It's a dog shit dog day
Again, this is one of those days I wish this were an anonymous blog instead of one where I'm pretty sure it's read by everybody on my street, my mother, my boss, the mailman and Janet_Evanovich*. Because if this were an anonymous blog, I would go off on a long-winded, yet brilliant, rant about my neighbor Bobby and how he let his dog run loose, taking dumps all over my yard. And then how he sent me a bill to have it cleaned up. And you would be offended for me - because you don't have a vested interest in Bobby, the dog, or my lawn care. You only know as much as I tell you, and would not know Bobby, the dog or the shit personally.
Because that's how I feel right now. Except I don't have a neighbor Bobby, who doesn't have a dog, and no one has really taken a shit in my yard that doesn't already live in this house. But we could very well substitute Bobby, the dog, and the feces for other more accurate words and phrases. Then you would know how I'm feeling right now - and you would still be very offended for me, while telling Bobby what I said. Because there is a chance you know Bobby, or are related to the dog, or thought it was a particularly clever type of dog shit I'm not going to say anything else.
I'm pretty sure I'm not making any sense at all. Will, who does know all about a boy, his dog and the excrement, is going to read this and call me a big drama queen, and tell me that I need to LET IT GO.
And I will respond that I have never been able to let something go IN MY LIFE and isn't he glad that I'm talking about dogshit here on a blog instead of sitting next to him? Because I can talk about dogshit for DAYS.
*Janet Evanovich. Successful writer and good friend of my uncle. Doesn't know I exist although having a last name that begins with F, I always follow her alphabetically in the mass emails when he sends them. And since I am a hopeless name dropper with absolutely no celebrity connections I have to do what I can with what I've got.
I have a fantasy that she reads this blog (although hopefully not this entry) and contacts me to tell me her agent will be calling and has a contract worth $20 million, no $30 million, for me to sign. This is the fantasy world where I live. Nice place most of the time actually.
Because that's how I feel right now. Except I don't have a neighbor Bobby, who doesn't have a dog, and no one has really taken a shit in my yard that doesn't already live in this house. But we could very well substitute Bobby, the dog, and the feces for other more accurate words and phrases. Then you would know how I'm feeling right now - and you would still be very offended for me, while telling Bobby what I said. Because there is a chance you know Bobby, or are related to the dog, or thought it was a particularly clever type of dog shit I'm not going to say anything else.
I'm pretty sure I'm not making any sense at all. Will, who does know all about a boy, his dog and the excrement, is going to read this and call me a big drama queen, and tell me that I need to LET IT GO.
And I will respond that I have never been able to let something go IN MY LIFE and isn't he glad that I'm talking about dogshit here on a blog instead of sitting next to him? Because I can talk about dogshit for DAYS.
*Janet Evanovich. Successful writer and good friend of my uncle. Doesn't know I exist although having a last name that begins with F, I always follow her alphabetically in the mass emails when he sends them. And since I am a hopeless name dropper with absolutely no celebrity connections I have to do what I can with what I've got.
I have a fantasy that she reads this blog (although hopefully not this entry) and contacts me to tell me her agent will be calling and has a contract worth $20 million, no $30 million, for me to sign. This is the fantasy world where I live. Nice place most of the time actually.