Getting the Same Breed of Dog Is Psychotic

Dogs are great, aren’t they? They can fill whatever role you need them to. Some can protect, some can support you emotionally, and some can just be party time goofballs. It’s amazing that everyone doesn’t have a dog, especially since there are so many great varieties of dogs out there. Labs are amazing, golden retrievers are fantastic, even corgis are off the chain. There are so many great dogs that you’d have to be an absolute psycho to get the same breed multiple times.

So, yes, I got another weimaraner.

People who own weimaraners are freaks. They have to be, because weimies are freaks. They are absolute trainwrecks that have boundless energy and need your attention at all times and at all costs. Their owners reciprocate this, and in turn, need the dog’s attention at all times, and it leads to emotional co-dependency that is so excessive that it is not healthy for it to exist in this world.

I used to make fun of these weirdos. Then I became one.

When Casey The Dog was around, I rightly claimed that I would not get another weimaraner, because it couldn’t compare, and there are so many great dogs out there that I didn’t need to get a specific breed. Also, it would remind me of Casey instead of being a clean slate with a new pup. These things are undeniable, and yet I still went against these thoughts when it was time for a new dog.

I knew I couldn’t replace Casey, but why wouldn’t I get something as close to her as possible? The short answer is because that’s a psycho maneuver like the guy who dates someone who looks just like his ex. But now that we have a ten-month-old son, a dog breed that we knew was an appealing thing to us as it’s not easy for a dog and baby to coexists. Weims are insane, but they are also gentle, loyal, and snuggly as all hell.

My wife said I could only get a dog in December if that dog was “perfect.” Otherwise, she wanted to wait until after the little guy’s birthday in February. But let’s be clear, this was just a ploy to buy her time as it’s not like she was going to agree to an “imperfect” dog. Luckily for me, I found Kimber on a rescue site based in Tallahassee. When I sent my wife the link, her response was, “Well crap. She’s kinda perfect.” Before she even responded, I reached out to try to get more information. One thing led to another and on Christmas Eve, I drove over 9 hours roundtrip to pick up Kimber and bring her back.

And she has been perfect. She’s a weim, so she’s crazy, but she’s so gentle and loving that she’s a perfect fit for our family. It was a great decision but admittedly, a total psycho move. I know, subconsciously, that I think of her as an extension of Casey. It’s impossible not to, but maybe that’s okay. I mean, I only messed up her name twice, which is way better than I expected to be doing at this point. Kimber is still her own dog, and lucky for us, she’s exactly what we needed.

I guess sometimes it works out to be a psycho.

The Evolution of Facebook Spam Accounts

Facebook is full of spam accounts. There are very few things I enjoy more than awkward attempts at looking and sounding like a real human being. Still, I mostly just ignore these random friend requests, but then I started to notice something that caught my eye.

At first, all of these Facebook spam accounts were scantily clad ladies that just really wanted to get to know me better. It was nice, but a little creepy, as there's some Pakistani dude, wait, is that racist? That might be racist. Um, I guess let's just make it some weirdo from Florida. Anyway, I had gotten used to ignoring ladies with big boobs trying to seduce me over the internet, but then the Facebook Spammers stepped up their game. Instead of a single lady, they have now started showing me hypothetical married chicks.

Now, I appreciate the change of pace, but how sad do these spammers think my life is? Like, my thought process would have to be:

Ooh, a friend request. It's from a lady. I don't know her, but she's married. I'm also married. Maybe we could chat about marriage stuff, you know, married people are real hard to find, so it's sure nice that a random one decided I would make a good friend. I think she would make a good friend too.

I mean shit, man. Maybe life isn't as wild as it used to be, but I'm still a dude. I mean, I don't want to be friends with random single ladies, but I also seriously don't want to be friends with married chicks. Like, at least single ladies still have wild stories. Being friends with a married lady would literally just be us sharing pictures of our respective dogs.

Actually, that doesn't sound so bad. Maybe I'll accept that friend request. I'm sure you're a real lady, Marriedbroad McGee.

The Number One Rule of Snapchat

Snapchat is a very popular app with the young, hip generation. I was actually an early adopter of Snapchat, because I figure new technology is at least worth a try. But it absolutely amazes me how bad people are at using Snapchat. Sometimes they try to be clever; sometimes they try to be cool, but the harder they try, the harder they fail. That is why I will share with you the number one, and truly only rule that matters in Snapchat.

Show Me The Puppies

This is all you need to know. Just take pictures and videos of doggies, and the world will be a much better place for it. Have you ever grown tired of looking at cute dogs or even ugly dogs doing cute things? Of course you haven't, especially when that pup is so desperate to go on a road trip that she hops in and lies down in the trunk of the car.

I don't care about pictures of your babies; I don't care about pictures of beaches or mountains, or some other lameass body of land, and I certainly don't give a shit about a picture or video of you, because I already know what you look like, and no matter how hard you try, you'll never be as cute as a pupdog with a bunch of stuffing hanging from her mouth.

Let's face it. Your life is boring. You don't think it's boring, but trust me, to the outside world, it's boring as shit. This is no knock on you, as I am as guilty of this as anyone else. Instead of focusing on you, focus on something else, and preferably, that something else will have a snout and some big floppy ears, and extra points for tail wagging. I don't want to see you getting your zen on with meditation, but I damn sure want to see a cute dog doing the same.

#Namaste

This is the only rule that you need to know for Snapchat. Just show me the puppies. Those sexy, sexy puppies.

My Dog Punked Me On The Basketball Court

I decided to go to the local park and shoot some hoops the other day. I hadn't shot in a while, and my shot is usually pretty bad, but it was absolutely busted the first few times I threw the ball at the basket, as it literally looked like that was all I was trying to accomplish. Luckily, I had my dog there for moral support, as she loves me no matter how bad my skills are on the court.

But after a few shots, I started to get back to my old level (which is still very bad, but it at least looked like I was aiming at something). And although she was tired from chasing her ball earlier, she was still curious to watch me play on the court, and she even decided to step up and play some defense. At first, she was just crowding my space, so I couldn't jump forward on my shots. It was incredibly effective.

After that, she took it to another level. She started crying at me to give her more attention, because my friend, the basketball, was getting all of my sweet touch, at least that's what I thought. She got tired of playing defense shortly after that and decided to hang out under the hoop for rebounds. That is when she took it to her final level of intimidation.

I rose up to take a picture perfect three point shot and right as I was about to release the ball, my dog used all her might to bark as loud as she could. It came out of nowhere, and surprised the hell out of me, causing my shot to go about three feet to the left. I started laughing, because it was a good prank by my dog. I grabbed the ball, lined up to shoot, and went to fire when she barked at me again and completely threw off my shot. This was no longer a game to her as she was in my head and throwing off my entire game. She was out there punking me on the playground, and I was losing my rep as a true baller.

I did the only thing I could do at that point. I started working on dunks (layups), so I couldn't be taken out of my game. Still, the damage had been done. My dog punked me out on the basketball court, and she's not going to let me hear the end of it.

Now I just need to work on catching a frisbee in my mouth so I can have my revenge.

My Review of Atlanta

My wife, dog, and I took a trip to Atlanta this past weekend. All it took me was one weekend to understand the city of Atlanta completely.

Before arriving, I needed to find a hotel. We wanted something close to the stadium, but since the dog was coming, needed something pet friendly. Hotwire had a deal on a 4-Star hotel less than two miles from the ballpark that was pet friendly. That sounded perfect, so I booked it and found out it was the downtown Sheraton. I went to their website, and found that although they are pet friendly, it is only for dogs up to 40 pounds, which is about 20-25 pounds too light for my pup. Also, they make you pay $100 deposit, and you only get $65 back. That is not pet friendly; that is pet exploitation. They are basically just trying to wring $35 out of you with no extra work on their end of things.

I was not having any of that, so after our 6.5 hour drive to get there, I snuck in my dog through the backdoor after I checked in and continued to sneak her in and out through the back doors of the place, so I didn't have to answer any questions from that nosey front desk.

But this hotel drama was far from over, as this supposed 4-Star hotel does not have free WiFi. They were trying to charge like $9 a day to use internet. What kind of hotel charges for internet in this day and age? I have stayed in some absolute shitholes, but even those would at least give you free WiFi. Don't stay at the downtown Sheraton. It sucks.

Saturday was a day of exploration in order to obtain food and wear out the dog. The morning was uneventful, but business picked up in the afternoon. We went to Cook Out for lunch on Saturday, because it delivers a lot of food for very little money. I got walking directions from Google, and luckily Google knew of a shortcut that would save us three walking minutes. I live my life with the motto of, IGWT, In Google We Trust, so I had no issues following Google's directions. Did the neighborhoods that we walked through get sketchier and sketchier? Did we most likely walk by a drug dealing operation? Yes, that seems quite likely. Was my wife happy about Google's directions? Honestly, she wasn't. She wasn't too pleased with me at all. We took the long way back home, and honestly, when you're not walking around in fear of being murdered, the walk does seem quicker.

But maybe the most disappointing part of that story is that Cook Out was not nearly as good as I remembered it. The caramel cheesecake shake delivered, but the burger, nuggets, and fries left a lot to be desired.

That night, we went to the Braves/Cardinals game, as it was the main reason for our trip. The old lady used to work for a Cardinals affiliate, so she knows a lot of the players. I am a lifelong Cubs fan, so I could give a shit about the Cardinals, but whatever, I figured I could root, root, root for the home team.

This plan would have worked, but Atlanta got rain that just would not quit the entire night, and the game got postponed, so we would not be seeing a baseball game on our 13-hour round trip drive to go see a baseball game. But hey, that's the way it goes sometimes.

And had the game not been cancelled, I would not have seen what I assume is the most Atlanta thing possible. While driving back to the hotel around 10:00 PM, I saw two pitbulls trotting down a busy street. I thought there owner would be following closely behind, but nope. There were just two pitbulls trotting down the street in the middle of downtown Atlanta. They just took up the far left lane on a one way and looked like they knew where they were headed. I would have adopted those pups, but they were so badass that it would have made more sense for them to adopt me.

Our trip ended with a dinner with friends, and then breakfast with another friend the following morning. They were both very pleasant experiences but unless I want to reveal secrets about the persons at these meals, they were rather uneventful.

So what is my overall review of Atlanta? If you like Waffle Houses, drug deals, and pitbulls running the streets, then Atlanta is the place for you. Personally, I'll take the tamer streets of Clearwater, where the only real concern is Hulk Hogan's racism getting totally out of control.

What Is True Love?

What is true love? It is a question that we have all contemplated. We have thought that we were in love and realized that it wasn't love at all. Many times, it is lust, and other times it is just doing whatever we can to not be lonely. But I feel like after today, I know what true love is, and this story has nothing to do with my wife.

I went outside to throw the ball for Casey The Dog (my dog, whose name is Casey). After her first sprint for her orange bowl, she had shaken some things loose in her system. It was time for an exit strategy. So she squatted and produced waste.

Usually, that is where that chapter ends and we get back to throwing the ball. Unfortunately, this was not the end for Casey The Dog. She got some of her poop out, but unfortunately for her, she had gone a little heavy on her grass diet, and there was a long log of a poop/grass mixture hanging from her butthole. A lot of dogs know to just rub their ass on the ground to wipe it away, but Casey The Dog does not do that. She tries to squat and walk at the same time until she gets super frustrated and just lays down on her side.

As she lies her body down on the ground, she has a look of fear in her eyes. She does not know what to do, or if she will be cursed to permanently have poop hanging from her ass. "What type of existence will that be?" she surely wonders.

I see my dog suffering, and I must act quickly. Unfortunately, I do not have a poop bag as we were just hanging in the backyard. But I knew my dog needed me, so I told her to lay still, and I removed the substance from her butthole. It was not a pleasant experience for me, but she was totally ready for the next throw after that. Life was good once again.

What is love? Love is the will to suffer to prevent that loved one from suffering.

What is love? Love is pulling poop out of your dog's asshole with your bare hand. I love my dog, and she sure as hell better love me too.

Supercuts Is The Place To Be

I ain't no fancy boy who needs high-priced haircuts from a hair stylist. I need a cheap place to get a trim. Finger-length on top, three on the sides. I've been going with that style for a while, and although it isn't eye-catching, it is inoffensive, which, as a married adult, is all I really need. Hence, I go to the nearest place that I think will be cheap. A Supercuts seemed like a wise choice; I had no idea how great of a decision this would be.

The lady who is cutting my hair (I'm not sure if she's a hair stylist, barber, or some newfangled term I haven't heard of) is chatting with me and was wondering if I was doing anything special with my day. I told her that I was just going to be hanging with the dog, and I mentioned that I have a weimaraner. This got another lady barber to pipe in, "Oh my God, those are beautiful dogs." She went into great details about all of their best characteristics to the point that she seemed to at least considered the idea of a physical relationship with one. She then goes into how her best friend has one, and how it has such a great personality. Then the following exchange happens:

Lady: The only problem is that the dog liked to jump the fence.
Me: Oh, that's too bad.
Lady: Yeah, and then it got hit by a car.
(Stunned silence)
Me: I'm sorry.
Lady: The dog lived though.
Me: Oh, that's good.
Lady: But the vet bills were $350, and my friend didn't have that, so the vets kept the dog.
Me: That's...tough.
Lady: But at least the dog has plenty of room to run now (Lady walks away).
My Lady Barber: That was an awful story.
Me: (still in stunned silence)

And the fun didn't stop there. After that, another hair stylist came in, and after a little small talk, she drops the bomb of, "Well, I'm getting sued for $100,000." That certainly wouldn't be a casual thing for me, but she took it in stride. She then explained that it was from when she got in a car accident where she hit another car, but it shouldn't have been her fault, because the other person wanted to get in a car accident. How does that work? I have no clue, but she claimed the lady was working to get hit by her car, but the hair stylist lady still obliged and hit her, so not the best decision on her part. Anyway, the medical things this lady who loves car accidents aren't even from the accident, so the hair stylist should get out of this lawsuit.

It takes me about 10 minutes to get a haircut, and somehow they managed to squeeze in yet another insane story. After hearing about the other hair stylist's legal issues, my hair stylist admitted that her uncle was being sued for being involved in a drunk driving incident.

Let me just tell you that you have no idea where this story is going to go next.

Not only was her uncle not the drunk driver, he was actually the victim of the incident. On top of this, her uncle died in the car accident, so the drunk driver is suing the dead uncle for PTSD, because he's been really messed up since killing that dude when he was drunk.

BEST...HAIRCUT...EVER.

So, yeah, Supercuts is definitely the place to be.

My Dog Pooped In My Car

Well, the title really tells the story. My dog pooped in my car. We were driving over to her favorite park, so I could throw the ball for her and wear her out. It was about 8:00 Sunday morning, and I wanted to get her out before the weather got too hot for her, as she is basically a princess who likes to take it easy when it gets too warm.

So, we are going through our normal routine. Me in the driver's seat, her riding shotgun with her head out the window, getting all of that precious fresh air. As we were turning into the park, she started really sticking her head out of the window, as she got further and further outside the car. I had to convince her to calm down and stay in the car, as she looked like she was ready to jump out of the moving car. 

I smelled it before I saw it.

The car stunk, and I thought she just farted, but then I looked down on her seat to see one juicy turd laying on the passenger seat. She was even more adamantly trying to get out of the car, but I calmed her down enough to at least not jump out, as we only had about 30 seconds until we could safely park and she could be let out. I was also impressed that she was being very careful not to step on the turd that she had dropped off in the passenger seat. At this point, I was more miffed than anything as I was still processing everything that was going on while making sure my dog didn't seriously injure herself.

I finally park to let her out, and she of course jumps to my side of the vehicle to get out of the car. In her anxiety to get out of the car, she managed to somehow turn and spin to get every single one of her paws into the turd. She spread it all over the front seat and got a significant portion onto my driver's seat. Also, I noticed that her nub was bleeding, and there was actually shit and blood all over my front seats. Amazing. 

She took a big old dump, and then I gathered up a bunch of toilet paper from the nearby restroom to wipe up as much as I could, but, not surprisingly, my car still reeked of shit. 

At this point, we were already at the park, so I figured we still might as well play a little bit. I threw the ball for her for a few times, but she knew that she messed up by pooping in the car, so she wasn't all that into it. Either way, it gave the car a little time to air out, but it still smelled like poop when we got back inside. 

Anyway, we got home, I cleaned my interior (luckily it's leather, because I'm a BOSS), and went on to have a nice little Sunday. And that concludes the story of when my dog pooped in my car.

Being Unemployed Sucks

Being unemployed sucks. I have been without full-time employment for nearly a year and a half. That sounds bad, and it is bad, but it could be worse. I got a severance package from my last position, so I was still getting paid for a few months, and then I collected unemployment for a few more. In May, my wife got a job and we moved, and in June I began taking temporary positions. Still, after nearly a year and a half and nearly 1000 positions applied for, I remain unemployed.

One thing I like to do is read about the unemployment statistics and stories. Well, I don't really like doing it, but I do it, and this is definitely a case of misery loves company. At first, the one thing that surprised me was the number of people that had just given up on finding a job, but as time has gone on, I understand it more and more. I have been able to stay motivated at most times, but there are days where I just don't want to look at open jobs, because I have already convinced myself that there is nothing out there for me. Those are the sad moments, which happen slightly more than the angry moments where I get mad at nothing in particular, just my inability to move forward.

I only have myself to blame. I have made irresponsible decisions when it comes to my career, and this is the side effect of those decisions. In 2010, I left a job that I enjoyed in minor league baseball to move to Albuquerque to get my ass kicked every day training in mixed martial arts. It was one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life, but it doesn't exactly pop on a resume. Combine that with the long stretch of unemployment I had after leaving my last job in Iowa, and there are definitely some red flags for potential employers. I suck on paper, and it prevents me from proving how great I am in person, but whining about it won't help. It's nobody's fault but mine, so all I can do is suck it up and keep plowing forward.

90% of the time, I keep a positive attitude. Logically, I understand that feeling sorry for myself isn't going to help, so I might as well keep a good attitude about things. As I said, this works 90% of the time, but there are other times where it gets super fucking depressing. Like, holy shit, what is wrong with me? I'm not gonna lie; I've had a couple days where I just wanted to curl up and go to sleep, because the only thoughts on my mind are about my inability to get a damn job. It is that sense of failure that just weighs me down. I know that sulking isn't going to help, but sometimes, it has gotten the better of me, and I give in to start new the next day.

I'll admit that seeing that in writing is pretty sad, but I'm still fine. Everybody gets depressed here and there; Most people have it way worse than I do, so I am definitely not looking for a pity party. I just have one area that causes me a ton of grief. I'm incredibly happy to be married, as my wife helps me feel like the luckiest unemployed guy in the whole world. If I was not married, I would really be struggling, but she has been beyond great the entire time (I could probably write an entire post that just focused on how great she has been). Also, shout out to Casey the Dog as she helps me get outside to play with her. Just getting out and breathing in that fresh air is really helpful, and it is something that I would be lazy about and avoid if I didn't have the dog forcing me to play.

I am actively failing to find a job every day, but eventually I will succeed. Will that make it a more enriching experience when I do find a good job? I'm not gonna bullshit you; it won't. It will simply be a feeling of relief, because in the day-to-day struggle, it can be pretty miserable. Still, in the grand scheme of things, I'd say I'm still coming out ahead. I have a great wife and dog, I live in Florida instead of the Midwest; so my December has 80 degree weather instead of 8 degree weather. Being unemployed sucks, but it's not the end of the world. Now if you'll excuse me, my dog is pestering me to play ball. I could use the fresh air, and this is one job I plan on keeping.

What Turning 30 Means

The short answer is "Not shit." I am guessing that you would like a little more insight than that, but today being my 30th birthday, I can assure you that it is just another day.

I have been married for nearly a year, and I still love my wife. Just knowing that she is in my life is enough to put a smile on my face. Also, she loves me way more than she did on our wedding day. She's even starting to laugh at some of my jokes now instead of just calling me an idiot.

I have a dog that I love way too much, but to be fair, she loves me way too much too. I can neither confirm nor deny that she tries to hump me anytime I crawl on the floor (yes, she). I can confirm that my wife is very jealous of our relationship.

I'm in good shape, even better than I was a year ago, so if all else fails, at least I have my health.

My only real complaint is that career-wise, I am a giant loser. Considering my education and skill-set, I should be way further ahead in the corporate world, but I only have myself to blame as I have taken two long sabbaticals from work for no other reason than, "Eh, I'm gonna go do my own thing for a while." Shockingly, that can scare off potential employers. Still, I'm bouncing between temp jobs, and although it's easy to feel down about not getting offered a good full-time job, logically, I know something will hit soon.

With that, I wish I had more money (who doesn't?), but complaining about it is silly. We live comfortably a mile from the beach, and eventually, I promise to get my wife a bedroom set so our mattress doesn't lay on the floor.

This isn't how I imagined my life turning out. I'm never going to be a professional athlete (who would have thought you would need size, athleticism, and coordination?). I'm never going to be rich and famous. But at least I have a blog, damnit. In all seriousness, life is good. I'm happy with where I'm at, and I'm excited for where things are going.

These thoughts may have seem jumbled, and that's an accurate representation of what goes on through my head. 30 adds no clarity to the mind, as just like when I was 10 and 20 years old, I'm still trying to figure things out. I have more answers now than I did then, but I still have just as many questions. I'm smart enough now to realize I'll never figure life out, so I'm going to do what I think is best. Do fun things, spend time with fun people, and overall, try to leave more good than bad. Outside of that, I don't have a clue, but I guess that's part of the fun.