There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


And I would hold him and squeeze him and call him George.

I am getting very FRUSTRATED with diaryland!

My head is quite hurty today, probably from two consecutive nights of cocktails. I have to be drunk, however, to listen to some of the rambling tales of one of my friends. I have a friend whom I'll call WorkSlut who is, generally speaking, a good-hearted person, but who also is frequently quite self-centered and is recently always obsessed with the fact that she's getting divorced. So all of her stories are about her, who she's wanting to sleep with, and how sad she is that she's getting divorced. She came over to my house for a visit the day after I got home from England. Instead of asking me any questions about my six months of indentured servitude, she talked about nothing but herself and her dogs and her job and blah blah blah and she never once, not even once, not one time, asked me anything about England. She drank all of the wine we had, smoked all of the cigarettes, then, as she was exhaling the last lungful of delicious, healthy smoke, she said, "Gotta go." And she left. After talking about herself for three hours, drinking everything we had to drink and smoking everything we had to smoke, she left. Welcome home!

So that's why it's better to be a little bit drinky around her. It helps you forget that you've heard all of her stories about how she wants a baby and how she's going to have a baby and how she's going to be artifically inseminated if she has to in order to have a baby and how she's getting divorced because her husband doesn't want a baby. It also helps you interrupt, change the subject, and talk about something other than babies. Workslut also likes to talk about how she hasn't slept with nearly as many men at work as people say she has. And how all of that gossip about her is just wrong. On the other hand, she starts most of the loose talk herself by denying that she's sleeping with Mr. X, Y, or Z before anyone has accused her of it. All of the denial just makes people wonder why there's so much of it and they assume that she's doing another co-worker.

Last night the basic themes were: I Want a Baby and I'm Not a Slut. So I had a few cocktails. And yes, I am a bitch, and yes, we really are friends. Just because you're a friend doesn't mean you have to love all aspects of someone's personality.

One reason the baby talk is so funny: A couple of years ago, my son and his father were feuding about hair. What is dumber to fight about than hair? Nothing. So my monkey wanted some dopey hair style and I didn't care one way or the other (because it's hair, not a tattoo or a piercing -- hair) and WorkSlut offered this observation: If I had a kid, I'd take him to the groomer and let him have any haircut he wanted.

Me: The groomer won't cut people hair, you moron.

So I'm just concerned about the future of that potential baby, what with having to go to the kennel whem Mommy's out of town and everything.

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birth & death