Tag Archives: Taco Bueno

Five signs your dog is on crack cocaine

I came home today and realized that Leon, my blue heeler/lab-type dog is probably on drugs. How do I know this?

Leon Russell in the snow

Don't let that sweet-boy look fool you. He's doing crack cocaine, and you can't tell me otherwise.

He’s pretty subtle about it, but with my trained journalistic mind, I’ve got it figured out from these five telltale signs.

5. He doesn’t eat his food until the next day. I know that usage of crack cocaine makes people less hungry. I always fill his bowl up, then he stares at it for a minute and goes back to the couch. He eats it while I’m at work, or is possibly selling it for more crack.

4. He thinks the squirrels are after him. He demands to go chase the squirrels off of the back fence, fiendishly whimpering out the back door, then taking off like a shot to rid the yard of squirrels. Either the squirrels are with the DEA, or they’re selling bad shit. Or the paranoia is making him crazy.

3. He steals. I’m sure of it. I know for a FACT that Percy, my male tuxedo cat, has a meth lab in the garage, so why is it out of the realm of possibility that Leon steal money out of my purse? I never have any cash. Who else would do it? I know I didn’t spend it all on Diet Coke and Taco Bueno.

2. He’s moody. I get home from work, and he freaks the fuck out for like 10 minutes, licking and spinning, then retreats to his spot on the couch. I know I’m boring, but does the excitement wear off that quickly?

1. He needs to “go outside” at odd hours of the night. After I’ve taken my bedtime sleepy medicine (thank you, makers of Tylenol PM,) and my senses are dulled thanks to its liver-damaging powers, he immediately scampers to the back door, demanding to be let out. I know there aren’t squirrels out that late (unless they’re covert squirrels… curiouser and curiouser…) and even the mention of the phrase “go outside” makes him slobber a little. Pavlov’s dog, my ass. Pavlov’s crack addict is more like it.

I don’t know what to do about this. Do you think they “Dog Intervention” would be a good show for A&E? And if you take this idea and run for it, I’ll turn my crack-addled dog and meth-making cat on you.

Oh, the carnage. There will be blood.

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Look out world, I’m hittin’ the town.

I don’t mean to scare any of you who may be reading this, but…

But…

I’m going…

Going out…

TONIGHT.

I know, it’s been forever since I’ve done anything at all besides family stuff or birthday parties for kids. My Friday nights consist of “American Idol” and Taco Bueno (it’s my night for eating the Bad Meal.)

But tonight, I’m playing in a trivia tournament — I can’t just throw myself into a world of wild partying — with some of the most-awesome of the awesome people, Sen. Allen and her spouse, “Liam” Gleason and his spouse, who is the sister of the senator, and the parents of these two sisters.

The fact that these people invited me out is amazing to me, as I’ve been living in the Shire here basically uninterrupted for the past few years. How did they find me? How do they even remember me? How did they know I was even still alive? Didn’t they just assume I was dead, or worse yet, married?

I’ve been informed this trivia competition is quite the  evening. For which I have to prepare… I’m channeling Rosie Perez’s character from “White Men Can’t Jump.”

I’m not sure why anyone asks me to be on trivia teams, since most of my knowledge is confined to 80s and 90s Brit Pop and Hair Metal. I’d like to say 90s music, but I was kinda wild back then, so my memory’s not as sharp about that stuff. I remember I liked a band called Pearlgarden or Alice in Mother Bone or something. Regardless, I’ve fooled someone, and I’ll be happy if I don’t answer “Ann Margaret” to every question like Lowell on “Wings.” (I know it’s a weird reference. Go here)

But since I’ve basically been a spinster weirdo since 2007, and completely and perfectly angelic in every way since 2010, I took them up on the offer to shed this skin of self-imposed exile. After trivia, of course. Barbara tells me this is when they “throw down,” whatever that means. I just hope my references aren’t too dated and my social cues not completely out of the norm. Would it be weird to talk about my cats the entire evening, or perhaps those crazy kids with their texting and giant pants? Are pagers still in style? Pogs?

OK, so I’m not that out of touch. I’m an entertainment editor, so I have to retain a modicum of understanding to what the hell’s going on in the world. But my social calendar does still say 2007. I’ve even 2000-late for that. I’m hoping tonight I don’t show my ass too much, that I don’t get really drunk and convince these people never to ask me out again. I hope I don’t sound desperate.

I’m off to put my hair in curlers and read the encyclopedia! Ciao! (Isn’t that what all the kids are saying?)

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