I’m pissed off right now. I took Blue to the Valmont Dog Park for some whoop-de-doo in the snow and some fugly dog bit him on the face. It was probably more of a run-by fanging, but still. My beautiful baby.
Zeb is all boohoo about it. I had to talk him out of steri-stripping Blue’s snout. I reminded him, and myself, that chicks dig scars. Given that this dog has little else going for him, he needs all the help he can get.
Oh, what’s with the dogs in pantyhose? Zeb woke me up last night to show me this article in the Huffington Post about Chinese people who put pantyhose on their dogs. WTF Zeb! Why are you looking at this stuff? Do I even want to know what is in your history?
I can’t help but wonder what drives someone to dress up their dog in hose and heels. I mean, the thought has never crossed my mind and I’m pretty, uh, creative. I suspect there is some odd fetish stuff going on. But I’m not judging.
Well maybe I am. It’s fucking weird. And how do they get the hose past the claws without getting runs? When the dogs drop the soap in the shower, do they kick it all the way to Mongolia? Oh the questions.
I am on fire these days. I’m working on a pretty cool project that you, my dear readers, will get quite a kick out of. I need a few more days to work on the site and then I’ll launch it and you will be the very first to know about it.
And then there are taxes. I’ve been trying to get Zeb to hire a bookkeeper. Our finances are really complicated given that we make a living off of a mishmash of sales, rentals, writing fees (hahahahahahaha) etc. I’m a little slower to untangle the mess in order to drive home my point that we need a better system.
Not that I need him to agree. I usually just pull the trigger and gloat when my stupid ideas work out. As I like to remind him, “I’LL DO WHAT I WANT, AND SO WILL YOU!”
Time to cut the crap. I’m feeling less pressure now that I’ve reached my set goal of 3650 items, somehow 10 items seems more acceptable. Here’s my meager offerings.
Boy’s clothing. I hate Disney licensed clothing and the boys don’t seem to care. The pants are too small. I’m giving them to Emily.
I did a little storage container maintenance and pulled these pieces out. TRASH.
I blew these boots out. Zeb glued the sole back on but I’m going to DONATE them because I don’t know if they contributed to my Plantar Fasciitis coming back.
Little chinos that Testy’s grandma Mac gave him for this birthday. He’s already outgrown them and blown out the back pocket. TRASH.