My friends took me to Papas and Beer last night for my 2nd birthday party. That was good, because what with the rain and the leftover Saturday party mess and the whole birthday thing, not to mention the taking of 3 large dogs to the vet and paying a large fortune for the privilege, I was getting that familiar feeling of Birthday Doom. Papas & Beer will solve that feeling quite quickly with one of their patented antidepressant Giant Cheap Beers. I mean, 24 or 32 ounces of beer for $3 - what's not to like? Why, nothing! It was awesome and a good time was had by all and, even better for this blog, my friend Charles is going to come over and help me write up a couple of internet dating profiles. Because I am an idiot who learneth not from experiences, I am going to try it again. Yep. And no doubt it will be awful but, oh well, barring the occasional axe murderer, what's the worst that could happen? Bitterly hilarious anecdote fodder, that's what.
As mentioned above, I took all three dogs to the vet yesterday. They were all behind on one thing or another and I wanted Perdita looked at just in case her previous owners had gotten her spayed. They had not, of course, so she will go in for that operation next week, poor dear. She had worms and thus I gave her a big honking pill and none of them have heartworm and so I bought heartworm pills and flea pills and oh my gods, I can't afford dogs. But, somehow, I do. The truly interesting thing about this, though, is that even the vet couldn't figure out what breed(s) of dog Perdita might be. She's completely, inscrutably, 100% pure American mutt. Therefore, I've been doing some googling of dog DNA tests out of curiosity and, you know, that deep urge to just set $50 or so on fire. And I might yet do it, just to find out. She's a pretty dog - I think I see some Lab in there and some Shepherd, maybe, and perhaps a touch of Pit and a little Hound, but honestly the gods only know.
She is, however, the kind of dog who can get fat, as the vet told me in slightly censorious terms. "She's not really fat yet," said the vet, "But she could get that way quite quickly." She's not the only one. Django has gained 5 whole pounds in the last year and, okay, I personally, having now seen all the party pictures, am going to bite the damn bullet and join Weight Watchers or something. Look at the fat chick with the giant beer, there! She is fat and happy, but fat and happy will not do, and giant beers are not good for fat chicks. Something Must Be Done and I'm terribly afraid that it will involve no beer at all, but, well, them's the breaks, I guess. The dogs are getting less kibble (mixed with yogurt in an attempt to stop at least some of the farting) and me, I am going to have to get less kibble too. And way, way less beer.
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2 comments:
I think I told you I've been on beer fast. The good news? I've lost 3 pounds by denying myself nothing except beer. The bad news? That photo of you with that big beer is making me salivate like a junk yard dog at a bar-b-que.
That's a great picture, the beer looks yummy and it's a nice way to remember your birthday.
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