I failed to report yesterday and quite clearly I'm not dead. Nope, I managed to survive a further night of dancing, drinking, piss taking and robbery. Yep, we got robbed. Some punkass mutha stole Dani's handbag that had a mass of ridiculously expensive things inside and 3 sets of keys. I know I know, we should refrain from taking things out with us, whilst inebriated, but us chicks NEED to carry so much shit it's untrue. I've now been forbidden from carrying my visa card and house keys out with me when I go and party, which is probably a good idea.
So yeah, today at the vets, something odd happened....
To cut a long story short, my deadbeat sister decided to up and leave Spain at the drop of a hat and dump me with her ugly ass ginger and white cat. This cat is grim. He observes no personal hygiene, he persistently tries to suckle on your earlobes and his eating ettiquete equals that of Dani and I when we hit the pizza joint mullered. He needed his balls chopping off, not literally you understand but yeah he needed the old castration and so I booked the appointment for this morning. I fuckin hate monday mornings as it is, so having to physically touch this gross cat and waste my time tending to his shit just put me in a bad mood.
After fighting with the damn thing for over 20 minutes, he was adamant he wasn't getting in the cat basket, covered in cat spit, hair and sweating like a beast (what? he's huge) I finally managed to shove him inside but to my horror, coz I'd put him in head first I had to shove near his ass to get him all the way in. Dry heaving and dodging his big ass balls I actually forced him in with my foot. It sounds kinda cruel but man, I just can't touch no cat's balls and ass. Anyway he's in the basket and we leave for the vets.
Waiting in the reception area, I'm expecting Thomas the vet to come out and say hey but he doesn't. The big ass super shiney bald headed dude had been replaced by a chick, a pretty chick if we're being technical. I sat there waiting, as the old couple who pretty much raced me through the door with Joppe, the westie terrier who was almost as decrepit as they were, were being tended to first.
I pick some magazine up and start leafing through the pages. It's a Spanish magazine about some interior design crap and since my spanish is clearly only good enough to order alcohol and engage in occasional road rage, I figure I'll just look at the pretty pictures of the cool houses. I must have got bored pretty quickly because I realised that I wasn't reading the magazine anymore, but checking this vet's ass out. Why? I'm not gay, but I totally was looking at her butt, and I was mega surprised by it, so was she. I did the nervous cough thing and flicked the corners of the magazine, as you do in these type of scenarios and totally tried to make out that I was infact not looking at her ass but off in one of those trances that make you look deep thinking or like you're having a conversation with your split persona in your own head. I thought it worked.
She calls me in with the cat and I'm surprised to note she has an American accent, and facial piercings and she's getting the cat out of the basket and hugging and sprinkling him with kisses. I know how hygiene challenged that ginger beast is and I shudder inside and try my best to stop the wry smile but she catches the smile and beams straight back at me. Nicely. Interestingly. I'm fuckin nervous now, I've been here 10 minutes and basically, inadvertently, given this chick two 'come-ons' .... when I'm straight. It was like something out of one of those comedies wherein somebody just cannot stop fucking up through innocent stunts.
She turns her attention back to the cat and starts to do some prelim checks to make sure he is well enough to undergo the surgery and he's struggling under her hands as she's trying to listen to his heartbeat so I attempt to assist, and I swear this cat just wants to totally make me look a dick. He's flailing around and as I try to hold him by the neck, I grab her hand instead, this was just getting so retarded now that I wanted to just die inside. Part of me was thinking shit, you just couldn't make this shit up and part of me was just like, ffs, really? As she's talking to me about the cat I can't maintain eye contact with her and I'm a little flustered and even though I realised that this only strengthens my fake new love of sushi taco, I just can't get my shit together.
He's fit for surgery and I stumble out backwards and slightly embarrassed at the debarcle I had made of myself as she yells to me that she'd call me when she had hacked 'em off. She used proper terminology.
She calls, he's well, he can come home. Great *thumbs up, sarcasm off*
I go to pick him up and as I'm leaving with the furball she's holding my telephone number up on a post it note that I had prepared for them in advance to call me on. She waves it at me and says, Do you need this back or???? I don't know if it was my paranoia but I swear there was some twinkle in her eye, and now I'm shitting myself because or????? wtf does she mean or????? like, or can I bin it? or can I give it to Damon Salvatore? or can I destroy it or .... can I call you?
I've by accident, given the impression, through no fault of my own, that I am gay, to this vet who I actually do think is gay. I probably wouldn't normally give a fuck but you see, I gotta go back there in a couple of weeks to have my female cat spayed...
Would wearing this t.shirt fix this situation, diplomatically?
If she calls, I'll change my number and google how to perform surgery on cat's no no bits. It's my only option.
At least I can add that I have been gay for a day to my resume of 'Odd Things I Have Achieved'.
Love is Love
Raven xoxo
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