Sebbylite

I never thought that I would actually have to say that to someone, and be asking a literal question. I mean, give me a break, I’ve asked teammates if they were on fire before, but that is totally different.

I went to the closest neighborhood market near where I live (the Mark-up Time) to get some stuff, and the resident homeless guy was sitting out front peddling. Now this is usual for pretty much any place in Seattle that people congregate, there is some homeless person outside asking for money. I don’t know if I’ve ever shared my views on this, but let’s just say that I tend not to give them any money.

Anyway, I went inside and made my purchases, and when I came out the guy was still in the same spot. He was obviously on “break”* because he was sitting on the curb and smoking, and not asking everyone that made eye contact for money. But as I walked by, I couldn’t help but smell him. And on top of the usual unwashed man smell was the undeniable smell of burning. And it wasn’t just burning, it was burning hair (which everyone knows exactly what that smells like, and exactly how bad that smell can be). I suspected that the guy, who was smoking by the way, had someone managed to ash on himself and just hadn’t noticed it yet. But, since it was late and I was tired, I got back in my car to go home.

I would say that about 2 minutes went by between me walking by the guy and smelling burning hair and when I finally pulled out into traffic and made a u-turn to go back home. But as I drove by on my way home, I noticed that he was wildly slapping at his arms, as if he were trying to put out a fire. Maybe I should have said something, but it seemed to me like he would have found out sooner that he was on fire.

What can I say, I might be an asshole.

*Standard Union Rules apply: 15 minutes off every 3 hours worked, with a 30 minute lunch in the middle of an 8 hour day.

The first Club Nationals that I ever attended was in Florida in 2000. After I graduated from Carleton, I stuck around Northfield for the Fall and played with Sub Zero, the team out of Minneapolis. We were a pretty solid team, with some college superstars past and present and some wily veterans (unfortunately, we also had some not-so-wiley veterans, who definitely kept us down as a team), and on any given day we could beat any team in the country. We usually didn’t, but that is a different story.

After the first day of pool play, we weren’t in the best spot. Our O team was chundering something fierce, and the only reason that we were staying in games was because our D team was amazing. I remember one point against Jam in the last game of the day-the O team was mid-blow up, so they put in the D team on Offense to get some time to talk things over. Jam threw a pretty tight man D against us, and this is what happened: caught pull, swing to handler, in cut by Nord, in cut by me, back to Nord, to me, to Nord, to me, to Nord for the goal. The CUT give and go offense at it’s best, and pretty much unstoppable (although unfortunately unrealistic to keep up for four days at Nationals).

Regardless, after that day, I was in a hotel room with my parents. I went to sleep around 9 that night since the Florida heat and Nationals competition had taken it out of me. 4am rolls around, and I wake up after a pretty intense frisbee dream. And it wasn’t the usual, wake-up-and-pee-then-go-back-to-sleep type of wake up, but I was physically and mentally awake. After tossing and turning for about 20 minutes, I got up, went down to the lobby, and went to Denny’s that was in the same building as the hotel. 4:30 in the morning, at Nationals in Florida, and I’m wide awake and eating some Moon’s Over My Hammy?

After I finished, I went back to the hotel room, got back in bed, and instantly fell asleep for another hour and a half. And then had the best day at Nationals that I’ve ever had. I don’t know if it was because my breakfast was fully digested and not weighing me down, or if it was because I had a good breakfast instead of just a bowl of cereal, or what, but it worked.

Why is this relevant? Well, because it is now 4:56am on Sunday morning of Regionals in Seattle. I just woke up from an amazing frisbee dream (there was an all-star game that I was playing in [don't ask me why I was in this game, I don't know] that had me, Alex Nord, Ben Wiggins, Lou Burruss, and other stars against Mike Grant, Jeff Cruickshank, Greg “Shekkie” , Keith Monohan, Tim Linksfield, and others. We had just pulled deep into their endzone, and they tried to thread a throw downfield to Shekkie, who I laid out and blocked. When I woke up, it was stall 8, and I was either going to throw a hammer to Nord, or throw a Mini throw to Ben). Instead of going back to sleep like any normal person, I got up, stretched a little, walked my dog, had a bowl of cereal, and wrote this post. Does this mean that I am going to have the most amazing day of Regionals that I’ve ever had? Probably not. But it does mean that I am excited to play, and I haven’t been this excited to play frisbee in a long time.

*I never would have guessed that my first post in a long time would have been this one, but it was. And I’m sorry that I’ve been neglecting my faithful readers. I’ll try to be better.*

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgoVrAR3YOo

Now that’s funny. I don’t care who you are, that’s funny. Of course, I would know more about this kind of stuff if I watched TV more often, but I don’t.

Oh, and on a side note, how do women know when you are taken, and decide that is the time to let you know that they are willing to jump you? I’m just curious, because I just started dating again (yes, a girl you damn hypocrits), and I also just got news that someone I knew from a long time ago wants to “do more pole oriented stuff” with me.

Ok, so there may be a story behind that. And that story goes like this: back when I was pledging for a fraternity in Boise (and yeah, there are a couple more stories behind that too, which I may tell you later), we had parties at the frat house. No surprise there, but at this particular party we started talking about strippers. As luck would have it, one of the “Brothers” was dating a former stripper, and so she regaled us with tales of stripping, strippers, pole dancing, etc.

Anyway, since I was a little under the influence at the time, I decided to volunteer my services as a pole, if she should ever need those services in the future. She took this offer up immediately, and so I stood up in the living room, put my hands against the ceiling, and became the “pole” for her dancing for the rest of the evening. It was an interesting night, to say the least, especially since she wasn’t the only one to pole dance that night, including my being in the middle of a three girl pole dance. Awesome.

Evidently, she ran into my brother, and told him that the next time I’m in town, we should revisit the “pole dancing” scenario. Now what am I supposed to think about that?

Women. Sheesh.

That’s how I like it evidently.

Anyway, I recently signed up for a new cell phone package with Verizon. I had their service before for two + years, so I got a cheaper phone with the rebate and all that, and I was relatively happy with their service, so it seemed to be a good idea to stick with them. Plus my parents have Verizon, and my girlfriend, and so it made sense to stick with the whole In-calling thing. Plus, all the problems that I did have I attributed to my phone, which was a piece of junk, to say the least.

Now that is the back-story to this story: I got my bill the other day, and it was about $25 more than it should be. I printed it out, looked it over, and had no idea why this was. Along with my 400 minutes (which I didn’t go over) I had gotten a 250 text and/or picture messaging package that I had been using quite a bit. I thought that maybe I had gone over my allotted text messages, which was why they were charging me, but I didn’t think that I had gone that far over.

So I call my friendly neighborhood Verizon customer service agent who agrees to help me out. She tells me that I don’t have a 250 text and/or picture messaging package, but only picture messaging. Which means that all the text messages that I’ve sent and received cost me 10 cents a pop. And that adds up. But this doesn’t make sense to me, since I wouldn’t knowingly sign up for this plan, because I knew that I wasn’t going to send picture messages, but that I was going to send text messages. Which to me means that the guy at the kiosk signed me up for the wrong plan.

After I mention this to the friendly neighborhood customer service agent, she tells me that there is no such plan.

Have I mentioned that I’m starting to get a little pissed off? Because I am. Especially since this whole time she is trying to upsell me to the $10 a month, unlimted in-network text/picture messages and 500 out of network messages plan. Which I am not going to get. So I try to bring her attention to the fact that, on my bill that I have printed out and it is in my hand, it says that I can get the plan I want for the price I want. To which she replies: “Na-unh”. And I’m starting to think that instead of making some upsell, she needs to start worrying about keeping the customers that she already has.

At this point in time, I start thinking about my options. I can think of two of them that come immediately to mind (which means that there are probably quite a few more, but I’m d-u-m so I don’t think of those): 1) get her supervisor on the phone and bitch her/him out about the incompetence of their employees and the fact that my bill is wrong. 2) go to the place that I originally got my phone from and explain the problem to them, and maybe they’ll be more helpful. I opt for number 2, since I’m already getting close to being late for a lunch meeting, and I just don’t have it in my to be as bitchy as I should be to the woman’s manager. So I tell her that I’ll take care of everything online, and goodbye. To which she responds with her rehearsed (and heartfelt, I’m sure) “We’d like to thank you for choosing Verizon Wireless, and if there is anything else that you may need please feel free to call” speech. I hung up about half way through.

As it turns out, the customer service agent was even dumber than I originally thought. After talking to someone at the kiosk where I got the phone, we figured out the real situation. 1) I do have the plan that is both text and picture messaging. 2) It is the $5 a month plan that I told her about, and that plan is still valid and open for people to get on board with. 3) The charges occurred for two reasons, first because I was charged for a full month and for a portion of a month to get my billing cycle to start on the exact date that I went in and got my new phone, and second because I went over my allotted amount of text messages for that portion of the month. No big deal on either part, but when you add it together with stupid customer service agents who don’t answer my question correctly, it became a pain in my ass.

All in all, not a shining moment for the Verizon Customer Service department.

First off, I want to say that the pictures are up. Enjoy. Second, I want to reiterate something: ten hours of drinking. I don’t work that long. I don’t even sleep that long. Ten hours of drinking is also why I don’t feel so bad about losing those aforementioned three hours during the 6th to 9th hours of drinking (somewhere between 11pm and 2am, give or take). I am a little disappointed, as I feel like I missed out on a lot of the fun of the evening, and possibly a lot of the stories that other people will be telling for years/days to come. Oh well.

After some inter-squadal mixing, hanging out, barbequeing, Basil’s Clubbing (the first rule of Basil’s Club is you don’t tell anyone about the Basil’s pizza in the basement of Evans), etc-ing, we started the raffle, intergenerational boat race, underwear-ing, and the dancing. I will say that my favorite pictures so far are the boat race series (pictures 83-93), where Hummer makes Phil take off his shirt, talks shit, then loses the boat race (and I think that he had to wear the thong on his head the rest of the night. Then again, that may have just been for fun).

Some more of my favorite moments (aka, the things that I actually recall happening):

1. Buying my first drink at the Reub with the $5.75 that had been deposited in my cup from “nickels”.
2. Urban foursquare (of course).
3. Getting shoved into the basement of Paige house by Ben Hahn, and then playing Spike Game with Mark Dunn and Ronny.

All in all, I think that it was a successful weekend. Much fun was had, many shenanigans were completed, even more were attempted and failed, the young’uns had a good time, the old’uns got drunk and remembered their “old college try”. I am glad that there is only one alumni game each year, because my liver can’t take many nights like that.

Anyway, take a look at the pictures, and enjoy. Don’t ask where or why some of them happened, because I don’t know.

I have something to admit: I’m pretty sure that I lost about 3 1/2 hours of my evening last Saturday.

That’s right, it is completely gone from my memory. I blacked it out so much that I wasn’t even aware that it was gone until the following Wednesday, when a friend in Seattle asked why I called him at 11:30/1:30 on Saturday night. My response – “I did what?”

Of course, this prompted me to check my cell phone, to see who else I may have called. As it turns out, I made a couple calls that I had no idea I had made. Most of them seem to have been messages, since they were only about 35-45 seconds long. But at least one was over a minute, making me think that I may have actually spoken with someone. Which is news to me, let me tell you.

Regardless, back to the story of the weekend. After finally hitting the futon at Tall’s at around 4:30am on Friday evening, we woke up at 8:30 to make the annual golf game on campus. Rainy and grey as it was on Saturday, it was still a fun event, even though only one person got nekid this year (probably due to the chill in the weather).

Alums: “Ok, it looks like Greg and Broughton’s discs are the furthest in. You two decide who needs to get the rest of them.”
Broughton: “I’m not going in.”
Greg: (says nothing, but gives Broughton a considering glance)
Broughton: “I’m not going in.”
Greg: (still says nothing, giggles a little)
Broughton: (says nothing, but is very obviously not going to get in the water)
Alums: (from the island) “C’mon Greg!”
Greg: (strips and jumps into the water).

I’m still not quite sure what kind of mind control Broughton was exhibiting to make the alums on the island (about 30 yards away) actually heckle Greg, but it worked. It was an amazing display of the Force, if I’ve ever seen one. I just hope Greg found a shower after jumping in Lyman Lake.

After the golf game we had the requisite Hogan Bros. stop for lunch, and then off to the actual game. (Seng didn’t play, but he took some awesome pictures of the game, so you should check them out) The game started off pretty good for the alums, including an almost perfectly played stealth play, in which I snuck down the sideline while the young’uns set up the zone at the brick, and then walked into the middle of the endzone without another person within 35 yards. Stupid Peaches, shoulda thrown the hammer.

After peaking early (at around 2-0), the alums started fading. CUT took half at something like 10-4 or 10-5. The alums tried to fight back, and I think that the young’uns felt a little bad, as they let us walk back to a final score of 19-14. Way to go CUT, nice game.

Once the game was over, all 45 or so of the alums and the whole team got into a big love-fest circle on the field. A couple of messages were relayed about the events of the evening, and then it was brought to everyone’s attention that the three bachelors were soon to be married. This, of course, prompted a spank tunnel (pretty much exactly what it sounds like-everyone stands in a line with their legs spread wide, and the bachelors crawl through the “tunnel” getting spanked along the way. Hummer, after the tunnel, said it was nice that P-bo’s ass and his index finger had gotten reacquainted after such a long time).

I’m not sure how many spank tunnels you have been a part of, but I’ve been involved in quite a few. This one brought in a few “firsts” for me though. To begin, it was the first time I’ve seen not one, but two people get passed in the tunnel. PAB, who was the last one to start, passed both P-bo and Peaches to finish well in front of them. Truly a skill. Next, not only did PAB pass the other two, but he actually beat the tunnel. What this means is this-the tunnel continuously grows as the people in front run back to join the end of the line to get in another shot. Usually along the way the spank tunnelee gives up and collapses somewhere in the middle. This time, PAB beat the people running from the front to the back to the end of the tunnel, and crawled out the end alone and unscathed. Now that is some fast crawling.

Alright, after many ramblings, rants and raves, and general procrastination, I’ll start talking about what actually happened this past weekend.

To begin, Peaches, P-Bo, and PAB are all engaged to be married (as opposed to the other type of engaged). Being good quality former teammates, a bunch of us decided that it was up to us to ensure a quality bachelor party at the expense of these poor saps…er, lucky individuals. For my part, I chose Peaches as my target, and made him a shirt. The shirt was a baseball 3/4 tee on which I sewed a name tag (with Peaches actual name on it). On the back, I titled the shirt “Advice For The Groom”, and then brought along a few permanent markers for everyone we ran across to leave him advice. I think that we finally ended up with 11 entries on the shirt, and I wish that I could remember them all to share with you (I’ve got my people talking to the bachelor to see if we can get the final list from him, in which case I will post it as soon as I get it). Here’s a little taste though:

1. You’ve got to lick it, before you stick it.
2. Sometimes you have to sleep in the wet spot.
3. Don’t marry someone who won’t let you go to a stripclub.
4. Have fun on your honeymoon, because it’s the last time you’re getting laid.
5. Learn how to lie.

Now as you can see, the advice ranges from the practical (number 3), to the outrageous (number 1), to the downright dirty (2). Peaches was a champ, and wore the shirt all night long, and even put up with the multitude of drunk and nubile women we encouraged to write all over him. This happened during dinner (a pretty nice restaurant called Nochee [?], which transformed from an upscale eatery to a salsa dance party to a hip-hop club all during the course of our meal), during urban kickball, at the after-party, during four-square, and more.

All in all, a great evening. I’m a little disappointed that Hummer couldn’t make it up, as he always makes things more interesting (yes, I do know a man named Hummer, you don’t?!?). It was fun to call Plasmoner Industries, and have him ask Clay: “Are you the myth?” I’m not quite sure that he was all the way awake at that point in the evening, but it made for some good hilarity at our end.

More to come about Saturday…

Despite the fact that I just quoted a horrible ad campaign by Outback, the Steakhouse, I’m sticking with my title on this one (honestly, if you are an AUstralian styled restaurant and you want to give yourself an Aussie image, don’t grab the first schmoe you find off the street that has a semi-crappy accent. Subaru did it right, when they wanted Aussie, they went with Crocodile Dundee. Did you know that Paul Hogan was Australian of the Year in 1985? I bet that Outback dude can’t put that on his resume…).

Because what I have to talk about is Urban Kickball, or alternately the life and times of a bachelor party in Minneapolis last Friday, May 12th. Tall said it right, when he described the depths of the game that is Urban Kickball. In essence, it is a cross between Dodgeball (the movie), Calvinball (the game), and Revenge of the Nerds (when the Frat Boys at Alpha Beta burn their house down by blowing Myers 151 at a torch, and Ogre is drinking beer out of a trophy). And even though the Kaiser made a very decent and respectable effort at describing the rules of the game, I’m still sticking with my theory: no rules, only right.

To tell the truth, I think that the real winner is the kickball itself, which managed to make it through the whole beer-spattered weekened intact and in good form. Oh, and the fact that despite repeated forrays into the streets of downtown Minneapolis, no one was hit by a car. And the taxi that pulled up to the bar we were at and immediately joined in our game of foursquare (who needs drinks when you have foursquare?). And the lack of puking throughout the night. And little Carr, for arranging many repeated writings on Peaches shirt.

As the tallest table tennis player ever so aptly put it, the weekend was very definitely summed up with one word: “Crazy”. And I’m pretty sure that my part of the story doesn’t even begin to describe the whole iceburg vs.Titanic carnage that is alumni weekend (for example, I’ve heard rumors and mumblings about someone who was covered in their own vomit but still managed to talk themselves out of an underage drinking ticket [this site does not willfully endorse nor intentionally unendorse underage drinking]. Color me a little bit interested in that whole scenario).

Suffice to say that even with 14 hours of sleep from Thursday through Sunday evenings, even with more lemon drops/jaeger bombs/whiskey shots than I’ve had previous to this point in my life (not to mention the beer chasers, the Boone’s Farm wine, etc), even with only two Basil’s gyro pizza’s under my belt, I had an amazing time. I had a great conversation at 4 in the morning with someone that I’m pretty sure doesn’t remember what was said at all, but in which I learned a lot about myself that I hadn’t known yet. I sprained Tall’s finger with a kickball in downtown Minneapolis late Friday night. I’m pretty sure that I’ve developed a good little crush on someone that is 7 years different in age. I spent more money in one night than I usually do in one month.
And I’d do it all again in a second (well maybe not those last few drinks on Saturday night which made Sunday morning so uncomfortable).

But, also because of the aforementioned lack of sleep, I’m about to crash and it is only 7 bells. I’ll tackle the rest of the weekend in installments, which will include but not be limited to: Urban Kickball, the Reub, and Foursquare.

Extra-medium, out.

ps-oh, and I should have a ton of pictures for y’all sometime soon. Well, as soon as I get the time to go through them all and edit out the ones I can’t share (and the ones that are crap-which happens when you take pictures while drinking). I’ll let you know, so keep in touch.

Wow. And I do mean wow.

The evening started at 5:30, when we got picked up at a Park N Ride by a luxury bus. This bus had three flat panel tv’s with digital cable, two coolers full of beer (which wasn’t nearly enough, but we stopped to refill them), leather couches all around, a table, and a kitchen full of munchies. We piled on the whole crew (about 25 people in all), and started the festivities right away. By festitivies, of course, I mean drunkeness.

Two hours later we pull into the Skagit Valley Casino, with our bankroll of $100 and whatever we personally decide to spend. I, of course, decide to spend nothing, so I’m hoping to hit a streak of luck at my first gambling experience. It turns out that they only have two craps tables, and one of them they won’t open for 45 minutes after we are planning to leave. Luckily, I manage to sneak into a spot next to the one guy that actually knows how to gamble, and has been teaching everyone how to play craps over our lunch hours. Unluckily, the table is ice cold, and 45 minutes later I’m down to my last $15.

But, it’s time to get back on the bus, and then we are heading to the Tulalip casino a little closer to Seattle, and which is also quite a bit bigger. And once on the bus, the drinks start flowing again. Let me tell you, I haven’t seen so much man on man action since the outtakes of Brokeback Mount’n (my theory is: man on man is funny and everyone will laugh. Man on woman is sexual harrassment and very uncomfortable at a work function). But we finally settle down (we ran out of beer again), and then hit the Tulalip casino.

The Tulalip is a lot bigger than the first casino that we hit, and they had four craps tables rolling pretty strong. Since they were pretty busy, we sat around and shot the shit (aka, sobered up enough to gamble) for a while until a spot opened up. Again, I ended up next to the guy that knew what he was doing, and this time we hit a warm table. I say warm, because with my original $15 (and the $60 I got from the ATM even though I promised myself I wouldn’t), I ended up about $300 ahead.

Not bad for my first time.

Plus all the free alcohol, the uncomfortable silences at work after the pictures from the evening were sent out, etc, etc.

And to cap it all off, the bus driver stopped at Dick’s on the way back to our cars. If you aren’t from Seattle, you wouldn’t understand. But if you are, you know exaclty how nice this was of the driver.

I’ve been sleeping like shit lately, which sucks. I don’t know what it is either; I haven’t been drinking, I’ve been exercising regularly, I’ve been eating alright, etc, etc, etc. There isn’t anything that I can think of that would be a warning sign for a restless night.

And even though I wake up every morning achey and tired, there is an upside: I’ve been dreaming a lot.

I also don’t know why I normally don’t dream (or to be more correct, why I normally don’t remember my dreams. As far as I’m concerned, everyone dreams all the time, we just don’t remember them), but whenever I do I wake up thinking some crazy things.

Last night, I had some good ones.

Although now I’m pulling what my brother and I refer to as “a Patty”. You see, that is my mom’s name, and whenver she starts to tell a story you can pretty much guarantee that she will either forget the ending, or at least one key point to the story that makes it relevant in any way, shape, or form. What I’m saying is that I remember having some awesomely weird dreams last night that made me wake up and go “WTF?!?”, I just don’t remember what they were.

I kick ass.

This happened last weekend, and I’m still not sure exactly what to make of it. But I’ll tell you, and then you can decide.

Last Sunday, I was jarred out of sleep by someone knocking on my door at 6 am in the morning. Now I’m the type of person that believes that if someone wakes you up, then they can go to Hell. So I stayed in bed, and tried to calm down the dog, who was barking (as is his job). The problem was that they kept knocking on the door, and then they started pounding on the door. Finally, I got up and went over to look out the peephole in my door. There were two people outside my door, and I got there in time to hear “Well, just put’em in the laundry room.” The laundry room is next to my door, and is unlocked.

After this, they left, and I went back to sleep. When I woke up, I took my dog out for his morning walk. Being a little curious, I looked into the laundry room. Lo and behold, there was a dog staring up at me. WTF?

I took him out of the laundry room, and it was obvious that he was very scared. When I finally got him calmed down enough and trusting me, he let me look at his tags. It turns out that Sebastian (that’s the dog), had a phone number and a Pet ID tag. I called the number, and it was a cell phone that was turned off, so I left a message saying that I had that person’s dog, and when could they come get it? Then I called the Pet ID tag number, and they confirmed that I was close to where the person had registered the dog, but they couldn’t reach them either.

So I’m stuck with a strange dog on a Sunday morning, and I’m not too happy about leaving him alone in my apartment with my dog since I know nothing about him at all.

About an hour later, as I’m sitting at my computer doing some work (and hoping that the phone would ring), Sebastian starts twitching in the kitchen. When I get up to see what’s going on, it’s obvious that he is having some sort of seizure. He was on the ground twitching and jerking, shaking uncontrollably, frothing at the mouth, and pissing all over himself and my kitchen.

I don’t know if you have ever encountered a person or a dog having a seizure, but it isn’t a comfortable thing to watch. I had no idea what to do for the dog, and I felt horrible because there wasn’t anything that I could do. Finally, Sebastian stopped seizing, and came back to normal. By normal, I mean that he was now covered in urine and froth, and hanging out on my kitchen floor.

I took him outside and hosed him down (and also let my dog outside, since he was scared shitless of this whole event too). Then I went back inside to clean out my kitchen. You have to realize that I have a yard that is almost fully enclosed, and I have no problems with letting my dog out unsupervised. Evidently this wasn’t the case with Sebastian, because the next time I looked outside, he was gone. I walked around the block a couple of times, to no avail. As far as I knew, he may have been in the bushes next to my house, dead or dying, or he could have walked right up to his own house and walked in the dog door.

Now of course I run into a little dilemma. On one hand, the dog was obviously sick (or at least not healthy enough to be out on his own). On the other, he did piss all over my kitchen and scare the crap out of my dog. Do I search around the neighborhood more for a dog that I don’t really want to find? Or do I just let it go, and get on about my day? I did both. I walked around the block a few more times throughout the day when I was home, but never ran into him again.

I think that the worst part about this whole ordeal is that the woman never called me about her dog. WTF? What kind of dog owner doesn’t want to know where her dog is when it is missing? Or at the very least, she should have called to bitch me out for finding her dog and then letting him get away again. But nothing.

I think that there is a special place in Hell for those that neglect their pets, and she’ll be there for sure.