24 March 2012

Reese the Kraken!

A certain puppy decided to inconvenience us by outgrowing her collar while not growing enough to fit a medium Google collar. The nerve! To teach her a lesson, we took the Mutt Brigade to Petco to find a Reese-appropriate collar.

At first, Reese was nose to the floor, enjoying the myriad of smells. And then it dawned on her - FOOD!

Luckily for her, we had no idea where the collars happened to be, so she got to vacuum up the entire store. A morsel of something under a shelf three inches off the ground? That's no problem for the amazing collapsible puppy!

She managed to get in up to her shoulders before she reached her buried treasure. The amazing part? She got back out without any help.

While Zero subtly suggested we buy ALL THE BONES, Reese got into an argument with a cardboard dog food ad featuring a four foot tall dog. At first we thought it was funny, but as we neared the cutout, it became obvious that she was scared of the monstrous dog. In fact, she was so terrified that she refused to get within ten feet of the offending display. Matt end up carrying the distraught puppy until the beast was out of sight.

We finally found the collars, right by the entrance. We only passed them twelve times, but we don't need to talk about that.

Reese carefully inspected the merchandise before selecting a dainty black collar with pink skulls. Much to her embarrassment, Matt tried it on her for size right there in the aisle!

"Daddy! What if the other dogs see me?" But once it was on, she couldn't help but pose for the camera.

You'll note how Zero, like any sensible male, completely ignored the impromptu fashion show.

Before Reese had a chance to change her mind and ask for a skimpy leather collar, we paraded over to the cashier. That's when we discovered that Reese had conveniently left her wallet at home. That little bitch!

As long as I'm sharing photos with the world, here's two more featuring fluffy creatures.

Someone who is not me left an empty carton of cookie dough ice cream in the living room. Someone else who is also not me got her head stuck in the carton. It was too funny to not take a picture before helping her get free. And as soon as it was off, she stuck her furry head back in there! Not the fittest.

Where's Matt? I'll give you one hint: he's behind one of the 53" plush teddy bears. I wanted to bring a few home for the dogs, but Matt said no. He never likes my amazing ideas.

02 March 2012

"Stop it or you might pop another boob!"

That's what Matt said when I refused to stop trying to yank open the stupid car door. He ended up opening the door for me, while I retaliated by kicking the door. It totally deserved it.

Meanwhile, Frankenboob has been inflated a total of three times, for a total of 370cc. It's now more ovular than ever, so I had to go buy a couple of new sports bras that would normally be way too big. For some reason, Victoria's Secret doesn't make anything for the irregularly shaped boob.

A weird bump of skin is poking out at the left end of the scar. It's gotten more pronounced with every inflation, even though I've tried to poke it flat. According to Dr. PlasticSurgeon, it's called a dog ear, and is caused by a pleat forming when the skin was stitched back together by Dr. Surgeon. She made sure to stress the part about Dr. Surgeon causing it. But not to worry, she can easily erase its existence when creating the nipple.

Reese, who finds it necessary to say hello to every dog in a five-mile radius, clearly heard about of Frankenboob's dog ear. Sadly, her version of first contact involved stepping directly on Frankenboob while in our bed this past Monday. Not understanding why I suddenly started screaming, she immediately froze. Matt, sensing something was amiss, came bursting out of the bathroom and removed the offending paw, along with the rest of the puppy.

Reese feins innocence, sleeping with what's left of her favorite toy.
Oddly enough, I woke the next morning to find a multicolored Frankenboob. And did I mention it hurt? As the day progressed, it changed from purple to a nice red. Time to call the doctor!

By that point, I had completely forgotten about Reese's attempt to compress Frankenboob into a singularity. All I could think of was that it hurt and it was an odd color, even by Frankenboob standards. Luckily, Dr. PlasticSurgeon's secretary happens to be my neighbor and knows that both Reese and Zero can be jumpy when excited. Perhaps one of them did it? How on earth I managed to forget that, I'll never know.

Since I already had an inflation appointment scheduled for the next day, I decided that I could wait a day for a thorough medical probing. In the meantime, I could continue taking prescription levels of ibuprofen out of an OTC Advil bottle.

At today's appointment, it took Dr. PlasticSurgeon about three femtoseconds to locate the point of impact. And then she jabbed it with a stick! Or she just lightly touched it to make sure nothing was horribly amiss.

Apparently it isn't the best of ideas to inflate a bruised boob, so that was delayed until next week. For today, her minion was dispatched to fetch the brown tape (as opposed to the white tape). I'm not entirely sure how it works, but a few pieces of tape are holding the bruised area in stasis such that it can heal in a more timely fashion.

In other news, this morning I inadvertently discovered that I can flex Frankenboob! It looks very similar to videos of Chippendale dancers flexing their pectoral muscles, except there's a boob on top. And no, I can't flex the right. Believe me, I've tried.

Frankenboob is a more appropriate name than I thought

Shockingly, I was still taking Percoset the Monday after my first inflation. It was a mere week and a half since Frankenboob's excoriation, and just over two since Frankenboob's creation. Therefore, it was time for something disastrous to happen.

Matt drags me out of the house most days. While he claims it's for my benefit, I strongly suspect he just wants to get himself out the house. On that fateful Monday, it was definitely not me who benefited. The mistake was stopping at a 7-Eleven on the way home. A giant guy accidentally elbowed me in the Frankenboob! He immediately turned around and apologized, so it would have been a bit rude to kick him in the balls.

Somehow I made it make to the car without screaming, though my eyes did tear up. When we finally got home, a visual inspection didn't make me feel any better. A bruise was forming, and there was clearly a dent at the site of the impact.

The new disaster area continued to throb the next day. Time to call the doctor! Dr. PlasticSurgeon assured me that the expander requires much more than a giant elbow infraction to pop, so I needn't worry about that. As for the pain, the area had just experienced two traumatic surgeries and was therefore much more vulnerable. A small bump that I would otherwise barely notice could cause severe pain in these circumstances. I should just keep popping pills, and the extra pain would go away in three to four days. Woohoo.

Later that week, at inflation appointment number two, Dr. PlasticSurgeon confirmed that the world wasn't ending. She also pumped another 100cc of sterile saline into the expander, bringing the total to 270cc. That's when I discovered I was supposed to take a Valium before arriving, not just afterwards. At least I'm running low on things to go wrong. Or so I thought.

I never found out if Dr. PlasticSurgeon ended up needing the allograft, so I made the mistake of asking. As it turned out, my pectoral muscle was a fairly normal length, also known as not long enough to fully cover the expander. A collagen allograft was used to finish the job.

What is a collagen allograft? It's a piece of cadaver in which the actual living cells have been removed, leaving a collagen honeycomb. Since there aren't any living cells, it's technically not a transplant, though it goes through the same screening process. However, it did come from a dead person. That's right, Frankenboob is made with a piece of a dead guy! I just hope no one named Igor was involved in the collection process.

Before I left, Dr. PlasticSurgeon examined the scar. She declared that the was skin finished healing, though I have my doubts. Plus, I'm not exactly a fan of a giant red scar. Not to worry, it will mostly be concealed when the doctor creates a nipple. How? I have no idea. But she seemed confident that it would work.