Second date with FOT last night went pretty well. Some of you (Dan, Cat, etc.) will be pleased that he picked up the check, I said I’d chip in, and when he said, “Nah, I got this,” I shut up and let him pay for dinner.
I’m not sure whether we have “it” or not, but we had a good time, so there you go.
I have been fantasizing a lot. But not about FOT.
And not about my girl-crush. (Sorry, Margo.)
About
On our first date, FOT told me his co-worker had found a puppy and was trying to find the little guy a home, and I asked FOT to send me a picture or two. I KNOW, I’M A DUMBASS. SHUT UP.
Before I even saw him, I wanted him. I wanted him to be mine mine mine. The words “baby” and “pit bull” have a similar effect (though in a much more pleasant way) as “mayonnaise” and “burpees” for me. I lose all strength and integrity. I will lie, cheat, and steal to get my hands on them. (On the baby pit bulls, not the mayonnaise and burpees, of course.) Mammalian crack cocaine.
Then I remembered
And my bank account. And I knew I shouldn’t do it.
That’s when FOT sent me the pictures.
I lost my ever-loving mind. I was all, “DON’T CARE ABOUT MONEY WILL SELL MY BODY MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE.” I wanted to stick my face right in his neck and stroke those silky ears.
I started thinking I’d do it, you know. One more dog. What? Mr. Wonderful and his Doberman certainly aren’t banging down the door to fill up the dog-shaped space in my house. I’d fill it myself. No big whoop.
Well, guess who’s turned up lame now?
I picked Redford up from his babysitter yesterday, and she told me he was limping. Oh boy is he limping. Today the vet prescribed him some pain meds and told me to keep him from exercising. (Good luck with that.) If it doesn’t improve in a few days, he’ll have to have an x-ray. Could the solution be surgical? Yes.
So I’d just like to extend both middle fingers right now to the Universe for teaching me that lesson (Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Date’s Co-worker’s Foster Dog) in the nastiest way possible.
(And ten thousand people are dead in Japan, so I’m gonna shut the fuck up now.)
Perspective…perspective.
I loves you, Amy.
Yay for trying on “letting a dude pay for me once in a while.” How’d it fit?
Love it. Perspective kicks me in the ass all the time. I wrote about it in my last blog, albeit not in such an entertaining manner
Brilliant
My dog Jordy had to have surgery for torn ACLs twice. I feel your wallet’s pain, woman! They’re totally worth it, though. Hey, won’t the young one be all healthy and stuff? You could go ahead and get pet insurance for him before he starts to develop pre-existing conditions…
You should not listen to me, though… It would be like taking birth control advice from the Duggars. We “couldn’t say no” to six dogs. Seriously, though, we’re stopping at six.
love to gimp #1 and gimp #2 today, ame. the cauliflower soup was a gross disaster, you should thank your lucky stars for your lactose intolerance.
Yes, Granddude and Tom, natural disasters have a way of shining a light on one’s pettiness.
Cat, I loves you back.
Dan, it was uncomfortable, I’m not gonna lie. But less uncomfortable than the sparring match with Billy Joel.
Jenny Wood Leonard, the surgeons at State told me that Violet has a 33% chance of tearing her other ACL; my vet said it’s more like 60-70%. I was kicking myself about not getting pet insurance, but my vet said it’s not worth it, that you pay ridiculous premiums and most plans pay out only $1,000 on procedures like Violet’s. But (if I had the money and the space) I’d stop at six dogs. Or fifteen. Definitely fifteen. Scout’s honor.
Erika, it’s too bad you don’t blog. I have the feeling the cauliflower soup would’ve made a good post.
amy, you are not thinking enough about MY NEEDS. by which i mean, i am going to need more date details. thank you. “it went pretty well” is fine and all… and i love entries about my niece and nephew (and i am so so so so sorry that they’re both so gimpy!) and other cute dogs (who may or may not also be nieces and nephews)…BUT THROW ME A BONE. the bachelor finale was monday. the after the rose ceremony left me worried that they’re not going to make it. i need you, amy.
I will do my best, sister. You know, I usually take something that could be expressed in four words and stretch it out to, oh, half a page. So if I say, “It went pretty well,” that’s ’cause I really don’t have much to say about it. But I’ll get on OKCupid and rustle up some dates.
aww, baby. sorry about the red boy.
you know if we had some help we could take lots of dogs . . .
He seems to be doing OK at this point. Knock wood, it was just some sort of inflammation that got taken care of with an NSAID.