Judgment vs. Judgement (or, "How I Spent My Spring Break")

Preface: it should be noted that I use the term "spring break" very loosely here. In that, when I think "spring break"? I think hot coeds getting drunk and stupid on some beach in Florida or Mexico, whereas my "spring break" was nothing more than a long weekend that was topped off by getting peed on by a cat. Totally different. But, I'm getting ahead of myself....

My long weekend began with finding Ghetto Dawg unable to walk, stand, or not try to bite my face off every time I cane near her. I called the vet and they fit me in right away - getting her into the car was another matter altogether. After dressing myself in a thick coat, Chris' work gloves, and throwing a beach towel over P-dizzy's head, I hauled her whole 25 pound furry body to the car as if I was carrying a whining yelping bomb with teeth.

It was awesome.

When we got there, she continued to try to eat the faces of everyone present, which was lovely as well. In addition to the Xanax I had slipped her (from my own personal collection, thankyouverymuch) before we came in, they gave her a shot in the ass to sedate her. And then still had to muzzle her because she *still* wanted to eat their faces.

Hannibal Lector Dawg is not amused.

Cut to many hours later, and the vet thinks she has something called "Beagle Pain Syndrome" which is roughly akin to doggie-meningitis, has the symptomology of MS, and has nothing to do with her NOT being a beagle.

Yep, you read it right. Princess-Ghetto-Hannibal-Lector-Dawg, for all intents and purposes, has doggie MS. Of course that wasn't the vets official prognosis, but it's mine. And of COURSE she's my dawg. We were meant for one another. I just can't bite people's faces off. Though I wish I could.

Later that night, I went to see Alex at Grace for a small new tattoo. It took me 30 mins to get into downtown Phoenixville (because apparently it's the cool new place for hipsters and wanna-be-hipsters to be seen (please note: I'm not even entirely sure what a hipster is, but it seems right)) and only 20 minutes for the set-up and tat to be done.

(it's a mantra and a personal reminder)

The tattoo itself led to an interesting discussion (and follow-up Google search) on the proper spelling of "judgment". Many long web-pages short, either "judgment" or "judgement" is considered acceptable, but the sans "e" spelling is considered correct and preferred everywhere except in Britain and Australia. So, as long my life-long trend of being hopelessly not-well-traveled continues, I should be good.

The next two days were uneventful, spent with family, eating way too much, and only about 65% of my time was spent in my pjs, which is about 27% short of what my preferred goal would be. Meh, you win some, you spend some time actually bathed and clothed.

Cut to today, the last day of my totally righteous and awesome "spring break" when I awoke early for a doctor's appointment only to find that my million-year-old, dying-slowly-from-what-I-have-diagnosed-as-kidney-failure (didn't we establish by now that I'm a vet? keep up, people) cat had slept on me, peed all over herself - in her sleep - thus peeing all over my covers and, yes, all over me.

Let me tell you - in case you've never had the pleasure - waking up at 6am with your boobs smelling like cat urine is as much confusing as it is completely unsettling. I'll leave it at that.

And other than my doctor explaining that I've had a significant weight gain over the last two years (no shit, you mean my clothes aren't shrinking? do you suppose it has something to do with the fact that I'm taking more drugs and hormones than a dairy cow?) and him asking "do you exercise regularly?" (answer: is working to keep my sanity considered exercise? because it totally should be), it was a fun visit. I followed up by making an appointment with my OB-GYN (because I need a second opinion on his whole you-must-quit-all-psychoactive-drugs-if-you-want-to-have-a-baby stance (which was slightly overshadowed by his Dr. Obvious announcement that I was fat (and by the possibility of waking up 4 months pregnant and finding you're so depressed that you want to drive your car off an overpass and that can't possibly be considered safe for a baby either)) for later this month and an appointment with my neurologist next month, because why should they be left out of the "wow-Jamie-you've-gotten-HUGE" fun.

(and if that last paragraph isn't proof positive that I need to be medicated I don't know what is.)

P.S? I've never been on a real "spring break", even in college. I'm thinking by the time I can afford to go hit a beach with a bunch of drunk coeds for a week, it will be more like "Geriatrics Gone Wild". (I'm gonna own that (wrinkled and sagging) shit.)

P.P.S? Callie made this today at pre-school. It's a rocket ship. (and that's all I'm saying about that.)