The title of this post may be quite misleading, but if you choose to read what it really means I’m just going to issue a Rated Gross warning. My fat fur baby Maximus is getting up there in age. He just turned 9 (maybe 10 I’m not quite sure since his paperwork is sketchier than Obama’s birth certificate). Of course 9 is considered elderly for dogs and it has to be expected that things are going to go wrong. And wrong they are going. Between the standard few thousand a year dogs costs no matter what the age, the older the little guys get, the more smaller your bank account gets. I had this realization back in March when Maximus had to go under anesthesia for that eye tumor removal.

I had prepared myself for the worst since I have lost 2 pugs in surgery in my lifetime. It’s brutal and just excruciating on the heart. I told myself then that I can’t let a dog’s passing be the end of me. The year 2012 was just a painful year all around, I was depressed (clinically diagnosed twice-not being dramatic), heartbroken by a guy and a close friend so I just chalked it up to a really shitty year. I told myself going into that surgery that I wasn’t going to let it send me into a downward spiral if he passed away for some reason. It may sound morbid, but it’s honest and I consider myself a realist. We should all know that 99 percent of the time, we are going to outlive our pets. Anyways, he made it through that intense surgery like a boss and has been great ever since. Until the last 2 weeks.

He’s been puking daily, hardly eating-which is a huge red flag since he would eat til he exploded normally-and he has been super lethargic. Do you overreact and take him to the vet for that standard 200 dollar charge when nothing ends up being wrong? Or do you ride it out. Ride it out I decided and he seemed to be on and off, so I was going to wait it out. Friday night I was asked to act as more of a silent host for a fabulous charity event sponsoring Susan G. Komen where all the proceeds were going to breast cancer. I was really impressed when I showed up to the space because it was just over the top in terms of organization and theme. Anyways, my guy friend had asked me to be a model and lead some of the breast cancer survivors. Along with 7 real models. REAL models.

Yes, I am neither a strong, survivor-nor am I a breast cancer survivor who deserves recognition for winning my battle with cancer. I was told that 2 of my guy friends and another regular girl were also going to be modeling, so I agreed to do it. It’s not that I don’t support the cause of course, it’s that I am not a model and I knew people were going to be like, “Who the hell is that chick and what is she doing modeling?”. UGH. The feeling of dread kicked in when I saw all the lithe models so I threw out the idea-which likely made me come across as a huge bossy b- that I think it would be best if I just led each survivor to their stage so and assisted them up so they could model and the attention would be on them. The organizers and designers agreed, so I was set. I mean, I felt like I was Carrie in Sex and the City when they had the models and famous New Yorkers. I was like, “I’m not a model! I’m a writer! I’m a talker! Oh my God, you’re Heidi Klum!”

Luckily I didn’t have to model underwear. I made it through my backstage change in 60 seconds with all the naked models. I just said, “when in Rome-and stripped down into my black Spanx thong-and was ready to escort the models). YES for those of you who were trying to help that girl, ‘Brenna’, she did find a Spanx thong and even the models were pumped and told me it was sexy! How about that?! I was so excited to get back to the hotel and eat because I hadn’t had a bite of food since 11 am. Yes, it must be nice to get a hotel room at the Ritz as a gift for hosting the event. It would have been even nicer if I didn’t get a call from the guy watching my dog at 9 am that he was puking and it was an emergency. 200 dollars later, some IV fluids and a steroid shot, Maximus was undiagnosed and seemed just fine.

I was able to get myself a late check-out so I could hit up the Ritz pool and just staycate for a minute. I ordered a thousand calorie Miami Vice and people watched for a couple hours. I also got a LOT of sun. It was heaven. I went to pick up Maximus and met my soxfriends at a restaurant. Of course when we leave the restaurant on the most crowded street in my city, Maximus start circling like he needs to use the restroom. Oh man, I have no doggie bags to cleanup so all these people are going to see that I’m about to be THAT girl that doesn’t clean up after her dog. Well, he starts to poop and wait, it’s not coming out. No way, people are eating on patios and I’m going to have to do what most dog owners consider to be the most degrading situation. I’m going to have to help him get it out. All I have is an envelope so down I go, let’s help Maximus get this out. He screams like I’ve never heard him before. Like a pig getting stabbed to death. I’ve never actually heard that before, but that’s what I imagine it sounds like. I realized that he was trying to pass something that definitely wasn’t food related. After drawing a crowd, and probably ruining most people’s Mexican dinners, I pulled out an exercise sock. My dog ate one of my workout socks. NO WAY this is happening. I just dropped the envelope and ran to my car. Whew at least that was over….until I look down at my phone to call my friends and tell them what happened. Oh I had just Face timed someone? Oh, I just facetimed the LAST person in my phone I would want to hear what just transpired. All girls know what I’m talking about. It happened to be the last person who had texted me and now this person possibly heard me say, “No way I’m pulling a sock out of your ass!” UGHHH.