There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


Marc Jacobs for Chief Justice!

I used to smoke and I'm so glad that I don't anymore, because it's all I can do to keep gasoline in my tank. But on evenings when I work late or those times when the stress is about to kill me, I miss it. I remember that walk out to the car, full of anticipation of that first long, deep drag that releases all of the tension and the anger and frustration. Car window open, radio blasting, release... On those especially frustrating days, the walk to the car seems a bit empty without the Marlboro man waiting for me. I did have the Hits of the 70s to help me out today -- we've got a thing that I call "radar love..." Also on the CD is "Don't Fear the Reaper." I've got a fever!!

I had a frustrating day because CrazyWheelChairLady is doing her best to make my life a big steaming pile of corn-filled crap because I had the gall, the unmitigated hubris, to get promoted and that pisses CWCL off like a mother fucker. When my boss, Captain Wacky, went to tell CWCL that I had been promoted (signicant because I'm now at the same level as CWCL and she can't condescend to me anymore), CWCL's response was "When do I get my promotion?" Not, "Oh, good for her, she's worked her arse off for that," or "That's just what our department needs," but "Where's mine?" Cunty old bitch. So she's begun lying about stuff to try to make me and LoudGirl look bad, which we can do all by ourselves, thank you. On the plus side, I very well may get an office!! Yay! If LaZBoy (Henry, it's pronounced "Lazy Boy") comes back, I get to be his supervisor. Wooo hooo! Oy.

We found the most fabulous TexMex restaurant this weekend -- Taco Garage. If you're in San Antonio ever, GO THERE!! It's perfect hangover food (I assume) and the source of the whole cup of queso that Buster consumed two weeks ago. I had some sort of scrambled huevos that had jalapenos and other stuff added in, plus taters and the fucking best refrieds I have ever eaten. You know how refried beans are usually just this nasty brown puddle on your plate and you only eat them because the blandness of the beans balances out the spiciness of something else? These beans had flavor. Yes, flavor. They were fucking delicious. I know! It's hard to believe for me, too, and I was there!

Another Buster update: He's had two baths (total time: 1.5 hours) in dog shampoo, human shampoo, peroxide and baking soda. He's had the closest haircut I've ever given him. It's been over a month since he got skunked. He still reeks. Reeeeeeeeks. Not just pungent. Not just musky. Smelly. Eye-wateringly so. I thought that if I shaved the smelly hair off, the smell would leave, too. Nope. Stanky boy.

Another weekend adventure: Beer Can Chicken. It sounds so damn white trash, but it's just delicious. I'm a foodie!! Not just a fatty!!

The greggers and I somehow managed to get our asses kicked in the Pop Culture version of Trivial Pursuit by none other than... my monkey. My monkey!! He knows something useful! Nothing that will help him graduate from high school, but he managed to identify Meat Loaf's "Bat Out of Hell" for the win! At 4 a.m.!! I'm a bad mommy!

From the file labeled "Cautionary Tales": Rent the movie "Overnight." Go ahead. I'll wait. Can you believe the arrogance of that dude? I love reading blogs for the simple reason that I love funny people and good writing, and on the rare occasion when they intersect, it's Magic Time! So there's this dude who gets a movie deal for his very first script for a film called Boondock Saints. Heard of it? Probably not. He's just some dude from Boston who always wears UW-Madison t-shirt and is constantly drunk and/or high and gets this amazing opportunity because he wrote something halfway decent. He also has a band. So this guy, this Troy Duffy, decides he's the shiznit and that he can boss Harvey Weinstein around and the spiral of self-destruction and egotism and oh my god, you have to see it to believe it. See it. Be appalled. You're a better writer than he is, and he pissed it all away.

I have a big stupid girl crush on John Roberts and I'm a dyed in the wool democrat bleeding-heart liberal. He's just so sincere. I don't think he's capable of lying. Do you know anyone like that? Nope. Most people have some aspect of the hypocrite in their soul, but his guy just doesn't seem to. By the way, I work with people who think John Roberts is a shoe designer.

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