There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


31 days to go.

This is where I went last night:

Unlike the last time I listened to Henry, I did not come home with one of these:

Which is a shame, really, because you just can't have too many goofy-as-shit lab-chow mixes that were found at a gas station.

So, Henry was, as always, entertaining. It was interesting to see how non-Americans react to his political stuff. The crowd in Oxford last night loved his slamming on Bush, didn't get many of his cultural references, and were a bit put off by his standard final message, which is always a non-partisan call to get up off your ass and change the world if you don't like the way it is now. He told a lot of new masturbation stories.

I do not believe in making New Year's Resolutions, because they just get forgotten right away, even though giving yourself an entire YEAR to reach a goal is really pretty fuckin generous. I mean, if you give up in February on your quest to lose 20 pounds and $2000 of debt, you can always take it up again in June and still succeed. It's past January 1, so I won't make any New Year's Resolutions, but I will make a list of Stuff I Want to Do Sometime Soon.

Stuff I Want to Do Sometime Soon:
1. Go home.
2. Replace the couch that Katy ate a large portion of with a couch that has not been partially consumed.
3. Work on obedience tasks with Buster and Katy daily. This does not include telling Buster to "Sit" before he can have his pig ear, which he does very reluctantly because he doesn't really want the ear, he just doesn't want Katy to have it.
4. Go to Steak Nite once each month.
5. Build something.
6. Fix the hose on the dishwaher.
7. Change the laundry situation.
8. Run a 10-k before the summer is out.
9. Call 1-800-BURN-POO and arrange for a weekly delivery to the pedophile across the street.
10. Learn the difference between "assertive" and "bitchy."
11. Wash my car occasionally.
12. Go to the beach.

I am so tired today. The people who live upstairs were up until 2 a.m., playing horrible Spanish disco crap and jumping up and down. I pounded on the ceiling with a mop handle, which is the standard way to deal with these situations, but I don't think they heard it. Tomorrow, I am going to go upstairs and try not to scream obscenities while I ask them to refrain from whatever the fuck it is they were doing. I can't do it tonight because I have the 6-hour Bataan Death Drive to pick up the monkey and we won't get back here until quite late. Unless of course it's Crappy Disco Nite again upstairs, in which case I might burst a vein in my forhead. There's nothing like a ginormous hematoma to frighten the neighbors into silence. That and boiling their pets. But they don't have pets, so I guess it's the hematoma for me. I'll just march up there, knock on the door, point to the pulsating purple lump on the side of my head, and tell them that they caused it with Spanish disco music.

I think I just fell asleep at my desk for a minute.

I'm off to fill my hot water bottle because it's so cold in here I can't feel my fingers.

Does anyone know what gammon is?

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