Oh no, I failed. Failed hubby, failed shrink, failed myself.
I did coke last night. I was beyond myself, so upset. I am still crying - nonstop 24 hours.
Otto died!
The love of my life is gone.. and I had to witness it! A serial killer dog (aka pitbull) attacked Otto yesterday in the park.
We were enjoying the snow and the crispy clear air in the morning. I wore my chinchilla fur boots and Otto had on a Burberry vest. Otto loves my boots and was trying to mate with them. So happy, frolicing and dragging his ears in the snow, getting all wet but loving every minute of it.
Then, out of nowhere, Otto was laying on the ground with satan's dog biting his neck.
Otto has brought me so much joy and anyone that's ever had a dog know what I'm talking about. On the days I couldn't manage to get out of bed, he peed on the floor and I had to bring in carpet cleaners. (Or I managed to bribe my 10 year old neighbour into walking him). He was my reality wake-up call every day. Either way, even when I wasn't there for Otto - he was there for me. Loving me unconditionally.
So where did the coke come from? You know I don't like coke. But the state I was in, I didn't care, I would've done anything self-destructive I'd got my hands on.
Hubby knows Otto was the love of my life, and a substitute for hubby since he's always gone. So he was very understanding when I came stumbling in this morning after a wild night out. I'm not even sure which doorman dragged me from the car to upstairs. Hubby was home (for once!) and took me in his arms. He held my hair back when I puked, and ordered in gatorade and advil, since he was too worried to leave me alone.
"I failed you", I wept into his robe. Through my tears I told him I was beyond myself with grief and couldn't resist temptation. I had been offered and accepted coke. Hubby didn't flinch.
"First things first. We'll sue the devil dog's owner", he said but it didn't bring me any comfort. "And we'll have a proper burial under Otto's favorite tree in the Hamptons, ok?"
With those words I could finally fall asleep. Dreaming of Otto.
Today, all I can do is nervously wait for hubby to come home from work to discuss the small matter of the drug abuse...
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
17 comments:
You're kidding, right? I mean, you don't really give a shit about that fucking dog, do you? It's just coming down from the coke that's making you sad.
Your dog humps your boots and you think pit bulls are Satan's dogs?
Actually, I have the feeling that this blog is a total joke. Which makes the idea that your burberry-clad dog is your connection to real life pretty hilarious. And that the loss of said mostrosity drove you back to coke?!
If this isn't a joke, well... I don't really know what to do in that case.
I'll still laugh, of course, but the implications will be different.
Total joke. The grammar and spelling are too good.
Stephanie Green is DEFINITELY not 30.
UGH...look at all that Saggage.
She's part of the joke here...yes?
fur is so passe.
Linked here through Gawker and read some of the posts, this is a joke, right???
Not fucking real at all!!!
Why are people commenting to this crap?
Ophy and Tinnie don't exist and if for some reason I'm wrong, OH MY FUCKIN GOD!!!
If you two do exist, you both have my sympathies!
Stay strong. And I know, it's hard. I've had similar experiences. Spring '04 I was trying to cross fifth when one of those annoying homeless winshield wiper people splashed windex all over my Dianne Von Furstenburg wrap. To make matters worse, I saw some Long Island WHORE wearing the same dress at some pretzal stand in front of the Met. I immediately approached her, prepared to call the police. I asked "Where did you get that, you whore?" And do you know what she said to me???? Century 21!!! I collapsed, right there on Fifth Avenue. Instead of calling an ambulance, my friends with co-ops overlooking the park took pictures of me lying face-down on the sidewalk. I know pain. We're thinking of forcing the surrogate to have an abortion at this point. I mean, we'll never get it into the right schools.
Never mind these comments darling. I recall a time where I was so doped up on coke that I fell asleep with a cigarette in my mouth in my friend Patsy's kitchen, and totally torched it...oh, i'm sorry, that was an episode of "Absolutely Fabulous"...oh well, anywho...
It's just cocaine. As long as there isn't a needle involved, you're fine. We should meet some morning at the cafe at Bergdorfs, for drinks of course.
The world has no sympathy for trophy wives...and neither do I. I lost my dog to cancer because I couldn't afford the medical treatment. You paid a 10-year-old to walk your dog because you couldn't care enough to spend time with your pet in spite of the fact that you don't have to work for a living. The real tragedy is that the "Satan's dog" attacked Otto and not you.
I think you used your dogs death as an excuse to do coke and "fail" yourself. Hell woman, you probably would have done it anyway.
Seems like everyone's got a blog these days, doesn't it?
I'm sorry about your dog... but unless you were referring to your coke habit, there is no snow anywhere in NYC.
LOL! You ladies are hysterical! I mean that in a good way. ;-)
I'm producing an episode for a currently running documentary strand on an American-based cablenet and was wondering if either of these 2 women might be interested in participating on-camera. The title of the episode is "Trophy Wives".
Post a Comment