So I finally met the owner of the other chow dog in the neighborhood and as it turns out it’s the maid and driver that take care of him. (SHOCKER!)
She voices her concern about the size of my dog.
“Isn’t he too small for his age?”
“He’s perfectly healthy.”
“Why is his tail so long? Are you sure he’s a full-bred chow?”
“I don’t really care; he’s a great dog.”
When the dogs meet, her dog “Marley” (clearly a Jennifer Aniston buff) starts growling at my dog. As a reaction, I gave him one authoritative yell that made him back off.
“WOW! How did you do that? That’s amazing! Did you see that [to the maid and driver]? You should learn from her.”
What I wanted to say:
“Lady, what your dog needs is some attention! Do you see any other crazy chick walking around talking to her dog instead of getting her nails done?! NO! It’s just me and the drivers on these streets. It’s really exhausting, but I love my dog and he needs his walk and I’m just really tired. Hold me.”
What I did say:
“I had to learn that from a dog trainer; let me give you her number, she really helped me a lot with my dog.”
She then reveals that they’re giving away the dog because she’s allergic to his hair or something, so no play dates.
Moral of the story: I’m cranky and look after your pets.
Anonymous asked: what kind of puppy is yours?
Bowie’s a chow chow.
I am so calm I could host an NPR show
I just like to toss a grenade and run away.
it’s better than nice, it’s freaking awesome
Because of human error propagated by a virulent ideology skillfully camouflaged as science, millions of American families are losing their homes, 100 million people in the world stand to lose their jobs and a generation has been deprived of the hope it deserves. — Edward Fullbrook
A work of fiction.
Once upon a month ago, an Indian guru/psychic stopped me in the middle of boring Geneva to tell me my fortune. It began with telling me that certain obvious birth marks are a sign of good luck; how I will live a long life and do great things. Naturally, I wanted to go along with it since I’ve never been to a fortune teller and so I was intrigued.
To my disappointment however, he wasn’t that good. He told me how I will meet a nice muslim boy and we will have 3 kids, two of which will be twins. He went on saying that I should eat more strawberries (for good luck) and surround myself with LIONS (metaphorically of course). All of this was boring me out up to a point where he asked me where I’m from.
“My last girlfriend was Kuwaiti.”
“Oh really? That’s cool.”
“Yes, lots of Kuwaitis and Saudis come to see me to read their fortune.”
“Oh no way.”
“But you see Kuwaiti women don’t like men.”
“Umm, what do you mean?”
“They only want women. You see they are lesbians. Do you know what lesbian means?”
At this point, I was more shocked of his question than his wild assumption that ALL Kuwaiti women are lesbians.
“Umm yeah. I have to get going so…”
He then told me something about his charity helping orphans so I dropped him 20 Francs for the entertainment and took off, spending the rest of my day feeling completely weirded out and stupid.
Moral of the story: Eat more strawberries.