Happy Father's Day, Pop-Pop

After calling my dad and wishing him a happy Father's Day, I decided to humiliate my dog and make him wish "Pop-Pop" one as well.


Note the homemade hat, "hugs and kisses" balloon, sign and shameful reluctance. Each day, I'm shocked that this pup still loves me.

Anyway, happy Father's Day to all the dads out there. :-)

I'm not above fighting with old men

I have what's called a "short temper." Some days, it's shorter than others. I know this. You know this. It's just a fact.

Today, my short temper reared it's ugly head and I got into a fight with a 70-year-old man.

Don't judge me.

You see, I was walking my DEADLY MURDEROUS PIT BULL KILLING MACHINE through the neighborhood after work. As we passed one of the small parks, a child almost walked into him. Rocco halfway glanced at the kid and we kept walking... Until the kid's grandpa grabbed him and said, "That dog almost got you!"

Uh, slow reaction time aside, Gramps, I assure you, your kid was in no danger. So, because he's old and I'm trying to control my temper, I let it go.

But he didn't.

He said to the child, "That's a pit bull. That's a dangerous dog."

OH, NO YOU DIDN'T.

I whipped around and walked back to him.

"Excuse me, what did you say?" I asked in that tone.

"That's a pit bull," he said.

"Yeah, and?" I challenged.

"That's a dangerous dog, not a pet."

Well, folks, I kinda lost it on this old man. I mouthed off about how this is most certainly NOT a dangerous dog and threw in a few are-you-KIDDING-me's and dramatic eye rolls every time he tried to correct me. However, you'll be pleased to know that I did not say bad words because the kids were there. That said, it was still not a pretty scene.

He even told be how back in Mexico, he saw a pit bull attack a German Shepherd.

"That's great," I said snidely, "but you know chihuahuas and tiny dogs attack like that too. All dogs can, not just pit bulls! It's ridiculous to think otherwise, come ON."

Our exchange went on until I walked off calling him an asshole under my breath.

Meanwhile, my dog? Sat down and waited until Mommy was done arguing with an old dude.

For the rest of the walk, I was ranting and raving about the ignorance of some people and how absolutely disgusting it is that adults actually TEACH their children to fear a dog because of its breed. I was in the middle of my not-so-quiet rage when I heard a tiny voice.

"Hey, can we pet your dog?"

I turned and saw three young children behind their fence, smiling eagerly.

My heart softened and I walked The Killing Machine over to the kids. He sat down while they pet him, asked his name, giggled and single-handedly erased my anger. They were so sweet to him, blissfully unaware of the stereotypes and prejudice that we face nearly every day we walk. They made me smile, too. I almost didn't want to leave.

As Roc and I turned around to finish our walk, I was happily gearing up for Round 2 with the old man, but, alas, he had departed. (No doubt whisking his grandkids away before they had a chance to be murdered by my dog on our return route.)

Oh well, I shrugged. Can't win 'em all.

So, when enraged, go find some cute neighborhood kids to hang out with, grab a much-needed beer, cuddle with your pup and thank God you are so lucky to have such a well-behaved, gentle creature in your life.

Accidents are bad, mmmkay?

It recently occurred to me that I often write really random posts that have nothing to do with what's going on in my life. Example: how dumb kids are, my car permeating the Goog, life lessons, things I've wanted to tell people on Facebook...

Well, fasten your seat belts, kids, because I've got a doozy of an experience to share with you this week.

As you may know, my weird mom is on Twitter. I was checking her tweets on Sunday morning when I saw this:



Excuse me, WHAT?

I immediately called to see what the hell happened.

Apparently, she and my dad were driving back from a concert on Saturday night in her shit minivan. (Side note: She DID finally get a new car, but she believes it's too nice to drive to crappy places like outdoor venues.) Well, you know how sometimes the road curves and your car doesn't? That happened. Observe:




The minivan ended up flying off the road, onto the railroad tracks, halfway onto a pile of rocks. Mom's glasses flew off in the process and as she was looking for them, my dad tells her to GET OUT OF THE CAR NOW.

"But I need my glasses," she says, still searching.

"Franny," he snaps, "get OUT."

That's when she saw the train.

They both jump out of the car as the train hits the breaks. Because the train conductor saw the accident take place, he was able to stop before smashing Mom's precious van. Both parents made it out of there safely.

The cops who showed up at the scene told them that they were very lucky. Also, accidents happen in that exact spot roughly two to three times a week. Really, Tennessee? That's not a big clue that you need to put up a sign or, ya know, DO SOMETHING to stop that?

Anyway, the minivan was fixed for $81, which is probably half the value of the car, and everyone walked away just fine. Shaken, but fine. And thank God for that.

Be careful out there, people!

We shouldn't own nice things

Remember that time Dave lost his wedding ring in the snow? And then I found it? And squealed with delight?

Well, bring on the panic attacks because it's lost again.

This time, we're convinced it's somewhere in the apartment. Dave says he took it off at some point on Sunday evening and put it on the dining room table before walking the dog that night. On Monday, sans ring, we went to Home Depot, got a ton of paint and started painting the bedroom. This included moving all the furniture, sweeping and creating multiple trash bags. On Tuesday before work, Dave didn't see the ring in plain sight so we both went to work without worrying about it.

And now here we are. Wednesday. No ring.

The thing is, Dave's not the only guilty party in this whole I-lose-nice-stuff fiasco...

It also appears that I have, um, misplaced a diamond earring, part of the set he got me as a wedding gift.

So, this morning, I tore the bedroom apart looking for it -- nothing. I finally confessed to Dave that I couldn't find it. But my guilt was quickly replaced by panic when he confessed that he still couldn't find his wedding ring. We shifted into high-gear and started scouring the apartment for it... and, of course, turned up nothing. Could it have been swept into one of the trash bags from painting? Did Rocco get a hold of it? Will it ever show up again?

Start praying to St. Anthony, folks. He came through last time. Let's see if he can do it again.



UPDATE: He found it! It was buried in a bag. Perhaps it's time to get that thing insured, no?

Kids are so stupid. Or maybe it was just me.

You know how sometimes you just want kids to go away so you can have an adult conversation without worrying about saying anything bad?

Well, apparently, it's not very effective to say, "GET AWAY FROM ME, CHILD." It requires more creativity.

For my own parents, they used to tell me that it was time for "grown-up talk."

And can I tell you something?

I seriously thought they were speaking in a different language.

I KNOW, how idiotic. But when they used words like government, stock market, Reagan, Rain Man, mullet and assholes, I had no idea what they were saying. The only logical conclusion was that this mysterious grown-up talk was a new foreign language that I wouldn't learn until I was older.

I remember hiding out in the bathroom near our living room once, just hovering by the door trying to see if I could make out any of the words my parents were saying. Maybe I could teach myself some of this new language before I was a grown-up. I got caught and was sent back to my room to play with my brother and sister. (I think that's when I started grasping the concept of GOD DAMMIT.)

Anyway, I tell you this because it's important for you to know that little kids are stupid and will believe anything you tell them. So take advantage of this now, for as long as you can. Go forth and be a grown-up.

Oh, you think so?

Dave's birthday is coming up on May 27, and this is what I just found on our shared Goog calendar.




WTF. So, just in case you're wondering how 5/27/2010 will play out:

Daytime TV

I've written about the travesty that is daytime TV before. But when you're working your butt off and just want something on in the background, it's actually better that you're not totally into the crappy shows. At least, this is what I've discovered while working here, where we have TVs at our desks.




So, depending on what's doing on, here's what I may watch at any given point in the day:

9am-10am
Watch O or taping.

10am-11am
The View, even though I can't stand that Hasselback.

11am-12pm
Wendy Willlllllliams. How you derrring?

12pm-1pm
Deal or No Deal. Should be called Dealer or No Dealer because, seriously, most of those people are on DRUGS.

1pm-2pm
Afternoon taping or Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. I'm convinced that this will serve me well next time I do trivia.

2pm-3pm
You ARE NOT the father.

3pm-4pm
Ellen, because she's darling.

4pm-4:30pm
Extra, because I'm lame.

4:30-5:30
Friends, back to back.

5:30-6:00
The Office, back when it was good.

6:00-6:30
Seinfeld, while I wrap up my day.


Lately, however, I've actually gravitated towards my dear Hulu and started getting into some new shows. The latest series I'm into? Fringe. I've been watching Season 1 the last few weeks, mostly because I have a crush on Mark Valley for no real reason. Let's take a moment:



Look at that smirk! Did you know he's married to his co-star on Fringe, the blonde chick? Yet another travesty.

Moving on.

Anyway. Fringe. It's weird and creepy, but still a step above Maury, even with it's gruesome monsters and reality-suspending plots. Actually, maybe it's just like Maury...

Or, maybe it's time for me to get back to work. After all, Wendy Williams is almost on.