Attention Ladies....

Listen up Ladies...I have been given a gift.  My ex sent me the "man rules".  I have in my possession all you need to know should you encounter a man.  Simply look for the following signs....once found-- all you need to do is turn around and walk the other way. Because girls...there are differences in communication. I will give you that.  The sexes are wired differently-absolutely...but ladies do not let yourself be duped by anyone claiming to be a "man" that exhibits the following characteristics. [watch for sarcasm along the way]

The Man Rules-At last a guy has taken the time to write this all down.   Finally, the guys ' side of the story.  We always hear "the rules" from the female side.  Now here are the rules from the male side.  These are our rules!  Please note...they are all numbered "1" on purpose. [or is it because you can't count?] 1)  Men are NOT mind readers. [is this the "its okay to be stupid" disclaimer...because that's what it sounds like to me. Men you don't have to be psychic to know that being a jerk is not gonna score points. ba-Duh.] 1)  Learn to work the toilet seat.  You're a big girl.  If its up-put it down.  We need it up you need it down.  You don't hear us complaining about you leaving it down. [Seriously...this is a rule? I was just not aware that women worldwide had complete breakdowns about the toilet seat. Urban legend.] 1)  Sunday sports is like the full moon or the changing of the tides.  Let it be. [what?! a: this implies that women do not watch, comprehend, or follow sports. and b: that being a useless vegetable on the couch for the better part of the Sunday is somehow environmentally ordained...sorry boys...try again.] 1)  Crying is blackmail and witchcraft. [Then I suggest you are not the cause of it.] 1)  Ask for what you want.  Let us be clear on this one! Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work! JUST SAY IT! [Yes...sadly we often overestimate your intelligence. Ladies-just look him in the face and say it. Saves valuable time and we can get back to saving the world.] 1)  Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question. [Just remember that goes both ways..."Honey-baby-sugar pie (insert whatever sap name he calls you) can I get a little lovin' tonite?" "No" "But baaaaaaaaaaaaby....will you tell me why?" "No"--just 'a for example'.] 1)  Come to us with a problem if you want help solving it.  That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.  [This is perhaps one of the most disturbing "rules"...Boys, let me tell you where this one will land you: She will Cheat on you. Period.  If you are DUMB enough to believe this approach-your significant other will absolutely seek shelter somewhere else.  It would be like being in a relationship with a brick. a big dumb brick.  If its a problem you can't solve--be a man--say "Gee Honey, this is really outside of my area of expertise. Why don't you call _____ and I'll wash the dishes while you vent." That's how a man solves it--its a trade off. And guys-hate to disappoint, but women just need to vent. Period. It is healthy.  Women who don't vent in some way, shape, or form have spontaneously combusted. True Story. Look it up.  Sorry but that's life. We all do it-get over it or look into sheep.] 1)  Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument.  In fact, all comments become null and void after seven days. [Sounds like a great excuse to be a liar.  Ladies-I'm looking for a man that can keep his word.  Besides...guys tend to say stupid things if cornered in a situation that is most undoubtably their fault. If you find this happening often, you need to get a new man because it sounds like yours has an IQ = to that of dirt.  Girls-intellectual compatibility is Mucho Importante. It will form the basis of communication and the platform of respect between the two of you. In short: don't skimp on the brains.] 1)  If you think you're fat, you probably are.  Don't ask us. [again-if your guy is this stupid...And ladies: get active! do something to stay fit. its important for You...not him. Take care of yourself because face it: if you're with stupid-he isn't going to.] 1)  If something we said can be interpreted two ways and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one. [way to go champ.] 1)  You can either ask us to do something Or tell us how you want it done. Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself. [can you find the faulty logic here?] 1) When you need to say something, please say whatever you have to say during commercials. [Whenever possible-listen the FIRST time we say it so we don't have to keep endlessly repeating ourselves.] 1) Christopher Columbus did Not need directions and neither do we. [Seriously? He had a crap ton of navigational equipment, and an entire CREW of people who knew how to sail and navigate.  They used the stars for direction-now that is a MAN. Last time I checked the number of men able to use the stars for direction while in a vehicle were slim.  So unless you are the one in a million-I suggest you pull your butt over and ask. Just remember--the longer you're in the car with us....the more chances we have to say "I told you so".] 1) All men see in only 16 colors, like Windows default settings.  Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color.  Pumpkin is also a fruit.  We have No idea what mauve is. [This is a delicate "rule". First of all-fellow sisters: I truly hope you have more interesting things to discuss than the fall colors with a man-But if you don't: may I suggest a gay one. The conversation will go Vastly better by leaps and bounds.] 1) If it itches, it will be scratched. We do that. [fair enough. Ladies: if you are with a neanderthal that has nothing better to do but scratch like a stray dog with fleas in public situations- have him dipped & find someone that is remotely cognizant of their surroundings.] 1) If we ask what is wrong and you say "nothing" we will act like nothing's wrong.  We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle. [First of all: ladies-don't play stupid games. You give the rest of us a bad name. But having said that, plain and simple: if he thinks you're the hassle-you need to find someone new.  The person worth a "hassle"-won't treat you like one.] 1) If you ask a question you don't want an answer to: expect an answer you don't want to hear. [Two way street boys...I recommend avoiding questions like "How many?" "Is it the biggest?" and "Is it the best?" because regardless of the answers to those-feelings still get hurt. And guys thank your lucky egotistical stars that most of us are kind enough to lie when you're dumb enough to ask those questions.  We have realized that there are just some things not worth wrecking your egos over. Remember guy with bruised ego = whiney two year old, and you usually can't put the man and what is left of the ego down for a nap.] 1) When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine...REALLY! [Personal story: a boyfriend asked me to accompany him to the funeral of a family friend.  I arrived in a black skirt, conservative black top, black heels, pearls, and hair modestly swept up in a twist.  He was wearing jeans and a khaki sport coat with t-shirt underneath.  He said "Well you look nice but you'll be over dressed. These are simple people-no one is going to look like you." Well as it turned out: he was the ONLY person in jeans at the ENTIRE funeral with the exception of a mentally handicapped child. No Lie. People: going to a funeral is about showing respect for someone's life. It doesn't matter "how simple" the people are.  Everyone in that chapel was wearing their best-no matter how old, or worn-they had gathered together to remember a loved one and respect a friend...well almost everyone.  Dressing appropriately for a funeral is a sign of respect, and how you treat people in their final hour, will greatly project how others treat you.  Ladies-if the guy is worried about no one "looking like you" when you are dressed appropriately for a funeral-leave him by the casket-he is dead weight.] 1) Don't ask us what we're thinking about unless you are prepared to discuss topics such as baseball or golf. [Again-ladies: if you are with someone that Can Only talk about golf or baseball, I suggest you rethink your approach.] 1) You have enough clothes. [Doesn't universally apply. I know plenty of guys that are Total clothes horses.] 1) You have too many shoes. [Well if I didn't keep losing one of them every time I had to kick a dumb guy in the ass....] 1) I am a shape. Round IS a shape. [Just remember: being healthy and active in general is key. And guys: the trick where you put your drink on your burgeoning gut and say "Look honey-its my own table!"....Noooooooooot Sexy. At. All. That's only cute when pregnant women do it and if you think not-remember it is you that happen to be the most likely the cause of us having our own personal ice cream shelf.] 1) Thank you for reading this. Yes, I know I have to sleep on the couch tonight. But you know men really don't mind that? Its just like camping. [Ladies: if your man has exhibited any of the atrocious symptoms listed above (aka: the man "rules") might I suggest furthering his love of camping by telling him to take a hike. A loooong one. Off a short pier.]

how to resuscitate a Shih Tzu...and 4 other things I wish I didn't know...

The vision was lovely...seven happy children jostling joyfully round a big fraiser fir...soft glow from the fire place mirrored in the eyes of the adoring parents...the glint off the Christmas ornaments reflected in the eyes of the elated children...it was the most wonderful time of the year.

And then the box moved. The red one...with suspicious holes poked in the sides. Then the box yelped...and then I knew: life as I had come to know and love it was So very over.

Lid was flung off. Puppy emerged. Chaos ensued.

A whirlwind seven months later...I am on my hands and knees scrubbing puppy poo up off the bathroom floor for [easily] the seven hundredth time. And as I grimace into the tile, I reflect on the dear little poof ball's first months with us...

For starters-it is difficult for a new puppy to adjust to switching from a high octane environment with seven people pulling, pinching, poking, petting, and pecking at you...to one where you are suddenly shut in a drafty laundry room all alone because you "made potty like a no-no-bad-dog" on the oriental rug [again]. I'm sure the poor darling felt like a yo-yo.

And there begins our problem.

The wonderful people in charge made the decision to purchase a dog that has a) long hair that is difficult to manage b) weighs less than 15 pounds (thereby putting him in a category with things that can easily be broken, injured, or killed) c) cannot play outside

and brought him to a home that a) is lucky to get the girls' hair brushed for school or church-forget the boys-we just buzz that to the scalp b) has given their children various and sundry pointy and pokey items, any of which are perfectly capable of inflicting great harm on anything smaller than an elephant, [these things are not limited to any variation of the following list: knives, guns, spears, arrowheads, machetes, fish hooks, needles, clamps, dart gun (to be fair that one wasn't given...the 11 year old actually made it from scratch), tools, axes, large sticks, broken glass bottles, and little people (which have proved to be quite the formidable foe of the downstairs toilet)].

In short this puppy has no business being in this home. But here he is. And here he will have to be, until someone leaves the back door open....which happens every four minutes around this place. Which brings me to the finding service.

I have a feeling I am soon to be on a first name basis with this service, just as I am with our local fire department. This particular service simply functions as a "middle man" if you will when your dog is found by someone else who has the decency to call the number on the tag. They then phone the home and usually talk to me on speaker phone "Yes mam. They've found your dog....again." They used to ask me for a complicated numerical sequence written on a piece of a McDonalds receipt, that I promptly lost, the children burned, or the dog ate. Now when the lady just calls and hears the raucous noise in the background she just asks how the children are and if they've even noticed he is gone.

I must regularly turn the children out in to the backyard and dispatch them on some noble mission to ensure that my brain patterns remain normal and I don't spike on the crazed nanny meter and knock one of them in the noggin.

Now the first time this little brown and white fluffy angelic poop machine was released to go and play in the back yard (attached to a leash mind you) he came back looking like Sassquatch...only smaller. He had leaves, brambles, sticks, twigs, debris, mud, dirt, insects...you name it-if it existed in the back yard it was currently attached to the dog. It was like sticking a wet lollipop under the couch cushion...he was covered with bizarre stuff.

I tried to brush him off....I sat in the kitchen floor for TWO HOURS and tried to clean up his poor coat. The children had popsicles for lunch. And still I sat there painstakingly with a brush and a comb. Eventually the scissors and the 'goo be gone' helped to rid him of most of it. Finally I put him in the sink and after three shampoos he at least began to smell like a dog again. Well...wet dog.

Then I had to blow dry him and brush him out....

Finally after THREE AND A HALF HOURS we both collapsed in a corner of the couch. He smelled faintly of oatmeal and I smelled like wet dog. I sat on the couch and tried to imagine the disastrous results of the impending doggie door installation-I could not go through this every single time he went out.

In the meantime he had jumped down from the couch and was frolicking on the den floor-no doubt invigorated by his "doggie day spa" treatment. I listened to him happily snuffling around. Just five more minutes of quiet. The snuffling turned to chewing...the chewing to wet munching...the wet munching to gagging...the gagging to--wait a minute!!

I leapt off the couch to see him wheezing in that terrible "small-plastic-item-must-be-wedged-in-trachea" way in the far corner.

You Will NOT Die on me Dog!! Not after all that!!

I opened his mouth to see a ping pong ball lodged in the back. I called for Peter-hemostats now! [Working for physicians comes in handy when you need things like hemostats because chances are...there's a pair lying around without much to do.] Fortunately the little monster had chewed a few holes in the ball before attempting to swallow it whole. With the calm hands only sheer determination and outright indignation [how dare he try to die on me!] can produce, I clamped on to the ball and pulled.

I wish I could say that was the end of the story. That all the children cheered and the dog licked my face gratefully and never poo-ed on the rug again.

Alas.

He promptly vomited all over me, Peter, and the oriental rug. Everything that he had managed to eat while outside was now inside...in one form or another.

Best thing after that?

Peter is the type of child that vomits when other people/animals vomit. If he sees/hears/smells it...its over.

And ladies and gentlemen in the house on West Avenue...it was Definitely Over.