Want to know why Nanny Garcia hasn't been able to blog in a hot minute? Please see below.
When I returned from Philadelphia, I was greeted by ... a drug dog. A great big German Shepherd. No, it wasn't there to feast upon Nanny Garcia's special brownies. It was there because Coco had lost her damn mind and adopted it. But of course Bobby told me this after I had dropped my bags and hit the ground running.
Everything Coco does, she does BIG. This past summer, we tried to teach les bebes how to swim. While I tried to focus primarily on the doggy paddle, Coco had them out there in floral swim caps, practicing the synchronized routines she'd choreographed in her spare time.
Apparently Coco read a book about circus animals during the depression and decided to rescue every German Shepherd in Northern Virginia (how these things are related, I do not know). She has undertaken a few raffles and various other fundraisers and, of course, she had to rescue her very own dog as well.
I should take this time to mention that about a month after I moved here, I was viciously attacked by a German Shepherd in the neighborhood. Let's just let that sink in for a moment.
After several weeks of jumping through adoption hoops (did you know dogs have fucking caseworkers?), we got our very own
lean, mean, child-eating machine German Shepherd. We named her Shotzi, which is German for little treasure.
Well, Shotzi had issues. Like, more issues than I have. Issues as in Angelina Jolie in Girl, Interrupted kind of issues. The only time she left a certain patch of carpet in the living room was when she was growling at someone, attacking someone, or pretending she didn't notice someone. She seemed to like Coco the best, meaning she pretending to not notice her the most.
Coco kept pointing out that if Shotzi were a small dog, we would pay no mind to its barking. I countered this with pointing out that if her children were waving a potato gun around the house, our reactions would differ greatly from their brandishing a machine gun in the living room.
And now let me introduce the substory. Dash had a stomach bug earlier this week, which he so kindly shared with me. You would think I would be elated at the chance to be all skinny and shiz for my hot date with The Butler, but I was less elated, more queezy. Coco kept insisting I go to sleep, but I didn't take her advice until I puked on the stairs. (Luckily I had one of my drunk bags in my coat pocket.)
Oh yeah, Coco was home on Wednesday after we'd enjoyed a snow storm followed by an ice storm. Let me briefly give you her point of view: trapped inside the house with 5 kids, a neurotic dog, 4-ft of work to be done, and the amazing puking nanny.
So back to the main story. I woke up from my nauseated sleep to the sound of the dog barking. Francois Philippe was playing Guitar Hero in
the basement my quarters, so I asked him what was going on upstairs. "Oh nothing," he replied. "So why is Shotzi barking," I asked. "Oh yeah, she attacked Justin and Dustin."
Of course I ran upstairs to find Coco, Justin and Dustin crying. Shotzi chose this already high-stress day to fuck everything up royally by attacking the twins while Coco had heroically stood between them and punched the dog in the nose.
Now, Justin reacted to this incident by going into the basement, just as Coco and I instructed. Dustin, however, flung himself atop the breakfast table and began to scream about how much he loved Shotzi. What the fuck, right???
Since Shotzi was guarding the kitchen and living room from Dustin, we had to sneak him through the back door into the basement via the nanny door. He did not go willingly.
Coco stayed upstairs with Shotzi and waited for the dog rescue people to come pick her up while I stayed downstairs with the kids. Dustin kept interrupting les bebes and my rousing game of "house" so we integrated him into our story line by pretending he was a crazy man and then calling the cops (Sassy - my half mannequin - and Dash) to come escort him from our property. Then Dustin knocked Sassy over so we started screaming "Officer down!!" and then took her to the hospital. Then we had a funeral after the crazy man followed her into the hospital and shot her through a pillow (a la The Godfather).
But I digress.
After several hours of the entire family beind held hostage in the basement, the dog lady finally arrived to pick up Shotzi (who I'm sure was equally glad to see her). Dustin was not going to let the dog go quietly though and I had to physically restrain him from leaping up the stairs and flinging his body upon the dog. At one point, the dog lady came downstairs to calmly explain that the dog had to leave because if a German Shepherd bites a child, it's straight to Death Row for them. But after Dustin threw an armoir at her, she told me I would have to restrain him and that dogs couldn't be in emotionally unstable environments. Well, shit, she met me and Coco so why'd she give us a dog in the first place? We're about as emotionally unstable as they come.
Then Dusty dashed out the nanny door (barefoot - in the snow) so I had to chase after him (barefoot - in the snow) and then tackle him to the icy ground. And I thought Northern Virginia was a move out of the trailer park.
I was fighting the urge to puke this whole time. AND THEN I had to go to chemistry class, a class that I had to leave 20 minutes into so I could go puke in the bathroom ... and on my shoes. Fortunately I had on snow boots so the vomit wiped right off. But then I had to sit through my three-hour lab. And guess who sat next to me? That's right, the class Smart Ass.
But then I came home, took a TylenolPM (or six of them) and slept until the new day.
Please feel free to send your condolences via cash or check to:
The House on the Hill
Trailer Park, NOVA