Archive for the 'The Dog' Category

bats in the belfry.

August 3, 2010

So I have been seriously slacking in updating over here… and for that, I apologize.  I wish I could say that it’s because I’ve been SO busy doing something SO important, but that would be a lie.  I’ve mostly just been providing my couch with some great company and the ass dent that its been missing, while snuggling up with a bunch of really good books.

Yesterday I had the day off (for no real reason in particular) and I was looking forward to another lazy day.  I slept in and the house was quiet as I made my way downstairs to let the dog out in the morning.  I opened the front door and something big and black made a screeching noise, like something out of the Alien movies, and flew at me.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

A BAT? In my fucking house.  I immediately broke into hysterical screams and ran around like a banshee as the thing was circling overhead.  The 70 pound dog was hiding behind me (thanks for the help, buddy) and the cats were equally as useless grooming themselves in the corner.

It finally landed on the couch (um, ew), and I grabbed a broom to give it a little knock to hopefully guide that fucker safely out the door.  He didn’t budge.  His little slimy membraneous body just sat there.  I swear he rolled his beady eyes at me as he made that awful hissing sound.

On to plan B.  I grabbed a box (an empty case of beer, obviously) and tossed it over the little bastard, then paced around wondering how to now get the BOX outside.  A few minutes later, I heard his bat noise coming from the OTHER side of the room.  What the hell?  He had somehow managed to shimmy his way out from under the box!  Apparently I was messing with the David fucking Copperfield of the bat world.

I knew I was going to need reinforcements.  (OF COURSE this happens while I am home alone).  I called my roommate, she couldn’t make it home.  So I then proceeded to call just about every man I know in a 30 mile radius.  Surely someone would come to my rescue.

Roughly 40 minutes later (while I was hiding out upstairs in my room), Kyle arrived.  He dropped phrases like “bat rabies” and “disease” and tried to calm me down.  Um, thanks?   We somehow managed to get the box back on top Mr. Copperfield and slid him out towards the door.  We got him out on the porch and remove the box.  He just sits there. 

FLY AWAY, BAT.

He doesn’t move. 

Great, is he hurt?  Now, not only do I get to have a bat in my house but a guilty conscience as well.  Kyle throws the box over him again and sneaks up on him with a shovel.  Part of me was hoping he’d just slam the shovel down hard on the box and put us all out of our misery.  (Sorry, PETA).  But instead, he slid the shovel under the box and picked it up.  He walked the box across the street, dropped it, and walked away.

Watching from the window, a few minutes later I saw a black blob get up and fly away.

See ya later, sucker.

…And all I wanted to do was sit on my couch.  But now there’s bat germs all over it.

Yuck.

Q

not just construction workers.

July 1, 2010

I think I could probably write a book of all the weird things men do or love that make absolutely zero sense to me – farting under the covers, the attraction to girl-on-girl action, and naming body parts (just to name a few).

But what has continued to blow my mind more than anything over the last several years is WHY men feel the need to hoot and holler things to women on the street.  I honestly don’t get it.

I’ll be all hot and sweaty, with my hair pulled up in a ratty ponytail, minding my own business while walking the dog down the street… then I’ll feel the presence of a car slowing down beside me.  “Hey Baby, where you headed?” or perhaps even more puzzling is the “Woot woot” cat call done while the car is speeding by.

Has this EVER worked for men?  Have there EVER been any successful relationships that have started from this sort of contact?  Is there a woman out there that would respond to this with a “Oh hello! I really appreciated the way you so sweetly called out to me from your car.  No, I wasn’t aware of how nice my ass looked today, so thanks for pointing it out! Would you like to get a drink?”  Are there any statistics on this?  If not, can we start keeping statistics on this?  I feel like this is something we need to track.

You know, I can almost understand or excuse this if it is done by a carload full of young men. Oh ha ha, it’s so funny… and they all laugh and exchange high-fives.  But for a middle-aged man to do this while driving alone (probably on his way to pick up his kids from soccer practice or something), is just downright weird.  What is the freakin POINT?

Still puzzled,

Q

why my dog has a sense of humor.

May 13, 2010

I have been enjoying my dog’s hilarious ability to pick the most random and unsettling objects to poop on.  I think he gets some pleasure out of making it increasingly difficult (and unpleasant) for me to pick up his poo.

My personal favorites thus far:

1.  A thorny bush (“try sticking your hand in that!”)

2. A dead squirrel (which I didn’t notice until I was bent down and my hand was very sickeningly close to said dead squirrel.  ew.)

3.  Three foot high weeds.  I couldn’t even FIND the poop when he was done, let alone actually get down there to pick it up.

OR, are dogs capable of plotting an elaborate plan for revenge?  I wonder if this has something to do with the reindeer antlers that I forced him to wear last Christmas…

** This is my first post in the great big Internet World, and it is about Poop.  Just a taste of the many highly intelligent, awesome things to come out of my mouth (er- fingers?) for as long as I actually decide to keep up with this.

(I briefly considered doing an “about me” introduction thing, but then I thought more about it… and the more I thought about that, the more that sounded stupid.)

So, there you have it.  I chuckle at poop.

Fondly-

Q

(Can't you sense his misery?)