There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


All I Ever Wanted...

I have so much blogging to catch up on. I am currently on vacation, sweet, sweet vacation (when I told Captain Wacky that I was taking a week off, she said “A whole week?” And she was serious.) and loving it.

We’re currently in a little rental “beach” house (you can hear the beach from here, smell it, but not exactly see it, so it’s cheaper) in the kitschy little town of Port Aransas, Texas, which did not suffer at all from either Katrina or Rita. I’m watching the OU-Texas game, rooting for the Longhorns, working on my 2nd bloody mary, with a bad dog snuggled against my thigh and another one taking up most of a couch, snoring. These might not exactly be “ocean” dogs, but they are truly beach dogs. These dogs love the beach. They love it, love it, love it. They love running, pouncing on strangers, sniffing jellyfish, and running. Katy has discovered that there’s nothing in the world better than running after sandpipers. It’s a good thing that those little birds fly in circles instead of straight lines, because she ran after them for about 15 minutes without a rest. If that bird had flown in a straight line, she’d still be 4 miles away. Instead she ran, top speed, in circles, following a sandpiper who feared for his little life. Round and round and round.

Yesterday (or the day before – I love vacation!) we went to the beach with the dogs because they simply insisted upon it. They would not allow any more outings that didn’t include dogs. If we left without them, Buster would throw himself (75 pounds) against a window to let us know that HE WANTS TO COME WITH US. So we took them with us and every errand, every outing ended with the beach.

We ate dinner last night at the less-than-acceptable Trout Street Bar and Grill, which, in my opinion, owes me $35. I had the grilled seafood sampler, in the belief that grilling is the best way to enjoy fresh seafood, as any substance you can name tastes good when it’s deep-fried (i.e., cat poop), but what I got was lacking in any flavor at all, and when your “fresh” fish filet is perfectly rectangular, you’re likely to conclude that it has already been frozen and processed. Then we went to a bar called the Back Porch which was great even though it was outdoors and frickin freezing because it had gas heaters and blankets! A big pile of blankets. Yay.

So vacation has been very doggy, which is, in my opinion, perfect. Work, on the other hand, has been painful. I was recently promoted, and I love mo’ money, so woot! But I asked for an office because I sit next to LoudGirl, the loudest, rudest, crudest, most irritating person on the planet. And Captain Wacky said “You can have an office!” and the facilities dude said “Yes, you can have an office!” And the HR secretary said “She can have an office!” So I was getting an office! Then the VP of HR said “No office for her!” just because he’s a fucking asshole assbag who’s mad at me because I exposed the whole LaZBoy scandal, so, no office for me! Cockface booger-eating bed wetter. So I now get to be LoudGirl’s supervisor and have to deal with sitting next to her and having her eavesdrop on ALL of my conversations and comment on them loudly to anyone and everyone. And I get to deal with her not wanting me to be her supervisor. And I get to be the buffer zone between Crazy WheelChairLady, Captain Wacky, and LoudGirl. Fuuuuuccckkk. Me.

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