fail blog
I am such a loser!!
On Friday me and the Roo ate 2 Lafayette specials with our hands. Wings, slaw, jello, rice pudding, you name it, we finger fucked it. We watched the BBC documentary on objectosexuals which inspired us to enter into our own polyamorous relationships with bike racks and garbage cans. Then when we showed up half an hour late to the dead bunnies NYC art collective performance thing, they wouldn't let us in. Afterwards I went over to the Woos' for MJ and my dog bit one of their dogs. I still feel sick to my stomach horrible about it. Ya know, once in a while I think I might actually have the training and precautions down and then something like this happens. I guess I will never control everything. I just sent a message to my canine behaviour specialist. If Bowie drops the growling and snapping, because it never works to keep other dogs at bay, we are going to have a big problem. She is a great dog, she's so motivated and so smart, and she's doing amazing in our training. I don't want to kill her spirit and make her miserable with a muzzle because of our consistent failure to keep dogs away from her butt.
We are going to be OK though, somehow, I think. I mean I'll be leaving the monster at home, so maybe we'll only play MJ once every two weeks, but the more time (and now trauma!) I spend with Coco the more I like her. That's saying a lot, for me. Usually I just hate, plus we are really really different. I must be getting old.
Saturday, oh my GOD, what a disaster. Well except for Bowling Alley Babes (me an the gang down at the bowling alley). That was awesome. Everything else went up in a fiery ball, from the crowded, snail paced public transportation ride back to the horrendous spank party to the other awful thing that words can't even describe to the CCA being closed to the Belgo being closed. I went to bed at five am for absolutely no good reason. Nuit blanche my fucked with shit, tent pitched, sitting on the toilet crying from exhaustion ASS. More like Nuit everything still closes at 3 or before but there will be many more cretins in the streets. I'm not being serious about the crying on the toilet, that's just a dream. I can't cry. I want to, but I couldn't do it to save my life right now.
On Sunday I spent about five and a half hours on public transit to go pick up my buddy at the Dougie, take her to the ends of the Earth and then bring her back. It was worth it or something, I mean I'm glad I did it, but fuck. Butt fuck. Also there was a power outage, so we didn't get to see how the movie ends. I told her I would have loved being in the mall during a power failure like that as a kid. As an adult, not so exciting. That night I was in no shape to deal with the mountain of dishes and miscellania inhabiting my apartment, so I hiked over to the beard's. Yesterday morning I left my purse in a tree in the park and slipped and slid my way back there half an hour later, no jacket on, hyperventilating. It was still there. Good thing all those people walking by the park didn't think to look up into the trees for a bright Le Sportsac full of I don't know wallet, makeup and like fucking important shit.
Then I bled. I also had the pleasure of coming home from work to piles of diarrhea that had been stepped in by four little paws. It was EVERYWHERE. I should note that at this point I was almost OK with it, I mean I practically expected something like that to happen. I was not mad. But Bowie felt so bad about soiling the den, even though I reassured her and praised her for being so good waiting for me where I asked, she was still totally sad and adorable. She really breaks my heart. Everything I love in life kills me.
On Friday me and the Roo ate 2 Lafayette specials with our hands. Wings, slaw, jello, rice pudding, you name it, we finger fucked it. We watched the BBC documentary on objectosexuals which inspired us to enter into our own polyamorous relationships with bike racks and garbage cans. Then when we showed up half an hour late to the dead bunnies NYC art collective performance thing, they wouldn't let us in. Afterwards I went over to the Woos' for MJ and my dog bit one of their dogs. I still feel sick to my stomach horrible about it. Ya know, once in a while I think I might actually have the training and precautions down and then something like this happens. I guess I will never control everything. I just sent a message to my canine behaviour specialist. If Bowie drops the growling and snapping, because it never works to keep other dogs at bay, we are going to have a big problem. She is a great dog, she's so motivated and so smart, and she's doing amazing in our training. I don't want to kill her spirit and make her miserable with a muzzle because of our consistent failure to keep dogs away from her butt.
We are going to be OK though, somehow, I think. I mean I'll be leaving the monster at home, so maybe we'll only play MJ once every two weeks, but the more time (and now trauma!) I spend with Coco the more I like her. That's saying a lot, for me. Usually I just hate, plus we are really really different. I must be getting old.
Saturday, oh my GOD, what a disaster. Well except for Bowling Alley Babes (me an the gang down at the bowling alley). That was awesome. Everything else went up in a fiery ball, from the crowded, snail paced public transportation ride back to the horrendous spank party to the other awful thing that words can't even describe to the CCA being closed to the Belgo being closed. I went to bed at five am for absolutely no good reason. Nuit blanche my fucked with shit, tent pitched, sitting on the toilet crying from exhaustion ASS. More like Nuit everything still closes at 3 or before but there will be many more cretins in the streets. I'm not being serious about the crying on the toilet, that's just a dream. I can't cry. I want to, but I couldn't do it to save my life right now.
On Sunday I spent about five and a half hours on public transit to go pick up my buddy at the Dougie, take her to the ends of the Earth and then bring her back. It was worth it or something, I mean I'm glad I did it, but fuck. Butt fuck. Also there was a power outage, so we didn't get to see how the movie ends. I told her I would have loved being in the mall during a power failure like that as a kid. As an adult, not so exciting. That night I was in no shape to deal with the mountain of dishes and miscellania inhabiting my apartment, so I hiked over to the beard's. Yesterday morning I left my purse in a tree in the park and slipped and slid my way back there half an hour later, no jacket on, hyperventilating. It was still there. Good thing all those people walking by the park didn't think to look up into the trees for a bright Le Sportsac full of I don't know wallet, makeup and like fucking important shit.
Then I bled. I also had the pleasure of coming home from work to piles of diarrhea that had been stepped in by four little paws. It was EVERYWHERE. I should note that at this point I was almost OK with it, I mean I practically expected something like that to happen. I was not mad. But Bowie felt so bad about soiling the den, even though I reassured her and praised her for being so good waiting for me where I asked, she was still totally sad and adorable. She really breaks my heart. Everything I love in life kills me.