Dy-No-Mite!

I'm one of those people that volunteers for things before I actually think them through. I got my new dog through an adoption group here in the city. This group gets animals about to be put down or otherwise incarcerated, and fosters them before they are adopted. I have helped once before as a temporary foster, and this weekend I raised my hand again to help out a foster dog on his way to his permanent home in Vermont.

I drove to Manhattan yesterday to pick up my task for this weekend. Dog's name is Desi, and he is a miniature poodle. He is about 25 pounds, and has about a foot on my other two dogs. He is actually a really pretty dog, with a very laid back personality.

Desi has a heart murmur, which causes him to sporadically hack in the middle of the night. He is pee-pad trained, sorta. All last night while New Boyfriend and I were in bed, Desi could be heard leaping in and out of bed, and then hacking right as we would fall asleep. Also, there were three dogs in bed with us. It was like magic finding a place to put your legs where a dog was not.

This morning, my lovely man gently nudges me and says, "Don't roll over, there's shit on the bed." Desi had gotten spooked by coming to our house, and had diarrhea all over the place. After having successfully shitted up the house, he climbed into bed where his butt marked all over the sheets. New Boyfriend and I spent an hour and a half cleaning the floors, swiffering, and deoderizing. Plus, Desi had to be tossed into the tub to keep him from further terrorizing the house.

As I am cleaning, New Boyfriend looks at me and says, "I can't wait to be domesticated with you." Don't you just love him? I mean, I am ankle deep in dog shit--not even my own dog's shit, and he is scrubbing Desi's ass, all the while dreaming about our life together.

Anyway, this dog is taking off today or tomorrow--hopefully before Sunday. He is sort of the Napoleon Dynamite of dogs. Goofy, curly haircut, unusually tall and lanky, kind of quiet, and inadvertently gross. He is going to go to a dog's dream for his permanent home: A place in Vermont with a 65 year old woman who wants nothing more than to spoil a dog. I will pack Kaopectate for his journey.

What's Not Allowed

New Boyfriend and I spent most of today shirking our responsibilities. The sound of the shirking could be heard 'round the tri state area. It was great.

Anyway, today our shirking lead us to Union Square, where we spent too much money on CDs. He had to go back to Brooklyn to do some work, so I spent the rest of the afternoon lolling around the square, shopping and whatnot. I got on the subway to head home in the early evening.

I was sitting on the L, minding my business (which is tough to do, sans iPod), and a homeless guy walked around our car in between stops to tell the captive riders his soliloquy about how we should give him some money. I was sitting by this girl who looked like k.d. lang's stylist from the 80's. She had one of those trendy girl mullets, an A-line cotton knee length skirt with a crinoline petticoat (completely wrinkled), and a crappy t-shirt, complete with green Goodyear wrestling shoes. It was the kind of hipster outfit that Williamsburgians choose to look bizarre and random, but in reality, she probably crinkled her skirt the night before by crunching it in between her Smiths albums and "The Bell Jar". I admire that kind of organized messiness, which is completely distinct from actual messiness (read: Guy in sweaty shirt with silk screened tiger on it, jeans with elastic waist, and white Avias...and like a visor or something).

Anyway, trendy goofy girl also had a crowning mark on her arm, which was an eggplant tattoo with a fireburst behind it. Seriously. An eggplant tattoo. It's not enough that she is weird based on your trendy girl mullet, or wrinkled crinoline, but now we know that she is absolutely bizarre with her eggplant tattoo.

So, homeless guy accidentally bumps eggplant girl while the car is shifting, and she mouths the words "fuck off". The eggplant girl whose deliberate look was "homeless chic" told an ACTUAL homeless guy to fuck off. Maybe it's because he wore what she wanted to wear that day. So, I declare that homeless chic folks are not allowed to disparage the actual homeless. Just because the fashion sense of the homeless is eons beyond the planned disheveled look of the Williamsburg hipster is no reason to make the homeless feel like lesser beings. It's just plain hypocritical.

But, I do admire the girl for making a vegetable part of her body art. I would love to see more rhubarb and less tribal tatts.