The tales of two pernicious pugs and their doormat.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
But I won't kill my lovely hairdresser - he tried his best, and everyone said it looked so cute, but they're all employees, so I say they HAVE to say it looks cute. GARGH!!! Blah. Red highlights for me in 2 months.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Ratatouille: A rat, that cooks? Food that looks so delectable that I collected drool in my theatre soda cup? Yep, at the top of my list.
Death At A Funeral: Pure British Gold. You want a movie that makes you pee your pants non-stop throughout the film? This is it.
300: THIS IS...SPARTA! Tee hee hee... Nearly naked men, bloodshed galore, Rodrigo Santoro (even if he does look a little cheesy).... geez, it even got MY testosterone pumping.
No Country For Old Men: You want a disturbing movie? You want a movie that practically at the beginning makes you think, "Oh, the good guy is totally f*cked." This is it. It'll haunt you for days.
Juno: Morbidly funny flick that had me crying half the time. It's special.
Shoot 'Em Up: Having a guy have sex with stunning Monica Bellucci while shooting a bunch of goons after him? That's called Not Taking Yourself Seriously. And that's what makes this flick so much fun.
Death Proof: You know, I have to admit I'm just not a fan of Quentin Tarantino. I don't see anything interesting in most of his work. And I usually don't get why people say he's a freakin' genius. But Death Proof? Death Proof was great. But then, when you have a bunch of sexy girls beating the crap out of a middle-aged creep, you've got my respect there.
28 Weeks Later: I love zombies and vampires, but it's so rare to come across an actually decent flick featuring either. 28 Weeks Later is more than a decent flick, and it's just as enjoyable as the first. Zombies kick ass!
The Bourne Ultimatum: The Bourne Identity was all right. The Bourne Supremacy was a little less than all right. The Bourne Ultimatum... well, it was a LOT more than all right.
The Mist: Creepy S**t. And I'm not talking about the monsters. I'm talking about the crazy-psycho-killer people. And the end? Wow. Just, wow.
There were a few others that I did enjoy, but not enough to post on the Top 10 list, so sorry movies. You entertained me, but I shall not honor you. Or promote you. For now.
And now I shall leave you with a Merry Christmas to all, especially Tam, Cinnkitty, Jessie, Karly, Sue, and Pinkbowshoe.
And I shall go remove Celeste from the potty pads. She somehow believes that lying on top of them is comfortable. Thank God I just replaced them and there's no actual potty on them. Stupid dog.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
But anyway, that really wasn't what this post was going to be about. I was just going to complain about finals. Yeah, finals weren't very fun. Since I barely slept, I was exhausted AND couldn't concentrate, so taking a test with a time limit? Soooo not a good idea. But I did, and I was officially done by Tuesday at 4. Awesomeness. I don't feel relieved, but I think that's because it hasn't really kicked in yet that I can chill for the next 3 weeks. I've been really busy cleaning up my apartment for my parents' visit next week, and today I finally finished. I still need to get groceries and whatnot, but that's cool. I can do that. That's the easy part.
So now I'm going to head off and finish uploading some songs to my iPod and then go to sleep, since I'm really tired and I don't think I've caught up with all my missed sleep yet.
So Merry Christmas, ya'll, and I'll try to post something closer to Christmas. Toodles!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
So like I said, I'm blissfully sleeping in. When I hear a loud crash against my bedroom door. Which is sufficient to wake me up and think for a second what could possibly have caused that noise. Then I hear growling pugs and figure, "They're playing rough today." Like they always do. But Babs usually tires out quickly and goes off to chew on his rawhide. Not today. Today they decided, "Hey, let's be SO loud and rough that Mommy can't go back to sleep! Yeah!" So I'd adjust my sleeping position, try to fall back asleep, and then...BANG! CRASH! KABLAM! KABOOM! GRRR! BAM! Then relative silence. I'd adjust, try to fall back asleep, then....BANG! DOUBLE KABLAM! CRASH! And repeat. Over and over and over again. So Mommy couldn't go back to sleep. So Mommy got up and showered, dressed, and ran off to her BF's house so she could nap in peace. Which she will do right after she's finished with this blog entry. Ciao!
Friday, December 7, 2007
Okay, well, maybe just the skin on my tattoo area. I went from the very-tender-recently-tattooed skin to the scabby-skin-falling-off tattooed skin. Which I guess is good - it means I'm healing really quickly. But the downside is - I AM ITCHING SOOOOO BAD!!! Every time I touch my back, I can feel the scabs peeling off and all I want to do is rip them off and scratch like a maniac. But like every tattooed person knows, I....MUST...NOT....SCRATCH. Otherwise I risk damaging my tattoo. And I wouldn't want that. But I'm dying! I NEED to scratch, people! NEED IT! ARGH!
Okay, that's enough complaints for today. Toodles for now.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Monday, December 3, 2007
Yay! Me excited!
So, for those of you curious about the procedure, I will let you know the gorey details. Mwahahahahaha.
So, I get there at 12 on the dot. Nervous - well, just a little. After reading tons and tons of stories from tattoo "survivors", I was pretty sure that I needed a few essentials - namely, a blankie, something to entertain me (in this case, a Zombie book), and some juice and snacks to keep me from fainting. And my credit card, of course.
My tattoo artist, David (who owns his own shop - Ink Lab), let me look over the drawing again and talked about the colors with me. Afterwards, he set up his workstation and brought me in. While pondering what comfy clothes to wear yesterday, I eventually came to the conclusion that I'd have to take my shirt off. Fortunately, I didn't have to - he just rolled it up and taped it. So I could preserve my dignity. Yay.
So far, I was feeling pretty good. A little nervous, but reading the book helped me chill out. And then..... I heard the buzzing of the tattoo gun. That's the part when my heart decided to pack its bags and jump out my mouth. But as soon as the gun turned off, I was back to "chill" mode.
Finally he gets ink on the gun and starts the first line. Wow. Just, wow. I mean, I won't say it didn't hurt - for a moment, I wondered if I could really take three hours of this, but as soon as he moved the gun away from my skin, the pain stopped instantly. The first few lines hurt, and the longer he kept the needles in my skin, the more it hurt - and just when I couldn't take any more, he'd stop and move on to another place. Soon, thankfully, my back sorta numbed and only a few lines really hurt. So many people have tried describing how it feels like - let me tell you: it feels like needles being jammed into your skin. THAT'S how it feels like. Well, okay - most of the time I guess I could compare it to a bee sting. A repetitive, LONG bee sting. Sometimes it felt like he was digging REALLY deeply into my skin, but maybe it was just that particular area being very sensitive.
So two hours later, there I sat, reading my zombie book and chilling. Despite the fact that it lasted for nearly three hours, it didn't feel that long. Time passed rather quickly. I didn't complain, say anything, grimace, ask for breaks, or basically anything. I was the perfect client. Now, that may sound rather childish, but people, give me a break! This is my first tattoo, and it took nearly 3 hours to get done - so I get to gloat and rub it in people's faces, darnit! The last half hour or so hurt a lot more - I think the numbness went away, and by this time, my skin had been run over with the needles so many times it was very tender - so I felt every line. It hurt. I got to the point where I had to ask, "Um, how far along are we?" To which he replied, "Oh, we're done." DOUBLE yay! So he put a bandaid on (a LARGE one), taped me up, and sent me on my way (well, after paying, of course).
So now I'm sitting at home watching the Golden Girls and trying to figure out a way to fall asleep with touching my back. All in all, it was a great experience - I've always wanted a tattoo since I knew what they were, and this step has helped me feel more free to experiment with more in the future. I can't post pictures right now, because I'm taped up for the next four hours, but I will post pictures later today or tomorrow.
In conclusion, getting the tattoo hurt, but not unbearably so, and I think that if you really want to get one, go ahead and don't worry about the pain. Although I would suggest getting something smaller than what I did - just because having your first tattoo sitting be three hours long is kinda intense. And avoid the spine. Everyone says it hurts - and they're right. But like I said before, if you really want it, the pain shouldn't be what stops you - it's bearable.
So toodles, until later!
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
So that was my Thanksgiving. Then I came home and worked on stuff and vegged out on the couch re-watching The Incredibles and The Iron Giant (both awesome movies).
But that's really not the best news of the past week - the BEST news is that I've finally gone and found a great tattoo artist, given him my idea for a tattoo, waited for him to draw it up, and scheduled a date for the tattoo (Dec the 9th). This really has happened over the course of two months (he was booked until early Nov) - but we talked early in Nov, and he drew up the tattoo on Monday. I've been reading BME (Body Modification Ezine) for MONTHS, reading stories of what to look for in good artists, what to expect, people's experiences, and it's really helped me a lot in my whole tattoo experience. I read a LOT of stories where the tattoo artist drew up the tattoo, and the client took one look at it and fell in love. Now, because people are so unique, I figured that this would probably not be the case in my situation, which is fine. My artist made it clear that he'd be more than happy to modify his drawing until I was satisfied with it. So when I went in Monday, I was ready to say, "Um, I want this changed, and this, and this....."
But guess what? He pulls out the sheet, I take one look, and go...... "OMG! It's.....perfect!" It was honestly the most gorgeous design I've ever seen. I couldn't even begin to think of any cons -all I could do was stare at it and go, "I want it on me NOW, NOW, NOW!"
Now, I chose something that a lot of girls get - flowers. But not just any flowers - I chose three different types of orchids, which will be lined up vertically on my back. When I picked out the orchids, I couldn't imagine how he'd be able to do them justice, and just from seeing a lot of flower tattoos online, I've noticed that most aren't really all that pretty and delicate. They're usually just a clump of basic colors, and that's not what I want. But now - NOW I know that my tattoo artist is really talented, and knows exactly what I want. So, yay! Yay! The only downside to this is that the tattoo is going to take about 3 hours to complete (in one sitting), and I'm going to blow quite a big wad of money on it. The 3 hours bothers me more than the money - I'm willing to pay as much as necessary to ensure that the tattoo is as perfect as possible (after all, it will be on my body forever). But I'm a HUGE wussy when it comes to pain, and I have a feeling I'll be in utter torture for those three hours - the tattoo is going to be directly over my spine, and I've heard the spine area is VERY painful. But, oh well. What can I do? I'm more than willing to endure 3 hours. So I will. And when it's done, I'll post pictures for you all to see.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Now, my daily route to school uses that street - however, right when I get to the school, I have to perform a left turn to get to my parking ramp that's RIGHT THERE. Which means that every time I drive to school, I face BAZILLIONS of cars coming the opposite way. Normally, this would not faze me. After all, my stop light has a left turn light. Well, it did. Until the bridge collapsed. Then whoever controls traffic lights decided that, "Hey! Let's turn the left turning light off! I mean, no one ever uses it! We just put it there years ago because we felt like it! Whoo-hoo!" (note my sarcasm). So now I have BAZILLIONS of cars cutting me off from making that VERY IMPORTANT turn. And I wait. And wait. And wait. And wait. Every single day, I wait at least 3 stop light cycles, if not more, in the morning when I get to school. Then when I leave for dinner and come back around 5, I wait ANOTHER 3 stop light cycles. And let me tell you - having to do this EVERY SINGLE DAY for months has slowly been driving me B-A-N-A-N-A-S. There's a left turning light RIGHT THERE, installed, ready for use, but NO ONE TURNS IT ON. So finally I snapped last week and sent in a complaint to the city telling them that it is IMPOSSIBLE to make a left turn during rush hour traffic, and it is MOST frustrating.
They sent an email back saying that their investigation would take 5 days.
I thought, "Cool", and then went and played with my pugs.
Today I'm driving to school, and see car lights shining like little firefly butts waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyy into the distance. Oh, crap, not again. So I get to my stop light, and get ready to wait a good 10 minutes before I can turn. Then, to my utter shock, I see a little green arrow pointing to the left. An arrow, people! AN ARROW! My turning light! It's there! So before the mirage disappears, I turned and parked in my ramp.
Then I got out, screamed, "I WIN, RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC!!!!! KISS MY ASS, SUCKERS!!!" and start into Barry Manilow's "It's A Miracle".... "a true blue spectacle, a miracle come true". Well, maybe I didn't say it out loud, but my MIND was screaming it. And that's all that matters.
Friday, November 9, 2007
So I get home, and I give one rawhide to Celeste and another one to Babar. Celeste's mouth isn't big enough YET to bite down on the rawhide, but she can nibble on it if she puts her paws on top to hold it down. Babar grabs his and runs away.
I turn around and start the put the groceries away, when I hear growling and barking. I turn, and see that Babar has abandoned the rawhide I gave him and is growling at Celeste, who's nibbling away at hers. I grab his, show it to him, put it near his mouth, and he latches onto it and runs away again.
I get back to the kitchen, but before long I hear a high-pitched yipping. That's definitely not Babar. I get back to the pugs and I see that Celeste has abandoned her rawhide and is yipping at Babar to get HIS. I grab her and show her HER rawhide, and she grumbles and goes away with it.
I go BACK to the kitchen, when soon enough, I hear growling. I go back and see Babar swipe Celeste's rawhide from her mouth, and then run and hide in their mutually-shared doghouse. I peek inside and see him staring at me, all grumbly-looking, as if to say, "WHAT?! It's MINE! All mine now. That bitch better not bother me again."
Geez! These pugs drive me insane. And as I write this, they've decided to both settle at my feet and eat their rawhides. And Celeste just tried to steal his. He nearly bit her nose off in defense. Ugh. It's just like me and my sister when we were 6. Blah.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
1. I'm in the kitchen, chilling with The Babs, checking some stuff out on my computer (specifically where to buy a frying pan with a frackin' cover. I can NEVER find a frying pan with a cover....).
(NOTE: You pug owners out there know what the Pugtona is. For those of you that don't, it's when your pug goes insane from happiness or ADD or something, and begins to run around in circles like Hell is trying to bite their tail.)
2. I have just installed a brand-new toilet paper roll in the OPEN bathroom.
3. You know where this is going, don't you?
4. Celeste is nowhere to be seen.
5. Suddenly I see this flash of black streaking across the kitchen floor with a trail of white behind it. It takes me a second to figure out that it's Celeste, and then another second to figure out that that lovely, perfectly white, perfectly cut white trail is my toilet paper roll. By this time, she's circled the kitchen table and headed back towards the bathroom.
6. Telling a crazed pug to stop and drop the TP doesn't work. She just looks at you with eyes that you could swear are turning around in circles. And keeps on running.
7. So yes. My house was TPed. Celeste performed the Pugtona for the first time ever. Hmm, well, at least I know she's a real pug.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Anyway, more videos to come - pictures too. I'm just too lazy to get them off my camera and into the laptop. So toodles for now!
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Djimon Hounsou - CK underwear model and actor...
Olivier Martinez - stunning in Unfaithful and The Horseman on the Roof
Monica Bellucci - the perfect example of Italian beauty
Angelina Jolie - some say she's trashy, I still think she's gorgeous.
Friday, October 5, 2007
As for Celeste's potty accidents, I'm taking it in stride I guess. Babar was worse, not because of his accidents, but because my house was not as pug-proof as it is today. So it's much easier to clean up these days. The BF isn't too happy about waking up to a few little brown balls lying around the living room, but then, he isn't too happy about any dog that lives inside the house. I don't give a crap. They're mine, I paid about $1000 for them (not including vet fees, food, and other things), and I keep them alive - so shut it, Mr. He does have a soft spot for Babs, though - they're buddies, the only men in a household of messy women (well, women being me and Celeste). But anyway, this video is just a little sample of what happens between Babar and Celeste every...single...day. Like I said, they just don't stay still for a minute anymore. Unless I catch them at 5 in the morning snoring like fat, balding men in their bed. Also, this is what Babar would do with ME until he finally found a better replacement in Celeste - of course, I wouldn't bark back. :) I think he prefers Celeste.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
I want my pug. NOW.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Monday, September 3, 2007
1 little box of fresh raspberries
1 little bottle of good honey
Put raspberries on a plate. Pour honey on the side. Pick up raspberry and dip in honey. Put in mouth. Enjoy!
(I bought some today as a romantic snack for the bf and I. He left to keep watch on the Jamaican election - I stayed home, watched Flash Gordon and ate the entire box. That's what happens when you leave me alone at home with dessert and don't padlock the fridge.)
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
After enduring a not-so-bad plane ride home (as I get older, I start to hate the discomfort of plane rides more and more), we drove to pick up my pug baby and see what he was up to. Now, I should probably let you know that we left him with some family friends who happen to have 3 dogs, one of which is the Energizer Bunny in disguise. I swear, that dog does NOT have an OFF button. And Babar is sorta like that, except for the fact that he's overweight, so he eventually gets tired and dozes it off for a bit. Now, I knew that they'd get along great, but I didn't suspect the extent of her influence on him. So we open the door, and out runs this skinny little rodent that somewhat resembles a pug - my first thought being, "OMFG! They killed my pug and replaced him with this rat!" But alas, it really was my baby boy (minus what I lovingly term his "baby fat"). I'd only been gone for a bit more than 2 weeks, and he's lost more weight than I've been able to this entire summer (and believe me, that's another story that will be told). It was that damn Energizer Bunny dog's fault - even the Boyfriend remarked, "That's not a PUG! Where's all the fat?!" So, alas, it's time for a chicken/ham/meat only diet from now on - to get him back to his glorious puffy state. :)
And that was on Friday.
On Tuesday, I went and fell in love with my new baby, Celeste. Like I've mentioned before, I'm getting a pal for the Pug, a girl this time, and her name MUST be Celeste (Babar & Celeste - the old Babar the Elephant stories? Look it up.) And I'd finally been invited by the breeder to come down and pick out my girl (and put down the deposit, of course). So I went with the Boyfriend and the Pug, to hopefully see whether he prefers one. There were only two girls, but...oh my...I fell in love with the first one handed to me. She was just so precious - I picked her up and she covered my face with kisses and wagged her tail so hard her butt was moving from side to side. I...MUST...HAVE...HER. To hell with Babar's wishes. Now, Babar has been changed forever by his time with the Energizer Bunny - he now believes that all dogs like to play and chase him around and play-bite his legs and ears. So when they don't, he gets miffed and starts barking his discontent. So when he saw that the other girl puppy wasn't quite interested in chasing him around, he started whining. So I put down MY girl and she immediately proceeds to chase him around the living room. Ah, it was meant to be. I was so delighted that I had to stop myself from grabbing her and running out the door, screaming, "Mine!! My precious!! Mine!" And the puppy breath? I LOVE the puppy breath. I've reminded the Boyfriend to NEVER EVER EVER let me breed any dog - I will not let ANY of the puppies leave the house. And then we'll end up with 50 dogs running around and I'll be labelled the crazy dog lady. And we don't want that.
So yes, we paid the deposit and decided to pick her up the 14th of September - just two days after my birthday. She'll be my little present. I can't wait! I've gotten used to the whole puppy housebreaking thing, and the house is more than pug proofed, so it shouldn't be a problem this time. I feel like dancing around and shaking my booty to Peaches & Herb's "Shake Your Groove Thing". Couldn't take any pictures - well, we did, but they ended up all fuzzy because the babies were running around too quickly. Oh, well. Next time. :)
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Regardless, I'm still only half done, and I have a little work to finish (as in, job work, not clean work) - so I'd better get back to it. For those of you wondering, I (and the bf) will be in Quito, Ecuador for the next two weeks (where some of my family lives), and then I'm flying to Miami to visit the bf's family. So yay - I love vacations. Way more than I should. Toodles, all!
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Monday, July 23, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
Which reminds me, I always thought the whole meditation-relaxation-stress-relief thing was a joke, and that anyone could just sit cross legged and breathe deeply and relax for 10 minutes or so. HA! I was so so very wrong. In my desperation, I'm tried to just relax - calm myself - focus on breathing - picture the air coming in and out... but after 2 seconds of it, the voices rush back in and start screaming even louder to be heard. Damn, that meditation stuff is hard. I really don't know what to do - I guess part of writing this post was to vent (I apologize for having so many "venting" posts lately), but also to maybe get your advice. Anyone have any ideas on how to shut those godawful little voices???? I'm desperate here. Well, not nearly so, but I'm getting there. School will start in a month, and I cannot be in this state when I start. It will not bode well for my studying. Well, it's very late, much later than my normal bedtime, but I can't sleep (I bet you can't guess why...). But I'll do my best or lay in bed with my eyes closed until morning. Whichever comes first. :)
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Places I've stayed at longer than 24 hours:
Places I've stayed at less than 24 hours:
Places I've used the bathroom at:
Now it's your turn to vote and decide - and if any of you have visited any of these places, I'd LOVE to hear your opinion about it or your experiences. I'm a travel junkie (as must be evident by now), so I love listening to anything related to traveling. Toodles!
Monday, July 16, 2007
Family issues are still around, but it seems like it'll all blow over if they cooperate. Which I've strongly advised them to do. But still - I'm normally a very anxious person, and when it comes to my family's problems, I cannot manage to stop worrying until I know the problem has been cleared up. Having depression doesn't help either - usually my medication is more than enough for me to float through a normal day, but if I have big problems, I find it impossible to sleep and spend the rest of the day with little voices in my head describing the worst possible scenario that could happen. It drives me insane.
Ick. Okay, that's enough depressing talk for now. I did hear good news today, though. I'm currently in the process of buying a black pug puppy, who should be ready to come home around September. Today I got word that she was finally born - the mommy popped out EIGHT puggies. Eight! That's a ridiculously huge amount for a pug. Six boys and two girls. And one of those girls will be mine soon. Yay! I'm so excited - I can't wait to have another little pugger running around the house terrorizing all the ants. I should be getting pictures sometime this week, and when I do, I'll post them up. I've heard some people say that they just don't like pugs - but as you will discover soon, pug puppies are just ridiculously adorable. You can't NOT like a pug puppy. Maybe a pug dog. But NOT a pug puppy.
All right - time to go to bed. I promise I'll devote more time to blogging - I've just been horribly busy this week. Toodles!
Monday, July 9, 2007
Let me explain.
Today I wake up feeling sick. I run to work to drop off my timesheet to get paid, and I effectively lock myself out of the house. So I can't get back in, or crawl through any window because they're all closed. On the way to school, my engine starts overheating and the "Check Oil" sign turns on. So I check and realize there's got to be a leak somewhere with the engine oil AND the coolant, since I had recently replaced both. So yay. I go to school, drop off my timesheet, and manage to break down into embarrassing tears in front of my two bosses while asking them for legal advice regarding a BIG problem my family just got into (which only happened because my dad was angry at my mom and wanted to do something to get back at her - and yes, they don't get along much and probably will divorce sooner than later). So I head back home and start calling locksmiths everywhere to come help - I find someone nearby who promises to drop by and open my door for $60. He comes, looks, can't manage to open the door easily, and eventually ends up charging me $90. I'm currently nearly broke, so that's a big hit to my bank account. I finally get inside the house and The Pug is really pissed off at me and starts biting my toes and tugging at my dress, prompting me to trip and smash my toes really hard into a cabinet. Now they're hurting like a mofo.
So I sit here in my room, hurting, tired, pissed off, and I STILL need to call around to figure out this whole legal mess my parents have gotten into. God, I HATE my life sometimes.
P.S. I know this isn't at all entertaining, but I really needed to get it out of my system.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Monday, July 2, 2007
For liking Rihanna's latest single, "Umbrella". I've already taken the oath never to like highly publicized singles (or at least, ignore them until they sink into obscurity) - but I just can't help myself. I find my eyes oogling Rihanna's legs as she dances in the video. You MUST watch the video - turn off the sound if you like, but watch her body move. Amazing. Is it evil of me to wish I could rip out her brain and put mine in there instead? Being short and stunt-ish isn't fair.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Now, I probably didn't, and I hope that our society hasn't become so jaded and uninterested in their fellow man that they didn't leave a dead body to rot in the sun all morning.... but I could have sworn he was dead.
Perhaps I should make myself clearer: The Boyfriend and I are driving around town this morning (10ish, probably), and we pass a busy intersection, which has a couple park benches in random spots for people to sit on. And as we pass one bench, I see this bare-chested man wearing dirty jeans, arms spread out and head tilted back. His eyes were closed, and it seemed like he had just been given a knock-out punch and had fallen back onto the bench unconscious. I would have assumed he was a homeless drunk who'd fallen asleep on the bench, if it weren't for the fact that his arms and neck were covered in what seemed to be drying blood - you could see droplets of blood sliding down as far as his abdomen. He seemed eerily still, and I couldn't detect his chest rising or falling. So, to my mind, that seems to point to all signs that he's dead - or quite injured.
I tell The Boyfriend, who didn't see it, and doesn't seem to be too worried, but we've already passed him and I don't even know whether to call in and report it. So I don't. I assume if he WAS hurt or dead, people would have noticed already, since he's sitting in the middle of such a busy intersection - but maybe everybody's like me. Maybe everybody assumes someone else will take care of it, and walk on by. Now I feel guilty about not stopping or calling someone, and I'll keep my eyes posted on the local news just in case.
Maybe it was nothing, but when a man is covered in blood, you should stop and try to help, dammit. I hate society and myself for becoming so skeptical sometimes.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Yeah, those. You know those. So I'm chatting with The Boyfriend tonight, and I'm discussing my overwhelming urge to parachute into the Amazon jungle and live off bananas and roots for the next five years - adopting a little monkey who I eventually name Yoko, who fathers a whole family I dub "Yokonites".
And he says I'm being impractical and unreasonable, to which I heartily agree (but when am I really ever reasonable? It's no fun to be reasonable). But I still insist he should take long vacations with me, feeding the Yokonites and feasting on crushed roots. Unfortunately, The Boyfriend has other things on his agenda. Things like, for example, working for the Public Defender's Office. Which is all well and good until you realize that a beginning attorney earns 1 vacation hour per week. WEEK - yes, I said week. Which, according to my sloppy calculations means he'd have to work for about 3 1/2 years before he could take a week off for vacation. What kind of retarded system is that?!
So, in shock and desperation, I order him to cease and desist all Public Defender activities and come join me and my side of The Force. Or rather, my own little private practice I'll set up when I graduate law school (the reason being cuz no one will hire me and my bad bad grades). I plan to name it Pug & Pug LLC (you know, Keller & Keller, Brown & Brown, blah blah blah). Our commercial jingle will be: "Is your dog in trouble? Has he been injured in an accident? Has your dog suffered discrimination? Has he eaten too many chicken wings? We can help! Call our offices of Pug & Pug LLC, at 1-800-PUG. We'll be waiting!" We'll even have a little V-Dub Beetle painted in brown with a speaker fixed on top that utters loud doggy barks every 10 minutes. It'll be awesome.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
And in comes someone to ruin my lovely I'm-all-by-myself Zen mode. The fella plops down on the floor and starts doing those crazy pushups you perform with 2 fingers or something. I'd never try that - they'd snap off in protest. So I'm chillin', doing my StairMaster, glancing at the clock every 2 seconds to see if I've progressed beyond my current 3 minutes of a rather lame-ass sissy workout.
And reading, of course. Every so often, I raid the Bargain section of the local Borders or Barnes and Nobles, looking for something that looks completely unintelligent and has someone being killed or stabbed or stalked or farted on. Hey, I can only concentrate so much while bicycling vigorously and swatting my tendrils of nosy hair back in place. I need brain-dead material to entertain me. Otherwise I will grow to hate the gym, and I will balloon up into an ungainly and rather unattractive 300 pounds.
So I'm reading, and stepping, and swatting hair, and drinking water. And sneaking little glances at my workout "buddy", rather jealous that he's lifting 100 pound weights in each hand like they're sticks of butter. And then I notice something that boggles my mind to this minute: my buddy is glancing at me, smiling that "you're kinda cute, do you think I'm cute too" smile, and winking every so often. I'm absolutely flabbergasted.
Now, perhaps I should explain. I understand, and have been told by some people, that I'm somewhat attractive. And this usually happens when I'm wearing the most expensive dress I own, the tallest shoes in my closet, and a bit of makeup. I've looked at myself in the morning after getting out of bed, and let me tell you, the sight is not pretty. Now, I'm one of those people that will get dressed up for everything - I'll wear a dress to go shopping for groceries. But the one thing I absolutely refuse to dress up for is the gym. In fact, I have subconsciously made it my utmost priority to look my absolute worst when I go the gym. Probably because my gym clothes look like they were made in the 70s, and I'm sweating like a pig.
So, back to the story, I'm puzzled that this fella is making ogley-eyes at me. Me, the girl in the old sweatpants and faded ugly t-shirt. The girl who's hair is pinned up, but looks strikingly similar to a volcano that's about to erupt. The girl who's face is as red as a tomato - no, make that an eggplant. Yes, I was purple from exhaustion. The man must be going delusional from all those 2-finger pushups. Or those He-Man weights. Or maybe he's crazy. Scenes from Psycho and the music from Jaws pop into my head and I grab my little towel, draping it over my shoulder like a mini-shield, and make a dash for the stairs. Once safely in my car, I realized perhaps he just has a fetish for eggplants in ugly sweats. That's probably it.
And since I wrote nothing about the pug in this entry, I shall let you all know: he's safe, he's snoring, and he's still the spawn of Satan.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
It's been going pretty good, and this week I decided to pick up a book about yoga. I've always been interested in limbering up (hell, I'd be happy just being able to do the splits), and I've heard yoga is great for that - so yoga book bought at Borders, brought home, quickly scanned while steaming broccoli, and forgotten until a more convenient time.
Today I got back from the gym sweaty and feeling like my tummy was carrying around one of those giant water cooler jugs (probably due to my over-enthusiastic consumption of water at the gym). I call out to my pug, with the usual greeting of, "Good evening, my child" (in a sinister Dracula-ish voice. I don't know why.) He jumps all over, snorts, farts and looks at his behind as if to say, "Huh? Wasn't me. Swear." and does all those other lovely pug things. I spot the yoga book lying forlornly on the kitchen counter, and decide to try it out.
So I pick the book up, read a little, lay down on the floor, and start my yoga routine. Ahh, the corpse position. Close my eyes...breathe in....and out....and in...and OUCH! I open my eyes. DevilSpawn is sitting on my chest, his little tail wagging like a torpedo, panting very very close to my face. Granted, I'm sweaty and smelly and all, but I still don't like being slobbered by a dog that eats chicken every day (hey, I'm a vegetarian. I cry for each chicken killed unnecessarily. But I get blackmailed into buying chicken every week for the pug. He's an evil mastermind, I'm telling you.) So I pick up the pug, put him far away, and return to my yoga maneuverings. Now, I'm sure if I had a Golden Retriever, or a Doberman, or a Keeshond, or even a Chihuahua, the dog would eventually tire of my antics and leave me be. However, that is NOT the case with a pug. My personal theory is that pug brains are so small, that they can only receive and remember a certain amount of information - therefore, what was newly discovered and memorized 2 seconds ago, has been erased by now. Which equals a very curious pug that never shuts up or leaves you alone. Let me tell you, that session was short. VERY, VERY short. Every time I moved a limb or finger, the pug would be there to put it in his mouth or slobber on it. And if I wanted to lie really still and concentrate, he'd make sure that I become an obstacle course, where he'd jump from my left side to my right side, usually falling on my chest in the process. Just lovely. I have a feeling he got more exercise done than I did.
And that was the end of my first try at yoga. I think I'll have to close the door next time.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Pugs: They're like owning an incredibly dumb "Evel Knievel"
But I must give credit where credit is due (read it! read it!)
And of course, the bestest explanation for pug anatomy EVER.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Not to worry, says the jolly ol' doc. It's just an allergic reaction to something - we don't know what, but heck, he probably won't go into anaphylactic shock. Somehow, I'm not reassured. After a shot or two, I wait with the pug. And wait. And wait. The pug looks at me with red little eyes that seem to say, "Moooommm? Mooomm? You're overreacting, Mom. I'm bored, Mom. I wanna eat. Food, Mom! Foooood!"
Finally we're given the OK to go home, and we pack it up and leave. Of course, the hospital's number is on my speed dial in case the pug bloats up again like a balloon. We get home, I nearly cry from relief that his face has gone down to it's normal, un-football like state. I feel him half a chicken, he wags his little tail in greedy devotion to the Almighty Chicken, and then plops down on his bed and snores away. I stare at him. He's wiggling around in contented slumber, and my pulse is still beating away like a jackhammer. I think I worry enough for the both of us.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Let me start by saying that my pug is rather quiet most of the time. Yes, he whines and moans and groans at me, but he almost never barks inside the house for barking's sake. He only barks when he senses someone at the door. So, at least with my pug, I've never known what it is like to hear him bark on and on and on for hours at a time. Thank God.
Last night, I'm feeling rather sorry for my pug, who's watching me eat some vanilla ice cream with sad mopey "how dare you not feed me, you fat thing, you" eyes. I decide it wouldn't kill him to have a scoop of ice cream, so I bring out the ice cream carton and start scooping something out. To my dismay, a large (think larger than humans should eat at one time) scoop flies out of the carton and lands on the floor. Babar immediately attacks it. Although slightly concerned at the magnitude of the scoop, I figure he'll be all right, and head to bed.
After falling blissfully asleep, I am awoken by a bark. And then another bark. And then another. And another. My first thought: "Someone's at the door." Which is scary when I live all alone in a basement apartment, and it's dark outside (hey, it doesn't take much to scare me). So I wait to see if there's a knock, but nothing happens. So after some hesitation, I roll over and fall back asleep. I am woken, seemingly seconds later, by another string of frenzied barking from DevilSpawn. Again I think someone's at the door... but no, false alarm. I roll over again and try to fall back asleep. Woken again by barking. Try to fall back asleep. Woken AGAIN by barking. Try to fall back asleep. Rinse and repeat. My body eventually decided it wasn't going to wake up fully each time the dog barked, and while in a semi-catatonic state, I could hear myself scream, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Evil pug! Shut up!"
I wake up at 1 in the morning. Complete silence. My little heart clenches up and I think, "Noooo.... my pug has died from over-barking!" I know - my brain works rather oddly during the early morning hours. I slog my way out of bed, and peek out the door. The pug is lying on his bed, content and asleep, snoring away. I fall back into my bed and curse ice cream. Never again will I listen to those mopey eyes.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
So I'm at home, doors open, house cleaned, sitting on my bum waiting for people to drop by so I can finally leave for work. The DevilSpawn is running around outside in the patio, attacking the dragonflies buzzing around.
All is well.
Then the Pug starts screaming bloody murder. Usually, this happens when he sees a human walking by - he can't help himself. I believe his thinking pattern is: "Person! Person! Play! Play! Person! Play!" Being rather entranced playing Tetris, I ignored the bum.
Then I heard it. It was a weird barking sound, a combination between Rottweiler and Chihuahua. It started with a deep growl and progressed into a high pitched “rarrf!” I couldn’t think of any dogs that lived nearby, so I popped my head out the door to see what it was. There is my pug, staring at a little boy, maybe 4 or 5 years old, who’s on the stairs leading down to my apartment. And he’s nearly down on his hands and knees, doggy-style. And barking. At my pug. I swear upon coconut ice cream, DevilSpawn turns to look at me, cocks his head to the side, as if to say, “What in all the blazing eff is that?!”
I could have died laughing.
The little boy, not to be discouraged, ups the volume of his barking. Babar looks at him for a second silently, probably wondering whether he should stoop to that level – then barks back in reply. For the next 5 minutes while the kid’s parents toured my apartment, I could hear: Pug bark, pause for kid bark, kid barks, dog barks in response, kid barks again, dog barks. And repeat.
P.S. On a side note, I want to live in Denmark. Desperately.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
- I'm addicted to ice cream. My stomach starts eating itself alive if I don't get a scoop once a day.
- I'm half Mexican, half Ecuadorian. But I've lived in good ol' US of A all my life.
- I used to change my diapers when I was a toddler. I kid you not.
- I start drooling when I think of asparagus.
- I love having my feet kissed. Not massaged, KISSED.
- I bite my tongue and cheeks every single night when I'm asleep. I've gotten used to seeing the pools of blood on my pillow when I wake up.
- When I was very little kid, I thought my caramel skin color was just dirt, and if I scrubbed hard enough with a loofah, it would turn white like my friends'. Boy was I wrong.
- I once actually thought Justin Timberlakes hair from the N*Sync days was hot. Shortly afterwards, I saw the light and shivered in disgust.
- If it's a kid movie in CGI, I will go watch it.
- The first time I thought I fell in love, I felt nauseous, lightheaded, and feverish all day. Turns out it wasn't love - just bad food.
- I'm a sucker for baths. I also yearn for the day when bathrooms will be encased within soundproof walls.
- I'm scared of my pug.
- Although I love trying different foods, I can't stand lots of spicy-ness. It might have something to do with that bowl of guacamole in 1995 with large chunks of extra-extra-extra hot chili floating around, that somehow managed to end up in my spoon, and 2 seconds later, my mouth.
- I'm a law student. But I'm not evil. Don't hate me.
- My first kiss was with fella from the Navy in Rome. Rome, Italy. On the escalator at the Termini subway station.
- I love having my back kissed. Not massaged, KISSED. And scratched too.
- I have a bottomless tummy. If I feel full, I just need to wait 5 minutes, and I'm ready for another meal. It's rather bothersome when you're trying to lose 20 pounds.
- I make feline animal sounds at random moments of the day to express different emotions. I once barked at my boyfriend. I'm not crazy, believe me.
- I love Vincent Cassel - and I don't know why. I don't think he's a great actor, I don't think he's attractive. Maybe because he's married to Monica Bellucci, my ultimate lesbian dream date.
- I think anacondas and boas are beautiful creatures.
I live in a suburban neighborhood, filled with screaming children and grass that's just five minutes away from dying a slow painful death. Here, I see squirrels and bunnies who have overcome their natural fear of all beasts much larger than themselves. They wait until said beast is only five inches away, and then take one heavy hop to the side, as if to say, "What? The sidewalk too small for you, you fat thing, you?"
I like to sit in my car sometimes after getting back from work and stare at the little fellows, digging for imaginary treats on my lawn - completely ignoring my recently parked car. Because they work in such close proximity, I always wondered - who's the boss here?
Although some would say that the precocious squirrels are at the top of the corporate chain, I would have to disagree. Yes, bunnies look gentle, sweet, and stupid. Bunnies become roadkill a lot more often than squirrels.
But I say this is all an act. Bunnies are smart, conniving little chaps. They know they look innocent and harmless, and they exploit this knowledge to its full potential. Squirrels, being ruthless loud little furballs, are recruited into the bunny fold, with promises of nuts and Pug Mom’s trash, to warn and protect the bunny population.
How else would it explain the fact that whenever I let the DevilSpawn outside, bunnies are completely absent from the picture, yet squirrels are hanging from every branch and twig, staring relentlessly at my pug? They’re the bunny security system, I’m telling you.
Unfortunately, the bunnies have overlooked a key factor: my pug doesn’t want to attack bunnies. He’s AFRAID of bunnies. He jumps in alarm whenever they appear out of the brush. After all, his only prey is the chicken in my fridge and the ants that crawl around outside. He’s such a pussy.