Thank You from the Addiverse

Here's to Wild Mama. Thank you for reading every post.

The end of this chapter--this blog--is upon us. People are ticking and tocking, snapping and chatting, vlogging and reeling. The Boomers are looking mighty out-of-date, out-of-touch and out of time. The Addiverse is no different.

The timing is perfect for the closing of this blog.
I’ve entered a new decade.
I've entered the "third act" of this play called life.
We’re moving to a new house.
Menopause is firmly set. 

Beginnings after endings. I know there will be a new creative adventure, as beginnings following endings. What that will be, I do not know. When I do know, I’ll post a link/info/invite/warning label on this final entry.

As I’ve note in the previous 15 posts, I decided to go out in style, featuring 16 of my favorite blogs, which represent my 16 years of blogging. Today, I write the final post. In preparation for this momentous event, I zipped back to the first entry. After all, one should finish where they started.

Interestingly to me, there is only one post from 2005. Why interestingly? Because I would have sworn I posted more one time during that inaugural month of blogging.
I know I started the blog in December 2005…
I remember setting up the blog…
I remember the reasons to I began to blog…
Perhaps I am delirious.
Perhaps there really was only one post… seeing as the first post is dated 12/31/2005, it stands to reason it is the only 2005 post.
Doesn't matter than I would’ve bet dollars to donuts there would be more than one entry.
The blog does not lie.
Insert shoulder shrug here.

Let’s start with the original blog and then I will close with some words of wisdom.
Or, words of ridiculousness.
Hold that thought.

Welcome to the Addiverse: The Inaugural Blog

Welcome to the Addiverse... forget the universe, this is the Addiverse... what a strange place it is.

No editing.
No spell check.
No grammar patrol.
Mundane ramblings of no redeeming value.
Therapy for me; laughs for you.

The ice cream cake roll photo has nothing to do with anything besides illustrating my love of delicious, naughty, always-chocolatey sugar products.
It's an addiction.
I am powerless and its unmanageable.
Ask me if I care.

Now, dog diarrhea....

Meet Lucy, Bark of Poteidaia: a 17 lb shih tzu/Maltese mix, affectionately named after Lucy Lawless and Gabrielle, Bard of Poteidaia.
Lucy is definitely NOT a foo foo dog...
she's more like if Ellen DeGeneres was a dog, she'd be Lucy.
Why she's so big, we have no idea but the mama swears she really is shih tzu and Maltese but we remain skeptical.

Today, Lucy got into some disgustingly rich raccoon poop after running away on my watch. I know better not to let her go outside without her leash, but I learn the hard way. Sometimes, I don’t learn at all. Anyway, she runs straight across the street--never a good thing--and flocks right to this giant pile of the most vile-smelling poop on the face of the earth. I put our other dog (Freckles Warrior Princess--a shih tzu/Lhasa mix with a bad attitude and a worse underbite) in the car and go to get Lucy.

I can smell her from the street. This is not a good thing.

I swear she is smiling while rolling around and eating this mess, getting all covered with the present from the neighborhood critter, smacking her lips in delight. Dear god, my eyes were watering when I picked her up--this was no regular poop. She's covered with shit and I'm trying to carry her at arm's length and Freckles is watching from the car wondering what the hell is going on. I have to get Lucy into the house for an emergency bath. With Lucy in one arm, I open the car door and Freckles plops out. I leave the car and carry her at arm's length.

I can go get the car later.

Lucy is loving every minute of the tasty poop she is licking off her fur as I'm trying to carry her....and then....

When I get to our house, I immediately sense that the wife is NOT amused that
(1) Lucy was off her leash when I know she is just going to run away,
(2) that Lucy had indeed run away and had rolled in poop,
(3) that Lucy now smelled like something that died three months ago,
(4) that I smelled like something died three months ago and,
(5) that Lucy has been eating this crap (literally).

Now, I know you don't know the wife yet, but let me just say she is very fastidious-obsessive-compulsive-clean-rule-following woman and she is NOT entertained by me, poop or Lucy at this moment.

The bath went swimmingly (pun intended). Soon, we were smelling fresh as daisies. All seemed to be going fabulously in the Addiverse. The car was back home. Freckles was fine. Lucy smelled better. I was kinda-sorta forgiven.

All that poop eating led to Lucy getting sick. Of course it did. I'm talking exploding diarrhea. Not just a little case of shooting poop--we're talking shit flying everywhere. For days.

The wife was no longer speaking to me or Lucy at this point. We were both in the doghouse. Freckles, having more brain capacity than me and Lucy together, was smart enough to lie low and wait out the storm from somewhere under a bed.

Due to the poop patrol needs, I slept on the floor with Lucy, as every time she woke up and stood up to go outside, poop would machine-gun right out of her poor little butt. Woof! So, when she'd wake up, I'd grab her and run out the front door. I had to take two days off work to stay home with her....after all, it was my fault she was shooting shit.

I finally took Lucy to the vet 'cuz the diarrhea wasn't getting any better and I was tired of not sleeping and because the wife was getting more irritated by the milli-second. (Who can blame her? Cleaning up diarrhea every two hours isn't very fun and the new carpeting really didn't need such initiation.) I try to scoop up some poop for the vet to look at, but it's REALLY hard to pick up dog diarrhea. I got some in the baggie and off Lucy and I went.

The vet and the assistant get this HORRIFIED look on their faces when they hear the words "raccoon feces." It is obvious it is a very bad thing for dogs to eat racoon poop. I guess there's some bad juju with raccoon poop--trust me, I did a lot of research on the web and found this poop to be a bad, bad thing--for people and for pets--and these ladies didn't do anything to calm my sleep-deprived nerves. They sent us back home with directions to feed the Bark of Poteidaia some rice with hamburger.

(Side note: the web is amazing--who woulda thunk you could find photos of raccoon poop on the web? There are all sorts of pictures of it. Close ups, in various settings, with different textures. Is this a great world or what?)

Suffice it to say, it took several more days and an injection from the vet (for Lucy, not me) to get things back to "normal" in the Addiverse. 

None of us have had the balls to find out if we have the yucky raccoon worm problem that is out there.
I figure time will tell.
Time and poop.
Time and poop.

As for me, ask me if Lucy's been outside without her leash since then...

...okay, maybe once. Twice? Lucy and I live on the edge.

Don't tell the wife.
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Thank you for visiting the Addiverse. 

A place where it's okay to dig ice cream cake out of the garbage,

A place to recycle a Bible,

A place to celebrate friends a family,

A place to mourn, celebrate, recognize,

A place for free therapy,

A place of ridiculousness,

A place of exaggeration,

A place of the truth with not a shred of exaggeration,

A place of no redeeming value, 

except for a laugh or two along the way. 

Sophomoric dribble--

still dribbling from my brain, sixteen years later.
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I daresay the blog will not age well, 

but it will stand in time no matter how it ages.

Perhaps many years in the future, someone will find the Addiverse and think, "what the hell IS this?" and then take a few moments to peruse the contents of the Addiverse.

Hard to say if the documentation of a this slice of time will bring clarity
or confusion
or angst
or happiness
or something very personal
or guttural
to the unsuspecting visitor. 

We end at the beginning. 

It's been fun.

Until we meet again,

Thank you from the Addiverse.

And remember: Don't tell the wife.

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