Gratuitous Post About A Dog

Armstrong is only the greatest beagle ever. Why? Because he's my nephew, and we spend every Saturday together, and he's completely adorable.

Is it sort of embarrassing that I am using my blog as a vehicle to rave about a two year old puppy? Yes. So here I go.

Lil' Bones was rescued by my dear friend Sarah from a laboratory where he was pumped full of who knows what experimental drugs for humans. He lived to see the day he wouldn't have to inhabit a metal cage anymore, but retains much of his non-dog autism. The guy doesn't know how to lick your face to say hello, or understand that other dogs might bite you. He tries to make a sound, but was debarked.

This dog, however, is the sweetest thing you could imagine. He's interested in everyone, and is incredibly friendly and welcoming. He carries around the octopus I bought for him, and has learned to wait patiently while Sarah finishes teaching her Bikram classes. Once he hears the final breathing sequence, he sits still, knowing his mommy and aunty are about to come out and slather him with love.

Did I mention that I am smitten with Armstrong? He is the best. Right now I'm exclusively dating myself, but I think he's my wingman. He makes things happen. He's housetrained. And there's nothing like taking a nap with that guy nestled in your arms, snoring away like a rattly engine.

Marketing Executives Are Slipping

Two of my friends and I were sitting around the dinner table. The question posed: “If you could change any part of your body, what would it be?”

Claire shrugged and said, "I've always thought my feet were a little small. I guess I'd like my feet to be bigger."

Shana brought up the tiny scars on her leg from her semester in Nepal.

I said, "More seratonin!"

There used to be a day when three twentysomething women sitting around a dinner table post-grind would push away their barely-touched plates of pasta, throw up their mitts, and wail about lipo. They'd whine over implants, drool at the mention of augmentation, and put their thighs in the line of fire. They would actually consume that poisonous substance they call artificial sweetener.

Clearly marketing exectutives are slipping.