Cocks. And Gay Marriage.

Now that I have your attention, a photo of cocks:

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What?

Let me tell you, I would advise against doing that Google search unless you want to see a lot of skin and veins.

Anyway, in my quest for an image that would be appropriate for this blog (you know, because I am NOTHING, if not always appropriate *stifles laughter*), I came across an amazing Canadian blog, whose author's tagline is:

"Combatting bigotry the gayest way I know how".

I thought it was quite awesome. I hope you will pop over and check it out.

Here I am: whining about trying to sort my shit out regarding all our wedding details. Simple things, but necessary things like seating charts and guest counts. Trying to get in touch with the caterer and signing really large cheques for really silly things. You know, meaningful stuff like that.

He has given me an entirely new perspective. For an interesting, yet hilarious, read, check out The Author's article on his own quest for marriage.

Awesome.

Also? A fantastic link to a cock picture..

Go ahead, I'll wait.


See? Get your mind out of the gutter!


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Dear Person... & Cyclists Terrify Me

Dear Person who walked their dog to the top of my driveway, allowing said dog to poop in between my car and the garage door,

Congratulations on an incredible level of passive-aggressiveness.

Very bold, and very baffling. My front door is literally steps away.

You are a fucktard. We clean up our dogs' crap without fail, and the one time Feyoncé™ ran out of bags (after 3 consecutive dog poops), he walked the dogs home quickly, grabbed a bag, and LITERALLY SPRINTED BACK to scoop the mess.

So go fuck yourself.

I clean up enough dog poop on my own.


Piss-off-ed-ly,
Me

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Dear Hypothetical Old Man on a bicycle who I possibly didn't see this morning as I backed out of my driveway going 4 km/hr,

I swear to mother-effing-Jebus I checked both sides of the road, my mirrors, my rear view. I constantly remind myself that although the street I live on is not busy, there are always people/kids/cyclists/dogs out and about, so to be very aware.

Your hypothetical white hair and blue shirt somehow manifested into the stealthiest camouflage I have ever seen. My windows were even open and I never saw or heard anything, except my own completely startled hypothetical voice, apologizing wholeheartedly and calling you sir.

I looked and I have no idea how I didn't hypothetically see you. I am very sorry. Very, very sorry. I still feel awful and probably more afraid than you were of my meep-meep sedan. The fear is increased by the fact I still understand how I hypothetically didn't see you. I vow to be EVEN MORE terrified of driving now than I was before.

I swear I looked everywhere I needed to, yet failed.

Apologetically (hypothetically),


Me


p.s. Did you come back with a small dog and poop in my driveway? You or the dog? Just curious...


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Dear Cyclists,


I was going to write you a letter a few days ago and didn't. This morning's hypothetical cyclist incident got me thinking.


YOU TERRIFY ME when you are on the road. I know you are supposed to be, you are allowed to be, I know you have every right to be, and I honestly try my best to watch out for you, give wide leeway around you, and basically stay the fuck away from you as much as I can, because... well,

YOU TERRIFY ME.

I DO NOT WISH TO HURT YOU.

Also? If you are going to ride on the road, then you should be ADHERING TO TRAFFIC RULES, and be wearing a MOTHERLOVING HELMET for Chrissakes. (I saw a man with his skull cracked open, who surely died, from a bicycle accident. I don't blame the man and didn't see the actual accident, but I would like to think that his chances would have improved with a helmet). That being said, drivers can't be DERP DERP and not be aware.

Don't run stop signs or stop lights. It's MOTHERLOVING dangerous. And it makes you less predictable, increasing the danger factor.

Ride on, cyclists! Hey... where's your... helmet? (Image Source)

I am also afraid when I am walking and see a cyclist with headphones in. I understand the desire for and enjoyment of music, but if you are riding in traffic and are not following traffic rules, then at least leave one motherloving earhole free to hear the sounds around you! Please!!!

Mutual respect folks. Even though you TERRIFY me.

Curled up in the fetal position,


Me

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Dear Google.ca Image Search,

Thank you for showing me that the number one search following the word "RIDICULOUS" is....

"pictures of Céline Dion".

My very own Canadian. How I beam with pride.

And on that note, a ridiculous photo of Céline Dion:

In all fairness, there are A LOT of ridiculous photos of Céline Dion on the interwebz. (Image Source)

Ridiculously,


Me


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Dear Puppy: Goddammit!!

Dear Puppy*,

While your eyes are adorable, and your looks are stunningly beautiful, you are PISSING ME OFF!

That plastic I found in the hallway yesterday that you had chewed, and I couldn't figure out what it was? The only trays I own to my tooth whitening kit.

Thanks for that, goddammit.

Her stunning good looks distract me from the next damaged item...

Puppy, you know our little ghetto garden with the few sparse strawberries? Yeah, you are NOT supposed to raid it for new fruit at all times, even if the plastic chicken wire is no longer standing. That strawberry I took from you, rinsed, and figured it was still safe to eat? Well, that was just bad judgement on my part, goddammit.

While I appreciate you keeping  me company as I FINALLY begin to sort through my mounds of hoarder like papers/receipts/tax documents/insurance documents/gluten-free recipes, your compulsion to chew your bone on the assorted file folders on the floor (what?!? I am still in the organizational stage... or something...) has created wet, destroyed file folders and papers, which... um, kind of negate the whole saving and filing bizznazz, goddammit.

The fact that no matter the temperature you must, MUST, lay your head on my leg so I sweat even more is adorable, but really hot, and apparently not good for my whole alpha-dog-smoke-and-mirror facade the trainer has me attempting, goddammit.

That white-painted wooden baseboard along the carpet... you know that stuff? Where you exercise your extreme aversion to 90-degree corners, obliterating them in a near-silent chew-fest as I sit here and blog and not notice you are ingesting paint chips and lumber? It's supposed to remain in tact, goddammit! And stop licking that bitter apple spray!! You are supposed to despise it, goddammit!

"I iz carefree dawggie. Your paperz are not mah concern." *runs away into long grass*

Finally... you have allowed me to see why Feyoncé™ and I have lasted as long as we have.

I can be super problematic, much like yourself, but I must be as cute to him as you are to me, which makes it all okay. Goddammit.

Now come over here and lay on mommy's leg while you try to shower me with grass and paint-infused kisses.

Good girl.



*Disclaimer: Note, this post was written in "sarcasm" font. I am very clearly aware that all of this is within my power to change, animal rights peeps. 
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