Fabulous Nails

There must be something in the water, because I've never had such fabulous nails in my life.

And they grow fast! I feel like I'm constantly out of regulation (of course there is a regulation dictating fingernail length-- this is the ARMY). I hack off all my claws every few weeks and before I know it, they're back! Long and beautiful and completely unauthorized.

 

 

They're not even doing me any good over here! I don't get the opportunity to dress like a girl very often, and when I do, I'm just covered in flies anyway. If only somehow I could turn these claws into fly killing weapons of mass destruction... I bet they'd be authorized then. At least while in deployed environments, ESPECIALLY the Middle East.

Black Listed

I tried to take Picasso Scissor Hands to the PetSmart groomers today to have his nails trimmed. His nails were clicking over the linoleum like the raptors in Jurassic Park, so it was time.

 

He's been to PetSmart about 100 times, but he is always a nervous wreck when he's there. His whole body shakes and convulses. He lays his ears back whenever someone approaches him. He won't eat a treat that's offered to him. He won't even play with another dog that sniffs him. Basically, he's nothing like himself when he's at PetSmart.

 

Today as I signed him in, he was shaking terribly as always. One of the groomers came out and tried to lasso him with one of their leashes to take him into the back room and Picasso jumped up and snapped at the leash. It scared the girl. Understandable. But Picasso was scared, too. I asked the girl if I could lasso him for her, and she told me, "No, I have to do it." Well, suit yourself. She tried lassoing him again and he snapped again.

 

She told me she absolutely could not trim Picasso's nails because he is a "mean dog". Mind you, Picasso was totally freaking out at this point. He couldn't get away from this woman and her lasso fast enough. I was miffed she referred to Picasso as a "mean dog" so I left without another word.

 

Once Picasso and I got into my car, I could smell it... he had expressed his anal glands during the second attempted lassoing. He had, no doubt, left anal gland juice all over the groomer's floor and I was too mad to notice. Ha, that's what you get, groomer lady: call my dog mean again and see what happens.

 

Does this even slightly resemble a mean dog?!

 

Poor Picasso

What originally was supposed to be a vet visit to deworm Picasso, turned into surgery. Expensive nail removal surgery (which was classified as a pedicure on the bill and I thought that was pretty funny).

Picasso had an unfortunate playing accident-- similar to a training accident. Somehow he broke one of his nails vertically leaving the nail meat exposed. The nail tried growing back, but he kept ripping it back off, as he is a very active player.

The vet told me I had 2 options: 1. He could cut it off real fast while he was awake and it would hurt him really bad or 2. He could put him under and painlessly remove the nail at the low low price of $100.

As I said before, I chose the expensive pedicure.

 

He's home now, and he's still very high. He looks so pitiful in his cone collar. He's afraid of it. He whimpers until I take it off, then he tries to bite it and runs away. I don't see the wearing of the cone lasting very long.

Best wishes to a speedy recovery, Picasso! And may your worm situation also be resolved soon.

Nails 88

Long story short, James needed me to urgently meet him half way between our house and Fort Campbell. So as I'm tearing down the road, he calls me to confirm the rendezvous point.

James: "Where are you?"

Me: "By the nail salon in that stupid strip mall in the middle of no where."

James: "The one that looks like a penis?"

So let me explain that. This is what the sign looks like outside the nail salon:

Since we were in a hurry, I just agreed that, yes, I was near the nail salon that looked like a penis. I could see why he suggested that. But I never previously thought the sign resembled a penis. Every time I passed it, I thought about the KKK.

Perhaps that needs some explanation as well. We've been watching a lot of shows about prison lately. And a lot of prisoners join gangs for protection while they're locked up. A popular choice is the Skin Heads. These prisoners get all kinds of tattoos all over their bodies declaring their loyalty to hating everyone who isn't  a white redneck. One such tattoo is a "88" which stands for Hail Hitler (the letter "H" being the 8th letter of the alphabet). So I pass this nail salon every day and all I can think about is Hitler getting his nails done there.

Which brings me back to a previous blog about that van that I see all over Clarksville. The one that I swear says "Hitler" all over it with the smiley faces. What is really going on here? What kind of town do I really live in? Shits getting raw, that's for sure.

Freddy Krueger

I am like Freddy Krueger. No, I am not a burned up child molester who stalks and murders children in their nightmares. But I do have very long, very sharp fingernails that slice through flesh like it's their job.

The toilet trailers at Camp Virginia are separate from the showers. They have one toilet and one sink inside them. The have no air conditioning. To enter one in the middle of the day is to take your life into your own hands. No joke. If I spend longer than 60 seconds in there, I come out with sweat rolling out of my hair line and my life has flashed before my eyes. On top of the unbearable heat, they smell funky.

And I realize that "funky" is a very broad description for a bathroom smell. I've been trying to pin point the odor since I came to Camp Virginia and I think I've finally narrowed it down. It's a delicate blend of moth balls and urine.

So, back to the Freddy Krueger comment... I was brushing my teeth in that bathroom death trap one morning, it was already at least 110 degrees, and I was refusing to breathe through my nose. Have you ever tried brushing your teeth with your mouth wide open? I was drooling, I was sweating and my nose was running: there was snot everywhere. Long story short, I blew my nose. And with my Freddy Krueger fingernails, I sliced the sensitive skin between my nostrils and my upper lip like a knife through butter, or like a glove of knives through flesh.

It hurt. It was the worst teeth brushing experience I've ever had.