There are no bad owners, only bad dogs



My fascination with minutia and the mundane is pretty damned limitless. Example: Iím finding it hilarious that the top news stories tonight in Oxford are 1) train schedules on the Oxford to London lines are changing for the first time in 40 years; 2) patients of local health centers are angry that the doctors are using a newfangled system called ďtriageĒ; 3) a well-known "celebrity chef" is doing public service announcements about drunk driving because he was recently arrested for said offense with his blood-alcohol level at THREE AND A HALF TIMES the legal limit. Isn't that fatal? In the news interview, he said that the thing he learned from this experience is that what you drank yesterday still counts against you today. He said, "The morning I was arrested, I had only had 2 whiskeys. It was what I had had the night before that was still in my bloodstream."

That brings so many questions to mind. How drunk was he the night before? Two whiskeys in the morning? Maybe I should be a celebrity chef...

Another factoid gleaned from the news: The police are looking for a man in connection with an incident in which a man in the stands of a football match was yelling racial slurs at the members of the opposing team. The man was dark-haired, stocky, and had a goaty beard. In the US, we pronounce that facial hair as go-TEE. This guyís beard was goaty. I wonder if he smelled bad and had huge testicles also.

In a rare moment of sanity, I skipped the company Christmas party last night. I realized that I know only a few people here (not for lack of friendliness on my partóIím like a fucking beagle puppy), most of the ones I do know didn't go, and brushing my hair in return for 6 free drinks just wasnít a good deal. I will brush my hair for a 10 drink minimum. Also, I would have been stuck at the mercy of either someone to give me a ride home or Iíd have to call a taxi. Bleh. Better just to skip it. So Iím a hermitóbut Iím a hermit with a bottle of wine and a bottle of vodka. I have an appointment for cocktails with a work friend today, so screw you. And thatís quite a sacrifice, because it means that Iíll miss the big finale of the X factor, which features my new dream boyfriend, Simon Cowell, who in real life scares the crap out of me for reasons I donít understand. Iím pretty sure that if I met him in person Iíd just wet myself, and not in a good way.

Notes to people who are coming to visit me:
1) When you take a shower, you will bump your elbows on the walls of the shower stall when you wash your hair. This will happen even if you stand carefully on the diagonal of the shower stall. When you turn around, you may accidentally open the door with your perky ass. If you have a semi, that will fling the door open and slam it into the sink.
2) The sink in the bathroom is so small that the airspace the faucet takes up over the sink covers most of the sinkal area. This means that when you brush your teeth, you will frequently end up spitting directly onto the faucet.
3) When youíre doing the Big Job (no, not that one Ė the other one), if you lean too far forward on the toilet, youíll whack your head into the aforementioned tiny sink.
4) The toilet paper holder is right over the radiator, so when youíre done with the Big Job, youíll have a warm and cuddly experience.
5) Iím not sure if pork roast or roast beef would be best for a holiday boof, so Iím getting both. I donít think anyone can argue with that choice. No pudding, though. Not in the sense we think of it. No figgy pudding (not pudding), no Yorkshire pudding (again, not pudding), no black pudding (itís fucking sausage, for christís sakeópudding? Whoís in charge here?).
6) Bring your own tylenol and some ibuprofen for me. That stuff is very expensive here.

Things I Actually Heard My Boss (the good UK one) Say Yesterday:
You fucking twat!
Fucking kack!
You fucking piece of shite!
Fucking IT fucking cunt fucking bastard!

All of this was directed at his laptop and the IT department. I donít know what a kack is.

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