The night before Thanksgiving I was feeling charitable so I gave the dogs a bath which was fine until I had a terrible reaction to work. About twenty minutes after the dogs were dry, I was minding my own business, googling pictures of clothes I will never be able to afford, when all of the sudden my leg was like, "HEY I ITCH BAD." I scratched my leg absent-mindedly for a while when, would you look at that, I noticed skin underneath my fingernails. Doesn't that sound totally not disgusting?
Huh! I thought to myself. Where did all that skin come from? And then I looked at my leg and was like OH. Because my thigh was covered in some particularly attractive red welts. Like, the mothership of all welts. Wherever a welt exists in the world, my welts birthed them. THOSE KINDS OF WELTS.
It took me a minute to figure out that I ought to blame the dogs, but I got to that soon enough. Then I kicked them both and yelled "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE" directly into their little, innocent faces. This being before I mixed rat poison into their dinners, of course. And by kicking, yelling, and poisoning, I mean snuggles and baby talk, but I don't really know which is worse from their perspective.
Anyway, I quickly put my brain to the task and deduced that I had two options: first, I could put some lotion on my legs and go to sleep. Second, I could wake up my mom at 1:00 in the morning and ask her to cure me. See, I occasionally wake my mom up in the middle of the night when I want to inform her that I'm dying of some awful allergic reaction. I do this partly because my body really does itch, but mostly because I just like the attention. This time, however, she just sort of tossed me some Benadryl and went back to bed, and now I think I may have overdone it a little bit because no one even feels bad for me anymore when I itch.
The point of this story is that on the night before Thanksgiving day I took Benadryl at 1:00 am. I think a normal person would probably be fine and just go to bed once the drowsiness kicked in, but since I'm an idiot, I chose instead to fight the power of modern medicine until the last possible moment. Basically I was completely out of it, and while some might be like "MEGAN YOU FOOL, YOU CAN'T GET HIGH FROM BENADRYL" I maintain that these people clearly do not know me and anything stronger than Advil will turn me into a bumbling idiot. This is further proven by the fact that I am a clumsy fool with a weak immune system, so I always get sick or injured and require heavy duty cough medicine or some sort of pain killing narcotic for something or other. I try not to take those prescriptions because I can't ever really remember anything that has ever happened to me while on them. I have low tolerance for every single chemical, is what I'm saying. You should see me on Red Bull.
So picture, if you will, me. I'm sitting on my floor in the middle of the night insisting to myself that I am NOT tired. (I totally am tired.) I send a few mispelled texts (phone becomes "poo hone" when autocorrect hates me) and eventually settle into a sort of drug-induced haze of fatigue. I cry a little bit, because that's what I do. That's when I notice a freaking HUGE bruise running up my thigh. How did it get there? I don't know. I still don't know. Did I run into a table? Did a midget beat me with a crowbar? Did I punch myself repeatedly and then forget about it? Anything is possible. And that's when The Bruise and I started to have a conversation.
Me: Hey. Whatcha doin?
Bruise: OMG, mind your own business.
Me: I would, it's just that you hurt and stuff.
Bruise: And your point?
Me: Well, you're huge and green. Bruise, why are you green?
Bruise: Kool-aid. Now go away.
Me: They make green flavored Kool-aid?
Bruise: Green isn't a flavor, idiot. It's apple.
Me: Oh. You should just drink apple juice then. It makes more health sense.
Bruise: Could you, like, shut up? I'm trying to bleed into your soft tissues.
Me: Sorry. I'm just confused. I don't remember running into anything lately.
Bruise: Are you kidding? You've fallen over 17 times since I've been here. You just bought a pack of glitter band-aids two days ago.
Me: Oh yeah. I guess I did do that. Do you think you would go away if I stuck a glitter bandaid on your face?
Bruise:...No.
Me: Why not
Bruise: I'm an internal pool of blood caused by ruptured capillaries.
Me: Sounds like a job for glitter bandaids.
Bruise: No, nitwit, bandaids only work to protect external abrasions, such as minor scrapes and--WHAT ARE YOU DOING, STOP IT, GET THAT OFF OF ME.
Me: Shh, bruise, sleep now. Everything is going to be okay.
Bruise: NO IT ISN'T, YOU ARE THE DUMBEST GIRL IN THE HISTORY OF THE EARTH.
Megan: Hey, so I just googled you and the internet says you could solidify under my skin and become permanent. Are you going to do that?
Bruise: No.
Me: Oh. Well...you could, if you wanted.
Bruise: No.
Me:...Will you be my friend?
Bruise: No.
Me: Okay.
[awkward silence]
Bruise: Stop poking me.
Me: But you hurt.
Bruise: Stop. Seriously.
Me: Owww, why do you hurt? The harder I poke, the more you huuuuurt. Oh my gosh, this is so paiiiinful.
Bruise: I hate you.
Me: OWWWWW.
My bruise is still there but it isn't talking to me. I don't know if it's just mad or if it was inanimate all along, but I will cherish the memory forever.
Showing posts with label Bad dog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bad dog. Show all posts
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Super interesting stuff, here. In, like, a boring kind of way.
I'M BACK! And I had bacon on Saturday morning. Oh mother, thou knowest me so well.
I wish I had an awesome story to tell you. But my weekend went like this:
1. Megan does not go see the high school play that she really wanted to see. She looks like this, only hotter: :(
2. Megan eats her weight in truffles.
3. Megan has bacon.
4. Megan spends three hours eating a corndog in a seedy rural gas station while being ogled by a strange man who walked out of the front door backward in order to continue said ogling all the way out to his car. Megan also saw a drug deal being performed in front of the gas station, and later talked to the drug dealer. Megan debated whether or not she should have called the cops instead of pointing him to the nearest ATM.
5. Just now, Megan realizes that there is a weekend story. Oh.
6. Megan saw "Megamind." Megan had serious issues with "Megamind." She hated it. She wrote a review. If SparkLife doesn't publish it, it will be posted here. But probably it will be on SparkLife this week at some point.
7. Megan breathes air.
8. Megan's brother buys two packs of Star Wars playing cards. Megan gets very jealous. Megan begs for one and is thwarted. She plots to steal said cards, but her brother knows her ways and prevents this by saying, "No." Megan gets pissed that all she has are stupid peanut M&M cards. Megan doesn't even like peanut M&Ms.
I'm tired of writing my name now. It's hard. Megan will refer to herself as "Juicy Fruit Chewing Gum" for the remainder of this post.
9. Juicy Fruit Chewing Gum eats a lot of McDonald's because she loves it. She realizes that 20,874 people will now comment/email her to inform her that McD's is disgusting and icky and will kill her. Here is your answer, before you email: Yes. I know. I like to bathe in mercury and inhale straight carbon monoxide, though, so I figure McDonald's isn't really a big deal, by comparison.
10. That's about it.
11. Oh wait, Juicy Fruit Chewing Gum also spends two days obsessing over Good Dog and Bad Dog because they were shaved recently and it is cold here it Utah. She spends ludicrous amounts of time wrapping dogs in blankets.
So maybe I'll write about the seedy gas station. That sounds mildly interesting. Right?
Also, New Moon post? I think maybe so. We'll see how it goes.
Comment that made me lulz: "I don't know Megan...that ":(" looks pretty FIINE to me! Like, on a scale of sexiness, 1 being Susan Boyle and 10 being not Susan Boyle, it would OH MY GOD DO I SMELL BACON?! Please excuse me while I partake in my bacon sniffing festivities" -Erik
I wish I had an awesome story to tell you. But my weekend went like this:
1. Megan does not go see the high school play that she really wanted to see. She looks like this, only hotter: :(
2. Megan eats her weight in truffles.
3. Megan has bacon.
4. Megan spends three hours eating a corndog in a seedy rural gas station while being ogled by a strange man who walked out of the front door backward in order to continue said ogling all the way out to his car. Megan also saw a drug deal being performed in front of the gas station, and later talked to the drug dealer. Megan debated whether or not she should have called the cops instead of pointing him to the nearest ATM.
5. Just now, Megan realizes that there is a weekend story. Oh.
6. Megan saw "Megamind." Megan had serious issues with "Megamind." She hated it. She wrote a review. If SparkLife doesn't publish it, it will be posted here. But probably it will be on SparkLife this week at some point.
7. Megan breathes air.
8. Megan's brother buys two packs of Star Wars playing cards. Megan gets very jealous. Megan begs for one and is thwarted. She plots to steal said cards, but her brother knows her ways and prevents this by saying, "No." Megan gets pissed that all she has are stupid peanut M&M cards. Megan doesn't even like peanut M&Ms.
I'm tired of writing my name now. It's hard. Megan will refer to herself as "Juicy Fruit Chewing Gum" for the remainder of this post.
9. Juicy Fruit Chewing Gum eats a lot of McDonald's because she loves it. She realizes that 20,874 people will now comment/email her to inform her that McD's is disgusting and icky and will kill her. Here is your answer, before you email: Yes. I know. I like to bathe in mercury and inhale straight carbon monoxide, though, so I figure McDonald's isn't really a big deal, by comparison.
10. That's about it.
11. Oh wait, Juicy Fruit Chewing Gum also spends two days obsessing over Good Dog and Bad Dog because they were shaved recently and it is cold here it Utah. She spends ludicrous amounts of time wrapping dogs in blankets.
So maybe I'll write about the seedy gas station. That sounds mildly interesting. Right?
Also, New Moon post? I think maybe so. We'll see how it goes.
Comment that made me lulz: "I don't know Megan...that ":(" looks pretty FIINE to me! Like, on a scale of sexiness, 1 being Susan Boyle and 10 being not Susan Boyle, it would OH MY GOD DO I SMELL BACON?! Please excuse me while I partake in my bacon sniffing festivities" -Erik
Sunday, February 28, 2010
I don't have a title for this post unless you count "maybe I should call a priest" as a valid title, and most people don't. I think.
My dog Sam finally got shaved, which I think is pretty good because it was starting to look like I was walking the end of a mop. Just kidding, I never walk my dog. Is that bad? Should I walk my dog? Wouldn't he prefer to run free in the backyard? I don't like the whole dog walking concept because it inadvertently forces me to exercise and get fresh air and enjoy sunshine, which are the three things I shun. ...Not really. But seriously though. I don't want to walk him.
Anyways he looks like this now:
And also like this:
Except his eyes look like a devil/demon so I don't know maybe I should call a priest? Guys if there's a demon/devil thing living in my dog, I won't stand for that crap. Especially cause Sam is the good dog. And then there's the bad dog, whose name is Jacques. But honestly, if my name were Jacques, I'd misbehave too. And bite people and small children. And pee on couches.
I tried just now to take a picture of Jacques but it was really hard because he's the bad dog so he won't do anything I tell him to. Like "come here" or "sit still" or "go make me a sandwich".
So this is Jacques:
(Not my foot)
So that's the bad dog. I had to chase him and yell his name for like ten minutes to get that shot.
In the interest of being fair, here's one more of Sam, because I VALUE FAIRNESS.
Since I know the world is extremely interested in pictures of my dogs, I consider this a service to you. A service that demonstrates how pathetic I am. Except there are a lot more pathetic things I could be into, so technically this is a triumph over pathetic-ness, so I'm gonna go ahead and pat myself of the back, because this falls into the category of awesome pathetic-ness.
On an unrelated note, I got a sweet Rugrats T-shirt. My favorite episode was when they went to a medieval fair and fought the dragon. After that I was all what the heck mom, why don't we go to medieval fairs? And she still hasn't answered me. I totally would still go.
My eyes kind of look scary too.......priest?
Anyways he looks like this now:
And also like this:
Except his eyes look like a devil/demon so I don't know maybe I should call a priest? Guys if there's a demon/devil thing living in my dog, I won't stand for that crap. Especially cause Sam is the good dog. And then there's the bad dog, whose name is Jacques. But honestly, if my name were Jacques, I'd misbehave too. And bite people and small children. And pee on couches.
I tried just now to take a picture of Jacques but it was really hard because he's the bad dog so he won't do anything I tell him to. Like "come here" or "sit still" or "go make me a sandwich".
So this is Jacques:
(Not my foot)So that's the bad dog. I had to chase him and yell his name for like ten minutes to get that shot.
In the interest of being fair, here's one more of Sam, because I VALUE FAIRNESS.
Since I know the world is extremely interested in pictures of my dogs, I consider this a service to you. A service that demonstrates how pathetic I am. Except there are a lot more pathetic things I could be into, so technically this is a triumph over pathetic-ness, so I'm gonna go ahead and pat myself of the back, because this falls into the category of awesome pathetic-ness.
On an unrelated note, I got a sweet Rugrats T-shirt. My favorite episode was when they went to a medieval fair and fought the dragon. After that I was all what the heck mom, why don't we go to medieval fairs? And she still hasn't answered me. I totally would still go.
My eyes kind of look scary too.......priest?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)