On the road again

Bee and I are going on vacation again! We're headed back to the midwest. This time we're staying in three different houses--her sister's, her friend Adrienne's, and her parents' in Michigan.

Aw, man. That means more quality time with Trinity. Lord.

Anyway, we'll be out of touch for most of next week, but I'll check back in as any gossip comes up. Gotsta decompress for a while, it's been a hectic summer at the dog run thus far.

That's irony, y'all.

Monday

Number of roommates sleeping here: one
Number of roommates sleeping in foreign countries: two
Number of functioning hands of the roommates sleeping in the apartment: one
Number of beers in the fridge: none
Number of times I went to the bathroom in Bee's room because she never comes home and walks me: two

Bee came home today with a cast on her left arm. According to her doctor, it's my fault. Supposedly between walking me and typing out my blog for your entertainment, on top of working out rigorously, she reaggravated an old snowboarding injury. But it's pretty bad. The word surgery supposedly was used.

For now, Bee is wearing this weird plastic contraption on her arm, and hopefully she'll be able to avoid it. Cause from what I can tell, if she needs surgery, then she won't be able to afford food for me.

We'll see who's eating in two weeks.

Cute dog, cuter boy

So today I met this awesome poodle mix down the street. Unfortunately, she was a girl. And ya know I dig me some dudes. But nevertheless, she was a cool dog, and we wrestled and played for almost 20 minutes.

What was cooler was the cutie pie owner that was walking this quite effeminate dog. The guy, a dark-haired, poor man's Ricky Martin, just moved to the area from midtown. But Bee, like the goofball that she is, was of course too shy to make small talk and figure out his details.

Bee and Ricky(not) talked in two-minute intermittent sentences about dog runs, the age and breed of their respective dogs, and the weather (DAMN, BEE!! not the WEATHER!). But Bee didn't figure out what he did, or if the dog was HIS dog or his girlfriend's dog.

I thought she was a journalist....

But here's what I surmised--from the lispy way he pronounced "upper west sthide" I think he was gay. He was also carrying a BackStage paper with him, and told Bee he didn't need a dog walker but would need one soon. Meaning he's an actor, and it sounds like he just landed a paying role. A few more of those and he might just be able to afford his SAG card. And if he is gay, that means the girlie dog is his, not his girlfriend's, and since I didn't hear any talk of any other male's existence, it sounds like he's single.

Just not on Bee's team. And neither is his dog.

A secret

I have a secret to share. Don't tell Bee.

Okay, when she leaves for wherever she goes during the day, I snuggle in her dirty clothes. I do it because I miss her, and her clothes smell like comfort. It just makes me feel more secure knowing that I have mommy's scent on me.

So when she comes home and she sees her dirty clothes out of the hamper each time, even when she puts the hamper up high, I'm guilty.

I mean, I understand that Bee doens't cuddle in my dirty bath towels when I'm at the vet to keep me in her mind. But she doesn't have separation anxiety as high as I do.

Maybe I should just make Bee buy me a teddy bear and a lucky blanket.

Concerned

I'm concerned about my mother's disappearing act every night this week. She rolls out of here for work from 10-6, but then shuffles in just briefly enough to drop a cup of dry dog food into my bowl and leave! I mean, where's the love? Where's the cuddling? Where's my ten minute walk around the block?

Not only that, Ei has been studying like a mad woman in that dungeon downstairs, Cee took off for India to save some lives aboard , and Dee has disappeared with the London Fling. So no one has been here to keep me company, or talk to me, or even look at me with disdain when I pass gas.

I may have to place and ad on Craigslist.org for new caretakers. Man.

A pattern

I'm beginning to see a pattern emerging in this house:

Bee--work, drink, work, drink, work, pout, work, drink, party, party, party...
Cee--work, cuddle with boy, work, cuddle with boy, work, cuddle with boy, work, cuddle with boy...
Dee-- see above
Ei--study, drink, study, drink, study drink, talk on phone, talk on phone, talk on phone, talk on phone.....

Gosh, with all of that activity, seems the girls don't have time for me anymore.

Office Banter

Last Thursday, Bee hosted an office barbecue on the patio for her dozen or so coworkers. During the summer, Bee’s magazine moves to a biweekly frequency, so she doesn’t have to be at the office as much. Means more quality time on the patio for beer and burgers.

When Bee sent out the invitation, she said that significant others were invited. I had NO idea that that meant other’s people’s dogs. One of the junior staffers brought her Bichon Frise, Henry, with her to work that day, only to call Bee two hours before the affair to see if she could bring him along to the party.

I thought I’d be the gracious host and welcome this hairy fellow into my home. But Henry wasn’t the social type. When I introduced myself, he acted as if his shit didn’t stink. It did—I smelled his ass. It reeked like week-old milk. Every time I tried to be friendly, he attacked me. Then I had to attack back and "cut a bitch" because it was my house, dammit! He was simply a very lucky visitor.

Because he kept snarling at me, we had to remain separated throughout the event. Old crusty curmudgeon.

And on top of his shitty attitude, he had an even shittier haircut.


Besides that, the office BBQ was a hit. Everybody was wasted—Bee’s bosses, editors, even their significant others were tipsy. Food was great, too. I ate chicken, a piece of spare ribs and a bit of some carrots here and there as people fed me under the table. I tried to get a taste of that nice bottle of Prosecco Bee’s art director brought in, but no dice.

The only flap was the hour-long rain that soaked the patio from 7 to 8. When the rain ended, everyone commenced drinking and eating outside.

People didn’t filter out until 1 A.M. leaving a trail of marinara sauce, beer bottles and chips in their wake. Bee and I were both too exhausted to clean, so we took out as much of the trash as we could, and closed the windows so the eau de garlic powder and soggy pasta didn’t waft through our bedroom.

I'm back, y'all

Vacation is the best.

Bee and I finally succumbed to the family’s wishes and went home for vacation. So worth the trip, which almost was cut short by a half a day. Our 6 AM flight to Chicago got in fine, but our connection to Grand Rapids was delayed an hour. And for some reason, my stomach wasn’t feeling right. Upon learning that I would have to be crammed into my airplane carrier for an hour longer than scheduled, I freaked.

And my bowels freaked.

Against all attempts to hold it, I relieved myself all over my crate. Not a good look.

Bee had to take me into the bathroom, lock the handicapped stall and tie me to the latch while she cleaned out my crate with toilet water. She was steamed! I mean, it’s embarrassing enough when people carrying around a whiny dog, but a whiny dog that smells like poop is downright unacceptable. Me crapping my crate goes against every standard of etiquette Bee has taught me both by example and through lecture.

I was so embarrassed.

After that fiasco, we finally made it to Bee’s parents house, where Trinity was waiting to greet me with a wet nose and wagging tongue (doesn’t Bee’s mom explain the difference between ‘hetero’ and ‘homo’ to her!?). But over the four days we were there, it seems T got the point that I was more attracted to Buddy than Betty. We frolicked, we ate grass, we tumbled and we explored. Good times.