Today my mom told me that she doesn't think my dog is going to get any bigger.
"No, he will get bigger." I said.
"I'm not so sure about that. I mean, he doesn't seem to be growing." She told me.
"He is only four months old, mom.. He's going to get bigger..." I am determined to have a large dog. I would really like it if my dog would grow. I mean, I don't want him to be Clifford big (read: big red dog, who is larger than a house), but I would like him to be big. Not that I wouldn't like a dog who is larger than a house.. I could ride that dog to school.. And sell advertising to go on his sides. But really, do I have enough money to feed a dog that big? Probably not. I would imagine that he'd eat a lot, and I am a student. I just don't see that working out well.
Plus, what if the dog wasn't really paying attention, and then he stepped on someone. I know I would feel bad, and I would say, 'Bad dog!' But he probably wouldn't know what he'd done wrong. Then he would look very sad and I would say, 'Go to your cage!' But then, how big of a cage would I need? It would have to be pretty big.. And I would probably not be strong enough to close the door.
All in all, dogs that are bigger than houses are probably a bad idea.
Just so you know, for when I get lazy, what my mama says is in italics.
"Ugh.. It smells like ass in here..." I say.
"How do you know what ass smells like?" She responds.
"Do you really want to hear the answer to that, or was it just a rhetorical question?" I ask her.
"Well, I'm just saying that you don't have any basis for comparison." She tells me.
"Not that you know of." I tell her.
"Well.. I'm just saying..."
"And I'm just saying, that for all you know, I could be handing out the rim jobs."
"What's a rim job?"
"I feel that, after the whole 'pearl necklace' incident, you should just look that up on the internet.. That's what it's for.. to look up sexual-related terms that your daughter doesn't want to explain to you."
"Well, I sometimes need to know things like that for my courses."
"Mom, I do not know what kind of fucked up psych courses you are taking, but if knowing the definition of a rim job is a pre-requisite.. I suggest you switch courses."
"Just use it in a sentence."
"Okay, fine. My name is Megan, and despite what my mother thinks, I do not hand out rim jobs."
"That didn't help me. Use it in another sentence."
"My mother wants me to give her the definition of what a rim job is, and that makes me uncomfortable."
"Use it one more time."
"In order to pay for tuition this year, I may be forced to give out rim jobs in exchange for money."
"You are not being particularly helpful, Megan..."
"Then my job here is done. If you need me, I will be downstairs explaining to Jamie (a.k.a. my little brother) what a rim job is."
"You are a smart ass."
"I am not sure how healthy your obsession with asses is, Mom..."
This is Charly.. Charly is a 1974 Volkswagen Westfalia Weekender
Charly is, in my opinion, a beautiful car. I fully admit that I am biased being that Charly is my car, but that is hardly the point...
Sometimes Charly back-fires, and I get embarrassed because it is almost like he is a little gassy or something. Although, this one time he was shooting fire out of his tail pipe, and that would have been pretty neat if I hadn't been so sure I was going to die.
This is the inside (back) of Charly.. Please note the painted ceiling (I did that myself), and how the bench folds into a bed.. Just what every father wants for his teenaged daughter.
Sometimes, little kids and I do not get along. I think it is probably because we are both very childish, and they seem to be under the impression that I am an adult. What little kids need to realize is that how old you are has nothing to do with whether or not you are an adult. Over the years, this 'problem' I have with some little kids has caused me to do such things as come running out of my house in order to chase them away from my leaf pile.. I was the one who raked the lawn, I was the one who made the giant pile, so I am sure as hell going to be the one to jump in that mother fucking pile - not some little kid who lives down the street from me, and obviously does not realize that it is rude to run onto someone else's lawn and jump in their hard earned leaf pile.
Today, my clashing with a child lead to me giving him the finger - but I can explain.....
I was sitting, politely, in one of my dad's work trucks. We were on our way to a park so that I could take a picture of my dad with his truck for the yellow pages. I was also enjoying a brownie blizzard (yes, that now brings my brownie blizzard consumption up to two!), and was generally just minding my own business. That is when we came to a stop at a traffic light. Now, I am inquisitive by nature, so I began to look around at the other cars. That is when I saw him... This blonde haired boy, roughly seven years old. He looked at me and proceeded to stick out his tongue. First I was shocked, why would he just stick his tongue out at me? I had never done anything to him... But I was not going to be out done by a seven-year-old just because I was confused as to what his motives were, so I stuck my tongue out at him and scrunched up my face. To my utter shock and dismay, he began to sign the official ASL sign for 'asshole' and pointed at me. 'Fuck that!' I thought, 'I will give him some sign language of my own.'
And so, I gave him the finger, and that is when the light turned green, and that is when my dad accelerated, and that is when that little boys parents looked at me like I had just run down their dog.
'Are you proud of yourself now?' You may think. 'Does this make you feel like a big person?' You may also think. The answer to that question is simple, yes, it does.
I am so pleased with my dog right now. I am pleased because he is only 3 months old, and already he can sit still long enough for me to subject him to numerous forms of 'entertainment' (for myself).
The following are pictures of my dog and his dramatic makeover... Well, maybe not dramatic, but it's a good start.
He is so naive... Playing with his can... (which happens to be the only way that I can get him to stay still long enough for me to take a picture that shows how much he's grown)
'I know that look... What are you planning on doing now?' He thinks, as he stares at me, judging... Always judging...
'Please... No... Anything but that...' He begs, but I am without mercy.
'Come here!' I tell him, not really giving him a choice.
As many paws as I could fit in one picture...
It is a work of art... Beautiful colour. It complements his colouring wonderfully...
'How could you do this to me?' He questions.
What he does with his new found beauty...
He is lucky that he's fairly dark colours.
My parents dog, Bailey, is blonde... but he has been red, purple, blue, and hot pink. My mom says that 'colouring' the dog's fur is cruel, but I say if he sits still enough for the manic panic (the dye I used, which does not create any fumes or burning sensation.. I know because I once used it on myself) to set then he is only getting what he deserves. Just like if Bailey sat still long enough for me to give him a David Bowie Labyrinth inspired hair cut, it's his own fault.
So I gather that I went to a corn roast... I'm sure that was super. And I saw Brianne at said corn roast (she was one of my friends in grade two)... But I'm a little confused about the smelling bat part. What do bats smell like? And how did I know that I had smelt one, considering I am relatively sure that I have no basis of comparison for the scent of a bat. What I do know about bats is this... Their saliva is made up of three main ingredients to keep blood flowing, anticoagulants (to stop the clotting), something else that stops the red blood cells from sticking together, and another thing that stops the veins from constricting near the site of the wound. I also know that as soon as vampire bats begin to feed (on blood), they begin to urinate. It's because blood is primarily made up of water, and thus they need to rid themselves of the excess water in order to get the proper amount of nutrients they need.