An introduction I guess

logo“Parent’s are dicks. Revolt my friends, revolt.” -Dean. (I don’t know why he told me to write this, his parents are pretty cool)

So I wrote a whole heartfelt post about giving up on finding myself  and starting to build myself, aaand then I deleted it, not because it’s not true, it was just formal and boring as shit.

Hi, my name is Gem or at least it is as far as you know. My parent’s (as I’m just now discovering at the ripe ol’ age of 21) are manipulative assholes, I have two rescued pits who grew to a disappointing 35 pounds, I like throwing around paint, and I’m engaged to a bonafide sociopath, Dean.

This is my blog where I will talk about all of the above mentioned things.




Fostering: the dog blog

Bruce-formerly known as Tank-now known as Rocky.

This, is Bruce, or at least he was Bruce; they probably changed his name.

I never fostered an animal before. I knew a decent bit of it and obviously I fuckin love dogs so when I saw his picture posted through a local rescue I couldn’t say no. He had kennel cough, which in the city pound is a death sentence.  In the picture posted he looked like a smallish pup and Pudge and Rose are friendly with smaller dogs so I just had to convince Dean.

This is how.

My masterpiece

Okay, yeah Dean doesn’t care what dies as long as its not me or Rose, but he knows I do, so the emotional ploy still worked.

I got an okay from one of the upstairs roommates (the only one whose opinion I give a shit about because he doesn’t steal our fuckin coolaid), and a mutual friend had an extra kennel so everything was rockin’ and rolin’ .

Everything was not “rockin’ and rolin'”.

First, it takes the rescue over three days to respond and here I am shitting myself thinking this dog is dead. Finally, the director gets back to me and says he was already fostered then dropped off again. Okay…. what happened? She wouldn’t tell me.

Hoping this dog isn’t vicious or something I drive to the pound and meet the representative who brings out a masive 70lb Staffordshire Terrier named Tank. Well shit.

On the way home he managed to, chew up  my seatbelt, pee on the seat cushion, climb all over the front seats and me while I was on the highway, and learn how the open the windows before hanging his whole body out the side while I was going 50mph. At this point, I would be fine with him launching himself from the car and disappearing from my responsibilities.

Okay, fine I wasn’t cool with that idea and instead had a panic attack swerving side to side yelling out a name he had no familiarity with. I finally managed to pull to the side and shove him back in, clicking the child lock.

That evening Dean got home from work and I begged him to help me introduce the dogs. He brought out Rose first and she greeted him nicely, though every chance Bruce got he was trying to fuck her. (Oh, also wasn’t mentioned to me he was not neutered and therefore would drive my female dog to insanity)

Anyway, then came Pudge. Pudge was not a fan. Now, Pudge has hurt hips and can’t make it around too easily, and so Bruce took him as no threat, but Pudge did not care as he continuously attempted to stand on Bruce in a futile attempt to assert dominance. Then came to ear biting. I think Pudge is a closeted gay.

They would sit and stare into each other’s eyes, as long as there was a wall between them.

Long story short, he did not like Bruce. Weeks were spent introducing the two with the same result, so for the past month my time has been spent alternating which dogs are crying in their kennel. Eventually, Rose got fed up with the content fuckboi attitude of Bruce and I even had to separate them.

After a month of never having heard a word out of the agency, I emailed the representative and told her this was not a good home for Bruce and that I cannot do the advertisement and was frustrated that they have done nothing and if they would just post about him he would be adopted instantly. I received back an all caps email with exclamation points about how I am a horrible person. I insisted it was not healthy for him to constantly be in a kennel, so she finally agreed to post him on their instagram to get another foster. Two hours later, he was filed for adoption and I set up a meet and greet with the family. *eye role*. But yes, I am a terrible human being.

This was the post they made to find a new foster. My favorite hashtags are underlined.

Anyway, I dropped him off today at his new home with his new best friend and it was actually a rather fulfilling moment, that is if you ignore all the shit that went into it.

Also, I learned the woman is pregnant and due yesterday. It all makes sense now…

I hate people.

Dogs are awesome.

The end.

In conclusion, would I ever foster again? Yes. But never ever with this rescue again. And I will make sure the dog is no bigger than Pudge so the crippled man doesn’t feel threatened.


Cuddles, when dating a sociopath

FullSizeRender-30In our years there have been many things I have taught Dean, and many things I have come to terms with, such as that he will never understand love, but he loves me in the odd form of loyalty he calls by the name. He will say things and do things not realizing or much caring about the implication to others, though he listens to my impute and (sometimes) applies it. In all, there is this cold comfort in knowing you are one hundred percent the only person he cares about other than himself. When dating a normal person, yeah you are the most important person to them, but are you the only, forever?

Among everything, the biggest problem he has is at night when it gets cold and I curl up against him. For the love of fuck he hates cuddling. To Dean, cuddling is hot and annoying and he feels more personal connection just sitting in the room with me. Those stray kisses that aren’t meant to lead to anything? I might as well kiss the dog because to him they are no different than a high five.

Don’t get me wrong, when he gets in the mood boy does he get passionate, but it’s like a switch and I can feel the result in his kiss,  cold and stiff or warm and soft. Even then, EVEN THEN, when connected in the throws of love he says he feels no closer then now as I sit next to him and he scrolls through Instagram.

I’m getting ahead of myself, this is about cuddling. Though I am most definitely a self diagnosed cuddle monster, this is why he took me to pick out some dogs. In the end, I don’t mind terribly. When you hear someone you love say they feel no different toward you when making love than when eating cereal, you can take it to heart and feel, well, invisible, but I have come to the understanding that it means quite the opposite. It’s not that he doesn’t care when we are together, it’s that he cares 24/7. His feeling aren’t controlled by circumstance or brief emotion, but by choice, and I kinda like that.


What could be worse than bath time?

****not for the faint of heart********barf warning*******seriously*******IMG_7282

Butt time.

No, not like that….

As far as I understand it, dogs have these glands near their anus, and they were designed by satan himself. Sometimes they can get infected and you have to squeeze them to get the, as I call it, butt juice out. Well, today Dean and I smelled something foul so I gloved up, tied a shirt around my lower face in the manner of desperado, and dragged an unwilling Pudge into the shower.

He hunched over all sad looking waiting for me to turn the water on and scrub him down, but no. He only wished it was bath time, and so did I.

Now, with fresh air and a tired anus, Pudge sits happily on his bed while I recover from throwing up all my dinner.

I promise this is like the most disgusting thing I will ever post about, but ew, I had to.

“And what,” you ask,” was Dean doing this whole time?”

Well, Dean was playing video games.