Her Perfume Smells Like Burning Leaves

I hope no one's begun slitting their wrists while reading this thing. It's been a shitty week, and today was another blah day at work. However, the dogs would have none of it when I came home. No napping with Oprah. No. So, frustrated, I ended up outside with them. We were gonna play ball, but I decided to first clean up the dog poo. (I read somewhere that one of the cons of having two dogs was that it somehow ends up equaling three dogs' worth of poo. That person was right.) So yard clean up evolved into a little bit of raking and then BURNING. I burned the shit out of some leaves tonight, and it was good. Peaceful. Until I thought my weird neighbors might call 911 on me. Yeah, I have no idea about the city ordinances, but to further liberate myself I decided just not to care. Do first, then apologize. YEAH.

As a reward, I came in afterward and watched the Pregnancy Pact that I'd DVR'd from Lifetime. From the very beginning I wanted to slap all the girls and shake them until their uteri fell out. (They can have them back when they are responsible enough to handle them.) But it was interesting, and of course it made me fear for possibly having teenagers one day, realizing how little I was told and that I was still a damn good kid who at least waited until after high school. Seriously, I know I'll be honest with my kids (should I have any), but I'll still want to lock them in a closet until their hormonal rage slows a bit. Teenagers having sex. Icky.

That's about all that's worth mentioning from my day. Except one thing. I'm pretty sure that when I forget to close my bedroom door during the day, Dexter sleeps on my bed. Doggies on bed is a no no. The laptop was left on the bed today, and when I got home from work, I flipped it up to find it was gritty on top. And after getting into bed a few minutes before starting this post, I realized the bedding was gritty too. NUTS. This explains the few times when Dexter isn't right at the door waiting for me. He's back here snoozing on our damn Vera Wang mattress. Next time he's slow to appear at the door, I'm going to run back here and check for body heat on my bed. Shit, pregnancy pact my ass. Give every high school kid a foster dog from a humane society and have them take care of it for a week. Then let the insanity begin!