As I am still firmly entrenched in what we’ve come to call “Week 4 of the Puppy Seige”, I’ve been doing a lot of research on different ways to train a young dog.
One method that many trainers use today is called “Clicker Training”.
For those who aren’t familiar, basically you get one of those little hand-held clickers, and a shitload of little treats, and whenever you give your dog a command and he follows it correctly, you click the clicker and give him the treat. The idea being that he will quickly associate the ‘click’ with having done something ‘good’.
At this point, I’m willing to try ANYTHING, so I went down to the local Pet-Smart to get myself a clicker.
When I walked in, I was greeted by a 20-something chick who looked like she wanted to be ANYWHERE else but there. Undaunted, the following conversation took place:
Chick: Can I help you?
Stud: Yes please. I’m looking for a clicker.
Chick: A what?
Stud: A Clicker.
Chick: Oooooooh, you mean something to cut a dog’s nails with.
….at which point I thought to myself , “What the FUCK is she talking about?”
Then I put two and two together and realized that SHE thought I had said that I wanted a ‘CLIPPER’.
Ok, honest and completely understandable mistake there.
Stud: No, not a clipper! A clicker! You use it to help you train a dog by clicking it when he does something correctly.
Chick: Oh, ok. Yeah, we have those. Follow me.
So I follow the chick down an aisle. She finally stops, reaches for something from the shelf, and hands me………
OK, so NOW I’m completely dumfounded. I JUST told this asshat 30 seconds previously that I most definitely did NOT want a nail clipper. I THEN relayed a fairly descriptive explanation of what I DID want. But I guess that part of our conversation just bounced around the cavernous, hollow area inside her head where it eventually died a lonely death, because she just chose to ignore that part of our conversation.
So, holding the clippers that she gave me in my hand, we proceeded to have a 10 second stare-down where I was trying to figure out if she was just fucking with me, or if she was really THAT stupid.
Finally settling on ‘stupid’, I repeated myself:
Stud: No, not a clipper! A clicker! You use it to help you train a dog by clicking it when he does something correctly.
Chick: Oh, no. We don’t carry that.
Now in the grand scheme of my life, was this a big deal? Of course not.
But I’m a tax-paying American, dammit, and I have a right to complain about anyone who wastes my time because they are stupider than me!
Contrary to what most of you might deduce from my divine PHYSICAL appearance, I am not QUITE a perfect person.
Hard to grasp, right?
Anyway, one of my most glaring imperfections is that I have a bit of a temper.
Mind you, most times I’m a complete pushover. I routinely let people walk all over me. I live in fear of having to haggle with anyone on the price of something I’m buying, because I just opt NOT to haggle and pay whatever price they first tell me, when I know full well if I just opened my mouth I could have gotten it cheaper.
The point being: I don’t get angry easily, but if you push me past a certain point, I instantly catapult from ‘Docile’ to ‘Wolverine Berserker’ pretty much instantly.
And there are certain things you can do that will get me to “Rage Level” REALLY fucking quickly. Do not Collect $200. Do not pass “GO”.
The quickest way to piss me off is to fuck around with my son.
And guess what? His new 4th grade teacher is doing exactly that.
Yesterday, the little guy came home from school very upset. For the third or fourth time in the past month, he has asked the teacher if he could go to the bathroom, and his bitch of a teacher has told him “No”. Then a few minutes later, another student asks to go to the bathroom and she lets THEM go.
Yesterday, my son came home and raced to the bathroom, telling me he held it in for most of the day.
I fully realize that I’m only getting an eight year-old’s side of the story. I asked him if he asks to go to the bathroom too often, and he told me that was the first time that day that he asked to go. I asked him if he asked to go during a time when the teacher was trying to teach something important, and he said it was during “coloring time”.
As I said, this has happened a few times this past month where he has been denied going to use the restroom.
And I’m getting FUCKING PISSED………
I guess so far I’ve gotten spoiled where my son’s teachers are concerned. Each of his previous 4 teachers have been absolute ANGELS who really cared about their kids. The fact that each of them have also been hot MILF’s and THIS one is a Sea-Hag has no bearing on my reasoning.
Anyway, tomorrow when I pick my son up from school, Mrs. BattleAxe and I are going to have a little chat, and she had better come up with an ASTOUNDINGLY good fucking reason why my son can’t go take a piss when he needs to.
Another web site that I frequent plays this little game all the time, so I figured I’d give it a shot here.
Here’s the rules:
I will present you with three statements of fact. TWO of these statements are honest-to-goodness truths, and the third one is a bold-faced lie.
Your job, should you choose to undertake it, is to spend hours and hours contemplating which statement is the lie.
It might not even be that difficult for you guys, either. After all, I know for a fact that EVERY damn one of you has read every post I have ever written (twice!), so you all know me inside and out.
I WILL say that I have never written about any of these statements before, so there’s no way you rapscallions can try to look in the archives and cheat your way to victory.
Ok, enough with the preamble…. Here are my statements:
1) I was once lost in the wilderness for 2 days and was certain i was going to die.
2) I am friends with an axe murderer.
3) I dated my sister.
Remember, two of those statements are true, and one is not.
Now, if I wasn’t so damn lazy, this would be the part of the post where I’d offer some cool prize for the first person who guesses correctly.
But as I said, I’m lazy. But maybe I can muster up enough energy to send one of you lucky chicks a really awesome prize, like a picture of my abs or something. We shall see.
Legal Disclaimer: This contest is valid for anyone residing on the planet Earth. Hell, let’s make it the whole damn galaxy. No reason to discriminate against those cute little E.T’s. This contest is only NOT valid to Earl, who knows way too much about me for his own good. One day, I may have to kill him. Seriously.
Apparently, no matter what kind of shape I work hard to keep myself in, once you hit the big 4-0, your body starts to disintegrate.
Let’s do a quick rundown of my bodily woes…
Last Thanksgiving, I tore my Rotator Cuff while in a bare knuckle street fight with a gang member named “Bulldog”. He was beating the living tar out of me when I managed to swing a wild haymaker with all the strength I could muster, and knocked his ass out.
The fact that this fight did NOT happen on the streets, but on my Playstation 3 is completely irrelevant.
Ok, so I was playing a videogame with my Playstation Motion controllers and I tore my rotator cuff…. Happy now?
Anyway, I completely fucked my shoulder up. It’s hurt like a bitch for almost a year now, and although it’s much better than it was, I’m still not back to 100%. Every once in a while I’ll extend my arm the wrong way, and I’m down for the count again. One year of icing, heating, physical therapy, and I’m still not healed yet.
What the Hell is up with that? In my 20’s I used to be able to chop off my arm with a meat cleaver and just duct tape it back on. In the morning, I’d be fine!
The injury ALSO ended up tearing the tendons in my forearm, so basically the end result is I also have a type of tennis elbow.
So, to recap, my right arm fucking HURTS!
Then, last month, just as I was starting to feel a TAD better, I had to tear up our backyard patio to get ready for the pool to be dug, because I had some demolition guys come over and they wanted $400 to do it so FUCK THEM! Anyway, I did it myself and ended up tearing the tendon on my LEFT forearm.
So, now I’m basically a hobbled, armless stud. Sort of like Venus De Milo but with a wee-wee instead of a cha-cha.
The whole ordeal is really pissing me off. I haven’t done a decent workout in my gym in over 6 months now. For a while, I kept trying to work around the injuries, but nothing really worked. I have now resigned myself to stop doing any lifting at all until the new year.
Until then, I’ll just hang with the other housewives on the stair masters and the ellipticals.
Getting old sucks. Thank GOODNESS I’m still gorgeous! If my looks ever start to go, I may just have to kill myself.
So, I’m watching the latest episode of The New Girl, which I’m not completely sold on yet, but it’s been entertaining enough to keep me coming back for its first few episodes.
The show is light, 30 minutes of fluff that I’ve been using to get me off my puppy woes.
When, suddenly, without warning, a commercial comes on that was SO damn depressing that I almost went into cardiac arrest from the sudden shock.
Honestly, when it was over, I couldn’t even tell what the hell it was a commercial for. That’s probably because I suddenly had a fucking FOUNTAIN of tears in my eyes worse than if you had thrown a Jalapeño pepper in my face.
I had to search the web for about 30 minutes before I finally found it. The site won’t let me embed, but clicky-clicky here if you feel like you need some extra motivation to go kill yourself.
Seriously, what the fuck?
One second, I’m laughing politely in the comfort of my Den, and the next minute I’m thinking back in horror of a lifetime of regret.
You just don’t do that to an unsuspecting person, dammit!
And now that I’ve watched it again, I’m STILL not sure what the hell Values.Com is all about. Truth is, I’m afraid to click on any of their other links in fear that they remind me that when I was 8 I killed my goldfish or that life has no meaning.
Maybe it’s a website devoted to teaching people to feel shitty about themselves? That sounds like a worthy cause. I’m pretty sure no one else has done THAT yet.
Oh, wait a minute, my bad. Someone already HAS got that covered.
But I believe that this little bundle of fluff is going to fucking kill me.
Here are the 3 things he’s doing that are driving me batshit-crazy. I’ll also add below each item what I’ve tried to do to curb the behavior. If anyone has any other ideas, please let me know before I jump off the Empire State building…..
1) He bites.
Not to hurt, but he’s always putting his mouth on my hand, or worse, pulling at my son’s pants. Yeah, I know he’s only 3 months old, and he’s teething and his teeth hurt, but sometimes, it’s relentless and drives me crazy.
What I’ve done:
I always give him a firm and loud “NO BITE!” when he starts with his chewing. We’ve tried to be consistent with this. I’ve also tried to put peanut butter on the back of my hand, and when he licks it I tell him “Good Boy!”. The idea here is that they get accustomed to licking your hand and getting positive reinforcement from it. The only thing THAT has done for us so far is getting him to drink a lot of water, and me having a really sticky hand. We had a trainer come to the house for one visit (he’s too young to begin training yet) and he suggested getting a can of compressed air and blowing it in his face when he bites. We’ve been doing that and it seems to work, but NOW I can’t go anywhere without this fucking can of air in my pocket. We also try to divert him with the millions of chew toys we have bought him.
2) He poops and pees.
Yeah, I know, that’s a pretty good sign that he’s ALIVE, which is a positive thing. I’d just prefer him not to poop and pee on my carpet. He was actually getting pretty good about going on the wee-wee pads, but this weekend it seemed like he wanted to give us a big SCREW YOU and almost spitefully started giving me presents in the Den again.
What I’ve done:
TONS of positive reinforcement when he goes on the pads, and a big “NO” when he doesn’t, followed by my picking him up in mid-pee or poop and carrying him to the pads. Honestly, except for this weekend’s relapse, he’s been pretty good with this. My BIG concern is when I have to make him unlearn this behavior and start going outside. I’d LOVE to get him started outside NOW but both the vet and pet store said we really shouldn’t do it until he’s had all his shots, and I’d rather not take any chances on an animal that cost more than most South American countries. Am I shooting myself in the foot by teaching him to go in the house?
3) Chasing the cat.
This is the one that literally is keeping me up at night with anxiety. The little bastard wants nothing more than to chase and terrorize the cat. Yeah, I know he just wants to play with the cat, but the cat sure doesn’t know that! The problem is that the cat is the most docile and timid thing in the world, and he will NEVER just swat the pup. He doesn’t have it in him. He just runs for his life.
What I’ve done:
To start we put up some small fences in the house, basically giving the dog one small area, and the cat the rest of the house. I have a fence that cuts across my kitchen and den like the Great Wall of China. I swear, it’s like a fucking maze in my house! Right now my house looks like the Hedge Maze at the Overlook Hotel. Sometimes, late at night when I come down to the kitchen for a drink, I fully expect to find a dead-as-fuck frozen Jack Nicholson sitting in the corner.
Also, I’ve tried to get a small amount of time each night to get the two of them in the same room. I put the pup on a leash, and let them interact. At first, it was chaos, but it HAS been getting better. Sometimes, they will sit in the same room, noticing each other but completely disinterested, for a full 10 minutes or so, before the pup decided to get it into his head to trot over and say hi, and then the chase is on.
This is the one that I HAVE to nip in the bud, because I can’t fucking live like this much longer. EVERY damn website I go to says that this behavior WILL cease if I keep doing this, but I have yet to find a website which tells me how much longer I have before I stuff my head in the microwave and set the timer to “Popcorn”.
Anyway, that’s where I’m at these days. The past 3 weeks have honestly been more work and stress for me than when my son was born, and THAT’s really saying something.
It all came to a head last Saturday when, between an unending barrage of chasing, pooping, and biting, I needed a Calgon moment to Take Me Away and decided we were getting rid of the puppy.
At which point, my son cried for 4 hours and I then floated back to Earth and realized that no matter what, I CAN’T do that to my son.
No, this HAS to work.
I don’t care if I have to buy a second house and put the fucking cat in it, this HAS to work.
I have a bit of a dilemma at work that I’m hoping you can help me sort through.
Ya see, there’s this guy that I used to know. His name was Luis. As you can probably guess from the name, Luis was of a Latin descent. And if you couldn’t tell that from his name, it would have been a dead give-away if you had met him.
Let’s just say that no one was going to be mistaking him anytime soon for a Swede.
Anyway, although I used to see Luis regularly, I don’t spend too much time with him anymore.
Cut to a few months ago when I met this guy Jose’. (p.s. That apostrophe that I just put after his name is SUPPOSED to be one of those little fucking lines that some Latin people put over their names, but I don’t have a button here on my keyboard that’s labeled “little fucking line used for Latino names” so I chose the apostrophe. It was either THAT or the Pound sign, k?)
As you can probably guess AGAIN, Jose’ isn’t Irish, either.
So, here’s my dilemma…..
I’m not sure what the Hell is wrong with me, but for the life of me, EVERY damn time I see Jose’, I reflexively call him Luis.
I TOTALLY don’t even realize that I’m doing it, but then he looks at me like he doesn’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, and I quickly catch my error.
But I’m a pro at social situations like this…. I quickly look over his shoulder and find some stranger standing far away from us, and yell “Hey Luis! Come over here! I want to talk to you!”. Then I run off and pretend to have a conversation with the stranger who I have just dubbed Luis. This pretty much confuses EVERYBODY concerned… Me, Jose’, and Fake-Luis, but it gets me out of a sticky situation quickly.
Anyway, as much as I try NOT to, every damn time I trip over this name mix-up, and it really is quite embarrassing. I don’t make this mistake with anyone else I know…. Just these guys.
So, my question to the group is…. Am I racist?
I obviously keep associating the ONE Latino guy I know for the OTHER one Latino guy I know.
I mean, they DO kinda look alike….
There I go being all racist again!
I mean, it’s not like I ever mix up and confuse the names of any two OTHER people I know so, it’s GOTTA be a racial thing, right?
And here I thought I always was racially sensitive and unbiased.
Except for those 2 black guys I work with… I can never tell them apart, either…..
Sorry for the minimalist posting last week, but between the house construction and the new puppy tearing my house and my cat apart, I was in serious need of a Calgon Moment to take me away.
Anyway, concerning the construction…..
As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I am in the process of having an in-ground pool put in my backyard. Now, for anyone out there who’s gone through this already, you KNOW how stressful it can be. Between dealing with the contractors, the builders, the town board, and a million other piss-ant groups who need a check from me before they’ll do their job, I’m ready to pull your hair out.
But that’s not why I’m posting today…. THAT was just me venting a bit.
No, my rage today has to deal with nosy fucking neighbors and how people need to mind their own damn business.
I’ll back up a bit….
I was in my backyard yesterday, cleaning up a bit, when who pops his head over his side of the fence but my neighbor.
Now, I don’t have a real issue with my neighbor. I mean, I’m not too happy with the fact that every 6 months or so he seems to think it’s JUST DANDY to have a Sunday night outdoor party until Midnight, because I guess people in HIS world don’t work on Monday….
But, he’s friendly enough. Our kids go to school together, and he generally minds his own business. That’s about all I really ask from people who live next to me. But, if I’ve said 200 words to him in my lifetime, I’d be surprised.
My new friend pops his head over the fence, and the following conversation takes place:
Neighbor: Hey, you’re getting a new pool?
Neighbor: How much did it cost you?
Did he REALLY just ask me that? I was SURE I had misheard him.
Stud: Excuse me?
Neighbor: How much did it cost? I bet at least $40,000!
At this point I went from friendly to pissed-off pretty much instantly. So, I quickly decided that I really didn’t need this nosy prick as a friend after all, and decided to act like a pompous ass just to irk him.
Stud: Yeah, I guess. A lot more than that once I put in my solar heating and landscaping! I really haven’t been paying too much attention to the cost……
Neighbor: So, you got a home equity loan?
The fucking BALLS on this guy!
Neighbor: Oh, you worked out a payment plan with the pool company?
Stud: Nope. I paid cash. I don’t like to have bills over my head.
And when I said it, I said it really obnoxiously, like how much money this was costing was the most insignificant thing in the world. Really. If someone spoke to ME with that kind of attitude, I’d probably punch the pompous ass in the nuts.
Neighbor: Really? Wow.
Stud: Yup. Great talking with you!
And with that, I walked back into my house with a happy-go-lucky, carefree spring in my step.
I can’t wait till he gets a new car so I can waltz over there and ask to see his checkbook to make sure he can afford it.