True Story

{August 3, 2011}   Mr. Bill

True Story:  Some years back Ex-Pump brought home a Weimaraner.

I know, right? WTF? That’s what I said too.

We lived in a 1000 square foot house with a 13 pound dog that wanted absolutely no other animals in her castle.

So, it would only make sense that Ex-Pump would show up with this giant dog. Not sure if you are familiar with the breed but the are very large, beautiful, and CRAZY. This one was only about a year old to boot. And had apparently tormented his way through many homes across the south before he found us. So, no real training whatsoever.

There were 3 major events that lead to Mr. Bill’s going to “a nice farm in the country where he could run”. I can not remember in what order they happened or even how long he lived with us. It was all a nightmare.

Event #1) This is really 2 character flaws I found with this giant dog. One, he demanded on sleeping in the bed with us and kicking us out of a queen size bed. This dog weighed 650 pounds and his giant paws were like bear claws hitting you in the back until you either submitted or were knocked unconscious and slept.

Second, he was tall enough to reach the kitchen counters and would eat anything sitting out on them, including about 40 Christmas cookies I had cooling on the counter.

Event #2) Our dining room table at the time had an iron base. At the bottom the iron rods came together. My dad and ma’am were over visiting when all of a sudden we heard the highest pitched dog yelping you have ever heard. You would have thought Michael Vick was over training in our back yard.

We discover the problem. The 700 lb. dog has 2 toes of his giant paw stuck between the iron table base support rods. He is thrashing around bleeding and screaming. The 4 of us jump in and try to help. It took about 7 minutes to free him. When it was all said and done. I was bleeding from a dog bite. Ex-Pump had 2 puncture wounds we considered having stitched, and everyone’s nerves were SHOT!

Event #3) Ex-Pump was out-of-town. I left Mr. Bill and The Demanding Paw at home for a couple of hours to run errands.

Upon my return I walk in the house to find dog diarrhea EVERYWHERE. When I say everywhere, I mean EVERYWHERE. It was sprayed up on the refrigerator, countertops, floors, walls, carpet, furniture, etc… 

I am not sure how or why this happened. I don’t believe that God punishes us, but I look back on this day as one of my “tests”. I am dry heaving as I type this.

I cry about twice a year. I think I have mentioned before that I am cold as ice. Well, I went outside, sat down, and cried like a baby.

I gathered myself, called Ex-Pump and freaked out for a while. I think he laughed. That might be why we are divorced.

Then, I went to the store and bought everything that they sell that will clean something.

I entered the house and put the dogs in the back yard (where they stayed for a LONG time, and I periodically went out there to kick them. Just kidding. Not really…)

I had a dew-rag on my head and one over my mouth. I dragged all rugs and furniture into the front drive. I scrubbed the house from top to bottom all the while tears running down my face. Why me?

I had to reach 2 feet above my head to cut down some blinds that were covered in poop. I repeat, 2 feet above my head. Did the dog stand on his front legs to spray his poop? I think he did it on purpose.

I scrubbed every piece of furniture outside and had a carpet cleaner I couldn’t afford come over and do the rugs. My neighbors would drive/walk by and ask what happened. I waved them on and told them to save themselves.

I finally got it all cleaned up and scheduled 3 appointments for interviews with Mr. Bill’s “new parents” for in the morning before I cracked a beer after the hardest labor day of my life.

True Story:  I don’t really know if it was the poop day or the high-pitched, slow building scream that the Demanding Paw would do every time Mr. Bill got within 6 feet of her. I just know that this suppressed memory just resurfaced, and I had to share.

{January 15, 2011}   Meet the Artist

True Story:  Ex-Pump really committed to the “junk shot”.

True Story:  My husband had an affair with a Vampire.

That’s right. A real life Vampire. I have mentioned this female version of half-life in previous posts. But didn’t want to blog about it right off the bat, because this is a humor blog. And although, infidelity is hilarious, I didn’t want my blog to be a bitch fest.

True Story:  In light of recent events, it may become one…

Naaaa… If  anything has saved me in my troubled times, it has been my sense of humor. I don’t plan on giving up on that now.

I call her a Vampire for these simple (self-explanatory if you know her) reasons:

1)  She’s pale. Seriously.

2)  She walked among us without revealing her true nature.

3)  She slipped in my house in the dark while I was sleeping to be with my husband, and hid this in the daylight.

She was my friend AND colleague. Yes. You don’t have to say it. I have re-evaluated my choices in friends.

True Story:  When I started this post, over a week ago in honor of my 4th wedding anniversary, the title of it made sense. My marriage survived the affair, and we were patching it up. Despite stressful times we appeared to be stronger than ever.

In the last few days, Pump has decided to give up on our marriage. 

True Story:  The flowers have been ripped out of the ground like weeds.

Don’t fret. The chaos of my ever-changing true life stories will continue…

{May 3, 2010}   Mornings

True Story:  I like to try new things & Pump likes to make nests.

Each morning I pick up an average of 3 nests that my husband has made all over the house. 

Nest:  Noun:  a place where Pump gets “comfy”, usually consisting of 16 pillows, 3 blankets, tissues, eye glasses, water glasses, wedding band, remote controls, occasionally beer cans or a wine glass, and clothes thrown EVERYWHERE.

He is a nomadic sleeper. He will maybe start out in our bed, but over the course of the night, he will move to different beds/couches throughout the house… a minimum of 3-4 times.

It’s not the waking me up that bothers me, or the going in and out of rooms and stomping across the floor all night… It’s the nests.

It’s infuriating. He can’t just SLEEP on the couch. He has to throw all the back pillows & throw pillows on the floor.

My problem with all of this is that he doesn’t pick them up. He’s too “sleepy”. (Well, no shit. If you walk around all night looking for the perfect sleep spot, you don’t get ANY sleep).

So, every morning… I said, every morning, I get up and pick up HIS side of the bed. Then, I pick up the couch, the downstairs guest area he has invaded… And, most mornings, after our 2-year-old has climbed out of bed, I find him nestled in G Monkey’s bed.

True Story:  Pump bleeds from the head while he sleeps.

I know. Weird, huh? Strange, alien phenomenon? I have no idea.

It doesn’t make sense, but all his pillow cases have blood stains on them. Apparently, it is a Pump Disease. I just hope G Monkey doesn’t inherit.

So you can see how it would gross me out when he sleeps on my sweet baby angel’s pillow case and bleeds all over it. I’m already a germ psycho. But my hysteria is accelerated after cleaning up 3 nests only to find him in our son’s room hemorrhaging everywhere.

True Story:  I will try any cure for any of my ailments that anyone ever suggests to me.

I suffer from arthritis, neck pain, and crazy. So, I am always popping anti-inflammatories and such for my neck pain. It doesn’t help that I’ve been a NATURAL double D since age 12, and spend the majority of my days at a computer.

So, I was talked into a microchip that you stick on your neck. It releases energy frequency waves instead of drugs or meds to alleviate pain.

Let me paint a picture for you: I was bragging last night about how I hadn’t taken an Advil or an Aleve in days since I put this chip on my neck.

I woke up this morning, neck felt great, started walking around the house picking up nests. I eventually find Pump on the couch. He wakes up, looks at me and starts screaming, “Ahh! There’s something wrong with you. What’s wrong with your neck?!?! It’s all swollen… And gross!”

I run to the bathroom to look in the mirror…. I have no idea what he is talking about. My neck, and for that matter, all of me from the waist up, look fine… Even a little bit more svelte than usual… I’ve lost a few.

I don’t know if I have mentioned this before, but Pump is a bit of a panicker.

True Story:  This is not the first time in our lives together that he has looked at me out of the blue, with a horrific look on his face and screamed, “Ugh!! What’s wrong with you?!?! What’s wrong with your face?!?! It’s gross!!!”

{April 27, 2010}   Perfection Personified

True Story:  Pump told me some years back that there was a time in his life, around 8th grade, where he actually thought he was flawless.

Let me repeat, FLAWLESS. He said the feeling lasted for about a year.

True Story:  I try to remind him everyday now that he is not.

{March 31, 2010}   Strangers

True Story:  Pump always tells the waiter/waitress, toll booth worker, cashier, etc… That he loves them.


Waiter:  Can I get you anything else?

Pump:  Just the check. Thanks.

Waiter:  I’ll be right back with that.

Pump:  K. Love you.

{March 8, 2010}   The Proposal

True Story:  I have been proposed to once. I said yes, I think.
I went to Maui for a writer’s conference about 6 years ago. Good Times! My mom flew out to meet me there. It’s a hell of a long way to fly from Hawaii to Alabama so we decided to stop over and visit my brother in San Fransisco for a couple of days to break up the trip.
Mom and I stayed in a hotel across the street from my brother’s loft. He lived in a great spot but very near the Tenderloin. (Shady district).
True Sidenote:  My dad is famously non-confrontational.  His ex-wife and I used to laugh and say if we were getting mauled or attacked that he would say, “Uh, excuse me, Mr. Murderer, just let me know when you’re done and I’ll take them to the hospital”.
Hence, we found it very funny when the three of us were walking from the parking garage to my brother’s place in SF one day and discovered we were trapped by some very scary looking crack heads. They were blocking our exit and we had nowhere to go.
Dad (shouting at the top of his lungs):  WATCH OUT! I’M COMING OUT MUTHAFUCKERS!
Me & Stepmom:  Hahahahahahahaa
Crack heads:  Nothing. Nada. Didn’t know we were there.
Back to the proposal.
True Story:  Hurricane Ivan made a direct hit on my little part of the world Sept 16, 2004. While I was in Hawaii/California, Pump was back at our little rental house, a block off the water packing and grabbing our important items. As Ivan was barreling down on the Alabama gulf coast Pump was still there packing when the cops came to the door and said he had 2 hours to get off the island or he had to stay and ride it out.
True Story:  I do not believe in riding out storms. Stupid!
Pump got out of there and headed to Birmingham.
While he was escaping death, my Mom, brother and I went to the wine country. There’s only one way to go about it. First thing in the morning you have to start with Champagne. So off to Korbel we were.  A little advise, don’t plan any major event the evening after travelling from winery to winery all day. You are just generally pissed off from catching a buzz then driving for a while only to catch a buzz again and be talked into spending lots of money on wine that you could buy at Wal-Mart for 300% less. And so we ended our day at In and Out Burger (Awesome). We looked like Paul Giamatti in Sideways drinking his prized bottle with a burger and fries.
The next morning around 8am I hang up the phone with Pump back in Alabama who is telling me about his packing and evacuation and I’m telling him to remember to get this, and that, and blah, blah, blah. I call my brother and tell him I’m walking over from our hotel and I want him to buzz me up so I can check my email.
I cross the street, am buzzed up and get in the elevator. When the elevator door opens, Pump is standing across the hallway up against the wall, in SAN FRANSISCO, HELLO???  I immediately start screaming, WHAT!?!? WHO DIED?!?!  WHAT?!? JUST TELL ME? WHO DIED? IS IT MY DAD? (I am pretty sure at this point that I left my mom alive back in our hotel room).
True Backstory:  My step-dad died suddenly of a heart attack on my 27th birthday, on a morning I was going to see him. He was no longer married to my mother, but was my step-dad for 18 years and is my sisters’ father. As Pump taught me on our 1st date, people died. Why else would he be there?
So I was a little confused to say the least, as to why he was here in California.
What made it worst was his response to my screaming.
Pump:  Speechless and shaking
He didn’t say 1 word. Nothing. Nada.
Advice to gentlemen:  Think about what you might say in this situation. Pump’s idea to just “wing it”, failed miserably when I started yelling who’s dead, and the emotion of the moment got the best of him.
He never said anything. But I started to figure things out as he shakily got down on one knee. When I saw what he was doing I slid my costume ring off my middle, left finger and into my pocket.
He placed a beautiful ring that he had designed on my finger. We hugged and kissed. If I recall correctly, he never “really” asked and I never “really” answered. 
Still though, we must have both assumed.
True Story:  About 10 minutes later, Pump was looking at me fondly, like a father figure proud of his girl. He rubbed my arm up and down very platonically.
Pump:  you’re getting married…
Translation:  Somebody finally decided to marry you. How cute…

{March 1, 2010}   1st time I met the MIL

True Story:  This is just one of the MANY conversations about sex that I have had with my MIL (mother in law).

The first time I met my MIL I was just a potential girlfriend at the time. I must have liked Pump cause I drove over 10 hours to see him for a long weekend.

Bleary-eyed after driving so long I stopped and bought a 6 pack and a plant for my sorta-boyfriend’s mother who was so graciously letting me stay at her home.  I’m southern after all.

I walk in and she and Pump are in the kitchen. We make our introductions. Then I’m told I am staying upstairs in Pump’s room with him. Now, even though I am a grown woman, this is not what I expected. I had not been around parents that would look at me like I was crazy for thinking I would stay in my own room. We weren’t even living in sin yet.

So, that evening, Pump, myself and some of his friends go out and get a little drunk. Back at Pump’s house that night he is taking a bath. He has been sick to his stomach and now needs a bath.

True Story:  The kid takes at least 2 baths a day. I’ve never met anybody that “needs” baths as much as he does.

Anywho, he’s in the bath, and I’m sitting on the toilet talking to him. He has long eye lashes and the water is dripping off of them. I really notice his eyes for the first time.

Me:  You have pretty eyes.

Pump (drunkenly):  I know… It’s all I’ve got.

I think this is hilarious. So, the next day I am trying to make conversation with my future MIL. This is only the second time we’ve spoken. She is ironing her nursing uniform and I say, “You won’t believe what your son did last night…

She puts her iron down and looks at me with her hands on her hips.

MIL:  He tried to have sex with you, didn’t he?

Me (shocked):  Well, yes… But that’s not what I was going to tell you.

True Story:  When she talks about the first time she met me, she likes to tell large rooms full of people, that I showed up at her house with beer, a plant and I had a little skirt on, and my belly was sticking out, and I just didn’t care. I was just so confident.

True Story: I assure you, if I had known a fat roll was sticking out I wouldn’t have been so confident.

{February 15, 2010}   Romantic Gifts

True Story:  Pump goes to Wally World every year on Christmas Eve for most of my Christmas gifts.

In honor of Valentine’s Day I thought I would tell you a very romantic gesture that Pump has done for me every Christmas since we have been together.

True Story:  I get to open up a new pair of tennis shoes and a sports bra every year.

{February 13, 2010}   Ageing

True Story:  I’m not getting any younger.

I told Pump I thought I wasn’t doing too bad for my age. I’ve seen a lot worse. My crows feet are barely distinguishable.

Pump:  What about this area right here. 

He points to the drooping darkened areas below my eyes.

True Story:  Pump has always been quite honest with me.

Towards the end of my pregnancy with G Monkey I was trying on outfits for dinner out. I thought I was ready to go and was examining my profile in the full length mirror.

Me:  Do I have back fat in this shirt?

Pump:  Well, Ash, you always have a little back fat.

et cetera