Breaker Breaker 19

Well hello there, good buddy. Got your ears on? Man, doesn't that take you back to like 1979? When people actually had CB radios in their car? Like my dad? And that 10 foot antenna? (secret: My "handle" on the CB back in the day was a nickname my dad still calls me to this very day. Yep, I was once known throughout a 10 mile radius in northern Indiana as "Peanut". Oh yeah, you better look out, Peanut's gonna get all up in your grill, mister Big Rig Red. The sad thing is that I only remember ever getting one person to ever talk to me on the CB and it ended up being this like 8 year old girl in my same small hometown. Apparently, Peanut was not that popular in citizen's band radio back in the day and now has to write a blog entry about it 27 years later. I am digressing so I shall stop..)

What the hell was I even going on about to begin with? Oh yeah, a weekend wrap up of my activities because someone in Iowa or Arizona or Tehran really really cares. Granted, that person in Tehran is just hoping I talk about something 'nippy fucky' again. I'm here to please so here is what I did, more or less.

Saturday, I took the Big Dog to the vet because she had developed a 'hot spot' on her hind end. We used to have a dog growing up that would get 'hot spots', these itchy places that he would lick and chew on all summer and we'd have to put this Sulfadine stuff on it. Back in the day, it was a whole lot cheaper to have a dog b/c they didn't have all this newfangled 'veterinary medicine' business. Basically, you only went to the vet if your dog got run over (which sadly, eventually occurred to this one at the ripe old age of 16...further digression: the girl who hit him, a bitchy shrew I cursed at from three blocks away, I found out later had just then discovered she was pregnant at 16...it's no excuse of course and it didn't make me hate her less, but man, what a day to have huh? Find out you're pregnant and run over a dog known and loved by the whole town). Back on point, I took the dog into the vet today and $175 later (though some of it for tick stuff..they are bad out here), she received a shot of steroids and antibiotics. Apparently the days of treating such things with a $.89 bottle of Sulfadine are gone.

So if you recall, I was planning on going to the Mystics game yeah? Well, I decided instead to accompany The Agent down to Crystal City to have dinner with some people neither one of us knew. I should have stuck to my original game plan. After a decent drive over to Hotel Land (aka Arlington, VA), we ate at an Italian place. (I am not going to name it here b/c I suddenly had an irrational fear that one of my dining companions might google it for some reason, recognize me, and then read about how they were insufferably pretentious and lacking in all sense of humor...seriously, when a lesbian is talking about lesbians playing golf and you go 'Gosh, I had no idea lesbians liked golf!' expecting to get a chuckle b/c most lesbians I know would find that just a little bit humorous, not sidesplitting but you know, enough to nod your head knowingly and go heh, yet the person just seriously nods at you and goes on to explain that why yes, lesbians do like golf and in fact there's a local league etc etc. It was at this point I started thinking about Lindsay Whalen driving to the basket and I asked why god why am I here). Back to the restaurant. I love Italian and was looking forward to a good meal. Don't you hate it though when you go to a place that looks really nice and promises to be really good and instead you get mediocre Italian food that you could pay less for at the Olive Garden? Oh man..it was bad. Not even three glasses of grigio could save the dinner or the conversation. Good times..

Sunday, I painted my toenails a lovely shade of 'purple haze'. I also had a million hour phone conversation with A who celebrated her birthday yesterday. We spent the majority of it discussing what I would buy her for her birthday if I won the lottery (in no particular order: a pony, a brewery, a huge house attached to a brewery and a winery, capris, her own Victoria's Secret store, a car and driver to take us places, all forms of Le Crousset cookware, an NBA player who is not a douchebag, rings, shoes, tank tops, a personal chef, our favorite pizza delivered anywhere in the world, apartments/houses all over the world, cute sparkly pretty things, etc etc). You can understand why that conversation lasted a million hours. She also caught me up on the hometown gossip, who's sleeping with who, who's doing too many drugs, who is a being weird, etc. Good times.

There you go, my weekend in a not so nutshell and in all its nippy fucky detail. Wee!