Dogs Gone Wild

Scene: It’s 10:00 at night, my roommate P. and I are cleaning up the kitchen before heading to bed. Dog comes into the kitchen dragging his beloved stuffed giraffe toy with him. Dog, places the giraffe just as he wants it, in the middle of the floor, then while staring me in the eye proceeds to climb onto giraffe’s back and have his way with him.

Me: Dog! Gross!

P.:What he’s just letting the giraffe know who’s boss.

Me: But why does he stare at me when he does it.

P.: I think he’s letting you know who’s boss too. You might want to lock your door tonight.

Me: I hate you.

In Case You Were Wondering…

I saw this on a blog somewhere… I’m not sure where. Anyway, it was seven random things about the author and I found the concept sorta intriguing and since I am lame and have nothing poignant to contribute, I figured what the hell.

1. I’ve never had a cavity in my life. When I was a kid my Mom took my brother and me to a pediatric dentist and he put these sealants put on my teeth that supposedly prevented cavities, and I guess it worked because I’ve never had one. I’m freakishly afraid that I may have one now as an adult and would look incredibly foolish in front of the dentist when I start asking a billion questions. Plus that drill sounds scary.

2. I sleep with six pillows on my bed, and they are all for me. I like to surround myself with them so anyway I turn I can have a pillow to hold on to. When guests come over and need to borrow a pillow it can take me up to ten minutes to decide which one to sacrifice.

3. Tomatoes are foul and I will not eat them. I’ve eaten cow’s liver, but I won’t put a tomato in my mouth. They taste putrid and rancid and I don’t understand how anyone stomachs them.

4. Quitting smoking was the hardest thing I ever did and as happy as I am with my healthier life, I so terribly miss my life as a smoker. I really miss sitting on porches with friends and chain smoking for hours or using the old “got a lite?” line to flirt with guys at bars. That was nice.

5. I’m missing a bone in my pinky toe. It’s not noticeable to the naked eye, but I still feel self-conscious about it. Medically, there’s no outward difference, I can wiggle it and move it like the other toes, it doesn’t look deformed or anything. But still, I think its weird and worry that others will too. Can’t date anyone with X-Ray vision or they’ll know my secret.

6. When I was a kid I had a crush on Danny from the New Kids on the Block. Remember him? The older, uglier one? He had the rat tail? No? Don’t worry, no one else remember him either. But at nine I loved him and would have been his rock star wife. And after his career faded and he was forced to take a job selling insurance I’d start my own music career and be more famous than Debbie Gibson. Excuse me, Deborah Gibson. That was the plan at any rate.

7. I was nationally ranked in the Junior Riffle Tournament in 1993. I earned my expert marksmen achievement in both the prone and kneeling positions. My proclivity for deadly sports continued in college where I shot archery competitively. Lesson here, there’s a good chance I can kill you from across a football field so let’s play nice.

 

Drivers Beware, God is Watching You!

I’m not making this up. The Vatican has just released its Ten Commandments for Drivers. You can view them here if you’d like, but just in case your clicking finger is broken, I’ve copied them below.

 

Drivers’ Ten Commandments

The “Drivers’ Ten Commandments,” as listed by the document, are:

1. You shall not kill.

2. The road shall be for you a means of communion between people and not of mortal harm.

3. Courtesy, uprightness and prudence will help you deal with unforeseen events.

4. Be charitable and help your neighbor in need, especially victims of accidents.

5. Cars shall not be for you an expression of power and domination, and an occasion of sin.

6. Charitably convince the young and not so young not to drive when they are not in a fitting condition to do so.

7. Support the families of accident victims.

8. Bring guilty motorists and their victims together, at the appropriate time, so that they can undergo the liberating experience of forgiveness.

9. On the road, protect the more vulnerable party.

10. Feel responsible toward others.

Wow. I mean seriously wow. Thank God the Vatican has told me how to be a good Christian driver.

I know now that I must give up my hedonistic ways. No more driving through school zones at 90 mph, smoking a cigarette and flicking the burning ember toward the little children fleeing from my vehicle for their very lives.

I guess spinning my tires in the Wal-mart parking lot would be a clear demonstration of my expression of power and domination, so can’t break number 5 again.

And the Pope is right, I should stop giving blow jobs for 10 bucks in the back seat of my Johns’ cars. From now on, they’ll have to take me down a back alley to get some of my sweet lovin. Just like the trannies do.

Thank you Vatican, without your clear and concise road practices, I doubt I would have ever truly known the wonders of Christian driving. Seriously, this is so much more important than trying to end hunger or advancing peace in the Middle East, or encouraging those of wealth to give to the poor… No, why waste your time on those complicated and foreign problems when you can solve road rage with one little piece of paper.

Twits.

Whatever you do, don’t lite a match.

Here’s the scene, it was Primary day here in VA and I had just returned home after a very nerve wrecking day monitoring the polls and results. My roommates J. and P. are sitting on the balcony with Mushoo, the shitzu puppy that’s taken over our lives. I walk out just as P. is finishing the worldest longest and loudest fart.

J.: “Was that your ass?”

P.: “Yeah, pretty impressive huh?”

J.: “Jesus Christ the force of that wind shock the balcony.”

P.: “What can I say I’m talented.”

J.: [wrinkling his nose] “Fuck, what the hell did you eat?”

P.: [takes a long drag] “Well honey, as I recall, it was you.”

J.: “Fair point.”

This is my life.

Is that a Snake in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

Today I was scanning through the Washington Post, New York Times, and the other liberal media outlets, and I came across this article on CNN. 

A man, Yahia Rahim Tulba, got on a plane in Cairo heading toward Saudi Arabia with 700 live snakes.  700! 

Now Mr. Tulba claims he intended to sell the snakes in Saudi Arabia, because apparently poisonous snakes are the new pink in Saudi Summer fashion, but luckily, he was stopped by two custom’s officers before the plane took off.  Apparently the other passengers were slightly suspicious of the wriggling and hissing duffle bag and had the flight attendants call the police. 

Now, just think for a second about those two custom’s officers who had to inspect this bag.  I imagine the incident went a little like this. 

Officer 1:  “Sir, we’re gonna need to look in your bag.” 

Snake Dude:  “I don’t think you want to, I’ve got 700 snakes in here and several are pretty poisonous.” 

Officer 2:  “Look Buddy, my partner here asked you a question… wait… did you say snakes?” 

Snake Dude:  “Yeah, 700.  So I could open the bag, but I’m pretty sure at least one of Cobra’s has gotten out of their traveling case.  And well I’ve been jostling the bag a little bit; I bet they’re pretty pissed.  I don’t want to get bitten.” 

Officer 1:  “Uh, well we still need to look in that bag.” 

Officer 2:  “Are you crazy, no way I’m opening that bag.  Didn’t you hear?  700 snakes!” 

Officer 1:  “Ok ok.  Uh, here’s what we’re gonna do.  Sir, we’re gonna stand over there, way over there, behind that door, and you’re gonna open that bag slowly and tilt it toward us.  Once I’ve confirmed that you have snakes, you can close it back up.” 

Officer 2:  “You didn’t mention the arresting part?” 

Officer 1:  “Didn’t you hear him?  He’s got 700 snakes in there, I don’t want him to think we’re gonna arrest him, what if he throws them on us.  Once the bag is closed you can go arrest him.”

Officer 2: “Me arrest him?  No way man.  I’m calling for back up.”

You know you’re in Jersey when…

This past weekend, my old roommate got married.  She and her fiancé had been together for years, survived grad school and a stint in the Peace Corp. to get to where they are and I am really happy they made it there.  S., the roommate, rented this beautiful manor on a state park known for their spectacular gardens for their perfect outdoor wedding. 

So of course, it rained. 

I felt terrible, because S. deserved to have her perfect day.  Yet, the staff at the manor scrambled quickly and the guest were ushered into a lovely room and served champagne with strawberries while they fixed up another room and carefully moved the harpist.  Fifteen minutes later, the ceremony proceeded without a hitch. 

Now, this is why I love S.  The ceremony was ten minutes long, there was a pre-reception with two open bars and delightfully yummy hor’ deurves while the bridal party took their pictures.  Then we were ushered into a beautiful room filled with yet another two open bars, wonderful wait staff that brought my wine so I could double fist my pinot noir and gin and tonic, and a buffet you would kill to eat.  But the best, oh so best part of the wedding was watching these two Italian-catholic jersey-ites march into the reception hall to Journeys Don’t Stop Believing.  Classic. 

Four hours later, my date J. and I were shit faced, full of all the yummy-ness and stumbling through the rain belting our versions of Journey’s Any Way You Want It, Queens’ Fat Bottom Girls, and Bruce Springsteen’s  Born to Run. 

It was a good weekend.  Thanks S. and C. for knowing how to have a good time.