the moment when he's about to hit your go faster button. Now you act. Downshift. Hard.

This way, he'll see your tail flying towards him, without the pre-warning of brake lights. Oh, there's a chance he'll smash into you. Don't do this with children in either vehicle. Serves him right.

As I like to say; tail-riding decapitates babies. That should be a bumper sticker.

Zomb-a-lom-bies

Zombies

Inevitable

Not the most descriptive adjective for them but it’s the one that holds the most truth. You might not think this is where the fate of humankind will lead but I can prove it’s already begun.Maybe you’ll recognize my description as someone you know.

My sister and I used to attend an Anglican church. For me it wasn’t about religion, it was just a place to hang out with my best friend. We had a minister, who was a great guy - comical and easy going. Then like a switch, his sermons became monotone and dull, compared to their usual entertaining cadence. The true tell-tale sign of zombie-ism was the obese flies crawling on his face and hands, line-dancing across his brow. A zombie in God’s house, attempting to preach his words may seem ironic but like a shark they are not evil or malicious. It is just in their nature.

It’s not wide-spread. Yet. The signs are present and they will become persistent in daily life. The zombies will come and with the speed of locomotive gaining ground, they will cover our world.

Cowboy

He hopped off the horse like a Hollywood cowboy. that well-practiced swing of the leg over the horn, a cause for a head-shake from any up-tight equestrian. He may have been born branding cattle before eating solids but he was barely a man. Once on the ground, the awkwardness showed. Where to put his hands, a slouch or a straight-back, mussed hair or smoothed - he didn't know what to do with himself. Maybe it would come in time, or maybe I made him nervous; of course it could have been what was in my hands.
He finally settled for leaning on his grey tank of a cattle herder, one hand in his pocket, the other arm slung over the saddle. Cowboy couldn't look at me, couldn't take his eyes off the cup made by my hands. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He wasn't the best talker, although when he did, he made sure it was important. Cowboy was the one who settled my anger when I first came here, at the beginning of the dry, burning summer. I was at a loss for words too.
Stepping forward I pushed my hands out to him, trying to get him to understand. His lips turned up in a sympathetic smile yet his eyes had become shaded grey. Coming closer, Cowboy enveloped my hands in his and my heart ruffled like a dying moth.
"Give him to me, Cinch." He could make his voice so soft and it still reverberated within me.
Cowboy lifted his eyes from our hands and brought them to my face. I saw fear in his eyes, creasing the corners and furrowing his brow. The shock from so many things made everything harder to comprehend.
"Why are you worried?"
"Because I know you believe in signs. This isn't one of them. It's the same as everything I've taught you this summer. It's the highs and lows."
My gaze dropped immediately, shame blossoming across my cheeks. I knew he was right. I had selfishly thought this was a sign; that my life was going to hell.
I focused on my hands and the softness cupped inside them. His hands stayed wrapped warmly around mine, waiting. Cowboy continued looking down at me, always patient.
"Why?"
Bursting out, causing my hands to tremble. Cowboy didn't answer for the eternity of a minute. He rubbed his thumbs over my wrists, stabilising me.
" It's not a sign. It's life. Growing up is hard, things don't always survive. What does survive get to experience both the good and bad things of life."
"It's not fair. We watched them all summer. You told me everything about them. They were home-free."
"Nothing is home-free Cinch."
Turning my face away I tried with resolution not to cry like a kid with her candy stolen.
"Hey, Cinch, it's not you," he said, nodding towards our hands, "you fell hard before you came here, but you're standing now. Every time you get back up, it makes it harder to fall."
Cowboy's eyes drove deep and those perfect, silent lips looked like every wonderful memory I had of him: a summer full of trust issues and trail rides and a growing friendship but never a moment where we stood this close or he looked at me in that way. I reeled in confusion as I tried to decipher what it could mean. I was a girl of signs and this one was a murky swamp. The splash of blue in my hands and the feel of his warm breath brushing my lips was a morose and intoxicating picture.
The depressing early morning discovery that weighed my hands pressed me to dread what had brought me to the ranch two months ago. I couldn't be what I was back then. That husk of a person, with more problems than a textbook.
"Cinch."
Startled at being caught in my inner-mind conflict, I looked back up at him. Cowboy had that slanted half-smile on his face, and it made me guess he really knew what I was thinking.
Cowboy squeezed my wrists lighting, tilting his face towards mine. He grazed his lips across my own, brushing my thoughts from me. Gently, he caught my lower lip between his, pressing his mouth to mine. The kiss was Cowboy, patient and quiet with something that made my heart hum. Before the kisses could be become feverish, he broke away. That half-smile stayed on his lips as he steadied his breath and I realized my hands were shaking.
"Let's go bury our friend Cinch, and then we'll watch his brothers fly for the first time."
Pulling away to look up at him, I nodded and looked back down at our hands. Gently pulling mine apart, I lay my little blue bundle into his. The little blue jay looked smaller in his hands. Smiling down at me once more, he turned towards the back yard, his ranch horse calmly following. I felt a small smile on my lips and knew this was a good sign.