There are no bad owners, only bad dogs



Concept: Reality show. Bitter single women (and their cats) are followed around with cameras that profile their lives, their day-to-day joys (when someone else has a bad hair day or a run in their stocking) and despairs (when the zipper is reluctant to slide upwards). They are brought together to bond (bitch about everyone else, especially thin and attractive women) and explore life’s possibilities (lots and lots and lots of drinking). Sponsorship opportunities abound! Booze! Chocodiles!! Some sort of product that combats wrinkles AND zits at the same time!! Appetite suppressants! Antidepressants!! Educational seminars for these women (i.e., us): Why the hell does anyone get a cooter wax? How do people tolerate wearing a thong? When you sit down and then stand up again, can you ever get that thing back out of there? How much do you have to drink before you become really, really, really obnoxious?

Any similarity to any persons living, dead, or me are completely coincidental and fuck you for thinking that.

I had an oddly hyper-aware grocery shopping experience yesterday evening. I never got accustomed to British grocery stores because if I had, I would have given up the will to live. Grocery shopping is what brings us all together and makes us realize that we’re all alike underneath – it is what separates us from animals (they have language and wear clothes, after all). So to experience grocery shopping for six months in such a cold, impersonal, trying-hard-not-to-be-helpful way was just a little, um, er, uh, sort of dehumanizing. When I paid for my groceries yesterday evening, an energetic young man greeted me in a friendly manner (making eye contact), swiftly beeped my purchases, bagged them with haste and efficiency, asked me how my day was, and told me, with utter sincerity, to have a good evening. And he did this, mind you, all while STANDING UP ON HIS OWN TWO FEET. He was standing, you see, in order to be more nimble and reactive so he could help me pay faster and move on to another customer. It was good for me and good for the store. What’s good for the store is good for the employees. He did not sit on his arse with his hands folded and refuse to either help bag the groceries or begin helping the next shopper. If he had, he would have been retrained, then given a verbal warning, then given a written warning, then fired, then taken out behind the dumpster and tortured with electricity and fire ants. He did these things because his job is to help people, not to make them feel like they are inconveniencing him by shopping during his shift. It was such a simple thing, but so very iconic and symbolic of how very foreign and how very sort of unwelcome I felt in England. Perhaps the difference is that being a cashier (till monkey? tillster?) in the US is simply not considered a career, so people aren’t all trapped and bitter and angry.

My dogs spent most of the evening making out with each other, breaking apart only occasionally in order to try to chew on a kitten. They were rewarded for their efforts with two sets of needle-sharp front claws, but they are so addicted to cat chewing, they are willing to take the puncture wounds for that sweet, sweet taste of kitten.

I hope the new TV season includes many shows about young doctors, because they are certainly more attractive, intelligent, and interesting than the rest of us. If some new spin-off of CSI could be included as well, that would be fabulous. Law, crime fighting, medicine. These are the activities that matter. On the other hand, it’s hard to imagine the plot line of a show about lawn care professionals or reupholsterers.

I appear to have only six more car payments to make until the Lesbianmobile is mine, all mine. I’m telling you, when I bought the Subaru, I didn’t know it was more than just a reliable vehicle. It is now my mission to keep this information from the Subaru, because when it finds out that I own it, it will immediately begin to dissolve.

Distance to vet clinic from my house: < 2 miles.
Time it took to travel to vet clinic: 25 minutes.
Cause of delay: Railroad crossing gates stuck in down attitude.
Effect of delay: Screaming, terrified, horrified kittens (Aaaaaggh! We’re moving! We’re not supposed to be in little boxes that move!! We’re going to die! The only way we can save ourselves is to scream and scream and aaaaah…).

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birth & death