I don’t know what to say so I figure I’d start with some sure-to-please profanity. Speaking of profanity, do you have a favorite cuss word? I’ve narrowed my favorites down to two: shit and dick.
If you drop a SD bomb on someone, not only are you adequately expressing your anger (“Look how mad you’ve made me! I said a word that would shame my mother and prompt her to add another tearful entry to her Evidence I Have Failed To Raise A Socially Acceptable Daughter journal”), but you are also conveying how absurd the situation is.
“No, I’m not 100% sure what a Shit Dick is, but I’m 87% you are it. Shit Dick.”
How badly do I wish this photo was staged? So badly.
Text from my (new) neighbor yesterday:
“I’m letting the boys out to potty, then letting Ernie run with Dyna (her dog). Hope you don’t mind.”
And that’s how I found out she has a key to my house. While is cool and all, I guess. It’ll keep me from letting the dirty dishes pile up in the sink. Ernie has already trained me to keep dirty underwear hidden in the closet, so three cheers for shame-induced housekeeping!
As I live alone, and have for a while, certain things have become habits. Peeing with the door open. Singing in the shower. Sitting on the couch in my underwear watching Weeds and crying (side note – I thought that show was going to be funny, but really it is depressing as shit and I have a huge widow crush on Jeffrey Dean Morgan).
Seeing as we are close friends and all, I’m going to let you in on another secret: if it’s yellow, I let it mellow. Please, hold your applause. Just doing my part for the planet.
On the day in question, I came home to find a distinctly un-mellow deposit in the toilet.
“Did she really? What kind of person does something like – oh wait. I did that.”
I DID THAT, FRIENDS.
Let the judging begin.
Sometimes I miss blogging. The times that I miss blogging are when I’m driving home from work, stuck in traffic, and the local NPR station is running a story on the aging population’s inability to detect increasing levels of iron in their drinking water.
Why does this story make me miss blogging? Because the reporter keeps pronouncing iron “EYE-rin.” Go ahead, say it out loud. Maybe I’m just a hick from Virginia by way of North Carolina, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard anyone in real life pronounce it “EYE-rin.”
Then I get to thinking about how I pronounce iron. IRE-n. EYE-ern. I was starting to go a little crazy. I needed an audience to bounce my break from reality off of.
HOW DO YOU PRONOUNCE ‘IRON,’ INTERNET?
So yes. I gotta get these thoughts out of my head.
Also, I’m a fan of this blog. And I’m grateful to it, as well – I parlayed this little outlet from a place to keep a friend updated on her rehomed dog, to a part-time job writing for a pet blog, to a job I love with an organization I adore.
So hello, old friends. Hope we can do this again real soon.
…but when I do, I get a big bone.
This picture was taken after 40 minutes of Dex trudging around the yard, trying to find the best spot to hide his birthday bone (NOT a euphemism). Even with all of the other dogs inside, poor Dex couldn’t just settle down and enjoy his bone until he’d found and discarded no less than 4 perfectly good hiding spots for his prize.
Just stopping by to say hello, dust some cobwebs off, and wish my best old man Dexter a happy 11th birthday. It’s not every day your dog turns 11, so we had a Birthday Blowout Week which included Dex’s first minor league baseball game, where he barked at the hot dog vendor.
And the t-shirt gun.
And the crack of the bat.
And pretty much everything else.
But you know? Fuck it. Bark your head off, old man. You’ve earned it.
Listen. Stop following me. Seriously. I gotta hide this thing.
Not so much. But damn if he ain’t cute…
I wrote about Ernie’s Canine IQ Test here.
I hope you will, too, or face the scorn of Li’l Wayne.
Also – you may have noticed that the URL has changed. BadMuthaFudruckers.com is now live! You may need to update your RSS feed (my Google Reader hasn’t figured it out yet). AND you can “like” this (or any post) by clicking the button below.
Now all I’ve got to do is write something “like”-able…
I’m sorry I ate your panties…
…but really, woman, these floors – what filth!
Let’s drown our shame in liver treats and call it a day.