Puppy Pies

Today I woke up, wrote three letters and took the pup on a walk to the post office and the library.

On the way to the post office I had to stop to pick up the pups poop and as I stood up I realized that a bus had stopped for me.  Oops.  So I smiled at the driver and flashed him the international signal for “Nope, don’t need a ride.  Just picking up dog shit.  Have a nice day!”  Darnit pup.

Then she decided she needed to go again as we were walking by the bank.  As soon as she squatted two raggedy men at the ATM started screaming at each other and within seconds five cop cars squealed into the parking lot.  Five.  It was weird.  They must have been waiting.  Maybe it was a sting.  Or a music video.  But the puppy watched unconcerned while I pulled her down the street to the post office. 

My pup is a ridgeback mix so it’s really easy to tell if she’s upset.  When her hackles are up she gets a supercool insta-faux-hawk. I’m consistently surprised what upsets her and what doesn’t phase her a bit.  Mom steps into the post office for a minute and she wears her concerned face the whole time (the post office has big windows so she’s never out of my sight) but an altercation involving five cop cars, neat!  Come on mom, let’s just hang out a bit to see where this goes.

Dear Pup,

Mom really does know best.  You’re gonna have to trust me on that.  I promise I will never forget you at the post office.  And speaking of mail, the mailman isn’t out to get you so you can stop jumping up on the coffee table and growling at him every time he approaches the house.  It’s rude and it’s not working.  You’ll never be a guard dog.  Sorry baby.  Even when you’re growling you look like a pudgy harmless snuggle pup.  That’s why he laughs and smiles and waves instead of cowering.  But you’re cute as a button and excellent at cuddles!    

Love always,

Mom

p.s. Please pick better poop times.

*image from icanhascheezburger

Tears for Queers

Tonight I went to Madame Butterfly instead of Queer Al Anon.  And the experience was healing in a way.  I still cried and saw lots of queer folks.  Though in this context "queer folks" refers to creatively dressed elderly people.  My top three favorite outfits of the evening:

1. A woman draped so heavily in stinky fur she looked like a Russian czarina.  I think there were still mothballs in the pockets. 

2. A very wrinkley shirt made of paper.  It was tearible.  (haha, pun)

3. A woman in a magenta sequin minidress with a red plaid hunters jacket and granny glasses.

Now it's time to snuggle up with my pup for some post-opera recovery time.  That was a lot of emotion.  I’m pooped.  I wonder if suicide hotline hits spike when three thousand people leave a theater after Madame Butterfly.  Kelly Kaduce had me crying so hard my boobs are now salted.  

Incidentally, opera snobs: her name is pronounced kuh-DOOS not kah-DOO-chey.  Mispronouncing her name will not make her Italian and pronouncing it correctly will not undermine her authenticity.  She is a magnificently talented white lady from Minnesota.  Embrace it.        

Possible new tagline for the bloggy blog:

From rape fetish to opera seria, ladyface is your lady!

How to Romance a Ladyface

Two VERY IMPORTANT caveats:

1. This won't work on all ladyfaces.  In fact, it will probably get you arrested.  Pervert.

2. This post contains graphic and potentially triggering content about rape fantasy.

So, at risk of alienating my handful of followers...here it is:

I never know when a blogworthy thought will get caught in the lint trap of my brain, so I end up writing most of my bloggy posts on the notepad app on my iPhone.  It’s awkward, frequently frustrating and really only a small step up from scribbling on the soggy cocktail napkins I napkin-nap from beneath my virgin martinis.*  This is one such thought:

I would really like to one day date a hot transguy or butch woman who cares enough to plan my abduction and gang rape in the woods, on the docks, in a train yard or some other deserted terrifying place that smells like must, rust and decay where nobody could hear me scream and each of his badass friends could use me and abuse me until I collapsed in a useless trembling heap.  Then he would wrap me in a blanket, carry me to his or her truck, take me home and give me me a bath.  And I would kiss his vicious hands as we fall asleep together.  Really universe, is that so much to ask?

I wrote this on my magic phone while waiting in the chiropractors office but when I typed in transguys the predictive text suggested ‘tea huts’.  Dammit phone, way to ruin the mood.  I had just transformed this chiropractors waiting room into the sexiest chiropractors waiting room in the world and you morphed hot transguys into hot teahuts.

I’d much rather visit a hot transguy than a hot teahut.  And if I were to ever visit a ‘tea hut’’ I’d like it to be cool or even chilly but definitely not hot.  Oh, and nicely decorated with a Frenchy Bohemian feel.  Like this:

But maybe a bit bigger and more colorful.  Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad.  It could be built out of repurposed windows like a tea-hut-greenhouse but with an old Persian rug to cover the dirt floor, a squishy old wingback chair for reading and writing with the pup at my feet and antique birdcages full of pretty pastries.  Ooo, I like this plan.  So much for transguys, I’m on a tea hut mission!

(though I wouldn’t object to violent sex with a pushy pervert in my fancy tea hut)

*virgin martini (n): water with olives, served up.

**image from the blog of Laura Beth Love (who really likes repurposed windows) 

Licked

I always lead by example. So why does my pup still bark at the mailman, chew pillows and lick her butt? She has NEVER seen her mum engage in any of those behaviors. If she began chewing her bottom lip when she’s concentrating or leaving her makeup all over the bathroom or eating raw cookie dough for breakfast, then I’d have an idea of where she may have picked up those habits…

But butt licking? Aggressive barking? Pillow chewing!? K, I have been known to chew pillows. Really though, what am I supposed to do about that stuff? (to clarify: that is not a rhetorical question; any advice from more experienced dog owners would be much appreciated.)

In other puppy-related news: I recently got out a strap-on I haven’t used in ages. Oh. That probably sounds bad. Trust me and keep reading, this isn’t going where you think it is. Pervert.

So, I pulled up my favorite porn site, pulled down my lacy underwears, took care of business and fell asleep soft and satiated. Thanks iPhone! Then a few minutes later I woke to discover…

The Pup licking my toy.

And all I could do in that moment was plummet headlong and groggy through the 3 stages of parental freak out:

1. Anger: “Ewwwww! Not for puppies! This is NOT for puppies! Daddies and Mommies but definitely NOT puppies! Bad! Bad behavior! Sexy toys are NOT for puppies!” (there was dildo waving involved)

2. Guilt: “Oh god. I’m so sorry sweetie, mama doesn’t mean to yell. Are you mad at me? Is this because   I borrowed your leash? I’m sorry. I should have asked, but I was running late to that play party and the leather is so nice…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. It is your leash. I'll buy you another one. I’m sorry baby girl.” 

3. Acceptance: “Well, shit. I love you anyway...

    Bitch."

So, what do I do? (Again, not rhetorical)

Of course I keep a Queer Kosher home* (as defined below) but is it safe to boil the pup-contaminated toy in the same pot I use for the rest of my toys? Does it need special additional cleaning? Any advice or insights from fellow queermos would be much appreciated.

*Queer Kosher: (adj.) Describes the practice of using separate, distinct and preferably color-coded or labeled pots for: preparing food, boiling sex toys and dying clothes.