Shit, Fan, Hitting, SPLAT
Here is the short story, to explain where I am, and why I have not responded to emails or been anywhere in the vicinity of my usual life for the past however long:
Last week, my dad wasn't feeling well. He thought it was just a crappy bug, but my mom, who is (fortunately) always on the lookout for one of us contracting a fatal disease in the manner of Ebola or bird flu, insisted that he take his damn temperature already. When it turned out that his temperature was somewhere around "Lava Hot", she further insisted that he go to the doctor. Much complaining ensued.
By Monday, Dad was in the hospital, with what turned out to be a very dangerous staph infection of the blood. Over the next few days, my daddy was sicker than I have ever seen him. It was one of the scariest weeks of my life, and that's with us NOT knowing what was wrong with him; at the time, we figured it was an ugly infection, but nothing that could actually kill the guy. But then, his blood pressure started dropping. Dad had six different IV bags going into him at the same time. He couldn't eat or sit up or sleep. It was terrifying.
Luckily, by the time we found out that it was a staph infection, of the BLOOD, which is...you know, very bad, he was starting to improve. But it scared the everloving shit out of us, nevertheless.
Anyway, so Mom stayed with Dad in the hospital the ENTIRE TIME, never leaving the room for anything. I moved into my parents' house with the dogs so I could watch all of them in one place, and drove back and forth between home and the hospital to bring them food and clothes and incredibly trashy magazines, which possess a healing power all their own. I have not been in the office since Monday, and I have NO IDEA what kind of drama I am probably missing. It is likely of the "dramatic" variety, but we've all had our hands full here.
Now, it is currently Saturday, and we have Dad back at home, with one of those scary medicine-port things in him. My sister is flying into town tomorrow, to help us (1) stare at him suspiciously, while asking things like, "Do you feel die-ey? WELL NOT ON MY WATCH!" and (2) drink all of the wine in the state of Georgia. We needed assistance in those departments. Y'all are welcome to play at home.
And so, that's it. Now we wait to make sure Dad gets better, and now you know what's been going on over here; pretty much everything in my life has been shoved to the back burner, and I aplologize for all of this missing-ness and unresponsive-ness. I have a very, VERY long list of things that need to be done, starting with checking my email, fixing whatever the hell is wrong with the comments (AGAIN), which also involves finding a new hosting company (incidentally, if you have suggestions, please email me; I'll be able to read it sometime in August, probably); finding out what is wrong with the Shop Doxie email, which is screwy; actually sending the large stack of packages which got tossed unceremoniously onto the back seat of the car as soon as FAMILY EMERGENCY BEEP BEEP STAT 2007 got underway; and...you know. Law stuff. I may never sleep again! That is okay! Frankly, I am just really glad that I get to write this entry about how everything turned out okay, and not otherwise. We all know exactly how lucky we are.
And, one last thing - I have got to thank every person who has been so, so much help this week. Robyn came over every night, y'all, to sit with me. She even accompanied me, in the middle of the night, during a thunderstorm, to the hospital in order to deliver wee little contraband wine bottles to my mother, who had been sleeping on a hideously sticky chair for days, and KIND OF DESERVED SOME BOOZE. Seriously, Robyn rocks. I owe her big.
And, I also owe Dukay, and Cookie, and Dukay's family, and all the nice people at our lawfirm who called every day, and Boomer and Al and Hannah and all of my other friends, both here and online, who offered support and liquor and phone calls and liquor and snacks and liquor. This week has really emphasized the fact that we are surrounded by some of the rockingest people in the world. And again, how lucky we are.
So! That is it. It is not particularly funny, I know, but not much this week has been particularly funny. (Well, except for when I bought Mom a headlamp like a miner, so that she could read while Dad was sleeping? And the poor woman, who had not slept in GOD KNOWS how long, promptly informed the doctor that she was planning to steal his lab coat and start terrorizing the hospital patients, popping into rooms and announcing, "Hi! I'm your new gynecologist! Spread 'em!" Anyway, maybe you had to BE there [yes], but this continues to be funny to me).
Besides that, though, not much funny! I know. I'm still at my parents', where I will continue to try to help out, while also trying to get my shit together. Y'all feel free to email or whatnot, and I will slooooowly manage to get around to everything; comments, again, continue to be dead as a doornail. Naturally.
So! I will be back as soon as possible, with something funnier, and possibly involving Ziz, Ebola, and a miner's light. In the meantime, if y'all would think some good thoughts about my wonderful, wonderful Daddy, I sure would appreciate it.
Kisses to everyone, and you guys take care.
Miss Doxie: Hellooo?
Mother of Miss Doxie: YOU are NOT my DAUGHTER anyMORE.
Miss Doxie: What? Why? What'd I do? Did you find out about the New Orleans thing?!
Mother of Miss Doxie: WHAT NEW ORLEANS THING.
Miss Doxie: Um. Nothing. I was...talking to an invisible person right then. Anyway, what did I do?
Mother of Miss Doxie: What did you DO? What do you THINK--
Miss Doxie: Ohhhh. So, Bo.
Mother of Miss Doxie: YES BO.
Miss Doxie: Sigh. What happened?
Mother of Miss Doxie: I took him to the vet. Like you ASKED. As a FAVOR to you, while you are off doing whatever the hell it is that you DO all day...
Miss Doxie: That would be "being an attorney," but you know. Continue.
Mother of Miss Doxie: ...AND, you failed to mention that Bo? Upon being taken to the vet? Would engage in retaliatory action.
Miss Doxie: Oh, shit...
Mother of Miss Doxie: EXACTLY.
Miss Doxie: I forgot. Yeah, he gets pissed.
Mother of Miss Doxie: No, not so much "pissed..."
Miss Doxie: Really? Oh, you totally got off easy!
Mother of Miss Doxie: WHAT?
Miss Doxie: Nothing! Nothing, I was talking to...a client. Anyway. Go on.
Mother of Miss Doxie: It was like performance art. I hate you.
Miss Doxie: What happened, exactly?
Mother of Miss Doxie: So, the vet was checking his tooth, to see which one was bothering him. And the vet found it, and he looked at it, and then he turned to talk to me about it...
Miss Doxie: Oooh, you don't turn your back on Bo. Much like the ocean.
Mother of Miss Doxie: ...AAAAAND, that was when Bo turned around, and violently expelled the contents of his anal glands all over...oh, everything in the world.
Miss Doxie: Oh, eewwwwww.
Mother of Miss Doxie: HE'D BEEN SAVING UP.
Miss Doxie: Oh, he's like a fucking camel with those things.
Mother of Miss Doxie: SO WE NOTICED.
Miss Doxie: And, he only uses them for evil! Like an octopus, escaping a pred--
Mother of Miss Doxie: MAY I FINISH.
Miss Doxie: Um. Yes.
Mother of Miss Doxie: So, ALL HELL breaks loose, and we had to open the door for oxygen...
Miss Doxie: Oh, dude. You never open the door.
Mother of Miss Doxie: LIKE I WAS SAYING, WE HAD TO OPEN THE DOOR FOR OXYGEN...
Miss Doxie: And he made a run for Cuba?
Mother of Miss Doxie: Fortunately, he only made it to the front lobby.
Miss Doxie: Close enough.
Mother of Miss Doxie: Where he proceeded to take a TREMENDOUS SHIT, directly in front of the reception desk, and in plain view of all of the horrified people in the waiting room.
Miss Doxie: Um. Hee?
Mother of Miss Doxie: You are SO FUCKING DISOWNED.
Miss Doxie: Hee. Hee! Oh, I'm sorry. He does that.
Mother of Miss Doxie: He does that? He uses poop as a political statement? Like a bumper sticker or campaign contribution?
Miss Doxie: Where Bo is concerned, those are words to live by.
Mother of Miss Doxie: Well, I cannot even believe you didn't warn me about this.
Miss Doxie: I'm sorry! I thought you'd...assume, or something. Knowing Bo and all.
Mother of Miss Doxie: Right. Right, I'm going to guess that your dog is going to violently expel the contents of his bowels all over creation before making a calculated escape attempt, thereby transforming the vet's office into a well-lit episode of Prison Break.
Miss Doxie: Please, like that is unheard of with this creature. You've known of his evil for eight years, Mom.
Mother of Miss Doxie: Still. I think you need to warn people. Get him a customized collar or something. Something like, "WARNING: POOPS WHEN LIVID."
Miss Doxie: Maybe I can get it on one of those Med-Alert bracelets! Or, it would make an awesome tee shirt.
Mother of Miss Doxie: It's the least you could do! Think of the children.
Miss Doxie: I know, I know. Listen, I'm sorry. I'll bring you a nice bottle of wine, okay?
Mother of Miss Doxie: Hmph.
Miss Doxie: And, like...some disinfectant?
Mother of Miss Doxie: Hmm. Okay.
Miss Doxie: So, am I still disowned?
Mother of Miss Doxie: That's going to depend on what kind of wine you bring.
Miss Doxie: So noted.
Mother of Miss Doxie: And whatever the hell it is that you did in New Orleans.
So, if you are in Atlanta. And are bored. And would like to drink and eat to your heart's content and listen to good music and have it all be for a good cause and I am getting KIND OF SICK of doing nothing but plugging shit over here, but I am on some Board of this charity thing and tonight is our party and you should come and hang out in the corner with me and smoke cigarettes and drink wine in a sneakified manner.
Learn more here! Cookie and I are both "hosts," and have spent our afternoon setting up. And now, we are sitting in my den, having a dinner of (a) potato chips, and (b) peanut butter filled pretzels, purchased gleefully at the CVS. We are not planning on showering! WE ARE SO PSYCHED.
Anyway, if you have twenty five bucks, and want to hang out with me and 300 of my nearest and dearest, come on down! I will even buy you a free beer.
And, P.S.: Cookie is going to murder me for not yet posting her story, so I am going to try to do that tomorrow. There were geese! Deadly ones! Seriously, it happens.
Anyway. Y'all please come visit me; I plan on being kind of endearingly tipsy. Not that there's any shock there, honestly.