I was writing you a lovely post about giving my dog a bath, I had pictures and everything, but clearly that is not allowed at the Pendleton Community Library. Because CLEARLY pictures of a Scottish Terrier and a plastic tub can be misconstrued as pornography and should therefore be prohibited. My computer keeps on booting me off and it had never done that before. God damn it!
Anyways, I have pictures that would better show the bath tub fiasco, but I guess we'll all have to use our imagination. I got everything ready in the utility room downstairs, and as went to to go get Graham, Mom said,
"Ooh! Can Spike and I come and watch the fun!?!"
"No." and I bolted downstairs with Graham flung over my shoulder.
Lengthwise, Graham had about a foot of room to wiggle around in and only 6 inches on the sides. As far as depth was concerned it was perfectly fine. So the instant I dipped Graham into the tub he bounced out like a Mexican jumping bean and I was completely wet. And nothing says were in for a fun afternoon like wet jeans and socks. Washing him was no problem, but drying him was suddenly a problem. Was I supposed to lift a sopping wet dog, whose first instinct was to shake for about 20 min. out of a plastic tub? Luckily enough, Mom had come down to nose in and she was able to rinse the soap off of him while held him calmly. She then had to dump the water out milk jug by milk jug at a time until I was able to lift him out of the tub and onto the towels. He then proceeded to shake all over me, awesome.
I went upstairs after it was all over and Mom, Dad and I sat down for our nightly routine.
Mom: Well, that worked out pretty well, didn't it?
Me: Uh, yeah, I guess.
Dad: Yeah, Mom told me how it was and I need to get some kind of drainage thing worked out so it's easier to get the water out.
Me: Oh, you mean like a bath tub?
God!!! If my life wasn't tedious enough, I have do deal with the logic of Tweedle-Dad and Tweedle-Mom; where they can't understand what someone is saying based on their color, we eat dinner at 4:30, only have pleasant conversations while talking about the weather, and think that jerry rigging some storage bin downstairs makes more sense for washing a dog than a regular bath tub! Lord take me now.
I hate being in my house, but I'm just not ready to give up that something lucky is going to happen to me and work in some awful job. Even though there isn't too much around the house that reminds me of Fuckhead, I look at the fireplace and see all the pictures and I'm all alone even up there. Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, all my brothers and all their wives, even my nephew's pictures are in pairs. There they are two by two and becomes evident that my name is Noah and there is an ark joke wrapped up in there somewhere. I watch TV and there are so many unattractive people, perfectly happy being married to one another, but HELLO? I'm good looking and right here! Yes, I'm living with my parents, have no job, and no assets to get me out of this situation, but even the ark Noah had a wife and he was like 700 years old.
I normally don't reference Noah's Ark things in direct correlation to myself but I swear it made sense last night as I was watching Craig Furguson. Let's see what else makes sense:
I like animals.
I like boats.
I am waiting for inspiration to give me direction in my life.
I got drunk and exposed myself to my son and ......................... wait that didn't happen to me, well at least not the son part.
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