na§tee
07-05-2006, 04:36 AM
NOT THAT INTO DOGS
an observation by claire louise stewart, aged 22 and a bit. 23 in 6 days, actually.
i do not like dogs. enter : hate mail. i just really, really have to see if anyone is with me on this one...
i especially dislike dogs with penis..es. penii that get excited and, um, erect and might actually touch you should it leap on you and oh, grossness. i mean, come on! if you had a child, you wouldn't let it bang the shit outta a friend of yours, all up in your junk like ooooh baby yeah. so why a dog? why is this even remotely considered cute or funny? why can't all male dogs have their cocks chopped off anyway?
also, i strongly dislike dogs that are above a certain size. small dogs, okay. anything larger than a labrador; why bother? just get a horse.
people who let dogs lick their hands and their faces and they stroke them on their oily doggy dog stink fur and don't wash their skin afterwards? gross! don't come near me!
actually, i've done some researching and all of what i feel and more is very hilariously summarised by melissa "real world" howard on her freakin hilarious blog. i've been reading it for years. so imma share this one dog part she wrote about a year and a half ago and you're all gonna hate me, ha. it's a bit long. i've cut some out but still, it's great. do it. what else is available to read today?
Dogs.
In November (entry entitled Who Am I?), I may have had a brain aneurysm because I believed I was no longer afraid of dogs. Lies. All lies. Yesterday, I spent exactly 22 minutes in the corner of my boyfriend’s home office, facing the wall, crying like a victim as his golden retriever barked at me relentlessly. All I could see were fangs and blood and saliva and Cujo. While Paco (the dog) was barking at me, I was instantly brought to flashback. A grainy black and white memory and everything! My skin was dewy and hot. I could see myself as a four-year-old chewing Felix the Cat gum as I rubbed the real fur of the kitten iron-on on my terry blue tank top with matching shorts. I am waiting by a well on a humid day in the Philippines right before a vicious Doberman Pincer with rabies ravaged my tiny leg, attacking both my body and my sense of security (forever). No amount of cocoa butter or therapy can remove those scars.
So I’m back. I know exactly who I am and I am NOT a dog person. Oh, go ahead, send your hate mail you dog lovers. I do not care. Dogs have been fucking with my emotions from day one and I don’t feel I have to be apologetic about that.
I was left alone for a whole 24 hours with Paco. You see, I had gotten comfortable. When my boyfriend’s around, the dog seems entirely cool with plainly co-existing with me. Paco knows that I think he is cute, but he also knows to never touch or lick me because I will surely have a real live heart attack. I touch the dog rarely. In his sleep or um, well, not really ever actually. It’s sad because, having spent concentrated time with my boyfriend, I’ve discovered the dog has a little bit of a personality. I don’t wish to anthropomorphize (learned that on Jeopardy this week) the dog, but I get the feeling he knows what we’re talking about sometimes. He’s cute. But when he gets up on just the back legs, he’s taller than me and that’s not cute ever. Yes, his face is cute. His saliva, his teeth, his odor and his shedding – all terrible. This dog sheds like a mother fucker. I am nothing more than a fastidious housewife in the presence of this dog. All I do is sweep. I sweep so much, I’ve created songs about sweeping. So I sweep, yeah, just sweeping on the down low. Every day, the dog hair falls and falls. Each strand singing “I I I I I I keep on faaaaaallling” which is my least favorite song ever. Intermingling with the dirt, the dog hair laughs in my face as my allergies threaten to ruin my entire day.
You see, golden retrievers need contact. They need to play and touch. Therefore, I should not be alone with the dog for any amount of time. I cannot offer this touching, this playing, this licking, this frolicking. Putting dog food in a dish. Done. Opening the door so he can pee and shit. Fine. But actually petting and touching and loving. I can’t go for that. No can do. (A little Hall & Oates for you.) Mind you, putting dog food in a dish and opening the door require that I wear clothing from head to toe and my hands are covered in oven mitts just in case the dog jumps up and “mouths” my hand as he likes to do. I shudder at the thought. Shall I get a fencing uniform?
Because I was unable to touch the dog all day, he got bored. Boredom, as I read in my new dog manual, causes goldens to bark and destroy and pace and dig. All things I despise in humans so it’s doubly despicable in dogs.
After I cried (out of fear and therapy), I realized that good old Melissa is still here! Eww, referring to oneself in the third person is unattractive, and I apologize.
I am not the girl that is moved to near tears when she sees a cute little puppy in the arms of a stranger. I have the ability to keep on walking, without commentary or even a glance. If prodded by the person I’m with to admire such a dog, I say, “Yes, he’s cute…” face forward with my destination still firmly on the mind.
As a child, I never asked for a Trapper Keeper with the picture of the dogs peeping out from behind the daisies. I did not go to the pet store and annoy my mother with requests. If you wanted to find me at a mall, you’d know to go to Claire’s Boutique where I could be seen begging for 9 headbands that look exactly alike. As a matter of fact, I’m more likely to be at Ku Klux Klan rally than in a pet store. Seeing animals caged in their own urine and feces while crawling face to butt in mulch or wood chips is neither fascinating nor adorable to me. Watching a bunch of lunatic white power fanatics? That falls under the category of fascinating. Maybe even adorable? Imagine that. The Adorable Ku Klux Klan?
I do not believe in having dogs sleep in bed with humans. I do not believe in having dogs in the house, actually. I do not believe in having large dogs around little babies and toddlers. Even the smell of dog food is offensive to me so the smell of dogs is just torture. I especially hate it when people bring their dogs to restaurants with patio seating. They tie them up outside and the dog barks at passers-by which is annoying to all parties involved. Oooh, ooh. I really don’t like it when people are walking their dogs and the dog somehow singles me out to jump on and the owner says, “It’s okay. She just wants to love you…” and then I get the death stare when I reply, “Please make it stop, seriously.” Why is it okay for an owner to allow his dog to jump on a complete stranger? Need I wear a sign that says NOT THAT INTO DOGS? I can’t comprehend why anyone would like to wrap his hand in a thin Wal-Mart bag, bend over and pick dog shit up. Please do, especially near my porch, but still, the horror of it is unimaginable. The seemingly universal taboo of human shit makes picking up dog shit even more unfathomable to me.
I do not hate dogs. Hate is crazy and I reserve that feeling for roller coasters, eczema, Verizon, liars and the misuse of apostrophes. I don’t hate dogs. I just don’t like them, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot conjure up that fuzzy feeling in my chest when I see them. You know how when you just fall in love with someone, he can be getting out of his car in your driveway and you can watch him from the window and get the urge to run out and greet him and kiss him and be a crazy person? I don’t get that feeling for dogs. Maybe I only get it with humans, but some humans have this ability with dogs and I know so because I Google’d it.
To be fair, I did some research on dog people. There is a level of companionship and trust and loyalty and real genuine love that people have for dogs. It’s amazing if you’re into that sort of thing.
Some dog lovers make their girlfriends sit in the backseat of the car so the dog can sit up front. I saw that on MTV True Life. I would have dumped his ass. This gorgeous little South African exchange student was steady sitting the back. She looked like a super model with this amazing hair. Steady sitting in the back seat while her country ass stupid head boyfriend had this big slobbering ass dog up front. Go fuck yourself, dude.
There was a show on TV once where couples rate how annoying their spouse is. This one woman made her husband take allergy medicine every day so that the dog can sit on the couch while they watched television! Sit at the dinner table while they were eating! AND AND AND, sleep in the bed with them EVERY DAY! Exclamation point! I was disgusted. I would divorce her. Maybe this is normal behavior in dog-loving world. I mean, I’m all for animal rights, being kind to animals, all of that. But to put your husband’s health and happiness second to that of a dog’s? You’re out of your mind, bitch.
Dog love is off the chain. It’s healthy for the dog lovers. It brings a sense of wholeness to their lives.
Non-dog people just don’t understand this. For people that love dogs, the dog odor, the shitting, the whining, the barking, the shedding is entirely inconsequential. The dog love is all that matters. I read several websites where people have given up having nice furniture to be more accommodating to their dogs. Some people just forgo a level of hygiene to their homes, allowing the dog smell and the dog hair to permeate every aspect of their lives, simply for the unconditional love of their dogs. I do not wish to judge this. It just isn’t for me, which brings me to my next point.
My boyfriend is many things. A genius, for one. He owns a 1986 limo because it’s the only thing that simultaneously brings him “up in status and down in class.” This classless limo is complete with a privacy partition that is totally not sound-proof, a broken television, a totally 80s strobe light, a stereo system that crackles, wooden and marble consoles, orange drink in the ice bin and black velvet upholstery. It also breaks down at your destination, even if it is a classy hotel in downtown Manhattan. Foul-smelling plumes of smoke and green fluids leaking from the bottom and everything. Basically, the limo is the shit and when in Long Island, I obviously ride in style. But I digress.
My boyfriend is a dog person...
Yes, girl, he’s a dog person. He’s not all Crazy Dog Man though. He’s not the type to chew up a doggie biscuit and then have the dog eat it from his mouth. He’s not disgusto. He just likes dogs. How was I to know? I’m in deep too so there’s no going back. I just have to survive. Keep my head up and my hands covered. For the next ten to fifteen years. Dogs live, man. They live on and on and on.
He likes to lie down on the ground with him and they play which means the dogs jumps all over him, licking his face and hands. Face and hands that will ultimately end up in my face and hands which quietly freaks me out. (I don’t care if a dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s either so that line of reasoning doesn’t work with me…) Sometimes the dog’s ass is right in his face, and none of this is problematic for him. I have to monitor my facial expressions so I don’t seem like I am judging him. Dog people are sensitive about their dogs. The dog doesn’t smell very good even after a bath. I researched this and found that golden retrievers are known for a distinct “doggy odor” which my boyfriend actually can’t smell. I’m not saying the dog smells like hot shit on a train ride in India during The Amazing Race. It’s just that distinct odor that makes dogs smell like dogs and I just don’t like it and I can smell it anywhere, anytime.
I read an article on AskMen.com about a guy who felt like he had to decide between his girlfriend and his dog. I never want to be that kind of girlfriend. I will quietly suffer in dog world before I tell my boyfriend that he has to get rid of his dog. I would never do that to my boyfriend. His dog was here first. I also refuse to be blamed or held accountable for the sadness my boyfriend would feel if he gave his dog up. I can’t deal with that. Can you imagine the arguments that would arise from that? You made me give up my dog, you insufferable mean person! I mean, what can you really say to that? That would mean I was actually losing an argument and we can’t have that.
I’ve made insane compromises. Compromises I never thought I, Melissa You Can’t Tell Me Shit So Fuck Off Howard, was capable of. The dog used to sleep in his bed, but seriously, that grossed me out so I had to draw a line there. I removed the bedding, washed it in scalding hot water, Febreeze’d the shit out of the mattress, swept under and around the bed and made the bedroom suitable for human girls. The dog now sleeps on a doggie bed on the floor. I’d rather the dog not be anywhere near the bedroom because I just find that to be disturbing for many reasons other than sleep, but this is a new girl you’re talking to. I compromise.
I simply become a shell of my former self in the dog’s presence. Especially when the dog is very excited. I shut down. I ball up in the corner. My body gets really tense. I get scared. I have to use all my lifelines to avoid screaming I WANT TO KILL MYSELF when the dog is targeting me for attention. Yup, I just go phone a friend. In the other room. Upstairs. With the door locked. Ooh, I get scared.
I’ll be back in LA soon anyway. High heels, dresses, shit-talking at the television with Coral, Brasilian food delivery and dogless sunshine. No dog hairs in my soup today. I really wish I could just enjoy the dog like he does. I really do. I just wasn’t born that way.
an observation by claire louise stewart, aged 22 and a bit. 23 in 6 days, actually.
i do not like dogs. enter : hate mail. i just really, really have to see if anyone is with me on this one...
i especially dislike dogs with penis..es. penii that get excited and, um, erect and might actually touch you should it leap on you and oh, grossness. i mean, come on! if you had a child, you wouldn't let it bang the shit outta a friend of yours, all up in your junk like ooooh baby yeah. so why a dog? why is this even remotely considered cute or funny? why can't all male dogs have their cocks chopped off anyway?
also, i strongly dislike dogs that are above a certain size. small dogs, okay. anything larger than a labrador; why bother? just get a horse.
people who let dogs lick their hands and their faces and they stroke them on their oily doggy dog stink fur and don't wash their skin afterwards? gross! don't come near me!
actually, i've done some researching and all of what i feel and more is very hilariously summarised by melissa "real world" howard on her freakin hilarious blog. i've been reading it for years. so imma share this one dog part she wrote about a year and a half ago and you're all gonna hate me, ha. it's a bit long. i've cut some out but still, it's great. do it. what else is available to read today?
Dogs.
In November (entry entitled Who Am I?), I may have had a brain aneurysm because I believed I was no longer afraid of dogs. Lies. All lies. Yesterday, I spent exactly 22 minutes in the corner of my boyfriend’s home office, facing the wall, crying like a victim as his golden retriever barked at me relentlessly. All I could see were fangs and blood and saliva and Cujo. While Paco (the dog) was barking at me, I was instantly brought to flashback. A grainy black and white memory and everything! My skin was dewy and hot. I could see myself as a four-year-old chewing Felix the Cat gum as I rubbed the real fur of the kitten iron-on on my terry blue tank top with matching shorts. I am waiting by a well on a humid day in the Philippines right before a vicious Doberman Pincer with rabies ravaged my tiny leg, attacking both my body and my sense of security (forever). No amount of cocoa butter or therapy can remove those scars.
So I’m back. I know exactly who I am and I am NOT a dog person. Oh, go ahead, send your hate mail you dog lovers. I do not care. Dogs have been fucking with my emotions from day one and I don’t feel I have to be apologetic about that.
I was left alone for a whole 24 hours with Paco. You see, I had gotten comfortable. When my boyfriend’s around, the dog seems entirely cool with plainly co-existing with me. Paco knows that I think he is cute, but he also knows to never touch or lick me because I will surely have a real live heart attack. I touch the dog rarely. In his sleep or um, well, not really ever actually. It’s sad because, having spent concentrated time with my boyfriend, I’ve discovered the dog has a little bit of a personality. I don’t wish to anthropomorphize (learned that on Jeopardy this week) the dog, but I get the feeling he knows what we’re talking about sometimes. He’s cute. But when he gets up on just the back legs, he’s taller than me and that’s not cute ever. Yes, his face is cute. His saliva, his teeth, his odor and his shedding – all terrible. This dog sheds like a mother fucker. I am nothing more than a fastidious housewife in the presence of this dog. All I do is sweep. I sweep so much, I’ve created songs about sweeping. So I sweep, yeah, just sweeping on the down low. Every day, the dog hair falls and falls. Each strand singing “I I I I I I keep on faaaaaallling” which is my least favorite song ever. Intermingling with the dirt, the dog hair laughs in my face as my allergies threaten to ruin my entire day.
You see, golden retrievers need contact. They need to play and touch. Therefore, I should not be alone with the dog for any amount of time. I cannot offer this touching, this playing, this licking, this frolicking. Putting dog food in a dish. Done. Opening the door so he can pee and shit. Fine. But actually petting and touching and loving. I can’t go for that. No can do. (A little Hall & Oates for you.) Mind you, putting dog food in a dish and opening the door require that I wear clothing from head to toe and my hands are covered in oven mitts just in case the dog jumps up and “mouths” my hand as he likes to do. I shudder at the thought. Shall I get a fencing uniform?
Because I was unable to touch the dog all day, he got bored. Boredom, as I read in my new dog manual, causes goldens to bark and destroy and pace and dig. All things I despise in humans so it’s doubly despicable in dogs.
After I cried (out of fear and therapy), I realized that good old Melissa is still here! Eww, referring to oneself in the third person is unattractive, and I apologize.
I am not the girl that is moved to near tears when she sees a cute little puppy in the arms of a stranger. I have the ability to keep on walking, without commentary or even a glance. If prodded by the person I’m with to admire such a dog, I say, “Yes, he’s cute…” face forward with my destination still firmly on the mind.
As a child, I never asked for a Trapper Keeper with the picture of the dogs peeping out from behind the daisies. I did not go to the pet store and annoy my mother with requests. If you wanted to find me at a mall, you’d know to go to Claire’s Boutique where I could be seen begging for 9 headbands that look exactly alike. As a matter of fact, I’m more likely to be at Ku Klux Klan rally than in a pet store. Seeing animals caged in their own urine and feces while crawling face to butt in mulch or wood chips is neither fascinating nor adorable to me. Watching a bunch of lunatic white power fanatics? That falls under the category of fascinating. Maybe even adorable? Imagine that. The Adorable Ku Klux Klan?
I do not believe in having dogs sleep in bed with humans. I do not believe in having dogs in the house, actually. I do not believe in having large dogs around little babies and toddlers. Even the smell of dog food is offensive to me so the smell of dogs is just torture. I especially hate it when people bring their dogs to restaurants with patio seating. They tie them up outside and the dog barks at passers-by which is annoying to all parties involved. Oooh, ooh. I really don’t like it when people are walking their dogs and the dog somehow singles me out to jump on and the owner says, “It’s okay. She just wants to love you…” and then I get the death stare when I reply, “Please make it stop, seriously.” Why is it okay for an owner to allow his dog to jump on a complete stranger? Need I wear a sign that says NOT THAT INTO DOGS? I can’t comprehend why anyone would like to wrap his hand in a thin Wal-Mart bag, bend over and pick dog shit up. Please do, especially near my porch, but still, the horror of it is unimaginable. The seemingly universal taboo of human shit makes picking up dog shit even more unfathomable to me.
I do not hate dogs. Hate is crazy and I reserve that feeling for roller coasters, eczema, Verizon, liars and the misuse of apostrophes. I don’t hate dogs. I just don’t like them, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot conjure up that fuzzy feeling in my chest when I see them. You know how when you just fall in love with someone, he can be getting out of his car in your driveway and you can watch him from the window and get the urge to run out and greet him and kiss him and be a crazy person? I don’t get that feeling for dogs. Maybe I only get it with humans, but some humans have this ability with dogs and I know so because I Google’d it.
To be fair, I did some research on dog people. There is a level of companionship and trust and loyalty and real genuine love that people have for dogs. It’s amazing if you’re into that sort of thing.
Some dog lovers make their girlfriends sit in the backseat of the car so the dog can sit up front. I saw that on MTV True Life. I would have dumped his ass. This gorgeous little South African exchange student was steady sitting the back. She looked like a super model with this amazing hair. Steady sitting in the back seat while her country ass stupid head boyfriend had this big slobbering ass dog up front. Go fuck yourself, dude.
There was a show on TV once where couples rate how annoying their spouse is. This one woman made her husband take allergy medicine every day so that the dog can sit on the couch while they watched television! Sit at the dinner table while they were eating! AND AND AND, sleep in the bed with them EVERY DAY! Exclamation point! I was disgusted. I would divorce her. Maybe this is normal behavior in dog-loving world. I mean, I’m all for animal rights, being kind to animals, all of that. But to put your husband’s health and happiness second to that of a dog’s? You’re out of your mind, bitch.
Dog love is off the chain. It’s healthy for the dog lovers. It brings a sense of wholeness to their lives.
Non-dog people just don’t understand this. For people that love dogs, the dog odor, the shitting, the whining, the barking, the shedding is entirely inconsequential. The dog love is all that matters. I read several websites where people have given up having nice furniture to be more accommodating to their dogs. Some people just forgo a level of hygiene to their homes, allowing the dog smell and the dog hair to permeate every aspect of their lives, simply for the unconditional love of their dogs. I do not wish to judge this. It just isn’t for me, which brings me to my next point.
My boyfriend is many things. A genius, for one. He owns a 1986 limo because it’s the only thing that simultaneously brings him “up in status and down in class.” This classless limo is complete with a privacy partition that is totally not sound-proof, a broken television, a totally 80s strobe light, a stereo system that crackles, wooden and marble consoles, orange drink in the ice bin and black velvet upholstery. It also breaks down at your destination, even if it is a classy hotel in downtown Manhattan. Foul-smelling plumes of smoke and green fluids leaking from the bottom and everything. Basically, the limo is the shit and when in Long Island, I obviously ride in style. But I digress.
My boyfriend is a dog person...
Yes, girl, he’s a dog person. He’s not all Crazy Dog Man though. He’s not the type to chew up a doggie biscuit and then have the dog eat it from his mouth. He’s not disgusto. He just likes dogs. How was I to know? I’m in deep too so there’s no going back. I just have to survive. Keep my head up and my hands covered. For the next ten to fifteen years. Dogs live, man. They live on and on and on.
He likes to lie down on the ground with him and they play which means the dogs jumps all over him, licking his face and hands. Face and hands that will ultimately end up in my face and hands which quietly freaks me out. (I don’t care if a dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s either so that line of reasoning doesn’t work with me…) Sometimes the dog’s ass is right in his face, and none of this is problematic for him. I have to monitor my facial expressions so I don’t seem like I am judging him. Dog people are sensitive about their dogs. The dog doesn’t smell very good even after a bath. I researched this and found that golden retrievers are known for a distinct “doggy odor” which my boyfriend actually can’t smell. I’m not saying the dog smells like hot shit on a train ride in India during The Amazing Race. It’s just that distinct odor that makes dogs smell like dogs and I just don’t like it and I can smell it anywhere, anytime.
I read an article on AskMen.com about a guy who felt like he had to decide between his girlfriend and his dog. I never want to be that kind of girlfriend. I will quietly suffer in dog world before I tell my boyfriend that he has to get rid of his dog. I would never do that to my boyfriend. His dog was here first. I also refuse to be blamed or held accountable for the sadness my boyfriend would feel if he gave his dog up. I can’t deal with that. Can you imagine the arguments that would arise from that? You made me give up my dog, you insufferable mean person! I mean, what can you really say to that? That would mean I was actually losing an argument and we can’t have that.
I’ve made insane compromises. Compromises I never thought I, Melissa You Can’t Tell Me Shit So Fuck Off Howard, was capable of. The dog used to sleep in his bed, but seriously, that grossed me out so I had to draw a line there. I removed the bedding, washed it in scalding hot water, Febreeze’d the shit out of the mattress, swept under and around the bed and made the bedroom suitable for human girls. The dog now sleeps on a doggie bed on the floor. I’d rather the dog not be anywhere near the bedroom because I just find that to be disturbing for many reasons other than sleep, but this is a new girl you’re talking to. I compromise.
I simply become a shell of my former self in the dog’s presence. Especially when the dog is very excited. I shut down. I ball up in the corner. My body gets really tense. I get scared. I have to use all my lifelines to avoid screaming I WANT TO KILL MYSELF when the dog is targeting me for attention. Yup, I just go phone a friend. In the other room. Upstairs. With the door locked. Ooh, I get scared.
I’ll be back in LA soon anyway. High heels, dresses, shit-talking at the television with Coral, Brasilian food delivery and dogless sunshine. No dog hairs in my soup today. I really wish I could just enjoy the dog like he does. I really do. I just wasn’t born that way.