Natural Selection

I will never understand how some people are still alive.  The days of natural selection are long gone and sometimes (nay – all the time) I think we’d be better off if it still played a role in who survived into adulthood. 

There are people I work with who would not survive even 15 seconds of the Hunger Games.  Or the Oregon Trail.  Or life in general with the internet, moving walk-ways or a cell phone.   They would be shivved, or starved or die of dysentery. These people are incapable of opening a bag of pretzels so that it can be closed again with a chip clip.  I mean, it obviously makes the most sense to open the bag open like you have talons and make sure it’s open on both ends of the bag.  It makes the most sense to ask me if the lunch meat in the fridge is still good instead of looking at the expiration dates posted on the outside of the packaging.  It makes so much sense to see an email I send out to everyone – read the subject line, NOT the body of the email, and then come ask me questions about it.  All of which, by the way, were answered in the first two sentences of the email.

I don’t want you to think I’m unreasonable – people have off days.  Days where they forget how to spell, or forget where their glasses are (on the top of their head) or days where even the simplest tasks seem impossible.  These days usually follow a night of drinking, or a night with a screaming inconsolable baby, or a night working too hard – and on these days I try to be more understanding. More patient.

There are however, a couple people at my job with whom my patience is always at ZERO.  I don’t care if they just got out of the hospital where they suffered from kidney failure and had a miraculous recovery – if they open the supply closet and don’t close it? I want to rip their face off.   I don’t care if they just had their heart broken and their dog ran away and a stranger shaved part of their head on the subway in a razor rampage – if they pour themselves a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and open a new milk when there are already TWO open milks in the fridge, I want to push them down the stairs. 

I just don’t get it.  Be a grown up. Pay attention.  Clean up your own damned mess and stop assuming that you are the only person in the world with needs.  You are not.  And I’m not your f-ing cleaning lady.

Dog-vision

About a month ago I adopted a dog.  A perfect little mutt who looks nothing like the dog I always imagined I’d bring into my life.  Her legs are 3 inches long and her body is the length of a truck.  She’s shy and weird and brave and snuggly.  

 There is an unreasonable selection of dog toys, goods and accessories available online.  There is such a thing as a Thunder-Coat.  Someone is probably retiring now, because they invented the idea of a Thunder Coat.  It’s a blanket you wrap tightly around the dog’s body during a storm, and it’s supposed to calm their nervous system or something.   You want a collar that will keep them from barking without shocking their neck?  You can buy one that shoots out citronella instead.  I bought my dog puppy stairs - to make her climb onto my bed easier.   If there was ever any hope of my love life looking less depressing, it has since gone out the window - I now share my bed with a furry loveable pile of kisses and sneezes.   All thanks to the puppy stairs.

 Having a dog changes the way I look at everything.  If people don’t smile when they see my dog – they are ass holes.  If other dogs aren’t friendly enough to sniff at her – their owners are ass holes.  If people, like the man who sat next to me on my flight back to NYC last weekend, are scared of her – they are idiots.  I no longer feel bad about being a judgmental person – I do it in the name of my dog.  The vet tech tried to take blood twice and couldn’t find a vein and my poor little pup stayed quiet and scared.  I stepped in after her third try failed, grabbed her off the table, and forbid him from jabbing at her one more time.  I demanded that the vet do it himself.   I don’t feel bad about being a bitch to him because she doesn’t have a voice and cannot fight for herself.

You know, people (mainly my roommate) may judge me for buying her puppy stairs.  People may judge me for talking to my dog in public like she were a person – an adorable little person.  People may judge me for carrying her when she gets too tired to walk up the stairs to my apartment.  And people may judge me for letting her sleep with her head on my pillow.  But the only thing I’ll judge myself for is purchasing a Thunder Coat on Amazon.  It will be delivered on Friday.