The greyhoundiest greyhound she can be.

For all the stress, and for all the moments I’ve wanted to drop-kick her off the top of my building (or maybe just throw myself off…), I really can’t imagine giving this up.

A peek inside her doggy mind.

“Kiba - wanna go out? Shall we go for a walk?”

Squirrels?

“Shall we visit the park?”

Squirrels???

“Kiba - I’m thinking of a number between 1 and — ”

Squirrels!!!

“Kiba — ”

Squirrels! Squirrels! Squirrels! S.Q.U.I.R.R.E.L.S!

Why gay men make the best friends for fatgrrls.

Yesterday was a FAT day. Not in the ‘fat pride’ sense, and not in the ‘fat!so?’ sense, but in the ‘everyone is looking at me and thinking I’m gross and disgusting’ sense. My brain knew it was hormonal, but combined with a disastrous morning trying to get Kiba settled before I went to work, I just gave in. I felt so totally ‘other’ from my body, so I sat at my desk and cried.

I sent an e-mail off to Billy, my super-fantastic boy out in the land of Idaho who often calls me when he’s down because he thinks my giggling has restorative powers. (And it does.) So I sent in a request for his giggle and got the following reply:

Honey,
It IS just PMS. U r not ugly, u r a beautiful beautiful butterfly. And like a butterfly, sometimes u have a hard time finding the ” pollen ” ( for the sake of the analogy, pollen is Fatgrrl feminist power ) but you’ll find that delicate fatgrrl flower, and suck it dry! And upon doing so, u will again unleash your ” message ” upon the world; and all will be well. The diet industry will crumble, Hostess and the Movie theater industry will rejoice, and in the aftermath, we will find that skinny little bitch Kate Moss, hiding in a straw stack somewhere weeping for all the other skinny bitches in the world, without coke to turn to.

This is why gay men make the best friends for fatgrrls: a long-standing alliance has existed between the gay boys and the fat girls, and I don’t know what I would do without it. It’s like a suit of armor I can put on. (And yes, there are some gay boys willing to tough out the villainous conservatism of Idaho - Billy and his partner, Michael, just celebrated 5 years together. In Idaho. That’s saying something.)

Billy, you are invaluable to me. I’m proud to have the distinction of being the last girl you dated so many years ago - it’s still the funniest thing about the two of us. Love, The Butterfly in Search of the Pollen.

I’m not surprised the dog is eating better than me.

Eyeteeth found an awesome tidbit: British researchers have concluded that pet food is better for your health than fast food. When the urge to make a quick stop at the drive thru hits, take a detour over to Petco instead and pick up a tin of gourmet dog food.

Although, I think it could be argued that many of the protein bars and on-the-go nutrition and diet snacks can’t be that far off from the taste and texture of many pet foods. I cook for Kiba: I sautee chicken breast, or brown up some ground beef, to mix into her lamb & rice kibble with a little chicken broth. She loves it, and I’d certainly give it a try before I’d go near one of those nasty double-fudge peanut butter, constipation-inducing protein bricks marketed like candy bars. Bleh.

I hate waking up early, but will do it for cute firefighters.

One of my residents tried to burn the building down on Sunday. What he really ended up burning was some chicken - well, he wasn’t totally sure it was a chicken - but he was sure it was something to eat.

The World’s Stupidest Resident was banging on my door at 6am to tell me she’d called the fire department. I stepped out into the hall and was greeted by a smell that would make anyone wish to turn off their olfactory senses at will. I stood on the stairway as cute fireman after cute fireman piled in and gathered around the resident’s door. The lead firefighter was alternately banging on the door, yelling, and throwing himself against the door. They finally got the door open, and then the dude whipped out his axe to cut down the security chain. Sweet! Real firefighter action!

Totally foul smoke came pouring out of the apartment (and to be honest, it didn’t smell too different from what I did to some curry chicken years ago), and the firefighters charged in. All was silent for a few moments as they searched the apartment, and then a deep chuckle floated out into the hallway: “He’s drunk! Passed out on the floor!”

How embarrassing. Looks like the World’s Stupidest Resident and the Functioning Alcoholic have some serious competition in the building.

Mainlining pure digital joy.

I won a Super Nintendo game system on Ebay today. Then promptly headed over to Half.com to find my favorite games - Super Mario, Tetris, Earthworm Jim, Mortal Kombat. I’ve been fixated on this for days, pining away for the good ol’ days and wasted hours I spent in front of a Super Mario game.

It is the perfect 16-bit system. Good graphics, great gaming library, and a controller with enough buttons that gives me options without the head-splitting panic that later generation systems inspired in me. How does ANYONE manage all those buttons, joysticks, and toggle switches? It kills the joy and escapism that is the whole point of gaming! I pick the SNES for these and many more reasons. Not, as you might be thinking, because my coordination levels peaked out with the SNES and forward progress in gaming is no longer an option for me.

Christina - you’re coming over for Drunk Gaming, right??

Heavenly Father Got a Message for Me

I was stopped this morning on my way to work by a couple of awkward looking, clean-cut young men. They looked so out of place in the neighborhood, my first thought was, They must be Mormons. Sure enough! They introduce themselves as missionary Elders.

I amazed myself with my manners. Harking from a land of Mormon - Idaho being second only to Utah for it’s Mormon population - I remembered the days of yore when I was mercilessly snotty and mean to the Mormon kids in my high school. How resentful I was of the seminary building just across the street from my school, and how ridiculous I thought it was that the Mormon kids could take a period each day to attend seminary. What the hell…? As a self-confessed atheist, I had made it my mission to reveal to them the cult of which they were a part, and the great injustice they propagated against women and minorities.

As it happens, I still think the LDS church is a cult, and they do in fact propagate terrible evil against women and minorities. But I’ve mellowed in my old age, and didn’t intend to bring up all that angst against these fresh-faced boys, clearly out on their first mission. They’ll become acquainted with the ways of the world soon enough, I’m sure of it. Especially if they keep hanging around Minneapolis - we got all types here.

Instead I politely turned down their request to visit my home and bring me the light of Christ, and headed on to work. I then promptly cracked open a caffeinated beverage in their honor.

A hint that she’s not pleased with the way things are going.

This morning I found bite marks on my front door handle. Many bite barks. Is Kiba trying to tell me something? Are those bacon-flavored cornstarch velvet bones just not satisfying the urge to chew? Or could the bite marks be related to the shredding she did with her nails on the bottom of the door? I think the message may be clear:

WOMAN! You even try to leave me alone in this apartment, and I will show you the kind of Hell I can unleash with my teeth, claws, and bladder.

But while I’m cursing, what the fuck is up…

…with charging hotel guests by the kilo? Ah, Germany - land of great art, great sausages, and a big, fat load of weight bigotry. A hotel in Germany is now charging 34 pence per kilogram, because:

Owner Juergen Heckroth said: “Slim guests live longer and can therefore come more often and that is why we reward them.”

There was a great comment over at Big Fat Blog in response:

I’m willing to pay more to stay at the hotel due to my inevitably shorter life span if and only if they charge people with cancer, diabetes, bipolar disorder, depression, schizphrenia, eating disorders, the elderly, smokers, alcoholics, etc., more too. People on limited incomes should be charged more too because they’re less likely to be able to afford subsequent visits. People who travel often probably have a higher chance of being in an accident, so to be on the safe side they should pay more. I’d also suggest charging more to people in wheel chairs because the extra weight of the wheel chair (especially the electric scooter type ones) must be damaging to both the hotel’s structure and image. Based on their logic, I’m sure this would be acceptable to them, don’t you think?

Giving myself special dispensation to curse during Lent. Dammit!

I lost track of the number of arguments the Stereo Boy resident and I have had over his total lack of courtesy towards neighbors, and total disregard for my authority as the caretaker. Last night the arguments officially escalated to a fight, and by the time it was over I was ready to kill not only him, but half of the property management staff with him.

FUCK!

I can’t stand the childish reasoning and bullshit: “So-and-so in 102 is loud. I can be loud, too.” Or, “all of my neighbors - I asked - none of them says I’m too loud.” Yeah, Stereo Boy, all the neighbors except the ones that consistently complain. He cited the Functioning Alcoholic as credible because she’s a property management staff member. Good one - the cleaning lady! Naturally, when she is passed out (and that’s most of the time) she doesn’t hear a thing!

Things finally crossed the line when he referred to the two tenants who entered complaints against him as those “two fucking faggots.” I was in total, jaw-on-the-ground shock. I only regret not slapping the little bastard right then and there.

At least it’s good news for Kiba: there’s someone else at the top of my shit list for the moment. And just so you don’t think I’m a completely negative-minded person, here’s my latest attempt at working with Kiba’s separation anxiety:

Hey, they keep her from messing on the carpet while I’m gone. And that’s a GOOD thing, right?