Big Pimpin' Spendin' Mike's G's

Last week my yorkie Layla, became ill after eating rabbit shit according to our vet.  This incidentally serves as a good reminder for all of us: Stop Doing That.  My precious baby required a variety of antibiotics, x-rays, blood work, an IV, hand fed meals, massages and a couple thousand of Mike’s dollars before we nuked those nasty germs. Yeah that’s right, Wrong.Yorkie.Bitches (the bacterium, not Layla).

In my desperation to figure out what was wrong with her, I googled common dog ailments and discovered that many dogs suffer from infected anal glands.  I watched 5 different YouTube videos on how to empty these glands to alleviate anal distress and informed Mike of our evening’s activities.  Mike said “Are you fucking kidding me?”  and I said “No, I cannot BELIEVE you would ask me that.  It would take a real sick person to make a joke about a preventable anal gland fatality.  Not cool.”  Sometimes I wonder what is wrong with him. 

So I put on a mask and gloves and made Mike hold her little butt up while I proceeded to empty her anal glands annnnnd to my delight, Layla perked up.....for approximately 5 minutes.  Now, overlooking the obvious that I expressed a set of anal glands for no reason whatsoever; I discovered that I have a gift, I suppose some would say it is more of a savant-like talent.  I can empty anal glands with the stoic composure of a heterosexual male figure skater in Disney on Ice.  I am reaaaalllly good at it.  Like amazing.  Like I nailed it the first time.  Like my vet even complimented my skills on a voice-mail message that I saved and replayed.  

For a thirty-three year old woman who has never possessed any talent that I can publicly brag about (Hi Dad!) this came as a huge surprise.  I decided I would tell my mom in hopes that my uncovered virtuosity would cause our relationship to reach a climactic precipice and I would finally earn her hoarded affections.....

Me:  Hi Mom, I just emptied Layla’s anal glands.

Mom:  Well that was a good idea.  Bob used to stick his finger up Sandy’s butt all the time to do that.  (Sandy was their maid.  Just kidding, she was their Golden Retriever) 

Me:  Um yeah Mom, I didn’t actually stick my finger in her butt, I just sort of squeezed under it.  (Me looking at the phone weird)

Mom:  Well then you did it all wrong.  Bob used to do it all the time.  Hold on let me ask him.   (My mom screaming) BOB!!!!  BBBBBBBOBBBBBBB!  Never mind, I don’t know where he is.  He can be so annoying sometimes.  

Me:  I seriously cannot believe you allowed Bob to molest Sandy for twelve years and did not say anything.  Families are torn apart by this kind of thing all the time.   

Mom:  Sandy liked it, she just stood there.  BBBBOBBBBB WHERE ARE YOU????? 

Me:  Are you really taking his side?  Like for real?  Blame the victim?  God, this is so jacked up of you.  

Mom:  Erin- I am really worried about Layla.

Me:  I am worried about you.  Are you safe there with him?  Do you need me to take you to a shelter or something?

Mom:  Let me go find him and find out exactly how he did it and I will call you back.  BBBBBBOBBBBBBBBB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Anyhow, when I wrote this blog, I was on my way home from Las Vegas after attending a dental advertising seminar.  If I am ever diagnosed with a terminal illness, I am going to sign up for as many dental courses as possible.  It would not change the fact that I was dying however my time on earth would seem so, so, so much longer.

Interestingly, this course actually became relevant when I lent a helping hand to a struggling pimp who was forced to drive a taxi on the side because he was not a very good pimp.  I was googling Tom Cruise’s recipe for cooking placentas on the way back to my hotel when the pimp/taxi driver awkwardly handed me a 3-ring binder with pictures of naked women and told me he could “get any of these girls to come to my room.”  I told him even if I was interested in soliciting prostitutes, I would never go through him because his business presentation was unprofessional and his sales technique was embarrassingly juvenile.  He said “What you mean girl?”

And this is when I divulged that if wanted to be successful then he needed to make himself stand out in the competitive field of Las Vegas pimping.  For starters I told him, get those pictures laminated.  Furthermore, if he wanted potential customers to take him seriously then he needed to start dressing like a pimp: heavy gold chains, a switchblade  and a limp.  In order to be an effective salesperson, he had to have confidence in his management skills and I highly doubted that he had ever even bitch slapped anyone.  Pimping 101.  Eye Roll.  

I told him to familiarize himself with Facebook, Twitter and Google so that when someone typed in ‘Las Vegas Pimps’ his name appeared in the top 5 rankings.  Offer a coupon to generate traffic “2 Whores For the Price of 1 Monday through Thursday!” or maybe a punch card “Buy 9 BJ’s, Get the 10th Free!” Branch out, network, find some coke dealers, strippers in between gigs and runaways.  Follow up by sending surveys to his clients after their service was completed to ensure their satisfaction. And for God’s sake ask for referrals!!!  There is a damn, untapped goldmine of ugly, disgusting men out there that women would never have sex with unless they were getting paid!!! Christ, this wasn’t brain surgery.      

We pulled up to my hotel and he got out and opened the door for me.  He gave me a big hug and declined my tip graciously saying I “had done enough.”  And this is what it is all about people, helping one another.  I watched as he drove off, smiling softly.  Spread your wings and fly little bird, fly.  XO