There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


Stay immature and keep strangers happy.

When is the appropriate time to remove a favorite d-lander from one's favorites list when he/she/they have stopped updating? In other words, how do we get saamba back? What if I remove someone in the belief that (unlike us) they've outgrown this need to compulsively share personal things with strangers who they'll never meet? (God forbid you share these things with people you know or people sitting next to you on an airplane.) (God also forbid any of us ever really meet one another -- it would probably be awkward and embarrassing in a real "blind date with someone I instantly dislike" sort of way.) What if I remove them because I think they're lost forever and then they start updating again but I don't know it because I've taken myself out of the feckin loop? I've decided to add the word feckin to my vocabulary on at least a once per paragraph basis in the hopes that if I do so, I'll sound Irish.

Any-feckin-hoo, I'm tempted to clean out my favorites list, but they're there for a reason and I don't want to miss any goofiness or blow-job lessons or excellent pooping stories involving the need for a trip to the laundromat and a bidet (you know who you are). (Not that I NEED to learn anything about blow jobs)

It must be the new year that's causing all of this "I must tidy things up" sentiment, because I've also given up drinking almost every day since the Greggers left. Jeezy Chreezy.

Update on my request to leave early:

It might be time to get feckin HR involved.

I took a hot shower this morning! Yay! Although here's the weird part: The repair dudes came on Wednesday. I know they were there because they left me a nice note explaining what they'd done an empty bottle of drain cleaner and a length of electrical tape stuck to my bathroom rug.

The drain emptied fine yesterday, but the water was, as usual, lukewarm. So I poked around in the plumbing cabinet under the big white box on the wall which I have been assuming has something to do with hot water, and discovered that two bits that looked like they should be/have in the past been connected but that were flopping about separately. So I reconnected them. Then I waited for the explosion that would surely come from the mis-routing of the natural gas into something sparky. It hasn't happened yet. Maybe the place will blow after I leave and I won't have to return home with third-degree burns over most of my body.

Because right now I pretty much have second-degree fat over 70 percent of my body. If the boiler blows, I'll end up much like a chicharone, all crisp and crackly.

OK, here's an odd tale of one of my UK bosses:

Since I've been here, he has had a constantly infected [fill in the blank]. It started out with an ear infection which eventually ruptured his ear drum. For the first month, every time I saw him he had some foreign object shoved into that ear -- pen, paper clip, wad of Kleenex, pinky. Once he was talking to me and absent-mindedly swizzling his ear canal with his pinky, then pulled his finger out of his ear and smelled it. Then winced. No, really. His comment was something like "That smells really foul." Then, realizing that I was a relative stranger, he turned bright red and ordered me to forget that I'd ever seen that.

Next, he developed conjunctivitis, probably from taking his filthy, prurulent germ-infested pinky and jamming it into his eye. He had an eye that looked like a big seeping red golf ball for a few days, then it cleared up and promptly moved over to the other eye.

A week after that, he developed a boil on his nose and wandered around looking like Ted Kennedy (without the outlandishly oversized cranium). Also, unlike Ted, he was usually wearing pants.

That takes us up to about Xmas. I didn't see him for 3 weeks, then on Monday, he limped past my desk. Thinking that he, like me, had fallen down a staircase at a gay bar, I asked him if he'd injured himself. He replied that he had another infected boil, this one on his knee cap. For the next two days it grew and grew, until finally - boom - it sploded. I bet the first thing he did when it ruptured was stick his pinky or a pencil into it.

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