moved!

For anyone still stumbling by this site, I’ve moved over to http://solecisms.tumblr.com. Enjoy!

further randomness.

I promised myself I wouldn’t get on here just to drop another ‘I SORRY I SO BUSY’-type note and complain about the various perceived burdens in my life. That doesn’t mean, however, that I’ve suddenly come up with something more interesting to write about. Indeed, the status quo continues.

Lately, I’ve been reading of various methods of forcing myself to write on a regular basis, which, like exercise, flossing, laundry, dishes, work, removing soda cans from my room, and not eating Chipotle four times a week, is hard to do. I’m rather taken with the Seinfeld Method at the moment, though not quite taken enough to commit. Making a big calendar like that seems like a lot of work. Still, promising idea, and certainly charming enough to smile at from a polite distance. I’ll give it further consideration at a later date, like perhaps once I’ve finished A Song of Ice and Fire.

On the other end of the artistic spectrum, I cooked some quiches the other day for my brother’s self-organized ‘Pie Party’, though one was in reality a strange sort of alien pseudoquiche that impersonates the real thing just long enough to jump down your gullet and bore your gustatory faculties to death. I plan on taking that one back to the drawing board later on, but not until the holocaust of dishes in the kitchen is cleared away. All we see of parties are their old dishes. – D

Dogtreatese

We got a dog, a five-month old American Pit Bull Terrier puppy. I won’t get into the misguided belief that every Pit Bull is a mindless killing machine that only hungers for the intestines of small children. Or, well, I suppose I just did.

This is just a short note to express my profound distaste for this dog’s pooping habits. Peeing, he could go either way. Inside, outside, doesn’t matter to him. Wherever he’s standing when the mood strikes him is where he’s going. Pooping, however, is a different issue entirely.

Rufus (that’s his name) literally prefers pooping inside the house, for some esoteric canine reason. I take him outside and we stand in a field together waiting for something to happen. He snuffles around and occasionally sits down out of boredom. I can tell he has to poop. He paces around, as if to say, “Could you hurry this up, so I can go inside the house and poop?”

All of this is compounded by the fact that Rufus hates going outside. And I don’t mean pooping or peeing, anymore; I mean that he actually hates leaving the house. Whoever heard of a dog that hated the outdoors? The leash is like a harbinger of doom, to him. If I can coax him out the door, he stands at the top of the stairs and frowns at me. Sometimes I have to pick him up and put him down in the grass, where he immediately moves for the stairs to go back inside. After I refuse to take him inside, he fixes me with a stare that says, “You leave me no choice. Look, now I have to poop ouside. Is that what you want? Is it?“

As a matter of fact, it is, but I don’t speak dog. We both speak Dogtreatese, however.