Teen Mom

This past holiday weekend, my roommate and I were entrusted with keeping alive something far more precious than a human baby– a wittle dogggyyyyy, awww!!!

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Teen Mom

In exchange for wine, good karma, and instagrams of me wearing a doggy baby bjorn, we agreed to walk and feed this precious creature of God, Rufio.

I was really excited to do it because since moving to California from New Hampshire, I’ve been missing my Chiweenies (chihuahua/dachshund), Henry and Wilbur:

Bone Thugs

Bone Thugs

I was getting the itch to have something around the house that’s more pathetic and adorable than me, and I had begun thinking about how fun it would be to have my own dog. Though I can barely afford food for myself, and I’m not even allowed to have dogs in my apartment, once I get an idea in my head, I can’t get it out (unless there’s a Law and Order: SVU marathon on).

So playing puppy parents to Rufio came at the perfect time.425028_10152827182745144_417404990_nDo you remember how on every 90’s kid’s show, there was an episode where for a class  the cast had to pair up and “raise” an egg or baby doll for a week, as I guess, some form of birth control instead of just passing out free condoms and saving everyone the trouble? Well, I always thought that looked so fun, and through taking care of Rufio for the weekend, I finally got to live out my Saved By The Bell dreams.

At first, it was great that Jillian and I finally had a reason to get out of bed in the morning, and Rufio is the most well behaved, loving pup-pup two lesbian adoptive parents could ask for. Seriously, what’s the point of a farmers market if you don’t have a dog or baby strapped to your chest to stroll around with?

But, I think 3 days of parenting was long enough. I remembered how hard it is to care for a living thing if your parents aren’t there doing 90% of the work. Though we suddenly had a reason to get out of bed in the morning, we had to get out of it sooooo earllllllyyy!

However, to our credit, I think Jill and I would make great parents. I think if we’re still single at 45 we should adopt a Somalian orphan together. Preferably, a 14 year-old who can pretty much take care of herself.

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Henry the Chiweenie, Underwear Model

I hesitated broadcasting this because I am literally airing my dirty laundry, which is exactly as gross as it sounds. I decided to just go forward with it though, since it’s probably one of the funniest things I’ve seen in a while, and I’m a stage mom and want my little Henry to be famous.

So, the other day I’m doing my thing around the house: Nate Berkus on TV while I eat  breakfast, a little Jillian Michael’s 90 Day Revolution work out, mall, blog, and general maxin’ and relaxin’. I went back into my room and found Henry, my chihuahua and dachshund mix, out cold on my bed, wearing my underwear as a necklace.

Stop. How can I even be mad at this?

A Day in the Life

Date: 3.12.12 (a Monday) 

Morning: I wake up to this email from my mother:

These emails are pretty routine- most emails from my mom include tips on not getting raped and stuff about dogs. I’ve mentioned before (like in my tips for not getting murdered/molested post) I am very cognizant of my surroundings.

You know those women who think that every guy is hitting on them? I’m like that except, I think every guy is going to murderer me (though, I think men do this more… strippers and Starbuck’s baristas don’t actually like you. They’re paid to put their boobies in your face and be polite…respectively). Like that email my mom sent is about how you should always know exactly how much cash you have on you because there’s some serial murderer/rapist/racist/cannibal man on the loose at gas stations going up to women and telling them they dropped five dollars. Then when the lady goes to take the money this MAN (dammit, MEN!) throws her into a white van or something. So, moral of the story, if someone tells you that you dropped money, they are trying to rape you.

Back to my day.

Afternoon: I fielded some text messages from people asking if I actually got a letter from Lindsay Lohan, which I did not.

Then I wasted a good chunk of time doing this:

  {Doesn’t Henry look like one of the Hyenas from The Lion King? He’s scratching his ear, he doesn’t normally look like this}

{Wilburrrrr}

Night: At work (I waitress) I watched two gay guys fight for 3 hours at the bar. To help you get a visual, they looked like this:

          

{Ryan Stiles with a goatee, kinda & Josh Strickland from Holly’s World}

Josh ended up slapping Ryan, but Josh could do better than RSwG, anyway (not because he was better looking, but because Ryan was giving money to his ex-boyfriend and meeting him for drinks and not telling Josh! Oh, no no no no no), so I don’t think it’s a big loss for him.

After they stormed out, I had a party of 15 who walked in about an hour before we were supposed to close at 9:30, and I didn’t end up getting home ’til almost midnight and didn’t even get much of a tip out of it.

Later that Night: I went home and dried my tears with my student loan bills.

Introducing Henry and Wilbur

I thought I would take this time to introduce you all to Wilbur and Henry (chocolate and caramel, respectively).

Henry and Wilbur are a chihuahua/dachshund mix, brothers, and about a year and a half old.

I hesitated writing this post because it might not be fair to make you look at pictures of my pets because in general, I do not care to see your pictures unless your animal is doing something funny and/or dressed up as another animal or food.

Can you see why Wilbur dressed up as a banana split is a little different from you showing me a picture of an 80 pound non-human mammal doing nothing exciting? I also feel this way about babies. Unless you are a close relative or friend, then I have no interest in your child unless it’s sleeping in a hollowed out watermelon Anne Geddes-style. I will do such a good job making you believe I care, but I assure you, smiling babies and golden retrievers do nothing for me. And don’t you dare show me a picture of your cat unless it’s holding a pencil and doing long-division.

Strangely enough, though, I’m interested in holding anyone’s baby and all small dogs on the street appeal to me. I even go so far as to make a concerted effort to avoid running over the neighborhood cat that always hangs out in our front yard. What I’m trying to say is that I’m a bleeding heart animal lover, so I must show you pictures of my fur babies. Sorry if you can’t grasp this thought process.