There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


Too tired for a title.

Dear Diary,

I'm sorry I've been ignoring you lately, but nothing funny has happened in like a week, so I'm left with nothing but serious crap that I honestly truly can't tell the Internet about because I don't want to get dooced, because she's got Jon but all I have is a lot of pets and you can't pay the mortgage with dog hair. Besides, Heather will eventually turn her misadventures into a novel or a movie, but all I'll ever do is talk about it instead of actually doing anything.

OK, this is funny: I've been listening to the 80s channel on the TV because I was doing homework (funny that I'd still be doing homework at my age, but that's not the real funny part) and I just wanted background noise that wouldn't distract me from the fascinating articles I had to read, and a Milli Vanilli song just came on and I had a "best new artist Grammy!" flashback. And then I started thinking about the Brit Awards and how when I was in England the Grammys were on tv and the talking heads kept explaining that the Grammys were "the American version of the Brit Awards" which is ironic (and impossible) because the Grammys have been around for almost 50 years, whereas the Brits have been in existence for 25 years. OK, that wasn't funny at all, but something about Milli Vanilli is just endlessly entertaining to me. People bought their music!! We did! You did! hooo boy. That's funny. Then one of them was mauled to death by a white tiger. Or something. Either way, the Grammys were our idea.

So I had to take my monkey to a friend's house yesterday -- a friend who lives in East Bumfuk (aka near SeaWorld) and it just cemented my position that no one should ever live out there. It's one of those razed-to-the-bedrock, not-a-tree-in-sight developments with square houses stamped out of a big house-maker. Tonight I had to drive there again to pick him up. It's outside the city limits. Tonight is the 4th of July. I drove through a simulated war zone, complete with snot-streaked toddlers wandering into the street in front of traffic (me), near big-ass fireworks bought from one of the 72 fireworks mega-malls located conveniently nearby, with unlit ATVs and little motorcycles driving out of the darkness right the fuck in front of me. It was not fun. When I dropped the monkey off, I insisted on meeting the mom who came to the door with the baby on one hip and a cigarette in the other hand. Niiiice.

We bought a big-ass propane grill (You smell the meat, not the heat) this weekend and grilled everything that didn't move. It took an hour in blazing heat to put together and we didn't even have a fight. Not even an argument with no fisticuffs. Freaky.

I have a new co-worker who's dumber than a box of rocks, but not in any kind of entertaining way -- she's just really annoying. I had to explain to her last week that 1/2 plus 1/4 plus 1/4 plus 1/4 does not equal one. Then I had to tell her that all the flights to South Dakota weren't booked because of that Harley Davidson thing and that I knew that because people aren't allowed to check a Harley as baggage.

Well, Diary, it's almost 2 and I never stay up this late so tomorrow I'm going to look extra scary. I don't think I've told you about my latest million-dollar idea though... You know how you can buy like clover honey and lavender honey and stuff? You know how there are always swarms of bees around the trash cans at theme parks and at the recycling center? Trash can honey!! Imagine the sweet nectar that will be produced by bees fed exclusively on Sunkist and cotton candy!! Retirement, here I come.

0 comments so far

birth & death