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This is my view 20 minutes before my Professional Responsibility class starts:
I am on the off-ramp of 35W1 when this random blond lady passes my car on the grass of the off-ramp.
Actually, yesterday I decided that there was no way that my 9am vet visit was going to happen because I was out late at Jack’s b-day extravaganza and Gib’s afterparty.
But for whatever reason I wake up at 8am and decide that I probably should drag myself out of bed and take the dog to the vet.
So, an hour later I’m standing in an examination room listening to a chipper veterinary assistant run down a list of extensive care plans for the dog.
I was quietly calculating how many hours worth of wages I was going to burn on this visit when the young-ish vet comes in.
The vet looks freaked out.
Vet: “ Oh my god, your dog’s heartworm test is positive!”
The assistant (gasping): “Oh my god!”
Me: “…um, okay, what does that mean?”
Vet: “Oh my god, I can’t believe he tested positive! I mean, I haven’t had a positive case in two years!”
The assistant gasps again. We all look at the dog as if we expected him to drop dead right there. Cue the ominous music.
Me: “Well is he going to die or…?”
The vet then adopted that tone that TV doctors use when they tell parents just how painful their child’s cancer death is going to be.
Vet: “No, well, I mean, probably not. We don’t know how serious it is because if he has had the worms for a while then they may cause heart failure. See what happens is that the heart enlarges…lungs filled with fluid…then horribly painful death… gory details… But I need to do some x-rays to be sure they are about $200. Sign this paper.”
While the vet left to re-check the test results, I called madre.
Me: “I’m at the vet’s. Harley has heartworms.1 It’s going to be like $700.”
Madre: “Hm. Well, how good is the prognosis? Because that’s a lot of money to spend on a dead dog…”
The vet did not take my mother’s practical question very well – although the vet explained the three levels of heartworm (and the fact that the third level was basically untreatable) he seemed aghast at the notion of putting a dog down.
Vet: “Well, we will talk about our, uh, options, when we get there. We need to keep him here today to observe him just in case he has an adverse reaction to the medicine and faints or dies or something…”
Me: “Dandy. I’ll be at work.”
Vet: “Great. See you at 5. You have to go to the reception desk and put down a down payment. That’s our policy for all of our costly procedures.”
Dandy.
So I drive off to the suburbs and worke for 5 hours before heading back to the animal hospital.
Apparently Harley did not take his stay very well.
Assistant: “So I took him out but he didn’t go. But when I put him in the kennel he just looked at me and started peeing a lake!”
Me: “Oh my.”
Assistant: “Oh, and you were right about the flatulence.”
Me: “I wouldn’t joke about such things.”
Assistant: “Oh, and he also pooped in the kennel as well. It was soft just like you said it would be!”
Me: “I wouldn’t joke about such things either!”
They brought the dog out. He looked tired, unamused, and like he just got beaten up.
Vet: “He’s going to be a little sore, but that’s to be expected. Here’s his medicine. And remember he cannot get excited or exercised for the next few months OR HE WILL DIE. Okay? Short walks are fine, but nothing strenuous.”
Well, gee.
Brought Harley home and went back to work for another 5 hours.
When I back home Harley and I are going on a brief, non-strenuous non-death-enducing walk.
1 So about this heartworm business…according to the assistant it takes 6 months for heartworms to show up in test results. I got the dog in March, so he had heartworm when I bought him. I call the animal rescue where he came from and the rescue manager says, “Oh, that’s a surprise! But yeah, we don’t test the dogs for heartworm. That costs extra. You gotta tell me first if you wanted that done.”
The dog’s shedding.
For the past few days I’ve found little tumble-weeds of dog hair all over the apartment. I expected that cacti and cowboy shootouts to materialize any moment…
When I got home today there was a little mound of hair near Harley’s kennel and I had had it.
I looked at the dog and informed him it was on.
So a few minutes later I was wrestling a 100lb dog into the bathtub…and Harley got his first-ever bath.
So yeah. He was not thrilled.
But I’m glad I did it because:
I know. Ew.
But better in the tub than all over the apartment!
Oy vey. The past two weeks? Well, I started summer school and stopped petitioning. Once I stopped petitioning I focused on getting my apartment in order and then tried to maintain my enthusiasm for Professional Responsibility.
I also worked a lot, and ran from random teenager shooters when I came home. Oh, and of course there were drag shows and random hot messes too…
Minneapolis has been Renaissance-fair soggy1 for the past few weeks, but today the temperature was in high 70’s and it felt unbearably hot.
I walked Harley around campus and he was all, “Okay, seriously, this heat is some bullshit.”
“Yea, this heat thing? No. It’s not working. FIX IT!
He didn’t stop shooting me glares until I let him run in the river:
And it was hot enough that he dried out before we got back to the car. Score.
The summer is shaping up to be wonderfully breezy: work, class, hanging out, repeat.
The marathon training is not going well however. I need to unleash my inner Jillian Michaels this week… it’s just a matter of finding the appropriate wig and snarl…
1 Seriously, mold and plague.
I usually don’t do memes as a rule, but this one is from Molly.
“You have to tell your readers 10 things about you they may not know, but that are true.”
My 10 things after the jump.
Jill and I were at the convenience store near the law school. We talked about our summer classes while waiting in line at the register:
Me: “Yeah, people aren’t thrilled with my Professional Responsibility class.”
Jill: “Oh, that’s what I’ve heard! A lot of people really dislike that class. I’m glad I didn’t take it this summer. Hopefully it will be better in the fall…”
Just then the older lady who was standing in line ahead of Jill turns around and says:
Lady: “I graduated from the law school in 73. And trust me, professional has always been a bitch.”
The lady pays and then leaves.
The cashier is laughing.
Jill is shocked.
Me: “That might have been the best thing ever.”
“Oh, I see. Why doesn’t my Kennel have fancy blue sheets?”
“I unleash the dragon…breath.”
“You are getting sleepy.”
During the drive home I receive a text from Jack, who was at the clubhouse.
The problem is that Jack’s trashy ex-boyfriend is a stripper dancer at the clubhouse. So of course I had go support Jack to prevent the trashy-ex from getting too much joy from seeing Jack at the clubhouse by himself.
When I arrive at my building there is no street parking available, so I decide illegally park at a nearby business. I was just going to quickly walk the dog before going to the clubhouse, so I figured that briefly parking in the empty business lot wouldn’t be too much trouble.
And of course I was wrong.
I get out of my car and see teenagers running past me. I look across the parking lot at the apartment building that they ran from. There is a boy wearing a hoodie on the apartment building’s garage staircase. The boy raises his arm towards to the building and I hear two gunshots.
The shooter then starts running across the parking lot towards my car.
I scramble to my apartment building while calling 911, thinking “this is some bullshit…” I leash my dog while on the phone with the 911 dispatcher. The dog gives me the “what’s wrong bubba?” look.
Five minutes later I’m walking the dog towards the neighborhood bank so I can get cash for the clubhouse. I receive a call, it’s the police, they want me to come and talk to them on a street near the business:
Police Officer (talking to me on the phone): “Where are you?”
Me: “Oh, at the bank down the street…uh, I’m going to walk towards you.”
Officer: “Do you see me?”
Me: “No, but I see your cop car I think…”
Officer: “Well, you should see some cars… I mean we have seven squad cars out here.”
Me: “Hmmph,… they didn’t send seven squad cars when I got shot…”
Officer: “What was that?”
Me: “Nothing! I see you, I’m here. Hi!”
Sure enough, there are seven cop cars lining the street. The only problem is that the police are busy searching the wrong apartment building.
Officer: “So what happened?”
Me: “Well, I was parking at the business over there…see what I get for parking illegally? Well, anyway, I was parking over there behind these buildings and some teens were running past me as I got out of my car. Then I saw a teen in the back of that apartment building shoot twice.”
Officer: “Which building?”
Me: “That one. Not the one you guys are searching…”
Officer: “Crap.”
(the officer screams orders into his radio to the tune of “WRONG BUILDING YO”)
Me: “Sorry that I’m so freaked out. I got hit by a stray bullet last month.”
Officer: “Oh heck, I’d be freaked out too. Can you tell me anything else about the teens?”
Me: “Oh, and the teens were…um… East African.”
Officer: “You mean Somalis?”
Me: “…uh, yeah.1 I guess.”
I leave the officer, let the dog crap, and then book it to the clubhouse.
At the clubhouse I try my best to ignore Jack’s ex, who keeps inching closer to Jack and I. It felt like one of those DiscoveryChannel clips of a preying snake in the jungle…except this one had bleached hair and intermittently shot us the stank eye.
I also ran into Yogi and his entourage:
Yogi: “Hey, do you want another shot?”
Me: “I’m not a big drinker. You know this.”
Yogi: “But you just texted me and said you had a shot out at your apartment building.”
Me: “No, I texted you that I had a SHOOT out at my apartment building.”
Yogi: “Again? Minneapolis is not treating you well. Was it Somalis?”
Me: “Why does it always have to be Somalis?”
Yogi: “Because it’s Minneapolis. You’re saying it wasn’t?”
Me: “No, it was. But still…”
I had a fun, concise2 time at the clubhouse, and then snuck home hoping that none of the supposedly-Somali teens saw me talk to the cops…
1 Here I am trying to be politically correct for once in my life…pfft. Besides, we have Ethiopians in Minneapolis too! Why does it have to be a Somali?
2 Clubs in Minneapolis close at 3am on the weekends. I left work at midnight, had the commute/shooting fiasco, and got to the club around 1am. So it was a 2-hour affair.
Funny, I was thinking the same thing:
I pull two apples from my bag at work:
Me: “Ugh.”
Jack: “What?”
Me: “These aren’t organic so you can see the pesticide residue at the top of the apple. Jillian Michaels would not approve…”
Jack: “Ew, yeah. You’re gonna to have to wash those.”
Me: “But the sink is so far away… I should just…”
Jack: “Don’t. Just go and wash them. Stop being lazy.”Fine.
So I’m walking down the hallway to the bathroom to wash the apples and decide that it would be a good idea to juggle them.1 I haven’t juggled anything since third grade so it was only a few moments before I launch one of the apples down the hallway and give chase…
The apple flies past the cafeteria doors and I almost plow into a janitor before snatching up the apple like a baseball.
Janitor (calling by back into the cafeteria to another janitor):“Hey, Marty! The interns are playing fetch again!”
I grunt, flush, and scurry away…
1 It’s Saturday, so the office is fairly deserted. I don’t juggle fruit during the week…
I am so glad that the cover for my kitschy Ikea sofa is machine washable…
Harley doesn’t run around the apartment because prefers lounging about with chew toys. This is usually nice, but I (for whatever reason) decided to mess with the status quo and be playful…
So I walked into the dining room and crouched down on all fours, then called Harley over…and hilarity ensued.
I had that stance that dogs take when they are about to jump (see picture here).
This was an extremely bad idea, because what does Harley do when he sees me? He barks, runs back into the living room, jumps on the sofa, and STARTS PEEING!
What the hell….
And then of course, I was crabby, and he was crabby because I was crabby…and an hour of laundry ensued…
Gibs and I walked Harley last night. We are crossing a street when Harley stops in the middle of the street:
Me: “What is in his mouth?”
Gibs: “Oh, it’s probably just a piece of bark…”
Me: “No, I think it’s a DEAD ANIMAL!”
Gibs: “But it’s so dark and flat.”
Me: “Maybe you’re right…”
Gibs searches his pockets for his cellphone and I search my pockets for a doggy bag. I’m using the doggy bag to remove the thing from Harley’s mouth when Gibs uses his cellphone to shine some light on the thing:
Me: “IT’S A SQUIRREL!”
Gibs: “A squirrel?”
Me: “A pancaked, run-over squirrel! That is disgusting! Remind me not to let him lick the squirrel juices on me later, because I’m going to forget...”
I chuck the squirrel-cake in the bushes and we keep walking.
Later that night we are walking up Nicollet Avenue when we see this guy stumbling towards us. The guy is in his 20’s, has a big frizzy ponytail, and is high out of his mind. So of course Friz wants to meet the dog.
Friz: “Can I pet your doggy?!”
Gibs is giving me the “WHAT THE HECK/OH MY GOD/DON’T YOU DARE” look.
Me: “Sure.”
Friz falls to the floor, grabs Harley’s face, and starts cooing and kissing him. Gibs and I exchange a “Is this guy serious?” look.
Friz then lets Harley lick all over his face.
Me (to Gibs): “Are you thinking about the squirrel too? Muhahaha…”
Friz then gets a little too comfortable with Harley. He gives him a full body hug, and then tries to PICK HIM UP.
Gibs’s face says: “WHAT WHAT WHAT?”
Harley’s face says: “Um…thou did not.”
Friz stumbles back and drops Harley. Harley walks away like, “No, fool, you are done.”
Friz: “Come back!”
Harley gives him the “bitch please” look and we keep walking.1
1 Gibs thought it was crazy that I let Friz pet the dog, but I explained that the dead-squirrel-licking made it totally worth it. Also, I trust that a bullmastiff will let someone know when they cross the line…
Most dogs have a habit of kicking their hind legs to cover up their business.1 But my dog has a habit of kicking his business.
So I’m standing on the corner of my street, texting.
Harley finishes his business, and I am not paying attention so I don’t catch him before he starts to kick his back legs and launches his business into the air.
Poo flies everywhere. I hear screaming from around the corner:
Mel: “WHAT WHAT WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? IS THAT SHIT? WHO IS THROWING SHIT?!”
Mel turns the corner and glares at me. Molly is sporting her standard uniform of daisy dukes, flip flops, dirty white tank top, and the overstuffed Cub grocery bag…and she is livid.
Mel: “Why, it’s that BIG ASS DOG again! And he throws shit now!
Mel (talking to the dog): “You think throwing shit is funny? THROWING YO SHIT AT PEOPLE DOG! YOU CANNOT DO THAT! You’re exactly what’s wrong with this country. YOU ARE A TERRORIST! TERRORIST!”
Harley walks towards Molly and she storms off screaming “terrorist.”
I exchange wtf-looks with the Somali men at the bus stop and keep it moving…
About ten minutes later I’m near Loring Park, texting again, and not paying attention to the crazy she-mullet approaching.
This lady had a fountain of spiky 80’s hair with an extra long rat tail. I really suspect she fluffed out a dead cat and decided to wear it as a headpiece, but maybe she just wants to bring back 80’s Tina Turner.
Tina: “Is that dog named Caesar?!”
Me: “Uh… no. He is not named Caesar.”
Tina: “Are you sure?”
Me: “Quite.”
Tina (bending down to pet): “Oh, well, I see a couple walking a dog like this all the time, and their dog is named Caesar!”
The full line of questioning and cooing followed – how old is he? Oh what a sweet dog! Is he mixed with anything? What a cute baby! Yes you are! How is his temperament? Oooh gimme kisses!
I almost felt like telling her about the poo flinging incident but didn’t want to prolong the Vh1 flashback.
We get away from Tina and turn the corner. We near the 19 Bar when a short stocky guy walks out from the bar’s parking lot. He reminds me of Buzz Lightyear, minus the cool costume.
Buzz: “Cute dog.”
Me: “Thank you.”
I start to wonder if Buzz is cute or not when Buzz’s cologne hits me. Actually, the cologne doesn’t just hit me, but it punches me in the gut, drags me around the corner, and then waterboards me. That’s how bad it was.
Buzz: “Are you okay?”
Me (gagging and wincing): “Oh, I’m fine. Have a nice day.”
Buzz looks at me like, “freak.” And prances into the bar. Buzz’s toxic cloud2 followed.
I hope tomorrow’s walk around Calhoun is less eventful.
1 Yes, this post starts with dog poop. Welcome to 1L summer!
2 And I swear my clothes smell of whatever cologne he showered in. He’s wearing it for the entire bar…my goodness.
I’m letting my 100-pound, drooling, farting, slobbering dog sleep in my bed tonight.
I was at work for about 12 hours and then got stuck in traffic – at 11pm – for about a half hour.1
Meanwhile back at the ranch: Harley was sitting in the kennel.
I fully expected him to bite me when I got home, but he just wagged his tail and then went to the kitchen to eat.
My goodness…
1 This was 35W, which is Minneapolis’s answer to Miami’s Palmetto (ie, the huge highway that always seems to be under construction. Tonight they narrowed the highway to 2 lanes. Traffic is backed up for miles.
The food poisoning has not gotten better…at all.
But there are clothes to be washed, a dog to be walked, and Erie analysis to be relearned.
Now I usually look proper. Not slovenly, not stinky, etc. But I figured that it was okay to look a hot mess for at least one day since I’ve been studying civpro with a stomach1 verging on 1.5.
So, I’m in the stairwell, wrestling Harley in one hand, and carrying a fist full of stinky socks that I wanted to add to the laundry…and of course I run into Mr. Big.
Mr. Big is the smooth upstairs neighbor. Think Hugh Jackman with a deep Barry White voice. Oh my goodness… Mr. Big also has a pissy boxer dog, who I call Bitch Boxer, or BeeBee.
Mr. Big was walking BeeBee so, BeeBee and Harley had to do the obligatory crotch inspection. Mr. Big started talking when Beebee was all up in Harley’s nether regions:
Mr. Big: “Has your dog gotten any bigger?”
Me: “Oh, he’s filled out but he’s full grown.”
Mr. Big: “Oh, I thought you said3 he was going to get much bigger…”
Me: “Oh…erm… well he was underweight when I got him, but I want him to get obese so…”
Just then BeeBee completely snapped4 at Harley and almost bit his face off. Harley bounced back, and Mr. Big and I were both shouting at our dogs and attempting to pass each other in the stairwell. It felt like a bar brawl and ended with Harley and I tumbling down the stairs….
On the continuum of “bad interactions with hot neighbors” this was somewhere in between inappropriate hallway flatulence and my dog mauling the neighbor… but at least I didn’t drop any dirty socks!
1 Oh yes, I went there…but it’s part of the story.
2 As Kimora Lee Simmons always says, “Dress like you’re going to meet your worst enemy.”
3 Apparently Mr. Big remembered my description of American Mastiffs… which Harley isn’t…oops.
4 Out of the 100 or so dogs he’s met, I’ve never seen him snap back at a dog. Beebee is special.
Dear Cheeky Third Grader from the elementary school down the block:
I apologize for threatening to sic Michael Jackson on you. Turns out that you were right! My dog is a Bullmastiff, and not an American Mastiff as I previously thought.
Although it’s easy to mistake him for an American Mastiff… I mean, look at that face:
He SO does not have the bitter-beer/Reese Witherspoon face like all the other Bullmastiffs!
But anyhoot, I checked his vaccination papers this weekend and sure enough it says “Bullmastiff.” This you were right, I was wrong, and I apologize.
Although I might still send Michael over since you said that my mug looks like my dog…we’ll see.
Love,
Jansen.
Last night I was done.
I was ready to give up law school, and thinking about how to ask my boss to keep me on until I find a bartending job…
I cooked some questionable beef patties2 and just stared at my Corporations outline.
My confidence in that Corporations had been completely undermined by our midterm. Although I didn’t do horribly on the midterm, I was frustrated because I didn’t understand half of Professor M’s model answer. This hasn’t happened to me before.
There was this nebulous thing called Delaware Corporate law and I apparently didn’t get it, which is a huge problem for someone who is pursuing a business law concentration.
I also felt the undergrad business majors/MBA students in my class would ensure me a spot on top of the curve right in between to the girl who never attended class and the boy who we all suspect is clinically retarded…
In short: I was cranky.
After watching the Charlie Rose interview with Scalia I tried to get back into my Corporate law groove, if there was ever such a thing... I replayed my Corporations Final playlist and remained in my funk.
I then had an epiphany! It was as if Scalia was talking to me directly: If I was confused about Delaware Corporate law I should probably reread the DGCL statutes that were assigned!
Gasp, reading the law… what a concept! Turns out that’s all I needed to do. Problem solved!
The rest of the evening was productive and I was in bed around midnight…
I woke up around 2am because I heard thrashing and cursing. I peeked out of my bedroom window to see an obese girl in basketball shorts throwing rocks at downstairs neighbor’s window.2 From what I could gather from Ms. Pillsbury’s screams, it seems like downstairs Neighbor kicked her out, and she was upset.
I ignored Ms. Pillsbury and went back to bed.
When my alarm clock woke me up this morning I had to over my mouth to keep myself from yarking all over my bed. That suspect beef patty I had for dinner was officially past its prime. I was nauseous for the majority of the morning….
I walked the dog and lugged myself to school, hoping that my face wasn’t green.
I felt better once the final started. The final was not bad at all. Professor M promised a “standard law school exam” and that’s what he delivered.
But, of course all of the statutes I had lovingly relearned the night before were useless. But having practically memorized the restatement of agency during last semester’s Contracts course was helpful.
After the exam, I went to the Gamma house and packed up more of my things.3
I boxed as much as I could and then drove to UPS. My mother bought me three bookshelves and a …desk/dining table/I don’t know what it’s going to be.
My car was so packed that it felt like driving a Jenga box home.
It took 8 trips to get everything into the apartment.
Harley and I then worked on our flying lessons at the park: there’s a large, steep staircase at the park with a smooth bike ramp]. The stairs are a little too steep for Harley to walk comfortably, so he decided to walk on the smooth bike ramp.
Of course my dog is WAY TOO HEAVY to do that, and with one loud yelp he started to fly down the incline, dragging me with him.
This was a sequel to Wednesday night’s flying lesson which started with the puke that was all over the hallway when I came home from work. Of course I forget about the chunk-fest and walk Harley down that staircase.
Harley, sensing something disgusting, JUST HAD TO SMELL IT. The only problem was that he was walking on the other side of the staircase, and in the process of launching towards the puke, he tripped and we both literally flew down the rest of the staircase and crashed in front of downstairs neighbor’s door.4 Oh my goodness.
Harley is exhausted from all the dog-sniffing and duck chasing at the lake. I’m exhausted from my fun-yet-unnecessary foray into Delaware Corporate law.
The rest of the 1Ls are done with class and going out… I still have to take the CivPro final on Monday, and unpack the freight-disaster that is the living room, so I’m going to bed and getting an early start tomorrow…
1 Questionable as in…it was Thursday night and I had bought them on Sunday or Monday. So it wasn’t within the “cook or freeze within 48 hours” time period.
2 Which is sufficiently random to suit my apartment building.
3 I’m annoyed that I haven’t completed the move-out yet. Part of the reason I still have stuff at the Gamma house is the whole “getting shot right before finals” bit. Another reason is that my apartment building has limited street parking. Moving heavy boxes is one thing… but having to carry heavy boxes two blocks and up four flights of stairs is another.
4I scrambled up and booked it before anyone had a chance to peak into the hallway.
