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2007-01-12 - 7:32 p.m.

Same Shit, Different Day

Looks like Uncle Bob finally logged on and realized I'd gifted him with 3 months o' Supergold. (Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do). UB - May you grow and prosper in your nether regions, per your wishes, and thanks for the shout-out.

Which reminds me, have you guys seen that latest Enzyte male enhancement ad (with that fucking whistler) where they reference Santa? In this one, Santa gets a "sleigh full of confidence" and a "sack full of pride." Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww. They just need to stop with the innuendoes already. Seriously, I may never eat another Chinese dumpling again.

In other news, my boiling rage from the other day has been put on the back burner (simmering; stirring occasionally). I'm getting back into my Jimmy Buffett-esque unemployed lifestyle (minus the beach, the margaritas, the guitar and the hammock). I stayed up late watching "Meet the Fockers," and various items I'd recorded on TiVo, then slept in till noon. Had an interesting dream where I was trapped in dismal suite of rooms (army barracks? old hospital?) and someone popped in, found me hiding in the closet, and stabbed me in the stomach. Why I wanted to stay asleep and finish that one out is anyone's guess. Might be because I was anxious to use the axe hanging on the wall.

Could I be feeling vengeful? Who ME?

Anyhoo, I could no longer stand SweetPea twirling around panting and yelping at me ("hmmmpfffffff...lay down! We'll go out in a minute...shhhh!" only buys me the equivalent of 3 alarm snooze button slaps). Buddy was curled up next to me in a ball of zonk. He'll snap up to full hyper attention with the right phrase or movement from me, but without it, he's not even gonna bother ("Dudetta, I gotta piss too, but it's sooooo not worth getting up if momma ain't ready to take us out yet.")

I roused up, looked at the clock (buh! ooooff!), then slid out of bed, put on some clothes and bumbled over to the coffee table. Grabbed a few upcoming bills and my checkbook. Scribble-scribble-scritch-scribble. Added all required stamps and return address labels, made sure to grab my Netflix movie from the other night ("United 93" - VERY GOOD, and heartwrenching. I think I stopped breathing for a minute at the end. You know how it's going to end, like when you watch Titanic, but still you pray for a different outcome).

I put on my jacket and did my best to hook up the dog's leashes while holding the outgoing mail in the other hand. If there's one thing I HATE to do when walking the dogs, it's trying to make a mail run to the apartment community mailbox while we're out and about. It never goes smoothly, but I'm all about multi-tasking, so against my better judgement, I still attempt it from time to time. Once the hyper, furry pissers lunged out the door with me in tow, I instantly regretted trying to control two big dogs with one hand, a batch of important mail in the other. FUCK!

But I soldiered on. I managed to get them steered the back way towards the mailboxes, which is unfortunately on the same path as the INTENSELY INTERESTING BUSHES WHICH MUST BE SNIFFED MOST HEARTILY FOR FIVE MINUTES FROM SIX DIFFERENT ANGLES.

Just as I pulled them around the corner, SweetPea decided to take a dump. In plain view, on a patch of grass 2 inches from the sidewalk centered exactly in front of someone's door. CHRIST. I can't let this one go discreetly. I reached into my jacket pocket for a bag. Uh oh. I reached into the other pocket. Ohhhhh shit. In my haste to get the dogs leashed up without dropping the mail in my foyer, I'd completely forgotten to grab a few bags. I reached into my pants pocket, and only found a tissue. I can't pick that up with a tissue. No way. Just leave it. No one is around. But my guilt got the best of me, so I scooped up the paper towel-warranted mess with one thin tissue. UGH.

SweetPea's leash was looped on my left wrist, my left hand gripped Buddy's retractable leash and the mail, and my right hand was holding the tissue overflowing with poop. Where's a camera crew and Ben Stiller when you need him?

I was stuck standing there halfway between my apartment and the mailboxes. Suddenly I realized my car was over yonder in the parking lot. I knew I had extra bags in the trunk. And I had my keys, since I'd planned to check my mail from the day before.

While balancing the leashes, the mail and the poop, I pulled and yanked the dogs towards the car. SweetPea decided to get wrapped up sniffing a bush, so I let her leash go, and dashed over to the car with Buddy. SweetPea followed in quick succession. I flung open the back doors, they jumped in, and I located a bag for the poop. I zipped around to the front, climbed in the driver's seat, set the mail down on the passenger seat, and took a deep breath. You little fuckers. Why must you make everything so difficult?

I drove around the corner, dropped off the mail, drove back to my apartment, whipped the dogs out to finish their walk, then we all climbed upstairs to go back to sleep.

Around 4:30 I took the dogs out again for a quick jaunt, gathered up the trash for the dumpster, and headed over to the grocery store.

After putting everything away, watching a little TV, taking a shower and jumping online, I realize that Buddy hasn't pooped all day.

FUCK!