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September 15, 2005
Explanation of Missing Dog Story...
So...
I had written this whole big gigantic long story about how Paco, while unattended with his what I believe to be DIABOLICAL ways, urinated on specifically my white shirt and my white shorts. Don't worry, I explained the whole Labor Day thing and I would never violate that rule, come on, get there.
Anyway, the tone of that piece was deemed to be too stank by my own boyfriend so he asked nicely that I remove it temporarily. After the dog piss incident, J came home to find me in a ball of tears, maniacally typing my head off as a way of venting. As it was not just the piss that fueled my anger. It was the memory of the gold vintage high heels that had been eaten beyond recognition, just last week, as well. If I didn't write out those feelings, I may have said some shit I'd totally regret and I'd end up a streetwalker drinking cough syrup behind a Dumpster in the Bronx by dawn, just homeless and without a man.
Or he asked me to add some clarifying points about how great Paco really is. You know, just in case one day J's heart starts pumping benevolence and he realizes that this dog needs a better home. So that he may flourish instead of getting a hip disorder and continually destroying both the home and my happiness by repeatedly shredding my belongings as a result of his boredom. If that day comes, we wouldn't want documented evidence that Paco isn't the greatest dog in the world. Because you know, so many people, including Paco's potential new owners in 2017 read this blog.
Paco is cool and he'd be a million times cooler and happier on a farm with other animals and a stay-at-home mom and children that just love to play. As it stands, he's restless in the home of a couple consisting of a dude that is never here and a girl that, quite frankly, isn't into dogs and is growing rather resentful of the twice-daily vacuum routine. Shedding dogs are insanity. Do I need to remind you about the time I got rabies?
Anyway, I had to take it down due to my overly dramatized inability to be censored half-way. I had to go all out and be really nasty about it and say, "Fine, I'll remove it all rat bastard!" No, I didn't really call my own boyfriend a rat bastard. I'd never do that. I don't believe in name-calling (with boyfriends -- enemies, poorly dressed celebrities and bad drivers, sling those epithets relentlessly). As a result of my no name-calling policy, I have SO much more power when little arguments result in the guy, articulating as guy's do, says something along the lines of "You're ACTING like a bitch..." You can use that against him and to your advantage for so long, honey. It's amazing the mind control you have when you don't name-call and he accidentally does. You just become Deebo. I'm just saying.
Now, yesterday, the computer I wrote that thing on DIED. Gone. So that piece along with anything else I've written in the past 4 months, is gone. I really hope that it can be recovered so that I can re-post that story once I get off my high horse and fix the things that hurt J's punk ass little dog feelings, I mean, true feelings. I mean, come on, I was very upset and I had every right to be. DOG PISS?! Come on, get your shit together. That's crazy talk!
Until then, I'll just have to promise you that I did make a reference to Geico's Tiny House commercial. The dog situation wasn't awesome. This is not awesome. And yes, I just want to make an omelette.
I have to go breathe down the back of some computer dude to make sure he pulls all the Word documents off in one piece.
And to you, J, I'm sorry boo. You have to be reminding me...
Posted by melissah at September 15, 2005 10:10 AM