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Bud’s Bachelor Weekend

19 Oct

Ma, we need to talk. You know I love you and all, but I’ve had some time to think while you were back in Mississippi visiting the family. I gotta admit, I was a little pissed at first when you just up and left me with Mike. I mean, come on… you know how I am about my food and my routine. I like a little bacon or cheese mixed in to give it some flavor. Was I supposed to believe Mike was gonna take that extra step? What if he gives it to me dry? I don’t do dry food. I also prefer to start my night on top of the blankets then nudge you awake so I can get underneath. What if he doesn’t let me under the covers? What then!? Panic was starting to set in just about the time I realized he probably wouldn’t call me his little pumpkin and kiss me on the head when he came home from work. How am I supposed to get through the next five days?

Well, as it turns out I had an amazing time while you were gone and learned a few things about myself. Number one: you have turned me into a girly dog.

EXHIBIT A.

The only comment I have about this photo is that I look ridiculous and all the dogs laughed at me. You thought I looked cute. I thought I looked like a short-bus dog. Thanks a fuckin’ heap, Ma. Mike doesn’t make me wear stupid clothes. He lets me be a guy. Yeah, that’s right. A guy. And you know what? I LIKE it! Check out the pix below from my manly weekend adventures.

EXHIBIT B.

Chillin' in the yard with Mike

Mike's pretty good at the whole scratch my stomach thing.

Yard work is tiring so I had to take a break.

FYI, riding in a truck is way cooler than riding in a car named Veronica.

Every guy has to have his own chair. Mike gave me a blanket, too!

No more Cupcake Wars, Ma. It's Saving Private Ryan or nothing.

Seriously, Ma. Sunday Night Football vs Jerseylicious. You do the math.

I know you were all upset I didn’t sleep with you Monday night when you got home. I had to teach you a lesson for your own good.  Things are going to be different from now on, Ma. I refuse to wear a Halloween costume even though you said I had to be a hot dog or a wizard. Put that shit on me and I swear I’ll tear it to shreds before we get out the door. I know you love me which is why I’ve put up with the clothes, the vanilla shampoo/conditioner treatments and I even let you spray Giorgio perfume on me. No more, Ma. Mike showed me how to be a guy and I am not a girly dog anymore.

Love, Bud

p.s. I’ll sleep with you tonight.

p.p.s. When we’re alone, I’m still your little pumpkin.

This is how I roll….

28 Jun

This past year has been full of new experiences for me. Starting over at any age is difficult; starting over in your mid-40s alternates between terrifying and exciting, depending on the circumstances.

Once I knew I would be living alone, I began the search for a place to live. I had lived in the ‘burbs of Becker for five years where the biggest thing to happen was the completion of a McDonalds restaurant. Think I’m kidding? We didn’t even warrant a traffic light and had to be content with a blinking yellow light. For realz. To say I was a bit sheltered is putting it mildly.

The parameters for a place where I could park it were simple: affordable, close to work and would allow pets. I ended up choosing an apartment in Fridley (The Friendly City!). I would live to regret my choice.

I moved to my new digs last July and initially thought it wasn’t too bad. Sure, the apartment buildings were old and in serious need of some renovation. The carpet looked like a graduate from The Helen Keller School of Design chose it. The hallways made me think of The Shining and I still expect the two dead girls to pop up saying, “Come play with me, Danny.” Freaking creepy.

Still, I got settled in and was determined to make the best of it. After all, I wasn’t going to live here forever. How bad could it be?

I was soon to find out.

My A/C is a joke and only cools the first five feet in front of the vent. The heating system makes up for what the A/C lacks and will bake you to death in the winter. I was forced to leave a window cracked in order to breathe. Bud was buried under the covers at night to avoid hypothermia while I alternated between feeling half-cooked or half-frozen.

During the warmer months, I suffered through the mystery gnats that apparently lived in the bathroom sink. Taking a shower during this time was great fun as I came to realize my bathroom doubled as a sauna due to the poor ventilation.

The cooler months brought out the mice. Yep, mice. Thank God they weren’t in my apartment itself, just the ceiling above me. Oddly enough, I grew accustomed to hearing their little claws skitter above my hallway while getting ready for work in the mornings.

Some of my neighbors were decent enough people while others scared the crap out of me. I learned to avoid those that looked like America’s Most Wanted escapees and kept telling myself my lease would soon end and I could get the hell out of Dodge. The plus side (believe me, I was desperate to find one), was that I knew this experience would give me something I was sorely lacking.

Street cred.

That’s right, bitches. And I got your proof right here. I came into Fridley scared, unsure and quite possibly the most vanilla person you will ever meet. I knew I had turned the corner a few weeks ago when I had a discussion, of sorts, with a neighbor.

I had taken Bud for his afternoon walk to the allotted bathroom area at the back of our complex. Upon arrival, I discovered that for the third day the caretaker had not replaced the doggie bags for cleaning up after your pet. I was irritated, but Bud still had to do his thing, bags or no bags. He finishes up and we are leaving the area when I hear a window open above me.

“Hey! You need to pick up your dog’s shit!”

Are you kidding me? Some woman I don’t even know is screaming at me!?

“I would if there were some bags here, you stupid bitch! What do you expect me to do? Pick it up with my hand?!”

Oh. My. God. I had gone ghetto.

“There aren’t any down there?”

“No!! There aren’t any damned bags and there haven’t been any for three days!”

“I’m coming down!”

“Come on down then! I’ll stand here and wait for you!”

And I did. I was so pissed at this point it didn’t occur to me that I had no idea I was getting myself into. I’m probably 121 pounds soaking wet, but at that moment I was feeling 10 feet tall and bullet proof. So there I stand, impatiently tapping my foot and muttering to myself, waiting for her to round the corner.

She sent her skinny, greasy boyfriend instead.

Apparently he’s the caretaker and was supposed to have refilled the doggie bag container. I launched into him demanding to know if it was his girlfriend that yelled at me. He apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again while refilling the container.

Damned straight it wouldn’t happen again, I thought to myself as I stomped off.

And do you know why?

Cuz I’m a Bad Ass Motherfucker.

Hugs and kisses!

Lisa D 😀

Editor’s note: I’m moving out tomorrow which means tonight is my last night in the ‘hood! Woot woot!