Boner Pills and Random Adventures

So, I’ve broken tons of rules about blogging. I don’t update frequently, I don’t link to other blogs, blah blah blah. Why don’t you update frequently, k8? My real job, the one that pays my bills and keeps me busy and recently gave me a RAD promotion, is full of writing and editing. By the time I get home, I don’t want to look at my computer anymore. Most days, I want to drop kick it off a balcony into a turbine engine. But apparently, some of you people think I am your little writer monkey, here to entertain you non-stop. One of my coworkers has said to me every day, for over a week, “I can only read about Jetta and the mini-cliff so many times” then disappears. FINE. Today happened to be an evening that I had motivation, quiet time, and lots of beer to fuel me.

My little buddy, Shiner, had a seizure on Sunday. It freaked me out. For the two weeks prior to Sunday, he had been shitting in the house. I thought he was doing it to be a jerk and felt that I had wronged his little puppy sensitivities in some way. So on Sunday I got up and was walking down the stairs and he stopped right in front of me, about four steps from the bottom. “Come on buddy, go” I said and he kind of stumbled down the rest. Real graceful, pal. I went into the bathroom and shut the door. About three seconds later I heard his nails on the hardwood floors, like he was running in place, then he crashed into the door. “What the fuck dude?” I opened the door and there he was, on his side shaking and one of his front paws was moving back and forth, like he was conducting a little orchestra. I’ve never been around an animal having a seizure but my boss was telling us that his dog started having them recently, and all he does is hold him until it’s over. So I knelt down and petted his head until he stopped shaking. He was a little dazed for about ten minutes, laid down for a half hour after that, then was his usual self for the rest of the day. We got an appointment with the vet on Monday and then they tried to draw blood. Game over. Shiner hates everything about being groomed, well-behaved, and generally not causing me stress. They sent me into the waiting room and I could hear him screeching. The ladies waiting with their cat then asked eight million questions about why he’s so scared. Well ladies, because I am a terrible person. Do you want to know why I don’t pay my student loans, too? How about I ask if your cat replaces your vacant uterus! So the vet sat on the bench and gave me the business card of a ‘dog behavioral therapist and trainer’. All he said was “call Carol.” It turns out that we aren’t in Carol’s territory, but David is going to begin boot camp with Naughty McGee in a couple of weeks. Luckily for you, I am sure this will be a whole new series of shit show to write about.

I signed up for online dating against all better judgment but my friends are pussies and I have almost zero shame for material to write about, so I did it. Horrible. In fact, I am going to refer to it as ‘e-Horrible’ from now on. I thought it would be funny, but instead, it was tedious and a waste of my time. I actually still have a subscription but I turned off the matching so new people can’t pretend to be interested for a few days then disappear. I only met three of them in real life, but one has a special place in my heart, mostly because he was a lying douche bag. I should have known something was up when he wouldn’t give me his phone number after we agreed to meet. I decided to take the bus, because we were meeting for happy hour in my favorite part of the city, but it’s notoriously bad for parking. The fucking bus was 20 minutes late, naturally. I ran off the bus and into the restaurant, thinking that he was probably gone. I scanned the tables and saw him finally, way in the back, waving. He definitely looked like his picture, just ten years older. We are off to a great start. His profile also said that he was 5’8″, which is how tall I am. In an effort to be courteous, I wore flat sandals because I didn’t want to look like an Amazon next to him. He didn’t bother to stand up when I got to the table. He also hadn’t bothered much with his outfit. Now, I’m not expecting him to look like a Banana Republic model, but a button down shirt would have been appreciated. I had on a super cute shirt, a BLOUSE if you will, and my dressy jeans. He had on a plain, puke green T-shirt and what looked like Wranglers. Ok. His profile said he was a middle school science teacher so I knew he was probably not rich, but a little effort goes a long way, pal. I can’t remember much of what we talked about because it was mostly unremarkable and uninteresting. One tidbit I do remember was that his sister recently received her nursing license, which confirmed my decade-old picture theory, because in one photo he was with his teenage sister and she had braces. Awesome dude. We ordered a few beers and appetizers from the happy hour menu. I chose fish tacos. They are delicious and totally safe in Seattle. He had chicken wings. I already knew I wasn’t interested but what a hilarious choice on a first date, which just confirmed the future. The charade was finally over, we paid the bill (notice I said we) and stood up to leave. Here’s a hint: if you are going to lie about something, make it something less obvious than your height. Bill Nye the Tiny Science Guy was easily two inches shorter than me, and I wasn’t wearing heels. At the door of the restaurant we did an ass-out hug and I also noticed that his shoulders were slighter than mine. I realize that all of this can make me sound like a beast, but I can tell you that I am a small girl on top. My ass is a whole other story, but I have narrow shoulders. So I waited a few days before I gave the old ‘it was great to meet you, I don’t think we’re a good match but good luck to you’ bullshit kiss off, but I couldn’t find his profile. Now, e-Horrible’s system is pretty awful. I could never log in without being kicked out, things got deleted, and I had to reset my password a few times because it would lock me out. I figured it was another technology glitch and went about my day. Another few days passed and I decided to try to get rid of him, respectfully, again. This time I discovered that the little fucker closed my profile on Sunday night, less than 24 hours after meeting me! No nice to meet you, good luck, get bent, NOTHING. This sent me into a rage. I wanted to wait outside of every middle school in King County until I found him to explain why he was a dickless coward but my conscience, Jiminiy, said it was a no go. I’m not allowed to make decisions without consulting her first, and for good reason. It turns out that hanging around middle schools makes you a creep and a potential felon. I always imagined my first arrest would be assault or lewd public behavior. So now he can live in infamy to whoever reads this as the tiny science teacher with no balls.

My very first e-mail account was with Yahoo! and the name I chose had something to do with a sergeant or fleas or something. Then I migrated to Hotmail because that was cooler and used it for some of high school, all throughout college, and until I got an iPhone in June 2009 and realized my accounts wouldn’t sync, got fed up and got a Gmail account. I hadn’t logged into my Hotmail account in months until one day last week when I got an text from my friend, Uncle Smutty, that said something to the effect of “please tell me I didn’t reply all to that email you sent. I said homoerotic things”. I was at work and IMMEDIATELY distracted by this potentially hilarious disaster. So I check Gmail. Nothing. Respond to Smutty “umm no email from you. Responded to hotmail or gmail? Wait, have response in Hotmail but to super old message. WTF r u doing?!” Smutty thought I was being ironic or witty and had forwarded a link for boner pills. I did not, but don’t blame him for questioning the gesture. I’m kind of a dick like that. What I also discovered was that the message also went to my grandpa, my manager during my internship, and a few friends. I thought it was kind of funny but harmless, since the message seemed like something I would NOT write. It had ‘automated forward’ copy tone to it. The next day I get a message to my work e-mail from my internship manager. We actually communicate occasionally about industry news and he updates me when they get new – inferior to me – interns. I assumed he had good news about something but he wanted to inform me that I was spamming him. Whoops. This meant my work e-mail was corrupt and I could get in trouble with IT, even though they block most things that can get you in trouble anyway. After I apologized and wondered how long I would be on corporate probation, internship manager informed me that is was from my Hotmail account, not work. Boner pills strike again. I figured I would log in, delete my account, and be done with it. It took about twenty minutes to figure out where the account settings were in Hotmail and when I finally attempted to delete my account, it wouldn’t let me. Some scheme, Microsoft! It’s a free account dipshits, free up some server space! Since I have an attention span equivocal to a Joaquin Phoenix’s hip hop career, I forgot and didn’t bother to try again. Then tonight I’m tooling around on Facebook and have a message from one of my professors from graduate school telling me that I am spamming his account as well but not to worry because he figured it was a virus, just FYI. Damn you boner pills!! I actually quit grad school during this particular professor’s class, so it was even more insane to hear from him. At this point I just started laughing. How ridiculous could this get? Why couldn’t the virus be for computer software or makeup or shoes? Why is it sending middle aged men in my address book boner pill ads?! Even technology is cruel. Sorry guys.

And scene!

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Boner Pills and Random Adventures

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