Skip to main content

Toy Hunt

I want a dog. I want a chihuahua. Aren't they so cute? I've been on the hunt (admittedly half-heartedly) for a toy dog, and after looking at pictures online, I've decided the adorable chihuahua is the dog for me. All the others were mostly hairy terriers, ugly pinschers, and funny-looking malteses.

I was looking at some adoption pages, and I ran across a few ads about dogs on prozac! Depressed dogs? Now I've heard it all. Also, there were dogs with diabetes, high blood pressure, etc. I'm truly shocked. But I guess to someone who has grown up with dogs and animals, this wouldn't be such a surprise. But I come from a family that has intense fear of anything not human, so having a pet was out of the question.

 I think being friends with Jan and Viv, who both have five dogs between them, has helped me with my animal fear. Viv's beagle is just so adorable, but a little too big for me (and beagles aren't considered big dogs). I don't like big dogs -- which is probably why Rich Man's Great Dane and I didn't get along; that damn Dane knew I feared him.

I think the chihuahua is the perfect size.

While I'm not 100% sure what my next step will be, I know in the near future these little bundles of joy will be toted around in a ridiculously expensive Louis Vuitton dog carrier.

Labels

Labels:

Popular posts from this blog

Tick-Tock

So there I was, standing in line at Walgreens, a bottle of orange juice and a box with the acronym e.p.t. stenciled across it in my hands. The orange juice is there to make me feel better. This is no big deal; just a city girl buying orange juice and a pregnancy test. There's an old white-haired lady behind me with a tube of KY Jelly and tampons. Okay.... In front of me is a middle-aged man, looking jolly with chubby red cheeks. "Hurry up," he barks to cashier, "I left my car running." Well, so much for jolly. It was my turn. I manage to stop my hand from shaking long enough to put my things on the counter and pry my wallet from my handbag. I paid and fled. Jan's waiting in the lobby of my apartment building, chatting up my doorman. When he spots me he frowns. "Oh, look at you, honey," he says while hugging me. "C'mon, baby, let's get this over with." I smile, comforted by his genuine concern. When Jan's being comfort, his acc...
Read more

Comfort Food

For lunch, I treated myself to a delicious T-bone steak, medium rare, and buttery mashed potatoes seasoned with kosher salt. There's nothing better in this world than buttery mashed potatoes seasoned with kosher salt. Comfort food, if you will. I needed that steak today like I need oxygen. It was pertinent to my survival; pertinent to my keeping my job.  Eating the steak today reminded me of how I've used comfort foods to get me through tough periods.  Breaking up with Michael: Macaroni and cheese. From scratch. I made  béchamel sauce and used several cheeses. I'd make a big pot and use chicken and broccoli to make it even more comforting. It was a glass of Riesling, mac and cheese, and a journal that got me through those tough weeks.  Losing a BIG Account: Meatloaf and mashed potato sandwiches. It was my first year at the firm and this was THE account to get, and I blew it. I ordered this sandwich two weeks in a row for dinner.  When Sister Attempted Suicide: ...
Read more

Broiling Alive

Some of you might not be aware of this but Chicago has morphed into the fiery pits of Hell, with atrocious sunburned feet to boot. See, this is why I hate summer, for this exact reason. Why do people insist on wearing flip flops in the sun? I can't tell you how many hundreds of sunburned feet I witnessed just last week alone. Jan managed to drag Diana and me to the beach on Sunday, where we both proceeded to bake and die immediately. Jan didn't care -- he was busy working on his "sex tan." You know, the kind where there's a dramatic tan line around the hips. The Swedes sure know how to tan, don't they? you would think with them being Nordic that they would just burn to a crisp, but no -- golden brown goodness all the time. This weekend, Diana's apartment was a cooling center. We conked out with old Glamours and iced raspberry-lemon tea. I don't know why Diana is afraid to throw away magazines. I swear there is a 1997 issue of Glamour with some supe...
Read more