tobermory's Diaryland Diary


Oh shit. Literally, shit.

Hold the presses people – I actually got my ass out of bed at 5:15 this morning, went to the gym and took a spin + abs class. Shocking. Even more shocking? It wasn’t totally awful, and by that I mean neither the getting up early part nor the spin class. The only semi-heinous part was that the spin room wasn’t cloaked in darkness so everyone was on display – remind me if I ever take this class again to wear something other than a ratty give-away t-shirt advertising an off-brand tequila. I prefer my workout gear to say, “I may be a bit fluffy around the mid-section but I take my workouts very seriously,” instead of, “I was out all last night at a bar and I received this t-shirt for winning a round of bar BINGO – it seemed easier to come straight here to get in my daily workout as opposed to going home for a meager two hours of sleep.” This is actually how I did win the t-shirt but we needn’t go into that now.

Heeeeyyyy! I just got an unfun phone call from Steve. Seems the wee doggie had the squirts all over the kitchen. This does not bode well for the dog as Steve already hates her with a burning passion. I think if I told him that I would get rid of the dog if he, in one stitting, would eat an extra-large pizza topped with: green peppers, black olives, loads of mushrooms and anchovies, that he would actually do it. But, alas, I don’t see many takers for an old, deaf, mostly blind dog, with some medical issues, who (very) occasionally spews her bowels across the kitchen and then tracks the resultant poo everywhere. I volunteer at an animal shelter and whereas we get loads of calls that ask for very specific things: a six-month old female Golden Retriever that is housebroken and good with children; a teacup Yorkie that must be both female and a ‘baby’; a Shih Tzu that is brown and white, female, under 12 lbs., and under 1 year old; the specific criteria that my dog fits is not ever requested. Ever. I wonder why? I guess I know who get to be the drunk one tonight at dinner and who gets to be the designated driver. I’d offer him some apology sex tonight but something tells me that I’m in the doghouse too.
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3:18 p.m. - 2007-05-11


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