Tag Archives: love

You’re as cold as ice.

26 Feb

Actually, I’M cold as ice. If I bumped my knee on the coffee table right now, it would shatter into a million pieces, because it is now a frozen solid block of ice.

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It is stupid cold today. The wind is gusting with a vengeance. It feels like a million tiny daggers ripping through my body. I need more pants. On. I need more pants on. It will take me at least one hour to thaw out. I brought No Balls Rals to the dog park today for some exercise so that I wouldn’t have to play with him myself at home later while I’m watching 14 consecutive episodes of Dr. 90210.

For the first time ever, we arrived and there was not a single other canine at the park. Probably because most people realized that glaciers were about to sail into Eagle County and hypothermia isn’t on most peoples’ agendas on a casual Sunday. After standing around waiting for about ten minutes and chattering my teeth like someone on too many prescription medications and a gallon of medium roast, a gaggle of dogs finally showed up and they ran their little hearts out. Meanwhile, I suffered from frostbite and lack of circulation to my frozen extremities.

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My creamer intake continues to escalate. I am spiraling out of control. I have bought two liter-size jugs of it within four days. This is not normal creamer consumption, I am almost sure of it. It has become my heroin. This French vanilla elixir of life has got me by the balls. I’m going to need an Intervention. (I’ll resist help 100% of the way).

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I spend a lot of time playing Zynga word games on my phone. Mainly Hanging With Friends and Words With Friends. Since I am a cheap ass and refuse to pay for these games in order to get ad-free playing time, I am continually bombarded with advertisements during my ass-whooping gaming sessions. I used to get a lot of ads for “increasing your battery life” and “Zynga Poker,” but lately it has strictly been online dating websites. Every time. What is Zynga trying to say? That because I play word games on my phone for so many hours a day, I couldn’t possibly have a life? Haha.

They’re right.

WELL, time to go hack my lungs up. I seem to have caught some sort of a cough. I’m not happy about it, but what can you do.

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“What are those big jugs called that you put water in?  …Oh yeah, water jugs.”

 

 

 

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Lost & Hound

18 Feb

I just spent over an hour f-cking chasing my roommate’s dog down a f-cking river, screaming and sobbing. In my snowboarding boots. I’m livid. I was literally screaming bloody murder at the top of my lungs, falling down in the snow, crying and cursing the gods. After sixty minutes, I left her for dead and she came back on her own ten minutes later. F-cking bitch.

I need one hundred beers.

In other news, last Saturday, a beautiful big white dog wandered into the apartment parking lot off the highway.

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He appeared to be a white german shepherd/wolf hybrid. He was a little timid at first, but quickly started playing with Raleigh and Bella. He was very friendly, so I invited him inside. He didn’t have a collar on, so I immediately took photos and posted an ad on Craigslist, along with calling the local animal shelters, animal control, and the police department to see if anyone had reported a missing pet. Nothing. I couldn’t possibly let this guy roam around on the busy highway, so we decided to hang on to him until we could locate its owners.

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Six days had passed, and no one seemed to be looking for this dog. We brought him in to a vet’s office to see if he had a microchip, but he had none. Ghost dog. He is the sweetest creature on earth. I love him. He loves me. I’ve been calling him “White Dog” this entire time and he responds to it now. Haha. He’s my shadow. Every  morning at 7:30 a.m., he sits on me. He’s such a lover. I desperately wanted to keep him.

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“Unfortunately,” one of the animal shelters I had contacted the day I had found White Dog called me yesterday and said that the owner was in there looking for the dog. I was flabbergasted that this owner waited six days to contact these pounds to find out if their pet had been found or not, but gave the guy permission to have the man call me. A Mexican man named Juan calls and says he’ll be by around six o’clock to pick White Dog up, whose real name was “Spike” (stupid). He lived literally directly across the highway from us. White Dog obviously loved me more than Juan. He never once tried to run back home. Haha. Anyway, I gave Juan two rubber balls I had bought White Dog because he loved them so much, and told him to keep the collar I had purchased him as well. He tried to offer me $100, but I didn’t take it.

Then I remembered White Dog did break my MacBook by spilling an entire glass of water across my keyboard. Oops. Wish I would have accepted the dollars.

I am devastated to have to let him go. I love that mutt, and miss him terribly. So does Raleigh. Someday I’ll steal him back.

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How is it that you’re always the only people in a Chinese restaurant? I have never been in an Asian restaurant that has been crowded, or even mildly occupied. It’s like, you and your mate walk in, and it’s a ghost town. Just you, all the employees, their children, and their children’s children. For some reason there are always still like eleven Asians working, and all of them rush to help you at once. How do these places stay open? I don’t even care. As long as they keep serving  delicious crab rangoon and fried rice, they can keep money laundering and drug selling in the back. I won’t ask questions.

I’ve been doing some traveling lately, and I’ve been observing the travel attire that people choose while flying. It pisses me off. I feel like I see more high heels at the airport than I do at the bars on a Friday night. You see people who dress up like they’re going to the prom in dresses, full hair and makeup like they’re about to meet the president. You’re flying to Tulsa, lady. Who are you trying to impress? Then there are the people that layer like they’re about to go watch the Iditarod with front row seats out in the open in great outdoor Alaska. Don’t you know you’re going to be stopped by TSA and asked to peel off your clothing layer by layer to ensure you aren’t concealing any weapons, you big stupid onion?

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Speaking of airport security, I have a few things to say about it. One: I don’t understand why they harass, inspect, and strip us to no end before getting on an airplane, but take zero measures whatsoever when boarding a bus, boat, train, taxi, etc. I’m annoyed. Two: I feel like I am the slowest person on earth when it comes time to go through the scanners. I try to take off my shoes, remove my liquids, take out my laptop, and get my jacket off as fast as possible, but I always feel like I can’t do it quick enough. Worse is getting all those items packed back up. I’m standing there scrambling to get it all back together as those plastic bins begin to pile up and block the entire conveyor belt. I panic.

WELL, time to go hang out with the wolf pack. Bi.

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“Kids these days. Carrying guns, raping each other—I mean, we used to literally chase a wheel down the street with sticks. I mean we were poor obviously.”

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