My Dog Got Offered Sex This Morning

Seriously. The time was 7:14am. I was by the mulched area with the plants that enter the storage place next to my apartment. Seconds later, an Asian man appeared with 2 dogs. My dog pulled from me with strength, a habit she doesn't break when greeted by other animals. I pulled back in defiance. Or was it jealousy?

My daughter is Minna Cross. My pit bull mix. A 2-year-old renegade of a dog. She has energy, can be a hellion, but is sweet as can be. A truly beautiful animal. The 2 dogs walking by...also quite beautiful. The 1 animal was a brindle, just like mine. Kind of like the Cincinnati Bengals' Mascot.

The man and I exchanged kind, semi-awkward conversation, and after about 20 seconds of broken, unassertive Asian-accented conversation, the gentlemen asked if my dog was spade. I guess I said she was a she at some point during our brief encounter, or he had been eyeing up my animal for a while, watching me walk her on a regular schedule, following Minna during her daily routes to relieve herself, standing outside my shower. Who knows, really? Nonetheless, he jumped on it, and posed the statement, "I'm looking to breed my dog."

I awkwardly chuckled, and said something equally on-point, "Oh ok." Good work, comedian.

It took me a few seconds as I walked back to my apartment gate with animal feces wrapped in the LA Times newspaper until I realized this dude had just propositioned my Minna Cross for sex. I guess he didn't proposition her for himself. That'd just be way too Alabama. But he propositioned me - for Minna - for his dog. I wondered if somehow, with only 3 more degrees to go, we could connect this audacious proposition to Kevin Bacon.

Thinking back, I feel quite honored. I mean, Minna Cross is my kin. I did birth her. Or paid $100 from a kennel. Because, to own a good looking animal is a true feeling of pride.

PS- If this article didn't make you laugh, just take a brief look at the tag words I used.

The Fake Dog Feces Pick-Up

It's like the boner tuck. All guys know it. Sitting in some lame survey course with an endless stream of power point presentations in front of you. The mind drifts. The pants buldge. If you're to stand-up, somebody might as well go sleep in the tent you've just pitched.

Similar to the penis tuck, I pulled an almost parallel maneuver when walking my dog to the car this past weekend. Without a grocery bag, paper towel, or New York Post in-hand, I had nothing else to do when I noticed my dog about to lay cable in the lawn of the apartment complex nearby. I looked around. The coast was clear. Quickly and calmly, I removed my running shoe (this has to tie into running somehow). I pulled off my black sock. I scowered the area once more. Two bikers and some passing cars at about 35 mph. I reached down. Fake scoop. Fake scoop. Fake scoop that almost touched.

I know. Judge me how you will. However, if you haven't already, you'll be in my shoes, too. And when you are, you'll remove those shoes, reach for your sock and start fake scooping. Just don't make contact.

Hot as Hell in LA

3 triple digits days in a row, the dogs are panting, and small colonies are cloning in my nether region. It is hot as hell in LA. Even by the beach, balmy weather. My regards go out to those in the Valley...any valley. Florida is suffocating with the humidity. Same with Louisiana and the bayou. Out here, it seems to cook instead of engulf you. A sauna vs. an oven, is how my friend referred to the comparison.

Running wise, I have to say the oven is better. I like not having to ring out my shorts, or for the frat boy in me, lose eyesight over the burning hair gel that floods into my vision. Either way, I've figured out why people live in Colorado and/or have working AC. Of course, my slum lord has yet to get around to fixing the AC just like the lack of heat from December-February. But he's such a nice guy because he "lets me have a dog."

As I write this, sweat forms in the crevices of the back of my knees and my dog lays on the hardwood floor, a resourceful pup she is. Outside isn't as bad. But this house traps heat. I remember last summer the house I lived in trapped heat as well. And it was in the Valley! And AC was not in use either! And I lived in an upstairs bedroom! We're talking about a hotbox of 110+ degree temps!

I don't quite know what the moral to this rant is. Maybe, get AC or live near the beach for the sea breeze or summer in Colorado or the northeast. Fortunately, I'm moving next week into a living room in Marina Del Rey. That's right, a living room. For 700 a month including utilities and Internet. That's LA. But I'll be very close to the Venice Beach bars and literally on a Marina. For 3 months...I can swing it. I've had worse.

Ok, here's a moral that may apply. When things get a bit "stressed," remember the toughest circumstance you've ever been in. For me, it was losing my mom. 2nd, the Canton, GA cops. Think about how hard life was. Or, if your life's been a breeze to this point, flip on the news. Maybe NPR. Listen to what others in countries not so well off have to go through. Try hard to not take your circumstance for granted. Realize how lucky you are. Even if you're not the luckiest. Life doesn't have to be hard. If you're in a stuffy house w/ no AC, an extremely messy roommate and an irresponsible landlord, get out of it. Now. Same with the job. Need to lose weight? Get fit? Go. Now. Come on. Stop surfing Facebook/looking up porn. You have it in you.

The Luckiest: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pZ-y-bbbwKw