His name is Bo, and they met at the dog park. They both have short legs, and everyone thinks they're the cutest. They are.
This is Callie, and she did not kill and eat me after I took this picture. She's actually way sweet.
I don't have anything to say, you guys. I spend approximately ten hours a day at work wanting to kill myself and most everyone around me, and then Oliver and Alyssa and I go to the dog park to unwind. It really is my new favorite place. I don't know the names of any of the people, but I know all the dogs.
It's wild how alike dogs and their owners are.
Like Bo - His owner is a middle aged guy, about 45ish. Very outgoing, knows everyone that comes in and everything about them. Stands a little too close to you when he talks, but doesn't give off a creepy vibe, because he's so damn cool. If he sometimes peed on your shoe for attention, I'd have a hard time telling the two apart.
And this is pretty much my life these days, folks.
My favorite part of weddings is when the pictures are over, the bar opens, and it goes from a classy, traditional affair to a drunken dance party/orgy. This one was no exception. The ceremony was beautiful, and the reception was completely ridiculous.
I have no pictures from Friday night, but there is video. Of me. Onstage. Singing Journey's "Don't Stop Believin" with an eighties cover band in front of way too many people - and a lot of coworkers, most of whom have barely ever heard me talk. I may have to quit my job. I'm never going to live it down.
Some days, I just can't get over how amazing I am. I mean, it obviously started early, my overwhelming greatness. Look at that picture! I am America! Sometimes I look in the mirror and I say things like, "How did you get so cool?" or maybe, "Dayum, girl, you got some fries to go with that shake?" You know, a little padding for my obviously fragile ego. Some days, I am just unstoppable.
Today, friends, is not one of those days.
Today is one of those days where I mess a lot of things up at work and get really behind for no apparent reason. One of those days where my boss feels like it's necessary to make excuses for my stupidity, because she likes me and because I am by far the youngest person in my office, and maybe she's got some kind of maternal instinct thing going on?
All day today, I've been thinking about the past year and how I have spent basically all of it ruining some relationship or another with my self destructive lame-assness. And for no reason? My subconscious just likes to ruin things? I am destined to be a lonely old dog-lady (Can I just say, though, that "dog lady" is infinitely more appealing than "cat lady"? Cats. Puh-lease!)?
On days like today, I look in the mirror and say things like, "Wow, you're seriously never going to graduate, are you? You're going to be working this repetitive, meaningless job until they bury you, huh?" Or possibly, "The reason he went back to Georgia is because you're a gross cow. Duh," because sometimes the best insults are those made as though you are in the cast of Clueless.
Oh, also, I make (very lighthearted!) "your mom" jokes to almost strangers, and then find out that their mother died while giving birth to them. Seriously? Give me a break, universe.
I don't know what causes these days, but I am not a fan.
I think the dog park is becoming my place of healing. It's interesting what a profoundly wonderful affect this place has on me, since I'm human and all. Something about being surrounded by happy, free-running dogs is just so therapeutic. So many bellies to scratch! Also, have you noticed that dog owners (real dog owners, not keep-it-in-the-yard-and-throw-it-table-scraps-because-I'm-a-heartless-asshole dog owners) are some of the happiest, friendliest people in the world? I suppose it takes a certain personality to be a really good dog-parent.
...and that personality is, of course, "crazy awesome."
Tomorrow will be better. And so will the weekend. I am a bridesmaid in one of my very best friend's wedding, after all. And you know what that means: open bar! According to the itinerary, I will be drunk for a solid 72 hours.
I KNOW. I don't know what's sexier, my dad's creeper 'stache or my mom's hair/eyeshadow. God. I love the 80's.
Now they're boring.
Truth be told, I have the most amazing parents on the planet.
I went to dinner with them tonight, and after listening to my dad rant for a solid half hour about how I can't afford to live in Brooklyn, not to mention I'll be blown up by a terrorist and raped/mugged/urined on upon arrival, I opened a fortune cookie that read:
"You will soon venture on a pleasant journey."
"See?" I gloated.
"Yeah, well, we both know they're not talking about Heaven, I guess."
Instead of diving into a theological debate that would end in his throwing annointing oil on me, I smiled like a good daughter. We both know I won that argument. Fortune cookies do not lie. They can't. They're cookies. They are incapable.
Despite their unforunate conservatism, my parents remain my two favorite people in the world.
These guys are in a close second place, however. My grandparents.
There's a saying in my hometown, coined by our mayor of twenty years (who, for reasons which may or may not be legitimate, is a total thorn in my side - but that is neither here nor there) Ray Baker: "Life's Worth Living in Fort Smith, Arkansas!" If you are lucky to be at a function where Mr. Baker is saying this in person, he will always follow it up by throwing rose petals into the crowd. It's his thing. I don't know why. The old people applaud and laugh heartily, the young people groan and wander off to do illicit drugs. It's a tradition.
I've spent all of my conscious thought-having years thinking of reasons to hate this town, and believe me, I've come up with a very long, comprehensive list. But since making the final decision to finally get out, come hell or high water, I've become sort of sentimental about this little black hole. Alyssa, a good friend and soon to be cross-country roommate, and I decided that for the last months we live here, we're going to make a list of all the things there are to love about this town: Reasons to Come Home (On Gift-Giving Holidays).
Over the next few months, I'll have a post from time to time that lists some of Fort Smith's charming qualities, along with a little history, too. Because book learnin' ain't just for you yanks!
This is Miss Laura's, a former bordello and currently Fort Smith's Visitor Information Center (the first whorehouse to be listed on The National Register of Historical Places - I can't imagine why?). It was one of seven houses called "The Row" in the first part on the 20th century. It's doors stayed open as a brothel until 1948 (!!?), and it's the only one left standing. It's been restored, especially after the roof was torn off in a tornado in 1996 (that I'm not entirely sure I didn't cause. All I'm saying is that me, my best friend Chloe, and my brother did a rain dance on a trampoline.. the next day, the entire downtown area was basically destroyed.)... anyway, that stained glass is original, and I thought it was cool, in that "Red Light District" kind of way.
West End Park. That park itself is not that old. That ferriswheel is restored - it was originally displayed at the 1935 San Diego World's Fair. The carousel is handpainted from Italy. It's a weird little park. I'm not sure why it exists. This was actually the first time I'd gone inside.
We wandered over to the ampitheater that sits down on the river, where we discovered a community concert going on. That happens sometimes, apparently. At least that's what the bike cop told me. It was just a few old dudes (yes, that is a polyester guitar shirt) singing Allman Brothers and Joe Cocker covers, but it was nice. There were more than five mullets involved. That ampitheater is also home to my very favorite thing EVER about Fort Smith - The Riverfront Blues Festival. That'll be happening in about three weeks. Amazing music, and an excuse to romp around in mud in expensive sandals and get blackout drunk on Bud Light.
Life's Worth Living in Fort Smith Arkansas - but if you decide that it's not.. come on downtown and throw yourself out of one of our many suicide-friendly buildings with randomly placed doors. I have no idea what this place is.
And finally, the Arkansas River. It's, you know, pretty and stuff.