Tales of Wit and Charm…

Seeing this at the mall yesterday made me laugh so hard I ignored my coffee for three whole minutes, which is a new record. I checked.

Daisy is going to get a big dose of healthy this week, thanks to Anna at Puppenschnoodles!

Anna read my MANY messages on Twitter about Daisy’s sick tummy and was kind enough to contact me to offer her advice on a more holistic approach to Daisy’s rotten ass.  This includes natural dog foods, which don’t contain icky chicken guts, and a special puppy supplement. If you’re having your own dog issues I’d strongly suggest contacting her.

I’m excited to try this natural route, and frankly it works perfectly because I always suspected Daisy was a hippie; ever since that time at the Liberty Park drum circle when she put on a tie die skirt and danced while chanting to the moon goddess.

I’m very much hoping this solves the toxic gas problem we’ve got going on.  I am not kidding when I say Daisy farts could be used as a torture device.  However, if I come home one day to a pug dog who is begging me for dreadlocks,  I’m going to be very upset.

My hands are orange today.  ORANGE!  Which is not even my favorite color, though it was Frank Sinatra’s favorite color in case you care.

I want you to read this next part closely and take heed.

When going to the bathroom in the middle of the night you should always turn the bathroom light on.  I don’t care how tired you are, or how much your throat hurts.  Turn that motherfucking light on, because otherwise when you reach for lotion after you wash your hands you will accidentally grab the bottle of self-tanner from the drawer and slather it all over your poor little dry hands.

Orange hands don’t suit me.  I look like George Hamilton, which sucks because I have a date tonight.  But don’t you worry I’ll insist he calls me George all night, which may prove to be awkward for him, but entertaining enough for me that he’ll agree to it.

This completes your public service announcement Friday.

You’re welcome.

As you know I was OBSESSED with seeing the International Spy Museum while I was on my vacation, so it’s no surprise my column this week is about just that.  Here it is: “That’s What She Said”.

I’m a sucker for dive bars, so when we found a dive bar named after pugs in Georgetown I knew I’d love it. And I did, until the bartender told me about the special spiced cider they were serving.

“What’s in the spiced cider exactly?”

“It’s regular apple cider laced with rum.”

“Laced?”

“Yup, laced.”

I had no idea what to say so I sat there awkwardly silent for a moment, until he spoke again, “Oh, yeah, maybe laced was a bad choice of words.  We don’t want people thinking they’re going to get drugged in here.”

“How about infused with rum?”

“No, that’s way too much fancy talk.”

“Fine.  Can I get a vodka tonic, please?”

I’m going to post about my trip soon, I promise. But right now I’m very busy catching up on emails, snuggling my dog, and trying to forget the horror that was flying Southwest. There was baby barf involved. Baby barf, people, ON MY LEG!

Until I get some time to post pictures and stories of my adventures, I will leave you with yet another to hate RLO: as soon as I arrived home he emailed me a picture of a letter he received in the mail addressed to “RLO & Michelle.” When the cat is away, the mouse will play.

AND FAKE A MARRIAGE!

It’s cute that he thinks a marriage would stop me from taking over his life again now that I’m home. Silly, silly boy.