Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Books Are My Drugs.

I want to slap our local librarian. And she probably wants to slap me back.

Here's the deal. I'm a book addict and the library is my dealer. I get irritable and shaky if I don't get my fix. I usually race into the library in a frenzy, biting my nails off, hoping to find that perfect line. Currently, I'm running low on books, so I stopped there today. I haven't showered and probably looked a little stir crazy, which could explain the cold reception.

It started off bad. I noticed the cork board in the entrance and thought it would be a great place to advertise my website or workshops. I wasn't even going to ask, but the library makes me go into "Good Girl" mode, so I did the right thing. I asked. And the answer irritated me. "Everything on the cork board is approved by me. I'll determine if it's suitable."

I was pissed. Who says I can't take a couple of push pins and display a parenting workshop? Give me a break. I'm not advertising porn.

Here's where this deal really goes south: I'm not a good paying client. I don't return my shit on time, so they withhold the goods to punish me. She said, "You owe $74.63 for Aristotle, Kierkegaard, and Jung. I was gettin' my kicks on philosophy a few months ago. I was "philosophizing" as I called when I was deep in the high. But now I'm desensitized. I need harder product, like "Finding Alice" and "Burn Journals", but this lady in a Pooh vest was refusing my "drug" of choice.

What a bitch.

I said, "Listen, my husband paid up last week. We're clean, man. We're clean."

"Do you have a receipt?"

I hate that question. I never keep a receipt. She knows this and just wanted to rub it in my face. She was holding my stack of books like a vertical line of coke. I was shaking, reaching for them, just wanting to touch the covers.

She said, "You can't check these out. You even have fees from 1992."

I had to check my license to see if I was even born in '92. Fucking, '92?

I said, "Oh, come on. Listen, I've seen your ledger. It's in pencil. Can't you just erase it?"

She declined the "erasing-of-the-ledger" solution.

So I left without my fix. All those books are just sitting there on the library counter in the HOLD section, waiting for me to inhale, inject, and devour. But the dealer in a Pooh vest got in the way. Caught in the crossfire, as they call it.

So here I sit. Basically sucking my thumb until the withdrawl is over. I may need to raid my daughter's shelf and read Potter. Again.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Dog With No Manners.

I think it might be a good idea to have someone invent the Invisible Fence for inside of a home. That warning beep on their neck would be helpful around my cabinets, chairs, underwear, and shoes.

And of course all of my daughter's stuffed animals he massacres on a daily basis. If he gets a hold of her American Girl doll, he's toast. Not because Paige cares, she doesn't give a shit about Chrissa, but I spent a ridiculous $100 on that fucking doll. That's another blog.

Anyway, I'm home all day writing a book. You'd think that would be enough for a dog that I give him random head scratchies and kisses throughout the day, but not Rocket. One day I was too busy for him and he turned into a pouting 13 year old boyfriend whose girlfriend has better things to do than make out under the bleachers.

I came downstairs to find mayhem. A chair ripped apart, a spit-soaked glove, a stuffed animal brutally murdered and toilet paper strewn all over the house. He toilet papered my home. And there was no remorse. He was sitting there like the King of Shit challenging me. Oh, you want to throw it down, momma? I'll turn you into that shredded toilet paper over there.

I kicked him and his badass attitude outside.

But here's what kills me. Since he doesn't have opposable thumbs he can't help pick it up. That's bullshit. Someone should develop tiny gloves with prosthetic thumbs for these little fuckers. We all know that if you make the mess you help clean it up. Yet, mysteriously dogs are exempt from that rule due to a missing thumb. And possibly a brain.

And here's the part where it gets really stupid. After everything was clean, I let him in and hugged him. What can I say? He's my little meatloaf with legs.

p.s.
Spring is coming which means the dog is outside more. Which means if you don't have an Invisible Fence, you risk losing your dog or having him/her run into the streets. Cars and dogs don't mix. If you're considering a dog fence, you may want to save a crapload of money and DIY. Click here for more information: Dog Fences. Enjoy!