August 2015 Archives

When I do the treadmill, I wear only shoes and a headband. I live alone and my windows face only a vast expanse of water, so why stink up clothes?

During today's workout I was huffing, puffing, and generally not stinking up clothes when I became aware of three sets of eyes watching me. A 50-foot sailboat was puttering past my house, and those on deck got quite a show indeed.

As bad as I felt for myself, I felt worse for them. At least I don't have to see that shit.

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The last occurrence of this counter hasn't even scrolled off the page yet.

The problem, of course, is that the reporter and cameraman weren't armed. If think about it, those pussies were asking to be shot.

picking your poison

"I don't know how you can put that poison into your body."

"You feed your kid too much sugar."

"You know what caused your baldness, right? Gluten. All the gluten you eat. When I cut out gluten, I sprouted hair everywhere, doubled my IQ, added 650 yards to my golf drive, and made my farts smell like jasmine."

• • •

The Diet Police. We all know them. Not coincidentally, we all hate them.

As I listened to one of these pompous twits lecture someone, I had an epiphany. Would I rather be:

  1. Someone who enjoys life and who, if I die at 70, is grieved as a fun-loving soul who died much too young, or
  2. Someone who so obnoxiously masturbates on people about the superiority of my dietary choices that if I die at 70, they will not be able to conceal their delight about the irony?
I'll take the ribeye medium-rare, please. It will pair nicely with this Cohiba.

Anyone? Anyone at all?

buttered popcorn

I had no interest in the Ashley Madison scandal until I just read that 840 email addresses were from the microsoft.com domain.

Man, this is a big database.

SHE!!!!!!!!!

At my neighbors' the other night, sadly, inevitably, Caitlyn Jenner came up in conversation. I assure you that I did not bring it up. Reality-show stars from serially attention-whoring families do not particularly interest me.

They interest Madam, though. She lay in wait, ready for her time to shine.

Dad was the first victim. "So he—"

"SHE!!!!!!!" screamed Madam with non-ironic sanctimony. The Pronoun Police would do this a half-dozen more times, getting angrier each time that her outrage was having no apparent effect on people's pronouns. Perhaps that's because it seemed very much like she was masturbating on people she supposedly cares about.

Climax was achieved, at least for me, when Eve used "he" when referring to Bruce Jenner winning the gold medal in 1976.

"SHE!!!!!!!" screamed Madam.

well, there's yer problem

Madam and Eve invited me over for dinner last night.

I get along fine with my neighbors. Seattle fine. That is, we're friendly. We bleat affectionate noises at one another. We laugh at one another's jokes and consume one another's food and drink. And they could not tell you a single thing about me, because they simply do not care. "That's John. We love John," they would say. "He's from Iowa or somewhere and works with computers or something. You have got to try his Manhattan."

I like them, but they are quintessentially "Seattle people" to me. Behind every assurance that if I move they'd be devastated is my certainty that they have no idea, nor any interest in, who I am.

But Eve's parents do. Last night Dad asked about Pittsburgh, and he asked the hard questions. I admitted I find it much more comfortable there. This floored Madam and Eve. They tried to argue the social merits of Seattle. I replied by showing them my phone history.

"I've got 21 years invested in my Seattle friends. I've got 5 months invested in Pittsburgh friends. And you tell me—who do I hear from more?"

Eve considered the question and came to the only logical conclusion. "That's a really weird metric, John."

knowing your audience

I find myself resisting the considerable charms of a very young woman lately. As in decades younger. I'm being good, but sometimes it takes the added layer of "she's also seriously religious" to keep me on the rails.

Not helping are the independent entreaties of Mike and Anna. He's dating someone much younger than himself, she, someone much older. They were working me over yesterday, trying to talk me into cradle-robbing, and I found myself craving a balancing perspective. I knew exactly what to do. 1-800-DIAL-AN-EX.

"I need to be judged," I texted Allie. My phone rang soon after.

"You're old and it's wrong," she greeted me, not yet knowing anything about anything.

grand finale

The dogs were driving me nuts in the hotel room, so I took them to the dog park to let them get their ya-yas out.

Man, that expression looks filthy in print.

Dex overdid it, and she limped mildly as we exited the park. The next day, she could no longer jump into the car. Day three, she could not stand up and walk outside. On day four, I was carrying her to the grass, to her water bowl, to the vet. Of course, it was the after-hours vet, so it cost a fortune to hear his conclusion that she merely overdid it. Running total: $676. Total savings from my staying in the shitty hotel with my dogs: negative $376 (- $376.00 USD).

Day five, Dex sprang out of bed and did her happy dance when she thought we were getting into the car.

dog math

I occasionally do a working vacation in some other city. Get a hotel room in the cool district, work as little as possible and shop by day, drink by night, sleep, repeat. Normally I kennel the dogs, which is no small expense at about $300. This time, I decided to take them. "And what luck! There's a dog friendly hotel right across the street from my normal one!"

When we checked in, the clerk charged me a $25 fee per dog. Running total: $50

"Where are the dogs supposed go?" I asked the clerk.

"Um. With you?" she replied.

I smiled and somehow refrained from bitch-slapping her. "No, I mean where are they supposed to urinate and defacate?"

She shrugged. "We don't have a spot. I don't know where people take them."

The only patch of grass within a mile's walk is an 8x4 square at my normal hotel. Of course.

Fredo apparently drank his body weight in water whilst I showered, because when I came out there were three enormous, watery orange puddles of puke on the carpet. How do I know it was Fredo, beyond the fact that it's always Fredo? His matching orange necktie and earrings were a clue.

Thus did we go to the local dog wash. Running total: $75

When I tried to work, i found that the dog-friendly hotel's wifi is John-hostile. So I paid for my normal hotel's wifi. Running total: $115

We went for a walk on a trail, and a mere six hours after their puke bath, the dogs found a dead turkey and marinaded themselves in its entrails. Back to the dog wash, followed by the car wash. Running total: $155

Throw in all the gasoline and the aspirin I had to buy a gimpy Dex, and we're at an even $170. I saved $130. And had a shit time. Dog jail is now the law.

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