Thursday, January 22, 2009

The rabbit.

Dear electronic [slightly robotic?] diary,

Our rabbit, Floppy Puff-Puff, is insane. Dorian is at work, and I'm not. Floppy is out running around the apartment, as she typically does all night, and I was playing Fallout.


I had just finished up about three quests that all had the same turn-in location, and I was feeling pretty good. I had a fresh smoke, an incredibly refreshing glass of ice water within reach, and a level-up for my character in sight.

Then Floppy took it upon herself to ruin my fun. Apparently she had grown tired of tearing ass on the carpet, peeling out on the tile, and doing huge Binkies.

No, she decided to hide under the couch and attack the back of my feet ninja style. No biting, really. Just lots of digging and head butting. So, I did the sensible thing and pulled my feet off the floor so I could sit 'indian' style on the couch.

You would think it would end there. You really would. Well, you're wrong. For the most part, while she's out doing her thing she has access to a bowl full of mixed veggies and fruit. Well, in an apparent fit of rage, she zoomed out from under the couch and proceeded to do a kamikaze binky right into her food bowl, shooting bits of apple, carrot and broccoli every where.

Did it stop there?

Of course not.

She then ran around the couch, thumping her back foot as she went. When a rabbit thumps, it's generally a sign of fear, frustration, or anger. I'm going to assume that these thumps were a combination of the last two. Anyway, I can take a hint. I paused the game and got down on the carpet. This usually means that it's play time.

Oh no. Not tonight. No fucking way. Floppy means business.

So there I am, laying on my stomach, arms stretched out, fingers wiggling, and what does she do? Zooms under the couch, then back out, runs up my back, scratches the shit out of my neck and head, and does this big sloppy binky right onto the surge protector that my 360 is plugged into.

Did she get shocked? Thankfully, no. Unplug anything? Nope. Hit the fucking power switch? You bet.

So, yeah. I had to revert to my last auto-save. Which meant I had to re-do two out of the three quests that I had just completed.

I was less than thrilled. And floppy? Pleased as punch. She did one of her overly-dramatic "Oh god, I'm just so bored" flops onto the carpet, and as far as I can tell, went to sleep.

Jesus Christ.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Still Alive.

Dear Diary,

I'm very full of spicy V-8. If I could bathe in the stuff, I honestly would. Well, maybe not. I fart a lot, and that might spoil the taste. I don't normally drink my bath water.

The move to Washington draws nigh, and my tummy grows ever tickly. Other than that, there's nothing much to report. Despite being full of the aforementioned V-8, I'm looking forward to the steaks I'll be making tomorrow. I enjoyed prepping them. It's soothing, in a way. It's also kind of strange. Ever since I've been quite small, any sort of cook-prep that requires the handling of raw beef comes with the temptation to pop said raw meat into my mouth and chew on it feverishly.

Once in a blue moon I'll eat some raw hamburger, and yeah, I did chew on a piece of beefy fat that I cut off of one of the steaks, but I didn't swallow it. I don't really know why. I mean, the meat is in my mouth, so it's not like the germs that cover it aren't already in like flint. It's weird.

My silly dog got the rest of the fat pieces, and she also managed to get some of it wrapped around her snout, nearly in her eye. I was laughing, which clearly embarrassed her. I went to take a picture with my camera phone, but only came away with a brindle blur.

Fuck my life.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Dear Diary-Wiary-Poo,

Today was nice. I woke up before Dorian which meant I played Fallout 3 for a couple of hours. I'm really enjoying that game.

When she woke up we watched a bit of Dexter, which was nice. I'm probably going to be saying 'nice' a lot in this entry. Anyway, we both think that Dexter looks like a monkey, but we enjoy the show despite the simian-esque lead. As proof that I watch way too many movies/television shows, I quickly realized that Agent Lundy is the same actor that portrayed Wild Bill in HBO's Deadwood. Recognizing small time actors like that always brings me a small amount of pride/self-satisfaction despite the fact that Dorian seems unimpressed.

After some more Fallout, we headed to the mall. Doian needs new sun glasses, and I need to get out more [or so she claims], so we browsed and made fun of all of the ugly people we saw. There were a lot of them.

We finished off our outing with an amazing meal at a place called New China. We had never been there before, and despite our initial doubt, the food was fucking amazing. Dorian had a combo plate that consisted of egg drop soup, shrimp, sweet and sour pork, chow mein and fried rice. Being the more adventurous one in the relationship, I tried the Peking Pork Ribs.

Sweet Jesus, were they amazing. I mean, Dorian's food was good, but mine was nerly orgasm inducing. And surprisingly filling. We swung by blockbuster on the way home to get the next Dexter disc, and made nerdy small talk with one of our favorite nerdy clerks that works there. His name is Ken. I like him most of the time.

Anywho, I just got the ole' hairy eye from my better half, so I suppose it's time to sign off and plant my ass next to hers on the sofa.
Dear Diary,

Tonight Dorian made me so mad*. Now, don't get me wrong here, folks. I'm a fucking gentleman. I wanted to poke her guts. Hide the salami. Give her a hot beef injection.

...You know, make love. So, I was pawing at her breasts like the sex-craved animal that I am, and she shut me down. I mean, do I not have needs? Am I not human?

Sometimes I think she just doesn't get it. Maybe I'll switch my masturbation routine from when she's sleeping to when she's in the next room, wide awake. Maybe then my sorrowful, frustration-fueled fap-fap-fapping well let her know that my needs are not being met.

...Just kidding. She wears me out. What a tigress.

* I originally typed 'bad'. Obviously, that doesn't make sense. You know what else doesn't make sense? The god damned spellcheck that blogspot uses. Apparently it denies the existence of contractions. Fuck you, spell check.

A sad story.

I want more pizza.